#thread: apology from a distant time

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[tojicide]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR! ☆ ZAYNE LI.

summary. when you’re feeling under the weather, doctor zayne is quick to prescribe you with what he knows will have you feeling better in no time.

warnings. fem!reader. nsfw. smut, fluff. pet names. boyfriend!zayne. praise, masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), cockwarming, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, creampie, aftercare. the rocking chair is featured.

wc. 3.9k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Zayne is an intelligent man, that much was evident, but for the first time in his career, he’s absolutely stumped.

Why is that, you may ask? Well for starters, you, his beloved girlfriend, have been a bit distant lately. Not cold, not rude, but distant.

With his busy schedule, he didn’t see much of you during the day, and by the time he got home, you were usually fast asleep. It was easy to think that he was simply missing you and that was why his brain had led him to feel this rift between the two of you, but alas, he couldn’t be more wrong.

This entire ordeal truly got him thinking…

He saw a few tissues in the trash bin—perhaps you were catching the common cold. But when he prepared a spoonful of bitter medicine and a glass of water to wash it down, he was met with your denial that you masked with a smile.

If it wasn’t that, what could it be? Zayne asked the same question.

Maybe you were stressed out because of work. He finds that to be probable, so he made it a point to get home as early as he could last night to give you a massage after he cooked you your favorite meal.

You seemed to be soothed by his touch, murmuring a few ‘ah’s and ‘ooh’s of satisfaction as his skilled hands threaded into the tense muscles of your shoulders. Once you were at ease with your head resting back on his chest, he gave you a tender kiss on your cheek before he turned in for the night.

Call him overly analytical, but when it took you awhile to join him, he had a feeling that the massage hadn’t quite accomplished what he hoped it would have.

His mind then started to wander even further. Had he forgotten to run the dishwasher? No, of course not. Had he forgotten to pay the utility bill? Absolutely not, he took his credit score very seriously, and a late payment was simply unlike him.

Had he forgotten to put the toilet seat down…? Okay, he definitely did, but that couldn’t be why you were acting so unlike yourself.

And then, as he sat at his desk with a fresh plate of food in front of him, it dawned on him. When was the last time you orgasmed? More importantly, when was the last time he’d given you one himself?

It was almost inhuman how fast he jumped up from his office chair to inform Yvonne that he would be out for the remainder of the afternoon, because oh was he feeling downright horrible.

He was back at your shared apartment in no time, pushing the door open and setting his shoes in the nook positioned in the entryway.

(He had a bad habit of trucking on the hardwood floors without removing his shoes, and considering he was already on your shit-list, he made sure to do it now.)

“Honey?” he calls out to you, making his way towards your closed bedroom door. “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

Zayne’s eyebrows raise as he glances around, finding that your apartment looks rather empty and desolate. “I’d like to apologize. I know I haven’t been present for you lately and—”

And then, he hears something. Something that makes him stop in his tracks. His eyebrow quirks up with intrigue as he presses his ear to the door, listening in.

He’d know those beautiful sounds anywhere, even if it’d been awhile since he had lured them out of you himself. Your moans were muffled by the door, but they were enough to make his cock stiffen up beneath the fabric of his black slacks.

“God… please,” you muttered, clearly out of breath and in frustration. “Damn it!”

Behind the door, you were resting on his side of the bed, hoping that his scent would be enough to make you finish. Your fingers toyed with your clit as you desperately tried to get yourself off, but nothing seemed to be working.

Zayne was practiced in a way that only he could be. He knew female anatomy better than you did, but more importantly, he took pride in learning yours. He knew what you liked and what you didn’t, what made you crumble and cry out.

And now that you’ve gone without him for so long, you’re finding yourself more pent up than ever. A huff of frustration leaves your lips as you try again, again, and again—only to be edged with your release without reaping the benefits of it.

He exhales, twisting the doorknob as he cracks the door open. To no surprise, there you were, sitting on his side of the bed with your hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

You hardly looked horrified at the sight of him, more so desperate if anything. He pulls his tie loose as he takes a few steps towards the bed, his knees finding the plush comforter as he sinks onto his stomach.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost sounding sympathetic. He runs his hands over your thighs as he hikes them over his shoulders. “Let me see.”

You roll your eyes. “Who’s to say that you deserve to?”

Zayne gives you a look that you know all too well, one that silently reads ‘girl, are you serious?’ And no, you aren’t serious by any means, so you nod your head to give him your permission.

He pulls the damp fabric of your panties to the side, his gaze slimming as he sets eyes on your cunt for the first time in what feels like forever. (It’s only been two weeks at most, but you’re both awfully dramatic.)

“I’m sorry,” he speaks into your heat, almost as if he were apologizing to both you and your pussy. He raises his eyes to yours as he flattens his soft tongue to swipe along your wet folds. He moans at the mere taste of you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulls you even closer to him. “I had no idea. Truly, baby, I didn’t.”

You whine at the sensation of his gentle voice rumbling against your sensitive skin, your hand delving into his hair. “No idea about—hah—what?”

Zayne takes a moment to reply. His mouth is certainly distracted with the way it’s buried into your soaking cunt while his tongue laps at your inner lips, his nose brushing against your clit with each movement he makes.

“I hadn’t realized I was neglecting your needs,” he clarifies, cracking his eyes open just enough to look at you with hollowed cheeks as he sucks onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He releases it with a ‘pop’, his tongue quickly replacing his lips as he curls it in up and down motions that stimulate you in ways you can’t even comprehend. “My girl is too sweet to be treated like that,” he whispers, thumbing at your folds to give himself better access.

One of his hands continues to rub your thighs for some sort of comfort for his behavior, and soon, the other reaches up to take your hand in his own. You squeeze onto it immediately, finding the gesture to be much appreciated.

“So, you… mmh— you remember I exist after all?” Your words are meant as a joke, but he doesn’t seem to consider them as such with the way he presses a kiss to your clit before pulling away.

“Honey, I’m being serious,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your thigh. “I’d never want to make it seem like I don’t consider you and your feelings.”

He gives your hand a squeeze before he smiles, adding an earnest, “and truth be told, I’m rather surprised that I’ve gone so long without tasting this pretty pussy of yours,” before he delves right back into eating you out like a man starved.

Zayne hasn’t noticed it until now, but he truly was starving, and not for the lunch that he left on his desk back at Akso Hospital. He wasn’t much for alcohol, but getting drunk on your pussy was one of his favorite pastimes, and he’ll never go this long without doing it again.

He was a man of science, and even then, he would never be able to explain the chemical imbalance that tasting you set off in his brain. Sure, medically speaking, the preoptic area of the brain is what triggers an erection, but what you did to him was far beyond that.

It was safe to say that Zayne was almost as in love with your pussy as he was with you, and judging by the way he’s making out with it right now, you have no doubts about that.

