#navigating impending death

[remembertheplunge]

From such fragments you have to make your way when the sky goes dark

10/28/2023

“From such fragments you have to make your way when the sky goes dark.”

"Borrowed Time" An Aids Memoir p. 284 by Paul Monette (1988)

 Paul Monette and his partner Roger had Aids in the days before there was a cure. Aids pretty much meant death in a relatively short time. Paul said to  Roger about their impending deaths “We’d never really talked about what either of us wanted at the end." Roger’s response “You take care of  all that.”

Paul then wrote of Roger’s response “From such fragments you have to make your way when the sky goes dark.”

That resonates with me.

 “You have to make your way when the sky goes dark.” 

 In the two weeks (May 1-May 14 2023) between my sister Zoe’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer and her death, we experienced several “such fragments”.  And now, 5 months after her death, I turn those fragments over and over in my mind.

When she said “I’m sorry that I have to leave you”. When she returned a painting I had done of our grand parent’s house” She said, “Take it, I’m dying.”  When,  due to her body shutting down due to the cancer, she was left with only the edges of herself, she asked me , “When will this end?” And, I said “When you let go.”

“When the sky goes dark”.

The sky has gone dark.

 And, those fragments and a few others are all I have to attempt to decipher the language and the geography of her last two weeks of life. A geography in which I was not yet welcome. Not until it is my time to die.

Last night  I felt someone touch my forearm. I was in a sleep state, but, the touch didn't seem to be dreamed , It felt actual enough that it startled me. I was in the bedroom alone. Could it have been Zoe, providing yet another fragment, another piece of the death puzzl?. The piece that says  “we go on”.

[ovaryacted]

JAGGED EDGE

─ QZ Joel Miller x f! reader || WC: 900

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. Age gap implied. Possible dub-con. Rough sex. Degradation. Dom! Joel. Dom/sub elements. Hair pulling. Daddy kink. Joel is a meanie & a big scary man. Ambiguous/toxic relationship.

A/N: This is literally something I wrote and typed out based off of this singular picture that was shown to me. I had to do this, for the people! Proofread by moi.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Joel was pissed.

Coming back to the QZ with less supplies than he’d like had him on edge, a shit deal led to two less bullets in the magazine of his gun. A waste of his time, a waste of his energy and whatever fucking else he managed to have left in this dying world.

The parasitic things around him continue to take, and take, and take until he’s a dog fighting for scraps again. He’s already worked for the current rations he has, bribed or killed for the rest, did whatever he had to do just to get by and ignore the stench of rotting bodies he has to dig up and burn. He’s already dealing with enough, he doesn’t need to lose any more of what he had.

At least he had you.

Steady. Solid. Real. The only constant in his world, something so tucked away from other people's grasp they couldn’t tell the difference between their Joel and your Joel. He holds you at arm’s length, just close enough to let you touch him, but far enough to consider you an outsider, another survivor amongst the rest of the poor unfortunate souls that seek purpose with death creeping around every corner.

Though the moments where he grants you closeness, you don’t take it for granted.

Pliant. Malleable. All for him to have and to hold. You’ve come to learn that Joel was a naturally rough man, all of him was. You can’t blame him, he was a product of the losses that haunts him in his nightmares, slowly chipping away at his wavering humanity one death at a time. A predator with razor sharp teeth containing a bite full of jagged edges. You just happened to fit the role of his prey, a lamb that has ventured too far from the herd, ensnared in his grip with no way out. Not that you’d ever want to leave.

His molars grind in his mouth as he growls from behind you, the pistoning of his hips filling the dingy apartment with an audible slap of skin. Large hands kept you pinned by the neck underneath him against the tattered mattress, your nails digging into the comforter as Joel pummeled into the arch of your back. Every brutal thrust he gave you sent you inching higher up on the bed, spine curved to keep your ass high in the air, right where he could see you at your best.

The glistening skin of your pussy wrapped tight around him, clutching at his cock every time he slipped out just to punch back into you with a snarl, your body wishing to keep him inside for as long as he allowed. His heavy balls slammed into your pulsing nub with each resounding drill of his hips, amplifying the sensations and sending you closer to your impending release.

Joel fucks without mercy, his touch as ragged as the rest of him. But this was your Joel, and you loved him in any way he came, in any way he’d allow. After all, you weren’t given any other option.

“Joel, please…” your gasp was followed by a moan, eyes rolling to the back of your skull when the tip of his length kissed your cervix with precision. You shrieked as your head was quickly yanked backward, thick digits pulling on the strands of your hair, now wrapped around an iron fist.

“Please what, hm? What does my fucking slut need from me this time?” He bit harshly beside your ear, the tone of his sharp voice forcing your walls to clench around him.

“I need to cum,” you cried out meekly, his unforgiving pace had your eyes fluttering, wishing you could look at Joel at this angle, but he wouldn’t let you get more than what he decided was enough. He tugged at your head harder, the pain rushing to your sensitive nub between your thighs, throbbing from his intensity.

“What you need is to take what I give you. You fucking got that?” Joel muttered next to your temple, your heart pounding in your ribcage at his command.

“Yes.” Another forceful jerk to his body made you jolt, deepening the curve of your back.

“Yes what?” The gears in your head began to turn, finding the right words in the back of your mind to avoid pissing him off any further.

“Yes daddy.”

He slams you back down to the mattress with a groan, grabbing hold of your hips and fucking into you with such force you know you’ll be left with an ache in your pelvis afterwards. You know he doesn’t mean to be so aggressive, that’s just who he is, it’s within his nature. You understand him despite others viewing him as anything but human. A man with so much blood on his hands shouldn’t have the ability to make you cry for him, to make your body sing and crave him when he deserves nothing of the sort.

Yet when the textured tips of his fingers reach your slick pearl to circle it with intention, sparks fly under your eyelids and you spill around him with a loud wail of his name, tears stinging the corner of your eyes as you fall apart. You’d consider it an act of kindness on his end, the only time you’d ever think the man, or any man, touched you with such reverence.

He’s rough all around, but perhaps you’ve always liked them that way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[littlefireball]

ʏʜ|ᴛʀᴀɪᴛᴏʀ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ x ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱʜᴏᴛ, ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ|ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.1ᴋ / Main list

In the eyes of the public, he was seen as the perfect idol, exuding charm with his captivating smile and warm laughter. However, beneath this facade lay a heart shrouded in darkness, consumed by malevolent thoughts and insatiable desires.

When night descended, he shed his mask of civility and transformed into a merciless demon prowling the streets, seeking out his next victim. His eyes gleamed with a chilling ruthlessness, and the glint of his blade spoke of impending doom. Whether it be innocent bystanders or vulnerable orphans, he showed no mercy as he cast them into the depths of despair.

His reign of terror cast a shadow over the city, leaving the police powerless and the populace gripped by fear. His name became synonymous with dread and hopelessness, instilling fear in all who dared to challenge his authority as he tightened his grip on the city.

"Jeong Yunho?" You studied the document in your hands meticulously, detailing his litany of crimes - from murder to theft to robbery. His rap sheet was well-known, but as you perused the list, you couldn't help but be taken aback by the extent of his atrocities.

Flipping to the back page, a photograph of a strikingly handsome face caught your eye, drawing you in with its allure. It was hard to reconcile this visage with the ruthless mafia boss he was known to be.

"Yes, I'm sure you're quite familiar with him," your boss remarked, lighting a cigarette and watching the ember fade to ash in the tray. His gaze met yours, conveying the gravity of the task at hand.

As the organization's top assassin, the responsibility for this perilous mission fell squarely on your shoulders.

"Don't worry, I've got this," you assured with a confident smile, offering a respectful bow before turning to depart.

Your boss observed your retreating figure impassively, reaching for his phone to make a call. "Keep an eye on Y/N," he instructed. Recent internal strife within the organization had led to a string of mysterious deaths, with all signs pointing to a traitor within. And you, unfortunately, were the prime suspect.

As night cloaked the city, you ventured alone to Yunho's clandestine hideout. Following the map's directions, you navigated the labyrinthine sewers, the oppressive atmosphere thick with the stench of blood and decay. Evading the guards' patrols and surmounting various obstacles with practiced ease, you pressed on undeterred. The journey was fraught with challenges, yet you moved with a grace that belied the difficulty.

Though you were aware of the man tailing you, you feigned ignorance, knowing the need to maintain the charade. He had been your trusted partner for years, his feelings for you transcending mere camaraderie. "So the organization sent you to shadow me." you mused inwardly, a hint of pride coloring your features as you remained unruffled.

"Alright, Johnathan, let's see what you're made of," you teased, straying from the designated path, leaving Johnathan puzzled as he trailed behind. "Y/N…you wouldn't betray us, would you?" he muttered to himself, his hopes slowly crumbling as your actions defied his expectations.

You maintained a facade of focus on the task at hand, all the while subtly leading him towards the trap. As you both reached the deserted sixth floor, the only thing in sight was a closed metal door. A quick glance at the CCTV camera outside the door, and a seductive smile plays on your lips, hinting at the impending spectacle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Johnathan attempting to hide, but you called out to him, "No need to hide, come out." Your voice carried a provocative tone, adding to the tension in the air.

"Y/N." You turned your head and met his sad face.

"Why you…"

"What? Don't you want me to kill Jeong Yunho? Why did the target become me?"

"You…why? Aren't we companions?"

"You shouldn't kill me since I'm a comrade?"

"You betrayed the others first!" His tone was excited at first, but then softened. "That man forced you, right? Just tell me and I will help you." His words were extremely ridiculous. The facts were in front of him, but he didn't want to believe them, trying to convince himself with ridiculous rhetoric.

Despite your internal eye-rolls, you continued the charade, feigning vulnerability to keep the fool in front of you engaged. "You must have your reasons, right?" Your faux tears elicited a tender look from him, "I always knew you had a good heart, unwilling to aid in wrongdoing…"

In a sudden swift motion, you drew a pistol from your pocket, aiming at his thigh and firing. The bullets slice through the air, piercing his flesh and painting the floor red with blood. As he writhed in pain, you mocked, "You talk too much. I don't like it." With a casual air, you toyed with the gun in your hand, as he stared at you in shock, his voice trembling with agony.

At that moment, the door behind him creaks open, revealing a tall figure stepping into view.

ClapClapClap "You did so well, Y/N." Yunho, wearing a white suit, walked to you slowly and lightly brushed your arm with his fingers.

"Did I?" Your gaze that was originally full of murderous intent suddenly became gentle and full of love.

"Of course, my girl." He brushed your lips with his fingers and looked at the blood spots dotted on your face, feeling a rush of heat in his body.

"You're so hot, babe." He lowered his head and kissed your lips, making a harsh kissing sound.

"You traitor!!" Johnathan, who was lying on the ground, roared angrily.

"No, you're wrong. She has always been mine. She was just bored before, so she joined your organization for fun. Where did the betrayal come from?" Anger, sadness, injustice, all emotions surged into Johnathan's heart.

"I thought…you are a good woman, capable and smart…" He said reluctantly, apparently not noticing Yunho's increasingly dissatisfied expression.

"But you! Betrayed us!!" You rolled your eyes, not caring about any of his words.

"It's a shame that I…I even liked you!"

"Oh! You like her?" Before you could say anything, Yunho answered first, his eyes full of jealousy and dissatisfaction as he didn't allow others to have a thing for you.

"But sorry~She is mine, only mine." He hugged you into his arms and kissed you again.

In contrast to the previous encounter, this kiss was forceful, asserting dominance. He drew a shotgun from his pocket and fired in the direction of the man without even opening his eyes. A scream pierced the air, causing a momentary pause. The bullet struck the man's arm, blood seeping out steadily.

"Jealous?" Yunho smirked, relishing Johnathan's pained expression.

"I don't care!"

"Is that so? How about a little game? Let's see if you tell the truth or lies." Yunho lifted you up and pushed you down onto the long table in the room.

Surprised, you met Yunho's gaze as he whispered in your ear, "I know you enjoy being watched while I fuck you. Am I right?"

"Tsk…no need to say it." You playfully patted his chest, feigning shyness. "Just fuck me then."

You entwined your fingers around Yunho's neck and met his lips. This kiss continued the theme of dominance. He took control, exploring your lips and intertwining his tongue with yours. A rush of heat spread through your body, the air around you growing warmer.

Yunho moved to remove your shirt, but you halted him. "Do you want him to see me naked? Don't you mind?" "Ugh…I hate it. But I want to see it, what do you think I should do?" "You can take your time later in bed." You playfully bit his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Promise?" "Promise." He grinned, burying his face in your neck, kissing you fervently. You taunted the man on the ground, his face a mix of sadness and anger, tears streaming down his cheeks. You turned your head away, matching Yunho's movements.

His kisses trailed down, pausing at your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles on your heated skin. Waves of electricity coursed through you. The thought of being watched intensified the heat in your body, the desire becoming overwhelming. "Hurry, Yuyu. I need you. Please fuck me." "Impatient, my dear?" He pecked your lips, his hands tracing your waist. You lifted your hips, allowing him to remove your clothes, deftly unbuttoning his trousers and pulling down his underwear.

"My girl is fucking horny, Hm? Want my cock?"

"Yes, I want you deep inside me." Your plea fueled Yunho's desire, his confidence swelling.

"Good girl. Let me fuck you until you see stars"

"That's something you can't have." Yunho challenged, thrusting into you without warning.

"Yunho, oh god!" You arched your back, a surge of pleasure almost pushing you over the edge.

"You're so big!"

His thrusts were initially steady and continuous, gliding in and out, creating a friction against your moist inner walls. The soft sounds of water and breathing filled the room, causing a flush to rise on people's cheeks. The man on the floor averted his gaze, unwilling to witness the intimate moment unfolding before him. The scene repulsed him deeply. Yunho, observing the man's reaction, felt a sense of dissatisfaction. He desired to see the man torn between jealousy and desire, trapped in a state of miserable conflict.

As the rhythm shifted, the intensity of his movements increased. Instead of the rapid thrusts from before, he began to enter slowly and forcefully. Each penetration felt like it was pushing past your limits, sending waves of numbness through your body. "Ha! Hm!" Your moans grew louder and more hoarse, your legs bending to allow Yunho to delve deeper.

"You're so tight," he remarked, his movements unyielding as he hit all the right spots with precision. He knew your body intimately. "Right here," you gasped as he targeted your most sensitive spot, throwing your head back in pleasure. "Here?" He teased, hitting the same spot again, eliciting a shy moan from you. "How could I not know? After all, I've fucked you countless times." He deliberately directed the comment at the man on the floor, simply to provoke him.

"Ah… Ah… Ah…" Your shy moans filled the room with each thrust, your eyes shut tightly as you breathed heavily through your mouth, your throat growing dry. "Does it feel good?" "Ye… Yes," you managed to reply, almost speechless from the intensity of his lovemaking, the relentless stimulation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

"But our guest seems not feeling good." You turned your head and saw Johnathan lying on the ground motionless, but still breathing. It seemed that he was tortured by the pain of the wound.

"Maybe he needs something good to heal him." "Hm?" Yunho wrapped around your waist, picked you up easily, and then placed you on the ground. You faced the ceiling light, and yunho then overed you and fucked you again. "Oh gosh!" You looked up and found that you were facing Johnathan, and you instantly understood what yunho meant.

"You're so bad~" You smiled and patted his chest. "Am I? I could be worse." He pulled Johnathan's hair and forced him to look at you. "Watch me fuck her, hm?" "You dickhead!" Jognathan cursed, causing Yunho to get angry. Yunho's hand was on your waist, thrusting wildly, as if he had unlimited energy, hitting your g-spot again and again.

"Fuck~yuyu~" Hearing your pet name for him, Johnathan couldn't help but yelling in pain, all the anger in his heart stopped in his throat as if it could not pass through the narrow path and could only roar. Yunho laughed proudly when he saw this─the struggle in pain was the most beautiful sight in the world.

He let go of Johnathan's hand and turned to the top of your head, thrusting hard, lowering his head to kiss you, looking into Johnathan's eyes full of hatred and disgust from time to time.

"I'm fucking kill you!!" "Hey, let's try it next time." Yunho took out the pistol from his pocket and handed it to you. "Kill him, Y/N. I love watching you kill others. It's so hot." ​​Your finger pointed at Johnathan's forehead, your eyes no longer lacked the companionship of the past, only full of lust.

"Sure, my darling. I love you so much." You disgusted him one more time as you wanted him to remember this feeling forever before he died. Without waiting for his response, you shot him. Blood splashes all over your body, creating a strange beauty on your body.

"You're so beautiful." Yunho pulled you up and kissed your wet and red lips.

"Remember our promise?"

"Of course." You smiled evilly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him carry you to the bathroom.

No one in this city can overthrow his control, because even the strongest killer has fallen in love with him early on.

tag list: @angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615, @monsta-x-jagi

[vashtijoy]

Quick look at this one:

This is Akechi's navigation line in the third semester, when he's inflicted with despair. One thing, though: there's no pronoun in the original version of that line. There's nothing in the text that suggests "guys" or "we".

Of course, we have to consider context here. Is Akechi addressing the team by default, because he's the navigator? Or does he wander off alone, to address a personal terror? Well, what does Morgana say when he despairs?

Morgana もうダメだ… ワガハイは一生、猫のままだ… mou dame da... wagahai wa issei, neko no mama da... It's hopeless… I'm gonna be a cat for the rest of my life…

Akechi's line was pretty clearly based on this one—look at the mou dame da/daro that they share at the start. And what has Mona done? Mona has lost all hope, and come out with his deepest fear.

So yeah. What is Akechi saying, when he loses all hope? What's his deepest fear?

Akechi もう駄目だろ…絶望だ… 死ぬしかないよ、死ぬしか… mou dame daro… zetsubou da… shinu shika nai yo, shinu shika… Guys… don’t you see? There’s no hope… we’re going to die here… It's got to be too late... it's hopeless, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

It's possible there should be a boku wa (yes, his nav lines use boku, rather than the ore of the engine room fight) in there, the same way Morgana has wagahai wa, to indicate the shift to talking about himself. But equally... there doesn't have to be. The absence of a pronoun lends that line a lot of ambiguity. When Akechi despairs, he starts talking about his impending death for a reason... that we, and Joker, only find out when it's far too late.

Sweet dreams.

revision history

click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2023/11/12)—first published.

[daenysthedreamer101]

HOTD Masterlist

General Masterlist

~ Daughter of Steel and Bronze (Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong)

This is the story of Princess Daena Targaryen - daughter of the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. What role will she play in the impending doom of House Targaryen?

Follow along as she learns to navigate the complex life of the Red Keep, uncovers treacherous plots, falls victim to dangerous lies, and falls in love with the heir of Harrenhal.

Will she survive the Game of Thrones or perish as so many others did?

Moodboard

Character profile

Daena x Harwin

Prologue

Ch 1 - To King's Landing

Ch 2 - Claiming your birthright

Ch 3 - Dragonstone

Ch 4 - Blood of the Dragon

Ch 5 - Victory

Ch 6 - Gone with the Wind

Ch 7 - Loss of Innocence

Ch 8 - Crossroads

Ch 9 - Child no more

Ch 10 - Signs and Portents

Ch 11 - The comforts of home

Ch 12 - Hidden secrets

Ch 13 - Daughter's anguish

Ch 14 - Total Eclipse of the Heart

Ch 15 - To Mend a Broken Heart

Ch 16 - Succession

To be continued...

Depictions of Daena

Pt 1/ Pt 2 / Pt 3

Pt 4 / Pt 5 / Pt 6

Pt 7 / Pt 8 / Pt 9

Pt 10 / Pt 11

Secondary characters

Lady Amanda Royce

Ladies Joy and Hanna Strong

Lady Rowena Redfort

Rowena's reaction to Rhea's death

Daena's outfits

Pt 1

Pt 2

Headcanons

Daena's style

How Vermithor bonded to Daena

Daena's style during mourning

[imaginesforfandom]

A Wolverine's Heartache - Part III

Part I Part II

i'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this!! i've been drowning in work :,(

Logan/James Howlett x Reader

She/Her pronouns used!!

Summary: Logan struggles after seeing a person he loves alive. Will he be able to save her?

In the moments leading up to Logan's journey back in time, the Xavier Institute was a hub of frantic activity, a beacon of hope in the face of impending doom. The threat of the Sentinels loomed large, casting a shadow of fear and uncertainty over the mutant community.

Logan, haunted by the memory of Y/N's tragic death and driven by a desperate need to prevent further loss, had become the linchpin in a daring plan to alter the course of history. With the help of Professor Xavier and a handful of trusted allies, Logan prepared to embark on a mission that would defy the very fabric of time itself.

The decision to send Logan back in time was not made lightly. It required sacrifices – sacrifices that weighed heavily on the hearts of those left behind. Yet, in the face of imminent destruction, there was no room for hesitation.

As Logan stood before the makeshift time-travel device, his resolve hardened like steel. The weight of his mission bore down on him, a burden he carried with grim determination. He knew the risks – the possibility of altering the timeline, of facing enemies both old and new – but the chance to rewrite history and save those he loved was a gamble he was willing to take.

Before he could second-guess himself, Logan braced himself for the journey ahead. With a final glance at his comrades, a silent promise etched in his eyes, he stepped into the swirling vortex of energy, disappearing into the unknown depths of the past.

In that pivotal moment, the fate of the world hung in the balance. For Logan, it was a journey fraught with peril and uncertainty, but it was also a journey fueled by hope – hope for redemption, for a chance to right the wrongs of the past, and for a future where Y/N's death would be nothing more than a distant memory.

As Logan's consciousness shifted through time, propelled back to a pivotal moment before the devastation wrought by the Sentinels, a sense of urgency gripped him like a vice. His mission was clear: to prevent the cataclysmic events that had led to Y/N's tragic demise.

Arriving in the past, Logan found himself in a world that was both familiar and yet subtly different. The Xavier Institute bustled with life, its halls alive with the laughter of students and the gentle hum of telepathic conversations. But for Logan, it was a world tinged with sorrow, a reminder of the losses he had endured.

As he navigated the bustling corridors, searching for allies to aid him in his quest, Logan's heart quickened at the thought of encountering Y/N. She existed in this timeline, vibrant and alive, yet unaware of the role she would play in shaping their shared destiny.

When Logan finally came face to face with Y/N, his breath caught in his throat. She was different here – a younger version of the person he had known, her features softened by innocence and untainted by the scars of war. And yet, there was an undeniable familiarity in her presence, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time.

As their eyes met, Logan felt a surge of emotions wash over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs. In that fleeting moment, he saw echoes of the Y/N he had lost, a reminder of the bond they had shared across time and space.

But for Y/N, Logan was a stranger – a mysterious figure with haunted eyes and a sense of purpose that seemed to emanate from his very being. And yet, there was something in his gaze, a depth of emotion that stirred something within her – a feeling she couldn't quite place.

As Logan reached out to Y/N, his hand trembling with the weight of unspoken truths, he knew that convincing her to join him would be no easy task. But for Y/N, Logan's presence ignited a spark of curiosity, a whisper of destiny that beckoned her towards a future she could not yet fathom.

As Logan stood before the younger version of Y/N, his heart clenched with a mixture of emotions – longing, regret, and an urgent sense of purpose. He knew that convincing her of the impending danger would be no easy task, especially considering she had no recollection of their shared history.

Y/N regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance.

Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult task ahead. "I know this is hard to believe, but you need to listen to me. I'm from the future, and I've seen what happens if we don't act now."

Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief, a scoff escaping her lips. "From the future? That's impossible. Why should I trust you?"

Logan knew he had to choose his words carefully, to break through the wall of skepticism that surrounded her. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I've seen the devastation caused by the Sentinels. They've hunted us down, taken everything from us. If we don't stop them now, there won't be a future for any of us."

Y/N's expression softened slightly, but her hesitation remained palpable. "And why should I believe you? You could be anyone, spinning tales to manipulate me."

Logan's jaw tightened with frustration, but he forced himself to remain calm. He understood her skepticism – after all, he was asking her to believe in the impossible. "I understand your doubts, but you have to trust me. Lives are at stake here, including yours. We need to work together to stop this."

Y/N's gaze flickered with uncertainty, torn between disbelief and a nagging sense of curiosity. She wanted to dismiss Logan's words as the ramblings of a madman, but there was something in his eyes – a depth of sincerity that gave her pause.

As Logan pleaded with her to heed his warning, Y/N felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over her – fear, anger, and a flicker of hope. In that moment of uncertainty, she grappled with the weight of the decision before her, knowing that the fate of the world rested in her hands – and in the hands of the enigmatic stranger who claimed to hold the key to their salvation.

The moment hung suspended in time, a fragile balance between doubt and determination. Y/N stood before Logan, her gaze locked with his, uncertainty etched into the lines of her face. Logan's plea echoed in the air, a whispered promise of redemption and salvation, and for a fleeting instant, Y/N hesitated.

But then, something shifted within her – a spark of resolve that ignited in the depths of her soul. It was a quiet realization, born from the depths of her own courage and fueled by the unwavering belief that together, they could make a difference.

With a steadying breath, Y/N met Logan's gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "Alright. I'll help you."

The words hung in the air like a beacon of hope, a testament to the strength of her conviction. In that moment, a weight lifted from Logan's shoulders, replaced by a surge of gratitude and relief. He had expected resistance, perhaps even outright rejection, but Y/N's willingness to trust him filled him with a sense of purpose unlike anything he had ever known.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the tension reached its peak in the crowded conference room, Logan and Y/N moved with precision and determination, their eyes locked in silent communication. They had trained for this moment, prepared for the pivotal role they would play in altering the course of history.

Amidst the chaos, Mystique, disguised as a government official, made her move, her gun trained on Trask, the architect of the Sentinel program. But before she could pull the trigger, Logan sprang into action, his instincts honed by years of combat.

With a swift motion, he intercepted Mystique's shot, deflecting the bullet away from its intended target. The room erupted into chaos as panic spread like wildfire, but Logan remained focused, his gaze never wavering from Mystique's determined form.

Beside him, Y/N moved with a grace and precision that belied her years, her powers weaving through the air like a symphony of light and shadow. With a flick of her wrist, she immobilized Mystique, her telekinetic abilities holding her captive in a shimmering cocoon of energy.

As the dust settled and order was restored, Logan and Y/N shared a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the pivotal role they had played in preventing catastrophe. In that moment, the bond between them deepened, forged in the crucible of adversity.

But as they stood amidst the aftermath of their actions, a sense of uncertainty lingered in the air. The future remains uncertain, and the threat of the Sentinels still loomed large. Yet, for the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope – a hope that with Y/N by his side, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Logan's consciousness shifted back to the future, his senses reeled from the disorienting transition. The world around him was a blur of chaos and destruction, the aftermath of the battle against the Sentinels evident in the smoldering ruins that surrounded him. But amidst the devastation, one sight stood out like a beacon of light in the darkness.

There, among the ragged survivors, stood Y/N – her presence a ray of hope amidst the despair. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Logan's gaze locked onto her familiar form, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

Without hesitation, he moved towards her, his steps fueled by an overwhelming urge to reach her side. As he drew closer, their eyes met, and in that instant, a flood of emotions washed over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs.

Unable to resist any longer, Logan closed the distance between them in a single stride, his arms enveloping Y/N in a tight embrace. It was a gesture born from the depths of his soul, a silent vow to never let her go again.

In that poignant moment, as Logan's arms enveloped Y/N in a tight embrace amidst the wreckage of their war-torn world, a whirlwind of emotions stirred within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

First and foremost was an overwhelming sense of relief – relief that Y/N was alive and standing before him, a beacon of hope amidst the devastation. The mere sight of her, her presence a comforting reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged, filled his heart with a profound sense of gratitude.

But alongside relief, there was also a deep-seated longing – a longing for the lost time, for the moments they had shared before the world had descended into chaos. Seeing Y/N again awakened a flood of memories, memories of laughter and camaraderie, of unspoken connections and shared moments that now felt like distant echoes in the wake of tragedy.

Mixed with longing was a potent undercurrent of regret – regret for the pain and suffering they had endured, for the lives lost and the futures stolen. Logan couldn't help but wonder if there was more he could have done, if he could have somehow prevented the devastation that had torn them apart.

Yet, amidst the tumult of emotions, there was also a fierce determination – a determination to protect Y/N at all costs, to ensure that she would never again face the horrors of war alone. In that moment, as he held her close, Logan made a silent vow to do whatever it took to keep her safe, to carve out a future where they could finally find peace.

And underlying it all was a profound sense of love – a love that transcended time and space, a love that had endured despite the odds. In Y/N's arms, Logan found solace amidst the chaos, a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.

After the embrace had ended, Logan held onto Y/N's hands tightly, his gaze locking with hers with a newfound intensity. In that moment, the weight of his unspoken emotions pressed heavily upon him, urging him to finally lay bare the truth that had long been buried within his heart.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "I… I need you to know something. I've been a fool, blind to what's been right in front of me all along."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her heart fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She waited with bated breath as Logan continued, his words carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of regrets.

"I love you, Y/N," Logan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with an undeniable sincerity. "I've loved you for longer than I care to admit, but I was too damn stubborn to see it. I let my fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and for that, I'm sorry."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes at Logan's confession, her heart swelling with a rush of emotions she could hardly comprehend. In that moment, the walls she had built around her heart crumbled, leaving her vulnerable but unafraid.

"Logan," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "I love you too. I've loved you for as long as I can remember, but I was too afraid to say it. Too afraid of what it might mean, of what we might lose."

Their hands tightened around each other's, a silent vow passing between them. In that shared moment of vulnerability, Logan and Y/N laid bare their hearts, their love for each other a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness.

And as they stood together, tears mingling with smiles, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as they were together, they would face them with unwavering courage and unyielding love. For in each other's arms, they had found a home – a sanctuary amidst the chaos, where their love could flourish and grow stronger with each passing day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

again, i'm so sorry it took me so long!!! this term has been so exhausting :,(

i really hope you guys liked the final part!! i hadn't meant to make it this long but i got a little carried away lol. i know it's not fully canon to the movies, sorry bout that.

[vampwritesstuff]

Edge of The Blade Chapter 4

Genre: prince!ateez x fem!assassin!reader, royalty au, non idol au, fluff, angst, slow burn, poly!teez

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter warnings: death, murder, attempted assassination, injuries, detailed gore/violence. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Synopsis: After a series of assassination attempts on the king's sons, the kingdom is on edge. Y/n arrives at the palace as the protector no one expected, with unparalleled combat skills and a keen mind. Her arrival brings intrigue, admiration, and confusion to the princes. Each brother is drawn to her in his own way, forming unique connections that bring a new sense of unity to them all. As they work together to unravel the mystery behind the attempts on their lives, Y/n becomes both a protector and a secret weakness for the princes—making them stronger and more vulnerable than ever.

A/n: Hi, my dear readers, unfortunately since the election results, I have been experiencing a huge amount of grief and mourning, as well as fear, for my rights as a woman in America. Truly, I apologize if this chapter is not what it could be, and I just ask that you all will be patient with me as I'm feeling isolated and extremely discouraged since my entire family voted against me. But I do hope you all like this chapter, thank you! Enjoy! Not proofread.

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A week had passed since Y/n began her role as the protector of the princes, and with each day, the castle had become a second home to her. The towering stone walls echoed with laughter and camaraderie, but beneath the surface of daily life lay a constant tension— a feeling she couldn’t shake. It nestled deep in her gut, a warning that whispered of impending danger. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts; they had kept her alive through countless encounters, and this time would be no different.

Y/n shadowed the princes through their daily duties, each one more vibrant and charismatic than the last. Hongjoong, with his admirable confidence, led with a charisma that drew people to him. Seonghwa was the more calm and calculating one, his sharp mind always considering the implications of their actions. Yunho was the gentle mediator, while Yeosang and San brought energy and lightheartedness to the group. Mingi and Wooyoung's banter was infectious, and Jongho remained the steady protector of his brothers.

But as they navigated their royal obligations, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like everything had been going too smooth. The princes, unaware of her lurking anxiousness, engaged in friendly competitions and playful debates, but she remained vigilant, her eyes scanning the surroundings, always alert for signs of trouble.

The day passed in a blur of meetings and laughter, but Y/n’s unease grew as night descended. After dinner, she returned to her quarters, pouring over plans to fortify the palace’s defenses. She studied the maps, noting the weak points in the castle’s layout—those areas where shadows lingered too long, where escape routes were not clearly marked. 

The library would be a vital place to secure; it was a hub of knowledge and strategy. She jotted down ideas, her mind racing as she considered various threats. Just as she finalized her notes, a distant commotion broke the serene atmosphere of the castle.

Her heart dropped. The feeling in her gut intensified, urging her to act. Y/n grabbed her dagger, not wasting time strapping it to her side and rushing out of her room, her senses heightened and her heart racing with adrenaline. Her grip on the hilt of her blade turned her knuckles white.

As Y/n sprinted through the dimly lit hallways, she could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and discussion from the library. The princes had chosen to stay up late, discussing matters of the castle and how their day had gone.

Bursting into the library, Y/n was met with an unexpected sight— Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho were gathered around a table piled high with books, Mingi and Wooyoung were on the floor, seemingly tussling with each other as San and Yunho cheered them on as the other four watched, well except Yeosang who had his nose in a book. The atmosphere shifted instantly as Y/n’s arrival interrupted their fun.

