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imfoive · 2 months ago

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Crystal Bird - Chapter 9

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

CHAPTER 9 ───────────────────

The last time the Elysium Princess was supposed to meet her childhood friend, the day he had promised to join her in the Grand Forest all those years ago, had also been filled with thunderous rain.

As the young version of herself waited for him, the young boy from Nightshade, who ultimately failed to show up, Y/N had felt a surge of sadness wash over her.

An ache in her chest.

Yet here she was now. Amidst the downpour, feeling that same ache. That same surge of sadness coursing through her once again.

This time, it clenched her heart, tightening with every beat, leaving her mind spinning.

The Nightshade Prince’s lips moved against hers, his kiss urgent, desperate, deep. His fingers cradled her jaw, pulling her closer, as if he needed her to be part of him.

She could have let herself drown in it, let herself fall deeper into the press of his lips over hers, lose herself in his arms, his mouth. But then she felt the cold, pointed jewel pressing against her palm, the one she’d grasped unknowingly in her frantic motions. Squeezing it tightly in her grip.

The crystal bird, once light as air in her hands, now felt like a weight. The sharp edges poking deep into her flesh. A prick that was enough to suddenly ground her. Reminding her of who she was.

Her heart raced for an entirely new reason, as reality crashed back in.

With a sharp inhale, her eyes snapped open. Her form recoiled from him instantly, stepping back and stumbling to steady herself against the hedges. Her breath came in short gasps as she stared at Chris with wide, shocked eyes.

Chris, equally stunned by the abrupt retreat, by the untangling of their embrace, stood frozen. His gaze met hers, wide-eyed, as he realized, with growing disbelief, that this was not a dream.

That he had in fact, kissed her.

Pulled her close. Tasted her lips like he had imagined over and over again.

“Pr-princess…” He whispered, his voice trailing off.

But silence fell between them, his mind suddenly clouded by a thousand conflicting thoughts.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears again, her gaze dropping to the crystal pendant that peeked from beneath his clothing. The azure hue of the bird gleamed brightly even in the dim light of the dreary night.

Such a beautiful thing that brought her nothing but tears.

Chris noticed, his eyes following the direction of her gaze until they settled on the precious thing.

And suddenly his mind went blank.

Another jolt up thunder roared through the sky, making her slightly flinch, the rain, her emotions, making her tremble.

“Sienna…” Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it rang louder than the crack of thunder surrounding them.

It was as if she had read his mind. As if she could see the swirling of his conflicted emotions written in his rigid form.

That upon seeing this bird he had to remind himself once again, that he loved another.

He should love another.

Sienna, his princess.

His heart hammered in his chest, his gaze fixed on the pendant before trailing back to the second princess. The one he had kissed, who he still wanted to kiss again and again.

The one who made him feel things he couldn’t understand. Things he shouldn’t feel to begin with.

The one who wasn’t Sienna.

Yet, perhaps she was the one he loved.

“It belonged to Sienna. A birthday gift that she had… lost in the Grand Forest.” Y/N confessed, eyes still fixed on the bird that mocked her with its existence.

“Princess I—”

“You’ve given your heart to her, haven’t you?”

The question felt like a punch in her own gut.

She knew it was low of her.

To ask him this question when she was possibly one of the biggest reasons behind his misunderstandings.

Yet seeing him wear the necklace that had once hung around Sienna’s neck made her heart pound painfully against her chest. A bitter taste spread across her tongue, intensifying with every passing moment.

Her mind flashed back to the night of the banquet. Back to his eyes, soft and adoring as they lingered on Sienna, while she stood right there.

He should have recognized her. Even if he couldn’t.

He should have.

She already knew his answer would disappoint her. That it would hurt her. But she refused to admit it, refused to face the truth that hung between them.

Everyone saw the person they loved as the most beautiful in the world. Chan had done the same.

His eyes had always been drawn to Sienna, the woman who, to Y/N, was the prettiest woman she knew. Her older sister, the first princess.

The original owner of the Crystal Bird.

“I must love Sienna.” Chris’ words cut through the heavy silence, breaking Y/N from her trance.

She stared at him, her expression widening in a mix of confusion and something else as she processed whatever he just said. Unsure of what that meant.

The Warrior Prince’s face twisted in conflict, his expression torn as his eyes flicked down, between the crystal pendant and the second princess standing before him again.

“She—” He hesitated, mouth opening and closing, unsure how to explain the bond he shared with his princess without revealing the childhood secrets that they shared.

But seeing Y/N, shivering and drenched, just an arm’s reach away from him, his heart urged him to speak. To say anything that might erase the hurt from her face, tell her everything about those clandestine meetings by the river.

“She’s... my savior. My friend. Once upon a time. I-I owe her my life.” The words came easily, tumbling from his lips, yet they made sense to him.

His words were true, the most honest he had ever been ever since he had come here. An explanation made with all the best words he could find.

A childhood friend who he had spent his entire formative years dreaming of, the memories of the girl that saved him. The one he made promises to.

But as the weight of his words settled in the thick silence, so did the tension. The only sound was the relentless patter of rain, growing louder, drowning out everything else in the dark of the night.

Y/N’s brows softened as she took in his confession. She dropped her head, eyes falling to the ground as she stared at her feet, her mud-streaked dress clinging to her legs, weighing her down. Her eyes relaxing at the sight, coming to her own conclusions.

Chan must love her because she saved him.

Yet here he was, kissing some other woman because he didn’t truly love his savior.

Her brows furrowed, the thoughts rushing through her one after another.

Then…would he have simply loved her too just because she was his savior? His childhood friend?

A duty? A debt he must repay?

Her mind was reeling, from everything she had overheard back in the library. From the painful ache in her chest, from Chan’s looming presence that she craved but hated being in.

From those kisses.

The love stories she had once imagined with Chan, stories she had dreamt of for years, shattered with a resounding crash in her ears. The sound was deafening, impossible to ignore.

The Second Princess bit her bottom lip, holding back the tears that pricked at her eyes.

She inhaled.

“Princess Sienna does not love you.” Her words were sharp, breaking a silence that made him stare at her with raised brows.

“Princess Sienna is not your savior. And she does not remember—” Her gaze trailed up from the ground to settle on the crystal bird that rested against his chest.

“...She does not remember ever owning that trinket. It had been a forgotten thing long ago.” Her voice wavered with a bitter edge.

There was disdain in her tone, aware that her words were cutting him deep. That she should say something, anything to soothe that shocked expression on his face, the uneasiness that perhaps gripped at his heart.

That she should finally, finally tell him the truth.

“Sienna is not your friend.” It was a truth, but it wasn’t.

It was the shattering of this man’s hopes.

Which she could see as he inhaled silently, absorbing in her words. The venom in her tone, muffled by the loud thunder and rain.

“Princess…”

“You shouldn’t be out here—Neither of us should be here.” Y/N’s tone hardened as she glanced around at the their dark surroundings, controlling her emotions.

That expression, those scowls that had forever been an image the Warrior Prince had tied with her, was drawn on her face. A return of that persona of the Second Princess of Elysium, a role she was exceptional at falling into.

Y/N shifted her gaze away from him, taking a step further away, her back brushing against the tall hedges of this maze-like garden. As if distancing herself from the scene they had just created. Like she had the first night they stood in the shadows of this very garden.

“I advise you to return to your chambers. Tonight—” Her voice faltered at the glimpse of his eyes boring into hers, but she quickly regained control, her breath catching in her throat.

“Tonight did not happen.” Her words were final.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/N gripped the sides of her dress, her fingers balling the fabric into her fists, the wetness of her clothes clinging to her skin, her emotions threatening to spill. She forced herself to curtsy, her movements stiff almost in the damp, mud-streaked dress.

Chris took a step forward, his hand reaching out but faltering in the air.

“No, Y/N listen—”

“Prince Christopher. Please allow me to return.” She was afraid to lift her bowed head, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the effort to keep her composure, heart breaking with every word.

Once again the Warrior Prince inhaled, his eyes suddenly raking over her trembling figure, the rain further drenching her with every drop. Suddenly he realized she must be freezing, that she was still recovering and being out here in the rain was not the best for her in such a condition. Yet, he had kept her here, with his pull, with his kiss.

His arm dropped to his side.

“Please return safely, Princess.” His voice softened, the words laced with a quiet, aching sorrow.

And without another word, Y/N turned and fled, moving swiftly through the garden, refusing to look back. Her footsteps were hurried, as though she were escaping not just the rain, but the weight of everything that had just been said, everything that had just unfolded. Attempting to escape a night that had finally lifted that veil in front of her eyes, one she tried so hard to keep in place.

She ran from her, once Chan.

The Nightshade Crown Prince stared at her retreating figure, the pale yellow of her dress disappearing from his sight. Suddenly there was bitterness in his mouth. From anger, from regret.

From hurt.

He inhaled, feeling the looming presence just outside the hedges.

“Minho.”

The Midnight Leader, hidden in the shadows, had been silently watching from a distance. He appeared at Chris’ side almost instantly, his presence quiet, but ever watchful.

“Make sure she returns without being seen.” Chris ordered, his tone low but firm, his eyes never leaving the fading figure of Y/N.

Minho hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his gaze. A quietness that his master was easily able to read.

“You shouldn’t have told me about her if you didn’t plan on getting involved.” Chris’ voice hardened, a command that left no room for argument.

Minho dropped his gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

And with that, the shadow warrior vanished into the night, as his prince stood there, still staring into the empty garden. Heart suddenly heavier than it was, much conflicted than he had ever been.

Chris couldn’t make sense of what had just transpired. He was here, yes, but the choices he had made, the actions he had taken, left him bewildered. Left him mortified.

He could still picture Y/N’s face, twisted in pain as she cried, her sobs cutting through the air like daggers. That image haunted him, part of him wanting to fix whatever had caused her to run out here in tears, another part of him afraid she was hurt.

But then, the kiss. The way her warmth had pressed into him, how desperately he had craved it. He couldn’t shake the feeling of her so close, so real against him.

Instinctively, his hand closed around the crystal bird hanging from his neck, the cool stone grounding him like it always had whenever his thoughts threatened to overwhelm him.

Still, even as he held it, he groaned in frustration. The image of her staring down at this same jewel with her hardened expression flashed before him.

A memory that made him drag his other hand down his face.

What the hell had he done?

He shouldn’t have come out here.

He should have treated Minho’s report like any other. The routine words he always delivered after every special task. He should have dismissed the mention of his Midnight Captain sighting her out here earlier in the evening on his return from his mission.

But something about it had gnawed at him.

Why was the second princess running around palace grounds like a thief? In this weather, in the dark of the night?

Minho had mentioned it briefly, his words laced with suspicion, but as the rainstorm intensified, so did the unease eating away at Chris’ thoughts. Something in him tried to convince himself that he was out here because of his duties as Nightshade’s Crown Prince. To uncover potential sneaky ruses that seemed to take place in the middle of the night here in Elysium.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew deep down it wasn’t true.

Perhaps that was when he made his first wrong choice.

But now the Warrior Prince stood in the midst of the wet garden, the pouring rain drenching his lone figure as he cursed himself for making such terrible choices.

He had returned to his chambers, dripping wet, a sight that made Han fix him with that unreadable, judgmental gaze he often wore when he kept his thoughts to himself.

But Chris needed the nagging. He needed the younger guard’s berating words to distract him from whatever had unfolded in the darkness of the garden.

But there was none of that. Instead, Han simply stared at him, eyes intense.

“You can’t love two women Chris.”

Han’s words had immediately pulled Chris back to his reality, big eyes staring at his friend with a sudden shock.

Aware deep down that whatever Han had just said was the very ones pricking at his conscious.

Of course Han would notice, without his Prince ever having to voice any of it. He was his closest friend, his confidant. And as the sole person at the older Prince’s side almost all hours of the day, he’s easily able to catch the lingering gazes, the stifled smiles that Chris thought he hid well.

All directed towards another princess.

And especially now, with how Chris had almost rushed out into the night, with no strategy besides some lame excuses behind such recklessness, the truth had been laid bare.

The personal guard had long suspected it. The pull the second princess seemed to have on his prince was worrisome from the moment he had noticed. Not that Chris having feelings for either of the enemy princess’ was any less concerning.

It was astonishing almost for Han.

At how easily Chris had fallen for Princess Y/N. Even if he claimed it wasn’t so.

Chris had pined for an unnamed princess for the past decade. Imagining, re-imagining how beautiful she must have grown to be. How resolute, how compassionate she must be.

Expressive, justice-driven.

Curious, ambitious.

Qualities that his now grown princess was didn’t portray.

Qualities that another princess possessed.

Han looked at Chris now, sitting in silence, his hair still dripping, staring at the floor, clearly lost in the weight of the words the guard uttered, of his own thoughts.

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Chris finally breathed out, his voice laced with confusion and a twinge of frustration, wiping the wet streaks from his face.

Han had always been in awe of Chris’ unwavering devotion to his princess. His belief that theirs was a love story, despite the obstacles in their way. A true love story.

But Han had never imagined it would be this tragic.

The unnamed princess didn’t remember Chris. She had changed into someone he didn’t recognize, someone different from the person he had once adored.

In that moment, Han wished that Princess Y/N had been the one Chris had dreamed of for so long.

Even if their nations were enemies, even if they were torn apart by the duties they owed their kingdoms, a love story between them would have been tragic in a way that at least left room for remembrance.

At least they would have loved each other. And Han could only watch pitifully.

“For now—dry off.” Han sighed, moving toward the grand wardrobe to pull out something dry for his prince.

“We should discuss what Minho reported. It’s quite concerning.” Han tried to redirect the conversation, but Chris blinked up at him with narrowed brows.

“—The other thing he stumbled upon.”

Chris groaned, rubbing his face in frustration, trying to steady himself. He had to focus, to remember his duties as the Nightshade Kingdom’s Crown Prince.

Minho’s report had been direct, yet still quite alarming. The Midnight leader had reported about the large group of knights stationed at the border. His mission had been quite straightforward, yet he didn’t expect to see such a scene. Elysium had never been a military nation, known more for their entrepreneurship rather than their fighting prowess. So to see such a large military presence just beyond the walls that separated the two kingdoms was unexpected.

They were building an army.

And they planned to attack.

It was a conclusion any sensible person would come to. Though the Nightshade warriors had suspected it from the start, witnessing it firsthand was a different matter.

“They don’t plan to let me return safely. It’s clear enough.” Chris muttered, eyes flashing with frustration and anger.

“Maybe as we get closer to the border, they plan to ambush us.” He spat, snatching the drying cloth Han had handed him, the wet fabric now gripped in his fists.

The personal guard’s brows furrowed. He knew it was a likely scenario, and he was unafraid of a fight, especially when it meant protecting his prince. But still, the thought of an ambush sent a chill through him.

“Should we do anything to prepare?” Han asked, his voice steady, though concern flickered in his eyes as he awaited his prince’s orders.

Chris glanced between his guard and then out toward the window, where the storm outside seemed to mirror his growing unease. Thunder rumbled, and lightning lit up the sky.

“Command the warriors to stay on defense for now. Keep an eye on anything suspicious happening in their quarters.” His tone was cold, precise.

“And—” Chris suddenly fell silent, his eyes fixed on nothing as though lost in thought, as if something had just come rushing back to him.

He recalled Princess Y/N’s words. The ones she had whispered through her tears, clinging to him in the garden.

“You must leave Prince Christopher.”

At first, he had believed she said them simply because of his forbidden presence, because of the comfort he had offered. But now, those words took on a new weight.

They felt like a warning.

The Second Princess of Elysium knew something. And whatever it was, it was likely the cause of her frantic actions tonight.

“...Your highness?” Han’s concerned voice had broken him from his trance.

Chris shook his head, as if clearing the fog, before his gaze sharpened.

“Let’s meet with the second princess tomorrow.”

Han blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in direction of their next moves.

“For Nightshade duties, nothing else.” Chris could easily read the younger warrior’s expression.

Han’s expression betrayed his confusion and skepticism, which Chris’ spotted clear on his face. He should feel upset, frustrated at the lack of faith his personal guard and his Midnight leader had in him. But, given how every action involving Princess Y/N had been driven by forces beyond his control, he didn’t blame them.

Still, now was not the time to be a fool. His crown, his responsibilities as the heir to Nightshade, outweighed everything else. His duty was clear, no matter where his heart tried to lead him.

But the next morning the Nightshade Prince found himself sitting across Princess Sienna. He had invited the Second Princess for tea, of course as a ruse, but didn’t expect the first princess in her place.

He should have been happy. But instead, his heart twisted with an unfamiliar sensation when he realized he wasn’t so.

“I apologize for my sudden presence Prince Christopher, but Y/N was feeling unwell this morning and I decided to keep you company instead.” She smiled, the kind of smiles that had made him look at her in admiration, once.

Yet, all the Warrior Prince could feel was his heart hammering against his chest. His concern for Y/N, evident in his wide eyes that seemed to bore into Sienna.

“Unwell? Is she alright? Did something els—” He caught himself, his barrage of questions tinged with worry.

It almost slipped that he and Y/N had been together last night. The way Sienna’s startled gaze met his, made him gulp.

“Did something happen to her?” He finished with a simple question, hoping it wouldn’t betray him further.

“Ah…” Sienna hesitated, glancing between the attendant who was pouring tea and the prince sitting before her.

“She had a fever from forgetting to close the balcony doors last night. She’s resting now, but is alright otherwise. Thank you for your concern, your highness.”