Your head tilts back against the headboard as he reintroduces his middle finger to your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench around it.

“Mm, quite sensitive, are we?” he lowly asks, licking a few swipes at your clit before adding, “Is it because you’ve been using your own hand for quite some time now?”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly you nod, your fingers grasping onto his dark locks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss onto your folds. “It’s the only choice I had,” you whine.

(He makes a mental note to give you his credit card so that you can purchase anything and everything you’ll need in order to satisfy yourself whenever he isn’t around. The fact that he hasn’t thought of that sooner is a problem in and of itself.)

He nods in return, though the movement only invites him to make hard licks at your pussy, collecting your slick on his tongue. His cock is rock hard, but he’ll get his turn soon enough.

Even if his turn never came, he’d be more than happy with this alone—that much was incredibly evident.

“I know it, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your sensitive clit as he slides another finger into your hole. “Is this alright?”

Your thighs tense up at the sensation, but you nod, tilting your head down to look at him. With your permission, he continues, his tongue swiping at you while his fingers fuck you into oblivion.

When you tilt your head back, he squeezes your thigh. “Eyes down here, I need you to watch closely.”

A sharp whine escaped you as his mouth somehow latched onto your pussy in the time it took you to look at him. He pulls off of you to speak, his lips coated with your arousal. “There will be times like this in which I won’t be able to give you what you need, and as much as it kills me, your pleasure can’t be limited to the times I can have you like this.”

You tilt your head. “What… what do you mean?”

Zayne nods his head, urging you to tune in. He curls fingers inside of you, hitting your g-spot with each push. “Hm. I suppose I can teach you how to touch yourself a bit more effectively. Would you like that?”

Your hand goes flying to his shoulder as you nod, your teeth pressing down onto your bottom lip. “Hah… mhm.”

He nods, grasping onto your hand. He presses a few kisses on your knuckles as he guides it to your clit, helping you swirl the pads of your fingers around it in smooth, moan-earning circles. “Very good. You look happier with me already.”

“You’re still a jerk,” you huff.

“I’m sure I have been behaving like one, yes,” he murmurs with a laugh. “Don’t let me off the hook too easily, either. I need to get a few orgasms out of you before you should consider that.”

That sounds perfectly fine to you, so all you do is moan in reply, which makes him smile. He likes to please his woman, and knowing that he hasn’t done a good job of that makes him even more determined to make up for it.

“It’s okay to use two hands, sweet girl,” he continues teaching, tilting his head towards his own hand that was still thrusting two fingers inside of you. “While it may be mine right now, yours will work just the same.”

Something switches inside of you the moment he begins to help you masturbate, his own fingers fucking inside of you while yours stimulate another part of your puffy cunt. You always had a thing for acts of service, but when it came from your boyfriend, you were practically putty in his hands.

“That’s right,” he purrs, a smile tugging on his lips. “Such a pretty girl. Perhaps you just needed to be reminded of how to treat yourself.”

His hazel eyes are still on your face, watching as you pinch in absolute ecstasy, your thighs shaking on his shoulders. “I see that I’ve underestimated you,” he teases, dipping his head to lick at your folds, his tongue brushing against your fingers as he continues to guide the movements of your hand. “It seems like you’re doing just fine for yourself after all.”

You huff, shaking your head. “No, no… it’s all you.”

Zayne chuckles at that, sucking your fingers that were circling your clit into his mouth before he places them back on your sensitive pearl, giving you a bit more lubricant. “There’s no need to be so hard on yourself, I’m merely helping you. We’re practicing together, sweetheart,”

You almost roll your eyes at that, because the last thing Zayne needed was practice on how to please you. He may have been a bit distracted, but that could never take away from how perfect of a lover he was.

And… it was difficult not to be hard on yourself when he’s practically taken away your ability to orgasm on your own. With the way he’s making you feel right now, his absence was almost worth it.

Your eyes haze over as you look down at him, a soft moan leaving your lips. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” you choke out.

To that, he nods in understanding. He thumbs apart your folds, leaving you to play with yourself as you please while he dips his head in to lick at your cunt in any way he can, feeling the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s right. Look at you, honey, such a quick learner.”

Zayne grasps onto your thigh with his free hand, pressing a few wet kisses along your inner skin as you come down from your high. Your hand still has a death grip on his hair, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows that he deserves to lose a few strands of hair after how he has left you alone.

You pant, your chest heaving as your body reels from your orgasm. While your vision is blurry, you can still make out the picture of your boyfriend sucking his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them free of your release.

“Mm, you know, the release from an orgasm does much to calm people,” he murmurs, giving your mound a chaste kiss before he rises up to give you one on your forehead. “Do you feel any better, my dear?”

You do feel better, but a part of you, one that you can’t quite shove away, is still yearning for more. Despite that, you nod, brushing your hand along his cheek as he dips his head to give you a kiss.

Sugary and sweet are two words you’d used to describe kissing Zayne, because those were adjectives you’d also use to detail how he always behaves when around you.

He pulls away from the kiss, propping himself up on his elbow above you while he uses his other hand to brush away your hair. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, his voice soft and full of a raw honesty that makes your heart squeeze.

You shake your head with a smile. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you reply. “It’s just… you made me feel like you didn’t need me, like what I felt was one sided.”

Zayne’s expression seems to soften as he shakes his head. “Of course I need you, I always need you. Your needs are never one-sided, especially not needs of this nature.”

He brushes his hand over your cheek. “And I was serious about my endeavors of making it up to you, sweetness. C’mere.”

Before you know it, you’re plucked from your position on the bed and carried to the corner of the bedroom. Zayne takes a seat in the rocking chair positioned there, spinning it around until it faces the body length mirror just in front of the two of you.

He then undresses you entirely, kissing along your thighs, your hips, the curves of your back, on the cheek of your ass—everywhere and anywhere he could. Sure enough, you hear the rattling of his metal belt buckle behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his cock is pulled out from the confines of his boxers.

His slacks are still bunched up around his thighs, as are his boxers, but he pays no mind to it. He raises two fingers as he beckons you to sit in his lap, and you do.

Zayne rests one hand on your hip while the other grasps onto his shaft, pumping it in his first a few times before he smears the head of his cock along your folds, gathering your slick. “The ‘teaching’ is over, but now, I simply want to show you just how much I need you.”

His words stir something within you, and when he leans up to press a kiss on your shoulder, you already feel like your lover is here to live up to his word. “Is that alright?” he asks against your skin, prodding your entrance with his tip.

When you nod, you’re already sinking down, taking him inch by inch until you’re cockwarming his thick length. He smiles at you in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes drifting over your body that he will never forget to worship again.

“So beautiful,” he coos, his hands mapping out the curves of your waist, your hips, your thighs. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush at his words. “Thanks.”

