#she is not the monster on the hill or not human | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monster-disaster · 9 months ago

Note

I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks #monster smut #monster fucker #teratophillia #terat0philliac #exophelia #monsterfucker #terato #monster kink #monster lover #dragon x reader #dragon x human #dragon boyfriend #dragon smut

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08luvmailz · 1 month ago

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★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried—she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

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hedwig221b · 1 month ago

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On the topic of OG Hale pack fics, any super good sterek ones that really focus on Stiles and the pack but have the flavor of your Derek? I love your Sterek fics but man I'm always sad the Hale Pack doesn't feature more prominently. (Og hales being derek, boyd, erica, issac, jackson, and peter.)

yk you should really ask the op @homemadesterekpie since she actually wrote that beautiful post

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf

"There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!” “We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.” Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

My Mother Told Me by Renmackree

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack. Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

Choice by Omni

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings. Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't. (Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

The Comfort of Coming Down by MadcapRomantic

Stiles isn't the only human in the pack, but, more often than not, he's the most vulnerable.

Derek Didn't Know What To Do But Maybe Stiles Did by tiedtogetherwithadagger

He let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder with a sigh of relief. He wasn't losing his pack, at least not tonight. Erica would be okay. “Thank you,” Derek exhaled into Stiles’ hoodie. “Always,” Stiles said.

The Human of the Pack by smilingbuckley

Slowly, Derek's pack starts to act nice to Stiles and accept him in the pack after Scott basically abandoned him to have his secret moments with Allison.

The Boy Who Tamed the Sourwolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Stiles is used to being second tier in everyone's life. How easily people forget him and move on to bigger and better things. Used to always being in someone's shadow. Leave it to Derek Hale to shatter those expectations.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself. With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Anthracite by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)

It's been a quiet few years, and the McCall Pack has grown and settled. But, when the Hale Pack return to Beacon Hills they find Scott isn't as welcoming as they had hoped. Soon they, Stiles, and Lydia, find out that not everything about the McCall Pack is as it has always seemed.

also if my fics make you sad then maybe write your own with all the characters that you want ❤

[masterlist link]

#sterek #sterek fic #stiles x derek #sterek fanfic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #anon asks #hedwig221b replies #derek x stiles #sterek fanfiction #sterek fic rec #sterek ao3 #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic rec #teen wolf sterek #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf derek

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thanergetic-hyperlinks · 6 months ago

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Tamsyn Muir's writing beyond The Locked Tomb

Y'all, turns out there's lots of imagery and themes in TLT that Muir was already playing with in her earlier fiction. A lot of it is easily available online, in which case I'll link to it. (The short stories that aren't can also be easily read if googled, to be quite honest—that's how I read The Deepwater Bride and Why the Mermaids Left Boralus). • The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time (2011)

5K. Short sort-of-cozy romance (?) with (you guessed it) a time travel loop. Explores a very queer potential relationship. CamPal enjoyers might find a similar sweetness.

• The Magician's Apprentice (2012, Lightspeed Magazine)

5K. This is the one that stopped me dead on my tracks. It features an older, male mentor figure called John (a “very ordinary man” with “dark eyes”) who introduces the young, female main character to magic that has a terrible cost—and to literature such as Lolita. This excellent post by @familyabolisher does an incredible job of analyzing the very deliberate intertextual links between TLT and Lolita.

• The Woman in the Hill (2015, Lightspeed Magazine, originally for Dreams From the Witch House anthology of Lovecraftian horror by women)

4K. Possibly my favorite! It's a straightforward Lovecraftian horror, centered on the image of the woman (is it human though?) trapped in an unnatural pool inside a cursed cave. Chain imagery too. It does something different from Alecto, mind, but you can see links, ways of playing with facets of a strong central image. It's fun to consider how reliable the two narrators are. Here's an analysis and afterthought from Reactor Mag.

• Chew (2013) 4K. Zombie abuse and cannibalistic revenge story ft. an uncanny woman revenant, told from the eyes of a traumatized German boy. I was strongly reminded of Harrow's conversations with the Body. Tamsyn gave an interview on the themes and her intentions. Interesting to read in light of Alecto, I think, although I don't think she's going the same route in TLT: “the idea of post-war rebuilding connecting to rebuilding the body of the zombie; a Frankenstein who once rebuilt doesn’t act as planned or desired. […] I love cannibalism […] it’s innately spiritual […] any afterlife she goes to, he’s going too.”

• Apothecia (2014, published on Tumblr and tapas.io)

Short webcomic where an alien monster tries to corrupt the ruthless human girl who holds it captive. Musings on responsibility and murder, mention of child abuse. The alien's speech patterns remind me of a Resurrection Beast. You get wonderful dialogue like “Murder is a profession. Job. Employment, you tiny leg dog. There you are, walking along. Walk walk walk. Now you are a walker. Good job. Special child. Murder is like this.” Art by Shelby Cragg.

• The Deepwater Bride (2015, Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine)

The opening line is: “In the time of our crawling Night Lord's ascendancy, foretold by exodus of starlight into his sucking astral wounds, I turned sixteen and received Barbie's Dream Car.” Need I say more? Extremely fun. A novelette where a young queer girl from a clairvoyant family struggles with an apocalyptic event while being annoyed by another very plucky girl. Lots of descriptions with nerdy marine zoology terms. Close in tone to Gideon. In the background, someone dies EXACTLY like that one death at the end of Gideon, which makes me wonder what happened to make Tamsyn interested in this particular image. I also liked that Tamsyn is aware of Nightwish. No link, but you'll get a PDF immediately if you Google.

• Union (2015, Clarkesworld Magazine)

5.5K. Very weird, extremely Kiwi story about a town that gets sent lab-grown wives by the government, but they're not made the usual way so they're Weird and people have feelings about it. Fascinating and eerie description of non-human (in some people's eyes, sub-human) women (?) who cannot be observed to have recognizable feelings or thoughts, yet have some sort of inner life. Quite touching, very uncanny.

• Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower (2020)

Short novel (~200 pages). Very funny. I was reminded of Coronabeth because the whole plot is “princess finds herself branching out into decidedly non-princess-like activities”, but other than that—this is a fairytale for adults about people who make eachother worse. No particular links to TLT but a very fun read with some gut punches. Extremely Tamsyn through and through, what with the dubious morality and all.

• Why the Mermaids Left Boralus (2021, in Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth by Blizzard Entertainment)

Set in the World of Warcraft universe. Haven't read this one yet, will report back lmao. As with The Deepwater Bride, no link but I easily found a PDF of the entire compilation. It's illustrated!

• Undercover (2022, from Into Shadow, Amazon Original Collection)

Haven't read it either. Will edit once I do.

#TLT #TLT meta #The Locked Tomb #Tamsyn Muir #TLT analysis #Chew #The Magician's Apprentice #The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time #Why the Mermaids Left Boralus #Union #Undercover #Princess Floralinda #Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower #The Deepwater Bride #The Woman in the Hill #Alectopause #Tamsyn #tazmuir #Apothecia

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ricochetyears · 6 months ago

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can’t stop thinking about sirius being great with kids. like, big-brother energy all the way. he practically raised regulus, wiped his butt and everything, so yeah, he gets these tiny, weird little humans

and then, one day, he and remus have a baby—a little girl named hope (because yes, that's the name, i'm dying on this hill). remus is terrified to hold her, right? between his zero experience with babies and this whole 'i'm a monster' complex (which, btw, we're not buying)

so sirius decides to step in and help. he's always got hope in his arms, doing random stuff with her perched there like it's nothing. one day, he pretends he needs both hands for something urgent. he's all flustered and, 'oh no, remus, hold her for a sec!' and before remus can argue, hope's in his arms

and there she is—this tiny, squishy, curly-haired baby staring up at him with these big brown eyes, wrinkling her nose at him like she's already judging him. remus has no choice but to hold her, rock her, and fall completely apart inside

meanwhile, sirius? he just stands there, watching. he stops whatever 'urgent' thing he was doing and doesn't rush, just lets it sink in for remus

and that's the moment remus gets it

from then on, sirius barely gets to hold hope because remus? oh, he's obsessed. he practically snatches her out of sirius' hands every chance he gets, and sirius just laughs, because yeah, he knew this would happen

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aeralux · 6 months ago

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"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time.

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

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kastalani123 · 1 year ago

Text

Mmmmmmmm, but what if Estelle grows up without knowing about the Greek myths being real?

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, who's hesitant to hold his baby sister for fear of drowning her with blood-drenched hands, who eventually holds her like she's made of glass because the Destroyer is afraid of breaking her, who shoves his face into his pillow to keep his nightmares from waking her up–

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, seventeen years old with the world resting on his shoulders since he was twelve, and ask, "Do you want her to know?"

And he wonders. He thought it'd be a given, that she'd grow up surrounded by monsters and magic, that he'd make fish made of water swim around her to make her laugh, that there would be no secrets as to his life's horror.

But he wonders. He thinks that, maybe, she won't have to grow up afraid of her own shadow. She's mortal, after all. There is no ichor in her veins. There is no guarantee she will be Clear Sighted.

There is no reason she can't live a normal life.

There is no reason she has to be woven into the Fates' tapestry beyond the barest of mentions.

He wonders, and he decides no. No, this one person, this little bundle of giggles, this reason that motivates him to learn healthy coping mechanisms, this little sister of his — she will not be forced to grow up so fast. She will not hesitate making plans for her future in fear of never making it that far. She will not suffer scars from things other than risky bike tricks and tumbling down a hill.

This one person that he can protect, for once in his life. This one person that he will protect, from both of his worlds.

Oh, it's not that she doesn't know anything. He makes sure she knows as many myths as possible, as many ways to protect herself as she can learn, as many people and places that can help her if she ever needs it. She grows up with bedtime stories about winged horses and giant dogs and a number of human-animal hybrids. She dreams of a brother with a scarred lip and a girl who loves too much and a sister who usually thinks of her sibling before herself and a boy who can tame dragons, and sometimes it's like her dreams are real, like she actually knows the characters from her brother's stories. She learns to recognize unfairness and abuse, to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, to make things right even if she has to force unwilling hands to do what she wants with trickery.

She knows so much.

But she never climbs a wall flowing with lava. But she never picks up a sword and dons a set of armor. But she never learns her loved ones' scars don't come from unfortunate accidents. But she never flies through the sky on helpful wings. But she never dives into the depths of the ocean in a bubble of air. But she never gets lost in a house that's always changing its layout to suit its occupants' needs. But she never watches her home in ruin. But she never runs from an inferno consuming the world around her. But she never cradles a friend's body as the life drains from their eyes.

But she never stops being an ordinary mortal.

#pjo #rick riordan #hoo #pjo hoo toa #pjo fandom #pjoverse #pjo spoilers #percy jackson #percy pjo #sally jackson #paul blofis #estelle blofis #pjo series

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thedeadstoryteller1 · 7 days ago

Text

𝐿𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐿𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒 | 𝑉𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑏 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊

Summary: Twelve years ago, you were saved in a meadow by something not quite human—a boy with glowing eyes and blood on his lips who promised to protect you. You never stopped waiting for him. Now twenty and alone on your family farm, strange things stir in your quiet town. And when danger comes knocking, he returns—older, darker, still yours. What follows is a slow-burning reunion of fangs, fever, and forever. This is a story about coming home—to your protector, your monster, your love.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood and mild gore (vampire) minor horror elements/ stalking/ implied past trauma, soft angst, blood play (consensual), emotionally intense intimacy

Pairings: Vampire Caleb x Fem! Reader

Artist: @ raonnni on X

Word Count: ~ 15K +

Deep in a meadow, a gentle breeze sways the tall pine trees.Bees hum lazily between blooming wildflowers. Tiny animals burrow beneath the earth, safe and unseen. It is peaceful. It is calm.