The excuse made sense. An easy lie, one that only the Second Princess could deliver with such effortless ease, convincing the softer, more trusting First Princess. But Chris saw through it. He knew the real reason, and guilt gnawed at him, pulling his mind back to last night. Y/N’s drenched form, pressed against him, burned into his thoughts.

Sienna had fallen back into their shared breakfast, reaching for her cup of tea, unknowing of the turmoil churning in the man that sat across her.

“You seem to have a special attachment to that piece of jewelry.” Sienna remarked, breaking the silence, a question that tore him away from his clouded thoughts.

His eyes trailed to the crystal bird, before snapping up to Sienna. Chris stared at the graceful smile still playing on her lips, waiting for a response.

In his mind, he heard Y/N’s sharp words from the night before.

“Do you really not recall this thing, Princess?” Chris’ voice was steady, but his gaze was intent, hoping for Sienna to nod and admit she remembered.

Part of him needed her to confess, but another part…

“I don’t.” Her brows had furrowed with confusion, staring at the little trinket against the fabric of his shirt.

“It seemed familiar when I first saw it.” She continued, her words flowing easily.

“Perhaps I had something like it as a child. Or maybe, seeing something so simple among all the heavy jewelry at the banquet caught my eye.” She pondered aloud, unaware of the deepening void her words created in Chris’ mind.

The Warrior Prince gripped his cup tightly. The harshness of Y/N’s words, now so true, echoed in his thoughts. He watched Sienna take another sip of her tea, his mind spinning.

For a moment, his brow furrowed, then slowly relaxed. His eyes blinked as he looked at the young lady across from him,

He had a sudden realization.

One he should have had the moment he met Sienna. That this princess was not his once friend.

That his childhood companion, the one who he had been desperate to reunite with, was not here.

She hadn’t been here from the beginning, perhaps disappearing the day he failed to show up.

Maybe he had conjured her up. His imagination created a friend in his desperate need to survive in that river that day. But he knew that that wasn’t true. That she was a real person. One Han had seen. One who left behind this crystal bird that he carried with him for the last decade, and memories he still held dearly.

It would have been easier. To come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t real.

But as he stared at Sienna he realized.

His childhood friend had died.

Along with the memories the first princess did not remember. The ones she lost. His childhood friend was amongst them.

Instead he was chasing after the ghost of someone who once was.

And Sienna was nothing but the First Princess of Elysium.

Nothing but a stranger.

He felt his throat go dry.

Y/N couldn’t quite recall how she had returned to her chambers, or how she managed to avoid being seen. She vaguely remembered finding her knight passed out outside her door. The sight of his figure slumped against the wall as if he was knocked unconscious rather than asleep, should have felt bizarre to her. Or maybe he had likely grown too comfortable as the night wore on and decided that standing guard was no longer necessary.

But none of that seemed to matter now.

What weighed on her mind was something else entirely.

She had drifted in and out of her own consciousness throughout the night, only to fully realize, when the fever finally took hold, that she was unwell, burning with heat. By then, Anna had already been at her side, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead.

The rain had been relentless indeed, even opening her eyes had been difficult, her body trembling uncontrollably. It wasn’t until noon that her fever finally broke, and she blinked up to find Anna staring down at her with a mixture of worry and fear. She had even managed to mutter possible excuses of her fever in between her haze, something about the balcony doors.

Sienna had apparently visited early in the morning, and while she was there, an attendant from Ruby Hall had come with an invitation from Prince Christopher, requesting her presence.

Of course, Y/N couldn’t go. So, Sienna had gone in her stead, the right gesture for a princess in such a situation. Yet, that did little to ease the ache in Y/N’s chest. It only reminded her that she was still in love with the enemy prince. The one who hurt her.

Rather, the one she hurt, with her harsh tone, her venomous words. From her hiding of the truth.

Perhaps she should feel relieved that she had fallen ill, sparing her from facing him. To avoid those intent gazes that seemed to pierce her very soul. To escape the memory of his lips, searing hot against hers.

“I’ve changed the bandages and applied the salve on your wound. It seemed to have been irritated by the rain,” Anna’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts as she gently helped Y/N sit up in bed.

Y/N instinctively glanced at her shoulder, understanding now why it had been sore last night.

“You really scared me, my lady.” Anna murmured, her voice soft as she furrowed her brow in concern.

Y/N looked at the young girl, offering a faint smile as she reached out to gently squeeze Anna’s hand.

“I’m sorry. You must have been worried sick.”

Anna shook her head, returning the squeeze with a quiet reassurance.

“I’m just glad you’re alright. And I’m sure you’ll feel even better after a light lunch. What would you like prepared, my lady?” Anna asked, already standing and heading toward the door, ready to go to the kitchen hall.

“Lunch?” Y/N blinked, her eyes darting toward the balcony doors. The curtains were drawn open, and bright afternoon sunlight streamed in.

“What time is it?” She asked, surprised by the sudden realization of how late it had become.

“Oh… it’s half past noon. Don’t worry about your duties. I’ve already told the attendants you’ll be resting today—”

“Help me get dressed. I promised Prince Hyunjin I’d have lunch with him.” Y/N moved quickly, as if the fever from earlier hadn’t even touched her.

“Princess, you must rest!” Anna insisted, her brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s just lunch with company, nothing too demanding. I promise.” Y/N said with a wide smile.

Anna’s resolve easily wavered. The princess’ smile always seemed to have that effect. With a heavy sigh, she turned toward the wardrobe to prepare Y/N’s clothes.

Hyunjin was surprised to see Y/N. The Second Princess, who he’d been told was feeling unwell, greeted him with a quick curtsy, her smile bright despite her condition. He had expected to have lunch alone, perhaps exchanging a few words with Seungmin, but the guard was hardly a conversationalist, so it was likely he would have just rambled by himself. The sight of Y/N now standing before him, instead made him smile.

“Are you feeling better?” Hyunjin stood from his chair, gesturing for her to take the chair a servant had pulled out for her.

The Second Princess settled into her seat gracefully, and Hyunjin followed, leaning back in his own chair.

“It was just a slight fever, nothing too concerning.” She nodded, glancing up at the servant pouring them their tea.

“I would have understood if you decided to rest instead.”

“Prince Hyunjin, truly, I am fine.” Y/N pressed, reaching for the book he’d been reading, her fingers brushing over the pages.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on her, knowing she was still recovering. A faint weariness in her expression that didn’t hide well. The Sylvancrest Prince’s eyes settled on her smile as she stared down at the pages she flitted through.

“I’ve always wondered…” Y/N began. “Are the Sylvancrest lakes as vast as they’re described here?” She glanced up at him, her eyes curious, waiting for his response.

“How about you visit and see for yourself?” Hyunjin suggested, his head tilting slightly, his lips pulling into a smile.

He reached for his drink, taking a sip before setting it back with a quiet clink against the coaster.

“Would you like to go to Sylvancrest with me, Princess?”

His question hung in the air. The Princess across blinked, her smile faltering as she met his gaze. Hyunjin’s expression was warm as always, but now there was an intensity in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Princesses weren’t allowed to leave their nation unless married into another. A rule that was well known, and one Hyunjin surely understood.

Her heart raced in her chest as she stared at him, unsure how to respond to the foreign prince who had always been kind to her, yet now seemed to be hinting at something more. His gaze suddenly became unreadable, and for a moment, the weight of the silence between them felt heavy.

But in that silence, all Y/N could think about was Chan.

The enemy prince she still loved. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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gamerwoo · 4 months ago

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Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf Masterlist

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Summary: You've learned to do whatever you can to protect yourself after an incident almost a decade ago had your father and brother dragging you to a new country to start all over even though they blamed you for what happened. After finding yourself stuck in a house of werewolves, you're forced to come to terms with your feelings over what happened back home when the alpha imprints on you and his pack claims they're keeping you prisoner. You know exactly how this will end if you give in, and yet you can't seem to get yourself to leave the sweet and charming werewolf who's willing to do anything to make you comfortable. You're just hoping that maybe there'll be a good end this time.

General warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, angst, smut, a little humor here and there, werewolf!chan x (werewolf)hunter!reader, alpha!chan, fem!reader, werewolf!skz, violence, blood, guns, torture, mental/physical/emotional abuse, possible major character death (specific warnings will be put on individual parts), minors dni!!!

Authors Note: This is a spin-off series from my Seventeen series: Tales from the Pack. While it can definitely be read by itself, you'll get a better understanding of the universe from reading TftP first, or at least just looking at the TftP Info list at the top of the masterlist. Also, please understand this is a rework of a previous Exo series called Star Crossed.

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Part One: The Intruder in the Bathroom

Part Two: Conflicted

Part Three: Held Captive

Part Four: Closer

Part Five: Walls

Part Six: Scars

Part Seven: Cheers

Part Eight: Seen it Before

Part Nine: Little Talks

Part Ten: Big Steps

Part Eleven: Welcome Home

Part Twelve: Cellmates

Part Thirteen: Weighed Down

Part Fourteen: Executed

Part Fifteen: A Way Out

Part Sixteen: Breathe

Epilogue

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dwaekkilinos · 10 months ago

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

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Myth

Bang Chan x reader. highly recommend listening to Myth by Beach House while reading! <3

Skimming across the edge of being friends and something more with Chan is a dangerous game. Even more so when you're both sharing the same bed.

(@inniejeonginnie cameo because she's innie's gf!)

skz song series masterlist

"The heater won't work," Seungmin announces to the group, and you all stare at each other blankly.

This was Seungmin's family cabinet. It was a tradition for you all to go there on your winter break- Seungmin, Jeongin and their partners, and then you and Chan. There were only three bedrooms along with the living room- that's where Chan was supposed to sleep. But the heater isn't working. He'll surely freeze in there all by himself.

"He can stay in my room, it's okay," you smile slightly, turning around to gauge Chan's reaction. He smiles back, but his hand is curled into a tight fist. He unclenches it once he spots you staring.

"Then that's settled! See you tomorrow!" Jeongin rapidly exclaims, happy at the prospect of not having to sleep next to Chan. He pulls his girlfriend Anya by the hand, biding you all goodnight.

One by one they all go upstairs, until it's only you and Chan left in there. Suddenly, the oxygen is sucked out of the room; and you feel as if you're standing in a field doused with gasoline, where a single flame teeters on the edge of igniting- threatening to set you both aflame.

"You coming?" you ask and he nods wordlessly. You walk ahead first, and Chan places his hand on your lower back. He drops it once you reach the top of the stairs, but the ghost of his touch lingers in there, his fingertips now seared into your spine.

The light is warm in your room, curtsey of the chandelier hanging from the wall. Its yellow glow reflects on Chan's honeyed skin, and you can't seem to take your eyes off of him as he settles on the edge of your bed.

"I'll go change and then you can go to the bathroom too," you say quietly, and he simply nods. He hasn't spoken once since you invited him in. It's driving you insane. Did he not want this? Were you reading all the signs wrong?

You come out of the bathroom; your hair put away in a braid to keep it out of your face. You can feel Chan’s burning gaze on the curve of your exposed neck, before he goes in after you without a word.

You climb into the bed, your back flush against the headboard. You watch silently as Chan comes out his turn. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt and loose shorts. Suddenly, you are hit by the domesticity of it all. You and Chan in your pajamas, sharing the same bed. Is this how it would be if you started dating? Waiting for him to get changed, to come onto the bed with you? Maybe you'd brush your teeth together, maybe he'd be the one braiding your hair.

"Good night," he whispers, his voice hoarse as he turns the light off.

"Good night," you say just as quietly, palpable tension oozing from the both of you.

You both lay down, heads facing the ceiling. The bed is big, big enough for you both to never touch each other throughout the night. And yet, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, reaching your own in waves. He's so close and yet he feels so far away.

You can't sleep, you know you won't. Not when all you are thinking about is the man next to you. You don't know what changed; if you were in this bed one year ago, you'd both be cracking jokes. There would be no tense silence surrounding you, threatening to suffocate you under its weight.

But that would be a year ago. Things are different now between the two of you. You can't pinpoint when exactly, but suddenly, Chan's eyes on you were scorching, setting your body ablaze. Suddenly, each time your hand brushed against his, you felt butterflies roaming through your stomach, violently as if fighting for a way to come out and meet the man who's making you feel this way.

If you built yourself a myth, you'd know just what to give

Chan was abruptly everywhere. He was there, opening doors for you, and he was there wiping your tears away. He was there kissing your forehead gently and smiling so wildly at your unfunny jokes. Your eyes searched for his in every room, and you always found him looking back, always.

And he was there, when you were both tipsy over some cheap wine, giggling in the middle of an empty playground at midnight. He was there, caressing your cheeks and painting them pink, as if his fingers were paintbrushes and your face a canvas. And he was there, leaning forward and brushing his lips against yours, before moving them away.

What comes after this momentary bliss?

You've never spoken about that day, and here you are now, lying on the same bed, burning up.

"Are you asleep?" he asks after a while, turning around to look at you.

"No," you reply, shifting in your place to face him as well. "Are you cold?" you ask quietly.

"No. Never around you," he confesses breathlessly, making your heart skip a beat.

The consequence of what you do to me

He leans closer to you, his hand shaking as it raises up to rest on top of your cheek. You exhale a rugged breath, heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he shushes you slightly, his thumb trailing across your lower lip in an agonizing manner.

"Tell me this is real, that you feel it too," he pleads, eyes begging looking into yours. He leans even closer to you, until your noses brush against one another.

"Tell me I'm not imagining it, whatever this is. Help me to name it," he says as he places your hand on top of his heart. It's hammering in there too.

Help me to name it

You tentatively raise your free hand, tracing over his pretty features, and he closes his eyes, exhaling softly at your touch.

"You drive me insane Chan," you whisper, "Why didn't you kiss me that night?"

"I thought you didn't want me to."

You shake your head, "I wanted you to."

Help me to name it

"Really?" he smiles tentatively, and you nod, "Really."

He's cautious as his hand slides down the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your hand finds his hair, playing with its soft brown locks.

Help me to name it

"You want me?"

"I want you."

"What are we?" he asks, as his lips brush against yours once again.

"We can name it tomorrow."

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kkami-writes · 3 months ago

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waiting for us — chapter sixty. lost wc. 1.3k CW! very intense chapter. violent acts, domestic abuse, mentions of blood a/n: sorry pt 2 please don't kill me. as always, tl;dr at the end.

It’s hard to tell how long it’s been since he threw the first punch. It could have been mere minutes or a whole hour. You have no idea. All you know is that everything hurts.

He’s been spewing hateful words ever since he barged into the apartment but at this point you can’t even hear him anymore, too focused on the searing pain that’s spreading all over your body. You can taste the familiar and you’re pretty sure your leg is broken from the way it’s angled funny.

“Are you even listening to me you fucking whore?” His hands are suddenly around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your weak hands to grasp at his own to pull them away but it’s a useless attempt. Your energy is rapidly fading and your vision swims in and out of focus.

You try to hold on but you’re losing consciousness fast and a single tear runs down your good eye. You can’t help but think that this is it, you were probably about to die. Yet the only thing on your mind is your boys. Instead of your own shitty life flashing by, it’s all your favorite memories you have with them in the short amount of time you’ve gotten to have them. It’s a rather nice way to go you suppose, being reminded of their love. After all, it’s probably the last time you’ll get to see them, even if it’s like this.

Hyunjin and Minho bicker while the climb up the stairs to the apartment, the older exasperated at the fact that Hyunjin did in fact misplace his keys once again. First they were late because he insisted he only needed one thing from the art store now to only find he really did not have his keys with him. Once they reach the apartment however, the door is already open and slightly ajar. The two exchange quick glances before barging in.

They can hear loud yelling and peaking from just behind the couch are your feet. Quickly, they run further into the apartment only to find you, bruised and bleeding with a male on top of you.

Hyunjin screams and Minho sees red.

The elder of the two if quicker as he jumps in to pull the male off of you. There’s not a single scratch on the strange man and it only fuels his anger. You couldn’t even fight back.

“Who the fuck are you?” Minho spits at the man, his fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. The male towers over him by a good few inches but Minho could care less.

“Ha! Let me guess? One of her soulmates?” He says the word in a condescending manner, an ugly sneer on his face. “Sorry. I was just teaching her a much needed lesson,” The man grins and his teeth are yellow, alcohol lingering in his breath and it makes Minho cringe back.

Minho doesn’t need to hear anything else as he pulls his fist back and smashes it into the mans face. He watches with a satisfying smirk as the other falls to the ground, clutching his now bleeding nose. Minho doesn’t give him another chance to get back up, kicking him in the gut so he stays on the ground.

Minho hovers over the male with a scowl curling at his lips before spitting in the others face. He brings his foot up, aiming directly for his face. “Fuck. You. This is for my soulmate,” and then he brings his heel down. A sickening crunch is heard and Minho knows that he has successfully broken the others nose. The man is unconscious now, blood dripping from his nose but it’s the least of Minho’s worries. He glances over to you, seeing that Hyunjin is currently taking care of you so he slips his phone out to call the police.

Hyunjin is hovering over you, delicately cupping your face in his shaky hands. One of your eyes is completely swollen, turning a nasty shade of purple and there is a similar bruise starting to develop around your neck. You’re completely out of it, your breathing shallow and Hyunjin doesn’t even think you notice that he’s here with you as he tries to get you to focus on him.