Zayne shakes his head. “There’s no need to thank me for speaking the truth,” he whispers. “That’d be like thanking Einstein for developing the theories of special and general relativity—it’s practically a given.”

You aren’t sure where the correlation is, but when one of his hands slips in between your thighs while the other grasps onto one of your breasts, you don’t care about fighting it out.

“Point is, I mean it. Every word,” he adds.

You feel like a goddess being worshiped as his mouth finds your shoulder, the smacking of his lips omitting into the otherwise quiet room as he places open-mouthed kisses on your skin. His middle and ring finger work to toy with your clit, his other hand squeezing onto your breast.

And then… he begins to rock.

You gasp at the feeling of his cock just barely moving inside of you, your body entirely engulfed in the sensations that he is so eagerly providing you.

“You feel—hah—so, so good,” he whispers against your skin, his lips climbing the curve of your shoulder. His fingers circle your clit at an agonizingly slow pace, and when you place your hand on his to guide his movements, he smiles at you in the reflection. “There’s my girl. Such a quick learner, just like I said.”

You lazily return his smile, your head resting back on his shoulder. He removes his hand from your breast to pluck his glasses from his face, placing them on yours instead.

“My baby is such a smart girl,” he purrs, his lips finding your neck as he admires you. Flushed skin, hair messed up, his glasses resting on your nose. He could come inside you at the sight, but he wants to prolong this. He doesn’t ever want to leave this moment with you. “And so beautiful too. Absolutely ravishing.”

You chuckle at that, though your laughter was interrupted by a soft moan as his fingers pick up the pace as they circle your puffy clit. “You’re… hah—handsome,” you manage to return.

Zayne chuckles at your words, nodding his head as a silent thank you. He presses another kiss on your shoulder, though he quickly leaves another one once you begin to rock your hips. He sits back, catching a glimpse of how you look when you bounce on his cock.

He grins, his hand finding the swell of your ass as he gives both cheeks a nice squeeze. “We can move back to our bed if you’d prefer, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have to put in any more effort into your pleasure tonight.”

You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder to look at him. “I wanna see you,” you breathe.

“Honey, there are positions—”

He’s interrupted by your hand reaching back to hold his jaw, pulling him up so that he too could see the reflection of you both in the mirror.

And oh, was it a sight.

“I wanna see you,” you repeat.

Zayne is in no position to deny you, so with a nod of approval, his hands find your hips. “At the very least, let me help you.”

The sound of slapping skin and your breathy moans fill the room, his large hands keeping their iron grip on your hip bones while your hands rest on top of his. He peers out from behind you, watching as your tits bounce just as you do, your hair flying messily.

“Pretty baby,” he pants, more to himself in reaction to the mere sight of you. “Such a lucky man you’ve made me, fuck… take it, baby, yeah. I love you so much, so much…” he babbles, not quite sure what he’s saying, just that he’s speaking whatever graces his mind.

“Oh, I… I love you too, Zayne,” you gasp.

You whine, grinding your hips in fluid motions as you feel your second orgasm quickly approaching. You were sensitive to begin with, and the feeling of his cock stretching you out was more than enough to bring you here.

“Shit,” he rasps, his head falling back onto the rocking chair as his eyes screw shut. “You take me so well, you fit me so perfectly, baby… I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna… oh, shit.”

You weren’t far behind him, and as your movements grow lazier, you opt to sit on his cock entirely as the both of you find your orgasms only second apart.

Ropes of white paint your insides, your cum coating the base of his cock as the two of you become one in a way that you’ve missed so dearly.

Only bliss envelopes the two of you as you slump back onto his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him. The two of you sit just like that for a moment as you find your breaths that have run off, relishing in the feeling of your combined warmth.

Zayne reaches up to carefully grasp your jaw, turning your head back just enough so that he could kiss you. Your breaths mingle to add to the scent of your love that looms in the air, his other hand running soothing strides along your hip.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathlessly says with a lovesick grin. “Quite frankly, I don’t. You’re wonderful to me.”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again before he slowly helps you up onto your trembling legs. “Oh, stop that. Just because you’ve been a little caught up with work doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a bad partner.”

Zayne sweeps you into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom. “See? You’re simply too good to me. Such a lovely personality, the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard, the cutest snores when you sleep, the sweetest pussy in existence… my dream girl in all capacities.”

You smile as he sets you down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead as he crosses the room to draw you a shower to your liking. Warm—not cold, but not hot enough to the point that your skin tingles. He’s had plenty of practice in this area, and he’s gotten it down to a science by now.

“I do not snore,” you murmur, shaking your head.

As he peels off his clothes, discarding them without care on the bathroom tile. He extends his hand to you to invite you inside the shower behind him. “Mhm, sure you don’t.”

You scoff, tipping the toilet seat shut. “You can tease me for my snoring once you, my 27-year-old man, master the art of putting the damn seat down.”

“…Oops.”

note. my dr. zayne would never forget to please his woman! but i really liked the concept sooooo :3 it was rly difficult for me to write him lol the dialogue might suuuuuckkkk but i hope i did him justice < 3 thank you for reading, interact if you enjoyed !!!

i ALSO kinda wanna do a similar version of this with sylus except… not nearly as gentle ig?? would you be interested??? do let me know.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[churipu]

a drizzle feels like monsoon !

featuring. sukuna ryomen, itadori yuuji, megumi fushiguro x reader

warnings. a lil angst + fluff (jjk men practically apologizing, shocker for sukuna)

note. this is part 2! i'm glad you all have taken a liking to the first part, like i can't believe it got over 700 notes :D, i'm gonna be doing my asks after this one so do wait for it! <;33

tags. @dookiemeshibear @sircatchungus

SUKUNA RYOMEN.

who am i kidding? he literally has no filter with that mouth of his, doesn't care about whose feelings he will hurt with what he says and could care less about what comes after.

except when it comes to you, apparently.

(as much as he hates to admit it, he's a sucker for you).

so when you came home from work one day, you just wanted nothing but to be smothered up with love (even if he barely shows it to you, he has his own way).

"ryo, i'm home."

he seemed to be in a foul mood — obviously he's always in one? but today seemed to be his foul-est mood yet.

and you didn't understand why.

it was either someone made him mad (everyone agitates him for just breathing tbh), or he's just.. mad for no apparent reason.

"are you alright? do you want to talk about it?"

your voice made him grimace and he looks at you dead in the eyes before muttering out a:

"shut the fuck up y/n." in the most menacing, venom laced tone.

you widened your eyes slightly but nodded your head, feeling the upset settling in your stomach — and so you went to take a shower (and cry in there for the longest time).

and when you come out of the shower with red marks at the corner of your eyes, there sukuna sat on the bed in your shared bedroom.

"what are you doing here?" you asked him, clutching onto the white towel you just used. the male looks at you for a while, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

"what? can't be in my room now?" he retorts back. and so much to think that he was going to apologize to you for being undoubtedly rude when you just wanted to throw him love and care.