Laughter rings out—a soft, carefree sound—as a little girl runs barefoot through the grass, chasing a rabbit. Wildflowers crown her hair, golden sunlight catching in her smile. She laughs again, basking in the warmth of the fading light as it gently wraps around her like a hug.

But something watches her from the shadows.

A predator. Hidden in the tall, dark wall of trees.

It is hungry. Endlessly, insatiably hungry.

It waits— Patient. Silent. Deadly.

The girl sits, unaware, and begins picking lavender.

And that’s when it strikes.

The silence snaps. Thundering paws tear across the ground. She hears the panting breath, sees the massive shape break from the tree line. A wolf—huge, snarling, its eyes fixed on her.

They lock eyes.

Her heart drums wildly in her chest. Just down the hill, her house—safety—beckons. She could scream. She could run. But she knows it won’t save her.

So she closes her eyes, trembling, and prepares to die.

No pain comes. No claws. No fangs. No death.

Only silence.

When she dares to open her eyes, the wolf is lying still—its body torn and lifeless. Standing over it is something else.

Someone else.

A boy. Tall. Barefoot. His shaggy brown hair falls just over his eyes—eyes that glow with an otherworldly mix of purple and red. Blood stains his chin, his hands, the front of his plain clothes.

And she is afraid again.

He smells it. Feels her fear like a vibration in the air. Hears the frantic thrum of her heart. Smells the sweet pulse of her blood beneath her skin.

But he doesn’t move toward her.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly, crouching low. He extends a hand. Smiles. Fangs gleam.

She hesitates… then takes it.

Her tiny hand slips into his. She looks over the slain wolf once more, then back into his strange, beautiful eyes.

“Thank you,” she says, voice gentle, gaze steady. “Thank you for saving me.”

His world shifts.

In over a thousand years, no human has ever looked at him without fear.

“I’m (Y/N),” she adds, her fingers still curled in his.

And something cold and dead in his chest stirs.

It starts to beat again.

“I’m Caleb.”

From that day on, he vowed to be her protector. No harm would ever touch her again. Not while he still breathed.

Your eyes flutter open to the gentle kiss of sunlight on your cheek.You smile softly, the memory already blooming behind your eyes. Caleb. The boy—no, the being—who saved your life twelve years ago.

You never forgot.

After that day, you returned to the meadow again and again. At first, it was every day. Then once a week. Then once a month. Eventually, you stopped going altogether.

But you never stopped looking. Never stopped hoping.

Now, you're twenty. And hope is harder to hold on to.

You swing your legs out of bed, stretch with a quiet yawn, and start your morning the same way you always do. Feeding the chickens. Checking the fence line. Pulling weeds from the edges of the garden. A small slice of land with big sky above it—and nothing but quiet in between.

When your parents passed, the farm passed to you. You were barely eighteen. Still grieving, still learning how to run a house and carry the weight of two legacies on your shoulders. The town helped, at first. But people fade. Grief makes others uncomfortable. And now it’s just you. And this land.

The days bleed together. Chores, meals, tending to animals. The kind of life people call “peaceful.”

But peace is a quiet kind of sorrow when your heart is still waiting for something.

For someone.

You pass the old path that leads to the meadow. You never quite stopped walking by it. You just stopped going in. The wildflowers are probably overgrown now. The lavender patch you used to love has likely been swallowed by weeds.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then keep walking.

There’s always tomorrow.

Nothing ever happens in this town. Not anymore. And definitely not to you.

The day drifts by, sun arcing high over the fields, golden and lazy. You work until your muscles ache in that familiar, numbing way. There’s comfort in the repetition, even if it leaves your soul starving.

The town hasn’t changed much—dusty roads, fading storefronts, and folks who still wave when they pass. But lately… something’s shifted. It’s subtle. A glance that lingers too long. A stranger at the market you’ve never seen before.

You noticed him last week. And again yesterday. Tall. Too well-dressed for this town. Eyes like wet stone and a smile that doesn't touch them.

He didn’t speak to you. But he didn’t have to.

You felt it. That prickle on your neck when he turned in your direction. The way your breath caught—not because you recognized him, but because your body recoiled before your mind could understand why.

Today, when you head into town for feed, he’s there again. Leaning against a truck that doesn’t belong to anyone here. Watching. Like he’s waiting.

You duck into the store quickly, try to ignore the way his presence coils in your chest like smoke. The clerk chats with you like normal, oblivious.

But as you leave, arms full, he steps forward. Just enough to make your path narrow.

“Need help with that?” he asks, voice smooth. Too smooth.

You force a polite smile and shake your head. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

“You sure?” he asks again, but there's no concern in his voice—only curiosity, like he’s studying a specimen in a glass jar. His eyes dip into your hands. Your neck. Your house key hanging on the twine around your wrist.

“Positive.” You keep walking.

You don’t look back. But you feel it. Him. Still watching.

By the time you get home, the wind has picked up. Clouds bruise the sky. A storm is coming.

You bolt the door, even though you’ve never had to before. Feed the animals with one ear trained on the stillness behind you. Double-check the windows. Your phone has no service.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Just a traveler. Just a coincidence. Just nerves.

But you don’t sleep that night.

And when you finally do… You dream of the meadow. Of blood in the grass. And eyes— Not Caleb’s, but someone else’s. Someone is wrong.

That night, the wind howls through the trees like a warning. The shutters rattle. The sky splits with thunder, but no rain falls—just the electric tension of something waiting to break.

You sit at your kitchen table, trying to read, but you haven’t turned the page in fifteen minutes. The lamps cast long shadows. Every creak of the floorboards sounds louder than it should. Every gust against the windows makes your skin tighten.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re just paranoid. That nothing happens in this town.

But something is happening. You can feel it. You’re being watched.

The power flickers. Once. Twice. Then steadies again. You set your book down. Stand. Walk to the front door to check the lock again—even though you know you already did.