“Baby. Baby, shhh. You’re ok now. Help is on the way, yeah?” You don’t respond or even look at him and it only makes him cry even harder. Fat tears run down his cheeks at how broken you look in his arms. How could anyone do this to someone else? Let alone to you. “Please…Please baby, look at me…” He all but begs, patting your cheeks lightly. Anything for you to focus on him.

“J-Jinnie?” Your voice is hoarse and raw but it has Hyunjin breathing out a sigh of relief. You look up at him slowly, eyes blinking drowsily.

“There you are. Hello my muse,” He tries to smile through his tears. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me ok? Help is on the way,” Hyunjin says in a gentle voice, stroking your cheek. You’re still very much out of it, unable to focus completely on him and it makes him frown. You mumble something as your eyes start to droop once more, causing the poor boy to start panicking.

“Hyun….” You try to call out to him but he just shushes you, squeezing your hands.

“Shh, it’s ok princess. You don’t need to say anything,” But you shake your head, grimacing as a wave of pain filters through your body. You need to say this. Even if it’s the last thing you do.

“Mm- Tell…Tell the boys that…I love them,” You manage to say and Hyunjin feels like his heart is breaking.

“Tell them yourself,” He says, begging for you to stay with him. You just smile softly, barely holding on with your lids feeling heavy. “No no no no. Baby, you can’t close your eyes,” He says, gently shaking you in an attempt to keep you awake but it’s all futile as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you fall unconscious.

“Baby! Baby no! Hyung!! HYUNG! She’s unconscious!” Hyunjin screams, now full on crying as he clutches your body to his.

Minho’s grip on his phone is so tight he’s almost worried it’ll shatter as he quickly calls Chan.

“Hello? What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be driving yn to work?” Chan answers on the first ring, always reliable. Minho has to take a deep breath to calm himself.

“…Hyung,” His own voice cracks, lower lip wobbling. “Come home. Now.”

“What? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Theres….been an incident. I need you to come home. NOW.” Minho is demanding, making sure Chan understands that he isn’t asking.

“Ok, ok. I’ll come home right now,”

“Send the others to the hospital. I’ll have Hyunjin call them,”

“The hospital? What? Minho what is going on? Shouldn’t I meet you at the hospital then? Is yn okay??” Chan goes into his ‘leader’ mode, asking way too many questions that Minho isn’t willing to answer right now.

“No. I need you home because I can’t guarantee that I will wait for the police to arrive. I will fucking kill him,” Minho’s tone is deadly as he sneers towards the still unconscious male. Chan on the other line is concerned and confused. He can vaguely hear Hyunjin’s sobs in the background and with the way Minho’s talking he knows he’s not about to get any answers right now.

“Ok Min. I’m on my way home. Just…wait for me, ok?”

He takes another deep breath. “Ok hyung…please hurry,” His voice cracks again before he hangs up, unable to be away from you any longer.

Hyunjin’s still sobbing uncontrollably as Minho comes over and sits silently next to him. He reaches out to grasp at your hand, hating the way its limp against his own. Still, he clutches it like it’s his lifeline.

“…please be ok. You have to be ok,” Minho whispers a quick prayer, squeezing your hand.

TL;DR: yn's brother chokes her and she falls unconscious. hyunjin holds her as she tells him to tell the boys that she loves them. minho comes to curb stomp him and calls the police + chan to come home.

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#stray kids x reader #stray kids social media au #stray kids smau #skz x reader #skz social media au #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz reactions #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids #skz #stray kids series

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milkteabinniechan · 4 months ago

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♡Lessons Learned - Hyunjin

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: tutor! Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: if you fail this midterm, you're screwed. Thankfully, your counselor set you up with a tutor who's willing to help you out and he has a very interesting way of rewarding you whenever you answer a question right.

warnings: public sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamic, oral sex (f.rec)

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

You signed up for an introduction to economics class thinking it would be simple. It wasn't what you wanted to do, but you still needed the credit to graduate. You found the number of a tutor on the bulletin board in your common room and decided to give it a call.

“Yeah?” The voice on the other end sounded groggy and irritated.

“Hi! I saw your number and thought that maybe you could tut-”

“What time?” His voice spat at your ear.

“Oh! Uh, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. Does that work? Or we could-”

You were cut off again. He told you to meet him at the University library late afternoon tomorrow. Hwang Hyunjin. What a tool.

The next day you arrived at the library early. You wanted a table by the window and knew how coveted the seating could get. You placed your books around the table and tapped your pencil impatiently against your thigh. Hyunjin showed up exactly when he said he would. He wore glasses and a loose-fitting sweater vest over a short sleeved polo. His hair was messy and unkempt but you couldn't help but notice how incredible he smelled. Like vanilla and fresh cut cedarwood

The two of you met like that for days; with you showing up early and Hyunjin trying to explain the basics of economics. But you couldn't seem to grasp the concept. It was difficult to concentrate when he would lean in close to you, his breath tickling your ear as he spoke.

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

You would bite the eraser of your pencil anxiously. He has to know how gorgeous he was. He has to have girls chasing him all over campus. Sometimes when he would explain a formula or application, you could just stare at his mouth. You would watch his touch flick and bounce as he enunciated his words. Your thighs would squeeze together involuntarily at the thought of his touch moving and twisting around your mouth or your hardened sensitive nipples.

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

Every once and a while you would catch him staring at your breasts. Or he would catch you staring at his hands. More and more tension was building between the two of you without you getting any closer to understanding the assignments.

One day, Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well, let's do something a bit... different, shall we? How about we use a more practical application?”

You perked up in your chair and tilted your head curiously.

“What did you have in mind?”

Hyunjin grinned mischievously.

“How about we focus on the concept of supply and demand?” Hyunjin leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

"For instance, if I were to... touch you in places you wouldn't expect, how would you react? Would you push me away, or…?”

Your heart clenched in your chest and your hands gripped the edge of the table.

“I…I guess I don't know what I'd do.” You lied.

“Exactly, you don't know. And that's what makes it so interesting." Hyunjin reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Let's conduct a little experiment. I'll demonstrate the concept of supply and demand, and you can observe and react accordingly.”

Before you could answer him, Hyunjin stood up and walked over to your side of the table, kneeling down in front of you.

"Alright, let's start with the supply side of things.” He placed his hands on your knees and slowly started to push them apart.

"As the supply increases, the demand often increases as well.

You held your breath; quickly looking around the library to see if anyone else had noticed Hyunjin's new position in front of you. Hyunjin grinned wickedly as he continued to push your legs apart, moving his body between them.

"You're blushing. Your breathing is getting faster. See how the demand is rising?” He leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours.

You nod your head slowly, your entire body completely entranced with the feeling of his hands on your thighs. Hyunjin's grin grew wider, his hands continuing their exploration.

"Mmm, the demand is high, isn't it?" His hand slid up further, tracing the edge of your underwear.

"And what if I were to... slip my hand inside? Would you push me away or pull me closer?”

“Closer…” you whispered meekly.

Hyunjin’s hand slipped inside your underwear and his fingers made quick work of gently caressing your most intimate area. He let out a low, satisfied groan as he felt the slick excitement that was already leaking out of you. Hyunjin looked up at you, his grin wicked.

"Look at you... taking it so well. You're a natural, Ace." His fingers continued their rhythm, his pace quickening slightly.

"And now, what if I were to... curve my fingers just…”

He slowly slid his fingers in and out, his thumb gently rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves as his middle finger curved and curled. Your walls clenched around his slender finger, your hand now clasped like a vice over your mouth.

Hyunjin smirked at your reaction.

"Found your sweet spot, haven't I?" His fingers continued to stroke that spot, his thumb still rubbing your swollen clit.

"And now, if I were to... lean down and lick you while my fingers are inside you…”

Your head shot up and you glared down at him, your face turning redder by the second.

“Here?! Now?!” You growled. You loved how he was making you feel but you had never done anything so public before.

"Yes, here." Hyunjin said firmly, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I'm going to lick your perfect pussy while I finger you, and you're going to let me, aren't you?"

Hyunjin leaned down, his mouth hovering over your clothed folds before pulling your underwear to the side and licking you in one long, sweeping motion.

You moaned softly into your hand. Your body was feeling like it was on fire. Every nerve ending has been activated and needed stimulation. You tried your best to stay still, to make it look like nothing was happening. To convey the facade that this gorgeous man wasn't absolutely devouring you inside a library. The silence around you was glaringly apparent as Hyunjin gently coaxed your clit into his mouth and gently sucked on it. His fingers continued to curl and stroke your needy insides, his other hand still holding your leg in place. He looked up at you, his eyes shining with desire as sucked and pulled hungrily at your slick folds.

"Look at you... so pretty…”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star

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seungfl0wer · 6 months ago

Text

*I’ll do anything*

Part Title: Devils Helping Hand

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff?

Paring: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Warnings: Mafia!Au, Mentions of death, Sick sibling, Mentions of being shot, also mentions of being Minhos slave, slight blood mention

This will be a small series. For my 🔪 anon, they have a beautiful brain and now I’m obsessed with the thought of Mafia boss Minho 😪 (Their request/thoughts Here and Here) also side note this is the first series of writings I’ve done in a long while so please bare with me and my ramblings.

Series Master List

-🩵

You prepared for this for weeks, wanting it to go right because it meant everything if you could pull it off. Staring at the building knowing there was people in there willing to shoot you on sight. But none of that mattered if you could pull it off. Your brother has been getting worse and worse. He’s been in the hospital for the past month battling his illness but nothing seems to be helping. There’s a new treatment they want to try however it’s expensive. The insurance can only cover so much of it and the rest is up to you.

You’ve been working your ass off 2 jobs, barely eating to save money and your sleep schedule? People slept? You sighed loudly watching as people got into their car to leave. You’ve been scoping out the schedules of them seeing when they leave how long they stay how many go in and out. It was gonna work. It had to work. You find the window that’s been open for the past 3 days slinking your body through it. Bingo. The room was close to the one you needed. You peaked out the door quickly checking the surroundings before bolting to the room beside.

The door was locked but you learned how to pick a lock just for this. You worked your janky skills as you heard voices down the hall. Heart races as you quickly tried the lock and then it clicked. You were in! You hurriedly got into the room so know one could see. One thing that was very odd to you was there was no cameras. You even had a mask you were gonna wear but realizing there wasn’t anything you didn’t put it on.

You searched the room opening ever drawer and checking ever nook you could. You were getting frustrated not being able to find the safe you knew was there. Until you remembered in those movies people would keep things behind paintings. Eh it was worth a shot to check. Moving the few art pieces you rolled your eyes as you actually found the safe behind a painting of the boss. He was handsome, but word had it he was a very cold hearted man. I mean he had to be doing this job.

You searched anywhere to find a code he might have wrote down anywhere. You sighed why couldn’t it have been one of those with the tiny keys. As you looked you heard the door opening “fuck” you say in a whisper “this is it huh” you said to yourself. You weren’t going to go out with a fight though. You stood behind the door waiting for him to come in as he shut the door he looked over to his desk. Noticing things had been moved he turned to grab the door again only to be met with your eyes.

He was so calm and collected while your heart was about to beat out of your chest. Your palms started to sweat and you could feel a lump get stuck in your throat as you tried to speak. He tilted his head a bit looking you over “who hired you?” He asked staring at you eyes staying locked “I’ll pay you double what they’re paying you” he said still studying you. He seemed almost confused you looked like such a sweet girl. Your innocent eyes shaking as you stared at him.

“No one sent me” you admitted, trying to make eye contact with him. He scoffed a bit “you broke in here with out no one find you and you expect me to believe you” he laughed “what the hell did you come here for then? Do you have a death wish?” He said making his way to his desk. This wasn’t going as you expected but you weren’t leaving here empty handed. You stared at him as he looked at the painting that hid the safe. “Ah so you came for money is that it?” He questioned. You nod “My brother is sick” you said softly “i don’t give hand outs sorry” he laughs a bit before you cut him off “then let me work for you, I can do anything.”

He paused looking at you “I can get a whore anytime” he was about to say before you continued “I can clean really well, I’m also a pretty good cook” he raised an eyebrow he was honestly more confused than anything. “Pay me the money for my brother and in return I’ll be your servant” you said choking back tears. You couldn’t tell if it was from being upset about your brother or the fact this man could literally just kill you here.

He walked to his desk sitting down staring at you with big boba eyes “and if I refuse?” He smirked “what will little you do to me hmm?” He has a point what exactly could you do if he said no. The only thing you could really muster out was a “please” your hands trembled now, shaking so bad it felt like you were vibrating. Your legs felt like jello so wobbly and weak. You looked over your face making his way to you he lifted your head to make you look at him. He stared at you thinking hard “You will do anything I ask you. No protesting. Everything I say to you is met with a yes sir. If you cannot follow these orders say goodbye to your brother.”

That last part hurt a bit, but you nodded excepting the offer “good girl” he said in response dropping your face “how much exactly do you need?” He says like the money is an after thought like he was so rich it wouldn’t matter. “His first treatment would be 80K but his insurance is covering at least 10K so 70K.” You croaked out. It was so much money and that was only for the first treatment and it may not even work. You had 5K saved already from working yourself to death but it would take you forever to get it all.

He nodded “pocket change honestly” he said with a cold expression “I’ll pay it in full for you to come work for me for at least 6months” he said staring at you. You were honestly shocked 6months? You thought he’d just make you a slave forever “however you will move into my home for the time being so I can keep you close. Don’t want you running off after I pay” he laughed a bit “like you’d be able to hide from me” he said still laughing. “And if he needs another treatment we can work something out.” He said cracking his neck slightly.

You kinda just nod your head was empty at this point. Your body had almost gone numb at the thought of what you had offered. If you got yourself killed who would be there to help your brother? So you made a deal with yourself there and then, you were gonna put a smile on and work as hard as possible. No matter what the man would through at you. You were gonna live and live to see your brother better.

“So is it a deal darling?” He said his voice so sweet sounding but his face turned into a smug smile. “It’s a deal.” You said locking eyes with the man “Good choice, now please sit while I grab my stuff. We will swing by your house before we head to your new home.” You nod “oh by the way darling I never caught your name.” He said nonchalantly rummaging through his desk “I’m y/n.” You said as you watched the man he nodded slightly “Y/n- hmm. A pretty name for a pretty lady” he smiled.

Was he hitting on you? Your eyes widen a small bit thinking to yourself. The smile on his face widened a bit at your expression “gonna put you to work when we get there cause I’m starving” he said finding the paper he needed “oh by the way kitten, if you are going to my little slave just know you will not leave as innocent as you came here” he said smirking getting up putting his bag over his shoulder. That’s it. You had literally just sold yourself, not just for work but your body.

Shit. You said to yourself can’t he get any hooker or whatever he wants. He wouldn’t want you right? RIGHT!?

-🩵

He opened the door for you to get in the car he got in after sitting beside you. He told the older man driving your address and you headed to your house. Your mind buzzing thinking of what you are getting into. You broke the silence with a low “shit.” Minho turned his head in question wondering what had made you said that. But before he could ask the man had pulled into your place. It was a small janky apartment where he knew well had a lot of problems. Just last week someone from his group had shot someone dead in the street.

His eyes looked over at you how could you be living here? Someone so beautiful in such a crime ridden place, you didn’t have anyone here to protect you he thought to himself. Or did you? He never thought to ask honestly. And if you would have someone what then? He’d make sure they’d be outta the picture.

Minho broke out of his thoughts as you tapped his shoulder “uhm we’re here” you said softly looking at him with almost puppy dog eyes. You both walked in silence up to your door, your apartment was pretty empty you hadn’t bought much of anything after moving here. It was the closets and cheapest place you could get to your work and your brother. The place itself was very neat and clean almost looked like you just moved in.

Closing the door behind you, you turned to Minho “I have a question” you said avoiding eye contact. Before he could respond he heard a faint meow coming from the only chair you had in the living room. He smiled his expression softened as he knew what you were gonna ask. “I’ve always loved cats” he said walking towards the crusty looking cat. The cat rolled over as he approached exposing her little patchy belly. Her fur was a burnt orange color with a black and white batches over. She was a little chunky thing, with only one eye. Her meow was cute almost like a kittens meow how high pitched it was.

“Will she be joining you?” He asked as he petted her soft fur. His body language was so different now, he seemed approachable and kind. “Is that ok with you?” You said with hopeful eyes. He nods “of course” he pauses for second “when we get home you will address me as sir as I said before. You haven’t said it once but I will let it slide for now.” He said standing up staring at you “get what you need quickly.”

You head to your room grabbing clothes and such. As you did the man snooped through your house. Checking your fridge. Empty. Empty?? His jaw almost drops at the sight. It was so bare not even condiments. There was a single bottle of water, a small carton of milk and jar of jelly. What the fuck do you even eat? He questioned. How are you even alive if this is what your fridge looked like. He looked in the cupboard seeing a few canned foods but he noticed you had a whole shelf of cat food, treats and wet food. Of course. Damn you’re so sweet aren’t you. Buying food for your cat over yourself. God how’s he gonna be this tough guy over you when you’re this loving? He thought.

You came back out with a suitcase packing the cats stuff and putting her in her carrier. You looked at him as he stood by the door scared for what is to come but relieved your brother will be taken care of. You two walked back the car heading to your new “home” back again in silence.