"'kay." you mumble out, getting ready to leave the room — but he held you by your wrist, holding you in place, "what are you doing?"

"fuck," he murmurs out, looking stressed out, "'m sorry for saying that shit. i didn't mean it, it just came out."

it was pretty warming to hear the word 'sorry' come out of his lips since he isn't much of a person who would shove his ego up his ass to apologize to someone, "then why'd you say it?" you asked him, voice low.

"i.. don't know— have you been crying in there?" he asks, voice calm.

you shook your head, lying, but he could see right through you. the male pulls you down onto the bed, threading his fingers into your hair, "sorry.. for makin' you cry."

"that's okay.."

"it's obviously not if you're fuckin' cryin'." he mutters out, pulling you into a tight hug, laying his chin on top of your head.

"you're cute, ryo."

"shut up."

ITADORI YUUJI.

it's a surprise to everyone if yuuji's in a foul mood — but i mean, he's human too? he doesn't always have to be happy.

but his foul moods are rare so you always wonder what could have plummeted his mood, and sometimes yuuji would tell you all about it.

but today he seemed to be in a foul mood, and distant.

"yuuji?" he grunted, making sure you knew he heard you call out to him.

"are you alright?" he grunted again.

"yuuji, do you want to talk about it?" he shook his head.

"is there anything i can do to—"

"Jesus Christ y/n, stop asking me shit and leave me alone!"

you did what he told you to, sitting down on the couch in silence on the left side, and yuuji on the right side silently. it shouldn't be anything but you felt overwhelmed by the tone of his voice, yuuji has never raised his voice at you before.

so when tears come out of your eyes, yuuji is quick to take notice, he glances at you, eyes full of worry. and then he scoots closer silently, "y/n.."

you wiped your tears, but to no avail, they just keep coming out.

his hands soon cups your cheeks and wipes your tears, "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry.." he murmurs out, peppering your face with kisses, "please don't cry, i'm sorry.. i shouldn't have raised my voice at you. i'm so sorry y/n."

yuuji pulled you onto his embrace, burying his face into the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses on your skin, "please don't cry.. i love you, get mad at me, yell at me, but don't cry. i hate to see you cry.."

it pained you to see him upset because of you, so you nodded your head. if you spoke now, you were sure you'd cry even harder.

you ruffled his hair, "it's okay yuuji, i'm sorry for forcing you too."

he shook his head, "no, it's mine. you just wanted to know, i'm sorry."

he spent the rest of the day cuddling and clinging onto you like a koala, requiring kisses and constant attention.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO.

how should i say this? he acts hot and cold. sometimes he would be cold like ice, and at other times he would be warm like summer.

today, he was in one of those cold like ice moods and you hadn't spoken to him for.. hours.

"megumi?"

he didn't answer you, but he looks at you, arching his eyebrow.

"did i do something wrong to make you act like this?"

he sighed, "no."

"then do you want to talk about it?"

"no."

"really..? are you oka—"

"i said no, what the hell is so hard to understand about the word 'no'?" he seethes out.

it took him awhile to notice how silent you have been, and when he looks at you — with tears pooling in your eyes. he immediately feels the guilt surging in him.

"fuck. y/n.. i'm so sorry." he reaches out to you but stopped when he thought it would just worsen everything.

"'ts okay.. i'm sorry for forcing you to tell me," you wiped your tears.

megumi pulled you into his arms, holding you close to him, "no, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for saying that — you just cared about me, i shouldn't have said that to you."

you rubbed his back, "it's alright gumi, i'm okay."

"you're not," he pulled away, wiping your tears away swiftly, "i don't like seeing you cry.."

"you're a cutie." you chuckled.

"what makes you think it was the right time to compliment me y/n?" oh, don't think that you didn't catch that blush on his face. he's a cutie.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[xxspringmelodyxx]

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⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄 𝑹𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒓 ⊰

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Warnings: Angst ⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 @𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓9 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕! 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 <3333

The wind howled through Mondstadt, its chill matching the cold void in your heart. The grand clock tower struck midnight, marking the end of another wedding anniversary spent alone. Diluc's duties at the tavern and his clandestine affairs with Jean had eclipsed the sanctity of your marriage for the last time. The final thread of your patience snapped, and with a resolute heart, you made the decision that the marriage was over.

Gathering your belongings and your young daughter, Lian, you embarked on a journey back to your roots in Liyue. The journey was long, but your determination to start anew fueled your every step.

---

As the carriage made its way through the familiar yet distant landscape, you couldn't help but reflect on the early days of your marriage with Diluc. You had met him during a diplomatic visit to Mondstadt, where his stoic charm and unwavering sense of duty had drawn you in. His passion for protecting Mondstadt and his dedication to his family's legacy resonated with your own values, and it wasn’t long before love blossomed between the two of you.

In the beginning, your marriage was filled with joy and promise. You supported Diluc in his endeavors, and he, in turn, was your steadfast rock. However, as the responsibilities of running the Dawn Winery and his secret vigilante activities consumed more of his time, the distance between you grew. Jean's presence in his life, initially a source of mutual respect and friendship, gradually morphed into something more insidious.

Despite your attempts to communicate your feelings and the need for more quality time together, Diluc's focus remained elsewhere. Anniversaries came and went, each one a painful reminder of what you had lost. The final straw was this latest anniversary, spent entirely alone, with nothing but a perfunctory note from Diluc apologizing for his absence.

---

With a heavy heart, you made the decision to leave. You packed only the essentials, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary. As you walked through the halls of the Dawn Winery one last time, memories of happier times flashed before your eyes. Lian, sensing your distress, clung to your side, her innocent questions about her father breaking your heart even more.

"Mommy, why isn't Daddy coming with us?" she asked, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

You knelt down to her level, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Daddy has some important things to take care of, sweetheart. But we're going to see Grandma and Grandpa in Liyue. They'll be so happy to see you."

As you left Mondstadt, the weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. You hoped that in Liyue, surrounded by the love and support of your family, you would find the strength to heal and rebuild your life.

---

Upon reaching the majestic gates of your family's mansion in Liyue, the familiar sight brought a flood of memories. The towering structure, with its intricate carvings and lush gardens, stood as a testament to the Lu Family's enduring legacy. The servants, upon recognizing you, bowed deeply and addressed you as 'Young Lady.' Their deference reminded you of your true standing, long obscured by the simplicity of life in Mondstadt.

"Mommy, why are they calling you 'Young Lady'?" Lian asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Taking her small hand in yours, you smiled softly and knelt to her level. "Because, Lian, we are from the Lu Family, the most prestigious family in Liyue. This is our home, and you are my precious daughter, the next in line to this legacy."

---

Your parents greeted you with open arms, their joy at seeing you and their granddaughter palpable. Your mother, with tears in her eyes, held you close. "We've missed you so much, my dear. Welcome home."