And that’s when you hear it.

The crunch of gravel.

Footsteps on your driveway.

Slow. Unhurried. Like he knows you’re alone. Like he knows you have nowhere else to go.

Your breath freezes in your lungs. You peek through the side curtain, heart hammering.

He’s standing there.

The stranger.

Right in front of your porch steps. Hands in his pockets. Head tilted, like he's amused.

And then—he moves.

He climbs the steps and tries the door.

It’s locked.

Click. He tries again.

Still locked.

And then he knocks. One. Two. Three sharp raps that echo through your bones.

“You forgot to say goodnight,” he calls softly, like it’s a joke.Like you owe him something.

You back away from the door. Stumble toward your phone—no signal. Still. Your stomach drops.

Another knock. Harder.

“Come on,” he says. “You don’t have to play hard to get. It’s just us.”

Something shifts outside—barely audible—but you hear it.

A presence. Low. Still. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

You look toward the window… And you see him.

Caleb.

Standing at the edge of your property.

Barefoot. Soaked from the mist. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

His expression is tight with fury—but he doesn’t move forward. His feet are planted like he’s fighting something invisible. His lips are parted, fangs just barely visible. He’s whispering something. You can’t hear it.

And then—

The front door bursts open.

The stranger steps inside like he owns the place. Eyes bright with something wrong.You scream and fall back.

And Caleb?

Caleb roars.He slams his palm against the invisible barrier—your threshold—claws digging into nothing, body trembling with the effort not to tear through it.

“Invite me in!” he yells. Voice hoarse. Unfamiliar. “Say it! Now!”

But you’re frozen.

The stranger smiles down at you, tilting his head like he's deciding how quickly to ruin you.

“I knew someone would come for you,” he sneers. “Didn’t think it’d be a monster.”

Your voice trembles. You turn toward the window, toward Caleb. The man from the meadow.

Your protector.

The words leave your lips like a prayer.

“Come in.”

And the moment they do, the air cracks—like lightning tearing through glass.

The barrier shatters.

Caleb moves.

He doesn’t step inside. He erupts.

A blur of motion, a guttural snarl ripping from his throat as he launches forward with all the force of a beast denied too long. The stranger barely has time to turn before Caleb slams into him, knocking him into the wall so hard the plaster cracks.

The man groans—just once—before Caleb grabs him by the throat and drives him through the entryway, teeth bared, eyes glowing like coals soaked in wine. The air fills with the scent of blood and rage.

“You touched her house,” Caleb growls. “You crossed her door.”

His voice is nothing like the boy you remember. It’s older. Deeper. It carries centuries.

The stranger gasps, clawing at Caleb’s arm. His smug composure is gone now, replaced by fear—true, primal fear.

“She’s mine!” he spits, struggling.

Caleb slams him into the floorboards hard enough to rattle the windows.

“Not anymore.”

And then he bites.

Not delicate. Not hesitant.

Fangs sink deep into the stranger’s neck, and the man screams—a high, wet sound that cuts short as Caleb drinks. You stand frozen, back against the kitchen counter, watching the boy who saved you become something terrifying.

But he’s not just a monster. He’s yours. And no longer a boy, but a man. He was always a man—ancient, bound in silence and blood, hidden behind the softness of memory. You just didn’t see it then.

You see it now.

The stranger writhes, then goes still. Limp. Broken.

Caleb tosses the body aside like it’s made of straw. Blood glistens down his chin, staining his chest, dripping onto the floor. His shoulders rise and fall with rapid breath. He sways slightly, gaze unfocused.

You take a shaky step forward.

“Caleb…”

At the sound of your voice, he flinches. Turns. And his expression crumbles.

Not anger. Not bloodlust. But shame.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. His voice trembles now. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He kneels in front of you. A monster on his knees.

“I told myself I’d only watch. That I’d stay away if it meant keeping you safe. But I smelled him near your door. I heard your heartbeat change. I—”

He looks up at you.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

You fall to your knees in front of him. And reach out.

His cheek is warm. Too warm. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“You came back,” you whisper. “You came back for me.”

“Always,” he breathes. “I never stopped.”

Outside, the storm breaks. Rain slams against the roof like the world itself is catching its breath.

Inside, you’re shaking. Caleb is soaked in blood. And there’s a dead man in your living room.

But for the first time in years…

You’re not alone.

The house is quiet again.

Too quiet.

Only the storm outside dares to make a sound, and even that feels distant. Muted. Like it knows better than to interrupt what just happened inside these walls.

You stare at the body. At the blood smeared on your floorboards. At the shattered pieces of a night that will never be normal again.

Caleb doesn’t move.

He’s crouched beside you, silent, still trembling. The crimson has dried against his skin—hands, jaw, throat—and it’s not just the stranger’s blood. There’s a cut across his shoulder where he took a hit before you could speak the words that freed him.

His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

You stand. Your knees shake, but you stand.

“I’ll get the bleach,” you say softly.

His eyes widen slightly. “You’re not… scared?”

You pause.

“Of you?” you ask, glancing at him. “Never.”

He bows his head.

You work in silence for the next hour. Gloves on. Windows cracked. You don’t speak about the body—Caleb promises to take care of it when you’re asleep, and you don’t ask how. The blood takes longer. It soaks through the seams in the floor, refusing to leave the corners.

But Caleb scrubs harder than you do. Like he’s trying to erase every trace of what he is. Of what you saw.

When it’s done, you peel off your stained clothes and toss them in a bag to burn later. You grab a towel and turn to him.

“Come on,” you say gently. “You need a bath.”

He looks down at himself, like he just remembered the blood. Like he just remembered he’s a man beneath all that power.

The water runs hot, steam curling like fingers up the bathroom mirror.

You sit on the closed toilet seat, waiting as Caleb stands awkwardly in the doorway. He hasn’t moved. Not since you told him it was okay.

“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before,” you tease, voice soft.