“Is everything alright? I heard a commotion.” she demanded, her voice sharp and authoritative as she stalked closer, vigilantly checking the library, startling the princes who had just been messing around with each other. No danger in sight.

Seonghwa glanced up, confusion clouding his features. “We were just talking and messing around, Viper. We—”

But before he could finish, the air in the room shifted, a chilling presence that sent shivers down Y/n’s spine. A sudden, loud crash echoed through the library, and the heavy wooden doors burst open, revealing a group of masked assailants, each one brandishing weapons that gleamed menacingly in the flickering candlelight. It seemed that there were around ten of them, but Y/n couldn’t be sure if there were anymore that were waiting to show themselves and attack.

“Get down!” Y/n shouted, instinctively pushing Seonghwa and the others to the floor as she drew her dagger, her heart pounding in her chest.

The attack was swift and brutal. The intruders moved like shadows, their faces obscured, their intentions clear. Y/n fought against the rising tide of panic, focusing on the immediate danger before her. 

With one powerful thrust, she plunged her dagger into the chest of the nearest attacker, the blade slicing through flesh with a sickening squelch. He fell to the ground, eyes wide in shock, as she spun to face another assailant. 

“Stay close!” Y/n shouted to the princes, her voice cutting through the chaos. “We need to regroup!” Y/n didn’t want them to get involved in the fight, however she was far too outnumbered to be able to take them all on by herself. She would have to trust the small bits and pieces she taught them during training would stick and that they’d use it.

The room erupted in chaos as the princes scrambled to their feet, instinctively grabbing nearby objects to defend themselves. Mingi and Wooyoung teamed up, their playful banter from earlier replaced by a fierce determination to protect their brothers. They fought with raw energy, dodging strikes and countering with their own, but the masked attackers were relentless.

Y/n ducked beneath a swinging sword, narrowly avoiding a blow aimed at her head. She retaliated with a swift kick to the man’s stomach, sending the attacker stumbling backward. Just as she gained the upper hand, another assailant lunged at her from the side, a wicked knife glinting in the dim light.

In a split second, she reacted, disarming him with a fluid motion and driving her dagger into his side, twisting the blade as blood poured out onto her hand and the library floor, spraying her clothes with the thick crimson. The man gasped, a sound that echoed in the library before he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

Y/n fought her way toward the princes, her heart racing as she checked on each of them. Seonghwa was holding his own against two attackers, his movements precise and calculated. Yunho struggled to fend off another assailant who was much bulkier than him, and Y/n rushed to his side, dispatching the enemy with a swift slice of her dagger across his neck from behind, the blood that rushed from the wound soaking Yunho’s clothes. Y/n would have felt bad about ruining his clothes if she weren’t moving onto her next target.

“Stay together!” she urged, glancing over her shoulder to see San and Yeosang battling their own attackers. 

With her instincts guiding her, Y/n moved fluidly through the chaos, dispatching attackers one by one. She felt a surge of adrenaline, a primal instinct to protect those whose lives she had been charged with. Each life she took felt justified in the heat of the moment, but a part of her grimaced at the violence. Despite all the years of bloodshed she had caused, every drop she had spilled, she had never truly delighted in the feeling of the red liquid.

As she turned to assist Hongjoong, she saw him pinned against a wall by two attackers. Immediate anger and worry surged through her as she charged forward, a pang of fear shooting through her chest,Y/n tackled one of the men to the ground, taking down the assailant as she plunged her dagger into his skull. Hongjoong’s eyes met hers, gratitude mingling within them as well as the fear of the situation.

“Thank you!” he called out, determination and gratefulness etched across his features.

“Keep fighting, don’t thank me yet!” she shouted back, her voice firm. The fight still was not over.

The battle raged on, each moment stretching into what felt like an eternity. The library was filled with the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of effort, the scent of blood mingling with the musty aroma of old books, the smell nearly made her want to throw up just as much as the thought of a place she considered a sanctuary being tainted by the violence did. Y/n felt her muscles burning as she ducked, rolled, and struck, each movement honed by years of training and experience.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her side— a dagger had sliced through her side and she could feel blood soak through the fabric and trail down her side. She gritted her teeth, refusing to allow the pain to distract her. The world around her became a blur of motion, and she continued to fight, her dagger a flash of silver against the dark fabric of the attackers’ cloaks.

Jongho was grappling with one of the attackers, his strength evident as he wrestled for control. Y/n moved in to help, delivering a swift kick that sent the assailant crashing into the shelves, books tumbling down like rain. The intruder groaned, incapacitated. She left Jongho to deal with him.

“Watch your back!” Y/n shouted, keeping her gaze scanning the room. 

In the midst of all the chaos, she spotted Seonghwa fighting fiercely, his eyes narrowed with focus. Just then, another attacker lunged at him from behind, and Y/n’s instincts flared. She sprinted toward him, adrenaline surging through her veins as she lunged forward and into action.

“Your Highness!” she cried out, desperation lacing her voice as she pulled his attention towards her.

With a swift motion, she threw her dagger, the blade spinning through the air and embedding itself in the assailant’s chest, causing him to stumble back, dropping his weapon. He fell to the ground, lifeless, just as Y/n reached Seonghwa.

“Are you alright?” she panted, her heart racing.

Seonghwa nodded, but the fear in his eyes was palpable. “I— I think so. But we need to get everyone out of here!”

With renewed determination, Y/n and the princes fought together, each movement synchronized as they formed a protective circle around one another. The attackers began to fall, one by one, but the fight was far from over.

“Where are the guards?” Hongjoong shouted, frustration lacing his voice as he parried a blow.

“Most likely trying to reach us,” Y/n replied, her voice steady despite the chaos. “We need to hold on until they arrive.”

Just as hope began to flicker, a loud crash echoed from the entrance of the library. A group of guards burst in, weapons drawn, their presence a welcome sight. 

“Protect the princes!” Captain Chan barked, moving with a purpose as he now worked to ensure the princes’ safety as well.

Y/n felt a surge of relief as the guards joined the fight, quickly dispatching the remaining attackers. But as the dust began to settle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come. 

One of the masked assailants, larger than the rest, stepped forward. He was unlike the others— more composed, more menacing. His eyes glinted with a cold malice, and he wielded a sword with deadly precision.

“Step aside, boys,” he taunted, his voice low and dripping with menace. “Let me show you how a real fighter handles this.”

Y/n felt a chill wash over her as she locked eyes with the leader of the attackers. This man was not just a common criminal; he was a threat that demanded her full attention. 

“We’ll take you together!” Mingi shouted, positioning himself alongside Y/n and the princes, ready for a fight.

“No,” Y/n interjected, her voice firm. “This one’s mine.”

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asked, concern flashing across his face.

“I can handle him,” she assured, her eyes never leaving the leader, she couldn’t risk any of the princes getting hurt. 

With that, Y/n stepped forward, her dagger gripped tightly in her hand. The leader smirked, a challenge igniting in his eyes. 

“Just you? How quaint.” 

With a sudden surge, he lunged at her, sword slicing through the air. Y/n dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade, her heart pounding in her chest as she heard several gasps come from behind her, presumably the princes who watched with bated breath. She retaliated with a swift strike, aiming for his midsection, but he blocked her with ease, the clash of metal ringing out.

“Is this all you’ve got, little girl?” he taunted, pushing her back. 

Y/n’s blood boiled at his arrogance. She was not just a mere assassin; she was a guardian— a protector, but also one of Erelia’s most skilled assassins. Channeling her anger, she lunged again, this time feinting to the left before quickly spinning to the right. The movement caught him off guard, and she managed to land a solid hit on his side, causing him to stagger.

But the leader quickly regained his footing, a snarl twisting his features. He swung his sword  again, and Y/n barely managed to duck, feeling the rush of air as the blade missed her by inches. 

“Impressive,” he sneered, “but not enough.”

The room erupted into chaos once more as the guards engaged with the remaining attackers, but Y/n’s focus remained on the leader. She could sense the shift in the air, the tension building to a breaking point.

With every exchange, Y/n felt her strength waning. She was agile and skilled, but the leader’s experience was evident. He fought with a ferocity that nearly pushed her to her limits, each blow forcing her to dig deeper within herself.

“I’ve seen your type before,” he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Always thinking you can protect them. But they’re just princes— nothing but pawns in a game they don’t understand.”

Fury ignited within Y/n, a flame that burned hotter than before. “You don’t know anything about them,” she spat, launching herself at him once more.

Their weapons clashed, the sound echoing through the library as they fought for dominance. She could hear the distant sounds of the remaining assailants being overwhelmed by the guards, but she had to finish this fight herself.

With a burst of adrenaline, Y/n found an opening. She sidestepped his thrust and lunged forward, driving her dagger deep into his shoulder. He howled in pain, staggering back as she pressed her advantage.

The leader’s expression shifted from arrogance to disbelief. He looked at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You—”

Before he could finish, Y/n followed through, twisting the dagger to create more damage. With a final thrust, she buried the blade into his chest, a decisive blow that ended the fight. The man crumpled to the ground, his breath escaping in a harsh gasp.

With the leader defeated, the remaining assailants faltered, their resolve crumbling. The guards quickly moved to subdue them and dragged the ones who hadn’t been killed to the dungeon where she was sure Chan would not be forgiving in his questioning, and the library fell silent, save for the ragged breaths of the princes and Y/n.

As Y/n stood there, panting and bloodied, the adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by a deep weariness. She felt the weight of the night pressing down on her, the enormity of what had just happened sinking in. Taking in the sight of the library that now looked like someone had rampaged through it, tables were overturned, stools and chairs laid on their side with cracked wood and books, now with blood stained pages, lay on the ground as the shelves that held them were broken and knocked over.

It was then that she felt Seonghwa’s presence beside her. “Viper, are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” she replied, but the sharp pain in her side reminded her otherwise, she placed a hand over the wound.

“Fine? You’re bleeding!” Seonghwa exclaimed, his worry palpable.

“I said I’m fine!” Y/n snapped, but the pain was becoming harder to ignore. 

“You’re not fine,” he insisted. “You need to be treated. Please.”

As the guards began to secure the area and assist the injured, Y/n relented. She could see the sincerity in Seonghwa’s eyes, and despite her instincts to brush off her injuries, she knew he was right.

“Okay,” she murmured, allowing him to lead her away from the chaos of the library and toward the palace’s infirmary. 

—

The journey to the infirmary was quiet, the weight of the evening’s events hanging heavily in the air. Y/n focused on her breathing, trying to steady her racing heart. 

Once they reached the infirmary, Seonghwa pushed open the door and guided her to a bed. “Sit,” he ordered gently, his voice filled with authority. 

Y/n complied, wincing as she settled down. Seonghwa rushed to gather supplies, his movements quick and purposeful. As he returned, he began to clean her wounds, the sting of the antiseptic making her flinch.

“Viper,” he started, his voice low. “What you did back there… It was incredible. You saved all of us.”

She met his gaze, her heart fluttering at his sincerity. “I just did what I was hired to do, your Highness.”

“Seonghwa, to you. And you did more than that,” he insisted, applying a fresh bandage to her side. The way he told her to call him by name caught her very off guard and she looked at him in shock. “You’re not just a protector; you’re one of us now. You saved my life.”

Y/n felt her breath catch in her throat. “I appreciate that, Seonghwa, but I’m an assassin, not some—”

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, his tone earnest. “What matters is who you are now. You risked your life for us, and that means something.”

His words struck a chord deep within her, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you, Seonghwa. I’m just glad I was there in time.”

As he finished tending to her wounds, Seonghwa’s hand lingered on hers, a moment of connection that felt profound amidst the chaos of the night. 

“I want you to know,” he said quietly, “that we trust you now. I trust you.”

Warmth pricked at Y/n’s chest, a wave of gratitude flooding through her.

“Y/n.”

A look of confusion washed over Seonghwa’s features before realization. She had just told him her name, not an alias, but her true birth name. Seonghwa couldn’t explain the feeling that spread through his body at that moment, to know that she trusted him enough to be the first to know such information. She had been heavily guarded when she arrived at the castle and honestly, Seonghwa didn’t think they would get anywhere close to breaking down the walls she had built around herself. There had been a shift in the dynamic between the assassin and eldest prince, and Seonghwa could only hope that it would continue to change for the better. For everyone’s sake. For Y/n’s sake, as well.

For now, Seonghwa would keep her name to himself, just between them.

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Taglist: @kaitlinrsmall96 @shotaswife @paralumanniluna @janetsarttrove @boredlol914 

[strawbeerossi]

Warmth

Pairing: Gn!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Description: When you end up leaving your winter clothes at home before leaving for a case in Alaska, you’re convinced you’re gonna freeze to death. Thank god for Aaron.

Content Warnings/Other: Course language, case matter (nothing specific), tooth rotting fluff, mutual pining, little bit of awkwardness, a nice cuddle session in the end for the ole razzle dazzle

Word Count: 1.7K

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Fulfilling a request for my beloved @cr1minalskies, I hope you enjoy sweetie. 💐 I did change a few things up, however I still think I captured what you were looking for!

A/N: Also it’s my first gender neutral fic! I’m gonna try and do more Gn!reader and male!reader fics as well to branch out from my typical fem!reader

PS: This wasn't proofread, I just let my heart guide my fingers in writing this. Sorry if it's rough

How did you manage to forget a jacket? You knew that you were going to Alaska for a case and you knew damn well that the weather conditions would call for temperatures cold enough to turn you into an ice pop. It should’ve been something that was triple checked for; a jacket, a beanie, a sweater, a scarf, mittens, anything to combat the freezing temps.

Instead, here you were, arms pulled into your shirt as your bare arms were hugging your torso, trying to use your own body heat to bring warmth to your limbs.

Aaron had quizzed you on what you packed in your go-bag the previous night when you were being called in to go over the case at hand. You were confident to say that you were all set and packed enough warm garments to keep you toasty for a month straight.

What a big liar you were. It wasn’t that you purposefully chose to be freezing to the point where you felt your fingers were going to fall off, you just managed to grab the wrong bag out of your closet.

You strived yourself on having one bag for warmer weather and one for colder weather that you claimed to have labeled and ready for any last minute cases. 

Weren’t you surprised when you pulled out a pair of shorts this morning, which ultimately led to you throwing every article of clothing out of their rightful spots in search of your sweater. 

The end was near, that was all you knew. This weather wasn’t easy, especially due to it being mid-December. There was fresh snow blanketing the grass, the impending snowfall giving a harsher chill to the air.

You always thought that you’d be taken out by an unsub in the line of duty, an honorable death that had meaning.. What cruel fate to know that it was going to end with you being a popsicle instead.

With a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you were currently standing in the middle of the police precinct. You fiercely denied any kind of jacket from your work colleagues, even if Derek was trying to force his coat on you to cease the incessant chattering of your teeth.

Last thing you needed was for them to be frozen just because they were hellbent on helping you. That would just leave plenty of guilt on your end.

Aaron had taken notice of you earlier in the day though, his eyes fixated on your chattering teeth, blue lips, and rosy cheeks. You were freezing, so bad that you were shaking in your boots and yet you kept refusing jackets, even Spencer’s purple scarf that he’d never share under any other circumstances.

He’d finally had enough though when your nose was almost as red as Rudolph’s. 

“As useful as you’d be navigating us through a winter storm,” Aaron began, a play on the old reindeer tale as he was taking off his puffer jacket and placing it on your shoulders. Unlike the others though, he held the coat in place while you tried fighting him on it.

“Please take it. I don’t need an agent in the hospital with pneumonia.” He stated in a simple tone. He may have had a hard exterior with a tough demeanor, however he wasn’t heartless and about to let anyone freeze.

However with the harsh cold outside, it was his turn to shiver. He knew he couldn’t go for a few days without a jacket, especially knowing this case could last days, maybe even a week because of how deep this damn lead was buried. 

So, he’d managed to slip away in the middle of the day, en route to one of the shops in town where he could get a jacket. However, this jacket was for himself. As much as he loved his thick jacket, he would have to admit that you looked much better in it. 

When he caught up to the team again, he acted as if nothing changed, even if you were paying attention to his new jacket, your heart dropping. You knew he’d end up freezing and here you were, selfishly wearing his jacket while he went out to buy a new one. 

You felt like an ass, your brain not being fair by not reminding you that Aaron forced the coat onto your shoulders and how he practically begged you to wear it in order to avoid you getting sick.

Later in the night, you were gonna make it a point to go talk to Aaron, to return the jacket and tell him that you’d reimburse him the money for the jacket he’d gotten. 

“Going to your boyfriend’s room, Y/N?” The words made you scoff, turning your head while making an obscene hand gesture at Derek. “Fuck off, man. I’m just going to return his jacket.” You huffed, unable to help the heat rising in your cheeks. 

He was your boss and one of your close friends, although you knew that some part of you yearned to see Aaron in a less professional setting and a more intimate one. There was a delusional part of you that assumed that he’d reciprocate those feelings, that he’d want to be with you and give his all to you. 

Vulnerability wasn’t easy for Aaron nor was it easy for you. The walls you both had up seemed impenetrable, even the toughest equipment not being able to knock them down.

That was what killed the hope of anything serious happening between you both. He was your boss anyway, you figured it’d be an HR nightmare in regards to filling out paperwork, fighting transfers, the lot of it.

After a brief knock against the hotel door, you let your hands hold the jacket close to your chest. Even in the hotel, it was freezing. You had on some sweat pants and a long sleeve shirt and yet you were still shaking, the socks on your feet not doing anything to shield your feet from the freezing tile floor. 

Why did it have to be Alaska? It could’ve been in Florida, or maybe even Texas. At least in those states, you wouldn’t be freezing to death. You’d opt for extreme heat to combat the chill.

You were being taken out of your thoughts as soon as you heard two locks clicking and the door opening. What was behind the door though had your eyes nearly bulging out of your sockets. This man was shirtless with pajama pants that hung low on his hips. 

“How haven’t you frozen to death yet?” You asked, dumbfounded. You were covered head to toe and you were freezing but this man didn’t have a shirt nor socks and he seemed comfortable.

“You’re being dramatic, Y/N. It isn’t bad inside the hotel at all.” He commented, the normal stoic expression being broken by a lopsided smile. “You wouldn’t find me like this outside though.” He chuckled, now stepping out of your way as an invitation to come into his room.

“What are you doing up? Not that I don’t mind talking to you, you just seemed exhausted.” 

“Well, I uh.. I wanted to return your jacket. I noticed you went out and bought a new one, it bothered me to know that I made you freeze while I was comfortable.”

The words had his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I offered you my jacket because it bothered me that you looked like you were locked in a meat locker. I’d say we are even, hmm?”

“Aaron,” You let out an exasperated sigh. “I just want to return it.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What?’

“You look better in it than me. I couldn’t wear it around the team again without them telling me that I don’t look near as good as you.” 

The words made your heart beat rapidly in your chest. He thought you looked good in his jacket?

“Y/N, I’m serious. Keep it. It fits you nicely and I know for a fact that you’ll be warm. I won’t have to worry about you not having anything warm either.” Aaron had offered a smile before watching as you hugged the jacket without realizing, looking like you were going to faint. 

“I don’t mean to be forward,” Those words made you feel like you were going to puke. “But I was just about to relax for the night. Wanna watch a movie with me?”

This was a dream. You’re dreaming. Aaron Hotchner asked you to spend time with him. One on one.

“Sure!” You said quickly while clearing your throat soon after. Smooth like crunchy peanut butter. “I mean, yeah. I would love to. I am freezing in my room anyway and yours seems warmer..” 

The black jacket was being placed on the nightstand in the room while you approached the bed to sit down, Aaron nodding as he was seated beside you. “I’m sure it’s because my room is warmer.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone while he leaned against the headboard, holding up the blanket for you. 

The minute that you were crawling beside him, you could already feel a warmth radiating from his bare skin. 

Suddenly, you weren’t shaking from the air anymore. Your cheeks were pink, your hands on your lap as you stayed put beside Aaron. This seemed asinine. You never pictured him being the type to ask for company on a whim. If you were honest, you always assumed he’d be asking people to leave him alone instead.

It seemed silly because you’d known him for years now, however it felt like meeting him all over again. You awkwardly sat, gaze on the small television that was on some random channel just to fill in the silence. 

“Y/N? You alright?” There was that concerned tone again. “I’m okay! Just.. Cold.” You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck, gaze falling on your close friend on the team as he was offering a small smile, his arm wrapping loosely around your shoulders. “Well, you can get a little closer, if you want. I really don’t mind. I’ve been told that I’m like a human furnace.”

Well, he was hot, kept you very warm, and he was able to make you comfortable. Maybe that really was the case. “You’re sure it’s not weird?” Although your body was already leaning against his, your head was unable to help itself as it rested against his shoulder.

“Not weird at all.”  

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

A03 coming soon..

personal break until 01/15/2025

Masterlists ⬇️

Between the Ropes Trilogy

In Between the Ropes, a secret love between Jey and Rhea slowly evolves from stolen glances and fleeting moments into a blazing passion that threatens to defy the rules of family and loyalty. As their connection deepens, their choices leave scars not only on their bodies but on their hearts. Amidst the scrutiny of the world around them, they find themselves caught in a love they can’t control, with consequences that reach far beyond their personal desires.

Between The Ropes Masterlist

In Sacrifices, Rhea and Jey are about to welcome a new life into the world, but the excitement of impending parenthood brings with it the resurfacing shadows of Rhea’s traumatic past. Old relationships, unresolved pain, and personal demons test their bond as they face pressures from all sides. Their love is put to the ultimate test as they must confront what it truly means to build a future together, but as Rhea’s history catches up to them, their path forward becomes uncertain.

Sacrifices Masterlist

The trilogy culminates in Checkmate, where tragedy strikes, leaving Jey to raise their son, Jeyson, alone. Grief-stricken and guilt-ridden, he isolates himself, consumed by the need to protect his son. Meanwhile, Rhea is forced to confront the consequences of her past decisions as she struggles to survive. Both face immense challenges—Jey with his guilt, and Rhea with her fight for redemption. In the end, the question remains: Will their love survive the ultimate test, or will everything they’ve fought for come crashing down, leaving nothing but regret and broken dreams?

Checkmate: is a chess move that makes it impossible for your opponent to win.

Checkmate Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature Content

Author’s Note: if you are having difficulty with the timeline, a thorough broken down timeline is Sacrfices Chapter 19: You lied pt. 2.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and storylines depicted in this fanfiction are purely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by WWE, its performers, or any other entities related to professional wrestling. The characters are portrayed in a fictional manner and are not representative of the real-life individuals. This fanfiction is told in a non-linear narrative style, with some events presented out of chronological order. Flashbacks, present-day scenes, and future events are woven together to give a deeper understanding of the characters and their journey. Please keep this in mind as you read, as timelines may shift to enhance the emotional and thematic storytelling.

Across The Ropes… a Zilla Fatu x OC Fic.

Across The Ropes follows Zilla Fatu, a 25-year-old aspiring WWE wrestler, haunted by the legacy of his late father's addiction and death. When he meets Dahlia Martinez, a 20-year-old college student with her own painful past, their connection sparks an unexpected emotional and physical bond. Dahlia, a ward of the state who lost her mother to an overdose, struggles with trust and vulnerability. As they spend more time together, they navigate their shared trauma, facing moments of intimacy, miscommunication, and fear of attachment. Their journey explores love, healing, and the challenges of overcoming their pasts to build something real. Can Zilla and Dahlia find a way to embrace their flaws and heal together, or will their scars keep them apart?

This is set in the Between the Ropes universe with mentions of characters from that trilogy.

Across The Ropes Masterlist

Possession: a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley x Jimmy Uso fanfic.

Plot: When Jey Uso is sidelined by a severe injury, his girlfriend Rhea Ripley is paired with his twin brother, Jimmy, to compete as a team. Their growing in-ring chemistry soon extends outside the ring, complicating relationships as Jimmy’s professional admiration turns into an unhealthy obsession. WWE capitalizes on their dynamic for a storyline, fueling Jimmy’s possessiveness and straining Rhea’s bond with Jey. Caught between the brothers and the pressures of WWE’s narrative, Rhea faces tough choices that blur the line between fiction and reality, threatening her relationship and career. Will Jey and Rhea’s connection survive the chaos?

This is told in an alternative Wrestling Universe with some elements that have happened incorporated..

Possession Masterlist

Power: a Bloodline x Rhea Ripley.

Plot: Demi Bennett is caught in a complex and dark dynamic with a group of powerful men—Jonathan, Joe, Joseph, and Joshua—each exerting different forms of control and influence over her. As the tension between them escalates, Demi is pushed to her emotional and physical limits, struggling to reconcile the pain, vulnerability, and occasional tenderness that exists within the power dynamics. As she endures the intense experiences thrust upon her, Demi must navigate her own desires, fears, and a growing conflict over whether to continue down this dangerous path or attempt to escape the grip of those who dominate her life.

A/N This fic was taken down after excessive bullying but after a break and some helpful contributors it is back.

This story falls into the dark romance genre and includes non con/reluctance themes that may be triggering and unsuitable for some readers. This is a work of fiction and I in no way advocate for this type of thing in real life. All characters are operating under the PRICK acronym, Personal responsibility in consensual kink. If this is not for you please keep scrolling.

Power Masterlist

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Part One

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 3424

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, brief depictions of murder, angst, anxiety, fight or flight emotions.

A/N: It's here!! I am insanely proud of this story and all the work I've done on it. It wouldn't be anything like it is without the help of some good friends. A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way! And @joshsindigostreak for always hearing me out when I text her saying 'i have an idea 👀' and always playing dialogue off with me. Love you both so much!

You had always disliked riding in carriages, the juddering and shaking motions of them as they traveled down worn paths between villages, towns and cities always making you feel ill. Today was no exception. You were currently on day three of a two week trip across the country, and a soft rain had fallen in the early morning, ensuring muddy tracks and sinking holes along your path. You rested your head against the wall next to your seat, closing your eyes and wishing sleep would take you. Perhaps death would even be better than the pounding in your head. 

“I imagine you’ll have much finer carriages after you marry the prince, my lady.” your handmaid smiled, trying to ease your discomfort. “I hear he has one that’s lined with fur.” What a comfort that would be on such a cold journey. The foot warmer between your feet had already begun to grow cold, the embers refusing to be stoked with life again in the late fall air. 

“That would be something to see, Marta.”  the handmaid’s eyes glittered at your response. She was young, only a few years younger than yourself, and the niece of the maid that had helped take care of you most of your childhood. Though there should have been a stronger boundary between lady and servant, you had found a form of friendship in her, though it was stiff and formal. 

“And imagine all the beautiful gowns and jewels, I cannot wait to help you dress for royal banquets.” Marta slipped into a diatribe about how the balls your family had held would pale in comparison to the ones the royal family had, how glittering you would look in the crown jewels. The unease in your stomach grew. Your parents had worked out a strenuous match between you and the sovereign prince of Farrynden. It was an effort you had no part in, nor wanted. Unfortunately, you had no say in the matter, and after exchanging a few letters back and forth, you were summoned to travel across the country and marry the prince. 

It was just you, Marta, and two coachmen making the journey. Your family was well-off for the most part, but could not afford for all to travel to the nuptials. Their presence would not have been a comfort anyway. Your father was too proud of the match he had secured for you, and your mother was far too happy to lose you and gain a title in court. You wished for your older brother, though he had been long gone at this point, to try and talk sense into father. He might have listened to protests coming from him. 

The carriage jostled roughly, making you place a hand over your mouth and groan, preparing for the back wheels to follow suit, however, the carriage was stopped. Sharing a confused look with Marta, you glanced out the window. You were surrounded by woods, the path cutting through a dense, large forest. The confusion set in further until you heard the horses whining, the coachmen shouting. Moving back from the glass you glanced at Marta, who met your wide eyes with her own. 

The door was ripped open by the same large, grimy hands now reaching into the carriage. Your shriek matched Marta’s, both of you pushing away from that side of the carriage as much as you could. You cursed the large foot warmer, it’s bulk making it difficult to move. Marta’s wrist was taken by one of the hands, it pulled her harshly, yanking her screaming figure from the carriage. Another set of hands entered the carriage, grasping at the hem of your dress, your ankles. Kicking you tried to fight them off, but only succeeded in the assailant grasping your ankle and tugging you closer before grabbing your arms. 

You fought against the hands that held you steady, twisting and turning your body, stomping your feet in the mud. Marta’s screams were flooding your ears, and as you looked around for help,  you could see why.

The two coachmen were dead, blood pooling around their bodies. One was lying face up, his throat slit, blood still pouring from the wound. The other was face down in, a dark stain on his light blue coat, the blood mixing with mud beneath him. 

Tears began to run down your face, the inevitability of your own death coming to light. You thrashed further as the man holding you gripped tighter, bringing you towards the front of the carriage. 

“Oi, make that one shut up!” the man’s voice was hard and gruff, sending fear shooting down your spine. He spoke to his accomplice, a younger, greasy looking man, his teeth dark as he grinned. 

Marta’s screams were silenced as your own sobs echoed out into the forest around you, unable to look away from the blade that dragged across her throat. You saw the light fade from her terrified eyes, the image burning itself into your memory. You would be next. Oh god, you would be next. 

With everything you had in you, you braced yourself as the man holding you turned you in his grasp. 

“What a pretty little thing you are.” he smirked, his breath blowing across your face, pungent and sickening. “Maybe we should keep you, have some fun.”

“Lookie here,” the younger man caught both of your attention. One of your trunks was opened, and with his soiled blade he lifted up a nightdress. “She could be our little dolly, dress her up and strip her down.” Bile rose in your throat, and the next thing you knew, you had wrenched your head back, and brought it forward, cracking it against your captor. 

The man dropped you, startled from the impact and you slipped in the mud as you realized your chance to escape. Gathering up your skirts as shooting pain rippled through your skull, you bolted, dashing for the forest. You could hear both the men behind you, shouting and giving chase as you hastened through the dead leaves and twigs on the ground. 

Your lungs were burning with every breath you could take. You cursed the corset you’d been laced up in, knowing you could run faster without its hindrance. Not daring to check behind you, you kept going, not caring if you could hear them or not. Stumbling, you cursed, getting back up, though your legs were screaming at you. Cold tears whipped down your cheeks and from your eyes, the image of the coachmen and Marta flashing every time you thought about stopping. 

Time had escaped you. You knew that at some point you felt a soft flurry of early snow, but didn’t know how long you’d been running. The forest was thicker here, and you began to slow down. It was quiet now, and you glanced around. There was no sign or sound of the men following you any longer. You still kept a quick pace, checking for them behind every tree and branch. Watching over your shoulder, you pressed forward, stumbling but continuing to go. 

“Stop! Stop!!” you froze, whipping your head around to see a tall man standing a few yards from you, his hands thrust out in front of him, palms up. He didn’t look like the men that had chased you, he was clean, his dark, curly hair shining in the sun that broke through the trees. Fear still shot through your veins and you started to run, but he yelled again. “Stop! If you move you’ll step in a trap!” freezing again, you looked down. Right in your path, hidden under a few scattered leaves, was a metal contraption, meant for hunting large beasts and animals. You would have stepped right into it, maiming whichever foot landed in it. 

The man moved towards you, and you moved back. He took in your pale face, the only color your cheeks and nose tinged pink from cold and tears that were sliding down your cheeks. Your wide, scared eyes regarding him like a monster as he regarded you like a feral creature, scared and confused. 

With a breath, you bolted, darting off to your right before he could come closer. You would take your chances with any other traps, refusing to be held captive again. 

You had lost the sun, the trees looming overhead blocking out any of the sunset. You were staggering around, a painful stitch in your side mixing with hunger pangs. The headache you’d had earlier reappeared, and you slumped against a tree. The cold was creeping in, your sweat coated body chilling faster. 

The bark of the tree scratched against your coat, small bits flaking off and catching on the wool. Surely death by cold and hunger was a better fate than what had been in store for you, whether earlier or with the prince. 

The shaking shivers that wracked your body wouldn’t cease as the sky grew darker. Nestling into the tree trunk as best you could, you let your eyes fall closed dreaming of the warm fire in your old bedchambers, and the cozy bed one a few feet away from it. 

The sound of twigs snapping jolted you from sleep. Your eyes looked around, but instead of a dark forest, you were in a small, homely cottage. The sound of twigs was not that exactly, it was larger pieces of chopped wood, crackling in the hearth. And instead of a tree trunk, you were nestled into a large, warm bed. Furs were laid over you, their warmth making you feel slightly delirious. 

Sitting up, you inspected yourself, raising the blankets. Your dress, though dirty, was still intact. The only thing removed had been your shoes, though long, thick wool socks had been put on you in their wake. Glancing around the interior, you saw few items in the small space. A stack of firewood next to the fireplace, a small kettle hanging over the fire. Two wooden chairs and a small table, seemingly handmade from the rough edges of the items. A rack with various pelts draped over it was in the corner, drying. 

Finding you were alone in the cottage, you peeled back the furs on top of you, placing your feet on the wooden floors, you moved to get up from the bed, just as the door opened. A large figure lumbered in, the door slamming shut behind them. They were cloaked in a large coat and hat, both made of dark fur. Scrambling back into the bed, you pulled the blankets over you, clutching them to your chest. Your heart rate spiked as the figure turned toward you, his eyes regarding you anxiously. 