Your father, the patriarch of the Lu Family, stood tall and proud. His stern expression softened as he looked at you. "You've made the right choice coming back. This is where you belong."

Lian, overwhelmed by the attention and grandeur, clung to your side, her wide eyes taking in the opulent surroundings. You guided her through the mansion, showing her the rooms and gardens that had been your playground as a child. The familiarity of it all brought a sense of comfort and belonging that you hadn't felt in years.

---

Life at the Lu Family mansion was a stark contrast to the life you had known with Diluc. Surrounded by opulence and respect, you began to rediscover the strength and grace that had been dulled by years of neglect. You immersed yourself in family affairs, taking on responsibilities that had long been neglected in your absence.

Your parents, recognizing your need to reclaim your identity, involved you in the management of the family's businesses and social engagements. You attended meetings, hosted gatherings, and reconnected with old friends and allies. Each day, you felt a little more like the person you had been before Mondstadt, before Diluc, before the heartache.

Lian, too, thrived in this new environment. She made friends with the children of other noble families, and her laughter echoed through the halls of the mansion. Seeing her happiness, you knew you had made the right decision. This was the life you wanted for her, filled with love, support, and the security of family.

---

Meanwhile, Diluc remained ensnared in his affair with Jean, oblivious to the seismic shift that had occurred in your life. His days were consumed by the responsibilities of the Dawn Winery and his secretive vigilante activities, while his nights were filled with clandestine meetings with Jean. He had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, that his actions were justified by his duty to protect Mondstadt.

But as days turned into weeks, the absence of your presence began to gnaw at him. The empty halls of the Dawn Winery, once filled with your laughter and warmth, now felt cold and lifeless. He found himself reaching for you in the night, only to be met with emptiness. Jean's company, once a source of comfort, now felt hollow and inadequate.

---

The turning point came when an ornate invitation arrived at the Dawn Winery. It was an invitation to the annual Lu Family banquet, a coveted event that drew the elite from across Teyvat. Curiosity piqued, Diluc decided to attend, unaware of the shock awaiting him.

The invitation was beautifully crafted, with golden script and intricate designs. It spoke of a grand celebration, honoring the Lu Family's legacy and welcoming the return of their beloved daughter. The significance of the event was not lost on Diluc, and despite his reservations, he knew he had to attend.

---

As the date of the banquet approached, Diluc found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that this event would be more than just a social gathering. He prepared meticulously, choosing his finest attire and ensuring that everything was in order at the Dawn Winery in his absence.

Jean, sensing his unease, tried to reassure him. "It's just a banquet, Diluc. You'll be fine."

But Diluc couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more at stake. The thought of seeing you again, after all that had happened, filled him with a mix of dread and longing. He knew that he had made mistakes, that he had taken you for granted, and now he would have to face the consequences.

---

The grand hall of the Lu Family mansion was resplendent with golden chandeliers and elegant tapestries. The air buzzed with conversations and the clinking of fine china. As Diluc entered, he was struck by the opulence and grandeur of the setting. The hall was filled with dignitaries and nobles, all dressed in their finest attire.

As the banquet reached its peak, the hall fell silent as the patriarch of the Lu Family, your father, took the stage. With a commanding presence, he addressed the assembly. "Today, I am honored to announce the return of my beloved daughter and my only heir. Please welcome her and her daughter, my granddaughter, Lian."

The crowd parted as you stepped forward, Lian by your side. Diluc's breath caught in his throat as he saw you, the woman he had neglected, standing with the dignity and grace of true nobility. Realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

--

As your father finished his speech, Diluc's legs gave way beneath him. He fell to his knees, tears brimming in his eyes. The weight of his mistakes crushed his spirit, and in that moment of clarity, he knew he had lost something irreplaceable.

"Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Forgive me. I will end things with Jean. I promise. Just give me another chance."

You looked down at him, your heart a tumult of emotions. The power was now in your hands, and the future lay before you, filled with possibilities you had never dared to dream.

You looked into Diluc's eyes, searching for sincerity. "You hurt me deeply, Diluc. You made me feel invisible and unimportant. Why should I believe that things will be different now?"

Diluc's voice trembled with desperation. "Because I realize now what I have lost. I took you for granted, and I see now how much I need you in my life. Please, give me the chance to make things right."

The depth of his anguish mirrored your own, yet it felt like too little, too late. Your voice quivered with the weight of pent-up emotions. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to be abandoned by the person you love? To watch as they slowly drift away, knowing you're not enough to hold their attention?" Tears welled in your eyes, and you fought to keep them from spilling over. "Every day, I watched you slip further into Jean's arms, and every night, I cried myself to sleep, wondering what I did wrong."

Diluc flinched as if struck, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I was a fool," he whispered, voice breaking. "I let my responsibilities consume me, and I let my fears drive a wedge between us. But I've seen the truth now. Without you, my life is empty."

You shook your head, pain and anger warring within you. "How can I trust you again? You made promises before, Diluc. You vowed to love and cherish me, but those words became hollow. How do I know this isn't just another empty promise?"

He reached out, but you stepped back, creating a chasm between you that mirrored the emotional distance you'd felt for so long. "I understand your doubt," he said, his voice thick with remorse. "But I swear to you, I've changed. I've ended things with Jean. I’ve realized that I can't live without you and Lian."

The mention of your daughter brought fresh tears to your eyes. "Do you know how many times she's asked why her daddy isn't around? How many times I've had to lie and say you were busy because I couldn't bear to tell her the truth?"

Diluc's face crumpled, and he sank further into the ground, a broken man before you. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I've failed you both. But please, give me a chance to prove that I can be the husband and father you both deserve. I’ll do anything."

For a long moment, you stood there, the enormity of the decision pressing down on you. The pain he caused was a deep wound, but you also saw the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation in his plea. This was a man shattered by his own mistakes, begging for redemption.

"I need time," you finally whispered. "Time to heal, and time to see if your actions match your words. I won’t let you hurt me or Lian again."

Diluc nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Take all the time you need. I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes."

As you turned away, a flicker of hope sparked within you. It was a faint glimmer, buried beneath layers of hurt and betrayal, but it was there. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance to rebuild what had been broken. But it would take more than words; it would take time, patience, and a genuine commitment to change. Only time would tell if Diluc could truly make things right.

[unpublishediary]

4th of July Confessions [ conrad fisher ]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ conrad confesses his feelings for you after a week of fighting and makes sure you know his feelings are real.

INTEREST₊˚ conrad fisher x you

| masterlist |

Not much time had passed since Conrad started his plan to win you back, and you were already growing suspicious.

First, it started with him going to your favorite place to grab your breakfast. He made it a point to hand you a croissant with more than familiar packaging, a gesture that seemed to bring back memories and leave you questioning his intentions.