-🩵

You pulled up to a beautiful house, it was nestled in the woods you could see a beautiful garden at the side with a small pool on the other side of the house. The house itself was not overly big. Bigger than one man needed but no mansion like you thought he’d have. Stepping out of the car Minho grabbed the carrier as you took your suit case out. You headed inside where he gave you a small tour, showing you where you’d be staying which was right across from his room.

“Alright now that you know the place I’m starving.” He said stretching his arms above his head “let’s see how your cooking skills are” you nod as you both walked towards the kitchen. You looked through the fridge that was stalked to the brim of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit and meat. Anything and everything you could really want. You quickly get to work on making him some fish over rice and some fresh steamed veggies.

As you cooked he watched over you, like a Sargent almost. He found it so attractive you could cook because he himself loved to cook. That’s a reason he’s never hired a chef but now he had you. Watching you make him food, your pretty lips in a pout almost as you focused on what you were doing. His body almost moved on its own, he pressed himself against your hands coming up to grab yours as you cook. “You should do it like this” he said helping you cook the fish.

He was so close to you, you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck. Body pressed as close to yours as he could. His other hand resting firmly on your hip as his other wrapped around your hand that was holding the pan. You could feel him moving his hips slightly against you. Soft enough he thought you wouldn’t feel, but you did. God did you feel it. “Y/n” he said softly “you’re doing so well” his voice barely audible. The very intimate moment was interrupted by his phone ringing. His sighed loudly as he pealed himself away from your body grumply answering the phone.

“What” he hissed at whoever pulled him away from you. “Alright I’ll be right there” he said another loud sigh escaping his plush lips. “Of course I gotta go” he rolled his eyes. You titled your head a bit as you heard a car horn honking. He quickly went to the door “Make yourself at home I won’t be gone longer than 2 hours.” He said rushing out the door. You breathed out almost sad he had to leave. You wondered how much time he actually had to himself. He seems like he works himself a lot especially at the state of his house. You finished making his dinner placing it in the microwave for him to heat back up.

You kept yourself occupied cleaning up the kitchen, you cleaned up half the house before you sat down falling asleep on the couch. Minho finally came home later than he was supposed to. It was 3am, he looked exhausted slight blood painted his shirt. As he walked through the door he was almost shocked at how clean you had gotten things already. He saw you sleeping on the couch he was going to carry you to bed but remembered his shirt. He took a quick shower before coming back out. While he was in the shower you had heard him come home. You heated his food up for him setting it out on the table with a glass of whine you had found.

You slumped back into the couch waiting for him to come out only to quickly fall back asleep. The couch was so comfortable. You had been sleeping on a small bed on the floor. Anything was honestly better than it, it was so hard and lumpy.

Minho came out of the shower the smell of the food had filled the air his hungry stomach lead him straight to the kitchen. His heart cried as he saw you had warmed his food up and sat it out for him. Why the fuck are you being so kind to him? He thought to himself. He quickly devoured the delicious food you had prepared and oh boy was it delicious. He made his way to the couch seeing you had fallen back asleep he picked you up taking you to your room. You laid you down putting the covers over you and quickly kissing your forehead.

This was it. You were gonna ruin him. You already had his heart melting. Do flips at the sight of you. The thoughtfulness you had already shown and being so obedient cleaning when he didn’t expect you to already. He stared at you softly for a moment “one of us is gonna destroy the other, I can feel it. And honestly I hope it’s me who’s destroyed at the end” he said before placing another kiss to your forehead leaving to his room. He laid there staring at the ceiling just thinking of you before drifting off to sleep.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

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bahablastplz · 7 months ago

Text

All in | Chapter 1

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

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“Jungwon, stop,” you cry out. This wasn’t the first time that things had gotten rough with your boyfriend, especially as of late, but something about his gaze this time in particular, eyes narrowed and looking at you with intensity causes a pit to form in the bottom of your stomach.

His silence is eerie. Your boyfriend, when you had started dating him, was an exemplary gentleman. He was warm, charming, and polite, and you could go on for hours listing all of the traits that attracted you to him. He seemed like the picture-perfect boyfriend–he was chivalrous, he bought you flowers, and he seemed strong-willed and determined. He was also the leader of a powerful mafia clan.

Of course, you didn’t know this when you had started dating him. When he first told you, you were incredibly surprised, as well as a little bit scared. He assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of, that nothing would change, and that you would be incredibly safe with him. He had such a way with words that immediately persuaded you he was telling you the truth. This was your boyfriend, after all. Yang Jungwon, that you have come to know and love.

Should you have run that very first opportunity he had given you? You think back to the night he sat you down at his desk. For a second, you remember giggling and telling him that you felt more like you were at a doctor’s appointment than in your boyfriend’s office, and he had just given you a sweet smile before he proceeded. “Have you ever heard of ENHA?” he had asked you. Of course you had. At that point, everybody in the city had known about ENHA and SKZ, the two notorious and rival mafia groups that had control over the city. Though you didn’t know much about them, you had certainly heard of them. “I know this might come as a shock to you, but I’m the leader of ENHA. I want to lay all my cards out on the table for you, here and now. This is your chance–your out. If you want to leave, you can walk out that door right now and I will never contact you again.”

Two months. That’s how much time you had dedicated to your relationship with Jungwon before you found out the truth about him. You know your sister would have laughed in your face. She had told you from the very beginning that it wasn’t meant to be, that you were making a mistake with this one, but you had brushed her off. She had never liked your romantic pursuits, so what made this one any different? You didn’t listen to her. You didn’t walk out the door, and you made the decision to stay in your relationship with Jungwon. You wish you had; all of those traits that you had once admired in Jungwon had since become the downfall of your relationship. His overprotectiveness and desire for you to rely on him had caused you to become overdependent on him–and out of a job that you were actually incredibly passionate about. By the time you noticed that he was becoming more abusive, you relied on him for housing and income, and you had no way of contacting your sister even if you had wanted to. He had forced you to cut ties.

That’s how you got here, really. You were too far in. While once you imagined spending your entire life with him, now you dreamed of a life free of him. Your boyfriend, Yang Jungwon, was a walking contradiction. He had a warm exterior to most, a bright smile that charmed his way through any conversation; on the inside, he’s an indifferent, cold and murderous machine.

This is especially apparent to you now. His stoic expression contrasts scarily with the harsh words he spews at you. The intent in his eyes that bore into your skull tell you all you need to know. You’re on his shit list.

“Stop,” you repeat again, louder and with more force behind your words. You’re slotted right between his legs, no method of escape, pushed up against the brick wall outside of one of the many clubs owned by ENHA. Though the wall is scraping against your skin, it’s also bitter cold, a welcome contrast from the heat escaping your body.

You look rough. You know that you do without having to look in a mirror. Somewhere in the whole ordeal you had lost your shoes, and your mascara is currently running down your face in long wet clumps. Your hair is matted from where he had grabbed it, dragging you out of the club and caring less about your appearance. Your dress has more than one rip in it from when you had fallen onto the concrete, and your fingernails are steeped in blood from when you had tried to claw away. Thankfully, the ringing in your ears provides enough adrenaline to dull some of the pain you’re experiencing. They don’t ring enough to block out his words, though.

“You’re going to come into my club and act like some whore who doesn’t know who she belongs to? What the fuck were you thinking, getting into a bar fight at my club? People are going to think I don’t know how to control what belongs to me. Fuck, you’re unbelievable, Y/N. You make me sick to my stomach, I can’t even stand to look at you,” he says as he pushes you harder into the wall. Your skin scratches harder against the brick, leaving red bloody marks behind from the contact. Your breath hitches–Jungwon has never been this violent or demeaning to you before. His expression is blank, as if he has no remorse for what he’s doing, and that scares you even more. This wasn’t like anything you had seen in your boyfriend–this is a snap. Like a shelf that holds much more than it can carry, piling more and more on it until it starts to concave and the wood splinters in the middle, Jungwon has decided that he is not going to carry your burden anymore.

The first time he hit you, he had pushed you and shoved you around like a cold and calculating machine, no thought or purpose behind his actions. Minutes later, it was as if life had come back into his eyes. He got onto his knees and sobbed, repented for his actions and begged for your forgiveness. He reminded you of the fact that you were the only one who could ever love someone like him; nobody would be kind enough to let a mafia boss into their hearts and love them with all they had like you did. You’re all he has, he would remind you, you have to forgive him. He would get you the best medical treatment available, you would forgive him and it would be like it never happened. Until the next time, and the next.

Now, given the circumstances, you’re not sure you can defend him. Not with the way he’s speaking to you like you’re less than scum, worthless and indecent to be around. You feel belittled and small. To be the direct target of his rage, though there’s a reason for it this time, makes bile rise up in your throat, threatening to spill out. You’re beginning to see why your boyfriend isn’t to be messed with and why he’s considered one of the most dangerous men in the country. To add to it, he had been drinking and the stress of the other mafia group closing in on them was adding unwanted pressure. You were also a little bit intoxicated, which is probably what gave you the bravery to do what you had.

You were intentionally trying to rile him up. It was an innocent mistake, but you had the goal of making him a little bit jealous tonight. You were hoping things would take a different turn, after all. Your friend had told you about the time she flirted with another man in front of her boyfriend to get a rise out of him and it had worked, and he had taken her to the car and fucked the life out of her on the spot. She insisted it was the best sex she ever had.

You really should have known better; your relationship isn’t normal and you will never experience things the same way your friends do. But, you had tried it out. You started flirting with a stranger at the bar, just some light conversation and casual touches to the shoulder. At one point you had caught Jungwon’s eyes and mistook his dark gaze for jealousy, not rage, which fueled your desire to continue.

You had dragged the stranger out to the dance floor, and he was more than eager to go with you. He was much too touchy, sliding his hands up and down your hips and grinding his body into yours. That’s when his girlfriend was added to the mix–absolutely trashed, angry, and ready to start a fight she wasn’t going to win. You caused a scene, shouting expletives right back at her. You won, easily. But not before a hand was embedded in your hair and you were face to face with your very angry boyfriend. It seems like all it took was for one incident to completely change everything.

You’re scared. Empty words rise from your throat to defend yourself, to plead with him and try to change his mind, but a hand snakes around and cuts you off.

“Don’t bother coming back, bitch,” he spits. “You’re lucky if I keep you alive.” His hand tightens around your neck, leaving your vision to darken. Your hands come up around his, trying to yank his hand away to relieve some of the pressure to no avail. Your legs start to flail and kick in a last ditch effort of disparity.

“Please, Wonnie,” you choke out. He repeats your words back to you, mocking. Your hands are hitting at his and you’re gasping for breath, hot tears streaming down your face.

“Don’t call me that,” he seethes. “You should’ve fucking known better! You brought unwanted attention to yourself. You deserve to be taught a lesson for acting like such a fucking slut in my club. I bet you would’ve let him fuck you too, right?” You try to shake your head, wanting to deny and explain yourself when he suddenly lets go of you. You fall to the ground, your bodyweight now completely unsupported by him.

You look up at him for a second, large doe eyes blinking away tears. He stares right back at you. One second passes by before you plant your feet into the ground, breaking into a rub. Your bare feet scrape against the concrete and you turn the corner, ready to shout but no sound comes out of your throat. Just as you make it two long strides, his lightning fast reflexes have already caught up to you. Jungwon grabs your wrist and squeezes it tight, and you feel a sharp pain along with the popping sound it creates.

With the momentum he has, he slings you to the ground. Your face meets concrete and you feel warm, wet liquid on your skin. You blink and blink to realize that your vision has gone completely dark. You’re hit, again and again, but at some point you don’t hear his words anymore. You feel like you could throw up. You wonder if you do when you feel your stomach contract around nothing. Hit after hit and wound after wound, eventually you stop registering it.

Deep down, you try to comfort yourself. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll take you back, and once he sobers up he will realize that he fucked up majorly. He’ll cry and grovel and really apologize, promising to change his ways. Sunoo will patch you up and stitch over the wounds that need it the most, just as he has before. You’ll laugh about the situation in retrospect, cry about it some, but ultimately end up in Jungwon’s bed. Where else would you even go? You have no money, no job, no way of contacting anybody, so surely, surely, he’ll accept you back. You crack a smile at the thought and wonder if you’ll have to beg him to take you back or if he’ll take you into his arms himself.

You’re not sure how long you’re on the concrete for. When you lift your head you hear a loud, pulsing sound, accompanied by a sharp pain that encourages you to put your head back down. You do, comforted knowing that Jungwon will come back, he will come back, he will come back.

Two sets of footsteps find your way to your field of view. They’re blurry, and for a second you think, those don’t look like Jungwon’s shoes, and you begin to hear muffled voices. The ringing in your ears is so loud, but their voices are louder too. Why are they speaking so loud? Are they really yelling or is it just this splitting headache? God, you don’t know, but as you open your mouth to speak and the voices get louder, it stops. Everything stops.

You have finally lost consciousness.

You recognize the sensation of being in a car, and you even smell cologne. It’s unfamiliar. You don’t fight to keep your eyes open, instead succumbing to the murmur of voices and warmth of the car that contrasts from the shockingly cold concrete, and let yourself drift off into sleep.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

When you wake up, you’re propped haphazardly against a wall. Your eyes crack open, and notice a well-furnished office, complete with leather chairs and a desk that was probably hand-crafted and expensive. You’re alone in the room, and your eyes flicker to the windows, the door, and then to your beaten and bruised frame. If you looked rough before, you certainly look awful now, and you feel even worse than you look. You are definitely sobered-up now, though, enough to realize that you are not at home, and definitely not at the ENHA base.

Three figures enter the room, and you wonder if you should react or if you’re even in any imminent danger. You close your eyes again, wondering if you can get away with pretending to be asleep so you can feel out the situation.

“Hyunjin, check her pulse,” you hear. Warm breath is on yours in an instance, and you fight your heart to stop beating as fast as it is. Two fingertips press against your neck, cold yet firm.

“Good morning,” the voice whispers against your frame, loud enough for only you to hear. You don’t react outwardly, but your heart beats just a little bit faster. Is this man going to tell him that you’re awake?

“She’s fine,” the man says. “Her pulse is stronger than before. She’s lost a lot of blood but she’ll be okay.” The man’s presence leaves yours, and you rely on just your hearing to tell that he is back on the other side of the room quicker than your heartbeat. “So, what’s your angle here? I know you’re not keen on helping beaten and bloody women in alleyways too often, so I’m sure there’s some sort of play here.”

“Yang Jungwon’s girlfriend. Or, I suppose you can say ex-girlfriend, if she’s smart” a man says..

“Are you insane? You’re just trying to get on his nerves!” says the man that checked your pulse, Hyunjin.

“I suppose you could say that. Binnie and I found her about a mile from the ENHA base, beaten practically within an inch of her life. If we’re smart, I think we use her as leverage against him. We keep her, use her to piss him off. If we had the upper hand before, we definitely have it now,” he explains.

You try not to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“You should have called me, for fucks sake! This was a major decision for you to make on our behalf and not consult me on. It’s my job.” Hyunjin is furious, evident from his rapid speech and loud tone, but he sounds professional nonetheless. “You don’t even know if he wants her back. She could be worth less than trash in his eyes, and that’s the best case scenario. He did beat her, after all. Worst case scenario? She could be bugged, or a spy! Did you think about that? Chan, this is unbelievable.” Your eyes shoot open instinctively, and you lurch forward, holding onto your stomach and fight yourself from hurling on the spot.

“Chan…” you rasp out. Your throat burns… You wonder if it was from Jungwon’s tight grasp or if you had been screaming without realizing it. Now you’ve realized the exact scenario that you’ve ended up in. Bang Christopher Chan is the leader of SKZ… the rival mafia gang. You had only heard rumors about the man since being involved with Jungwon, but they’re enough that you’re shaking involuntarily. You know he’s dangerous, and you find yourself wishing you paid more attention to mafia politics to really get a sense of what you’re getting yourself into. Chan is the one that brought you here, and now you’re defenseless, vulnerable, and in his territory.

“Easy there,” a voice calls. A stranger approaches you and puts a hefty hand on your shoulder; when you meet his gaze, you immediately flinch. The man is very well-built with broad shoulders and large biceps that counteract his shorter frame. A black compression shirt hugs his skin, showing off his muscles. You don’t know anything about the man but everything about him screams bodyguard.

Your eyes meet the man sitting in the leather chair at the desk, Bang Chan. You can tell just by the way he carries himself that he is an important man and he knows it. His gaze is intense but he smirks at you as if he’s amused. He is also fairly muscular, wearing all black but dressed nicer than the stocky bodyguard. His hair is dark brown and falls neatly around his face, parted down the middle with strands falling loosely around his ears. He is attractive like a magnet, you realize, when you know you should be experiencing repulsion.

You realize everybody is watching your every move, and you feel pressured to say something, to perform, even.

“Hey,” you say, and it comes out weaker and raspier than you would have hoped. Chan’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure.”

You rack your mind for the right words to say. “Are you… going to kill me?”

He lets out a hefty laugh, one that makes you feel stupid. You feel like it was a valid question, but let out a nervous chuckle at his response.

“If you give me a reason to. But we don’t want that, right sweetheart?” You nod in agreement, face turning red at the demeaning lilt to his words. The man finally rises from his chair and is in front of you in just two long steps. He crouches down but still towers above you, leaving you feeling even more defenseless and intimidated. His hand reaches to stroke a strand of hair behind your ear, and his thumb reaches to lift up your chin and meet his gaze. You want to look anywhere but, but you’re even more scared of the consequences. Your eyes meet, and his gaze is so intense that it makes your skin crawl. His expression is now devoid of any emotion, and he is dead serious.