“You’re awake,” he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You backed up, further in the bed when he stepped forward, pausing as he took in your move. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He watched as your hand shook, clutching the blanket, your eyes darting up and down his tall stature. Sighing softly, he reached up, his movement slow, and took off his hat, allowing his curls to bounce back to life. It was the young man from the forest earlier, that had stopped you from stepping in one of his traps. He put it on the small table, then unfastened his coat, lowering it from his shoulders and draping it over the back of his chair. Glancing at you, he put his hands on his hips. 

“My name is Daniel, by the way.” he paused, waiting for you to reply. When you didn’t, he glanced around the cottage. “This is my home. I found you in the woods while checking my traps. You were turning blue, so I brought you here. Have you been hurt?” This pause was met with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. “Good. Can you tell me why you were running in the woods like that?” Silence. Daniel sighed, watching your eyes cast down to the floor. 

Turning, Daniel moved away from you and to the fire, grabbing a small bowl from the mantle, and opening the lid on the kettle, stirring the stew inside with a ladle that had been hanging from a hook by the hearth. The smell of cooked meat and herbs met your nose, and your stomach growled loudly. Daniel chuckled under his breath and ladled some into the bowl, his own stomach softly rumbling as the aromas wafted up to him. Grabbing one of his few spoons from an old tin on the mantle he walked back over to you. 

He held out the bowl to you, raising his eyebrows, idly twirling the spoon between his fingers on his other hand. You looked from the bowl to him a few times, before shifting on the bed, letting the blankets go and reaching for it. Daniel pulled back slightly, making you gasp softly in surprise. 

“I’d rather not have rabbit stew spilled in my bed,” he explained. “Come sit at the table.” you hesitated, but Daniel moved back, setting the bowl down on the small table by the fire, and plopping the spoon gently in. He sat down on the other side, and waited. 

Feeling a spectacle, you slowly climbed from out of the covers, your feet on the hardwood floor again. The socks slid against the smooth wood as you stood, and you brushed down your skirts. Every step you took toward the table, and the man sitting there, was timid. You were afraid that he would pounce at any moment, finish the job of the other two bastards before him. 

Yet he sat still, his eyes wary but kind as you gripped the back of the chair, pulling it out somewhat before taking a seat. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as you tucked in closer to the table. Eyeing the stew, you spied chunks of lean rabbit, potato and carrot, a beetroot or two also mixed in. Your mouth watered, but what if he did something to it? What if this was all a trick?

Seemingly reading your mind, Daniel shook his head. 

“Go on, eat. I wouldn’t poison my own stew.” he rolled his eyes, but the gentle smile was still present. Still, you hesitated. Daniel moved, his chair scraping the wooden floor, making you jump in your seat. You braced yourself, ready to endure another headache if you had to headbutt your way to freedom again. 

Daniel only moved to the fire, taking another bowl from the mantle and ladling himself a serving, grabbing a spoon and sitting back down. He kept his eyes on you, dipping the spoon into the stew and bringing up a steaming spoonful. Blowing gently on it, he raised the spoon to his lips before taking the bite. He did this a few more times, you were sure the food was still too hot, evident by the wince he did on the last before he spoke. “See?” 

Your hand raised from your lap, grabbing the rustic spoon. It had been worn over the years, no polishing, showing slight grooves where fingers had held it. Yours fit snugly into those grooves, and you stirred the stew a bit, releasing more steam before taking a bite of your own. 

It was delicious. You had to hold yourself back from slurping and sloshing down the meal as your tongue was coated with savory warm broth. The meat was soft but a little stringy, but it was a fine supper. Daniel continued his own meal, the two of you eating in silence until he spoke again, half-chewed bite in his mouth. 

“Do you have a name?” glancing up, you nodded, and supplied it to him quietly. “Are you from around here?”

“Where is here?” you asked. 

“I take that as a no, then.” he sighed. “Here is my home, in Timberhill. Where did you come from?” 

“Indigwall.” you answered. Daniel let out a long, low whistle. 

“You’re a long ways away from home,” he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing all the way out here? And running through my hunting grounds?”

“I-I,” you stammered, trying to think of a lie. Just because this man seemed kind, didn’t mean he wouldn’t hold you ransom for money, from your father or the prince. As you glanced up to his eyes, you realized how soft they were. Amber flecks hiding in splashes of green mixed brown sparkled in the firelight. You could see no malice in his eyes, and suddenly the truth spilled from your lips. “I am betrothed to the prince of Ferryden. I was traveling to the castle for our wedding.” Daniel stared at you, mouth slightly agape as you continued. “This morning, our carriage was stopped, and these two men-“ you choked on a sob as the images of Marta and the coachmen flashed again in your mind. “They killed them, they killed Marta!” Tears spilled down your cheeks, and Daniel stood, going to a small hutch and rifling through it before coming back with a handkerchief. You accepted it, dabbing your eyes and wiping the tears away. 

“I am sorry,” Daniel murmured. “I understand why you were so afraid of me earlier. You do not need to speak of it, if you do not wish.” nodding you tried to compose yourself as he sat down across from you again. The silence fell between the two of you again, but this time there were fewer questions, fewer anxieties weighing on it. 

Picking up your spoon, your hand trembling after the images, you continued your meal, swallowing down the stew, your appetite still fighting your nerves. 

“I thought from your coat and dress, you must have been a lady of some sort.” Danny cleared his throat. “I have a few things I must do before I can take off, but in a day or so, we can start the journey to the next village, see if we can send word to your prince.”

You knew better than to protest. If your own parents didn’t listen to your pleas not to be shipped off, not to marry the prince, a stranger wouldn’t either. 

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” you gave him the best smile you could muster, feeling it barely raise the corners of your lips. “But I don’t have money to pay you. All of my things were in that carriage and with…them.” Daniel didn’t need you to elaborate on whether your belongings were stolen by the murdering bandits or left behind with the bodies laid across the path. 

“No need for formalities.” Daniel instead chose to break the ice further. “You can call me Danny. My friends call me that.” he had hoped the more casual nickname would help ease the tension of formality.

“Danny, then.” Nodding, you sat back in your chair, a little easier now that your belly was full and you knew the name of the man across from you. “How far are we from the next village?”

“That depends on the method of travel.” he answered. “Tomorrow after I check my traps, I’ll see about finding your carriage, and if the horses are still there, we can ride those and it would only be a few days. Without them, we’ll be on foot, and that could take about a week.” as he finished his sentence, a large yawn stretched your face. “Go on back to bed. You need to rest after all the running you did.”

“No, I can’t take your bed again,” you shook your head. 

“I insist.” Danny got up, walking over to an old, worn cloth that was strung in the corner of the large room. With a jump, he climbed up into it, swinging precariously with a smile. “See? I don’t mind sleeping here.” 

Rising from your seat, you moved to the bed, and took one of the furs from it. Folding it over your arms you walked over to him, smiling as you raised it up. One of his large hands reached down, grasping the soft material and pulled it into his hammock as he returned your smile. 

“Thank you Daniel-Danny,” you corrected. He merely nodded at you, fluffing out the blanket over his long body, settling in. As you crawled back into the bed, you pulled the blankets back over you, finding its warmth and your full belly already lulling you into sleep. 

“Goodnight, princess,”

“I am not yet a princess,” you mumbled, slightly offended by the unwanted title. 

“Goodnight, all the same.”

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

@joshsindigostreak @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @myownparadise96 @demonrat444 @dannyandthekiszkas @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @holdingup-fallingsky @gvfpal

@allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet @gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @infinisonicosm @indigofallingsky @hellowgoodbye @hearts-hunger @fwzco @dharma-divine33 @lightsofthe-living-gvf @ascendingtothestarsasone @klarxtr

@musicspeaks @mindastreamofcolours @imleavingyoufornewyork @dammm1256 @jordie-gvf @misshunnybee @valleydollgvf @brookes-so-done @age0fwagner @starcatcherxstevie @amethystars @jakesguitarsolo @lolidontknowwhat @lyndz2names @godly-sinsx @dannythedog @anthemheatwave @samomf @spark-my-nature @scorpiosunsammy @theindigostre4k @jjwasneverhere @couldbefalling @peaceloveunitygvf @wrldabomination @gretavfreaky @kakejiszkas @brujamagik @miradoralbumwhen

@mar-rein12 @laurynnnn125 @maddie-rae @eraofstardustchords @musicislove3389 @starsinmyeyes00

[skylineheights-if]

DEMO TBA | CHARACTER INTROS | PLAYLISTS

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Romance, Action

Game Rating: 18+

Content Warnings: Optional sexual content, alcohol/smoking, death, blood/gore, religious themes, torture, talks of pregnancy/birth/breeding, mentions of SA and other forms of abuse, mentions of weapons, more to be added as it is written.

Returning to your mother's hometown for college was supposed to be a typical all-American experience. But as you settle into your new life in Skyline Heights, a cozy town in the Pacific North West, you soon stumble upon its hidden mysteries and begin to understand that your life never was, and never will be, typical. 

As you uncover the truth about the circumstances of your birth and your angelic father, you learn that you are one of a few demi-angels called nephilim, destined to play a crucial role in preventing an upcoming apocalypse. In order to understand your purpose, you embark on a quest to study a prophecy that holds both the key to your destiny and the fate of the world.

While navigating the complexities of college life, forming friendships, and experiencing budding romance, you also find yourself battling powerful demons that are hell-bent on stopping you and trying to decipher the prophecy. Amidst all the chaos, you must also focus on your academic responsibilities - maintaining your grades while confronting the darkness that threatens to consume the world is not going to be a walk in the park.

The choices you make will determine your alliances, unveil hidden truths, and unlock the full extent of your powers. Can you embrace your extraordinary destiny, unravel the mysterious prophecy, and stand against the forces of the apocalypse?

Customize your characters appearance and sexuality and mold their personality as you see fit.

Romance and/or befriend five characters with different personalities and backstories.

Unravel what the prophecy about you means, as well as learn more about your own past and the mysterious father that your mother refuses to speak of.

Work on controlling and strengthening your powers and discover all the things you can do.

Stop the impending apocalypse (while still trying to turn your homework in on time)

Harlowe Vega [ M ] Character Page

Confident, sarcastic, and the absolute definition of "bad boy." Harlowe was adopted as a baby and has a strained relationship with his family. As the oldest out of the group, Harlowe is the de facto leader of the nephilim, a role that he doesn't take lightly. While he may be cold at first, Harlowe is loyal and very protective of his loved ones.

Sarcastic - Protective - Confident

Florence Kade [ F ] Character Page

With a smile that rivals the sun and a knack for creating chaos wherever she goes, Florence is the first person that you'll meet while getting settled in at Moonvale University. Don't let her kindness fool you, though. Her tongue is sharp enough to cut through metal. A fact that Harlowe himself has been acquainted with, one too many times.

Kind - Candid - Outgoing

Eden Wright [ M ] Character Page

Quiet, studious, and kind to a fault, Eden is the son of the local librarian, George Wright. George, who just so happens to be your mother's childhood friend (and might be able to help you find out more about your father). Though Eden is in your year, you rarely see him around. The man seems to prefer to hang out in the library when he isn't working at the coffee shop on campus or training. Regardless of his soft exterior, Eden is more than capable of defending himself and others, which is why Harlowe has chosen him as his second-hand.

Reserved - Studious - Strong

Aena Ritz [ F ] Character Page

If there is one word to describe Aena, it's responsible. As a Criminal Justice major and self-proclaimed "mom friend", Aena makes it a point to keep everybody on track. That being said, she still knows how to let loose and often spends her Friday nights at the local club with Florence and a few classmates. Aena is hard working and slow to anger, but when her fuse is lit, it's smarter to run and hide.

Responsible - Honest - Respected

Alistaire Morrison [ M ] Character Page

Your enigmatic English professor who always seems to have dark circles under his eyes and a coffee mug glued to one hand. Alistaire is the newest of the faculty at Moonveld University, and by far the favorite professor among the students. Whether that's due to his (surprisingly) entertaining lectures or his physical looks, it's unclear. What is clear is that there is more to him than meets the eye, and you aren't sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Mysterious - Charming - Respected

Important tags: #shif ask - #shif cast - #shif aa: {character name} -- #shif nsfw

[promise-you-doie]

K. Jungwoo | Until Forever

The story follows a young woman, recently diagnosed with a terminal illness, who encounters a mysterious and alluring vampire named Jungwoo. Despite her fear and disbelief, she finds herself drawn to him, seeking solace and companionship in the face of her impending death. As their connection deepens, Jungwoo reveals his own centuries-long struggle with immortality and his desperate desire to end his own life. Together, they navigate the complexities of their unique circumstances, exploring themes of mortality, love, and the meaning of existence.

Jungwoo x Fem Reader (soulmates)

22k words

Fluff, Angst, Suggestive

Warnings: mention of suicide, blood, violence.

This is inspired by some of my favorite dramas: Doom at Your Service, A Korean Odyssey, and a teeny bit of Queen of Tears.

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The glowing red moon hangs low in the night sky.

 If you listened long enough, you could hear the forest creatures, their laughter of mockery. The owls, the crows, the bats, the crickets—they all laughed, their shrill cries piercing the air. If you weren't so hell-bent on getting away, you would've felt humiliated by their screeching laughter, a reminder of your vulnerability.

But your sole focus is on fleeing. You're oblivious to what or who you're running from until he materializes before you, a figure without a face. Your breath hitches, your feet freeze, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. You inch backward, your steps slow and deliberate, each movement a desperate attempt to escape his grasp.

"No, no, no. Please." You cry, but you don't bother screaming for help. You know no one will hear you, and if they do, they won't bother coming to your rescue.

Your pleas count for nothing. Each step you take back is a step the faceless man takes towards you. His aura is suffocating. You have no idea what he wants with you, but you know it's nothing short of evil.

And then, in a blink, he's gone, leaving you in a desolate void. The silence, so thick you could cut it with a knife, envelops you. Your isolation, like a heavy cloak, wraps around you, making you feel small and insignificant. You're left to your own devices, still treading, still hoping for a way out. "Where did you go?" You call foolishly into the dark night, feeling on edge since you couldn't see the man anymore.

That's when you back right into his arms, your body stiffening when you feel his breath on your neck. The realization of your impending doom, a heavy weight on your chest, hits you like a ton of bricks. It's too late to beg. He's not here to reason with you—you're well aware of that. Instead, you close your eyes and clench your fist, your heart pounding in your ears while you wait for the worst to happen. 

He takes his time pushing your hair out of the way with his long, slim, pale fingers. “I got you,” he says lowly into your ear before his lips graze over the skin of your neck. The smoothness of his lips is replaced by sharp fangs teasing at your skin. 

You suck your bottom lip in between your teeth, ready for the sting. However, moments pass, and nothing happens. Too afraid to move, you slowly open your eyes. 

The light of the red moon is replaced with the yellow sunshine peeking into your bedroom. Instead of screeching birds, you hear your alarm clock. You suck in a long deep breath before you reach to snooze the alarm. 

As you leap out of bed, you give yourself a quick slap to wake up. You begin your day just like every morning: first, you check the mirror to monitor your weight loss progress. Then, you brush your teeth, get dressed, and have breakfast.

You prefer your meals in silence, but today, you decide to watch the news. Clicking the TV on as you make your way to the kitchen and heat up dinner from two nights ago. 

You wait patiently for the microwave to beep; when it does, you take your food out and sit on the sofa directly in front of you. The television is still going when you take your first bite.

The case of the missing man who jumped out of an airplane three years ago is a tragic reminder of the importance of mental health aw-''

That's enough of that. 

With a quick click, the TV blinks off, leaving you with the soft hum of the microwave and the familiar, hollow quiet. You prefer it that way, the kind of silence you’ve been drawn to for as long as you can remember. Your parents had tried to coax you out of it when you were a kid, always encouraging you to make friends, to get out more. But some habits are hard to break.

You enjoyed solitude because of the silence that came with it. It always gave you plenty of time to think, which you could also argue was the same reason you hated being alone. But in those moments, there was a certain comfort, a peace that enveloped you.  

It protected you from the dangers of the unknown. Who knew what would happen if you were to let someone else in your life, to be with them one day and to miss them the next. You liked the solitude because it protected you from trauma and You had your fair share of trauma, although you wouldn't necessarily call it "fair." With everything that happened right before you even turned 18, you'd argue that it was anything but fair.

You thought the worst had already happened, but the voicemail your doctor left you yesterday afternoon makes you feel like you haven't even scratched the surface.

"Hello, Y/n, I've been trying to reach you, but I understand you're busy. The test results are in, and I think it's important for us to discuss them in person. How about meeting tomorrow at 2 pm?"

The doctor’s voice had been calm, professional, but you could hear it, that faint edge to his words that told you this was more than just a routine follow-up. You’re old enough to know they don’t ask you to come in person unless something’s really wrong.

“How’s your week been?”

Doctor Jeong’s voice is steady as he pulls out a chair, gesturing for you to sit. The gesture is routine, almost too casual for what feels like a moment drenched in unbearable anticipation. You take the offered seat, though your hands fidget in your lap, fingertips tapping a nervous rhythm against the fabric of your pants. You’ve been trying to convince yourself all day that this is nothing—just a follow-up, maybe some new medication—but the sinking feeling in your stomach betrays that fragile lie.

“Pretty slow,” you admit, your voice quieter than you expected, barely masking the nerves that coil tighter with each passing second. “Why did you call me here today?”

Doctor Jeong lets out a long, deliberate breath, the kind that carries the weight of difficult words before they're spoken. As he sits across from you, you study his face. The last time you saw him, he greeted you with a wide, dimpled smile—a face full of warmth and ease. But now, that warmth is gone. His eyes avoid yours, his smile faded into something distant and cold.

“There’s never an easy way to say this,” he mutters, his gaze flicking toward the floor, the walls—anywhere but you.

You feel it before the words even leave his mouth. A sudden tightness in your chest. The faintest tremble in your fingertips. The world seems to slow, as if holding its breath. You swallow thickly.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” The words come out flat, emotionless, though the sound of them hangs heavy in the sterile air between you. The shock registers somewhere in the back of your mind, but your voice sounds so calm, almost detached. You weren’t expecting to say it—didn’t even realize you were thinking it—but there it is, hanging between you like a dark cloud.

Doctor Jeong presses his lips into a thin line, his silence answering more than words ever could.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen this coming. Your health was never something you took seriously, and every bad habit you’d clung to rushes to the forefront of your mind: the sugary sodas, the endless nights spent awake staring at the ceiling, the way you avoided exercise like it was something foreign and impossible.

“How long?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper.

Doctor Jeong shifts in his seat, hesitating. “Well, it’s difficult to predict these kinds of things, but according to—”

You see his lips moving, but the sound seems to fade, as if someone has turned down the volume on the world. His words blur into nothing, lost in the growing numbness that creeps over you like a blanket you can’t push off. You don’t want to hear the details, not really. The exact number of days, weeks, months—it doesn’t matter. Deep down, part of you would rather not know. Maybe you’re not ready to face the specifics.

Ignorance, in this moment, feels like a comfort you’re not ready to give up.

You leave the office feeling distorted, like the world around you has blurred at the edges. The bustling chatter of the hospital swells, its noise swallowing your thoughts as you walk, one foot in front of the other. It’s automatic. You’re barely aware of the people moving past you, the hum of life around you continuing as if nothing monumental had just happened.

 You want to cry, you have every reason to. Life was just beginning for you; things were just getting a little easier, and in the same breath, it was also ending. 

Despite how heartbroken you feel, your eyes remain dry. Your world is crashing down on you and all you can do is accept it. There's no point in crying about it; it won't change anything. It won't bring your family back, and it won't save your life. 

You stop for a moment, closing your eyes, your hand sweeping your hair back from your face. A deep, trembling breath escapes your lips. You keep your eyes closed for a second, maybe two—but it’s all the time it takes for you to collide head-on into something solid. Someone.

You stumble backward, blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, barely coherent as you scramble away, your heart lurching in your chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The stranger you’ve bumped into towers over you, still as stone, his gaze locking onto yours. It freezes you in place, something about the intensity of his eyes stopping you from moving, from even thinking. For a heartbeat, the world narrows down to just the two of you.

You blink once.

And he’s gone.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look around wildly, but there’s no trace of him—no footsteps fading down the hall, no sign that anyone had been there at all. The doctor had mentioned hallucinations. Something about your test results, though you can’t remember the details. Hadn’t he said the word a few times?

This is going to get old really fast, you think bitterly, shaking your head as you push through the hospital doors and into the street.

“You’re late,” a voice snaps as soon as you step foot into the near-empty café.

“I’m sorry, I had…prior engagements.” The words spill from you without much thought as you stride into the back, your coworker’s irritated tone barely registering. You don’t even spare her a glance, which is unusual, but today, nothing feels normal.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t follow you or pester you like usual. She just rolls her eyes and goes back to her task, leaving you to let out a small sigh of relief as you toss your bag into the locker. You lean against the cold metal for a moment, willing yourself to focus, to snap out of this haze, before heading back out front.

Sliding behind the register, you force yourself to put on your work face. “Welcome to—” you start, but your voice falters when your eyes lock onto the man standing at the counter.

It’s him. The man from the hospital. The one you ran into.

Your coworker nudges your arm, breaking you out of your daze. “Sorry about her. She’s new,” she lies, covering for your sudden silence.

You blink hard, trying to collect yourself. 

She can see him too? 

You hesitate, then ask, “What can I get you this evening?”

The man doesn’t respond. Not a word. He simply slides a finger over the menu, his eyes never leaving yours as he makes his selection. The gesture sends a cold shiver down your spine. It’s unnerving, the way he just stands there, silent but present, too present.

Maybe he just has a speaking disability. 

Your brain scrambles to make sense of the situation, to rationalize what happened earlier and what’s happening now. But nothing explains the way your heart pounds in your chest or how everything feels slightly off-kilter.

“One small americano?” you confirm, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. The man just stares, his face blank and unreadable. “Can I get anything else for you?” you ask again, but there’s still no answer.

“Okay, your total is five dollars and five cents,” you say, forcing a smile.

You blink.

He’s gone.

Your breath stutters, and your pulse quickens. The sweat pooling in your palms tells you this isn’t just stress. That wasn’t a hallucination. It felt too real. Your eyes dart around the café, searching for him, but he’s vanished, just like before.

You turn frantically to your coworker. “You saw him too, right?” you whisper, your voice tight with desperation.

She frowns. “Saw who?”

“The customer. The one who was just here. You saw him… You spoke to him.”

Her confusion deepens, and she steps closer, eyeing you warily. “Are you on something?”

You freeze, the weight of her question sinking in. Maybe the hallucinations were worse than you’d thought. Maybe you were far more ill than the doctor had let on. A deep, unsettling fear begins to rise inside you, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

“I’m just joking,” you blurt out, forcing a strained smile. “I’m messing with you.”

Your coworker’s frown deepens, clearly unimpressed. “That’s not funny, Y/n. For a second, I thought I’d have to sedate you.”

You laugh, though it feels forced, hollow. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

But inside, your thoughts whirl in chaos. What just happened? And more importantly—what’s happening to you?

You release a long, exhausted sigh as you finally reach your apartment. Today has drained every last ounce of energy from your body, and all you want is to collapse onto the couch and disappear into sleep for the next decade. Everything—the diagnosis, the confusion, the eerie encounters—feels like a weight pressing down on you, and the silence of your apartment seems like the only refuge.

You toss your keys on the counter, already imagining the comfort of your worn-out sofa, when a sharp knock echoes through the hallway.

You freeze, the sound jarring in the stillness of your home. “I’m coming,” you mutter to yourself, more out of habit than anything else, as you drag your feet toward the door. You’re not expecting anyone. Maybe it's just a neighbor or a delivery at the wrong apartment.

Peering through the peephole, you see… nothing. The hallway is empty. For a moment, you feel your heart rate spike, your breath catching in your throat, but then you shake your head. Probably just some kids messing around, you reason, or maybe someone got the unit number mixed up. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You turn to head back to your sanctuary, but then—another knock.

This one is slower. Louder. The kind that crawls under your skin, demanding to be answered.

You hesitate this time, the weight of the day’s events pressing harder against your chest. Something feels wrong. But curiosity—or maybe something else—pulls you toward the door. Your hand trembles as you unlock it, and when you pull it open, your breath stumbles in your throat.

He’s there.

The same tall, pale figure you’d run into outside the hospital. The one whose presence felt too real to dismiss as a hallucination. His eyes are fixed on you, dark and unsettling, yet utterly emotionless.

A cold shiver races down your spine. The hundred questions running through your mind crash into one another, jumbling into chaos, but only one stumbles out from your lips.

 “What are you?”

“A vampire?” you repeat, sliding a cup of tea across the table toward the man whose name you learned was Jungwoo. It’s surreal, really—growing up, you’d always believed vampires were nothing more than bedtime stories, cautionary tales to keep children from wandering into the dark. But here he is, sitting in your living room, looking every bit the part. Pale skin, sharp fangs, and a presence that feels ancient.

Despite the strangeness of it all, you handed him tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like you’ve invited vampires over for drinks before. Maybe it’s because you’re already dealing with too much to feel the fear. Or maybe it’s because some part of you still can’t believe any of this is real.

“I usually get a different reaction,” Jungwoo says, a faint trace of amusement playing on his lips. “Most people either scream or run for the nearest stake.”

“Well, I figured tea would be more appropriate,” you murmur. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.”

Jungwoo raises an eyebrow at that, clearly intrigued. You, on the other hand, are still processing the fact that the man across from you—who, despite the calm demeanor, could drain you of blood in seconds—is sitting there sipping tea. His icy cold hands wrap around the mug, and you wonder how he feels warmth, if at all.

You hesitate before speaking again, a nervous laugh slipping through. “I still don’t believe you’re real… I mean, I know what you are, but how do I know I’m not just imagining all of this?” You flinch when Jungwoo reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. He guides your hand up to his cheek, letting you feel his icy skin, solid and unmistakably real.

A shiver races down your spine. "I'm not hallucinating,” you whisper, your voice shaky with both realization and disbelief.

“And yet, you’re still not afraid.” His tone shifts, a bit softer now, almost as though he’s genuinely curious about your lack of fear.

You pull your hand away, glancing down at the tea. “Why would I be? You haven’t given me a reason to be afraid.”

Jungwoo studies you, his dark eyes lingering on your face, searching for something he can’t quite place. In all his years—and there have been many—humans had reacted to him in predictable ways: fear, awe, or a twisted fascination with his kind. You’re different. Calm. Even kind.

“How come you aren’t trying to bite me?” you ask, breaking the silence. “Isn’t that why you’re here? For blood?”

“I can’t bite you,” Jungwoo admits, his voice dropping lower, almost like he’s revealing a secret. He looks at you, his gaze lingering longer than it should. There’s something about you—your scent, your presence—that’s unlike anyone he’s encountered. It’s intoxicating, but not in the usual way. The pull is there, but… something stops him.

You blink in confusion. “Why not?”

Jungwoo pauses, his eyes clouding with something you can’t quite read. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”

The conversation fades into the quiet hum of the apartment, the tension hanging in the air even as the night wears on. By the time you wake up the next morning, Jungwoo is long gone. If it weren’t for the two empty tea cups sitting on the coffee table, you might’ve convinced yourself it was all a dream.

But the cups are there. So was he.

You shake your head, not wanting to dwell too much on the bizarre events of the day before. There’s too much already on your plate, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t think about it—or about your diagnosis, or your inevitable death.

Routine helps. You go through the motions, brushing your teeth, checking your reflection in the mirror for any subtle changes. You wonder, Can people tell? Do I look like I’m dying? You sigh, knowing that most wouldn’t notice even if you had a visible wound. Your co-worker Yeri certainly wouldn’t.

You shake your head to rid yourself of unwanted thoughts. You had already promised yourself that you wouldn’t think of dying today. 

“You’re late,” Yeri snaps the moment you step into the café. You’re not, but that never stopped her before. The glass door swings shut behind you as you force yourself to mumble an apology, heading straight to the back room to store your things.

“If you keep this up, they’ll fire you,” she warns, following you like a shadow. Her voice grates on your already frayed nerves.

“I said I'm sorry, Yeri. It won’t happen again. I don’t know what else you want me to do?” You sigh. 

“I want you to do better. You come in everyday with a sad little frown looking like someone’s lost puppy and that’s if you’re on time which most of the time you aren’t.” She argues, “You act as if there’s nothing to smile about.”

You want to yell, “I’m dying.” but you don’t. You know it wouldn’t make a difference and the last thing you wanted was a pity party on a random tuesday morning. “How about I just take today off?” You force the words out, your voice strained but firm. “I don’t know if I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Yeri opens her mouth, probably to argue or insult you, but you don’t give her the chance. You’re already halfway out the door, leaving her stunned and speechless behind you.

The second you step into your apartment, the tension crashes over you, and you collapse onto your couch, burying your face in your hands. Everything is catching up to you—the diagnosis, the uncertainty, and the suffocating weight of what’s to come.

“Tough day?”

The voice startles you, and you look up to find Jungwoo sitting calmly across from you. There’s something oddly comforting about his sudden appearance, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to show up.

“You can teleport,” you say, not bothering to hide your exhaustion.

Jungwoo nods, a faint smile curling on his lips. "I can do a lot of things."

With a casual flick of his finger, the television hums to life, flipping through channels faster than you can follow. The room dims as a dark fantasy film begins to play. Before you can even react, another flick of his hand plunges the apartment into complete darkness. You stand frozen, breath catching in your throat, until, just as suddenly, the lights flicker back on.

You blink, not frightened, but intrigued—curiosity sparking like a flame inside you. "Can you turn into a bat?"

Jungwoo's expression remains flat, unimpressed. His brow arches slightly, as if you’ve just asked a child’s question. You shake your head at yourself, a bit embarrassed. "I guess not."

You frown thoughtfully, feeling the need to push him further. "What else can you do?"

Before he can respond, something flashes in the air—cold, metallic—a knife. It moves faster than your mind can comprehend, flying straight toward Jungwoo. Your breath hitches, and instinct takes over. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands flying up to shield your face, heart pounding in your chest.

A moment passes in silence.

"You can look now," Jungwoo's voice carries a teasing lilt, calm and steady.

Slowly, you peel your hands away from your face, peeking through your fingers. There, embedded deep in his chest, is the knife—its handle sticking out, the blade buried to the hilt. But there’s no blood. Not a drop. Jungwoo stands unfazed, even as he pulls the blade out with a soft metallic whisper, setting it down gently on the table in front of you. The knife gleams, spotless, as if untouched. Your reflection stares back at you through the silver of the blade.

“You can’t die," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Jungwoo smirks, his eyes flickering with something between amusement and exasperation. "You’re a smart one, aren’t you?"

Without thinking, you rise from your seat, stepping closer to him. Your gaze is locked on the spot where the knife had pierced him. Before you know it, your hand is hovering over his chest. You hesitate for a second, but then press your palm against him, right over where his heart should be.

“You really are a vampire.” The words come out softly, as if the reality is only now sinking in. The lack of a heartbeat beneath your hand feels surreal, and yet oddly comforting, in a way you can’t explain. It makes your mind wander.

“I can’t turn you.” Jungwoo’s voice breaks the silence. The words are sharp, deliberate.

Your hand snaps back as you look up at him, startled. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

“Because you just said it.”

“No, I didn’t." Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Can you hear my thoughts?"

“Vampires don’t read minds," Jungwoo replies dismissively. He’s gone in a blink, reappearing casually on your sofa, lounging as if he’s been there for hours.

The sight makes your head spin, but you steady yourself, forcing your mind to catch up. You turn to face him, still standing in the middle of the room. “Were you always a vampire?”

He shrugs, almost lazily, his eyes focused on something distant, as if remembering a past you can’t even begin to fathom. “I’m a half-breed. My dad was a vampire, my mom was human.”

That catches your interest, and you move to sit across from him. There’s something about him—his calm, his unshakable presence—that makes you feel strangely safe, despite everything. "What happened to them?" you ask, your voice softer now.

“My mom died when I was young. My dad loved her too much to live without her, so he had her stab him on her deathbed,” Jungwoo says with a grim edge, as if recounting something too far removed from the present to hurt anymore. "It’s just been me and my brother for the last two hundred years or so."

Your eyes widen. "You have a brother?"

“We don’t talk much these days.” The pale man helps himself to a fresh cup of tea with the wave of his finger. “What about you? Where’s your family?” 

You suck in a deep sigh, “They’re dead. My biological parents died right after I was born and my adopted parents died four years after they adopted me. I never had any siblings so I've been alone since I ran away from the orphanage at eighteen.” You press your lips together when you make eye contact with Jungwoo.

Jungwoo looks at you, his eyes softer now, the stoic mask he wore earlier replaced with something kinder. You feel your heart thud in your chest as the weight of your own words settles between you.

“But you know what that’s like, right? Being alone.” You shift the conversation, trying to divert the attention away from yourself.

“I do. I know it all too well.” Jungwoo places his teacup on the table with a soft clink, his gaze flicking away. When he looks back, his eyes have changed—where they were a warm, subtle brown before, now they’re black, endless. "But what can you do?" His voice is colder now, detached, but there’s something simmering underneath.

“What if I don’t want to be alone?” You say cautiously, “I’m dying soon and I don’t even have anyone to tell.” 