Then he sat right next to you, even nudging your knee with his as you all ate breakfast, a deliberate closeness that bordered on invasive, stirring up a greater mixture of nostalgia and confusion within you.

Now he was volunteering to help you make the guest bedroom for Belly's dad and his dad's girlfriend.

You knew that Conrad had never been one for chores or family obligations lately. His sudden enthusiasm for helping out was as baffling as it was unexpected. Yet, there he was, smoothing out the sheets with surprising skill as he carefully arranged the pillows on the freshly made bed. It was as if he was determined to prove something to you, though you couldn't quite guess what that something might be.

The fact it was the 4th of July made the Cousins Beach air buzz with excitement and anticipation. Flags fluttered in the breeze, and the distant crackle of fireworks echoed through the neighborhood. The sun beat down, casting a warm glow over everything, as if the day itself was celebrating. But you knew that couldn't be it.

Conrad and you worked side by side, folding sheets and fluffing pillows in the guest bedroom, a comfortable rhythm settling between you. It was a far difference from the awkwardness that had plagued your interactions in recent days, replaced instead by a sense of closeness.

Conrad's sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint sheen of sweat on his brow as he worked diligently, his movements precise and focused. You couldn't help but steal glances at him when he wasn't looking, admiring the way the sunlight caught the strands of his hair and the curve of his jawline.

Your conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared memories and inside jokes that seemed to bridge the gap between you. With each passing moment, the tension that had once lingered between you melted away, replaced instead by a growing sense of ease and familiarity.

As you smoothed out the final wrinkles in the freshly made bed, Conrad stole a sideways glance at you, his eyes softening with unspoken affection. It was a moment suspended in time, a fleeting glimpse of the connection you had once shared and the possibility of what could be.

"We both know I didn't volunteer just to help you make a bed," Conrad remarked, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of playfulness as he sat on the finished bed. "I've been wanting to talk to you forever."

You followed him, sitting down next to him. Your gaze met his with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Like you had predicted, there was more to Conrad's sudden eagerness to help than met the eye, and now, as you stood face to face, you couldn't ignore the tension that crackled between you.

"Is that why you insisted on helping me instead of Belly? She did give me a pancake apology," you replied, your tone light but tinged with a hint of teasing.

Your question hung in the air, a thread of curiosity along with a hint of suspicion. As you watched Conrad's reaction, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze momentarily flickered, betraying his intention to keep his emotions beneath the surface.

His fingers absently traced the pattern on the bedsheet, a nervous energy coursing through him, while his gaze remained fixed on some distant point, as if lost in a sea of conflicting thoughts.

"I mean, I did tell her off at that party if that helps," you offered, your voice light but teasing. You nudged him with your shoulder, a silent invitation for him to share his thoughts.

Conrad's tension eased slightly at your touch, the warmth of your proximity a balm to his troubled soul.

He glanced at you, his eyes softening with a mixture of gratitude and amusement. "Yeah, I heard something about that," Conrad's lips quirked into a smile at your remark, his gaze softening, "The night of our sleepover, right?"

You nodded, a soft chuckle escaping your lips like a fleeting breeze. The memory of that night danced between you, letting you share a flicker of warmth.

You both fell into another comfortable silence, only to be interrupted by the soft rustle of fabric as you leaned your shoulder into Conrad's. Sensing your proximity, Conrad instinctively inclined his head towards yours. He missed your laughter, but it was more like he missed laughing with you. So much that he found himself on the edge of confession.

In a voice barely above a whisper, Conrad's words lingered in the air, tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I know we can't go back in time," he paused, "but I want to know everything I missed," he confessed, his nerves palpable despite his attempt to mask them.

You stayed silent.

Conrad's courage swelled within him. With newfound determination, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, his voice a gentle murmur meant for your ears alone. "I really miss you. I miss Bambi, our secret meetings, everything," Conrad admitted, his sincerity echoing in the tender space between you.

Your gaze met Conrad's with an intensity that sent a rush of warmth flooding through your veins. In that moment, you realized how much you felt the same, and it was scary. It was scary that after everything that happened, you could still feel the same way about him that you did the summer before.

Both of you were closer than ever, but you didn't mind.

Your eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between you as you leaned in, your breaths mingling in the space between you. With a gentle touch, Conrad cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline, sending shivers down your spine.

Who initiated the final movement would remain unknown. Yet, in that brief instant of contact, your worlds collided. Your lips met his in a tender embrace. It was a kiss filled with longing and reassurance, a promise of all the words left unspoken. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in the warmth of each other's embrace.

"Guys!" A series of knocks on the door followed Steven's voice. It startled you both, causing you to pull away rapidly, "They're here!"

Breathless and flushed, Conrad's forehead pressed against yours, your hearts beating in sync. In the quiet aftermath, you shared a smile that turned into nervous laughs, "I also missed this," Conrad murmured, his voice a gentle caress against your skin, as you lingered in the quiet space between words. Had you finally found your way back?

You stood up, taming your curls the best you could with your fingers, "Come on, let's go."

NOTE: this scene is a part of my conrad x oc fic. No prior reading is needed to understand, but if youre interested in reading here are the links (rec to read on watt for faster updates, but a03 is fine too):

wattpad link

a03 link

[estellan0vella]

Reunited & Dearly Departed ❀ Yuta Okkotsu Masterlist

The chaos of Shibuya is deafening. The cacophony of crashing buildings, anguished screams, and the grotesque roars of curses create a symphony of despair. You stumble through the shattered streets, the weight of exhaustion and pain dragging at your every step.

Blood drips from a gash on your forehead, mingling with the sweat and grime that coat your skin. Your limbs feel like lead, each movement an agonizing effort, but you push forward, driven by a singular purpose: finding Yuta.

You remember the last time you saw him, his eyes fierce and determined as he promised to return to you. You had parted ways with a lingering kiss, a promise of reunion hanging unspoken in the air. But that feels like a lifetime ago. The world has shifted beneath your feet, plunging you into a nightmare where survival is a tenuous thread, and hope is a fragile whisper.

The streets of Shibuya are a labyrinth of destruction. Buildings that once stood tall now lie in ruins, their skeletal remains casting eerie shadows in the flickering light of fires. Your heart pounds in your chest, a relentless drumbeat that drowns out the distant sounds of battle. You have faced many enemies, but none as relentless as Kenjaku. His power is overwhelming, a force of nature that has left you battered and broken.

You had fought bravely, using every ounce of your strength and skill to hold him at bay. But it wasn't enough. He was too powerful, his cursed energy a tidal wave that swept over you, leaving you gasping for breath. The memory of his cold, calculating eyes sends a shiver down your spine. He had toyed with you, enjoying your futile attempts to stand against him. And when he had finally struck the decisive blow, you had known in that moment that your time was running out.