“You almost died,” he says. He tells you this as casually as one would talk about the weather. “Jungwon almost killed you. You would have died on that sidewalk if we didn’t find you and administer emergency medicinal treatment.” His fingers tighten around your jaw, keeping your gaze locked onto his, as if to say, ‘I am the most important person and you will listen to me when I am talking to you.’

“He wouldn’t… It was an accident. He was really drunk, and I–” You’re cut off when his fingers trail lower, reaching your throat. Your breath hitches, unsure of what he’s going to do and you feel terror overwhelm you from what you know the man has the capacity to do to you. Two fingers prod at your throat, poking at what is most definitely a very nasty bruise. You cry out, hands reaching to soothe the spot that he had just touched.

“You don’t really believe that, do you? If so, you’re more stupid than I thought.” He stands, leaving your mouth agape. “You should look at yourself. You’re in really bad shape. We were able to stop some of your bleeding from that nasty head injury you got yourself, but damn. Do you even know how long you were out for? It’s been at least half a day.”

Half a day? You gawk at the man and say nothing. The other two men have decided to stay silent for the conversation, doing not much more than observing your sorry state. You decide you don’t want to speak much more on the subject, and change the topic instead. “What do you want with me?” you swallow.

“You’re going to stay here, at the SKZ base while you recover. I’m sure you heard, but you’re going to help us get the ENHA situation under control. You’re leverage.”

“You’re keeping me? So I can’t leave? Please,” you start to plead. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious,” Chan replies. “It’s not like you really want to go back, right? If you get beaten like this again, there’s probably not going to be anybody to save you. You might die,” he blinks.

“It’s not going to happen again,” you all but spit out. You decide it’s time to test your body and stand up, and though your bones and muscles ache, you manage to get onto your two feet. “It was one time, a mistake. I’m sorry, but you’re out of line, and I would really like to get back home.”

“Out of line?” Chan challenges.

“I’m sorry to say this, Y/N, but I don’t think Chan is out of line,” Hyunjin speaks. You finally get a chance to look at the man. His dark hair frames his face, resting just past his chin. At first glance he appears more delicate than the other two men, but his muscles are apparent the longer you stare at the fitted t-shirt he sports. He’s very pretty, a statement usually not used to describe someone in his profession. He has very full lips and a perfectly chiseled and angular jawline, sharp nose and long, feminine eyelashes. As he steps forward, he continues on his tangent. “Not only that, but this isn’t the first time Jungwon has hurt you, is it?”

Your breath hitches as you find the words to defend yourself. You’re cut off by the man who is very adamant about what he is about to say.

“Your record shows that you have been in the hospital two times in the last year. Are you trying to tell us that a concussion and broken wrist are just coincidences?” You stay silent as the man’s eyes scan up and down your frame. You wonder how he knows so much, as someone that was arguing minutes ago about how your presence was a mistake. He’s done his research on you for sure, and you realize it’s probably his job to know everything about everyone. That’s probably why he was arguing with Chan about not consulting him. You try not to think about what else he knows.

“If you stay here, we can guarantee your safety. We don’t even know if Jungwon has plans to try to take you back, but if he does, we are sure that this will be the safest place for you. We know you don’t have a job or a place to stay out there, but here you’ll have a room and necessities. And you will be benefiting us as we get the chance to get a rise out of their group, and the opportunity to use this advantage to put them in their place.” Chan seems sure in his decision, and you find something reassuring about the firmness in his tone and his ability to make quick decisions, knowing that his leadership abilities are one of the reasons why SKZ is the top mafia group in the country, ENHA’s rival. You step forward and wobble, and strong arms steady your frame.

“Okay,” you whisper. The decision feels wrong, like a betrayal, but you still feel dizzy and unsure, so you decide to put your safety first.

“You still need some rest. We can escort you to your new room and give you some time to patch yourself up, shower, and get a change of clothes. We definitely suggest tending to your wounds,” Chan says.

“My room? Are you sure this is okay?” The bodyguard wraps an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean on his dependable and sturdy build, and you let yourself do so.

“More than sure. Make yourself at home. You’ll be here a while.” Chan says. He finally returns to his desk and sits in his chair, hands intertwining with one another as if he’s deep in thought. “Changbin will show you the way. Don’t do anything stupid, and you and I will have a talk later tonight. Look forward to it, sweetheart. Hyunjin, call the others for a meeting. You’re dismissed.”

And with that, you and Changbin, the aforementioned bodyguard, are left to find the way to your room. You stumble but he is strong, and with his arms around you the walk to your room is not a struggle. He does stay eerily silent, which you welcome so that you can think. You arrive at your room and thank him, stepping into the space and shutting the door behind you.

The room is not huge but it’s comfortable. It’s definitely larger than any room you’ve ever lived in before, and it’s nice to finally have your own space seeing as you previously shared a room with Jungwon. The room is obviously set up to be a guest bedroom, with cream colored walls and a large bed in its center adorned with a white quilt and decorative pillows. It’s simple but you’ll certainly make-do. You look around and notice a large rattan wardrobe stocked with a variety of clothes in different styles and sizes. Some of the fabric looks like it’s large enough to swallow you while others would just barely fit. You hum, content, and pick out a clean outfit that suits your comfort levels, even if it's not the prettiest. On your way to the bathroom you're surprised to notice a small vanity, stocked with makeup. You realize this guest room is probably for guests of SKZ, maybe their family members if any of them had any that would come to visit, hence the women’s clothing. Either way, the makeup will come in handy later to cover your bruises when you need to.

And on that note, you finally allow yourself to look in the mirror, and you gasp.

You have never seen your hair so matted and disheveled, and your head is stained in your blood. A bandage covers the top left of your head, and you uncover it to observe a nasty scar that had been treated with some kind of ointment. In addition, your bottom lip is busted, and you are adorned with all sorts of scrapes and scars and bruises all over your body. Your throat is covered in nasty dark hues of purple and blue that are sure to only get worse. Your wrist had received the same treatment, sporting some nasty bruises, and you recall when it had made a noise that resembled a pop yesterday. You roll the joint, testing the waters, and groan out in pain. At best, it’s sprained. You try not to think about it, and finally get into the shower, noting the first aid kit on the counter.

The water feels nice on your skin, though it stings most of your scrapes and wounds. You welcome it nonetheless. You allow yourself a moment to cry, letting your tears mix in with the shower stream, wondering if this is the only chance you’ll be able to show how vulnerable you are. You don’t know much about SKZ and their men, and you’re sure you should tidy yourself up and do your best to pretend you’re strong, showing no weakness. When you comb through your hair you decide that’s just what you’ll do. You already look more presentable than before when you step out of the shower, as you have rid yourself of the blood, sweat, dirt and grime that littered your skin. And as you step into the new clothes you had found for yourself, you really do feel much better. You take the time to sanitize some of your worse wounds, paying special attention to your head that met the concrete last night. You cover yourself with bandages and decide to spend some of your time putting on makeup. It’s the only way to cover the bruises, you decide, and you won’t let any new members that haven’t seen your sorry-state know that you’re here because you were beaten and weak. If any one of them notices your vulnerability, there’s no telling that they won’t prey on it. So after about an hour, your skin looks close to its normal self again thanks to your expertise in color correction under your layers of foundation and concealer. You smile at your handiwork – if you weren’t looking for the bruises and scrapes, you certainly wouldn’t be able to find it. Even your makeup-covered throat and wrist, which had gotten the worst of it all, really look fine.

You leave your room at last, and it has been some hours since your previous meeting with Bang Chan and the others. You roll your shoulders back and make your way around the house. The intention here isn’t snooping, you tell yourself, but you desperately need to find food. You don’t have to look too hard, as you stumble into the kitchen.

You make direct eye contact with two men that you haven’t seen before. Their eyes flicker to you and their conversation stills, and you know you’ve interrupted them.

You’re going to be here a while, right? You suppose it’s time to introduce yourself.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: it's hereee (for real this time)! so excited to share this with you and what is to come! (if you saw me post this the other day by accident no you didn't) <3

taglist: @shuporanporang @purp13st4r @eurydiceofterabithia @heartsbyandra @thicccurls @rylea08 @the-sweetest-rose @oddracha @kapelover @goldenmellow

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strrykais · 3 months ago

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control alt + love [kim seungmin]

26. shooters shoot

previous | masterlist | next

authors note: sorry about not updating ☹️ it wont happen again, and if it does .. STONE ME

also please please please let me know if you asked to be added and was not! i can put finally put you on the second taglist!

tags: @onlyhyunjin @15092000volcano @chenlesfavorite @hippopotamusdreamer @vegetablesarefuntables @soondoongdoriii @jeonginplsholdmyhand @nappynapnaps @sincerely-sun @staytinyluv @kimseungminpabo @seungzsmin @sweetasmarie @hinanitiram @tricky-ritz @ayyonoona @hanniemylovelyquokka @toplinehyunjin @missystay @binniesbabe @tirena1 @jihoons-kitten @skz-ot8-stay @darlingz99 @khandzilla @icouldntcareless22 @rihaee @thatshroomiegirl @sillyhal @livixcore @dazzlingjade @h0rnyp0t @drewsandsebastianswife @jabmastersupriseee @flaminghotyourmom @velvetmoonlght @mihoonz @jazziwritesthings @thisrandombitch @vixensss @galbiirocher @skzstannie @babrieeee @ladybeautiful18 @hyeon-yi @lknosemole @night-storm7 @spearbinnie0327 @goldenmellow @jisungs-iced-americano @charlieg1rl @skysole @seungminsteddybear @sskzlover @abbiestearsricochet @isaenme @dreamerwasfound @ihrtlix

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imfoive · 27 days ago

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Crystal Bird - Chapter 10

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, somewhat proofread WC: 8.7k A/N: I debated breaking the chapter into another chapter but it would have left everyone frustrated lmaoo so this chapter is on the longer end!(although you won’t be any less frustrated anyways) Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

CHAPTER 10 ───────────────────

The Sylvancrest Prince had met all kinds of people during his travels, friendly merchants, citizens from neighboring realms, some questionable, but all in all, good people. Even back in the Eastern Sea nation, he was always greeted with warmth. Always garnered attention as the youngest of princes.

Yet, surprisingly, the fourth prince had never really had any true friends of his own.

His brothers had always had their own responsibilities, and although they doted on him, they never quite found the time to entertain him for long. Other kids his age played with him, but they always made him feel the heavy weight of the prince title he carried.

His guard, Seungmin, who was close to his age, was almost the exact opposite in personality.

Quiet, dutiful, and frigid. Although Hyunjin had managed to get Seungmin to crack here and there, even drawing out small moments of mischief and fun, there was always a line the guard never crossed. Much like those playmates of his.

And it was this Foreign princess, who made him understand, for the first time, what it meant to have something like a true friend. Someone to share cheerful banter, long conversations with. About all kinds of things that piqued their curiosity. Unbiased, free.

Someone who focused on him, on whatever he rambled about, with an enthusiasm that matched his own. Similar rambles slipped from her lips, and her eyes radiated with the ambition to see the world, to learn more.

Even if they hadn’t known each other as long as they felt like they did, it was clear that the two were alike, that their friendship was something that was unguarded, comfortable. They had even promised to keep in touch after his return, exchanging letters filled with thoughts and discoveries, things he was certain she would enjoy reading.

He had never exchanged letters with a friend before, never received anything of the sort himself. The idea of it excited him, in a way he hadn’t expected. Prominent in his glowing expressions that expressed his feelings easily.

But after the events over the past few days, Hyunjin began to notice something different. His friend’s smile no longer reached her eyes. Her mind seemed elsewhere, her presence across from him, but her thoughts clearly distant.

Then he remembered the Elysium King’s offer. The ridiculous proposition he still couldn’t fully grasp.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on the second princess. She attempted to smile as she dismissed her “slight fever,” but the weariness in her expression was unmistakable.

It was clear to him that she wasn’t happy here. Perhaps she never had been, and likely never would be.

In a kingdom where being the daughter of the king’s mistress, a lower-princess, earned you nothing but scorn, where arrows and bitter glances followed, true happiness was a distant dream for someone like her.

Hyunjin didn’t have any particular romantic feelings for his new friend, at least not yet. But he believed they could get along just fine. He believed he could make her happy. Perhaps she could join him in his travels, explore new lands, chasing that ambitious curiosity of hers through new experiences. The kind she’s only read about.

Hyunjin didn’t think he would propose such a thing today. To offer her an escape from this place. He knew well that a princess like her could only leave through marriage. If necessary, he would offer her that.

He would marry her, if it meant she could have the freedom she deserved.

He would be a good friend.

He was being good friend. But as the offer laid out bare, his words easily slipping through his lips, he caught the frantic twinge that flashed in her eyes.

A similar gaze he had seen just the day prior in someone else.

Someone who stood stoic, piercing gaze boring into his amidst the dense foliage of The Grand Forest.

Hyunjin sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he chuckled, the familiar sound breaking the tension that had settled in the air.

“It’s too bad.” His words had come out casually, not even a hint disappointed, gaze never leaving her now, taken aback by his sudden shift.

The Second Princess stared at him in wonder.

It seemed as though he’d rescinded his proposal just as quickly as he had offered it.

Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, relaxing against the cushion of his chair.

Princess Y/N opened her mouth, her next words lodged in her throat.

Did she acknowledge his roundabout proposal? Replying with an answer they both knew?

Or perhaps apologize for rejecting him without even considering?

Instead, Y/N gave a slight smile, tilting her head as she spoke.

“Do write to me about the lakes, Hyunjin.”

The informal words, the title-less address, made Hyunjin’s grin widen. Their friendship seemingly deepened with a simple rejection.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Princess Y/N reached over to place his novel back where she had taken it from. He sipped his tea, before suddenly placing it back down with a clatter, as if some idea just flashed through his mind. Already moving onto the next topic.

“I might take a detour instead. Perhaps explore some more before my father tries to tie me down with responsibilities.” He groaned at the thought.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, confused.

“A detour?” She questioned with a repeat.

Hyunjin nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, maybe head up North—I’ve only seen snow once as a child, what a fascinating sight it was.” He almost rambled, his eyes lighting up.

“Snow?” Y/N’s eyes widened with its own excitement, her interest piqued.

The idea of seeing something she had only read about in books sparked a new fascination. Trying to imagine the white expanse of the soft snow covered ground.

“I’ve never seen snow. Is it really that cold?” Her words were laced with new curiousity, one that made the foreign prince chuckle as he shook his head.

“I can tell you all about the Sylvancrest lakes Y/N, but I’m no expert on the Northern Snow. Maybe one day, you’ll visit that place instead.”

His words lingered between them, and Y/N’s smile faltered. Her gaze slowly drifted to the biscuits between them, her thoughts slipping back to the expert of the Northern Snow.

The White Mountains where he had been, were filled with snowy terrains. It must have been greuling.

He must have been cold. Must have fallen sick countless times.

Her heart ached suddenly, and she couldn’t help but curse herself for so many of her wrong choices.

But Y/N knew she was going to continue to make these wrong choices.

Continue to push away the Crown Prince of Nightshade.

A love so tragic she would rather keep him in the dark than let him be kept away from her.

And as Y/N stood on her balcony that evening, staring out into the dark night, she couldn’t help but be drawn back to thoughts about Chan, couldn’t help but think about him again.

It was always like this.

Where once she would gleefully read her love stories, picturing a mysterious man, someone handsome, someone who was madly in love with her. Someone who was her Chan.

Now as she pictured him, handsome, perhaps in love with her.

She couldn’t be giddy. Couldn’t let those emotions that made her cheeks twinge with pink and red, her skin burn with heat, warm and fuzzy, take over.

Chan was no longer hers.

Chan had a face. A handsome man, grown into all the things Y/N had once fantasized. Chan was real.

To the touch, to the kiss.

But Chan wasn’t hers. Chan was the Crown Prince.

Prince Christopher, who loved the girl that had once saved him, because he must.

And even if deep down she knew it was pathetic to draw such a conclusion, she decided it was true. For her own sake.

Y/N had dwelled on it. Her mind spun with thoughts that never seemed to settle.

Thinking. Deciding. Doubting.

Over and over again.

She thought back to when she had lied to him. The hidden truth, nothing near a little white lie she had tried so hard to convince herself it was. Aware deep down that it was a cruel one.

That her denial of being that princess that once saved an enemy prince, befriended, made promises, was the right thing to do.

The lie that had taken life from her lack of confidence, her self-doubts, snowballed into something she couldn’t control.

Then, it hit her. A realization that should have come to her long ago. One that lingered deep in her chest, spilling out with every encounter. A realization waiting to be made.

Her heart clenched painfully as she finally made a clear-headed decision, as the weight of it all sank in.

Y/N didn’t deserve any of it.

His friendship. His loyalty. His lingering gazes, dimpled smiles.

His love.

She had trampled on his hopes. Her lies twisted so deeply, that she was certain he would hate her once he found out.

The truth of how she had toyed with his heart. How she was going to continue to hurt him. He should hate her.

It was the right decision. She had to believe it.

The fairytale stories she had once dreamed of belonged in novels, not in her life. They were things she should never have expected, let alone hoped for.

Could she really have expected anything else?

He was the Crown Prince of an enemy nation. One her family was preparing to assassinate. To go to battle against. Starting a war that they would perhaps lose.

Maybe she would perish along.