“You should be happy.” Jungwoo almost whispers, “You have a way out.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. You had two hundred years to see and learn everything you wanted.”

“I hope you don’t think my life was easy.” He chuckles, but it lacks humor. “I’ve seen years of hardship and doom.  Do you know what it feels like to watch everyone you love die and there’s nothing you can do about it?” His gaze pierces you, searching for understanding. “I may be a vampire but I still have a heart, even if it doesn’t beat.” 

“Do you know what it’s like to fend for yourself your entire life, and the second things get easier and you feel like you can start feeling hopeful for life. You find out that everything was for nothing.” Jungwoo remains quiet and you turn your head so he doesn’t see the tears threatening to fall. 

“How ironic, a mortal human who wants to live and a vampire who wants to die” You muttered. 

Yeri remained silent when you walked into the cafe, aside from the judging stares and condescending comments she murmured under her breath. You liked the peace that came with working in a cafe, and you liked it even more when you didn't have someone breathing down your neck. 

"Welcome to Dreamers Café. What can I get for you today?" you asked, your voice soft but professional, as you focused on the register.

"I’ll take the usual."

That voice. Familiar, warm, and unmistakable. Your head shot up at the sound, and an involuntary smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Hendery," you exhaled, relief mingling with surprise. "It’s been a while."

He grinned at you from across the counter, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. "Here I was, thinking you’d forgotten all about me."

"As if," you chuckled, shaking your head. "You’re our favorite customer. I could never forget."

Unbeknownst to you, Jungwoo watches the interaction take place from the quietest corner of the coffee shop, his lips nearly curving up into a smirk when he sees your smile for the first time. He observes the way you look at Hendery like there's some kind of uncertainty there. He's been around humans long enough to know that look.

"Here’s your americano," you said, sliding the cup over to Hendery. Your movements were careful, precise—like always.

Hendery took the cup, his gaze lingering on you. "I stopped by because I’ve been thinking about you," he said, his voice a little softer now. “If you remember the last time we spoke…" 

"I agreed to a date," you said, finishing his sentence before he could. You offered a small, apologetic smile. "Look, Hendery, I’ve been super busy lately, and my head’s just been all over the place. I don’t want to bore you with all of that."

Hendery nodded, though you could see the faint disappointment in his eyes as he absorbed your words. "I understand," he replied, his tone sincere but carrying a tinge of sadness. "But if you ever call, just know... I’ll drop everything and take you wherever you want to go. No questions asked."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, touched by his sincerity. "That’s really sweet of you, Hendery. I might take you up on that offer," you said, offering him a small, genuine smile.

He hesitated before leaving, his eyes holding yours for a beat longer. "I hope it’s soon," was the last thing he said before turning and walking out of the café. You didn’t linger on him leaving, though. Instead, you busied yourself with cleaning up, and other various tasks until it's time to close down the store. 

It wasn’t until you looked outside that you realized how bad the storm had gotten. The sky was a blanket of pitch-black clouds, the streetlights casting faint halos of light onto the wet pavement. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the rain pouring down in sheets.

You cursed yourself for not checking the weather earlier.

As you prepared to brave the storm, you noticed a figure moving toward you through the rain, tall and shadowy, an umbrella held above his head. The closer he got, the more familiar his silhouette became, and soon, Jungwoo came into view, his pale features striking against the backdrop of the storm.

"What are you doing here?" you asked as he approached, surprised but not entirely unwelcoming.

Without a word, Jungwoo shifted the umbrella over your head, shielding you from the rain. "I figured I should apologize," he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the rain. "I was inconsiderate last night."

His presence felt almost calming, and despite the storm around you, there was something comforting about him being there. You bit back a smile, tilting your head slightly. "In that case, maybe I owe you an apology too," you replied. "Let’s just call it even."

Jungwoo’s mouth curved into a small smile, one that revealed his fangs. Without a word, he gestured for you to start walking, falling into step beside you as you made your way down the rain-soaked street.

The storm didn’t feel so bad with him there. The steady patter of rain against the umbrella, the occasional flash of lightning—it was almost calming. Even a little romantic, if you let yourself think about it that way.

After a few minutes of silence, Jungwoo spoke up, his voice breaking through the rhythm of the rain. "Who is he?”

You don't have to ask to know who he's talking about. "Hendery, he's a regular customer. He's asked me out a few times."

Jungwoo didn’t say anything for a moment, just walked beside you, his eyes focused ahead. You glanced over, trying to read him, but his expression was as unreadable as ever.

"Do you like him?" 

You shake your head." I feel like I'm supposed to. He's sweet and considerate, but there's just something missing." Jungwoo remains quiet as you continue pondering, "Maybe it's because my standards are too high. I've never actually been in love before, and I guess there's a reason for that." 

The silence stretches comfortably between you as you walk, the sound of rain pattering against the umbrella becoming a soothing backdrop. Finally, you decide to ask, "Have you ever been in love?"

"Only once, a long time ago." Jungwoo keeps his answer short and sweet. 

"What was it like?" 

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I don’t remember. It’s been too long." His voice was distant, as if the memory was buried so deep it barely surfaced anymore.

You looked away, letting the city sounds fill your mind—the hum of passing cars, the splashing of tires through puddles. It felt good to be walking in the rain, with someone next to you. "Give me your hand," Jungwoo said suddenly, stopping in his tracks.

You blinked at him, confused. "Why?"

He didn’t answer, just extended his hand. 

Without really thinking, you placed yours in his, feeling the coolness of his skin as he intertwined your fingers.

"I want to show you something," he said, and before you could ask what, the umbrella lowered, and the world around you shifted.

Suddenly, you weren’t on the street anymore. You were standing atop the Willis Tower, the entire city of Chicago spread out beneath you like a vast, twinkling map. The air was sharper, cooler, and you could see everything—lightning streaking from cloud to ground, the sprawling traffic below, the shimmering lights of buildings.

Normally, the height and the storm would terrify you, but with Jungwoo’s hand gripping yours, you felt safe.

"What are we doing up here?" you ask, your voice barely rising above the howling wind as you take in the breathtaking view of a city you’ve grown to love.

"I thought you’d like it," he replied, his voice calm, as if standing on top of the world in the middle of a storm was nothing out of the ordinary.

By now, you're drenched in a mixture of rain and sweat, but you can't bring yourself to care. He was right. You loved being so high up and feeling like you were on top of the world. You got to see how small and miniature life really was. All of your worries seemed to wash away with the rain, and for a moment, you almost forgot that you weren't going to be alive for much longer. 

You turned to him, your gaze lingering. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp from the rain, and his soft brown eyes watched you intently. For the first time, you allowed yourself to really look at him, to take in how effortlessly beautiful he was. You couldn’t help but think it.

Jungwoo smirked, as if he’d heard your thoughts

you laughed lightly, trying to shake off the heat creeping up your cheeks. "Did you bring me up here to kill me?" you joked, the words slipping out as a way to distract yourself. "Am I your next sacrifice?"

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Why would I kill you if you’re dying soon anyway? Seems like a waste of effort, don’t you think?"

You stepped closer to him, your hand still wrapped in his. "Then what do you want with me?"

His gaze met yours, steady and serious. "I want to know why I’m so drawn to you," he said, his voice soft but intense. "I want to understand how you, of all people, have managed to make my vampire heart beat."

His words sent a shock through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away from his eyes. You placed both hands over his chest, searching for a pulse you knew wouldn’t be there. But something about the moment felt alive, as if there was a connection between you both that went beyond anything you could explain.

"You want to know what it feels like?" Jungwoo’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he placed his hands over yours.

You nodded, your breath catching. "Yes."

In a blink, the world tilted beneath you. Jungwoo turned and threw you off the building. The sudden rush of air tore the breath from your lungs, the cold wind whipping around you like a thousand icy fingers. You felt the ground drop away, and the city blurred into streaks of light and shadow.

This is it, you thought, panic surging through you. This is how I die.

No scream escaped your lips; it felt like your voice had been stolen away. The noise of the city faded into a deafening roar, the only sound was the rush of wind. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to break free. You closed your eyes, waiting for impact, for the ground to claim you.

But instead of crashing down, you opened your eyes to find yourself back in your living room, standing in your familiar space. The beige sofa, the gray rug, the faint scent of coffee—it all felt surreal. Everything was just as you left it, as if the fall had never happened.

Gasping, you clutched your chest, heart racing, the weight of adrenaline flooding your system. The ground felt extremely light under, like you might slip through the floorboards and disappear completely.

"That’s what it feels like," Jungwoo’s calm voice came from behind you.

You spun around to face him, disbelief flooding your senses. "You... you tried to kill me!" The words tumbled out, shaky and incredulous.

He smiled faintly, his eyes flashing crimson for a moment, a powerful shimmer that filled the room with an otherworldly glow. You felt a strange warmth wash over you, as if he were calming your frantic heartbeat. The rush of adrenaline ebbed away, and you found yourself breathing easier, steadier.

"I wasn’t going to let you die," he insisted, his tone steady and soothing. You believe him. You don’t know what it is about him that makes you trust him so completely, but a deep-seated conviction tells you he can protect you from anything, big or small.

It’s your day off. 

The sunday breeze sneaks in through your window and brushes past the skin of your forearm. It’s a chilly October day, one of your favorites. You could see the orange trees sway and the squirrels hurrying to gather nuts all from your window but you were too lost in thought to notice. 

The jazz playing in the background had quickly become white noise and you found yourself thinking about a particular vampire with a unique set of brown eyes. 

“You wanted to see me?” Jungwoo’s voice draws you out of your day dreams. You would've thought you were hallucinating had you not felt him standing beside you. 

“You can hear my thoughts.” You’re certain this time. 

Jungwoo nods, his expression thoughtful. “I guess I can.” He gently guides you away from the stove, where you’d almost forgotten about the simmering pot, the smell of spices hanging thick in the air. “You’re the only person I can do that with.”

“Are you going to show up everytime I think of you?” You ask and he nods again. 

“I’ll show up whenever you need me.” 

Those six words had butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach. You’d never really had anyone you could rely on. Your adoptive parents were amazing but that was very short lived and eventually you’d go back to being alone again but with Jungwoo you didn’t have to worry about losing him. 

“Are you hungry?” You shake your head slightly to bring you out of your trance. Jungwoo remained quiet as you poured your stew into two separate bowls and sat them on the table. 

You gestured for him to sit with you and he obeyed but he dared not touch food in front of him despite the obvious fact that you had placed it there for him to eat. “You can’t eat human food?” You ask, “I thought you’d be able to since you’re half human.” 

“I can.” Jungwoo answers, pulling his eyes away from the bowl of chicken stew. “I’m just cautious about eating certain foods.” 

“Chicken?” 

“Garlic.” He answers precisely. 

You chuckle lightly, “I hate garlic. I’ve hated it since I was younger and the other orphans would make fun of me for it. They’d wave it around me and call me a vampire until I developed a fear of it.” You clear your throat when you’ve realized how much you’d been talking. “So yeah, it’s safe to eat.” 

Jungwoo nods and sucks in his bottom lip to bite back a laugh. “It’s not funny.” You say, despite the fact that you were holding back a laugh yourself. “Just eat. I feel bad eating in front of you.” 

He does as you say, bringing the spoon up to his lips to take the tiniest taste of your homemade stew. You watched him with bated breath, and searched for any sign of disapproval but there was none. After a moment, Jungwoo leaned in to taste another spoon full and his facial expression softened. 

“This is amazing.” He says, already going in for more. 

“I told you,”  You beamed with pride, watching him with a mix of amusement and adoration. 

Your apartment falls silent again, and all you can hear between you is the clinking of spoons and the jazz that still plays lowly in the background. You snuck a few quick glances at Jungwoo before you blurted out, “How long have you been wanting to die?” 

Jungwoo doesn’t seem the slightest bit taken back by the sudden question and you assume it’s because he already knew what you were thinking. “For the last 100 years or so.” He answers, “My last attempt was jumping off of an airplane.”

“That was you?” You exclaim with widened eyes. No wonder they never found a body. 

Jungwoo nods, “I’ve tried a lot of things, feeding myself to hungry lions, walking into a church and even eating garlic. Nothing works.” he explains, remembering how itchy his tongue was after digesting the garlic cloves. 

“But your dad…” You hesitate, but he anticipates your unfinished thought.

“I was young when it happened,” he continues. “All I know is that he begged my mom to stab him just moments before she died.”

 “How come he needed your mom to kill him?” You ponder aloud, “Sorry if I’m pushing too much I’m just new to this vampire stuff.” 

“I never understood that either but when you’re the youngest in the family there’s a lot of things you don’t understand.”

The conversation goes dead when you make the conscious decision not to pester him about his family history.                  

After you two finished your meal, you stood up to collect the dishes only for Jungwoo to hold his hand over yours. “Allow me.” He says, swiftly moving to gather the dishes for you. With no other choice, you sit back and allow him to carry your dirty plates to your sink.                         

“You’re late.” Yeri mutters, tirelessly when you step into the Cafe. 

You counted up to two hundred and thirteen times she had spoken those exact two words all in different tones. By the two hundred and fourteenth time, you had given up counting. That was the nature of you and Yeri’s relationship. She liked to get on to you for absolutely nothing and you took it because you were afraid of how she or anyone else would view you. 

“I'm twenty minutes early.” You retorted. You didn’t care how people viewed you anymore. You were going to die anyway. 

Yeri shot you a dirty look but she didn’t say anything else, and you strolled into the back to put your things up and begin your shift. 

The day went on calmly if you excluded the snide comments your co-worker shot your way, or the handful of times she interrupted your conversation with a customer to inform them that you were careless with your job and to be wary of their drinks. 

You never understood why she disliked you so much but never spent too much time thinking about it either. You figured she’d come around over time but two years had passed since you first began working there and things only got worse over time. 

“Have a great day.” You flashed a warm smile at the customer. The man nodded and quietly made his way out of the store with the coffee in his hand while you turned to clean the area around you. The cafe had become empty and the customers that’d usually come in everyday were slowly heading out, despite the fact that the cafe would remain open for another three hours. 

You let out a resigned sigh and pushed your hair back, accidentally elbowing Yeri in the process. “Ow.” She yelped dramatically. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Your apologies fall on deaf ears and suddenly you’re having a large cup of room temperature coffee thrown in your face. When you open your eyes you’re met with a smiley Yeri, holding an empty coffee mug in her hand. 

You’re going to die anyway. You think to yourself before you reach for a fistful of her hair and shove her head in the murky dish water. 

“Why don’t you just quit?” Jungwoo asked, handing you a wet cloth to clean the coffee splatters off your shirt. You turned your back to him, lifting your shirt over your head and slipping into a fresh set of clothes. You trusted Jungwoo not to look, but you didn't make the effort to check.

“It costs to live,” you replied simply, wiping at the remnants of coffee.

“But you’re going to die soon,” he countered, his tone laced with concern.

“Thanks for reminding me,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Unfortunately, it costs to die too. And I still need a place to stay while I’m alive. Unless…” You turned, a mischievous glint in your eyes, “You want to eat my landlord?”

“I have a better idea.” Jungwoo finally opened his eyes, ensuring you were fully clothed before meeting your gaze. “Why don’t you just come stay with me?”

The suggestion lingered in the air, and you couldn’t help but consider it. You and Jungwoo had already been spending so much time together; moving in only seemed logical given your circumstances. Plus, how could you say no to the opportunity to retire early?

“I can’t do that,” you replied, though the thought tugged at you.

“Why not?” he pressed. 

“You’re a vampire and I’m a human. Us living together is like a recipe for disaster.” You sighed, feeling the weight of your own words. “I have a few months left. I can just stick this out.” Deep down you knew that you’d regret declining his offers sooner or later.

It turned out to be sooner.

As you tuned out the sounds of the busy café, focusing instead on cleaning your area, your mind was plagued with thoughts of everything you wanted to accomplish before your time ran out. The conversation with Jungwoo echoed in your mind. 

Reality jolted you awake when Yeri, your co-worker, deliberately pushed her way past you, causing you to knock over half-filled coffee mugs. 

Assuming it was just an accident, you sighed and bent down to clean up the mess. But as you glanced up at Yeri, you felt a sharp sting in your palm. You had cut yourself on a shard of glass.

“You’re lucky I didn’t report you to HR,” she sneered, crossing her arms.

“Are you forgetting you’re the one who threw coffee in my face?” you shot back, holding the broken mugs in your hands.

“You elbowed me first!” she yelled.

You sighed again, shoulders slumping in defeat. There was no point in defending yourself to someone who’d never listen. “Can we just keep this peaceful, please? We both have to make a living, and there’s no point in making it hard on one another.”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your money,” she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You breathed deeply, forcing a calm, “Thank you.” Just as you began to feel a sense of relief, you noticed liquids pooling around your white shoes. Yeri smirked as she poured black coffee all over the floor.

“Better get to work then,” she snided, a malicious glint in her eyes.

There was no more fight left in you. Each time you closed your eyes, you envisioned the life you could have—one of peace and quiet, where you didn’t have to work yourself to death only to be ridiculed for small mistakes. “I’m done,” you muttered loud enough for her to hear. “I quit.”

As expected, she gawked and pestered you with more insults, but it all fell on deaf ears as you gathered your things and made your way to the door. 

You pulled it open, stepping outside without really knowing what you were going to do next. But as the door swung shut behind you, you froze. Jungwoo was standing just outside, his presence warm and reassuring. It was at that exact moment that you were reminded of his words, “I’ll show up whenever you need me.” 

“So, what now?” you asked.

“Give me your hand,” he said, extending his palm toward you.

Without hesitation, you placed your hand over his. It felt like a perfect fit, like two puzzle pieces coming together. 

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted, and suddenly, you found yourself in Jungwoo’s castle. 

He kept his hand firmly around yours as you slowly took in your surroundings. The air was cool, and a dim light cast shadows across the vast room. A vintage glass chandelier filled with flickering candles hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the dark, gothic décor.

“You stay here alone?” you asked, still observing the living room’s grandeur.

Jungwoo smiled softly. “I used to.” He tugged on your hand. “Let me show you around.”

You followed closely behind, your curiosity piqued. The hallway was lined with painted portraits, and you caught a glimpse of one that looked strikingly like Jungwoo, though you didn’t have time to dwell on it as he led you down a long corridor. “This will be your room,” he announced, gesturing toward a beautifully ornate door.

As it swung open, you gasped. The room was everything you had ever dreamt of: red velvet sheets on a grand bed, large double glass doors that opened to a balcony, and an exquisite oil painting hanging on the wall. Despite the awe that enveloped you, the first words out of your mouth were, “This is a great place to die.”

You laughed, but Jungwoo’s expression shifted, the humor lost on him. “Would you like a tour?” he asked, pulling you out of the room by your conjoined hands.

“This castle is too big for a tour,” you mused aloud. “Why don’t you just tell me what rooms not to go in?”

“Every room is free for use,” he replied.

“Really?” you exclaimed, wide-eyed. “I thought you’d have a room dedicated to your human sacrifices.”

This time, Jungwoo chuckled lightly, tightening his grasp around your hand as he guided you further. You soon found yourselves in front of two grand double doors. “Do you like books?” he asked.

“I used to. When I was younger, I read a lot, but I’ve been so busy lately, and I haven’t had time to read. But now that I don’t have a job, I guess I should—” Jungwoo stopped you mid-rant as the doors swung open, revealing the biggest library you had ever seen.

“Wow,” you breathed, eyes widening as you gazed at the endless rows of books. Your feet moved of their own accord, leading you down the aisles as you slid your fingers over the the books.

You paused in front of one that had a dagger painted along the spine. Curiosity piqued, you pulled your hand away from Jungwoo to crack the book open. But to your surprise, every page was completely empty. You flipped through the pages, bewildered. “How come this book is blank?” you asked, turning to Jungwoo.

He looks over your shoulder as you skim the pages and his eyebrows furrowed together. He wonders why you can’t see what's written on the paper. However he doesn’t question you, since he doesn’t want to scare you. 

You lay in your new room, the darkness outside pierced only by the full moon and a canopy of twinkling stars. Instead of exploring the balcony, you found yourself limp on the luxurious velvet sheets, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling like the night sky above. The sounds of the forest—the crows calling, crickets chirping, and the rustling of unseen creatures—filled the silence, making it harder to find sleep. How did he manage to stay here all alone?

“Got used to it,” Jungwoo’s voice broke through your reverie, and you turned your head to see his silhouette framed by the balcony doors.

“Can you hear all of my thoughts?” you asked, pushing yourself up against the headboard, despite the heaviness in your eyelids.

“Only the ones about me.” He stepped away from the glass doors, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he perched on the edge of your bed. “You think about me a lot.”

“I don’t,” you muttered, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

“Well, could you try not to think about me tonight? I’m kind of busy,” he replied, his tone teasing.

“You’re not going to bed?” you chirped, realization dawning. He simply looked at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Right, I forgot.” You half-nodded and slid back into the bed, pulling the covers up. “Sorry I won’t bother you.” With that, he vanished, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What could he be doing? You pondered, shaking your head fiercely. No, focus. I’m not supposed to think about him.

“Just go to sleep,” you murmured to yourself. A shiver of dread crept in. 

What if he had plans on killing me?

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Jungwoo sighed, his voice suddenly close, making you jump. “I’m guessing you can’t sleep.”

“I’m just used to sleeping in my own bed,” you replied defensively.

“Do you want to go home?” He moved to sit at the foot of your bed, the moonlight casting a silver glow on his features. You shook your head.

“This is my home now. Or for the next few months, at least.” You pressed your lips into a thin line, resolve wavering. “I’ll get used to it… eventually.”

“Then how about a bedtime story?” Jungwoo suggested.

“You’re going to read to me?” you asked, incredulous.

“Sure, if it’ll help you sleep.” You settled back into the bed, allowing the satin sheets to cradle you.

“Once upon a time…” Jungwoo began softly, his voice smooth and steady, like the kind of lullaby that tugs your eyes closed. He read on, his words folding around you in a comforting rhythm, making the weight on your mind feel lighter with each passing second.

Before long, your breathing slowed, and your eyelids drooped, giving way to sleep. Jungwoo could feel the exact moment you drifted off—when your thoughts quieted and your body melted into the mattress. A small smile tugged at his lips. He closed the book, setting it aside quietly on the nightstand.

He stayed there for a moment, just watching you, a strange sense of calm settling over him. You looked so peaceful like this, and for a second, he let himself relax too.

Leaning in, he reached to tuck the blanket over your shoulders—but then he noticed your hand. His expression shifted, and without thinking, he ran his thumb gently over the wound.

Something stirred under his touch—a warmth that spread through his fingertips. He watched, fascinated, as the cut shimmered and slowly disappeared, leaving smooth skin behind, as if it had never been there.

Jungwoo exhaled through his nose, relief softening the lines of his face. For a moment, he just stood there, tracing your features with his gaze like he wanted to memorize them. Then, with a quiet care, he pulled the blanket tighter around you, making sure you were warm.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, waking you slowly. You stretched, blinking away the last traces of sleep, and it took a second to remember where you were. Your usual Chicago apartment was gone, replaced by the soft elegance of a Victorian-style bedroom. 

You sat up, rubbing your eyes as the events of yesterday came rushing back—Jungwoo, the café, the beautiful castle, the library, a bedtime story. It felt surreal, like you’d fallen into some sort of dream. 

The view outside the balcony doors pulled you in. You walked over, opening them to step outside, and the sight that greeted you made you pause. The sun was rising over a vast forest, casting everything in a soft, golden light. It was so peaceful—nothing like the busy Chicago skyline you were used to. The air was cool and crisp, and the birds had replaced the crows from last night, filling the air with morning songs.

“You’re awake early,” Jungwoo’s voice came from behind you.

You turned, surprised to see him standing at the doorway. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice still raspy from sleep.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, joining you at the railing. He looked out at the forest, but you found yourself watching him instead.

“Pretty well, actually,” you said with a small smile, then glanced back at the sunrise. After a moment, curiosity got the better of you. “Doesn’t the sun bother you?”

He chuckled softly. “No. The sun doesn’t hurt half-bloods.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling a little silly for asking. You leaned against the railing, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. You wondered if he could hear your thoughts again, but if he could, he didn’t let on.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

You weren’t thinking about breakfast before but since he’d mentioned it you felt your stomach rumble, answering the question for both of you. 

 Jungwoo led you to the castle's grand dining room, where he placed a steak in front of you. You stared down at the blood filled meat, and swallowed hard. 

“Are you okay ?” 

You glance up to see that he’s already nearly finished his food and you shake your head. “No, just not as hungry as I thought I was.” You lie and your stomach growls again as if to testify. “I might just go downtown later on and eat lunch.” 

“Is there something wrong with the steak?” 

You hesitated. “I’m just not used to eating it for breakfast.”

“I should’ve asked what you wanted,” he said, standing up. He wiped his mouth and walked toward you, holding out his hand.

“Where are you going?” you asked, but took his hand anyway.

“The kitchen.” He responds when you both appear in undoubtedly the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen. You took a moment to take it all in, marveling at how the grandeur of the castle extended even to the kitchen. It was almost surreal. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Jungwoo asks.

It takes no time for you to utter, “pancakes.” and within the same second, flour, eggs, milk and sugar are all spread out amongst the counter and ready for you to use. With ease he shifted towards the counter and began cracking the eggs on the bowl. 

He seemed a lot more skilled in the kitchen than you were so you opted to just slide on the counter and watch him cook, “So,” you began, trying to break the silence, “where does a vampire learn how to cook?”

“I have to eat, don't I?” He asks, not caring to look at you. 

“Right.” You nod awkwardly. “Well what else can you make?” 

“What other foods do you like?” 

“Pasta,” You don’t have to think about it, it’s been your favorite food since you were a kid. 

“Then I’ll make it for you one day.” You smile to yourself at the small sentiment. One day, those two words made you feel like you had all the time in the world. 

As he poured the batter onto the pan, the sizzling sound filled the air, blending with the quiet hum of the forest outside the tall windows.

“Careful, or you’ll burn them,” you teased. 

He shot you a mock-serious look. “I don’t burn pancakes.”

“Really?” you challenged. “We’ll see about that.”

For a moment, there was just the smell of pancakes and the soft clatter of utensils, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt easy. Comfortable. 

Jungwoo grabbed the plates once the pancakes were done and handed one to you. “See? No burns,” he said with a proud grin.

You roll your eyes and cut into the pancake. At first glance it looks amazing, but biting into it tastes even better. You let out a satisfied groan “These are amazing.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod, “These are the best pancakes I've ever had. I could eat them everyday.” 

Jungwoo had left shortly after you finished breakfast together. He only explained that he had something important to do but you had a faint feeling that you knew what he was up to. Although the thought should’ve scared you, it didn’t. You trusted that he was a good being and that he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t have to do. 

In his absence you occupied yourself by exploring that large castle. You wandered down the long hallways and took your time admiring each oil painted portrait, especially one in particular that looked like a younger version of Jungwoo ,his parents and another young boy. You assumed it was the brother he spoke about although they looked nothing alike. 

You continued walking down the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking underfoot. Each step felt like you were walking through a living piece of history, and the air carried a faint scent of aged wood and something floral, like dried lavender.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a door at the end of the hallway. It stood slightly ajar. Although Jungwoo had already mentioned that every room was free for you to use, this one felt strangely off limits. Yet you found yourself pulled to this specific room, and before you knew it you were gradually stepping towards the cracked door.  

Your breath is caught in your throat when you see a tall, pale figure rummaging through the room. You take a step back and the smallest noise makes the man look up in your direction, his piercing gray eyes almost looking right through you. “Juliette?” He calls. 

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn't breathe, as he took a step closer. His gaze never left you, as if searching for something impossible. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “How is this possible?”

You didn’t know how to respond—questions raced through your mind, but none made it past your lips. Your body felt frozen, even when he raised a hand, the back of his fingers faintly brushing against your cheek. His skin was ice-cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your own.

“Don’t touch her.”

Jungwoo’s voice cut through the room like a blade, pulling you out of your trance. The man’s hand fell away immediately as he turned to face Jungwoo. You watched the exchange, the pieces finally falling into place—this was Jungwoo’s brother. The resemblance wasn’t obvious, but the face matched the boy from the portrait.

“What are you doing here, Doyoung?” Jungwoo’s tone was hard as he stepped in front of you, shielding you from his brother’s gaze.

“I just want the dagger,” Doyoung said, his voice calm but laced with something darker. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the tension between them, making it harder to breathe.

“What do you want with it?” Jungwoo demanded, his body tense, every muscle coiled.

“To make sure it’s safe. You don’t understand the kind of power it holds.” Doyoung’s eyes flickered to you for a brief second before settling back on Jungwoo.

Your mind raced back to the library—the empty book, the strange feeling that something was missing. Could this dagger be connected to that? And why had Doyoung called you Juliette? The questions swirled, but the room seemed to grow hotter with each passing moment, as if the tension between the brothers was igniting something unseen.

“It’s safe with me,” Jungwoo countered, but the way Doyoung narrowed his eyes made it clear he didn’t believe that for a second.

The air in the room felt stifling now, the weight of whatever was between them pressing down on you. The edges of your vision blurred, the voices of the brothers fading into a distant hum. You reached out, instinctively searching for Jungwoo’s hand, but before you could grasp it, everything went dark.

When you woke, the familiar comfort of your bed surrounded you, but your mind was anything but settled. The events leading up to this moment felt like a blur, and for a second, you wondered if it had all been some strange dream. But then you saw him—Jungwoo, standing silently beside your bed, watching you with that same quiet intensity.

You sat up slowly, your head still swimming with questions. Should you ask him about it? You debated for a moment, but the look on Jungwoo’s face told you he was already one step ahead of you.

“That’s...” you began, struggling to find the words.

“My brother,” Jungwoo finished for you, his voice calm, though there was a faint edge of tension underneath. You had already pieced that together in the moments before everything had gone dark, but hearing him say it aloud made it feel more real, more complicated.

Your thoughts shifted again, this time to the other name Doyoung had mentioned—Juliette. That name carried weight, a mystery that clung to your mind, refusing to let go.

“What about Juliette?” you asked, your voice softer now, as if saying her name aloud might stir something dangerous.

Jungwoo’s expression changed, just for a moment, before he answered. “She’s... someone from the past,” he said, his tone final, as if that was all there was to it. But his answer didn’t satisfy the nagging curiosity burning in the back of your mind. He hadn’t really answered the question at all, but you decided not to push him further.

The room fell quiet again, and you noticed the way Jungwoo’s gaze lingered on you, concern still written plainly across his face.

“You need to rest,” he said gently. “I don’t want you wearing yourself out again.”

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but even you didn’t fully believe the words. Your body still felt weak, and the faint remnants of dizziness hadn’t completely faded.

Jungwoo gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Humor me,” he said softly before stepping away from the bed.

You watched him go, the quiet settling around you like a heavy blanket. The events of the day replayed in your mind over and over, each piece of the puzzle more confusing than the last. Despite your exhaustion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was unfolding around you, something you were only beginning to understand.

As the night settled in, a deep sense of unease crept up your spine. The darkness felt different, more oppressive than usual, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch further than they should. You couldn’t explain why, but fear had taken hold, and it wasn’t something you could shake on your own.

“Jungwoo,” you called softly, your voice just loud enough to break through the silence. A few moments later, he appeared at the door, his presence bringing with it a quiet sense of reassurance.

“Can you... stay with me?” you asked, feeling the weight of vulnerability in your words. “Just for a little while. I don’t wanna be alone.” 

Jungwoo didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and climbed into the bed beside you, his presence instantly calming. You hadn’t even realized how tense you’d been until he was there, the weight of fear slowly lifting.

As Jungwoo settled beside you, the tension of the day began to dissolve. You moved closer, resting your head on his chest. His body was cold, but lying there, you felt warm, secure in his presence.

You weren’t listening for a heartbeat—you already knew there wouldn’t be one. In fact, that was why you found comfort in laying on his chest. The stillness, the absence of a heartbeat, made you feel like time didn’t exist for him. For a moment, the weight of everything—the past, the future, your fears—just slipped away, and all that mattered was the quiet, frozen moment you shared.

“I’m happy that I met you before I died. It feels a lot less lonely,” you whispered, almost afraid of how easily the words left your lips, but they were the truth.

Jungwoo’s chest rose slightly as he took a breath, then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to let you die.”

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wished those words could erase the gnawing fear that clung to you. But deep down, you knew better than to hold onto false hope. Even so, lying here with him, you felt a sense of peace. It didn’t matter if his words couldn’t change the inevitable. What mattered was this moment, wrapped in his arms, where everything felt like it could stop for just a little while.

Yet, even as you began to drift into sleep, one name continued to linger in the back of your mind, refusing to let go—Juliette. The mystery of who she was haunted you, weaving through your thoughts, until finally, exhaustion pulled you under. But even then, the name wouldn’t leave you, hovering just out of reach, like a shadow in the distance.

And still, despite the questions, despite the uncertainty, you found comfort in the silence of Jungwoo’s chest and the steady feeling of his arms around you.  

You stirred awake to the gentle warmth of the morning sun, and as your eyes fluttered open, you realized Jungwoo was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you. His expression was soft, and the corners of his lips lifted into a fond smile as your gaze met his.

"Good morning," you murmured, still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning," he echoed, his voice low and gentle. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face before his hand cupped your cheek. The warmth of his touch lingered, and you couldn’t help but smile at the tenderness in his gesture. Instinctively, you rested your hand over his, holding it there for just a moment longer.