The pain in your side flares up again, a sharp reminder of the injury that is slowly sapping your life away. You press a hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth of blood seeping through your fingers. The edges of your vision blur, but you force yourself to stay upright, to keep moving. You can't afford to stop, not now. Not when you're so close.

Through the haze of pain, you hear a familiar voice calling your name. It is a sound that cuts through the chaos, filling you with a fleeting sense of relief. You turn, searching the wreckage for the source, and your heart leaps when you see him.

Yuta is a vision of both strength and despair, his face a mask of worry as he battles his way through the debris. His clothes are torn and bloodied, his hair matted with sweat, but to you, he is a beacon of hope. You try to call out to him, but your voice is a mere whisper, lost in the tumult.

He spots you, his eyes widening in horror as he takes in your condition. In an instant, he is at your side, his arms wrapping around you in a desperate embrace. The warmth of his touch is a stark contrast to the cold numbness that has settled into your bones. You cling to him, drawing strength from his presence even as your own strength wanes.

"Stay with me," he pleads, his voice breaking. "Please, just hold on a little longer."

You manage a weak smile, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin is rough beneath your fingers, a reminder of the battles he has fought and the scars he bears. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice trembling with the effort. "I tried..."

"Don't apologize," he interrupts, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "We're going to get through this. Together."

You want to believe him, to hold on to the hope that his words offer. But the darkness is closing in, and you can feel your strength slipping away like sand through your fingers. You look into his eyes, memorizing every detail, every line and shadow. You want to remember this moment, to carry it with you wherever you go.

"Yuta," you say softly, your voice barely audible. "I love you."

Tears well up in his eyes, spilling over and tracing paths down his cheeks. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you too," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything."

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words wash over you. For a moment, the pain fades, and all you can feel is the love that surrounds you. It is a fragile, beautiful thing, a beacon of light in the darkness. You hold on to it, cherishing it as your vision begins to blur and fade.

"I'm so sorry," Yuta whispers, his voice choked with grief. "I should have been there. I should have protected you."

You want to comfort him, to tell him that it's not his fault, that you don't blame him. But the words won't come. Your body is shutting down, the fight finally draining the last of your energy. You can feel the warmth of his tears on your face, the gentle pressure of his lips as he kisses your forehead.

"It's okay," you manage to whisper, your voice barely a breath. "It's okay, Yuta."

He holds you tighter, his body shaking with sobs. You wish you could stay, to soothe his pain and share his burden. But your time is running out, and you can feel the pull of the darkness growing stronger. You take one last breath, savoring the scent of him, the feel of his arms around you.

As the world fades to black, you hold on to the memory of his love, a light that will guide you into the unknown. And with your last breath, you whisper his name, a final testament to the bond that has brought you this far.

Yuta's cries echo in the darkness, a haunting reminder of the love you shared and the future that will never be. But even as the pain fades, you know that you will carry his love with you, a part of you forever intertwined with his.

In the end, it's not the pain or the fear that lingers, but the love. The love that brought you together, that gave you the strength to fight, and that will endure long after the darkness has claimed you. And as you slip into the unknown, you hold on to that love, knowing that it will guide you wherever you go.

[silky-nereid]

— running away is easy

links : Art Deco dividers, Art nouveau dividers, Orange dividers and continuation of bee’s knees & memory’s regret

Yandere!cheater (Gerald) x Married!reader/you x Yandere!firework owner (Ray)

a/n: hopefully this oneshot makes sense and I apologize if it doesn’t make sense.

tw : violence (someone gets punched.), dehumanizing terms ( it, this thing.)

You finished getting ready, wearing light clothes to try and battle the scorching heat that decided to finally come down. You walked down the empty opulent hallways, walls lined with extravagant paintings. You heard a familiar sound of a dial telephone ringing from the dark oak double doors, pushing open the door to see a room mirroring a library.

A chandelier hung off the ceiling that depicted the latest swirls and elegance, rows and rows of bookshelves. Your hand grazed yet you decided to grab the receiver, holding it against your ear and grabbing the stem and pressed your lips closer to the mouthpiece.

“Hello?” Your eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “How were you able to get this line? I am not going back today.”

You paced in small circles around the library, you saw them gesturing to the phone. Your hands let go of the receiver to let them continue the conversation with him which you decided to take the time to disconnect and you opened a book to read but the pages weren’t cut; they must not read often. You faintly heard the subtle remarks that they gave to him but you knew that he would always find a crack and open it more while roughly putting back the receiver on the holder.

Their footsteps trailed closer to you as they poked their head in the row that you were in with a hand on their hip, then started adjusting their cufflinks.

“Let’s go for a drive?” They suggested. “A drive will do us some good.”

You agreed to go through with a drive with a boiling sun whose rays felt that it would melt your skin off your nervous bones. It was somewhat going well, they had asked multiple times if you wanted to go shopping since it seemed that they had time to spare but you had declined the offers.

You used a handkerchief to cover your nose, trying to not breathe in the rancid stench of the sewers that seemed to be amplified by the boiling sun. The drive that ended up in the beginning, your hometown. The entrance was somewhat well taken care of and it still reeked of the elegance that you hadn’t missed.

“What are we doing here?” You asked.

“I wanted to bring you back home to present myself to your parents.” Their eyes stared straight ahead, not even glancing at you. “For when we marry.”

“What?” You stopped fanning yourself with your hand to look at them. “Do you hear yourself, Ray? Can you drive us back?”

The sound of whistling wind was something that you had gotten used to in the forced drive back to their home, you saw their tightened grip on the steering wheel. Your eyes looked at the roundabout as it had been filled up with a familiar car that you knew too well. Ray helped you out of the car, your eyes noticed the crooked frames of the hallway and the remains of a cleanup from a shattered vase as the paintings seemed to be hanging off a thread.

“Stay here,” they said. “ I will be back to figure out what happened.”

You crossed your arms, waited till their footsteps became distant echoes down the long hallways and followed the remaining coverups of a destruction that led to a dark oak door which had a small opening, your eyes winced at the sudden brightness from the lightbulbs but noticed who sat on the pink striped cabriole.

“I told you to stay there, dear.” Ray’s footsteps hurried down the hallway, grabbing your shoulders to face them. “Why couldn’t you listen to me? You could have gotten hurt.”

A subtle cough escaped his lips which you pulled away from them, stepping into the lounge that seemed to be decorated with lesser tastes. The room seemed to desperately mimic the insides of a hotel room that hadn’t been cleaned in days or weeks but it had bits of elegance that couldn’t be hidden despite the filth. The ashtray held fresh butts of cigars which rolled your eyes since it seems that he would later ask for a light or for a cigarette from your golden case tucked in your pocket.

You sat in the floral settee, your trembling hand tightly gripped the cushions from the armrest that seemed to shatter in your mind. Your free hand held a small chunk of ice wrapped in a small towel and pressed it against your neck that was drenched in sweat. Ray stood behind the floral settee, their hands rested on the wooden frame while glimmering rings decorated their fingers.