“It’s not that,” he mutters, looking down. His hair hangs wet over his eyes. “It’s just… it’s been a long time since someone looked at me like I’m not a monster.”

Your heart aches.

You rise, step forward. His shirt is torn, sticky with blood. You press your hands to his chest.

“Then let me remind you.”

You help him undress—slowly. Carefully. Not because he’s fragile, but because this moment is.Each layer peels away like shedding a second skin. The shirt, the undershirt. The pants.

His body is lean, but strong. Covered in old scars. Marks from centuries you’ll never understand. But he doesn’t hide from you.

He lets you look.

When he finally steps into the tub, the water clouds pink. He hisses softly as it stings the wounds on his skin, muscles tensing as he lowers himself.

You kneel beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper.

And he does.

You run the warm cloth down his chest, over his shoulders, across his neck. Each motion slow, deliberate. His breathing deepens. His hands clutch the edges of the tub. Not because he’s in pain—because he’s trying not to fall apart.

The silence between you hums with something unspoken.

You reach his jaw, gently wiping the blood from his face. When your thumb brushes his lower lip, he opens his eyes.

They’re glowing faintly. Not with hunger. But with something deeper.

Need. Longing. Restraint.

“You’re real,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

You don’t kiss him. Not yet. But your hand lingers on his cheek. And when he leans into it—just slightly—it’s enough.

The bathwater cools, but you don’t move. Neither does he.

Your hand is still on his cheek, his skin now warm beneath your touch—warmer than it should be. Like he’s been holding in heat for centuries, waiting for someone to pull it to the surface.

But even now, he’s tense. Not from pain. From fear.

You finally break the quiet.

“You’re a vampire.”

It’s not a question. Just truth, spoken aloud for the first time.

His jaw flexes. His gaze drops, shame creeping into the corners of his expression.

“Yes.”

You nod slowly. Not in fear. Not in disbelief. But understanding.

“How long?”

A beat passes.

“Too long,” he says. Then softer, like it hurts to speak: “I’ve forgotten the sound of my own heartbeat.”

You swallow. The ache in your throat is tight and unfamiliar.

“It came back when you saw me, didn’t it?”

His eyes flick to yours, startled. And then he nods.

“The moment you said your name.”

You kneel there beside the tub, your knees sore, but your heart louder. The storm has passed, but the house still smells faintly of rain and blood and old earth. You reach for a towel and hand it to him.

“Come on. You’ll catch a cold.”

He chuckles quietly, the sound hoarse and unused.

“That’s not how it works for me.”

“Humor me.”

Later, you find yourself in your room, the sheets fresh, your body finally still. But sleep won’t come.

You feel him before you see him. Leaning against the frame of your door. Barefoot, hair still damp, wearing a simple shirt and a pair of drawstring pants you forgot you even owned. They hang loose on his hips.

“You can come in,” you whisper. A soft echo of earlier words. But this time… it's a welcome.

He steps inside. Sits on the edge of your bed. Looks at your window like he’s expecting dawn to break him apart.

You sit up, blanket draped across your lap.

“Will you disappear again?” you ask quietly. “When morning comes?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he studies his hands—elegant, calloused, blood-stained in ways you can't see. When he finally looks at you, the glow in his eyes has faded, but the weight in them hasn't.

“I should,” he says.

And that hurts. More than you expected. But before the ache can settle in your chest, he adds:

“But I don’t want to.”

The silence swells again.

You reach out—fingers brushing his. You feel the cold there. The hesitation. But then he laces his hand with yours.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. “Stay. Just this once.”

He exhales, as if the very idea is painful. As if choosing to stay means breaking a rule older than time. But then, slowly, he nods.

“I’ll stay.”

He lies down beside you—not touching, but close enough that you feel the cool hum of him, like moonlight on skin.

And somewhere between heartbeat and stillness… You fall asleep. Not with fear.

The storm has passed, but the wind still sighs against the windows.

You thought you’d fallen asleep, but your body never truly relaxed—not with him lying so close. Not with the past twelve years between you, thick and unspoken.

The clock ticks past midnight.

And then you hear it—his voice, barely above a whisper:

“I used to dream about this.”

You open your eyes. He’s staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest like he’s afraid to move.

“About what?” you whisper back.

“This.” His gaze doesn’t shift. “A quiet night. A warm bed. You beside me. The sound of your breath. It was always your breath.”

You shift slightly toward him, your fingers curling loosely between the sheets. “Then why did you leave?”

The question has teeth, even in your softest voice. But he doesn’t flinch.

“Because I didn’t trust myself.”His voice cracks. “Because you were just a child. And I was… something else. I am something else.”

You watch him swallow hard. He finally turns his head to look at you.

“You don’t understand what I’ve done. What I’ve become. How easy it would’ve been to stay—to take comfort in your light and let myself pretend. But I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you.”

“But I waited.”Your voice is stronger now. “I waited every day in that meadow. I looked for you. I thought I made you up.”

His eyes shimmer in the dark.

“You didn’t.”He says it like a promise. Like a vow etched in bone.

He sits up then, bare feet on your wooden floor, spine curled with regret.

“I’ve taken lives, (Y/N). Some because I had to. Some because I wanted to.”

The admission hangs in the dark.

“I’ve been a hunter. A guardian. A monster. I’ve been all those things. And every time I was about to disappear for good, I thought of you. And I couldn’t.”

You sit up too, reaching out slowly, your fingers brushing down his spine.

“Why now?”

He breathes in like he hasn’t in years.

“Because when I smelled him near your house… when I heard your heartbeat shift from calm to afraid—I knew I’d waited long enough. I’d rather be damned again than let anyone touch you.”

You don’t answer right away. You just rest your forehead against his back, your arms wrapping around him from behind.

And he shudders—like your touch is holy water poured over a haunted soul.

“Then stay,” you whisper. “Stay until you forget how to be anything but mine.”

His breath catches when you whisper those words

Your forehead is pressed against his back, your arms wrapped around his waist. He holds your hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this world. And then, slowly, he turns.