Y/N thought back. Thought of Chan.

Chan who wasn’t hers. Who belonged to his nation, his title, his crown.

Prince Christopher who belonged to his people.

Their friendship had been doomed from the moment she’d pulled him from that river, from the moment she had wandered back into the forest the day after.

Tears slid easily down her face, pooling at her jaw as she stared into the dark, moonlit night. She struggled to convince herself that this decision, this painful separation, was the right one.

He should return. But he should never know the truth. He should believe that Sienna wasn’t the one he should love.

That the princess he sought, no longer existed.

He’ll be hurt, he'll suffer a bit. Saying goodbye to a promise that he failed to keep, a reunion that would never happen.

But he’ll be fine.

There was going to be nothing tying him to back Elysium. Nothing tying him to her.

He would protect his nation, his people, like he should as the Crown Prince.

And even if she perished somewhere along the way, his thoughts won’t dwell on it.

His heart shouldn’t ache, he shouldn’t be in pain.

The sobs were impossible to control, her face contorting as she cried, palms pressing against her lips to muffle the sounds.

She longed to see him. To hold him, just one last time before she let him go forever. But she knew she couldn’t. If she did, the resolve she had fought so hard to build would shatter in an instant.

All Y/N wanted, all she needed, was for him to return.

Safely. And she would make sure that happened.

────────────────────────

The preparations for Elysium’s Royal wedding had begun.

The Crown Prince of the nation was finally to wed his fiancee. A daughter of a powerful noble. The eldest daughter of a Duke, one that had been picked out ever since they were children.

The banquets, the dinners, the revelry that had started off these celebrations had all been leading up to this union and the ceremonies that followed. One that seemed to be dragging on for weeks, and finally the end was nearing.

It was supposedly a grand occasion, one which the whole kingdom was to look forward to.

But as Y/N made her way through the town square, her well-kept appearance and the knight who trailed closely behind her made her rank clear.

A high-society noble, perhaps even royalty.

And with that, she immediately caught the wary glances of the townspeople. It had been months since she’d been allowed to walk freely through the market, and though her lavish appearance had attracted attention before, this time it was different. The locals seemed to regard her with a quiet…distaste, as if her presence here was an unwelcome reminder of something they resented.

Just as Anna had mentioned, Princess Y/N was witnessing it firsthand. The disdain the people held for the nobles and the royal family was evident in every glance they shot her way. It seemed to grow stronger with each passing day the King failed to address the suffering caused by the Fading Ill and the misfortunes that had befallen the poor. The weight of these frustrations was clear in the eyes that peered over in her direction.

She couldn’t blame them.

The slum dwellers, the poor. The lower class, and the everyday merchants. They were fed up with a King who seemed to care only for the upperclass. The celebrations felt drawn out, flaunting wealth while the people suffered. The cold season was approaching, and the Fading Ill disease continued to spread, yet the King had done nothing.

No words of comfort, no aid sent to those in need. No search for a cure.

From the outside the kingdom seemed to be harmonious, coming together to celebrate the royal union. Yet, the contrast between the royal festivities and the people’s struggles was impossible to ignore once you got a closer look.

Y/N had ravaged the Nightshade Books she could find on sickness, cures, poisons, that the Elysium library carried, yet still there wasn’t much she could find. Perhaps, if she could slip into a herbal shop or medical tent, she might learn more about this sickness from someone who had treated patients firsthand.

The Second Princess watched the dressmaker, giving orders to her seamstresses to pack the fabrics that had been pre-approved months ago. She glanced around at the maids who accompanied her, each carrying boxes of trinkets and accessories the future Princess consort had also chosen, now ready for pickup.

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fidgeting with her own rings. Her eyes traced the intricate fabric of the dress she wore. Symbols of the wealth and high status the townspeople likely saw her as. But in that moment, she felt more like a well-dressed errand girl.

Perhaps the Queen Mother took some twisted pleasure in assigning Y/N these menial tasks. Maybe she relished the fury that coursed through Lady Katherine whenever the mistress learned of the discrimination, often taking it out on Y/N. As if the daughter had any choice but to bow her head and follow orders.

Their return from Melgarde had emboldened her mother, making Y/N wonder how the older woman would react once she lost this small sliver of importance, the fleeting power she would lose after Ian's wedding.

Once everything returned to its original order.

Once Y/N returned to being nothing but the forgotten princess.

But for now, she had been left to manage these kinds of responsibilities while Sienna entertained the new guests arriving as the wedding day approached.

She should have felt envious, felt that sting of injustice whenever she had to take on Sienna’s workload, when she was given such lowly tasks, handling duties a “princess” like herself should never have to do.

Yet, oddly, she felt a sense of relief.

The chaos of the preparations offered an escape from the ever-watchful gaze of Chan. His piercing stare, always following her whenever their paths crossed, hadn't gone unnoticed. Especially after the other night. The ghost of his lips working against hers, still tingled whenever she recalled it.

But she was too afraid to do anything more than offer a quick curtsy as she passed him, her expression hardening as she clung to that new mask she decided she would wear.

After the carriage was loaded with trunks filled with new dresses and jewelry, the long line of seamstresses, along with the head-dress maker, all gathered to bid her farewell. Their presence drew attention, but it was the Princess' knight who seemed to feel the weight of it. He glanced around warily, acutely aware of the tension in the air.

“I shall visit a herbalist.” Y/N's sudden declaration caught the young knight off guard.

His head snapped back, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he quickly regained his composure.

“But Princess—”

“It won’t take long.” She muttered curtly, turning to dismiss the dressmaker and her entourage, urging them to return to their shop.

The knight’s attempt to intervene irked her more than she cared to admit. She had wandered through the town square countless times, unaccompanied except for a maid or two trailing behind her.

Who was he to stop her now?

Suddenly, her thoughts flashed back to the other night. The night she returned after her… rendezvous with the Nightshade Prince. At least, that was how it had felt.

After recovering from her fever, Y/N had reflected on how easily she slipped back into her chambers, unnoticed. She remembered the knight. How he'd been slumped on the ground, clearly passed out. It was almost effortless for her to sneak in and out during the dead of night while he slept, yet he still had the audacity to claim he was guarding her.

The Second Princess had seen that glint in his eyes before. The same look she often received from the attendants and ladies-in-waiting at the Queen’s palace.

That condescending look. The gazes of being looked down upon.

Of course he would, he was one of the Queen’s people after all. Assigned to her back in Melgarde Estate by aides from the Queen’s palace themselves, when it was decided that she would play a role in this fake harmonious family picture the royals attempted to paint. Although, that had been smeared long ago with the whispers of the arrow incident that still lingered throughout palace grounds.

She felt the stares as she walked down the market path, the knight trudging silently behind her. People stepped aside as she drew near. Y/N should have felt offended by the clear disdain in their gazes as they glanced back at her, but she didn’t. She was used to such scornful looks. In fact, she found herself more curious than bothered.

How far had the neglect from their ruler gone that they couldn't even tolerate the presence of a high-society lady among them?

Her gaze shifted to the small herbal shop ahead. Her eyes raked over the exterior before she turned to her knight.

“Stand guard here. No need to follow inside.” She ordered, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Before the young knight could respond, she was already moving toward the door.

The medicinal scent of herbs filled the air, hitting her with a waft as soon as she entered, mixing with the faint hum of quiet voices.

The shop was small, its interior racked with shelves of dried plants, hanging shrubs, and jars filled with liquids. Behind the counter, was a curtained doorway, likely led to the herbalist’s backroom, where he concocted his remedies.

Some women lingered near the counter, their eyes instantly darting toward Y/N at the sight of her, their surprise evident on their faces. The Second Princess offered a quick, polite smile, bowing her head in greeting. The women exchanged a brief glance before returning the gesture.

It was clear from their bewildered expressions that noblewomen rarely acknowledged people of their status.

Suddenly, the small curtain behind the counter was pulled back with a whoosh, and the herbalist appeared. He faltered mid-step as his gaze fell upon Y/N. A lady of high rank, no doubt. He cleared his throat, pushing up his glasses before addressing the two women.

“—Apply this twice a day, and it should reduce the itch. Try not to get the infected area wet.” He instructed, in the midst of a diagnosis it seemed.

After the women handed over their coins, they shared another cautious glance at the Princess before quickly exiting, leaving only Y/N and the herbalist. The older man, who seemed to also be the shopkeeper, settled his gaze on the out-of-place young lady.

“How may I assist you, Miss.” He asked, his tone neutral.

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to approach her questions. She had no idea what symptoms were tied to the disease supposedly spreading in the slums, spreading into the outskirts of town. Instead, she glanced around the shop, her eyes darting over shelves, baskets of herbs, and jars of syrups. Her thoughts wander back to that one passage in the last Nightshade book she read.

“What is a common poison?” The question was blurted out before she could think better of it, blinking back at the older man who was as stunned as she.

The herbalist’s gaze slowly narrowed as he scrutinized her. He took in her high rank once more before the Second Princess cleared her throat, taking a step closer toward the counter, standing straight as if to not appear nervous.

“I-I’m writing a story.” She attempted to add.

It wasn’t the most believable excuse, but it was enough to make him sigh, his wary gaze softening slightly as he pieced together his own conclusions.

Noblewomen asking about poisons wasn’t unheard of. Some used them for beauty, others for darker purposes. Poisoning, murdering, common enough in the shadows of the world of nobility, especially during inheritance conflicts or out of jealousy.

And the shopkeeper had taken one glance at Y/N and easily assumed so. Although usually, he was dealing with their personal maids rather than the noblewomen themselves.

But who was he to judge? A humble herbal shop keeper who made big coins when dealing with such individuals, one who never wanted to get on the bad side of nobility.

It was unfortunate, but a young lady like her turning to poison wasn’t the most surprising thing he had encountered.

With a final shake of his head, he disappeared behind the curtain to the backroom. She watched, eyes laced with curiosity, fidgeting with her gloves. After a few moments, the herbalist returned, glasses pushed up again.

On the counter, he set down a vial containing what looked like a simple dried plant, a few dried berries. Perhaps even just a small stem, preserved in the thin glass tube.

“It’s the most common, but a potent poison.” His words were curt, yet still made Y/N flinch, never really thinking about poisons, let alone seeing one.

“Deadly Nightshade.” He continued, the name of it made her heart skip a beat, her gaze snapping up to meet his.

However he seemed unphased, continuing to speak as if it was a script memorized. But still, the Princess noticed how his tone had dropped to something quieter, almost... cautious.

“You can grind it to powder. You can cook it into food. Or ingest it just as. The berries, are the most toxic.” He whispered, lowering his voice even more.

Y/N only stared, her eyes blinking at the thing that looked like any common shrubbery she had seen.

The name of it instantly made her think of the Nightshade Kingdom, of the Nightshade Crown Prince. The man who drifted through her memories, his touches burning on her skin like poison itself.

“I-I’ll take it.” She found herself muttering, her fingers raking under her robed hood to pull out her pouch of coins.

“—But you shall also tell me more about the Fading Ill sickness.”

The pouch, fat and full, had clanked against the counter, making the shopkeeper blink almost bewildered anew, by both her question and her actions.

“Fading Ill?” The repeated words fell through his lips as he eyed the pouch of coins.

“It’s a spreading disease.” His obvious information made Y/N mentally groan almost, brows furrowing as she leaned in.

“Of course I know that. What are the symptoms?” She pressed, forgetting all about her nervous fidgeting amidst her thirst for answers.

The herbalist fell silent for a speck of a moment before he let out a chuckle, head shaking.

“Do you?” He raised a brow, watching as Y/N’s taken aback expression looked back at him.

“The high-ranking nobles have stayed ignorant of the lower classes’ troubles.” He continued, the edge of cynicism in his voice.

The older man reached for the pouch of coins, taking a glimpse inside to ensure the amount vaguely as he spoke.

“The symptoms start pretty mild, like a common cold. But once it holds, there’s persistent fatigue, a faint but unsettling cough, and strange, fleeting visions.” He looked up to Y/N, watching the young noblewoman absorb his words.

“There’s coughing of blood and the patient begins withering from the inside.”

The herbalist watched her eyes widen at the implications of death. Those unfortunate souls who couldn’t fight the illness, didn’t have the means to cure themselves, had simply begun fading away, succumbing to the disease.

He sighed, his hand tapping against the wooden counter, signaling the end of these kinds of talk. The rhythmic sound pulled her back from her thoughts.

“They’ve ignored the cries for help. The diseases that run rampant. It’s surprising to see a young noble lady asking questions about it.”

His words echoed everything Y/N had encountered. Whatever Anna had recounted, whatever she had seen and felt ever since she stepped into town.

“You don’t intend to ingest this poison in attempts to cure the sickness do you?” The herbalist’s tone turned incredulous again, his eyes darting between the Princess and the vial.

She immediately shook her head, getting rid of his suspicions almost instantly.

“Deadly Nightshade can be used as medicine for certain things, when concocted properly. But no one in Elysium knows enough about it, or the disease, to even attempt to make a cure. The people continue to suffer, while our ruler refuses to find said cure.” The shopkeeper muttered the latter part under his breath, moreso to himself as he secured the vial tightly, placing it in front of her to take.

Then, as silence stretched on between them, he realized what he had said.

Words that questioned the royal family, the King. And he had spoken them in front of a high-ranking noblewoman. If she reported him—

“I’ll overlook what you’ve dared to say.” Y/N said quickly, her voice cold as she gripped the vial and nodded toward him.

“But you’ll forget my purchase.”

Without sparing him another glance, she exited the shop.

The Second Princess didn’t truly intend to purchase the vial of the poisonous shrub, but the weight of it in her grip was undeniable as she stood outside the herbal shop. The glass container felt heavy, almost suffocating against her chest, made worse by the constant presence of her guard. She clutched it close, hoping her anxiety wasn’t visible on her face.

Damn it.

It would be disastrous for a princess like herself to be seen with poison, and she regretted not picking up a simple scent pouch instead. But there was no turning back now.

Her knight trailed behind her as she walked with confidence, though the nervousness swirling inside her didn’t show. She was doing well. Really well, too.

The journey back was short, maybe felt even shorter than when they had left for town. Maintaining a facade that didn’t draw any suspicious glances her way, Y/N hid the vial under her robe.

The attendants and maids had rushed to unload the carriages, bustling with the trunks of fabrics and trinkets she had brought with her. Her knight’s attention was briefly diverted to the servants darting past him, giving Y/N a head start.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping her knight remained occupied by the attendants, his path blocked.

She couldn’t afford for him to see her holding the vial.

She couldn’t afford for anyone to see it. Unable to even fathom what sort of consequences would follow.

But, of course, that was bound to happen. With her head turning back to repeatedly glance over her shoulder, she didn’t notice the collision until it was too late.

Her body swayed as she instinctively reached out to steady herself by holding onto the person she had bumped into. Once grounded, her widening eyes met Prince Christopher’s equally stunned gaze. His grip on her forearm was firm, holding her up. An unexpectedly intimate position, though not as much as their last close encounter.

Chris’ gaze immediately flicked to her hand, noticing the vial she still gripped tightly. The vibrant color of the dried plant was unmistakable in her fingers. His brow furrowed with a frown, but before he could speak, Y/N recoiled, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she swiftly pulled her arm under the cover of her hood, hiding the tube.

“Princess!” The knight had caught up, his stance instantaneously rigid as he positioned himself in front of her.

His wary gaze swept over the Warrior Prince and his guard. One that made Han step forward, his own intense expression fixed on the young knight, silently sizing him up.

Y/N hadn’t even noticed Han until now, her focus had remained on Prince Christopher from the moment they collided. But now, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his gaze.

“Let us head back.” She said, her tone shifting to one of authority, attempting to ease the tension that had settled between them.

“There’s much to do.” She glanced back at her knight, the one who had always been defensive around the Nightshade warriors, his Elysium training evident in his watchful eyes.

The knight relaxed his stance, crossing his arms behind him as he nodded.

Y/N could sense Chris wanted to say something, maybe about the vial he had clearly seen, or about the strange way she had been avoiding him lately. But she wouldn’t allow him to speak. She dipped her head in a quick, dismissive farewell, cutting any potential conversation short.

The Nightshade warriors watched her retreating figure, and Chris felt a familiar annoyance bubble up inside him. The Second Princess was always so cautious, yet always seemed to be running from something. From someone.

Running from him.

“Was that what I think it was?” Han’s voice broke through Chris’ frustrated thoughts, pulling his attention back to his friend.

The Warrior Prince slid his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on Y/N's path.

“It seemed so.” Chris muttered, his focus still on her.

Han groaned, irritation flashing across his face as he began to piece together the implications of what had just occurred.

What did she plan to do with that poison?

Perhaps they truly intended to lace it into his Prince’s tea. The mere thought made the guard clench his fists.

He glanced at Chris, who was still fixated on the direction Y/N had gone. Han knew his friend well enough to see the obsession in his gaze.

Perhaps he would happily drink any poison-laced drink given to him by her.

────────────────────────

Felix stood rigid at the door, his eyes scanning the prominent figures gathered in King Bahng’s meeting room. The tension in the air was thick, a heaviness that even Commander Seo’s youngest son, Changbin, could sense. The Northern Warrior shot a quick, thoughtful glance toward the Solar Guard, his expression mirroring the uncertainty that hung over them all.

“My King, we must take the first step.” Commander Seo urged once again, his voice firm, as he had done for the better part of the last hour.