You blinked up at him, your thoughts swimming in the quietness of the moment. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his head as he continued to look at you with such intensity.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, he spoke. “I want to show you something.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned down, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. You let out a surprised laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you from the bed

Jungwoo carried you effortlessly into the ballroom, setting you gently in his lap as he sat at the piano. His fingers grazed the keys, and soon the room was filled with the beautiful, haunting notes of Beethoven's "Pathetique" second movement. The music was soft but powerful, and you leaned your head against his chest, listening to each note as it seemed to pour straight from him.

There was no heartbeat, but you could feel the depth of his presence, the calm strength in his body as he played. It was intimate in a way you weren’t used to, but you found yourself sinking into the moment, letting the music wash over you. You glanced up at him, his expression focused, thoughtful—somewhere far away.

Then, almost as if he felt your gaze, Jungwoo looked down at you, his eyes soft and warm. “Dance with me,” he said, his voice low, full of something you couldn’t quite read.

Before you could respond, he stood, pulling you to your feet. The piano keys continued to play on their own, filling the room with a beautiful, eerie melody. His hand found yours, his other resting lightly on your waist as he guided you into a slow dance. There was something effortless in the way he moved, almost as if he’d done this a thousand times before.

As the two of you glided across the floor, something shifted in the air between you. His gaze lingered a little longer, his touch felt more deliberate. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment meant more to him than just a dance. He led you into a graceful dip, and for a heartbeat, his lips hovered close to yours. The world seemed to pause.

In that instant, a memory flickered in his mind—dancing like this with Juliette. The feeling of almost kissing her in the same dip. But instead of letting his lips meet yours, he pressed them gently to your forehead, the warmth of his breath lingering there.

When he pulled you back up, he held you steady, his hands lingering on your waist. His eyes stayed on yours, soft but searching, like he was trying to find something in you. And for a brief moment, you felt like he’d found it. But whatever it was, he didn’t say. 

Neither of you said a word. The music continued, but the moment was no longer about the song. It was about the quiet understanding, the unspoken bond that grew between you—a connection neither of you were quite ready to define, but one that was impossible to ignore.

You stood there in the quiet, your body still tingling from the dance, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary on your waist. You felt breathless, but not because of the movement—it was him. The way he looked at you, the way his touch felt like it carried more meaning than he’d ever admit aloud. You searched his face for some hint of what was running through his mind, but he kept whatever he was thinking just out of reach.

The piano’s melody softened to a close, and the silence that followed was heavy with unspoken things. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he still was, the way his eyes hadn’t left yours, like he was waiting for you to say something, to break the spell.

But you didn’t. Instead, you smiled—a small, quiet thing—your heart fluttering despite knowing he couldn’t feel it. “That was beautiful,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

“So are you,” Jungwoo replied, almost without thinking. His voice was equally soft, a confession more than a compliment.

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks, unsure how to respond. Your hand still rested in his, and you gave it a small, absentminded squeeze, not daring to break the moment, not wanting to.

“Do you—” you started to ask, but his hand moved from your waist to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. Your words faded into the quiet between you. He leaned forward slightly, his breath cold on your skin, so close it sent a shiver down your spine. But just as you thought he might kiss you, he stopped. His forehead rested against yours, the soft weight of his touch making your pulse race.

“I wish I could stay like this with you,” he murmured, the words almost too soft to hear. “But I have things I need to do.”

The air between you shifted, a reminder that no matter how close you felt in this moment, there was still something he wasn’t telling you—something that pulled him away.

You gave a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He lingered a moment longer, as if debating whether to stay or go, and then, with one last glance, he released you, stepping back. The warmth of his hand slipped away, leaving the air cooler in his absence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, his tone as steady as ever, though there was a hint of something else—regret, maybe. “Get some rest.”

You didn’t want to, but you nodded again. “Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Jungwoo gave you a faint smile, and then he turned, heading for the door. You watched him go, feeling the weight of his absence as soon as he disappeared from the room.

Once he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes drifted to the piano, the room suddenly feeling much bigger, much quieter. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, but eventually, you shook yourself from the daze, walking back to your room.

Just as you let out a soft sigh, your phone rings. You hesitate for a moment, almost not wanting to break the quietness Jungwoo left behind, but then you see Hendery’s name flash on the screen.

With a deep breath, you answer.

“Hey,” you greet, trying to sound normal.

“Hey, did you quit the café?” Hendery’s voice sounds slightly surprised. “Yeri told me.”

You swallow, throwing yourself on the bed. “Yeah, I did.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you can almost hear him thinking. “So, you must have a lot of free time now,” he says, his voice careful.

“Something like that.” 

“What do you think about a movie… Tonight?” He blurts suddenly, like he’s been holding it in since the start of the call. 

Your fingers tighten around the phone. A movie sounds so normal. But as Hendery talks, your thoughts drift back to the ballroom. To Jungwoo. The way he kissed your forehead, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the castle. You shook your head, remembering that he could hear your every thought about him. 

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.”

Hendery’s voice brightens on the other end, making plans, but your mind is only half there. You try to focus, to push thoughts of Jungwoo aside. Yet, even as you agree to go to the movie, you can’t stop wondering—what if your feelings for Jungwoo are real? And what if it’s already too late to ignore them?

After ending the call, you let out a slow breath and drop the phone onto the bed beside you. Staring up at the ceiling, a wave of realization washes over you—you haven’t left the castle since you arrived. Not once. Every moment has been spent either with Jungwoo or lost in the maze of the castle’s endless rooms. And now, you’ve agreed to meet Hendery, but how would you even get there?

Your first thought is to try the door. It’s the most logical step, though the idea of it seems ridiculous. The castle feels like its own world, detached from everything you knew before. Could the door even lead to anything beyond its dark halls?

You get up, pulling the door open with a slow creak, expecting to see the forest, the heavy iron gates, something—anything that resembles the outside. But what you find is far from what you expect.

It’s your apartment.

Your breath catches as you stand frozen, taking in the sight of your living room—the worn-out couch, your coat draped over the back, the coffee table still cluttered with old mugs and books. The familiar scent of home fills the air, and the city skyline looms in the distance, exactly as you left it.

It’s impossible, yet there it is. The castle door has opened into your apartment, like a doorway between worlds.

You decide not to think too much about it, as you step into your apartment and begin getting ready for your date. 

You and Hendery step into the dimly lit theater, the smell of buttered popcorn filling the air as you both settle into your seats. The lights dim further, and the hum of pre-show chatter fades, replaced by the soft flicker of the screen. Hendery leans closer, offering a small smile. "So, what’ve you been up to since quitting the café?" 

You hesitate, your mind flashing to the castle and Jungwoo. "Not much, honestly. Just… settling into some new things." You give a half-hearted smile, trying not to reveal too much. Hendery raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further.

"Well, at least you’ve got some free time now," he says, turning his attention back to the screen. "Maybe we can hang out more, you know?"

You nod, not really committing. The previews begin, and you shift in your seat, trying to focus on anything but the thoughts that keep tugging at the back of your mind.

As the movie starts, a familiar plot unfolds—a brooding vampire falls in love with a mortal girl. You roll your eyes at first, but as the scenes play out, you can’t help but think of Jungwoo. His gaze, his touch, the way he carries himself. You bite your lip, trying to push the thoughts away, but they keep circling back.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder snaps you out of it. You turn, expecting Hendery or even Jungwoo, but instead, Doyoung’s sharp, familiar eyes meet yours. Your breath catches, panic swelling in your chest. Before you can scream or really fully register his presence, the theater around you vanishes.

In an instant, you're outside, somewhere in the cold, darkened alleyway behind the theater. Doyoung’s grip on your arm tightens as he hisses, “Stay away from him.”

“What—why?” you demand, shaking off his hand. Your heart pounds, but before you can press further, a familiar presence shifts the air around you.

Jungwoo appears.

Doyoung is gone. The alley feels smaller, darker. Jungwoo’s eyes meet yours, unreadable, but there’s a tension simmering beneath his calm demeanor. You stand there, waiting for him to speak, waiting for an explanation—but all you can think about is the way his presence always changes everything.

“Are you okay?” Jungwoo asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he stepped closer.

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “No, I’m not okay! What just happened? What’s going on between you and Doyoung?” Your voice rose with each question. “And who is Juliette?”

At the mention of her name, Jungwoo’s expression shifted. There was a flicker of something—pain, nostalgia, and a hint of fear—in his eyes. It was clear that Juliette was more than just a name from his past.

Before he could respond, everything around you blurred. The world twisted and folded, and suddenly, you found yourself in an unfamiliar room. The air was heavy with an old familiarity, and your gaze was drawn to framed black-and-white photographs adorning the walls.

Your heart raced as you caught sight of one particular picture. The girl in it looked exactly like you—same features, same hair, same haunting eyes. You stepped closer, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Is this me?” you whispered, barely able to process the revelation.

Jungwoo hesitates, but then he speaks, his voice heavy with an old sadness. “This is Juliette.”

The truth hits you like a wave. “I’m Juliette,” you say, the realization sinking in.

You turn to face him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Jungwoo, this isn't making any sense."

His eyes, though calm, are filled with a pain you hadn’t noticed before. "Juliette was someone I loved," he finally admits. "My first love."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and bitter.

"Doyoung never approved of us," Jungwoo continues, his tone darkening. "She was human, and I... I was never meant to be with her. He went out of his way to stop us. He killed her to put an end to it... to us."

Your heart drops at his words, the weight of what he’s saying crashing down on you. It suddenly makes sense—why the brothers don’t speak, why there’s so much tension between them. But it still doesn’t explain why Doyoung warned you about Hendery.

You push the thought to the back of your mind for now. All you can focus on is Jungwoo—the way he looks at you, the way your heart aches for him in a way that feels like more than just attraction. It feels like destiny.

Jungwoo steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not going to lose you again,” he whispers, his voice breaking just slightly as he cups your cheek, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you can say anything, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in the gentlest, softest kiss. It’s barely there, just enough to make your heart skip, but it’s everything. Your eyes flutter closed as you kiss him back, pouring all your confusion and longing into that single moment.

Suddenly, everything shifts again. You find yourself back in your bed, Jungwoo hovering over you. His lips move tenderly against yours, but your mind is racing. For the first time, you start to register what’s happening, what you’re feeling. This is what love feels like—this rush of warmth, the dizzying sensation that overtakes you, the way every part of you feels alive because of him.

He pulls back just slightly, noticing the tension in your body, the whirlwind of thoughts. “Stop thinking; you’re distracting me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but commanding.

You nod quickly, breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, my love,” he whispers, the endearment sending a shock through you. He leans down again, this time laying a trail of soft, deliberate kisses down your neck. Each kiss feels like a promise, like a reassurance that everything between you, every moment, is real.

And with each touch of his lips, the racing thoughts in your mind begin to quiet, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of being completely, utterly his.

The sound of your phone buzzing drags you out of sleep. Groggy, you blink against the morning light filtering in through the tall windows. You reach over to the side, expecting to find Jungwoo, but the bed beside you is cold and empty.

You sit up fully, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and glance at your phone. Hendery’s name flashes across the screen. Your stomach tightens at the memory of Doyoung’s warning. The vibration continues in your hand, loud in the quiet room, but you let it ring until it goes to voicemail.

When the call ends, you unlock your phone and frown at the missed notifications: seven calls, seventeen unread messages—all from Hendery.

You sigh, debating for a moment whether to respond. But no part of you wants to dive back into that mess, not yet. You turn the phone face down on the mattress and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

You walk into the kitchen, spotting Jungwoo at the stove, effortlessly moving the pan. The smell of pancakes lingers in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You hop up onto the counter, the cool surface grounding you as you slide into place.

Jungwoo looks over his shoulder and flashes you a small, content smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you echo softly, already feeling a little lighter.

He turns off the burner, wipes his hands, and walks over to you. “How did you sleep, my love?”

Your heart flutters at the endearment, even though you’ve heard it before. You give him a small nod. “I slept fine.”

You don’t tell him you could get used to waking up like this.

His eyes search yours for a moment, like he’s reading more than just your words. Then, without warning, he leans in and kisses you. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else melts away—the confusion, the warnings, the unanswered questions. You’re completely intoxicated by the way he kisses you, like the world begins and ends with you.

When he finally pulls away, you blink up at him, breathless, struggling to ground yourself again. He smiles softly, brushing his thumb along your jaw.

“I made you pancakes,” he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate.

Your lips curve into a grin, warmth spreading through your chest. He actually listens to me, you think, savoring the small, intimate gesture. 

Jungwoo plates the pancakes and hands them to you. You take a bite, the sweet taste of syrup and butter filling your senses.

As you eat, he leans against the counter, watching you with that same quiet fondness. “I was thinking...” he begins, tone careful but light, “maybe I could take you out today. A date.”

You pause, looking at him in surprise. “A date?”

He nods, his gaze steady. “I want to make this relationship as normal as I can.”

You stare at him for a beat, and it’s impossible to tell if he’s reassuring you or himself. But you smile, feeling the weight lift from your chest, just a little.

“Okay,” you agree softly.

The two of you stroll through the bustling streets of Chicago, taking in the sights and smells of the city. Every now and then, Jungwoo points out something he finds amusing—a street musician playing way too passionately, or an artist sketching portraits on the spot. You laugh, and he smiles at the sound, a look on his face like he’d bottle up the moment if he could.

You sample different street foods, sharing bites off each other’s forks. He teases you about how many things you want to try, but he still indulges every whim, brushing his shoulder against yours every time you walk too close together.

Everything feels strangely normal, almost too normal—like the otherworldly madness of the last few days had never happened.

That’s when someone bumps into you. Hard.

“Watch where you're going,” the man grumbles, barely sparing you a glance.

Jungwoo immediately stiffens beside you, his playful demeanor gone in an instant. His eyes sharpen as if tracking prey, and before you can react, he steps forward.

“Jungwoo,” you murmur, placing a hand on his arm, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You don’t want anything—or anyone—ruining this date.

He glances down at you, his expression unreadable. But instead of letting it go, he leans closer, voice low enough that only you can hear.

“Do you want me to kill him?”

Your heart stutters, and you stare at him, unsure if he’s joking. “That’s not funny, Jungwoo.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” His eyes stay locked on the man’s retreating form, cold and calculating.

Before you can say anything more, a sharp whizz cuts through the air. Something flies past your head—so fast you barely register it—and strikes the man from behind. The stranger crumples to the ground, unconscious.

You gasp and whirl around. “Jungwoo, did you kill him?”

Jungwoo smirks, a playful glint returning to his gaze. “Of course not, my love.”

You glance back at the man sprawled across the pavement. “He doesn’t look not dead…”

Jungwoo steps into your line of sight, effectively blocking the view. He tilts his head toward a nearby stand. “How about some hot chocolate?”

Despite everything, you can’t help the way your tension eases as soon as he’s in front of you. His presence has a way of making you forget things—dangerous things.

You let out a breath and shake your head with a small smile. “Fine.”

The rest of the date is blissfully uneventful. You lose track of time wandering the city together, sharing more snacks, stealing shy glances, and falling into step like you’ve been doing this for years. It feels…easy. Like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally return to the castle, the weight of reality starts to settle in again. Jungwoo walks you to your room, brushing a soft kiss over your forehead before stepping back.

“I’ll make dinner,” he says. “Stay here and relax.”

You watch him disappear down the hall, already missing the sound of his voice.

And just like that, you're alone, with only the faint scent of him lingering in the room. You sit on the edge of your bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Doyoung’s warning about Hendery. Why had he told you to stay away from him? What could Hendery possibly have to do with all of this? You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Just as you start to gather your thoughts, a chill sweeps through the room, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. Instinctively, you glance around, feeling the unmistakable presence of someone else.

“Can you hear my thoughts too?” you ask into the empty room, a mix of curiosity and trepidation in your voice.

Doyoung materializes in front of you, his expression inscrutable. He shakes his head slowly. “No, but I can tell when you’re troubled.”

You fold your arms, trying to muster a sense of confidence despite the unease swirling inside you. “Then why are you here?”

“I figured you might have a few questions.” His tone is calm, yet there’s an underlying tension that makes your heart race.

You find it strange—almost comforting—that you don’t feel scared around him, even knowing what Jungwoo had told you. He had killed you in your past life. Yet here you are, stepping closer, intrigued. “So, that’s why you two don’t get along.”

Doyoung’s gaze softens slightly. “It’s true that I didn’t approve of your relationship. But I would never kill you.” His voice is steady. “I knew your time on Earth was limited compared to Jungwoo’s. I didn’t want his fate to mirror that of our parents. I just… didn’t want to lose all of my family.”

You nod, processing his words. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. “What about the dagger?”

Doyoung’s expression shifts, becoming serious. “It’s the only thing that can kill a vampire. But…” He pauses, letting the weight of his next words hang in the air. “Only someone the vampire loves can wield it against them.”

You furrow your brow, trying to wrap your mind around the implications. “So that’s why you’ve been trying to keep it away?”

“Yes,” he confirms, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

You take a breath, preparing to ask how you died in your past life, but just as the words start to form on your lips, the door swings open. Jungwoo strides in, a warm smile on his face.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announces, the tension in the room dissipating as quickly as it had arrived.

Doyoung’s expression shifts, and in an instant, he disappears from view, leaving you momentarily stunned. You turn to Jungwoo, a thousand questions swirling in your mind.

“Wait, Jungwoo, I was just—”

“Hey,” he interrupts gently, walking closer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, your curiosity about your past life flickering in your mind, but his presence grounds you. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Let’s go eat,” he says, a hint of warmth in his smile. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s still so much left unsaid, but you nod and follow him out of the room.

After dinner, you find yourself lying next to Jungwoo, your head resting on his chest. The stillness is comforting, the absence of a heartbeat a gentle reminder that he isn’t going anywhere. You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the peacefulness of the moment.

“You know,” you murmur softly, “you make me want to live. It feels so unfair that I have to die.”

His fingers weave through your hair, the touch soothing. “You’re not going to die,” he replies, his voice steady and reassuring. “I won’t let that happen.”

You want to believe him, but fear lingers in the back of your mind, a shadow threatening to taint your hope. You don’t allow yourself to get your hopes up, knowing the truth of your situation. Instead, you close your eyes, letting the warmth of his presence wash over you as exhaustion begins to pull at your eyelids.

Jungwoo’s fingers continue to play with your hair, each gentle stroke lulling you closer to sleep. “Just rest, my love,” he whispers, and the affection in his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket.

 You drift into a dream and wake up to the warm glow of the 1950s. Glancing down, you see yourself in a pink vintage dress, the fabric soft against your skin, and your hair styled in elegant waves.

You were at work, wiping down the counter of the café where you had spent months. The familiar hum of the city drifted through the open window, mingling with the rhythmic chime of the coffee machine.

Beside you stands Yeri, your coworker, dressed in a fashionable 1950s outfit with a fitted blouse and a full skirt. She flashes you a sardonic smile. “Can you try not to spill coffee on the customers today? Or is that too much to ask?” she quips, her tone dripping with sarcasm. You shoot her a glare, feeling the familiar tension between you two.

“I’ll do my job if you do yours,” you retort, keeping your voice steady as you stack plates. Yeri raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, the air thick with unspoken animosity.

Just then, the bell above the café door jingles, and in strides Hendery, a confident grin plastered on his face. “Hey there, gorgeous!” he calls out, leaning against the counter with an easy charm.

“Look who’s back—how original,” Yeri mutters, wiping a glass more forcefully than necessary.

Both of you ignore her as Hendery turns back to you. “You ever take a break?” he asks, his grin widening when you look up, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Not often,” you reply, managing a small smile, but your heart isn’t in it.

He leans forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then how about I show you around the city? You work too much.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “And what’s in it for you?”

He chuckles, his tone playful. “Just a little fun. Nothing serious, I promise. I can see you’re taken—at least by that dreamy look in your eyes whenever you drift off mid-shift.”

You feel your cheeks flush but try to play it off. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, but he catches the way your gaze flickers, how you almost avoid mentioning Jungwoo’s name.

“So, what do you say? A casual night, no strings, just a drive-in movie and some good old-fashioned fun,” he suggests, leaning closer.

After a beat of hesitation, you shrug. It wasn’t like you had anything else planned, and Hendery had always been kind—never pushy. “Alright. Why not?” You convince yourself it would be harmless.

The drive-in movie flickered on the screen before you, showcasing a romantic vampire film that made your heart race in a different way. You couldn’t help but think of Jungwoo—the way he moved, the way he looked at you with that blend of intensity and softness that made your breath hitch. The soft hum of the car radio blended with the film’s dialogue, and for a moment, you let the fantasy of it all wash over you, feeling a pang of longing.

Hendery kept the atmosphere light-hearted so far, and you almost felt at ease. The city lights faded behind you as you drove out to a more secluded part of town, everything feeling casual and easy—until it didn’t.

About halfway through the film, you noticed Hendery’s hand inching toward yours on the armrest. At first, you thought it was an accident, but then he leaned in closer. “You cold?” he asked, his voice low, almost too close to your ear.

You shifted uncomfortably, shaking your head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

But he didn’t pull away. His hand slid onto your leg, and your heart skipped a beat—not in a good way. You pushed his hand away gently, yet firmly, turning to face him. “Hendery, I can’t. I have someone. Someone I’m in love with.”

His expression shifted from playful to something darker. “You serious?” he muttered, confusion morphing into disappointment. “I thought that was just for fun.”

“It is fun,” you replied softly, yet firmly, “but I still can’t.”

He mutters something under his breath, his gaze flicking back to the screen, but the weight of his disappointment lingers. For a moment, you think everything is fine—until you feel his hand creeping back.

“Please, take me home,” you insist, your voice rising, desperation creeping in. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He hesitates, glancing at you. “Come on, it’s just a movie. I thought we were having fun.”

“I said take me home!” you demand, your heart racing, a mix of fear and frustration bubbling to the surface.

Finally, he nods, a reluctant look in his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” As he started the car and pulled out of the drive-in, that unease grew. Something about his demeanor had changed—the easygoing Hendery you knew replaced by a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The streetlights grew sparse, and familiar roads faded behind you, replaced by darkness.

“Where are we going?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Just a shortcut,” he replies, his tone flat.

You glance out the window, the landscape shifting from urban to isolated, trees closing in on both sides. Your heart races with apprehension. “I think I’d rather stick to the main roads.”

But Hendery doesn’t respond. The car veers onto a narrow road that leads deeper into the woods.

“Hendery, please stop!” you say, panic creeping into your voice.

He ignores you, pulling the car off the road and cutting the engine. The silence that follows feels heavy, oppressive. Before you can react, he grips your wrist tightly, his face shifting into something you didn’t recognize—a darkness lurking beneath the surface.

“I’ve been patient,” he hisses. “But I’m done waiting.”

Adrenaline floods your system, and you struggle against his grip. “Let me go!” you shout, fighting to break free. But he’s stronger than you anticipated. Before you know it, you’re being dragged out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin as you stumble onto the forest floor.

You manage to twist free for just a moment, heart pounding in your chest. You start to run, but Hendery is faster. He catches up to you in a few strides, and before you can scream, a sharp pain sears through your back.

You gasp, collapsing to the ground, feeling the warm, sticky sensation of blood spreading across your skin. Your vision blurs, but in the distance, through the haze of pain and fear, you see a figure emerge from the shadows.

It’s Doyoung.

He moves like lightning, grabbing Hendery and throwing him back, his eyes blazing with fury. But it’s too late—the damage has already been done. The knife is still lodged in your back, and the world around you begins to spin.

Doyoung kneels beside you, his hands shaking as he tries to stop the bleeding. “Stay with me,” he urges, his voice cracking. “You’ll be okay.”

But you can’t respond. The pain is too much, and the world around you is fading fast. You cling to the thought of Jungwoo—his smile, his quiet strength, the way he looked at you as if he saw everything you didn’t want to admit.

Doyoung cradled your lifeless body in his arms, the weight of your stillness pressing heavily against him. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood that stained his pale skin—a stark reminder of his failed attempts to save you. Each drop felt like a dagger to his heart, a testament to his desperation and helplessness. The castle loomed ahead, dark and ominous, but he pushed forward, driven by the urgency of the moment.

As he entered the grand hall, the flickering candlelight cast long shadows, and there, amidst the flicker and gloom, he found Jungwoo. He was pacing, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, and when he caught sight of you in Doyoung’s arms, he froze. The world around them seemed to slow as he rushed forward, panic etched on his features. 

Your pink vintage dress, once soft and beautiful, was now marred by the stark, dark crimson stains that spread across the fabric. The blood pooled at your back, soaking into the delicate fibers, transforming the cheerful hue into a haunting reminder of the violence that had taken place. The fabric clung to your skin, glistening ominously in the candlelight, each drop a testament to the life that had been stolen from you.

“Why?” Jungwoo’s voice trembled as he reached for you, his fingers brushing against your cold skin. “Please, just talk to me, my love. I know you can hear me. Please!” His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead against yours, desperation palpable in his every word.

But you remained still, unresponsive. Jungwoo’s eyes filled with tears as he looked up at Doyoung, fury mingling with heartbreak. “What did you do?” he screamed, the anguish in his voice echoing against the castle walls.

Doyoung’s heart sank further. “I didn’t—” he started, but the words fell flat. “I didn’t do anything! I tried to save her!”

But Jungwoo’s gaze burned with mistrust. “You never wanted us together!” His accusation hung in the air, thick with betrayal. “You’ve always been against it!”

“Jungwoo, please!” Doyoung pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of his own sorrow. “I wanted her safe! I wanted both of you safe!”

But Jungwoo was beyond reason, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he clung to your body, the anguish of loss consuming him. “You have to fix this! You have to bring her back!”

The darkness began to swirl around Doyoung as he watched the scene unfold, guilt eating away at him, and he could barely breathe. The weight of the moment pressed down on him until he could no longer bear it.

You jolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, your heart racing as remnants of the horrifying dream clung to your mind. The image of your bloodied pink dress, stained a deep crimson, flashed before your eyes, and the weight of Doyoung’s tears lingered in your chest.

The bed shifted beside you, and you turned to find Jungwoo propped up on one elbow, concern etched across his pale features. His cool skin contrasted sharply with the warmth radiating from your body.

“It’s okay.” he said softly, his voice laced with urgency. “It was just a nightmare.”

You didn’t respond, the words tangled in your throat. You knew this was more than a mere dream; it felt like a glimpse into a dark truth. Instead, you leaned closer, clinging to him as if he were your anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Without hesitation, Jungwoo pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. He wrapped his hands gently through your hair. 

He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment longer, sending a wave of tranquility through your frayed nerves. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing whisper. “I’m right here.”

But even as you nestled into his embrace, the shadows of your dream loomed in the corners of your mind. You buried your face against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him, trying to drown out the haunting memories of what you had seen.

“Just breathe,” he urged, his fingers still running through your hair in a gentle, calming rhythm. 

You obey his words, matching your breaths to the soothing strokes of his hand in your hair. Inhale, exhale. The rhythm steadies you, gradually pulling you back from the edge of panic. When your breathing evens out, Jungwoo tilts your chin gently to look at you, his dark eyes filled with quiet concern.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly.

You manage a small nod. “Better,” you whisper.

He brushes his cool fingers across your cheeks, drying the tears you hadn’t even realized were there. The tenderness in his touch stirs something deep inside you, an ache softened only by his presence. Jungwoo takes your hand, turning it in his grasp, and presses a few soft kisses to the back of it, his lips cold but featherlight. You feel his unspoken promise in the gesture—he’s not going anywhere.

He draws you closer, cradling you until the tension leaves your body entirely. His steady hold lulls you into sleep once again, the nightmare momentarily banished by his quiet devotion.

But when morning breaks, the dream haunts you still, fragments flickering behind your closed eyes like pieces of a shattered mirror. You see Hendery’s smirk, the sinister edge to his charm. You remember the terrifying, visceral feeling of your final breath slipping from your lungs. And worst of all, the image of Jungwoo and Doyoung, broken and desperate, clinging to your lifeless body as though willing you back to life.

Jungwoo has been gone for a while now, leaving you with time to think. The pieces of the puzzle slowly start to click into place, though one question still gnaws at you: Why didn’t Jungwoo tell me about Juliette sooner?

Just as the thought takes root, Doyoung appears without a sound, his expression solemn. “He forced himself to forget,” Doyoung says, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. “He thought if he erased those memories, he could move on. But in the end, he lost everything.”

You study Doyoung’s face—the sorrow etched into his features, the weight of regret that clings to him. Despite everything, you feel a flicker of sympathy for him. He had tried to protect his brother in the only way he knew how. But instead of saving his family, he had watched it all unravel.

A wave of determination sweeps over you. You know now what you have to do. This can’t go on. This hundred-year feud between Jungwoo and Doyoung—it has to end.

Taking a deep breath, you step back and call softly, “Jungwoo.”

And just like that, he’s with you again—because all it ever takes is calling his name.

Jungwoo’s expression darkens the second his eyes land on his brother. “What are you doing here? Get away from her,” he snaps, voice sharp like a dagger.

The protective fury in his gaze is something you’ve only seen once before—dangerous and unyielding. His whole body tenses as if ready to lunge at Doyoung, a low growl in his throat.

Before things can escalate, you blurt out, “Doyoung didn’t kill me!”

Jungwoo’s gaze snaps to you, confusion and disbelief clouding his features. “What?” His voice is low, as if he misheard.

You swallow hard, heart racing. “He didn’t kill me,” you repeat, meeting his intense gaze. “He tried to save me.”

“No, he—” Jungwoo starts to protest, but you cut him off.

“I was attacked by someone else that night,” you say, your voice steady but soft. “When Doyoung showed up, it was already too late... But he did everything he could to bring me back.”

Jungwoo’s fists clench at his sides, the weight of your words settling over him like stones. His anger fractures, replaced by something raw and painful.

“He’s not the enemy, Jungwoo,” you whisper. “He’s your brother. You’re all he has left. You both lost your parents... Don’t lose each other, too.”

Jungwoo stares at Doyoung, his emotions shifting beneath the surface—anger giving way to regret, and regret yielding to guilt. You walk over to him and gently place a hand on his arm. “I think he deserves an apology,” you say quietly.

A moment passes in thick silence before Jungwoo steps toward his brother. His jaw tightens as if the apology is physically difficult to say. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. I just—” He breaks off, the words catching in his throat. “I thought I lost her because of you.”

Doyoung’s eyes soften, and for the first time, the cracks in his icy composure show. “I missed you,” he says, voice trembling slightly. “I missed you every day.”

Jungwoo’s breath hitches, and when he finally looks at Doyoung, the guarded walls around his heart crumble completely. “I missed you, too,” he whispers, voice barely audible.

Doyoung steps forward and pulls Jungwoo into a tight embrace, gripping him like he’s afraid to let go. Jungwoo stiffens at first, but then he melts into the hug, wrapping his arms around his brother. In that moment, years of tension, anger, and heartache dissolve between them.

Watching them reunite sends a wave of warmth through you. The years of pain and misunderstanding no longer linger like a dark cloud, and for the first time, you feel at peace. A small smile tugs at your lips, knowing that you can finally rest in the castle—no longer haunted by the past.

After a long moment, Doyoung turns to you with a faint smile. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot…”

You cut him off with a grin. “We’re alright now.”

He nods, a quiet understanding passing between the three of you. 

The night settles in, the quiet hum of the forrest fading into the background. You slip under the blankets and curl into Jungwoo’s side. His body is cool, but it’s familiar now..

After a long stretch of silence, you finally ask, “Do you think you and Doyoung will be alright after I’m gone?”

Jungwoo freezes beside you, his entire body going still, and you immediately regret saying it. He turns to look at you, his expression hard to read, but his eyes are sharp with something close to panic.

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s daring the universe to try.

You give him a sad little smile. “Even if we find a cure... I’m still human, Jungwoo. One day... I will die.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unavoidable. Jungwoo’s jaw tightens, like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking. His hand slides into yours, gripping it firmly, as if that alone can keep you here with him forever.

“I’ve waited too long for you,” he whispers. “I’m not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.”

Your throat tightens, and you squeeze his hand. “I don’t want to leave you either—”

“Then don’t.” He says it so softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Before you can argue or overthink it, his lips meet yours. It’s a gentle kiss, but there’s a desperation underneath it, like he’s trying to tell you everything he can’t put into words.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Forever.”

He kisses you again—slower this time—and the rest of the world falls away. No more fears, no more questions. Just him, grounding you in the moment, holding you close.

You melt into him, letting the weight of everything slip away. Wrapped up in his arms, you feel lighter. Safe. Whole.

Sleep comes easily. And for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace, like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

But you should’ve known it wouldn’t last for long.

Dr. Jeong adjusts his glasses as you settle into the chair across from him. His office smells faintly of antiseptic and paper, a constant reminder of the cold, clinical reality you’ve tried so hard to avoid. He leans forward, his hands folded on the desk.

“I won’t sugarcoat it,” he says with a sigh. “Your health is declining faster than we anticipated.”

You force yourself to sit still, hands gripping the edge of the chair. “How much faster?”

“You might not make it to the end of the month.”  His voice is gentle, but the weight of those words feels anything but. “Have you been under any unusual stress lately?”