He kneels in front of you on the bed, eyes searching yours in the low light. There's so much pain there. So much restraint. But it’s cracking.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he whispers. His fingers trace your jaw. “I’m not human. I haven’t been for a long time. I don’t know if I remember how to be gentle.”

You lean into his hand. “Then let me remind you.”

You kiss him.

Soft at first. Testing. But the moment your lips meet, his control shatters. His hands cradle your face, pulling you in deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His kiss is hungry—but reverent. Like worship. Like he’s waited a lifetime for permission to feel again.

His tongue parts your lips and you open for him, letting him taste you, explore you. The groan that rumbles from his chest is low and raw—it vibrates through your ribs. His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the hardness pressed against your thigh.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls softly against your mouth. “I’ve dreamed of this—I’ve ached for this.”

You pull your shirt over your head, baring yourself to him. His breath catches.

“Beautiful…” he murmurs, voice thick.

His hands move with restraint, with reverence, brushing over your breasts, your stomach, until he’s laying you back onto the bed. His mouth follows—pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, lingering on your chest.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, voice rough, lips inches from your skin.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He kisses the curve of your breast, then the peak, flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking gently. You gasp, arching into him. His other hand trails lower, teasing the waistband of your shorts, but he waits—always giving you the choice.

You nod, whispering, “Please…”

He peels them down slowly, and his eyes darken when he sees how wet you already are.

“Fuck…” His voice is pure need now. “Look at you… you’re trembling.”

He spreads your legs, settling between them. His hands hold your thighs open, but his touch is worshipful, not forceful. And then—

He dips his head.

His fangs graze your inner thigh, and then his mouth follows—kissing, nibbling, sucking marks into the soft skin there. You cry out softly, hips twitching.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he growls.

And then his tongue is on you.

He licks slow and deep, savoring you. His mouth works you open, tongue circling your clit before sliding down to tease your entrance. He moans into you, the vibrations shooting pleasure through your spine.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your thighs close around his head, but he doesn’t stop. He devours you. And when you gasp his name, shaking—

He pulls away, licking his lips like sin.

“You’re close,” he whispers. “But I want you to fall apart around me.”

He crawls back up your body, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

“Are you sure?” he asks, hovering above you. His voice is low, aching.

You reach down, guiding him to your entrance, your voice trembling but certain.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He slides in slowly. Inch by inch.

Stretching you. Filling you. Claiming you.

Your back arches as your body adjusts, a moan escaping your lips. He groans above you, forehead dropping to yours.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So warm. So tight. Fuck, I’m not going to last if you keep looking at me like that…”

But he does. Because he wants you to feel every stroke, every thrust, every promise.

He moves slowly at first, letting you feel the weight of him, the way your bodies lock together like a secret. But when your nails rake down his back and you whisper, “Harder,” something in him snaps.

He buries himself deeper. Harder. His hips slam into yours, and you cry out—pleasure blooming sharp and sweet. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Say it,” he groans. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Caleb. God, I’m yours.”

Your orgasm hits like a flood, your body clenching around him as you moan his name. He growls, thrusts once—twice—then follows with a shudder, his release buried deep inside you.

He collapses beside you, arms instantly pulling you to his chest. You feel the hammer of his heart against your cheek—new and real.

“You okay?” he whispers, brushing hair from your face.

“Better than okay.”

He kisses your forehead, your cheek, your lips again.

“I’ll never leave your bed again,” he murmurs.

And for the first time in your life, you believe it.

The morning is soft.

The sun filters in through the curtains, muted and golden. Birds sing somewhere far away. But none of that reaches you.

You wake to him.

Caleb is already watching you—propped on one elbow, hair tousled, shirtless, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His skin is smooth and pale, his eyes darker now, rimmed in red like he hasn’t slept. But there's something new in them.

Peace. And hunger.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers so gentle, it almost makes you ache.

“You didn’t run,” he says softly.

You smile sleepily, voice rough with morning.

“Neither did you.”

He leans in and kisses you—slow, deep. His tongue slides against yours and the kiss turns molten in seconds. You feel him harden against your thigh, and your body wakes with a familiar heat.

He groans into your mouth.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers. “But I’m going to take it. Every fucking second you’ll give me.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him on top of you. “Then take it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His mouth moves to your throat, lips brushing your pulse. But he doesn’t bite. Not yet. He trails down instead, kissing your collarbone, your chest, sucking gently at your nipple until you gasp and arch into him.

His hand slides between your thighs—finding you already wet, already ready.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked for me.”

“I want you,” you breathe. “I want all of you.”

He growls low in his throat and pushes inside—deeper, faster than the first time. There’s no hesitation now. Only raw, carnal need.

You gasp as he stretches you, hips slamming into yours. He sets a rhythm that leaves you breathless—deep and punishing, but full of control. His hands hold your wrists above your head, his teeth grazing your throat again.

The heat between you builds quickly. Every thrust drives you closer, every whisper from his lips making your stomach tighten.

“Tell me,” he growls, “tell me if I hurt you—”

“You won’t,” you pant. “I trust you.”

He falters.

Just for a second.

Then his voice lowers—dark, reverent.

“Then let me have you.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, your nails dig into his back, and when you whisper, “Bite me,” everything stops.

He lifts his head, eyes glowing.

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do.”

You guide his face back to your neck.

“Take it. Take me.”

He moans—shattered—and then sinks his fangs into your throat.

The pain is sharp—but it flares into something else. Something addictive. Pleasure blooms from the wound, flooding you, binding you.

You cry out, clinging to him as he drinks. His hips never stop moving, thrusting deeper, faster. Your blood on his tongue—your name on his lips. You’ve never felt more claimed. More alive.

He pulls back only when your pulse stutters. His mouth is red, his eyes wild, and you swear the marks on your neck throb with desire.

“Mine,” he growls, his voice breaking. “You’re mine now. I can feel you in me.”