Since the Commander’s arrival, he had brought his brigade of warriors, with Changbin at his side. Their presence underscored the gravity of the situation, the urgency palpable in their every move.

“We can’t attack first, Commander.” Captain Elliot countered, his tone sharp, as he stood firmly by the King’s side.

It was the same debate, unfolding in a weary loop. The Nightshade Commander had been urging for immediate action, while the King’s Solar Captain insisted on holding back, waiting for the situation to escalate just enough to justify their move.

The King sighed, his gaze shifting toward Felix, who had entered the room not long ago, clearly waiting for his chance to speak.

“Do you have something to report?” The King’s voice cut through the tension that hung thick between the Solar Captain and the Commander.

Felix cleared his throat, stepping further into the room, the weight of the moment settling on him.

“The Prince’s Midnight band have received a sign from their leader. It’s been two days, but once the path cleared, they were able to identify the markings on the tallest tree.”

Silence fell over the room, every eye turning toward Felix, waiting for him to elaborate.

“What was the sign?” King Bahng’s voice bellowed, deep and authoritative.

“A circle. Eight tallies.”

The moment the words left Felix’s lips, the Commander’s expression darkened. His brows furrowed in immediate understanding, his displeasure clear as he processed the implications of the message. He let out a “tsk” of frustration.

“We’ve received the Crown Prince’s orders.” King Bahng continued, his voice firm and steady.

“Remain defensive. Encircle the border with as many stealth warriors as possible. We’ve already lost two days.” He pointed toward Elliot before turning his gaze to Commander Seo.

“We have five days, Seo. Are your warriors prepared for war?” The King asked, his sharp eyes fixed on the scar-littered face of the Commander, who responded with a smug smile.

“Prepared? Of course. We Seos have always been the backbone of the Kingdom’s strongest army. We just await your orders, my King. Surely, we could get a head start and eliminate the enemy royals before—”

“We cannot jeopardize the safety of Nightshade’s Crown Prince, Seo.” King Bahng interjected, cutting him off with a steely look.

“War is not about bloodshed, as you well know. It’s about protecting our people. And right now, we have our people in enemy territory.”

The Commander lowered his head, inhaling deeply, finally relenting.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

────────────────────────

The Second Princess of Elysium stared at the vial of Nightshade poison on her desk, her mind a storm of thoughts.

It was a small thing, but its presence filled her with an unsettling weight. The plant had once gleamed a vivid green in the light of day, but now, under the dim glow of her bedroom, it seemed darker than ever. The two shriveled black berries rolled slowly within the vial, one having fallen off the stem during her journey back to the privacy of her chambers. Possibly when she had collided with the Warrior Prince.

She sighed, sinking deeper into her chair, her eyes still fixed on the deadly shrub she hadn’t intended to purchase in the first place.

After completing her tasks for the day, she had made up an excuse about needing to retire early, convincing Anna that she was simply exhausted when the young girl seemed concerned anew by her out-of-character actions. Though recently none of her actions seemed anything close to her usual behavior.

But now she sat at her desk, the cold night air breezing through the crack of the balcony doors she had left open, in hopes the chill would ease the suffocating weight in her chest, and would calm the storm swirling in her mind. Overwhelmed by whatever she had learned today, by this vial in her possession.

She had jotted down notes, writing out symptoms of Fading Ill, scraps of information she could recall from the herbalist she’d spoken to that afternoon.

His words had stuck with her. The ones about the poor suffering, while the royals celebrated. While she sat here enjoying the comforts of a cushioned life. Even if she was looked down on, it was nothing compared to what the slum dwellers were living in. It made her feel guilty, that same drive that had erupted within her the first time she had heard about this sickness, had returned with much more intensity.

Her father was not going to do anything about it anytime soon it seemed.

At least not until after Ian’s wedding in a few days.

Once again she thought back to the herbalist and his warnings about this poisonous plant, its uses.

To grind, to cook, to mix.

Her eyes widened as a thought struck her.

“A poison that could also be used as a medicine…” She whispered to herself.

The Deadly Nightshade, a common poison, yet no one in Elysium knew much of its uses beyond death.

Ironically, the Kingdom known for its herbalism and medical advancements, named after this very poison.

Y/N chewed her bottom lip, torn between curiosity and frustration. If only there were books on such things in the palace, instead of the endless shelves of useless histories and ceremonial records.

If only she could run to Chan about this.

The Nightshade Prince would know far more about poisons than she ever could, she was sure of it.

“Have you finally decided to poison someone?”

The deep voice shattered the silence of her bedchamber, making Y/N jump, a startled scream slipping from her lips as she whipped her head around to find the Nightshade Prince standing in the room, having entered through the same small crack in the door she had left open.

It seemed as if he too was thinking about her.

About whatever he had seen this afternoon.

Her gaze snapped toward the grand doors at the far side of the room, where her knight stood guard. The knight who surely would have heard her scream.

Yet, there was no movement. No rush of footsteps. No knight bursting in to protect his princess from a potential threat.

“He’s not here.” Chris finally spoke, and Y/N’s eyes flicked back to him.

He was leaning casually against the balcony door, his gaze briefly scanning the glass tube of the toxic shrub on her desk before settling on her stunned expression.

“I thought I would have had to render him unconscious once more…” He continued with a touch of disdain, his eyes narrowing.

“But it seems your knight had other plans. Not worthy of being called a knight.” The anger in his words was unmistakable.

Y/N took in his words, processing everything. Finally understanding that the other night, her slumped over guard had in fact not been in a deep slumber out in the corridors.

Yet as her eyes settled on him, she could only stare at his intense gaze that traced over her, suddenly making her stiffen.

She watched him look back at her desk, at the plant he definitely recognized at just a mere glimpse. At least she had been right about him knowing much about such poisonous plants.

“I purchased it out of mere curiosity.” She finally answered his question, composing herself after her initial shock.

He tilted his head, brows raising as he took in her lame excuse.

“Purchasing a poison out of curiosity…that’s a first.” He seemed amused slightly.

Then his eyes narrowed, staring into hers.

“Do you intend to poison me?” His question lingered in the air.

One that made sense. The foreign prince had been guarded ever since his arrival, and seemed even more so after learning certain things it seemed.

Still, the question left her frowning, a sense of unease settling over her.

“You’re a Nightshade healer aren’t you? Surely you must have certain levels of immunity to such poisons.” It was a guess, something that seemed to be true with the way his expression morphed, slightly impressed, but he didn't answer.

Possibly still guarded, still wary. She was a princess of Elysium after all.

An enemy princess. One who loved him, his presence here making her heart hammer against her chest.

“What are you doing here Prince Christopher?”

The air between the two of them had shifted almost instantly with her simple question, making the Warrior Prince stand straight, gulping back to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

He could have told her that he wanted to speak to her.

That he wanted to know more about what she meant the other night. Why did she have such a dangerous plant in her possession?

He could have asked why she was avoiding running into him, avoiding confrontation.

That he wanted to know more about why she knew of Sienna not being his childhood friend, one she supposedly didn’t know about.

Maybe it was another guess. Like she had just made about this poison. But he wanted to know.

He could have told her he missed her.

There were so many thoughts that flitted through his mind, yet standing here, staring at her hardened expression he couldn’t utter any of them.

His silence seemed as frustrating to her as him, making the Second Princess drop her head as she sighed.

“You too must take my rank lightly.”

Her statement bewildered him, his brows narrowing into a deep frown at the implications. Taking a step closer before faltering from his stuntedness.

“What nonsense—”

“Then what else? You freely enter my bedroom as you please. Jeopardizing my reputation as a young maiden. Isn’t it because I’m the daughter of the King’s Mistress, because you think I’m lowly?”

The words had come out harshly, words that had pricked at her ever since her birthday banquet. Ever since he had laughed at the existence of the King’s illegitimate children.

She watched as his expression grew upset, her words poking him with slight anger. But Y/N continued, as if talking to him after what felt like forever, made her bare out all the things that he’s done to hurt her unintentionally, finally pouring out in her own harsh words.

“Just because you’re a Crown Prince and honorary guest, does not mean you-you can disrespect me.” Her stern tone faltered with hurt, gaze dropping to the ground.

Chris inhaled deeply, finally understanding.

He had already learned long ago that the second princess who no one outside the King’s court knew the existence of, was in fact not a sheltered or guarded girl like the Nightshade Warriors had assumed. He’d long learned that she was looked down upon by the higher-ranked royals, by her own mother even.

That she cried often, that she hurt often.

He had long felt protective over her even before truly understanding his feelings.

Yet now he understood. Princess Y/N, who held her head high, deep down, was very insecure.

The Nightshade Prince exhaled, taking another step into the bedroom.

“I do not take you lightly, I could never take you lightly. Nor do I mean any disrespect.” Chris finally spoke, unsettling the silence that befell them, his words sincere.

“I know it is rude of me to barge in here and risk your reputation, but I could not control myself—I…” Chris’ words faltered for a moment. “—I wanted to speak to you.”

He knew it was a stupid excuse. Such an insignificant reasoning for his damning presence here in the privacy of her bedroom. But it was nothing but the truth.

“Speak to me…” She repeated, a small laugh, tinged with bitterness escaped her lips.

“—And you thought sneaking into my palace was to do so?” She almost glared back at him.

Both her words and her expression slightly irked Christopher, as if she was purposefully trying to misunderstand him. Each sentence of hers, drawing out his frustrations.

“You run from me the moment you catch a glimpse. How else am I supposed to speak to you?” His tone was almost incredulous.

She wasn’t surprised he had noticed, she didn’t really attempt to hide it either. Hoping her distant behavior would make him look at her badly.

“Why do you think I run Prince Christopher?” She spat, her voice sharp.

“You said the other night ‘didn’t happen’, yet you’re the one who seems to be reliving it every time you see me. It shouldn’t have happened. At least not like that. But can you not lie to both of us and accept the fact that you had wanted it as much as I…” His tone had softened, his awaiting eyes, twinged with frustration, with desperation.

Reminding her of the same look he had given her in the rain.

A look that makes her stiffen, her hands clutching at the fabric of her nightgown.

“I did not want that kiss.” She answered, her words cold almost.

A coldness that spread into the air between them, making the foreign prince stare at her with a slight surprise.

Yet it didn’t last long. His gaze darkened, slightly upset.

“But you did not stop. You pulled me closer. You kissed me back.” His tone was slightly defensive, slightly something else.

Hurt.

It was time it seemed. To hurt him further. To put up that act that she had convinced herself into, determined to make him lose all interest in her.

To make him hate her.

To keep him safe.

“What do you want me to say?” She asked, the venom in her words flowing freely.

“That it was amazing, that I was desperate to kiss you? Well, that would be a lie. I hated it. It disgusted me. T-to kiss you— “ Each word felt like a prick, dripping with disdain.

The Princess watched, her hands balling as tightly as they could against her sides, holding back the tears that threatened to betray her and fall easily. But she continued.

“—You, who kissed me like some predator.”

Chris could only stare, eyes raking over her suddenly distant figure. Her harsh words stung, each one a sharp stab against his chest.

But what hurt more, perhaps, was the gaze.

Even through the disgust that flashed across her face, the gaze remained, piercing him with an honesty he couldn’t ignore. It was the same gaze he had learned to recognize, the one she wore when she lied. That subtle, almost imperceptible shift in her eyes.

It was the same gaze he had seen in the rainy garden, when she had pressed him to leave but couldn’t bring herself to let go. It spoke volumes in the silence between them.

Prince Christopher dropped his head, masking the hurt that flashed across his face with a small laugh, his eyes returning back to glare into hers, gaze sharp and intense.

“A predator?” He repeated, his voice dropping low, a tone that has her flinching slightly, yet not enough for him to catch.

“Aren’t you? Your presence here is proof of it. Like a nightly beast you are so proud to be compared to.”

She knew it was low of her to spew such utter nonsense, knowing they weren’t even close to her true thoughts.

Knowing well enough that they would hurt him. Perhaps enough for him to look at her with disgust-laced eyes, like she had been pretending to do so.

The Warrior Prince’s jaw tightened at her words. His eyes trailing over her tense form. Her arms that had slowly crossed over her chest almost defensively as he stared.

“So you’re showing your true colors then?” He muttered bitterly, watching her stay silent, her eyes refusing to meet his.

“Are you saying you’re just like them all? The nobles, the royals of Elysium, who are afraid of us? Who looks down on us?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with tension.

Y/N’s grip on her arms tightened as she struggled to control her emotions.

“I am a Princess of Elysium—An enemy princess. And—” Her voice faltered, his sharp eyes boring into hers, making her inhale silently.

“And you terrify me Prince Christopher.”

The lies spilled into the silence that settled, his brows relaxing as he took in her words, processing. His eyes darted between hers hoping to find that they were false. Yet that glint he had seen earlier lingered no more.

And he realized that she had been telling the truth.

That she was scared of him.

His lingering gazes, his touches. His presence here all seemed to terrify her.

Allowing herself to fall for him like he had her, terrified her.

A heaviness settled over him.

He had left behind the tensions within Ruby Hall, the defensive stance he was suddenly in. He had left behind the anxious thoughts that coursed through him upon realizing that he didn’t have his childhood friend here.

He had pushed it all back to sneak around here, to climb into her chambers like a true beast.

Like a true mad man, in attempts to get her to look him in the eye. So he could apologize for his actions that night. So he could speak to her.

To explain to her about the crystal bird.

To hold her.

To kiss the second princess who undeniably attracted him even if he resisted. Although a part of him had been aware that he had perhaps been drawn to her from the moment they had exchanged words.

Perhaps the moment she had caught him loitering outside the Queen’s corridors, her gaze piercing even behind the veil that covered her face. His curiosity piqued.

But here she was now. The walls she had built around herself were not easily torn down. Instead, suddenly revealing a side of her that she had supposedly hidden throughout his entire stay.

Chris doesn’t believe it. That the girl who had advised him to be confident about himself, his nation, asserting his power, in front of these Elysium nobles, now claimed it was all a farce.

The girl who opened his eyes to what he could now understand as true love. The one who had made him question his feelings for his childhood friend, someone he thought he loved in some way, only to realize it was her he had fallen for, now claimed he disgusted her.

That she was terrified of him.

Claimed that he was truly a beast of the night. Sneaking into her bedroom, into the garden that night to lay his filthy hands on her.

Her lips, her actions, her words scream “Hate me. Like I hate you.” But her gaze spoke of something else entirely.

A desperation perhaps? A flicker of something he had seen before, amidst the downpour. Amidst the turmoil that churned between them.

From the outside it would have made sense. They weren't close, let alone be anything near friends.

He knew the way she interacted with Hyunjin, saw first-hand how she spoke with him. How friends with one another spoke. Her form relaxed, her lips thinned into soft smiles.

Her giggles.

The sound of which he had heard once that afternoon with the gathering of royal children. Yet, that sound seemed to haunt him, flitting through his thoughts whenever they felt like it.

But now he could only stare, his intent gaze boring into her. Her chest heaving from her anger, her frustrations that seem to spill out so easily in front of only him.

“Do you truly wish for me to hate you then?”

The words hung in the air, a heavy silence falling between them as they settled. He watched her eyes widen slightly as she processed them.

He wasn’t sure why he had asked.

Part of him hoped she would shake her head, saying “no.”

Part of him hoped she would embrace him, her arms tightening around him just as they had that night. Her lips pressing against his.

But she does none of that. Her form stiffened, gaze locking with his, unwavering.

“I do.”

Prince Christopher inhaled sharply, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before he took a step back, his posture stiff, his movements almost courteous.

A grim silence fell between them before he finally spoke.

“Very well, Second Princess Y/N.”

His tone was cold. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

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gamerwoo · 4 months ago

Text

Bang Chan: The Girl Who Didn't Cry Wolf (Part One)

Characters: Bang Chan x fem reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, enemies-to-lovers-ish??, slowburn, werewolf/alpha!chan, (werewolf)hunter!reader, angst, a tiny bit of fluff if u squint ig (chan takes care of reader's injuries), some humor toward the end, mentions of blood, violence, mentions that reader is from america and moved to korea, reader doesn't know korean [dialogue in bold is meant to be korean]

Word count: 4,317

a/n: this is a part of the TftP universe, which is a Seventeen series!! if you haven't read that, some of this series might not make a lot of sense, but it can still be read on it's own! :) [if you do read TftP: this series also takes place after the events of Jeonghan's part, which is currently still ongoing]

Next | TGWDCW Masterlist

Your face was scratched up, your arms were sore from trying to push the werewolf off of you, and you were pretty sure the warm liquid dripping down your chin and onto your chest was blood, but you couldn’t tell where you were bleeding from. You limped your way through the forest, glad to have subdued the werewolf long enough to get away. You were out getting berries when you were attacked, so you only had the tiny pocket knife on you for defense. God, your family was going to have your ass for sure for not being prepared for this.

But you were currently not going toward town, you were going away from it. You just needed a place to hideout and patch up. Maybe you’d look a little better in the morning and your father wouldn’t berate you as hard as he would seeing you in your current state. How could a hunter not be prepared for a werewolf attack? That was the first thing your parents had warned you about when you started hunting alone. They let you in on the fact that werewolves weren’t just mythical monsters made up to scare kids into being good lest they be dragged off into the woods and eaten by one. But that was something you needed to know if you were going to go out hunting. You had to be aware of every creature – mythical or otherwise – that was out there.