You manage a brittle laugh, though nothing about the situation feels funny. “Just a little.”

Dr. Jeong gives you a knowing look but doesn’t press further. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we need to monitor things closely. If anything changes—”

“I know the drill,” you cut him off, your voice quieter than you intended. “I’ll come back. Or maybe I won’t.”

He frowns, but there’s no lecture—just the kind of exhausted empathy that comes from watching patients walk this tightrope between hope and inevitability.

“I get that this is overwhelming,” Dr. Jeong says, his tone softening. “But you still have time. There’s always a chance—”

“No, there isn’t,” you mutter. “Not really.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you. He doesn’t argue, and that, somehow, makes it worse.

When the appointment ends, you thank him out of habit, though it feels hollow. As you walk out of the office, the weight of everything hits you like a freight train.

You barely make it past the lobby before your knees buckle. The floodgates open, and before you can stop yourself, you’re sitting on the cold hospital floor, sobbing.

It feels like the dam you’ve been holding up for weeks has finally burst. All the fear, the helplessness, and the heartbreak you’ve tried to bury come rushing out at once.

That’s when you hear your name.

You look up through tear-blurred eyes to see Yeri walking toward you, concern etched on her face. You sit up, hurriedly wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt as her voice breaks through the haze.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her brows knitting together.

You glance away, embarrassed to be caught like this. “I had an appointment,” you mumble.

Yeri frowns. “I’m here to meet my brother,” she says casually, as if she’s filling in a blank. But then, she sees the look on your face, and something in her shifts. “What’s wrong?”

The words are heavy on your tongue, but you force them out. “I’m… dying.”

Her expression changes instantly—gone is the sharp, cool exterior. For a moment, it’s as if time freezes. The subtle disbelief in her widened eyes melts into something unfamiliar on her: empathy.

“You’re serious?” she whispers, and when you nod, you swear you see her heart break just a little. “How long… How long have you known?”

“A while,” you admit, shrugging. “It’s not like it’s new. It’s just… things are getting worse now.”

Yeri’s lips part, but no words come out. She looks away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Then, finally, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you say, brushing away another tear that slips out.

She looks back at you, almost offended. “I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but… I’m trying to work on it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, and before you know it, Yeri’s arms wrap around you. You hesitate for a second, then lean into the hug, letting her warmth pull you out of the spiral you'd been drowning in. 

You make it back home, exhaustion weighing on you like a second skin. Despite everything swirling inside your mind, you force yourself to cook dinner. Jungwoo and Doyoung are already sitting at the table when you bring the food out, exchanging casual banter that feels too normal given the day you’ve had.

You sit with them, listening quietly as they talk about old memories and trivial things. Every now and then, Jungwoo sneaks a glance at you, concern flickering across his eyes. You smile faintly in return, not wanting to spoil the moment.

After dinner, you excuse yourself to get a glass of water, your legs feeling heavier with every step toward the kitchen. The ache in your chest spreads, but you shake it off. You just need some water.

You grab a glass, fill it, and bring it to your lips—then, the room tilts.

The glass slips from your hand.

You hear the shatter before you feel yourself collapsing, the jagged pieces scattering across the floor.

“Hey!” someone shouts—Jungwoo, maybe. You’re not sure.

Your knees buckle, and you hit the ground a moment after the cup, the cold tiles pressing against your cheek as darkness creeps in from the edges of your vision.

The last thing you register is hurried footsteps and a pair of hands—cold, strong—grabbing you before the world blinks out.

You wake up to Jungwoo and Doyoung hovering over you, their faces tight with worry. The air feels heavy with unspoken truths, and you can sense that neither of them is willing to bring up what just happened. Your condition is worsening, and it’s a reality you all avoid confronting.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jungwoo asks, his voice laced with concern. He brushes a stray hair from your forehead, and the coolness of his fingers sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “I feel... okay. Just tired, I guess.” But you know it’s more than that. You know the truth.

Doyoung steps forward, his brow furrowing. “You scared us. We thought you were really hurt this time.”

You nod slowly, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air. “I’m sorry for worrying you both.”

Jungwoo's eyes darken as he grips your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “I love you,” he says suddenly, his words hanging heavily between you. “I’ve waited a hundred years to say that.”

You sit up slowly, ignoring the ache in your body. “I don’t have much time left, Jungwoo.”

His jaw tightens, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No, you’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Why do you keep ignoring it?” you push back, frustration rising in your chest. “Every time I bring it up, you just change the subject. I’m dying, Jungwoo.”

His grip on your hand tightens, as if holding on harder can change reality. “You’re not. You just need to focus on getting better.”

“Jungwoo...” You can’t help but feel a sense of desperation in your chest, and you pull your hand away. “You need to let me go. You’ll be okay. You have Doyoung, and you’ll find me again. In another life.”

He leans closer, his expression fierce and unyielding. “I don’t want another version of you. I want you. If I can’t live in a world with you, then I won’t live in one without you.”

Tears blur your vision, and you bite your lip to keep from sobbing. You know he means it, and the thought of him not wanting to go on without you crushes your heart.

“Jungwoo,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I can’t—”

“Just tell me you love me back,” he urges, his voice breaking slightly.

You take a shaky breath, looking away from him. “I can’t. I need you to let me go.”

“I won’t,” he says fiercely. “You’re going to stay with me. We’re going to find a way.”

The fight leaves your body, and all you can do is surrender. “Will you read me a story?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, determination flickering in his gaze as he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Of course. Anything for you.”

Doyoung silently excuses himself from the room, casting one last glance your way before closing the door behind him.

Jungwoo settles beside you, pulling you gently into his arms. As he flips through the pages of an old book, his voice fills the room like a lullaby. The words wrap around you, and slowly, your eyelids grow heavy.

Jungwoo’s voice is soft as he reads, the rhythm of his words lulling you deeper into sleep. His arms are warm around you, steadying you in a world that feels like it’s constantly shifting beneath your feet. As you drift off, you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. When your breathing slows and your body relaxes, Jungwoo glances down at your tear-streaked face. Gently, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary.

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, as if to say the things he can’t bring himself to say out loud. You sleep on, undisturbed, even as he shifts out from under you, slipping quietly off the bed.

The room feels heavier without him, though you’re too far gone to notice the soft click of the door or the faint sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall.

When Jungwoo returns, he’s careful not to wake you. He carries something tucked behind his back, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight spilling through the window. The mattress dips slightly under his weight as he slides back into bed, pulling you close like nothing’s changed.

You stir, eyelids fluttering open just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, illuminated by the eerie glow of the red moon outside. For a second, everything feels quiet and safe. But then your gaze drops to his hand.

There’s a dagger in it—gleaming silver, sharp, and cold.

Your stomach drops. The drowsiness leaves you all at once, replaced by a cold rush of fear.

“Jungwoo…” Your voice is shaky, like it belongs to someone else.

His eyes don’t waver. There’s a strange calm in them, as if he’s already made peace with what he’s about to do. “I won’t lose you again,” he whispers, his voice low and steady, almost tender.

Before you can stop him, he raises the dagger, the sharp edge catching the moonlight. You barely have time to think—your breath hitching in your throat—before your body takes over.

“No!” you cry, thrashing against him. Your panic explodes like wildfire, adrenaline fueling every movement. Somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your hands shoving him away just as the dagger begins to fall.

The blade clatters onto the bed, but Jungwoo’s already reaching for you, his eyes desperate.

You don’t give him the chance. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stumble off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor with a jarring thud.

“Y/n, wait—” His voice cracks, but you’re already gone.

The castle feels suffocating, walls closing in as you fly through the hallways, your pulse hammering in your ears. You shove the front doors open with a sharp creak, and the cool night air hits you like a slap.

You don’t stop. Not even when the branches of the forest whip against your skin, stinging like tiny knives. Every step feels clumsy and wild, but you keep going, sprinting deeper into the dark woods.

Behind you, he’s close—too close. You can feel him, not in a physical way but in that eerie, unsettling way that only Jungwoo can make you feel. Like a shadow that clings too tightly.

You bite back a sob and push yourself harder, lungs burning as the ground shifts beneath your feet. The night animals stir, their cries eerie and unnatural, twisting into strange, mocking laughter that sends chills down your spine.

But none of that matters. You can’t think. You can’t stop. All you know is that if you slow down, if you let him catch you—it’s over.

Your breath is ragged, every inhale sharp and painful, but the fear pushing you forward is stronger than the ache in your legs. Branches snap beneath your feet, leaves rustle around you, and still, you feel him closing in, like a storm that’s only seconds away from breaking.

You keep running, branches clawing at your skin and your breaths coming out in desperate gasps. The cold night air stings your lungs, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Then, through the shadows ahead, you spot it—his silhouette, standing perfectly still with the dagger glinting in his hand.

Your chest tightens as he takes a step toward you. Instinctively, you inch back, tears blurring your vision. “No, no, no... please, Jungwoo,” you whisper, your voice trembling, desperate. But he doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on you, unreadable, determined. Every step you take back, he matches with one forward, closing the distance inch by inch.

You know screaming would be useless. The only person who could save you is the same one chasing you now. A sob escapes your lips as you look around frantically for a way out, but it’s like the forest itself is working against you, trapping you in.

Then, just like that—he’s gone.

You spin wildly, searching the darkness. “Where did you go?” you whisper, panic flooding your voice. The woods feel alive, the wind rustling the trees, twisting his name in the air like a taunt. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and every rustle of a leaf feels like it could be him, lurking just out of reach.

You stumble forward, looking behind you, then ahead—until you slam into someone.

Strong arms wrap around you, steadying you, and your whole body stiffens with fear. 

“I’ve got you.”

Doyoung’s voice is soft, impossibly gentle, like the calm before a storm. Relief crashes over you, and for a moment, you feel safe. You let out a shaky breath, sinking into his hold as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Then you feel it—the sharp, cold weight of metal buried deep in your chest.

our body freezes as you stare down at the dagger lodged in your chest. You expect to feel pain—a sharp, blinding agony—but there’s nothing. No blood. No warmth leaving your body. Just an eerie stillness, as if the blade were nothing more than a shadow.

With shaky hands, you grip the dagger's hilt and slowly pull it free. There’s no resistance, no tear of flesh—just the quiet slide of metal against skin. The silence that follows is deafening. You should be dead. You know you should be. But here you are, standing in Doyoung’s arms, alive.

Your gaze flickers between the dagger and Doyoung, heart completely still just like the moment. His expression is unreadable, a strange mixture of sorrow and something else—something deeper. You choke on your breath, feeling betrayed but too stunned to speak.

“Why…?” Your voice is a broken whisper, trembling with disbelief.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks at you as if this is exactly how it was meant to happen.

“Jungwoo…” you murmur, your voice cracking as the realization sets in. You glance around wildly, expecting him to step out from the shadows, to stop whatever nightmare this is. But there’s only Doyoung, still holding you like you're fragile glass about to shatter.

The dagger slips from your fingers and lands with a dull thud on the forest floor. You stagger backward, breaking out of Doyoung’s grip, breath hitching in your throat as the weight of everything crashes down on you.

“You’re okay,” Doyoung says softly, kneeling beside you. His calm voice barely breaks through the chaos in your mind.

You clutch your chest, trying to make sense of what’s going on. “What’s happening to me?” you whisper, feeling a strange sensation blooming inside—like something ancient awakening, something you’ve never felt before.

Doyoung gently lifts you into his arms, holding you as if you weigh nothing. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. The familiar woods blur around you as he carries you back to the castle.

When you arrive, the heavy doors creak open, and you see Jungwoo pacing frantically inside, his movements restless and anxious. But the second his glowing eyes meet yours, his entire body stills.

You’re standing in front of him now, but the words catch in your throat. Instead of speaking, Jungwoo closes the distance, cupping your face in both hands. His touch is tender, as though he’s reassuring himself that you’re real. His eyes search yours desperately, and the tension in his expression eases only when he sees that, aside from a few scratches from the woods, you’re unharmed.

Without a word, Jungwoo takes your hand in his. You feel his fingers tremble slightly as he slides a silver ring over your finger. The cool metal settles on your skin like a promise, an unbreakable bond between you. He holds your gaze, his expression filled with something both triumphant and reverent.

“Now we can be together forever,” he whispers, his voice like a vow.

His words sink deep into the hollowness inside your unbeating heart, stirring something that feels strangely like joy. A soft smile tugs at your lips—your first since everything changed—and in that moment, the fear slips away, replaced by something new.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his, your new fangs grazing his bottom lip. Jungwoo exhales, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile against yours. There’s no urgency, just the quiet certainty of two souls finally finding each other after lifetimes apart. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃.

[aroaceleovaldez]

non-exhaustive list of canon powers Nico di Angelo either has shown or is heavily implied to have:

Shadow-travel

Manipulation of shadows/darkness (also possibly use of shadows as a pocket-dimension a la Magicians using the Duat in The Kane Chronicles)

Becoming intangible/shadows

Complete control over skeletons/bones (dead or alive, including summoning, reanimation, and/or changing shape of them) and being able to sense their presence

Summoning, reanimating, commanding, and dispelling the dead/undead (Skeletons, zombies, ghosts, etc & varieties) and being able to sense their presence

Ability to understand/communicate with the dead/undead and potentially other beings of the Underworld

Inherent complete comprehension of Latin

Ability to perceive the usually unperceivable/possibly look upon a deity’s true form without repercussion (at least moreso than the average demigod, though possibly is restricted to chthonic beings) (ex: Tartarus, potentially also interacting with his parents, etc)

Interacting tangibly with ghosts (implied to be a Ghost King thing rather than a Hades/Pluto thing)

Partial or complete immunity to different effects of the Underworld/things within (can consume food/drink of or in the Underworld without repercussions, effects from the Lethe wear off over time instead of being permanent like usual for mortals, etc)

Astral projection/”Walking in dreams”

Dream manipulation and projection (Sending dreams to others, etc.) (presumably includes sharing/projecting dreams with others) alongside inflicting sleep upon others even from a distance.

Illusions

Manipulation of emotions/aura that inflicts specific emotions on others (ex.: radiating fear/death onto enemies)

Projection of emotions and memories onto others (can be so forceful it causes physical damage like a shockwave)

Geokinesis (all forms but also specifically generating black marble) (presumably also specialized control over precious gemstones & non-paper currency)

Temperature manipulation (seemingly only lowering temperature)/creating frost)

Control/manipulation of souls, including living beings (ex: ripping out Bryce Lawrence’s soul)

Perceiving/reading/judging of souls (most likely also a Ghost King thing over Hades/Pluto thing, but possibly both)

Converting living into dead/undead, aka instakill (ex: disintegrating monsters to bone with one touch)

Lowering or manipulation of own vitals (breathing, heart rate, etc)

Death Trance/pseudo-hibernation (possibly also general control over states of consciousness at least for self, in combo with control over vitals & dreams)

Sensing death (impending or when it occurs, sometimes receiving dreams/visions of it occurring)

Able to sense other children of Hades/Pluto (potentially also other chthonic beings in general/able to identify based on sense alone) and also just living beings in general, such as mortals (possibly via souls).

Improved navigation underground/in the Underworld and ability to traverse restricted or normally unnavigable parts of the Underworld

Enhanced strength/abilities when in the Underworld

Inherently unnaturally quiet (possibly able to silence sound on a designated target)

Hiding/shielding self from being perceived (seemingly related to shadows/silence)

[slowdivinqs]

Something Like This

Chapter 1 : the long haul

Series Summary:

Two guarded individuals trying to navigate a goodness within them they see unfitting.

Or, Joel takes you in as stray under the guise of a ranch hand after you run away from home.

Chapter Warnings : none besides mental turmoil and smoking. reader can be seen as an OFC but isn’t written that way. no use of y/n. Can be pedro or game joel

W/C: 2K

A/N: first time trying to write a series. these two own my heart.

series masterlist

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No one is going to find you.

The words have started to sound fake with the number of times you’ve repeated them in your head - just like when one thinks about the word ‘the’ too hard and starts to doubt its security. There’s a fine line where reassurance turns into doubt, and your little mantra is beginning to teeter.

But if you’re being entirely too self-aware like you usually are, you know that the reality of your statement is that no one is going to look for you - you know that you don’t like the pinching sadness it leaves in your stomach, so you rather make it seem like some great escape. Like you’ve done something bad and not that something bad has been done to you.

In something not quite like hindsight, you contemplate whether your actions are dramatic. At the same time, you think it’s nice someone of your calculating nature is doing something spontaneous. You’d like to think it’s a choice and not a reaction to the whirlwind following you down this empty road since you left, like a storm chasing you instead of how it’s supposed to go. Maybe the storm’s in the car already. Regardless, it’s there and it’s approaching languidly.

If anyone were to peek into the leather bag stationed on the passenger seat of your shitty car, it would appear to be nothing more than an artsy college student’s day-to-day needs. If they were to check your outfit, maybe you’re going to a formal meeting at a gallery - brown trenchcoat, work shirt, and stetson flared jeans.

If they were to check your glove box, maybe you’re running away from something real bad.

Life in a town from buttfuck nowhere in the middle of a state that consists of mainly empty land can only be labeled as boring. Knowing everyone by name but not truly knowing anyone at all. Not knowing anyone except for every inch of the consciousness currently thinking in your skull.

Your hands tighten around the leather wheel. Stomach churning in a way that’s almost painful.

Not realizing you had already eaten the leftover snacks you had in your briefcase in a haze of however much time has passed, you soon look out for somewhere to stop. You need gas, sleep, and food. Then you need to just keep moving.

You’re keenly aware of the fact that you’re deflecting. That you’re running and limiting your mind to fowardness so that storm doesn’t come breaking through your windshield. You can’t think about it. Not yet, but later.

But there’s that daunting feeling - that fear, the storm - that’s telling you there’s no hiding from something like this.

Stupidly, when you walk into the gas station, which is rather nicely attached to the 70s-style open diner, you look at the chunky TV in the corner like you’re in some action movie. Like James Bond, Rambo or maybe even the Termimator is chasing you down. You approach a sticky booth, watching the grey sky.

Luckily, Arnold Swartzenegger isn’t approaching - the impending doom of your psyche is a different story.

The air was thick with the scent of coffee, bacon grease, and a hint of something fried to death hours ago.

You scanned the room, eyes flitting over the few patrons: a pair of truckers nursing black coffees, a tired waitress with a notepad tucked into her apron, and then—a man, broad-shouldered and hunched, studying the contents of a glass fridge filled with beer.

Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than intended. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in a while. There was a ruggedness about him, something in the way his worn jacket fell over his frame and how he stood as if carrying an invisible weight. His gaze lifted suddenly, meeting yours. You quickly looked down, heat creeping up your neck as you focused on the sticky menu.

“‘S gon’ rain soon.” The older woman says as she comes by. Auburn hair that’s clearly had a roller ripped out of it, flushed cheeks and drawn-in eyebrows.

“Hope not.” You murmur, quickly flipping through the options before choosing something that will hopefully settle your stomach.

A big breakfast near evening time, the best time to eat breakfast food. Pancakes, waffles, toast, sausage, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. Black coffee served from a pot.

You can tell your mountain of food amuses the woman, but you pay her no mind, digging into the pancake like it will be your salvation.

Glancing at the TV again, you wonder if anyone back home has noticed something is amiss. For your sake, you hope not. You wonder if any of that really matters anymore.

You can feel him looking at you when you approach the cashier. He’s big, older than you by far. Worn, his broad shoulders slump and curve like they’ve been beaten there. Kind eyes that seem to be dulled by sadness. Maybe he’s a lumberjack or a cowboy. Whatever he is, he looks like a typical, gruff, middle-aged man.

“Marlboro reds please, and the breakfast.” You say softly, despite feeling queasy after eating instead of the comfort you’d hoped for, the teenager languidly grabs what you’ve asked for, and the beer-eyeing man is now standing next to you near the till. Clearly trying to assess you in the most respectful way possible.

His presence was heavy, an unspoken tension filling the room as he stood just a step away. You could feel him, a shadow at your periphery, glancing your way as you reached for your wallet. The cashier, a gangly teenager, moved at the speed of molasses as he rang up your bill. The man shifted his weight, the rustle of him cutting through the low hum of a radio in the background.

You look at him directly, and he turns sheepish now that you’ve made eye contact with him. He’s handsome. Very handsome. dark eyes, a scruffy face. A manly face. A scarred nose and a corduroy jacket. He looks like he’s probably not used to seeing new people around here - assuming he lives here instead of passing through. He looks like he’s not used to seeing people at all.

“‘Scuse me,” he said, voice deep and rough around the edges, sounding like he doesn’t use it much at all. Your eyes catching the flicker of hesitation in his. He shifted the six-pack in his hand, the grip tightening like it was an anchor. He seems startled that you looked at him, as if he expected you to ignore him entirely. Like he’s been living his life as a ghost for longer than he can remember. “You, uh, you got somethin’—” He gestured vaguely at his own head. “Egg. Right there.”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could rein it in.

“Well, I’m sure this looks super appealing, thanks for saving me.” You say with a deflected smirk that always seems to grace your features you said, brushing your fingers through your hair until they found the sticky culprit. His gaze darted away, the faintest hint of a smile, of boyish sheepishness, cracking the hard lines of his face before it vanished just as quickly

You’re not happy that someone has noticed you, and you realize you’re sticking out like a sore thumb when you should be blending in, passing by unnoticed. The teenager hands over the pack of Malboros. You turn back to the kid who is probably only a few years younger than you. “Could I get a room at the motel, please?”

“Sorry miss, the motel hasn’t been open in a long time, it’s all..well…shitty.” He mumbles, glancing over at corduroy jacket standing on your left. The weight of your exhaustion pressed down hard, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You shifted your gaze back to the stranger, finding him watching you again, jaw working like he was chewing over a thought.

“You know any places nearby?” You ask him, and he almost seems overwhelmed by the 2 comments you’ve thrown his way. Blinking slightly and adjusting the six-pack in his hands. Nothing about talking is natural for him. It almost seems like existing isn’t natural either.

“I got a farm, thirty minutes from here.” He murmurs. Seeing you raise your eyebrow, he sighs and looks to the side, the demeanor of a kicked dog. “I got a maid quarter and no maid, so…”

He shuffles slightly, glancing at the teenage boy with a defeated look like maybe the ginger can save him from his own mouth.

“I ain’t-, I uh- never mind.”

“Mr.Miller has lived here for years, and helped to build the new schoolhouse.” The cashier supplies, and you grin at the resume you’ve been given on Mr. Hair inspector.

A room sounds nice. This man, Mr.Miller, seems safe enough.

“A maid quarters with no maid sounds great.”

His name is Joel. He looks like a Joel, you think. Reminds you of your earlier musings about a lumberjack or cowboy. There’s a ruggedness to him, an air that suggests he’s spent more time outdoors than in, weathered by sun and wind.

You follow his red pickup to his farm from your sputtering, shitty little car, bouncing along the bumpy gravel surrounded by thick trees that thin out near the road. The sun slowly shines through the trees, making that pretty pattern on the ground you love so much. You glance in the mirror one more time, making sure there’s no more egg in your hair, how it got in there, you’ll never know.

When the trees part, his farm comes into view. It’s beautiful: a two-story house clad in natural wood, a wrap-around porch lined with flowerbeds bursting with late summer blooms. The sight stirs something inside you, a feeling you can’t quite name.

He shows you the maid quarters, a modest little cabin on the outside. Furnished with wooden furniture, quilts, and a toilet he says he has to inspect before you use it. It’s warm and homey. Much like everything of his seems to be. There’s a guarded expression in his gaze, as if weighing each thought carefully.

“I don’t have much to pay you with.” You state as he’s about to leave you be and retreat to the main house. He turns and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“If I was expectin’ you t’pay me, I woulda told you that from the start.” He says in that rough voice of his, each word thought out and calculated.

“You’re just gonna let me stay here for a week, for free? You a fairy godmother or something? ” You ask incredulously, taking an unsure, subtle, step back. You’ve heard horror stories of men expecting more than just money.

Joel doesn’t miss your movement or your tone and takes a weighted step back himself. Eyes narrowing slightly.

“‘F you wanna be a temporary ranch hand that’s fine by me. You do your shit and I do mine.”

“You’ll hire me?” You try not to sound so hopeful, but hiding away as a ranch hand in a quiet town like this for a few weeks to observe how things go sounds like a dream

“Sure.”

As the wooden door to the shed creaks shut behind him, his expression hardens, shifting into something distant and pained. He is the most foolish man in the world. Why he did this? He doesn’t know. He’s been alone for years, kicked anyone who tried to come near out with a snarl. Now there’s some girl on his farm that’s going to stay, indefinitely. Sweet Jesus, he’s a fool. He should kick her out in the morning, tell her he was drunk- or high, she won’t believe it but he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t.

Lumbering up to his house, he curses himself, watching the lights dim out in the shed that’s remained dark for years, ever since it stopped being her play house.

He grimaces, takes a large swig of the whiskey on his dresser, feeling it burn down his throat. The bed groans as he collapses onto it, eyes squeezed shut. He knows the real reason he offered her the space so quickly: the look in her eyes—haunted, desperate—a look he recognizes all too well.

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if you enjoyed please make sure to reblog and comment! Thanks for reading ◡̈

don’t repost or reuse my work anywhere, thanks.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 2 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Two: Let The Dance With The Devil Begin

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Omfg. I took so long to write this I know T^T Thank you for being patient with me! I just decided to have a mini break bcs I was jet lagged from travelling and had to focus on my health for a little bit. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: The Albatross by Taylor Swift

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RED KEEP, WESTEROS - 300 AC

You spent two decades carefully avoiding forming deep bonds, all the while meticulously plotting your revenge. You studied their weaknesses, habits, and relationships, patiently biding your time until you could strike from close range.

You had noticed the lingering glances between Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister, their whispered conversations turning into passionate encounters. So when Cersei bore a child, rumored to be the result of her incestuous relationship, and as you witnessed Joffrey Baratheon growing into a likeness of his parents, you recorded every detail in your leather-bound notebook. It contained all the information about those responsible for the death of Elia Martell, ensuring no detail escaped your scrutiny.

Serena, a girl you befriended in the bustling stables, is a steadfast ally in your quest for vengeance. Together, you both meticulously gather intelligence, weaving through the whispers of the kitchen staff and the secrets shared in the shadowy corners of brothels. With her keen eyes and your shared determination, you stalk those who have wronged you, laying the groundwork for your calculated retribution.

In the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the struggle for power rages on. Joffrey Baratheon, seated upon the Iron Throne, wields authority backed by the formidable House Lannister. However, his claim faces challenge from his uncle Renly, who, bolstered by the might of House Tyrell, presses his own bid for kingship. In this turmoil, Tyrion Lannister arrives in King's Landing, aiming to assert control, only to find himself at odds with his conniving sister, Cersei, now entrenched as Queen Regent.

As autumn blankets the realm and whispers of an impending winter linger, Westeros braces for the bitter cold ahead. Yet, instead of preparing for the harsh season, the land remains conflicted. Renly Baratheon's sudden demise alters the tides of allegiance, leaving the political landscape in flux. Meanwhile, Joffrey, with the backing of House Tyrell, emerges victorious in a decisive clash against his uncle Stannis, solidifying his hold on power.

The fates of many hang precariously in the balance. In the labyrinthine corridors of King's Landing, both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark navigate treacherous waters, their survival dependent on their ability to navigate the perilous currents of court intrigue.

You had served Sansa since the day she was first betrothed to King Joffrey. Back then, she had been full of dreams—visions of knighthood, love, and a golden crown. But those dreams quickly soured, turning into nightmares as the Lannisters’ hold over her tightened. What was once a promising union became a gilded cage. They kept her in the Red Keep, a prisoner beneath layers of silk and politeness. 

Sansa clung to her “lady-like” pursuits to distract from the harshness of her reality—sewing, embroidery, poetry, and music. Her stitches were always delicate, her voice soft, yet behind her graceful demeanor, you saw the cracks. You were there when Septa Mordane led her through the Red Keep’s throne room for a lesson in history. It was meant to be a glimpse into the glory of the Targaryens and the rulers of old, but instead, Sansa’s gaze lingered on the dark stain where her grandfather and uncle had been butchered by the Mad King. Her face paled, and she pressed her lips into a thin line, haunted by the ghosts of her own blood.

One evening, as she sat embroidering by the window, she confided in you. “Do you think I’ll be able to give Joffrey sons?” Her voice wavered. “What if… What if I’m only able to give him daughters, like Jeyne Poole’s mother?”

You tried to find reassuring words, though even Septa Mordane's attempts had done little to ease her fears. “You’re young, my lady. You will bear many children in time.”

Her blue eyes, wide with fear, met yours, but she said nothing more.

The Hand’s tournament arrived, and Sansa, despite everything, seemed to sparkle for a brief moment amidst the finery of the lords and knights. You stood in the shadows, watching her as she watched them. Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain, was a towering presence, and you felt a chill run down your spine as he unseated Ser Hugh of the Vale, killing him in the dust of the joust. Littlefinger whispered dark stories to Sansa of the Hound’s past, tales of burned flesh and brutal lessons. You saw the way Sansa’s hands trembled as she absorbed the horrors hidden beneath the chivalry.

Yet, there were moments of fleeting happiness. Ser Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of the Flowers, gave her a single rose before his tilt with Ser Gregor. She blushed under his attention, but you noticed how Loras’s gaze lingered not on her, but on Renly Baratheon, who stood just behind. That small act of kindness, hollow as it was, brought a rare smile to Sansa’s lips, even as the court applauded Sandor Clegane’s intervention to stop his brother’s rampage.

But that brief joy was drowned by the darkness that soon followed. When King Robert Baratheon died after a hunting “accident,” everything unraveled. Eddard Stark, honorable as always, tried to reveal the truth about Joffrey’s parentage, but it was too late. You weren’t surprised when Littlefinger betrayed him. You had seen the cunning in his eyes long before, the way he played everyone like pieces on a cyvasse board. 

Chaos erupted. Eddard’s men, loyal to the last, were slaughtered by Lannister guardsmen led by Sandor Clegane. You remembered Mordane’s voice trembling as she urged Sansa to lock herself in their chambers. But there was no hiding from the Lannisters. They took her.

You watched from a distance as Sansa was humiliated before the court, her innocence crushed beneath the weight of Cersei’s cold cruelty. She stood there, trembling, and you saw the beginning of a transformation. The girl who once dreamed of knights and love was slowly breaking, her innocence being stripped away by every sneer, every command, every cold laugh in the throne room.

You wished you could offer her comfort, but in King’s Landing, comfort was as fleeting as mercy.

The great Sept was filled with the hum of whispers, the heavy weight of tension hanging in the air as Eddard Stark stood before the court. His face, weathered by years of honor and battle, now looked hollow, beaten by betrayal. You stood in the shadows, where servants always stood, your eyes flicking between the high lords and the northern Warden. As the silence fell, Eddard knelt, acknowledging his so-called “crimes” and pledging loyalty to King Joffrey.

For a moment, it seemed the court might breathe again. Sansa stood nearby, her hands trembling. Hope flickered in her eyes—briefly. But Joffrey, perched on the Iron Throne like some twisted boy-king out of a nightmare, leaned forward with a smile sharp as a blade. His words fell like a thunderclap. “Bring me his head.”

Sansa's scream cut through the hall, raw and broken. She lunged forward, hysterical, her voice lost in a storm of pleading, but the gold cloaks restrained her, forcing her back. Her cries—“Please, mercy, mercy!”—rang in your ears, making your stomach turn. 

Ser Ilyn Payne stepped forward, cold and unfeeling as he drew Ice, the greatsword of House Stark. You could see the light catch the edge of the steel, and the last thing Sansa saw before she fainted was her father’s final, resigned glance.

You moved through the chaos as a shadow. Your duty to Sansa came first, so as the blood pooled on the Sept’s floor, you carried her from the carnage, her limp body heavy with grief. The days that followed were hollow. She barely spoke, her eyes vacant as you tended to her, making sure she ate, dressing her in the Lannisters' silks even as her soul remained buried in sorrow.

It was one of those somber evenings when she finally spoke, her voice so faint you almost missed it. “Do you… serve the Lannisters?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, setting down the tray of untouched food, meeting her tired gaze. “Yes, my lady,” you answered softly.

Sansa’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe anger. “Have they always been this cruel?” she asked, her words trembling with an innocent horror.

You weighed your response carefully, then nodded. “From what I’ve heard, unfortunately, yes.”

Her lips parted as she considered your answer, but it was her next question that cut deeper. “Then why do you serve them?”

You lowered your eyes, your hands folding over the fabric of her gown, the lie of your position hanging heavy on your shoulders. “It’s something I wager on,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest.

Sansa, always perceptive, frowned. “Is that the only kind of wager you make?”

For a moment, you froze. Then you let a faint smile tug at the corner of your lips, the words “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken” echoing in your heart, though unspoken. “There was one time I bet my entire life on something,” you confessed quietly.

She looked at you then, truly looked, her tear-streaked face searching yours. “Did you win?”

Your smile faltered, but you met her gaze with a spark of determination. “I’m planning to,” you said, with a quiet promise hanging between the two of you.

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — 300 AC

The stone walls of the Red Keep felt colder that night, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ancient stones. In a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the grand halls, you worked in silence, the weight of your plan pressing down like the calm before a storm. Every movement was deliberate, each thought sharper than the edge of a Valyrian blade. The game was already in motion, and you were setting the pieces in place.