You come with a cry—your body clenching around him, shaking from the inside out. He follows, hips jerking as he releases inside you again, your blood still warm on his lips.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, his mouth pressing over the bite like a vow.

“Are you okay?”

“Better,” you breathe. “I feel… full. Yours.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then the corner of your mouth.

“You’ll never have to feel empty again.”

The room is still wrapped in the warmth of what just happened. The sheets are tangled. The air smells like skin and sweat and something older—something sacred.

Caleb lies beside you, half-propped on one elbow, fingers tracing idle shapes across your stomach. His other hand rests lightly over the mark he left on your neck, thumb brushing the swollen skin like he can’t believe you let him do it.

You tilt your head toward him.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur.

He swallows, eyes flicking to your lips, then away.

“I’m… trying to find the right words.”

You smile, heart already fluttering at his tone.

“About the biting?”

He nods. Then hesitates.

“It’s more than just… feeding,” he says finally, voice soft. “Especially not like that.”

You reach up, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. He still won’t look at you fully.

“What does it mean?”

He breathes in slowly, thumb still caressing your skin.

“When vampires feed out of hunger, it’s survival. It’s sharp. Quick. Detached. It doesn’t mean anything.” He pauses.“But when it’s… tied to closeness. To—” He falters. “To when we’re… together like that.”

“You mean sex?”

He visibly flinches. “I mean—yes. That.”You laugh softly, and his smile breaks through, sheepish and boyish.

“When it happens during… that,” he says, more careful now, “and it’s with someone we… love, it becomes a kind of bond. It’s intimate. Permanent. It’s the closest thing to a soul-mark we have. It’s not just taking. It’s giving too.”

You blink, lips parting slightly. Your pulse flutters under his fingers.

“So now you have a part of me?”

He nods. “And you have a part of me. My blood was in my mouth when I kissed you. It’s… done.”

The weight of that settles over you like something holy.

“Have you ever done that with anyone else?”

His gaze finally meets yours—steady, unwavering.

“No.”A soft exhale. “I’ve fed before, when I had to. Never like that. Never with someone I wanted to keep. Never with love.”

You feel heat rise in your cheeks. Your chest aches in the best way.

He leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. Gentle, claiming.

“You’re part of me now,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice raw.“I’ll never leave unless you command me to do so.”

You pull him into your arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

And he holds you like the vow he made isn't just for this morning—but for forever.

The sun is higher now—casting golden light through your windows, warming the floors and chasing away the last of the night.

You’re still wrapped in the same blanket you dragged out of bed with you, legs bare, hair messy. The vampire who made you come apart more than once last night?

He's standing at your stove barefoot, holding a spatula like it might attack him at any moment.

“What are you doing?” you ask, amused, as you walk in and lean against the doorway.

Caleb turns around, eyes wide like you caught him trying to steal something.

“Attempting breakfast,” he mutters. “Possibly creating a fire hazard.”

You stifle a laugh as you catch sight of slightly charred eggs in the pan.

“Wow,” you tease. “Centuries of existence and you still haven’t mastered scrambled eggs?”

He glares playfully. “In my defense, I don’t usually eat human food. Or cook it.”

“You don’t say.”

He narrows his eyes and smirks. “Careful. I did bite you last night.”

You grin and walk over, slipping behind him to wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his bare back.

“Speaking of which…” you pause, voice sweet and innocent. “Am I a vampire now?”

He snorts so hard he nearly drops the pan.

“What?” He turns, grinning, incredulous. “No. That’s not how it works.”

“Well how does it work?” you challenge, poking his chest. “You bit me, you drank my blood, and then—boom—soul-bond sex. Feels pretty vampire-y to me.”

He laughs—an honest, warm sound—and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Turning someone is… different.” His voice softens. “It has to be mutual. Intentional. It’s a painful, drawn-out process. And it has to happen during death. It’s not romantic. It’s… violent.”

You blink. “Okay, yeah. Not exactly what I signed up for.”

“Exactly,” he says, brushing your cheek with his knuckles. “You're alive, (Y/N). Gloriously, stubbornly, sun-kissed alive.” He grins. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

You kiss him—just a soft brush of lips—and then turn back to the eggs.

“You might want to take those off the heat.”

After breakfast—mostly edible thanks to your intervention—you both head out to the farm. The grass is damp beneath your boots, the scent of wet earth clinging to the breeze.

The chickens scatter as you step into the coop, feathers flying in a chaotic burst. Caleb watches from a distance, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“They hate me,” he deadpans.

“They hate everyone at first,” you reply, tossing feed with a practiced flick of your wrist. “They just sense your... undead aura or whatever.”

“Charming.”

You turn and grin at him. “Want to try collecting the eggs?”

He eyes the hens. They eye him back, like a showdown at high noon.

“They’re tiny dinosaurs, (Y/N).”

“You’re a vampire. What could they possibly do to you?”

“Peck my pride.”

You chuckle, wiping your hands on your jeans before glancing at him again. The sunlight catches on his face—and that’s when you really notice it.

“How can you walk in the sun?” you ask, brow furrowed.

He steps closer, the golden light wrapping around him like a halo. “That whole ‘bound to the shadows’ thing? Just a myth. Designed to scare kids. We’ve always been able to walk in the sun.”Then he gestures to his skin, tilting his head. “But if you look closely… I kind of glow. Brighter than you.”

You do look. And he’s right.

There’s a faint shimmer to him—subtle, but undeniably there. A golden sheen across pale, cool skin. It’s ethereal. Almost otherworldly.

“It reminds me of honey,” you murmur, awe in your voice. “The way it glows in the sun.”

He lets out a warm laugh—rich and unguarded.

But it’s cut short by the sudden flap of wings and a charging hen.

Caleb stumbles back with a startled noise.

“She’s feral!” he shouts.

You double over laughing, barely able to breathe as he backs away, hands raised like he’s facing a wild beast.