Were you a werewolf hunter? ...Sort of. But you still were supposed to be ready to fight back if one attacked. You kept 3 silver bullets on you at all times, and yet…

The house you saw pulled you from your thoughts. It was made out of tree logs and seemed fairly big but not so big that it looked odd for it to be here in the small clearing. It seemed cozy and all of the lights were off, so you figured it must be abandoned. Who in their right mind would live out in the middle of a forest anyway?

You dragged your bum leg toward the house – you were pretty sure you twisted your ankle while running because you really had to prove you’re the worst hunter in the history of hunters that night – and in through an open window. That was a dead giveaway it was abandoned because nobody would just leave their window open like that.

The window brought you into a kitchen, specifically on top of a counter next to a sink. You slid down quietly and crouched down to your hands and knees. It was just precautionary and instinct to hide, so you crawled your way around the large kitchen table and out of the kitchen to a hallway. You saw a door wide open across the hall, seeing a sink and a toilet in there.

Jackpot. The bathroom has to have some medical supplies, right? Even if it was abandoned, maybe the people left some of their stuff there. Maybe they were eaten by bears so their belongings were left untouched. It was best to check for any sort of supplies just in case.

You carefully crawled your way over and through the door. Once inside, you closed the door silently and stood to look through the cabinet behind the mirror. Just as you hoped, there were bandages, peroxide, cotton balls, and other first aid things. You immediately got to work, cleaning off your face of the blood before tending to the small scrapes and cuts that had filled with dirt. You knew cleaning them would sting but it still made your teeth clench and sharply intake a breath.

A few seconds after the small noise you made, the bathroom door was flung open, making you gasp and leap toward the opposite wall. A younger looking guy – he could’ve been a teenager for all you knew – with fluffy brown hair stood in the doorway, dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and some loose shorts. His angry, golden eyes slowly shifted to red as he glared at you, and you knew you really fucked yourself over now.

“Shit…” you cursed under your breath, your hand fumbling in your pocket for the only small weapon you had.

Before you could even wrap your fingers around it, the wolf lunged at you, bringing you down to the tiled floor with a thud as your head hit the cool tiles. It hurt but thankfully it wasn’t enough to disorient you. The wolf’s claws grew, pinching at the skin of your arms. You lifted one foot in the space between you and kicked against his abdomen, throwing him off of you. In the process of him being flung away, his claws scraped against your biceps, making you wince slightly. It wasn’t anything too bad but it definitely broke skin. You quickly pushed yourself up and raced to get out of the bathroom, leaping over the wolf on the ground.

Just as you had jumped over him and ran to the open door, he grabbed your bad ankle and tugged you down onto the floor, landing on your stomach but catching yourself with your hands. He dragged you back to him as you tried to dig your nails into the hardwood floor. You knew this is how you would die but you were going to fight the whole time. It’s what you were taught to do.

He roughly flipped you over and straddled you. You punched him straight in his cheek with all the strength you could muster, but you knew your strength was nothing against a werewolf.

He let out a loud growl that had you cowering for a moment. He took that opportunity to claw roughly into your left side, making you cry out in pain now. But he apparently didn’t like how loud you were because he pinned your wrists above your head, and leaned down with his fangs extended, roaring in your face. The sight sent a chill down your spine, and tears pricked your eyes when he dipped his head down to your neck, mouth open wide and fangs extended.

You knew this was it. You had no way to fight back or run away. You weren’t strong enough in this state, and you didn’t have any weapons to help you. In a case like this, it was better to just have a quick death over one that was drawn out.

You squeezed your eyes closed and braced for the end, requesting through clenched teeth, “Just make it quick.”

You knew you had no way to fight back or to run away. This was it. All you could do was wait until it was over. You weren’t backing out of this. You never backed down, and even if you were facing death, it would be no different. The last thing you were doing was dying a coward.

But his weight was suddenly lifted off you, and you heard him hit the wall with a crash. Your eyes flew open to see a man a few inches shorter than the wolf towering over you, but his back was to you and his stance was protective. A wild, defensive growl ripped through his chest, the warning aimed at the wolf that was on you. He turned his head just enough to look back at you before his focus was in front of him again.

When your eyes met, that was when you felt it. The draw that you were told about by your father when he was telling you all about werewolves. He said both parties would feel it, but it was stronger for the wolf. For both, it was almost instantaneous as soon as their eyes landed on their mate. And you felt exactly that.

It felt like being in love, but it was like it was all at once instead of falling slowly. It hit you like a train instead of floating down a river. It felt…exactly like–

“Seungmin. Don’t,” the man’s voice was a low rumble that pulled you from your thoughts and had your blood turning to ice. The threatening tone to it was enough to make a grown man run for the hills, but you were frozen in place, trying to make sense of it all.

You didn’t even notice the other wolves that had rushed down the stairs to see the commotion, golden eyes going from your attacker, to your...mate, to you.

“Chan?” a new voice asked, their deep voice gravely from sleep full of concern. “Did you…?”

He had. He had imprinted on you. A werewolf-hunter-in-training was now the mate of a werewolf.

The stunned silence that followed was short lived when the front door a few yards behind you slammed open, and a familiar, beaten body dragged himself through the door. His golden eyes landed on you before turning red and narrowing.

It was the wolf you had just fought and gotten away from. This was just your shitty luck.

“Minho?” one of the wolves from the stairs recognized him. "Where the hell have you been? It's late."

His eyes just stayed glued on your body on the floor, “You?”

Despite the fact the situation could probably only be made worse by you opening your big mouth, especially when you didn't really understand the language they were speaking, you spoke up against your better judgement, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You were literally carried to your mate’s room, kicking and screaming despite the fact your body was screaming back at you to stop. Your injuries were burning with intensity, and you were sure you were bleeding all over your mate’s naked torso – especially from the cuts in your side. He didn’t seem to care, so neither did you. Then again, you wouldn’t care even if he did fuss about it.

“Put me down!” you demanded, slamming your fists into his bare back. “I’m not going to be your captive!”

The little Korean you knew wasn’t going to help you in this scenario. Your family had moved to Korea about half a decade ago after a freak accident involving the death of your mother, but you didn't pick up on a ton of the language since you didn't interact with other humans that often – speaking wasn’t necessarily important for your line of work. Instead, there were a few words and conversational phrases that you had picked up on in town or from other hunters – mostly about hunting, trading, and buying.

“So you want to go home and get humiliated by your family in front of the rest of the town? Maybe even worse for all I know,” he questioned, though the last part was a bit softer. His voice wasn’t as menacing as it was when he faced his pack brother but he was still definitely annoyed. “Believe me, I don’t find this situation ideal, but I have to protect you. It’s instinct. We both know it.”

You were too stunned to say anything for a moment. You didn’t expect him to respond, let alone understand you. But he replied in perfect English with a thick accent you didn’t recognize. Not many foreigners had moved to your country since before The War, but the numbers had only gone down even more afterwards. Even other Americans had moved away after The War, but your family stayed until grief struck.

“Th-Then–” you slowly began, finally remembering you had to say something otherwise he would win the argument. “Then I’ll run away.”

“I’ll just come find you and bring you back,” he promised with a chuckle. It was weird to you how your heart fluttered at his promise. It was something that never happened before. “No matter how many times you try to escape, I’ll always find you. You know that.”

He finally set you down, but it was on a bed. Once the blood rushed away from your head, you noticed that there were a few curious wolves standing by the open door. Your mate paid them no attention as he went to a corner of his room in search of something.

“Felix,” his voice was sure, like he already knew the person in question was there.

Sure enough, a thinner wolf with blonde hair that flared out around the back of his neck stepped forward. “Yeah?”

“Could you get the bandages and a towel? Jisung, you and Jeongin go collect the herbs, please,” Chan’s voice was soft as he walked over to you with a very large t-shirt. He placed it on the bed beside you and mumbled for you to change before he went over to address his packmates at the door. “The rest of you need to give her space unless you want the angry hunter on your ass.”

He seemed to be over his anger toward the other wolf who attacked you – Seungmin, apparently. And you were also surprised to hear him address another one of the pack in English.

So maybe Seungmin had understood you before.

“Chan, I’m concerned,” one of them spoke up. “Seungmin and Minho–”

“Keep them as far away from this room as possible,” the alpha stated urgently. “You know how they are, and the last thing I need is another fight. They’ll both take their grudges to the grave.”

“Why was she in here?” another asked, glancing at you from behind the alpha.

Chan just moved to block his view, “Considering I haven’t gotten the chance to ask her after Minho came running at her, I wouldn’t know.”

While Chan spoke to his pack, you took the time to really look at him, and you noticed something about him. Other than the obvious things like his good looks, chiseled jaw, and perfectly carved torso, you took note of various scars that scattered seemingly his entire body. They all seemed to be healed, but there were just so many of them. He had a handful on his face and even more littering his torso, arms, and hands. You saw about half as many on his legs, just off of what you could see from his shorts that were low on his hips. You wondered just what kind of trouble this guy got himself into on a daily basis to have that many scars.

The first one that spoke sighed and ran a hand through his black hair that was messy from sleep. “Alright well...we’ll leave you to it. Let us know if you need anything.”

Chan sighed as well and nodded, his voice softening. “Thank you guys. It means a lot.”

He softly closed the door and turned to look at you, his eyebrows scrunching together when he saw you, “You didn’t change clothes?”

You looked at the shirt he set beside you as if you were looking at food you found disgusting, “Am I supposed to?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I got it for you.”

A knock on the door had him turning away from you again – not before he caught you rolling your eyes – but he called over his shoulder for you to at least remove the bloodied and torn shirt. His broad frame blocked the door from the blonde wolf that had gotten the medical supplies to take care of you, so you peeled the shirt that was stuck to you with sweat, and both wet and dried blood off of you, leaving you in your bra, and beaten and dirty leather pants. Chan closed the door with the supplies in his arms, turning to face you again. You noticed something glint in his golden eyes, almost like they were shifting for a second, but the change was too quick to notice. They were the same gold when he knelt down in front of you, only worry was showing clear in them.

“It’s pretty deep…” he murmured as he examined the large claw marks that tore across your side. “How’s your ankle?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “My ankle?”

“I know it’s injured, you couldn’t even get away from Seungmin,” he chuckled, beginning to mix various herbs together in a bowl. “I’m Chan, by the way. Or Chris, if you want. What’s your name?”

You stayed silent, not even looking at him. Instead, you looked at a spot on the bed to your right, looking away from your wound.

Chan noticed your silence, looked up at you and let out a playful sigh, “Nothing? You don’t have a name?”

“Why would I tell you that?” you quizzed, still not looking at him. “Ever heard of ‘stranger danger’? Or do you not encounter that since you live in the woods and only talk to squirrels or something?”

He chuckled, “Is that what you think we do all day? Stay in the middle of nowhere and talk to squirrels?”

“You realize we’re enemies, right?” you pointed out to him suddenly, finally looking down at him. “Why do you even think I’d let you know any personal information?”

“Because I know you feel it, too,” he informed you in a gentle tone, his eyes soft like he was trying to comfort you. “And I know you want to be stubborn about it because of instincts and whatever, but the very least you can do for me is tell me your name to make it slightly easier.”

“Nothing about this mating thing is easy! We’re opposites; we’re supposed to be killing each other but you’re treating my wounds and saving me from your pack – one of which I tried to kill!”

Which was true. Maybe he was nice, sure, but that didn’t mean anything when you had been training for almost a decade to kill his kind and had been force fed all of these narratives that told you you had to hate him and his pack, regardless of if he had saved you from death and was now treating your wounds. You came from a family that would kill them and you if they found out you showed any sort of kindness toward them.

You were missing. The realization suddenly hit you that you wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon, and your father and brother would both get worried and come looking for you. And if they found you, the first thing they’d do is kill every last wolf in this house.

…Why did that thought hurt as much as it did…?

“That’s how this works,” he sighed, sounding and looking tired, pulling you from your thoughts once again. “Do you think I’m happy about this? I’m not. But I can’t fight the instinct to protect my mate, okay? So this is just how it’s gonna be, and, as level-headed as I want to be so I don’t make it worse for you, I suggest you don’t test me.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah, whatever. You’re not that scary.”

The low growl resonated in his chest, but it only made you laugh as you looked down at him. He continued to just stare back before he went back to mixing medicine to help your wound, dropping the mating subject, but picking back up on your name, “So, who are you, hunter? I told you my name so it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

You sat back on your hands, letting out a deep sigh and speaking as you let it out, “_____. It’s _____. Happy?”

It was his turn to smile now, glancing up at you through dark lashes as dimples appeared on his cheeks, “Very.”

It was only then that you had realized the door had opened with two wolves holding clear jars of various plants and herbs. Both of them just stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable at best.

“Um…” one of them with round cheeks and shaggy brown hair spoke up timidly, “i-is this a bad time?”

Chan was half-surprised to find the entire pack still awake, gathered downstairs in the cramped kitchen. And of course, the topic of conversation was you and their alpha. Jeongin and Jisung, who had mixed up the herbs to help heal your wounds, were giving out all of the information they had gathered from the few minutes they were in the room.

The pack had moved to a tiny cabin quite a few miles away, but they had recently decided to move back to their cozy little hole under the giant tree due to lack of space at this new place they’d found. They were still in the process of packing up to move back to said tree, but they now assumed plans would change since you had quite literally crawled into the picture.

All eyes darted to Chan as he walked in, carding a hand through his hair.

“Is the menace finally asleep?” Minho asked, venom in his voice as he tended to his cut-up arm.

“Yeah, I had Jisung mix something up to get her to sleep,” Chan breathed. His thoughts were running at a million miles an hour but he was trying to hold himself together in front of you despite his own confusion, and conflicting emotions and instincts. “I figured if I helped with the pain myself it might freak her out, and she’s already been through a lot tonight.”

“Her?” Seungmin spat, icing his cheek as he sat in a chair opposite Minho at the table. “I wake up to go pee just to see some hunter in our bathroom! And she’s got a fucking right hook, let me tell you.”

“It’s not like she broke your jaw,” Jeongin reminded him, rolling his eyes. "You're not even gonna bruise."

Seungmin shot him a dirty look and opened his mouth to snap back, but Changbin was faster to speak.

“What’re we supposed to do now, by the way?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin looked almost scared, “this is the first time we’ve…had…a mate in the house. What happens next?”

Jisung snorted, elbowing his brother in the upper arm, “What, are you afraid of girls?”

“No!” Hyunjin glared at him. “We’ve just never had a mate here before! I’d be confused no matter the gender!”

“I meant,” Changbin interrupted, “with moving, taking care of her, sleeping situations – stuff like that.”

“Well, moving is obviously on pause,” Chan sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to organize his thoughts.

Changbin was right, there was a lot to consider now. You were taking Chan’s bedroom, but he was sharing a room with Felix, which meant they both had nowhere to sleep now. There was also the matter of sharing a bathroom, but that was a bridge they’d cross when they got to it, he figured.

“Um…any way Felix can crash with one of you guys?” he asked once he’d removed his hands from his face. “I’ll just take the couch.”

Minho gave him an incredulous look, “No!” his exclamation sounded almost like a question – a very loud question. “You think we can cram a fourth person in either of our rooms?!”

The house was small, and Chan knew it was already a tight squeeze fitting three grown werewolves to one bedroom. Him and Felix were the only paired roommates just because their bedroom was the smallest. The other two bedrooms weren’t much bigger, but he had to figure out something for Felix.

Jisung could tell Chan was obviously stressed, so he quickly spoke up, “W-we can make it work, though. Don’t worry about it.”

Minho’s head whipped around to look at him like he was insane, “How?!”

The younger wolf shrugged, “We could…share beds?”

Minho’s face was quickly transformed into a smirk as he leaned over in his chair, looking up at Jisung, “You just want an excuse to sleep in my bed.”

“I–”

“I accept.”

Felix made a face as he eyed the two, “I think I’d rather crash in Seungmin’s room.”

“I don’t care who sleeps where or with who,” Chan stated, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Everyone just please go to bed now.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Jeongin began, “but how are we supposed to sleep with her in the house?”

“She is a werewolf hunter,” Felix agreed a bit timidly, not wanting to upset the alpha more than he already was, but he was wary about having you in the same house as them – especially with how small the space was. “Doesn’t that make her our enemy? I don’t want to sound mean, but…she could…kill all of us in our sleep.”

For the nth time that night, Chan let out a deep sigh, “I mean…technically, no. I barely sense any werewolf hunter on her, so she’s not a huge threat. But…she’s definitely trained to be one, I won’t lie. Still, I don’t think she’s a threat to us.”

“Oh, so we’re just supposed to trust her based on vibes?” Seungmin spat.

“She has the training of a werewolf hunter but do any of you even sense werewolf hunter?” he countered. “But…yes, you’re right. She’s not really an ally either. She definitely knows she shouldn’t feel…how she does toward me.”

The room was silent as Chan’s emotions seemed to finally weigh down on them. They could really see the hurt in his eyes when he said that, and despite how angry or nervous they might’ve been, they felt bad for their alpha. They knew what being denied by your mate could do to a werewolf, so not only could they not even imagine the heartbreak he was feeling, but they feared for his health and his life.

“So…” Minho spoke up slowly, “what you’re saying is…I could maybe take her in a rematch?”

A few of them chuckled, and the room felt lighter again. Even Chan cracked a smile and felt thankful for his snarky brother for at least getting him to do that.

“Just go to bed.”

»»————-　　————-««

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