You had long been underestimated—a mere servant, a shadow in the background of the powerful Lannisters, Tyrells, and Martells. Yet, you had seen the truth: the most dangerous players were often those who remained unseen. You were one of them, a silent force, blending into the background while carefully planting the seeds of destruction. The poison, subtle and undetectable, was your weapon.

A soft knock interrupted your focus. The door creaked open, and there stood Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger himself. His thin lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only calculation.

“Ah, a quiet place for quiet minds,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, eyes darting around the chamber before settling on you.

You raised your head slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside you. Littlefinger wasn’t a man easily intimidated, but neither were you. Two wolves circling, each looking for the other’s weakness.

“You seem to find yourself in many quiet places, Lord Baelish,” you replied, voice soft but pointed. “What brings you here?”

He moved closer, his steps light, like a predator stalking prey. “Just ensuring the right wheels keep turning, ensuring the chaos that follows serves the right cause.” His gaze lingered on your hands, noting the fine movements as you handled a small vial, the liquid within almost imperceptibly shifting.

You allowed a small, knowing smile. “Chaos... Chaos can be useful. But only if it’s controlled.”

His eyebrow raised, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Controlled chaos? Now, that’s an art.”

You carefully set the vial down, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “What if the chaos that’s already simmering were to boil over? What if, after Joffrey’s wedding, his reign came to an... unexpected end?”

Baelish didn’t blink, though you could see the subtle change in his posture, the slight narrowing of his eyes. You hadn’t suggested anything outright—it was the art of planting the idea, the delicate balance of nudging him without him realizing he’d been led.

He took a slow breath, his mind already racing. “And who, I wonder, would have the audacity to arrange such an unexpected end?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer directly, your silence speaking volumes. Instead, you moved the conversation forward, allowing the implication to sink in.

“The realm is already full of hungry wolves, my lord,” you said, your voice steady, your hands working deftly as you began to clear away your tools. “All it takes is a nudge in the right direction, and they’ll tear each other apart. No one will stop to notice who did the nudging.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, studying you for a moment longer. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone as noncommittal as ever, “but wolves are tricky. You can never be sure which way they’ll turn.”

“That’s true,” you conceded, meeting his eyes directly. “But I’ve always been good at reading the pack.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of you measuring the other, testing the boundaries. He wouldn’t act on your words immediately. Littlefinger was too careful, too meticulous for that. But you could see the spark in his eyes—the idea was there, planted, waiting to take root.

With a nod, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “You have a dangerous mind,” he remarked, half admiration, half warning. “Be careful. The pack bites back.”

You gave him a knowing look. “Only if they see the one holding the leash.”

Days passed, and as you moved through the grand halls of the Red Keep, you watched everything begin to fall into place. Like a silent puppeteer, you pulled the strings without ever needing to step into the light.

Varys had been busy, moving pieces on the board that even you hadn’t expected. Ros had whispered in his ear, and soon after, Lady Olenna Tyrell had been brought into the fold. The whispers of a marriage between Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell spread through the castle like wildfire. You had always known Varys to be a man of schemes, but even you marveled at how quickly he moved.

In the gardens, you overheard the conversations as they unfolded—subtle, quiet, but filled with power. Lady Olenna, with her sharp wit and keen mind, was already orchestrating her plans, likely envisioning a future without Joffrey’s cruel reign.

You stood in the shadows as Littlefinger passed by, his expression unreadable. He had heard your suggestion, and though you were not directly involved, you knew the idea had taken root. He would set things in motion, ensuring the chaos that followed would serve him—and you would remain unseen, untouched by the blood that would soon spill.

RED KEEP, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The War of the Five Kings dragged on, but within the Red Keep, the battles were far subtler, fought with whispers and veiled threats. Your life as a servant under King Joffrey's reign had grown increasingly unbearable. Between the relentless demands of court life and the constant fear of his cruelty, you found little time to care for yourself.

Your headache throbbed—a reminder that you hadn’t eaten since dawn, and the long days had begun to blur into endless nights. It wasn’t uncommon for you to push through these spells, but this time felt different. The world around you grew heavier, your limbs sluggish, and the gardens seemed far away.

Basket in hand, filled with fruit from the kitchens, you trudged through the Red Keep's gardens. The bright afternoon light stabbed at your eyes, worsening the pounding in your head. You tried to focus on your task, but each step felt more labored, and a cold sweat broke out on your skin.

As you rounded a corner near the overgrown hedges, your vision blurred. The world tilted. The cobbled path beneath your feet shifted into an unforgiving blur of stone and soil, and with a muffled thud, everything went black.

In that hazy in-between of consciousness, a voice pulls you back—familiar, though distant. “He would have liked you,” Princess Elia’s voice echoes in your mind.

“Whom do you speak of, my lady?” you had once asked her, back when the Red Keep still buzzed with life and not dread.

“My brother. Oberyn. He’s trouble, but even so, I love him dearly.”

For a brief moment, you can almost feel her presence, and the weight of the past rushes over you like a cold wave. You blink, pulling yourself out of the memory just as a different voice fills your ears. A deeper one, full of curiosity and something unreadable.

You woke slowly, your senses coming back in fragments: the scent of crushed grass, the cool air against your skin, and the distant murmur of voices. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the filtered sunlight through the leaves overhead.

"Careful. Don’t rush."

The voice was deep, tinged with amusement. A hand—warm and strong—rested on your shoulder, gently holding you down. You blinked, focusing on the face above you, unfamiliar yet striking. Dark, sharp eyes, framed by lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks recede from his brow into a widow's peak. The emblem of a red sun pierced by a golden spear embroidered on his tunic caught your eye.

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne.

“Are you injured?” His voice held a soft curiosity as if you were some puzzle he intended to unravel.

You shook your head, still disoriented. "No, I... I must have fainted."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the basket of spilled fruit beside you. “It seems you’ve been overworking yourself. King Joffrey’s court, I assume? They’re not known for their kindness.”

A rush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks. You scrambled to sit up, but Oberyn’s hand remained firm.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone softening. “Even a servant deserves a moment to breathe.”

You weren’t used to kindness, especially not from someone of his stature. His reputation as a fierce and dangerous man preceded him, yet there was something else—an air of compassion, albeit hidden beneath his sharp edges.

“I’m... grateful,” you murmured, unsure of how to respond. “But I should get back to my duties. They won’t—”

Oberyn interrupted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let them wait. The Lannisters have their claws in many, but even a viper can strike when the time is right.”

There was a pause, a subtle shift in the air between you and Oberyn Martell. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and though his words were casual, they held an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. It was as though he saw something deeper in you, something more than just a servant tending to her duties. Fate, or perhaps something far more dangerous, had drawn his attention to you.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood upright, his dark eyes gleaming with a playful intensity. "You Dornish are known for our... passions," he said, his voice a low, deliberate purr. "But it seems fate has a way of placing beauty in my path, whether I ask for it or not."

You blink, unsure of how to respond, heat rising uncomfortably to your face. He stepped closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, lingering there a moment longer than propriety would allow. "Tell me," Oberyn continued, his tone playful yet edged with something deeper, "does a woman like you often find herself fainting at the feet of princes? Or is this a rare occasion?"

Your breath hitched, panic flaring inside you, though you did your best to suppress it. Affection—let alone attention—was something you were unaccustomed to. His flirtation was like a wildfire, threatening to burn through the careful walls you'd built around yourself.

"I... I don’t..." you stammered, trying to pull your thoughts together, your mind racing. You weren’t used to being noticed, not like this, not by someone like him.

Oberyn tilted his head, his smirk widening as if he could sense the flurry of emotions raging within you. "Don't be shy," he murmured, voice lowering as his eyes roamed over you with quiet curiosity. "I can see there's much more to you than meets the eye." 

The words felt like a tease, a challenge wrapped in silk, and your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the instinct to flee or stand frozen in place. Oberyn Martell's gaze seemed to strip away every defense you had carefully built over the years, as though he could see straight through the mask of servitude you wore.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your trembling nerves. This was not the time to panic, not in front of the Red Viper of Dorne. He was too sharp, too dangerous, and your heart fluttered at the way his presence seemed to unsettle the very air around you.

Without answering the prince’s flirtatious remark, you bent down to hurriedly gather the fallen fruit, your fingers clumsy as you fumbled with the basket. But even as you moved, you felt his eyes on you, watching every motion with an almost predatory amusement.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched beside you, his hand brushing yours as he handed you one of the scattered apples. "You're in quite the hurry," he murmured, the smirk never leaving his face. His touch lingered, deliberately slow as he placed the fruit in your basket.

You rose quickly, trying to distance yourself, but Oberyn stood just as swiftly. Before you could retreat, he grasped your wrist, pulling it gently toward him. His movements were fluid, effortless, as if this were a dance he had long perfected. He raised your hand to his lips, his dark eyes locked on yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles—his lips soft, warm against your skin.

Your breath caught, panic fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird. Heat crept up your neck, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together, but his touch seemed to set your mind spinning.

Just then, Oberyn’s eyes shifted, narrowing as he caught sight of something—your scars, peeking out from beneath your long sleeves. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity flashing across his features. He tilted his head, about to speak.

But you jerked your hand away, the sudden movement sharp, almost frantic. "I should go," you blurted, the words tumbling out hastily. You gathered your things, your pulse still thrumming wildly as you turned on your heel, desperate to escape his piercing gaze.

As you hurried away, you could feel Oberyn's eyes lingering on your retreating form, his expression unreadable. Even in your rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the prince wasn’t done with you yet.

KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS – 301 AC

The sun hung high over King’s Landing, its golden light casting a deceptive warmth over the cool sea breeze that drifted in from Blackwater Bay. You stood with Marei at the edge of the courtyard, the bustle of the palace below and the hum of the city distant beneath the tranquil air. The garden was alive with color, a stark contrast to the heavy gloom that clung to those gathered at the banquet table.

Shae moved with a quiet urgency, filling a plate with food from the banquet spread. She placed it in front of Sansa, who sat still, pale and lifeless, her face void of any spark. Her slender hands rested on her lap, unmoving. It was as if she had already become a shadow, despite still breathing.

“You need to eat something,” Shae urged softly, her voice carrying both concern and exasperation.

Sansa did not stir. 

“Pigeon pie,” Shae offered, her tone gentler now, but Sansa’s pale lips barely moved as she whispered, “No, thank you.”

A sigh escaped Shae, but she quickly turned back to the table, scanning for something else. With a quick motion, she removed Sansa's untouched plate and placed a new offering in front of her. “Lemon cakes?” Shae asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Everyone knew Sansa's love for lemon cakes.

Sansa’s voice, barely a whisper, responded again. “No, thank you.”

Shae’s expression faltered. “You love lemon cakes.”

But Sansa remained unmoved, as if the world around her had lost all meaning. Shae’s shoulders slumped in frustration, her eyes flicking toward you and Marei before glancing at the entrance of the courtyard.

Tyrion Lannister entered the garden with deliberate steps, his short legs struggling to match the long strides of the men he was often compared to. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the scene with quick efficiency. Despite his stature, you had learned well enough that Lord Tyrion Lannister was not a man to be underestimated. His mind was his sharpest weapon.

“Tyrion,” Shae called out to him with a sigh of relief. “Tell her she needs to eat.”

Tyrion approached the table, offering a small, polite smile. “My lady, you do need to eat.”

Sansa’s gaze remained fixed somewhere in the distance, her hands limp in her lap. “I don’t need to eat,” she said softly, without even looking at him.

Tyrion hesitated for a moment, glancing between Shae, you, and Marei. His expression was measured, patient. “Could I have a moment alone with my wife?” he asked gently, though his tone held the firmness of a command.

You exchanged a quick look with Marei before bowing your head and stepping away. Shae, however, lingered, her eyes flashing with concern and defiance. She crossed her arms, unwilling to yield.

“She needs to eat,” Shae said stubbornly, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Tyrion and Sansa. 

Tyrion met her gaze, his expression imploring, but Shae’s frustration was palpable. With one last glance at Sansa, Shae reluctantly turned and left the garden.

Tyrion took a seat across from Sansa, his eyes softening as he reached out to take her hand. His grip was gentle, but firm enough to draw her from her daze. “I can’t let you starve, Sansa,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with quiet compassion.

Sansa didn’t react. She stared past him, her blue eyes hollow, as if the world had dulled to nothing but gray. Shae, now at the far end of the garden, cast a furious glance back toward Tyrion, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KITCHEN KEEP, KING'S LANDING — DAY

The kitchen was a chaotic blend of sounds and smells, with servants rushing around, preparing the feast for the garden party. You focused on your tasks, slicing fruits and arranging them neatly, hoping the repetitive motions would calm the unease bubbling in your chest. The Lannisters' garden parties always came with tension—too many eyes, too many secrets.

Serena, ever observant, moved beside you with a conspiratorial smile. Her presence had always been a quiet comfort, an unspoken pact between two women wronged by the same family. She nudged your side playfully, her voice just loud enough for you to hear over the clattering pans and murmurs of other servants.

“Guess what I overheard in the gardens earlier,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of fresh gossip.

You glanced up, your curiosity piqued. “What is it now?”

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Tyrion and Lord Varys were having one of their secret little chats. Something about Shae.” She gave a sly smile before recounting the conversation she’d overheard, her voice adopting a mocking impression of Tyrion's measured tone.

“Lord Varys. Breakfasting with the king?”

Your hands paused over the fruit, recognizing the weight of that simple greeting. Serena continued, now mimicking Varys’ smooth, ever-cautious reply.

“I’m afraid foreigners aren’t welcome at such exclusive affairs,” she quoted, barely concealing a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at your lips. Tyrion and Varys—always circling each other, testing the limits of loyalty and power. Serena’s impression was spot on, and the dry chuckle she added to Varys’ line brought the exchange to life.

“Oh, to be foreign,” she muttered in Tyrion’s voice before glancing around the bustling kitchen with exaggerated suspicion, mimicking Varys’ quiet amusement.

“Ahem,” she finished with a soft laugh.

The kitchen clamor drowned out any chance of someone overhearing, but you kept your gaze fixed on your hands, focusing on the fruit before you. "What did they say after that?" you asked in a low voice, not wanting to appear too interested but knowing that information like this was often a lifeline in King's Landing.

Serena's smile dimmed slightly as she continued, her tone more serious now. “They were talking about Shae. Varys warned Tyrion that she’s been noticed. That Sansa���s maid saw them together, and it’s only a matter of time before Cersei—and worse, Tywin—find out.”

Your breath hitched slightly. That was dangerous—too dangerous for a place like this.

You glanced up at Serena, who nodded grimly. “Varys told Tyrion his father has promised to hang the next whore he’s found with.”

Your stomach twisted, though you managed to keep your expression neutral. Information like this could be a weapon if used correctly. But it also carried its own risks, especially for someone like you, who lived in the shadows of these powerful people. You simply nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, DAY — 301 AC

The gardens of the Red Keep, beautiful though they were, could not ease the tension that clung to the air. The lush greenery and sea breeze seemed wasted on the gathering before you, where cruelty simmered beneath the surface. You moved silently among the servants, pouring wine, offering trays of food, your head low as your sharp eyes observed everything. No one here was truly safe—not even those who smiled and pretended otherwise.

You had learned long ago to watch, to listen, to see things others missed. And here, among the so-called lords and ladies, your simmering hatred boiled just beneath the surface. Revenge had a way of lurking in quiet moments like these, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

At the head of the table sat King Joffrey, his golden crown glinting in the sun like a mockery of all that was just. Around him, the key players of the realm gathered: Queen Cersei, her eyes sharp and watchful; Lord Tywin, stoic and commanding as always; Prince Tommen, innocent and ignorant of the malice around him; and Grand Maester Pycelle, old and leering.

But your attention flickered to Sansa Stark. Pale, withdrawn, her once-vibrant spirit all but crushed under the weight of her suffering. She sat beside her husband, Tyrion Lannister, who, despite his small stature, radiated an awareness far sharper than anyone gave him credit for. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken grief they both carried.

Your heart tightened as you watched, knowing Sansa's pain was not unlike your own. Like her, you had learned to survive in silence, though your silence was of a different kind. The Lannisters had taken too much from you. They were going to pay for it one day, one way or another.

Across the table, Lord Mace Tyrell puffed out his chest, carrying a gleaming goblet, his voice filled with a pride that bordered on foolishness.

“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup.”

He placed the goblet before Joffrey, who barely looked at it, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

“A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?”

You noted how Mace Tyrell’s face flushed with both pride and unease. He bowed deeply. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

As Mace withdrew, Shae moved gracefully through the crowd, setting a tray before Sansa. You saw how her eyes flickered toward the young girl, but there was no response from Sansa, no recognition of the kindness that once might have been there.

Then, the sharp voice of Queen Cersei pierced the moment, her words venomous.

“She’s the whore I told you about. The dark-haired one.”

Your blood boiled as you saw Shae stiffen. The insult cut through the air like a blade, but Shae, ever composed, turned to leave without a word. You noticed how Tywin’s cold eyes followed her, narrowing as she walked away.

“Have her brought to the Tower of the Hand before the wedding,” Tywin ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion, yet as sharp as a death sentence.

Tyrion’s face darkened. You could see the concern etched into his features, his helplessness as he tried to control a situation slipping further out of his grasp. Your heart raced, knowing the precarious game being played here—and how dangerous it was for all involved.

Shae’s departure was barely noticed as Podrick stepped forward, carrying a large tome. He placed it carefully before Joffrey, and Tyrion followed, a strained smile on his face as he addressed the king.

“A book,” Joffrey said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Tyrion clasped his hands together, speaking with calm civility. “The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read.”

For a brief moment, Joffrey hesitated. His sharp tongue seemed to fail him as the weight of the gift hovered in the air. But Tywin’s piercing gaze prodded him, and the boy-king forced a mocking smile.

“Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom,” Joffrey said, his voice laced with scorn. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Tyrion bowed, but the tension between them crackled like a hidden storm.

Before anyone could breathe, The Mountain lumbered forward, carrying a sword swathed in black cloth. He laid it before Joffrey with all the reverence of a knight presenting a sacred relic. Tywin rose, his voice steeped in gravitas as he spoke.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”

Joffrey’s eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement as he tore the sword from its sheath, its blade gleaming ominously in the sunlight. You felt a ripple of unease roll through the gathered nobles as the blade sliced through the air.

“Careful, Your Grace,” Pycelle croaked from his seat. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel.”

But Joffrey’s wicked grin only widened. “So they say.”

In a sudden, violent movement, Joffrey swung the sword down, cleaving the book Tyrion had gifted him clean in half. The sound of tearing parchment and splintering leather echoed through the garden. A gasp rippled through the crowd, but Joffrey was delighted with himself.

“Such a great sword should have a name,” Joffrey declared, his eyes burning with cruel glee. “What shall I call her?”

The crowd murmured suggestions, none of which seemed to please the boy-king. But then, his lips curled into a malicious grin.

“Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You saw Sansa freeze beside him, her face drained of color, her entire body rigid with the memory of her father’s execution. Across the garden, Shae watched, her eyes narrowing with unspoken fury.

You kept your head down, but the seething rage inside you boiled hotter. One day, they would all pay for this. The Lannisters, their cruelty, their arrogance—it would all come crashing down. And you would make sure of it.

KING’S LANDING GARDEN, LATE AFTERNOON — 301 AC

The preparations for the royal wedding between Joffrey and Margaery were endless, consuming the days and nights of everyone within the Red Keep. But while others concerned themselves with the surface duties, your mind was preoccupied with a far more dangerous task.

The thought of the Strangler stones hidden within Sansa's necklace gnawed at you. The pieces were already in motion, each step methodically planned. Your hands moved through the flowers you were tasked with arranging, but your thoughts were elsewhere, carefully calculating the next move in your plot to bring down King Joffrey without implicating yourself. 

As you worked alone in the gardens, the late afternoon sun blazed overhead. The sweat clung to your skin, and the heat forced you to roll your sleeves up just enough to reveal the faint, jagged lines of scars that adorned your forearms. The burn scars, remnants of your brutal encounter with Ser Gregor Clegane, were still a reminder of what you endured—and survived. The pain was still fresh, but it fueled your resolve. Spite, after all, was a powerful motivator.

You barely noticed the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell across your path. Looking up, you were met with the sharp, knowing gaze of Oberyn Martell. His smirk was playful, as it often was, but there was something deeper there—an intensity that sent a ripple of unease through you. 

"You work too hard," he said smoothly, his voice like silk. "It’s a crime to see such beauty covered in dirt."

You straightened, brushing your hands on your apron, trying to keep the panic from showing. "I have my duties, my lord," you replied, keeping your tone even. The way Oberyn looked at you—intense, almost predatory—made your heart race, though you tried to remain composed.

He crouched beside you, plucking a flower from the arrangement and twirling it between his fingers. His eyes flicked briefly to the scars on your arm, scars you quickly moved to conceal by rolling down your sleeves. But it was too late—Oberyn’s gaze lingered on them for just a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. 

The way he studied you wasn’t merely out of curiosity, but recognition. His next words carried a weight that hung in the air between you both. 

"There are stories... of a servant who once attended to Princess Elia." Oberyn’s tone remained casual, but you could feel the shift, the tension creeping in as he spoke. "They say she escaped the Sack of King’s Landing with her life. Barely."

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still. You had heard those stories too. After all, you had lived them.

Oberyn leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Some say she vanished, swallowed by the chaos. Others claim she survived through sheer will, fueled by spite." His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching. "I wonder… do you know of such tales?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy with suspicion. You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, but your face remained a mask of composure. "Many stories are told in King’s Landing, my lord. Few of them hold any truth."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but his eyes remained sharp, watching you carefully. "Perhaps," he murmured. "But then again, some tales are more dangerous than others." He stood up, still twirling the flower between his fingers, casting one last glance at your concealed scars. "Sometimes, survival speaks louder than words."

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment. Ellaria Sand approached, her eyes already on you. There was a possessiveness in her gaze, though softened by intrigue.

“So this is the woman who has caught my prince’s eye,” Ellaria remarked, her voice a low purr as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against Oberyn’s shoulder.

You bowed your head, hiding the inner storm brewing within you. "My lady," you greeted, though the tension in the air was unmistakable.

Ellaria’s gaze flicked to Oberyn, then back to you. “She is different,” she said, her tone intrigued, but there was an edge of caution in her words. “I wonder what it is you see in her, my love?”

Oberyn chuckled softly, his attention still on you. “There’s something about her,” he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with deeper meaning. “Something familiar.”

Ellaria looped her arm through his, drawing him closer to her side. “Familiar or not, I trust you know where your loyalties lie.”

Oberyn’s smile deepened, but his gaze didn’t waver from you. "Always," he replied to Ellaria, but his words were aimed at you, and the unspoken suspicion between you both lingered in the air, unsaid but undeniable.

As the two of them moved off together, your heart pounded in your chest. Oberyn's words, the way he had looked at you—he was starting to piece it together. He suspected who you truly were, but for now, he remained silent, watching. You returned to your task, but the weight of his suspicion clung to you. 

Everything had only just begun, and you were already in far deeper than you had anticipated. But like the scars on your skin, the memories of your past had shaped you into what you were now. And just like that day long ago, you would survive.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen

[jinxhallows]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 .

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☾ -- ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs

prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter lucky thirteen | chapter fourteen | chapter fifteen | chapter sixteen | chapter seventeen | chapter eighteen ((you are here)) |

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ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ -- @sikebishes @hamburgers101 @felix-housewife @agnes-king @exfolitae @brojustfknkillm3 @skzswife @just-randomm-stuff @thunderous-wolf @3rachasninja @katsukis1wife @hanjingin @mylilliposts

☾ -- ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ? ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴡᴄ: 8.6ᴋ

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A dense smoky fog blankets the ground as you navigate through it, obscuring everything but the silhouette of barren trees in the distance. Their branches reach out like grasping fingers, lending an air of malevolence to the journey. It feels as though every element of the landscape is vying for a piece of your soul. 

The vampires, purportedly devoid of soul, remain unaffected by the eerie atmosphere. Jisung, however, betrays his unease by idly rubbing his amulet between his fingers. Though he maintains his stoic facade, a flicker of apprehension glimmers in his eyes as he catches your gaze. His smile is unfamiliar, lacking its usual warmth—it's akin to the polite nod given to a stranger who holds open a door.  

This isn't the Jisung you're accustomed to. 

Time is running short for Jisung. He's almost resigned to his fate, harboring a faint hope for a swift, painless end once this journey concludes. The prospect of returning home to face the slow decay of his essence over the remaining years weighs on him. 

Thoughts of his long-lost fiancée flit through his mind. He's yet to encounter her in his frequent visits to the afterlife, but perhaps he'll spend his eternity seeking her out instead of perpetually evading death. 

A tender glance at your stomach reveals his excitement at the thought of becoming an uncle. Even though he likely won't be around to see it happen, he finds comfort in knowing that your child will carry his legacy through their magical bloodline. Someday, they'll cross paths again. 

The dark aura emanating from the coyote demon casts a shadow over the group. The silence is difficult to tolerate in its absolute stillness. Wasn't this supposed to be the most dangerous part of the journey? Only a day ago, you were under siege by demons, yet now, on the brink of the final stretch, there's nothing. Certainly, if there were something in the distance, any one of the supernatural creatures on your sides would be able to detect it. 

Hyunjin listens to the crunch of twigs under his feet, lost in his thoughts. He ponders his mother's cryptic words, wondering if tonight will mark the loss of one of his brothers. Maybe even you. Hyunjin had grown incredibly fond of you, and you had earned his loyalty by rescuing him.

Hyunjin even entertains the idea that it should be him instead. Many uncertainties plague his mind. Returning to the mortal world has been a jarring experience, and true peace eludes him. Hyunjin wonders if he'll ever find any sort of peace, or if this perpetual unrest is his eternal atonement for past sins.

"Hold on, you see that?" Chan's voice breaks through Hyunjin's runaway train of thought, directing everyone's attention to a sudden clearing that appears before you, seemingly out of nowhere. The forest, dense and forbidding just moments ago, now yields to an expansive open space. The nearby sounds of water reach your ears, and squinting reveals the clearing's boundary—a cliff shrouded in thick fog. The archway formed by the bending trees at the cliff's edge invites them to peer beyond, where the natural sky seems to disappear. The impending sunrise has vanished from view, leaving behind a darkness that blankets the forest in a timeless haze. 

"This must be it, I can feel it." Santiago declares, drawing a deep breath as he surveys their surroundings, his senses on high alert despite his formidable power.  He didn't clue anyone else in on it, but he had a strange feeling that they were being followed the last hour of travel. When nobody else made note of it, he attributed it to the twisted curse of this place and let it go.

Is this Abysmora? Or does it lie beyond this mysterious veil of smoke? 

You wrap your arms around yourself tightly, a surge of nausea unsettling your stomach. 

"What did you say?" Chan's concerned voice breaks through your thoughts as he turns to check on you, his expression puzzled by a sound he thought he heard. 

"I didn't say anything," you reply, feeling perplexed. Had your thoughts accidentally slipped out aloud? 

"Weird. I could've sworn I heard something," Chan mutters, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

"Maybe your mind's playing tricks on you," Jisung suggests, joining the conversation. "I didn't hear anything either." 

Chan is still skeptical, approaching you with a frown. He squats down to press his ear against your stomach, and you allow the gesture, gently resting your hand on his head, the weight of the moment heavy amidst the strangeness of the situation. Standing up, he scans the group, finding no confirmation of his earlier perception. 

"Nobody else heard it?" he asks, met with shaking heads all around, including yours. 

"In Abysmora, believe only half of what you see and nothing you hear," Santiago advises, breaking the tension. "I don't wanna tempt Fate; she can be cynical. We have to pay the Coyote demon before we cross over."  You avoid eye contact as Santiago looks at you again, instead averting your eyes to the coyote demon close to the water. Somehow, your anger has shed it's skin to reveal your fragile hurt. You wonder why you aren't worthy of the truth from him, even now, after all you had accomplished.

The sight of your mysterious guide at the cliff's edge draws your attention like a moth to a flame. It hovers there, a few inches above the ground, an enigmatic presence, its form shrouded in shadow. Despite its lack of eyes, it seems to peer intently at the ground below, as if deciphering some hidden message written in the earth itself. The air around it crackles with an otherworldly energy, adding to its mystique as it stands sentinel at the edge of the abyss. 

"I'm sorry, pay him? With what?" Jisung's voice rings with alarm. 

"What do you think, my friend?" Santiago responds, unsheathing his knife. "Our life force." With determined steps, he approaches the coyote demon, and the rest of the group follows suit. It remains unfazed, its attention fixed firmly on the ground. You cling tighter to Chan, who slows to let you grip his arm. 

With a wave of its bony hand over the water's edge, a makeshift raft emerges from the foamy stream. It appears flimsy, like a discarded piece of construction material, hardly capable of supporting its own weight, let alone the rush of the rapids with you all atop it. Yet, it remains steady, held aloft by the coyote demon's power. Santiago steps forward first, slicing his palm and allowing blood to spill onto the demon's outstretched hand. Every drop is absorbed without a trace, prompting Felix to follow suit, eyeing the demon warily before adding his own sacrifice. Jisung, surprisingly, steps up next, his usually cautious demeanor overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. 

Hyunjin's turn comes next, and as you and Chan approach, a sense of dread begins to well up within you. The fear seems to seep from the ground itself, creeping up your legs and constricting your throat.   

Chan, hearing something again, looks down at you, his expression troubled. It's a sound he can't quite place, like a whisper in his mind, indecipherable yet unsettling. He blames it on Abysmora's influence, steeling himself against its effects as he watches Hyunjin make his offering. 

As you and Chan present your own blood sacrifices, the sting of the cut fades, replaced by a tingling sensation that signifies rapid healing. Chan pulls you close, whispering words of reassurance as he guides you onto the raft. "I think she's helping you," he murmurs, speaking of the unborn child you two share and her mysterious powers. You wish those powers could alleviate the nausea that still lingers, but as if in response to your wish, the sickness vanishes without a trace. 

Jisung's voice trembles with a mix of anxiety and bravado as he settles onto the raft. "How sure are we that we’re gonna survive this waterfall drop?" he asks, his words filled with a nervous energy. 

Santiago's response cuts through the tension. "You're asking the wrong questions," he declares cryptically.  “I’m still in a mortal body that has never been to Abysmora, about to go over a waterfall, what questions am I supposed to be asking right now?” 

Perched on the edge of uncertainty, you suppress a chuckle at Jisung's retort, stealing a glance at Felix, who struggles to conceal his amusement behind clenched lips. 

“The toll is paid.” 

With a final decree from the coyote demon, the atmosphere shifts. The ethereal guide dissolves into obsidian mist, and in an instant, the raft is swept into the rushing current. 

Chan's arms encircle you protectively as you bury your head in his chest. His embrace offers a semblance of security, though beneath the surface, fear lies in wait in his veins. It's not the fear of death that grips him, but the fear of loss—of you, of his brothers, Jisung; of the life he's only just begun to consider worth living. 

Chan yearns to utter words of comfort, to quell the storm raging within you. 

Casting a sidelong glance toward Hyunjin, he extends a tentative gesture of affection, seeking to bridge the chasm between them. Though initially stiff under the weight of fraternal embrace, Hyunjin gradually yields to Chan's touch. 

Across the raft, Felix's gaze meets Chan's in a quiet exchange. But before their unspoken bond can solidify, in an instant, the world tilts on its axis as the raft hurtles over the precipice, plunging into the yawning abyss below. 

For a heart-stopping moment, gravity claims dominion, and the sensation of free fall grips you all. The wind whips around you, snatching at your clothes, your hair, as you all hurtle downward into the void. 

But just as suddenly as it began, the vertiginous descent comes to a halt. The world around you seems to freeze, time itself holding its breath as the raft settles into the stillness of Abysmora's dark embrace.    "Fucking Hell—" Felix's expletive pierces the air, jolting you from your reverie. 

"Jisung, little witch, are you—" He begins to ask, worrying for the mortal passengers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. You?" Jisung's voice wavers with the remnants of adrenaline. 

"I'm... still here," you manage, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the chaos that surrounds you. 

Chan's senses begin getting assaulted by a familiar itch—a primal instinct clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Surely, he’s not going to turn? Not now? Not like this? 

The same inexplicable murmur tugs at Chan's senses once more, this time drawing his attention squarely to your stomach. An involuntary pang of tenderness wells up within him, a protective instinct he struggles to suppress. And for that second, perhaps two, he doesn't feel his monster trying to come up for air. With a will of its own, his gaze flits away, his jaw clenching with the effort to regain control. 

‘Abysmora is playing tricks on my mind,’ Chan reminds himself sternly, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of uncertainty. He grapples with the realization that, in this strange realm, he may not be able to shield you and his daughter as he wishes. 

But the memory of Amelia, her sacrifice, cuts through the haze of his thoughts like a knife to the heart. He can still feel her absence, a haunting guilt for the price paid for their survival. Chan's arms wrap tightly around himself, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket in a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the present, to get out of his own head, to banish the ghosts of the past that threaten to consume him. 