You finish the morning chores with giggles and bickering and a few startled yelps from Caleb when one particularly bold hen does try to assert dominance.

Back in the kitchen, sweaty and dirty, you lean against the counter as Caleb hands you a glass of water, his expression a little more serious now.

“You were happy today,” he says quietly.

You nod. “Because you were here.”

He reaches for your hand, threads your fingers together.

“Then I’ll keep being here. Until the chickens learn to love me. Or you get tired of me… whichever comes first.”

You smirk.

“Might be waiting centuries for either.”

You wash up together, this time without the fire of lust—just soft touches, shared smiles, and fingers tracing soap bubbles along skin. Caleb stands behind you at the sink, helping rinse the dirt from your arms after chores, and he murmurs things like:

“You have hay in your hair.”

And—

“You smell like sunshine and chicken feed. It’s weirdly perfect.”

You flick water at him. He bares his fangs in mock offense. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this kind of lightness before—not with anyone.

Later, you throw on your favorite sundress—simple, soft, something that flutters when you walk. Caleb watches you with a quiet intensity as you fasten the last button.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head, smiling.

“You make it hard to remember I don’t have a heartbeat.”

You walk the path through the woods, the trees parting slowly as the sun dips low. The air smells like wildflowers and pine, and the silence between you is comfortable now—no longer filled with longing, but contentment.

When the meadow comes into view, your breath catches.

The lavender has grown wild again, and golden light spills across the clearing like honey. You walk out ahead of him, your fingers brushing over petals, heart full.

“This is where you saved me,” you say quietly.

Caleb steps beside you, his eyes softer now. “No,” he murmurs. “This is where you saved me.”

You turn to him, and he reaches for your hand—lifting it to press a kiss to your knuckles. The sun paints him in gold, highlighting the quiet reverence in his features.

“I spent centuries numb,” he says, voice low, vulnerable. “But that day… you looked at me like I wasn’t a monster. I’ve carried that look with me ever since.”

You squeeze his hand, your throat tight.

“I never stopped hoping you’d come back.”

He leans forward, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“And I never stopped watching. You never had to be alone, even when you thought you were.”

The wind dances through the flowers, and you stand there, pressed heart-to-heart, surrounded by the place where past and present collide.

“Do you still think this place is safe?” you ask quietly.

He looks around—at the trees, the sky, the wild lavender.

“No,” he says. “It’s sacred now. Not safe. It holds too much of you in it.”

You lie back in the grass, the wild lavender curling softly around you. The sunlight is fading, casting everything in hues of amber and rose. The breeze smells like earth and dusk and memory.

Caleb hovers above you, eyes glowing faintly in the golden light. One hand cradles your face. The other presses gently into the grass beside your head.

He doesn’t rush.

He studies you—soaking in every detail. The curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your chest rises and falls like you’re waiting for him to breathe first.

“You’re sure?” he whispers, even now.

You smile, reaching up to brush his cheek.

“This is where you first touched my life,” you murmur. “It only feels right to let you touch all of me here.”

That’s all he needs.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts soft, but quickly deepens. His mouth parts yours, tongue slow and reverent as he kisses you like he’s afraid the moment will vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

His hands roam—one sliding down your side, gripping your thigh as he nestles himself between your legs. You can feel him, hard and warm even through his clothes, pressing against you with restrained need.

You reach for the hem of his shirt. He pulls back just enough to let you tug it over his head, baring his chest—pale, scarred, perfect. You trace the faint marks with your fingers, each one a story you haven’t heard yet.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He chuckles softly, eyes dark with want. “No one’s ever said that to me and meant it.”

“Then let me be the first of many.”

Your dress is next—his hands work the buttons slowly, eyes on yours the entire time. When the fabric falls away, he pauses, just looking at you. His gaze drinks you in like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time in centuries.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes. “How much I’ve imagined this—you—but nothing ever compared to this.”

He leans down, kissing between your breasts, trailing his mouth lower, lower still until his lips find your stomach. Your breath catches as he kisses just above your pelvis, then gently nudges your thighs apart with reverent fingers.

And then—

His mouth is on you again.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

His tongue traces every inch, curling against your clit, sliding deep to taste the wetness he drew from you so easily. His hands pin your thighs open like he never wants to let go. You cry out, your hips rising to meet his mouth, his name tumbling from your lips in broken pleas.

“You’re everything,” he murmurs against your heat. “I’ll never have enough of you.”

When he finally pulls away, your body is trembling—needing more.

He kisses his way back up your body, lips tasting skin and sweat and lavender.

“I need you inside me,” you whisper, pulling him closer.

He groans softly, voice almost reverent.

“I want to make love to you in this field until the stars come out.”

You reach between you, guiding him in—your bodies finding each other again, but this time surrounded by nature, sky, and all the years you waited for this moment.

He pushes in slowly, stretching you, filling you until you gasp, until your hands claw into the grass for something to hold onto.

“You fit me,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “Like you were made for me.”

He moves with a rhythm that’s both deep and unhurried. He wants you to feel this—every inch, every breath, every trembling second. The grass cradles your back, his body cradles your soul, and you rock together under the falling sky.

His hands tangle in yours above your head. His mouth finds yours again—wet, open, gasping between thrusts. His forehead presses to yours.

“Say it,” he whispers.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Caleb.”

And he falls apart inside you, just as you break beneath him—your bodies trembling, slick with sweat and starlight as the world goes silent but for the sounds of your pleasure.

When it’s over, he doesn’t pull away.

He stays buried deep, one hand stroking your hair, the other tracing circles on your bare thigh.

You lie there, tangled in each other, watching the stars begin to bloom in the sky.

“I’d live a thousand more lifetimes,” he says softly, “if it meant coming back to this moment with you.”

Ferrymen !

How we doing loves ? Who should be the next vampire ? Vote down below !

I’m cooking up Pt. 2 for my Death and Rebirth how it should have ended. Its called One More Goodbye. For Pt1 click here -> ❄

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~ The DeadStory Teller ~

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