The raft creeps languidly through the dense, murky waters, now a deep, suffocating shade of purple that seems to swallow light rather than reflect it. The waters are calm, yet their opacity hints at untold depths and secrets submerged beneath. Small islets punctuate the expanse like broken teeth, each hosting clusters of weathered gravestones that stand as silent keepers of forgotten lives. Some stones are cloaked in a dense mantle of moss, their inscriptions eroded by time, while others lean precariously, half-engulfed by the encroaching, swamp-like embrace of the water.

The air itself seems to congeal around you, infected with a sense of despair and decay. 

As the raft drifts aimlessly, a disturbing ambiance pervades, heightened by the mist that clings to every surface, weaving through the air like the breath of the isle itself. This mist carries with it an odor so foul, a blend of rotting flesh, sulfur and damp, decayed wood, that it assaults the senses, a physical manifestation of the corruption that seeps from the very soil of this place. 

“Oh God, I- I don’t feel good–” Jisung body convulses slightly as he heaves over the side of the raft, expelling a noxious, black substance—a memory of his earlier possession. The sight is disturbingly out of place against the backdrop of unnatural stillness that surrounds you. He coughs violently, a raw, hacking sound that seems too loud in the oppressive silence, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand, his expression one of revulsion and deep unease.

He speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it's clear the very air of Abysmora is anathema to him, a venom to his senses.  “I can’t…I don’t think I can be here very long.”    "I don’t think any of us can…” Felix's voice carries his concern, tasting the bitterness of the venom in his mouth, something he hasn't felt in a long time. Swallowing becomes a chore as the acrid taste spreads, worsening his already noticeable thirst. He keeps his discomfort to himself, knowing his brothers need him now more than ever. Despite the absence of the Full Moon tonight, Abysmora's sky holds no celestial bodies, just an endless void stretching upward into an unseen realm. 

“Where’s Santiago?”     The question of Santiago's whereabouts lingers, as you survey the desolate landscape. Memories of the heated argument with him resurface his words cutting deep. Could he have abandoned the group at the gate, his duty fulfilled by merely delivering you to Abysmora? The worry eats at you, the fear that your past conflicts might have jeopardized the journey for everyone, with no guide to navigate the treacherous unknown ahead. 

None of you have any experience in Abysmora, a daunting realization. It's a frightening thought, to be on an even playing field with some of the strongest creatures you’ve come to know, and all the while carrying your first child.    In truth, Hyunjin has rejected the idea of forming an alliance with Santiago for some time, ever since he inadvertently overheard the conversation back at Lysandra's. Despite the pressing need to focus on capturing Santiago after the Blood Bloom, time constraints forced the brothers to prioritize other tasks. However, with Santiago's sudden disappearance, urgency seeps into their thoughts, amplifying their concerns.    Finally, the raft nudges against the mainland with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, coming to rest at the edge of a larger isle. Here, the tombs are more imposing, grander in their decay, arranged in a deliberate circle that borders the perimeter.

These larger mausoleums and monuments loom like giants, their shadows casting long, dark fingers across the ground as if to welcome—or warn—any who dare to trespass. It feels even heavier here, if possible, threaded with a history of sorrow and darkness that permeates the very ground upon which you’re about to stand.

"No time to figure it out," Chan declares, rising to his feet, his actions prompting the others to follow suit. Stepping onto the mainland, he extends a hand to assist you ashore. Meanwhile, Hyunjin swiftly rips off and repurposes the hood of his jacket into a makeshift mask, covering Jisung's nose and mouth for protection.    “There you are!” Santiago turns the corner of a mausoleum and lays eyes on you.  He seems out of breath, worked up as he shakes his head, catching up with everyone.  

And yet, despite his outward appearance of concern, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match his urgency—a subtle shift in demeanor that leaves you feeling uneasy in his presence.  You hadn’t felt this just moments earlier getting on the raft with him.  

“How did we get separated?” Santiago asks. 

You are the first to answer, unaware of the suspicions of everyone else and just relieved to see another familiar face again.  Though, that nagging doubt gnaws at your mind, whispering of the questions surrounding his sudden reappearance.   

You wonder if Abysmora is playing mind tricks on you too? 

“No idea, but we’re all here, Jisung’s getting sick, we’ve gotta get the Blood Bloom and get out of here.”  You look around, “But where is it?”    "In there." Santiago's gesture directs your attention to a towering statue of a knight, its sword thrust upward toward the darkened sky. "It's always inside the tomb of the One, the very first of our kind." Santiago approaches the statue, touching it with reverence, in a way that strikes you as odd, because it’s as if he hasn’t seen it before, and Santiago said he had taken prior trips to Abysmora, albeit via other routes. 

He must know what the tomb of the “One” looks like? Right?

Muttering under his breath in an unfamiliar tongue, Santiago circles the statue, his intent clear as he seeks a means of entry. 

Felix, ever perceptive, senses a subtle shift in Santiago's aura. Vampires as ancient as he can detect things far beyond micro expressions in mortal faces, no matter what’s wearing the skin.  It’s how they can tell when something isn’t exactly human, or when mortals lie. Yet, this time, something feels different. Is Santiago under some form of influence? What drives him to lead them into the depths of this tomb? He hears the spells the archdemon chants but doesn’t recognize the tongue. 

"Where did you land?" Felix's inquiry interrupts Santiago's prayer, prompting him to refocus his attention. As you join in the search, kneeling amidst the moist earth, the ground squirms with repulsive creatures disturbed from their slumber by your intrusion. 

 "Land?" Santiago straightens up, his confusion evident. "I just woke up behind that grave," he gestures toward a nearby tomb. "I have no idea what happened." His explanation is abruptly interrupted by Jisung's retching, the soul of this environment taking its toll on him once more. As Jisung lifts his makeshift mask to expel another bout of black, putrid vomit onto the soil, Santiago's attention remains fixated on unlocking the tomb's secrets. 

Hyunjin, growing impatient, voices his concern, stepping back to avoid the splatter onto his shoes with a lifted brow. "Can't you do something about him? We can't exactly conjure." 

"It's my bloodline—" Jisung's words are punctuated by another fit of dry heaving. "I can't—my body—" 

You spring into action, rushing to Jisung's side with mounting worry. His suffering raises questions about the influence of this place, and you fear for the well-being of his soul. 

"Jisung, tell me what to do," you plead, desperation clear in your voice as he struggles for breath. But Jisung, consumed by his own distress, cannot offer guidance. With trembling hands, you place your palm against his stomach, channeling an unfamiliar power in a desperate attempt to alleviate his suffering. As your energy flows into his body, Jisung convulses one last time before finding his breath returning in ragged gasps. 

Santiago stays oblivious to the commotion around him, his concentration fixed on the statue, lost in prayer with closed eyes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's attention wavers as he catches the scent of blood emanating from your ear, a telltale sign of overuse of your conjure. His sudden cough startles you, drawing curious glances from his brothers as he hurriedly wipes his nose, trying to conceal his reaction. The scent reaches Felix next, prompting you to check yourself, and your fingers come away stained with blood. Panic sets in as you hastily wipe your neck with your hoodie sleeve, inadvertently spreading the stain further into the fabric.   

You’ve made it so much worse, and you don’t even know it.      "This can't be what I think it is," Chan says as he uncovers something amidst the infested soil. He holds up a fragment that appears to be from a golden beret, the gold melted over one of the encased jewels, evidence of a failed attempt at destruction. "Do you see this or am I imagining things?"    Felix's heart races as he snatches the fragment from his brother's hand, his senses heightened to every sound, every scent around him. "This is it, this is... I have no doubt," he declares, his voice tight with apprehension. He turns to Hyunjin, whose eyes are fixed on the cursed fragment a few feet away. But instead of their usual crystal blue, they shimmer with a bright amber hue, a telltale sign of a loss of control. Hyunjin shuts his eyes tightly, fighting against the onslaught of disturbing images flooding his mind. He feels the creeping sensation of tiny toothed imps devouring his flesh in the depths of Purgatory, a sensation he fights against with every fiber of his being. Is it the curse or is it just him? 

Passing the fragment to Chan, Felix approaches Hyunjin; and he gently shakes his younger brother from his trance, their eyes meet, and Felix is struck by the vulnerability in those familiar baby blues, a contrast to the centuries of resilience he's come to expect. 

"Brother, what’s—how do you feel?" Felix's voice is soft, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual stoicism. He sees the innocence in Hyunjin once more, a vulnerable human amidst the vast expanse of their immortal existence. 

“Afraid, brother,” Hyunjin confesses, his voice laced with raw emotion. He blinks back the bitterness in his eyes, unable to maintain the eye contact with Felix. “I can’t go through this again. I–I can’t, I’ll die, Felix. I’ll die first.”    Felix's voice cuts through the chaos, gentle yet firm, as he addresses his brother. "Hey now," he begins, his words carrying a sense of his own certainty, a vow to himself amidst the uncertainty surrounding them. 

"I’ll die before you go through that again." 

Hyunjin meets Felix's gaze, feeling a rush of emotions within him. Even that has become foreign after being gone for so long; feeling emotions he'd forgotten the weight of. In that moment of silent connection, he senses the weight of their bond, built over countless centuries of shared trials and unspoken understanding. Despite the shadows of their tumultuous past looming over them, Hyunjin finds safety in the unwavering intensity of Felix's gaze, a silent promise of protection and support. This rediscovered depth in their relationship speaks volumes, highlighting the profound significance they both place on each other's well-being. 

━━━━━━━━   The tension in the room is filled with anger and resentment as Chan confronts his younger brother, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Hyunjin's defiance matches his elder sibling's intensity, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury. 

"Are you mad, brother?! You're in bloodlust!" Chan's words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable dripping with disbelief and frustration. He can't comprehend Hyunjin's actions, can't fathom the depths of his rage. 

"Now you've killed her son?! Amelia's brother?!" Chan's accusation hangs in the air, a damning indictment of Hyunjin's actions. 

"Did her mother not take our parents from us first?!" Hyunjin's retort is sharp, laced with bitterness and grief. To him, his actions are justified, a reckoning for the injustices inflicted upon their family. 

But Chan's anger simmers, threatening to boil over as he struggles to contain his emotions. With a roar of frustration, he hurls a nearby chair against the wall, the sound of splintering wood punctuating the heated exchange. 

"Those were my parents too," Chan's voice is raw with emotion, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and fury. "Do you not think me furious as well? Do you doubt that I too, want to drink from their hearts and watch them fall to my feet?!" 

Hyunjin stands his ground, undeterred by his brother's outburst. He remains unshaken, fueled by a burning desire for justice. 

"Yes, Christophe, I do!" Hyunjin's words are a challenge, a testament to his unwavering conviction. "I doubt you want to do anything more than run with your tail between your legs, defending a traitorous witch, the very daughter of the woman who murdered our parents!" 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the closed door, Amelia stands frozen, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A cool hand touches her shoulder, and she turns to find Felix by her side. His silent guidance urges her to stay back, to let the brothers work through their grievances without interference. 

As they move a few steps away from the door, Amelia embraces him, softly crying into the fabric of his blouse. Felix's thoughts churn with concern. The arguments between his brothers have become more frequent, fueled by Hyunjin's growing impatience and resentment. His thirst for vengeance risks engulfing him, driving them to move twice in the last four months alone. 

Felix knows Hyunjin cannot be contained, his actions driven by a primal need for retribution. Yet, despite his own fury towards Amelia's family, he understands the futility of their situation. They are newborn vampires--outnumbered, outmatched, and outsmarted without a plan. 

But what troubles Felix the most is Chan's hesitance, his reluctance to act. And as they stand in silence, away from the fight unfolding on the other side of the door, Felix can't shake the feeling that something is amiss, something he can't quite put his finger on… 

   ━━━━━━━━  

"Santiago," Chan's voice cuts through the tension, his gaze fixed on the archdemon who is still engrossed in his task. With each passing moment, Santiago's words grow more rapid, fueled by a sense of passion that borders on obsession. Chan moves closer, reaching out to get Santiago's attention. "Santiago, hey–" 

The statue begins to shift, its movement accompanied by the harsh scraping of rock and the unsettling rumble of the earth beneath their feet. Hissing echoes around you as the creatures in the soil turn aggressive, some leaping into the air with fangs bared. Hyunjin reacts swiftly, his movements a blur as he dispatches several of the creatures with deadly precision. 

"Protect this at all costs," Chan's command is clear and direct as he locks eyes with you, a brief flash of amber in his gaze before he blinks it away. He presses the beret fragment into your hand, urging you to keep it safe. 

“Come on, hurry!” Santiago hurries down the stairs into the tomb.  You tuck the fragment into your bra and the rest of you have no time to think, and you follow behind, risking the chance that being in the tomb of the very first demon in creation would be safer than being on Abysmora's grounds, exposed. 

If there was anything lurking in this strange place, they certainly know they have unwelcome visitors now.    Jisung's condition noticeably improves as the darkness envelops them, the sickness that had plagued him fading into the blackness. Yet, amidst the near pitch-black surroundings, a distant blue glow emanates from a room at the far end of the underground tunnel. Backed by a surge of adrenaline, you act swiftly, your fingers darting like arrows to ignite the sconces along the walls. Each flame catches, casting a blue hue that bathes the chamber in its glow.    As the dim blue glow from the sconces barely penetrates the darkness, Jisung finds himself momentarily awed by your ingenuity. But any sense of accomplishment is swiftly overshadowed by the atmosphere closing in around you. The tomb of the first demon ever to exist feels suffocating, each breath tainted by the heavy, musty scent of centuries past. With each inhale, Jisung's heart flutters nervously.    In an attempt to summon his conjure to navigate the path ahead, Jisung encounters an unexpected resistance, as though an invisible force is constricting his abilities. A dryness creeps into his mouth, he can’t be powerless yet?! How is this possible?! You were able to light the way without hesitation.  

"Now what?" You whisper, your voice barely audible over the silence. Turning to seek guidance from Santiago, you find him vanished once more. 

"What the–" 

"Little witch, we can’t trust him," Felix's voice cuts through the darkness, his hand pulling you closer to the rough stone wall for protection. 

"But he said–" 

"It doesn’t matter what he’s said," Felix's tone is firm, his words tinged with urgency. "We can’t trust him." 

With no other options available, Hyunjin strides ahead, his figure disappearing into the hallway, with Jisung following closely behind. There is no turning back now, no room for hesitation. You’ve come too far to retreat, your only choice is to press onward.  The confines of the tomb seem to be closing in on Chan, the primal instincts of his wolf beginning to overwhelm him. Sensing the impending shift, he knows he must act quickly, not willing to risk losing control in such close quarters, especially with you nearby. 

With a determined step backward, Chan starts to unzip his hoodie, preparing for the inevitable transformation. His voice carries a note of urgency as he speaks to Felix, his brother, and you. "Felix, you and little witch go on ahead with the others. I’ll catch up with you soon." 

Felix puts his arm around your shoulders and obeys his elder brother’s command. 

As Chan's metamorphosis reverberates through the ancient confines of the tomb, each sinewy shift heralds the awakening of primordial forces. A chill snakes down your spine at the power unleashed, but with Felix's presence guiding you onward, there's little room for fear, only purpose. 

Stepping into the chamber's heart, you feel a lack of control, like you've stepped into public in the nude. This feeling sticks to you as if you're an insect on fly paper, the discomfort follows you. Your gaze is drawn to the raised platform, where a mummified figure cradles a flower in its desiccated grasp. Against the backdrop of darkness, the bloom's vibrant hues stand in defiance, its petals swirling in an ethereal dance.  On the opposite end, Jisung stands watchful, his focus unwavering as he hovers over the coffin. Bathed in the soft azure glow of the chandelier above, the scene unfolds like a tableau of strange beauty, casting shadows that dance across the chamber's walls. 

Your breath catches as you draw near, the allure of the flower irresistible. Its petals, delicate yet sinuous, seem to pulse with a life of their own, their crimson hue a vivid sign of its unearthly vitality. And at the heart, a pool of crimson gleams with luminescence, a symbol of the bloom's power. 

"This is it," you murmur, your voice a mere whisper amidst the hallowed silence of the tomb. "The Blood Bloom." 

Jisung's brows furrow in disbelief, his head shaking in denial. “The legend I remember said it grows in the soil of Abysmora…”    Despite his hesitance, he leans forward, sensing the same energy that grips you both.  

As a sudden stillness envelops the chamber, Jisung's instincts flare, a warning pulsing through his veins. With a sense of alarm, he whirls around, calling out for his missing companions. "Felix? Hyunjin?" His voice echoes off the stone walls, met only by silence. 

Your palms grow clammy, fear prickling at the nape of your neck. "What's happening? What's wrong?" you stammer.    "Oh look, you found it!"     Santiago's voice cuts through the tension, his arrival heralded by a sense of impending doom. Panic floods your veins as you instinctively back away, only to be ensnared by a vice-like grip from behind. Your breath catches in your throat, your thoughts racing to the safety of your unborn child, as fear tightens its grip on your heart. 

"H-Hyunjin..." The name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, finally realizing the scent. Your body tenses, every nerve on edge as you struggle to keep your composure. 

Before Jisung can react, Felix is upon him, his strength overwhelming as he wrestles the younger man into submission. You look to Santiago, the sight before you twisting your stomach into knots. His head lolls to the side with a sickening crack, a grotesque contortion of flesh and bone. As his eyes roll back into his skull, his skin begins to slough off like molten wax, revealing a smaller, naked figure beneath. 

This new form is like something out of a nightmare, its skin slick with a viscous substance that oozes and drips. The creature's features are twisted and deformed, elongated limbs and sharp, angular joints giving it a disturbed appearance. Its eyes, once human, now gleam with a endless black, reflecting the depths of its sinister nature. 

As the demon's gaze fixes upon you, a shiver runs down your spine, fear gripping you with icy fingers. As Jisung struggles against Felix's overpowering grip, his frustration mounts with each futile attempt to break free. Heat radiates from his palms, a manifestation of his inner turmoil, but it's as if an invisible barrier stifles his efforts, rendering his conjure useless. 

“The audacity only a Han would have, trying to use your conjure here, now don’t you know better? Then again, you want to die, don’t you?” The demon's voice drips with malice, taunting Jisung with cruel words. 

Jisung refuses to dignify the demon's words with a response, his jaw clenched tight in defiance. Beneath his poker face, a sort of fear dances in his eyes. The demon's insight and access into his psyche unnerves him, exposing vulnerabilities he'd rather keep hidden. 

“I have a name, you know.” The demon's grin widens, revealing a mouth lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. “Do you want to know it?” 

“Oliver,” you breathe, the name escaping your lips like a curse, triggering a flood of memories from your night terrors that you'd rather forget.  "She's smart, isn't she?" Oliver's voice drips with malicious intent, each word laced with venomous glee. The knowledge that you know his name seems to egg on his perverse joy, a sickening trophy of the power he holds over you, a feeling he rarely gets to feel in his own existence. In the dimly lit chamber, his grin casts twisted shadows across the walls.   

As your gaze darts nervously around the room, searching for any sign of escape, the sound of sloshing footsteps draws your attention to another presence lurking in the shadows. With a sickening lurch of your stomach, you realize that you're not alone, the presence of another demon sending a wave of fear over you. 

The unnamed demon drags a large and furry form into the chamber, its tortured cries echoing off the walls as it's callously thrown against the unforgiving stone. Your heart sinks in your chest at the sight. 

"NO!" Your voice rings out in a desperate plea, the words torn from your throat in a frantic rush. "Hyunjin, let go of me! Stop! This isn't you! That's your brother! Felix! Felix, it's me! Y/N! You're stronger than this! All of you are!" But your cries fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the cruel laughter of the demons that surround you. 

"Chan—Chan, please," you plead, your voice barely a whisper amidst the chaos unfolding around you. Exhausted and defeated, you sink to the ground, your body wracked with sobs as despair threatens to eat you alive and spit you back out with no remorse.    "Y/N, stop," Jisung's voice cuts through the noise, his tone firm as he locks eyes with you from across the room. His gaze speaks volumes, silently urging you to quell your desperate pleas. In this moment of peril, communication is reduced to silent exchanges, a shared understanding passing between you both. 

With a deep breath, you stifle your cries, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Any hope of escape hinges on maintaining composure, lest you risk losing control of your conjure before it can be wielded as a weapon against your captors. 

Exhausted and defeated, you offer no resistance as Hyunjin releases his grip, allowing your body to crumple to the ground. His derisive laughter rings in your ears.    Meanwhile, Oliver's attention drifts to the Blood Bloom, his excitement obvious as he revels in the discovery.     “They really found it, the Blood Bloom!” His voice echoes through the chamber, a frenzied tirade of anticipation as he fixates on the object of his obsession. But his excitement is short-lived, abruptly cut off by a sudden surge of malice directed at the lesser demon. 

"What are you waiting for?! Bring the Mistress!" Oliver commands, his impatience boiling over as he demands action. With a hurried nod, the lesser demon scurries away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he disappears into the darkness. 

Lying on the dirt-covered brick floor, you succumb to silent tears, the weight of anguish pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. With jittery hands, you crawl forward, the distance between you and the wolf reduced to mere inches. As you nestle your face into the coarse fur of the muzzle, a gentle warmth caresses you, soothing the raw edges of your fractured spirit. 

Suddenly, in the darkness, amidst the faint scent of earths and decay, you feel it—a tender brush against your nose, followed by two more delicate licks. Slowly, you open your eyes, greeted by the shimmering gold orbs of the wolf before you. It's a curious sight, this peculiar hue, but within those luminous windows to his soul, you find an unexpected solace—a glimmer of Chan's inherent spirit shining through.    You continue to feign distress, your sobs a desperate symphony masking the turmoil within. Each movement is calculated, every tremor carefully choreographed to draw attention away from your clandestine actions. Your fingers venture into the wolf's mouth, inching closer to the razor-sharp teeth that threaten to sever skin from bone. 

As your wrist hovers over the waiting fangs, fear coils in the pit of your stomach, a visceral reminder of the perilous dance you've chosen to partake in. But you steel yourself against the rising tide of panic, a vow echoing in the recesses of your mind.     You'll fight tooth and nail, even if it means staring death in the face, for you know that within the pits of Hell lies the flickering ember of hope. 

With a nod of assent, Chan's lip twitches in acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection. As he closes his jaws with painstaking care, the taste of blood blooms in his mouth, on his tongue, along his gums. Through gritted teeth, you endure the searing pain.    Jisung's mind races as he formulates a plan to wrest control from the clutches of Oliver. With each passing second, the grip of the demon's influence tightens around the minds of Felix and Hyunjin, reducing them to mere marionettes in this macabre play. 

"Felix," Jisung breathes, barely audible in the hushed chamber, "Can you hear me?" 

The vice-like hold tightens, and Felix's response echoes through the silence.  

"Loud and clear, mate," he replies, the words filled with a predatory glee that reminds Jisung of exactly how different they really are from one another when it comes down to being factory reset to pure instinct. 

‘Shit’. A curse punctuates Jisung's thoughts; reaching them in this state seems impossible. Oliver's conjure has rewritten their essence, transforming them into instruments of darkness. To break this unholy connection, the source needs to be severed, and at this moment, Oliver stands as the puppeteer, feeble or not. 

As Chan discreetly drinks from you in his wolf form, Jisung's mind churns with frustration, the invisible chains of restraint still boggling him. 'If he has me restrained, there must be a physical block somewhere' he muses, a spark of realization flickering to life amidst the darkness. 'So how is he doing it? Where is it?' 

A sweeping glance around the chamber reveals the answer, hidden in plain sight. The talismans, hanging down from the ropes strung along the ceiling, catch Jisung's attention. They're no ordinary charms; they bear the unmistakable markings of Korean origin, Bujeok, but warped and twisted into a perversion of their intended purpose.  

These were crafted with him in mind, designed to stifle his magic and render him powerless. 

'Bingo'    He knows what he must do to break free from Oliver's grip, to reclaim control and turn the tide of this deadly game.   Jisung's words slice through the air with a cunning edge as he probes for weaknesses in Oliver's facade. "Possessing the minds of vampires is light work, what’d you do, a blood bind of some sort?" he questions, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Oliver's response is swift, a mixture of amusement and hubris. "Well, aren’t you an arrogant little witch?" he retorts, unknowingly stepping right into Jisung's trap. "Demons do more than blood bind to have others do our bidding." 

A smirk plays at the corners of Jisung's lips as he goads Oliver further. "I guess you haven’t figured out how to get a Han to do your bidding though, so you had to use these guys," he gestures disdainfully toward the vampire restraining him. "I mean, I get it though, you don’t look capable of doing it yourself." 

You listen with bated breath, the cool touch of the earth grounding you while Chan's watchful eyes mirror your own tenacity. 

With calculated steps, Oliver descends from the platform, each movement purposeful and deliberate. A glint of steel catches the dim light as he approaches Jisung. As the blade he wields grazes Jisung's cheek, a thin rivulet of blood appears, tracing a crimson path down his face. Oliver steps back, grinning while Felix looms ominously behind Jisung. 

In a mocking tone, Oliver scoffs, "Miss Edith couldn't care less about the likes of you." 

Despite the threat at his neck, Jisung remains steadfast, his gaze averted from Felix's predatory presence. "You're a bad liar," he counters, a beacon of defiance in the face of imminent danger. 

Oliver's smirk fades into a scowl. "I'll have your best friend drain you dry until you're nothing but a lifeless husk." 

Jisung's laughter rings out, carrying a hint of madness. “Yeah, but then you’ll have a mighty angry vampire that can conjure on your hands, and how will you handle that? Oh fuck, you can’t--”  

“You’ll just piss off your Mistress, and I get the feeling that’s a habit of yours—what was your name again?”    The demon's rage is evident, his fists clenched at his sides as he discards the knife, the sound of its impact echoing through the chamber as it hits the ground. His bluff has been called; a demon under another's command lacks the authority to make unilateral decisions, especially ones as significant as ending the lives of captives. Captives that they’ve taken the time to carefully ward against. 

For reasons unknown, they need him alive, at least for the time being. 

"You'll regret this," Oliver seethes, his departure swift as he hurries to investigate the delay in the other demon's return, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the chamber.   Hyunjin stands frozen, his gaze vacant, like a puppet abandoned by its puppeteer. Felix, unmoving, maintains his vice-like hold around Jisung, his thoughts seemingly distant despite his physical grasp.  

With resolve sparking in your weary eyes, you snatch up the knife, ready to act. 

"Little witch, hurry," Jisung urges, his voice barely above a whisper, directing your attention to the talismans hanging from the ceiling. "Cut them down—they're sapping our power."  You swiftly ascend the stone platforms, a strength from an unknown place guiding your every move as you slice through the ropes with the knife. With each talisman that falls, dissipating into wisps of blue smoke, a surge of hope fills the air. Chan, his wolf form a blur, disappears into the darkness, tracking the demons' elusive trail. Your focus wavers momentarily, but Jisung's urgent plea snaps you back to the task at hand. 

"No time, keep going!" he insists, spurring you onward. With steady hands, you continue your circuit around the room, severing the final ropes. Jisung, eyes closed in concentration, channels his purifying energy, causing Felix to recoil and collapse, overcome by the searing sensation of his blood boiling under his skin. As Jisung kneels beside the fallen vampire, a grimly determined spirit, unflinching and serious, settles over him. 

Frustration tinges his voice as he assesses the situation. “Fuck, they’re in deep.” 

You wave your hand in front of Hyunjin’s face but he doesn’t even blink.  “What can we do?” 

"Nothing, yet. We've gotta kill that bastard first." Jisung replies, scanning the room for any signs of their next move. Striding over to the mummified corpse, he delivers a swift kick to the wooden coffin, and you wince, splintering it open. With practiced efficiency, he breaks off a jagged piece of wood, handing it to you before keeping one for himself. 

“But if we have to protect ourselves,” He gestures to the two vampires, “This is the only chance we’ve got.” 

You gaze at the stake in your hand, horror coursing through you at the thought of wielding it against those who have become your kin, your protectors. 

"Listen," Jisung's voice breaks through your turmoil, his tone resolute as he senses your hesitation. “If their souls get away from us again, I can’t help to get ‘em back.  Death is a mercy, but it’s our last resort.”

You agree, though as you look at your friends, lost and locked inside of themselves, you wonder if you’ll follow through with such a promise if the moment were to ever present itself.    Retreating toward the coffin, your gaze fixates on the flower delicately held within its grasp. Without much thought, or perhaps with thought you aren't conscious of, you extend your hand, fingers brushing against the petals, taking it into your grasp. Half-expecting the tomb to quake and crumble around you, like a scene ripped from the pages of a thrilling adventure, you're startled when the chamber remains still. 

"In my dream they wanted to stop us from getting this, I don't know why," you assert, locking eyes with Jisung, an unquenchable fire burning bright within you as you secure the flower in your pocket. "The odds are now in our favor." 

You dart down the corridor, Jisung hot on your heels, fueled by your sudden fearlessness. As the cavern splits into two diverging paths, you and Jisung find yourselves back to back, each scanning for a sign of which route to take. 

Jisung's senses, honed by experience, detect a pulsating energy emanating from the right tunnel. He purposefully directs you away from it, "Go Left!" he calls out to you, his voice echoing down the corridor like a solemn decree. Without a moment's hesitation, you veer down the opposite path, placing your trust in his keen intuition as he forges ahead toward the heart of the mysterious power. In the glow of his flickering flames, Jisung continues on, his back pressed against the unyielding stone walls, each step plunging him deeper, and he can feel himself descending, guided by the flames in his palm, taxing his magick as a necessary means of sight...  You creep, as light as you can on your feet down the hall, and though you don’t sense much, you feel like you’re moving towards something, someone important. A thought crosses you, and you recognize the feeling from before, when you could sense Chan's presence.  You're just not sure how the honing mechanism works in your body. You come to a stop, straining your ears in the silence to hear anything.  How could a place so evil be so silent? Maybe that was a part of its sinister nature, you’re in a constant state of paranoia, questioning everything you encounter.  

That’s when you hear it.    A cacophony reaches your ears—a wet, slurping noise interspersed with sharp cracks and snaps. Despite the unease creeping over you, you find yourself moving forward anyway, your feet carrying you around the corner even as your instincts scream at you to flee. 

As you round the bend, the sounds abruptly cease, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. With shaky hands, you summon a burst of flame, its flickering light casting shadows across the room. You shield your eyes from the sudden brightness, snapping your fingers again to maintain control over the fire with an extended palm, its glow offering a glimpse of the scene before you. 

With a sigh of relief, you realize it is Chan, still in his wolf form, perched atop the body beneath him, methodically tearing away its limbs. Despite the gruesome scene before you, you don't recoil in horror. Instead, a strange understanding dawns upon you—a glimpse into Chan's cryptic intentions. He's systematically dismembering the body.   Catapulted into action, you scour the area until your eyes land on a discarded plank embedded with rusted nails. You don't carry natural nightvision like he does. With a snap of your fingers, flames dance along its surface, casting a flickering glow that barely illuminates the chamber. You hope, to be able to talk about how much you've improved with Jisung once you're all out of this mess. To thank him for everything's he's done for you to get this far with your conjure. Armed with a knife of strangely high quality, the one Oliver had dropped earlier, you set to work, slicing through the demon's flesh with surprising ease. It’s as if its appendages were made of gelatinous cartilage rather than solid muscle. 

With a final, resolute stroke, you lock gazes with Chan, something primitive passing between you two. Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus to the grisly sight before you: the half-mauled neck upon which Chan still labors. You issue a directive, "The leg," you command, indicating the limb lying closest to you. You direct Chan to the leg on your side, trading places to continue the task. You hack away at the remaining flesh of the neck until the head is brutally separated from its body. As the final blow lands, the detached leg collapses to the ground with a sickening thud as the wolf by your side finishes alongside you. 

Chan nudges your wrist, smearing your hoodie sleeve with the dark ichor of the fallen demon. Bewildered, you meet his gaze. "What's wrong?" 

The massive black wolf pads over to the plank, its end nears the final embers of its burn. With a sagacious air, he settles down, resting his head upon his paws. You nod in silent comprehension, scrambling to your feet and surveying the room for flammable materials. Hastily, you gather anything combustible, stacking them in the center of the chamber—a rickety wooden stool, dusty tomes whose contents held no value, and any other debris within reach. 

Chan prowls around the scattered body parts, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest, and you begin to deduce the demon isn’t gone yet.  "Let's go," you command, stepping backward as Chan joins you at the entrance. With a steady focus, you close your eyes, channeling the power within you. In an explosion of heat and light, flames engulf the chamber, forming a barrier that forces you to retreat, the intensity making you stumble and fall to the ground. Though the flames lick at your skin, they do not scorch, leaving you breathless as you gaze at your hands.    How did you just do that?!    A sharp itch on your forearm draws your attention, prompting you to hastily roll up your sleeve. To your astonishment, you find a series of canine tooth marks left by Chan's earlier bite, unhealed, the crescent pattern etched into your flesh. Frustration bubbles within you as you scratch at the irritated skin, rising to your feet just as the flames begin to dwindle.

"Fuck, Chan, what is this?" you demand, only to find Jisung's figure illuminated by the dying embers, his eyes glinting an unnatural complete black in the dim light.  He grins wickedly as he snatches your wrist tightly, looking down at the bite. “I don’t know, looks pretty bad though.”  Before you can react, he painfully twists your wrist, and darkness consumes you, consciousness slipping away as you collapse into oblivion.