“Why are you here?” Ray broke the silence and looked at him. “How did you get in here?”

“To get back what is mine,” he responded. “They’re married to me, remember not to you. A bootlegger. I was let in clearly but this tiny escapade will end now but how unsightly for you, Ray.”

“Bootlegger?” You looked at them with confusion then to Gerald. “They’re no bootlegger, they just own a couple of shops downtown I believe.”

”Don’t tell me that you believe those rancid lies and I thought you knew everything about them,” Gerald scoffed. “They’re a bootlegger. They’re the very thing that corrupts good people like you.”

Gerald smiled at you but the smile never reached his eyes, rolling up his sleeves and strolling towards the miniature bar. His hands meticulously grabbed the ingredients which was an old fashioned glass, remaining ice that hadn’t melted yet from the heat, bourbon. He poured himself a drink and planted himself down next to you, his free arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“They want to tell you something, Gerald.” Ray stepped towards you, pulling you up. “Say it, you’ve been practicing. It’s your moment, dear.”

Your eyes watered from the heat, legs shaking in unbridled fear.

“I—I want to leave you.” Your eyes looked up at Ray then to him. “I’m going to leave you.”

Gerald’s smile dropped, placing the glass on the nearby table. He dabbed away the sweat with a towel and discarded it on the floral settee.

“There I told him. Can we go now? It’s too hot.” Your trembling back touched the windowsill, tugging on Ray’s cuff. “Ray, please. Let’s just go.”

“You have filled up their brain with this nonsense.” Gerald stared at Ray and got up, standing a foot away from them. “With these putrid fantasies, why can’t you understand that they do not love you despite everything you have done for them. They love me, they married me, not you.“

“They don’t love you,” Ray replied. “Dear, say it. That you never loved him, you need to break from him and I will treat you better. I won’t be like him, I won’t bring women home, I’ll be loyal to you. Just say it once.”

“See,” he said,” they can’t say it because they love me. It was one time that I brought someone home but I didn’t do it again, did I? Did the gentleman who was found ashore in the papers also get this so-called loyalty?”

Your trembling hands pulled Ray’s fist that seemed to be made of steel away from Gerald, your nails scratched their forearm causing beads of blood to form while tears streamed down your face. He turned to see you sobbing with Ray looming over you, trying to calm you down but you didn’t want to be around Ray. Your voice cracked from shouting at Ray and how it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Are you sure this is what you wanted and not what this thing is saying?” Gerald held his bloodied nose with a towel that he discarded on the settee. “It’s blatantly obvious that it needs to control this temper then who knows what will happen to you and I will not be able to protect you. Are you sure this is what you are leaving me for?”

You untangled yourself from Ray’s web and standing between him and them, your back touched the floral printed wall. Your blurry vision darted from them to him, hearing the familiar noise of a heartbeat in your ears. Trembling legs that inched away from Ray despite them having their arms out and using their hands seemingly trying to push down on something nonexistent to get closer to you; was this supposed to be calming?

“Dear, this isn’t like you.” They urged you to come to them with each step. “Come to me and I’ll give you what you need.”

“You hardly know them.” Gerald looked at Ray with a burning glance. “Just because they took refuge in this cesspool that you call a home does not mean that they will go to you.”

Yandere! Cheater ending

You inched closer to him and Gerald slowly began to wave you over while he stepped back. Your hands squeezed his forearm, he wiped the remaining dried blood from his nose before tucking the discarded bloodied towel in his pocket.

“It seems that they made their decision.”Gerald kissed the side of your temple. “Let’s go to the car. A drive will do us good.”

Gerald’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. His footsteps guided out the door and down the marble steps till a tug on your wrist snapped you back into the humid reality.

“You don’t have to go to him,” Ray said. “Look at me, please. You can still make this right.”

Gerald pulled your wrist out of their grasp and helped you inside the car. His free hand drew circles in space where thumb met the index finger, the smile finally reached his eyes through the drive home back to the small world across the dock.

Your eyes looked at the blue sky shifting and exposing the insides of oranges, pinks, and purples. The sky had been dyed pitch black with glimmering rhinestones stitched into the fabric, he helped you out. Your coat had been peeled off your shoulders and you expected to hear only your footsteps and the occasional servants but it was doubled with his.

“Why the change of heart, Gerald?” You asked. “Why have you decided to stay rather than going into her arms?”

“You seemed distracted more than ever,” he replied. “She can wait but it seems that I have neglected you for far too long, haven’t I?”

Gerald guided you once more to the bedroom, his hands carefully peeled away your clothes to be replaced with your comfortable nightwear and he sat you down on the cabriole.

“What did you do to me?” Your knees pressed up against your chest and eyes tracing the custom design on the cabriole. “I don’t know where I begin and where you end.”

Gerald’s eyes looked at you and his footsteps stopped at the side of the cabriole’s armrest. You looked up at him, a warm hand that held yours and slipping on your wedding ring. His hands held your face up and he seemed to try to understand the knots and tangles of your mind.

“We have stayed here too long, don’t you agree?” He asked. “Let’s go on a trip and this time you get to choose where we go. Would you like this?”

You agreed that he sat down next to you and wrapped his arm around you, your fingertips traced the circles on his knuckles; feeling the vein, warmth, and calloused palms.

Yandere! Firework owner ending

You held the wedding ring that made you tethered to him, it was a piece of melted metal that meant something special years ago but it meant nothing now. Gerald’s lips grew into a smile, taking back the ring and asking for a light and a cigarette.

“Someone will get your things.” He looked at you and them. “I won’t be there if this fails.”

Gerald’s footsteps echoed throughout the hallways till it became a distant memory in the halls.

Days had passed which Ray’s eyes seemed to remind you of a cat’s pupils that would grow bigger each time they saw you despite now living in the same house.

You were wearing comfortable loose clothes and sat on one of the lounge chairs, seeing the house that was once yours across the dock; how small and insignificant it looked. Ray’s hands held you delicately as if their body was molded specifically to hold you, their fingertips drew swirls on your spine that caused your hands to tighten on the back of their coat.

“Did I hurt you?” They stopped the swirls. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smiled, holding their face that seemed to be the boiling sun in your hands. “Are you alright? Has your hand healed?”

“It’s just a scratch.” They showed their bandaged hand. “Nothing new, my love.”

Ray’s eyes admired your wonderful features, often asking if you secretly were a noble who bewitched them with your very presence.

Your grip tightened on their forearm with each step towards your old childhood home.

“Why are we here again?” You asked. “Can’t we do this another day?“

“To get your parents' blessing.” They looked at you. “Love, we must do this since we cannot push this back even further.”

You watched the familiar door open to be greeted by an older couple whose face molded into happier faces. Surely, they are looking for someone else.

The furniture was in the same exact place since you left, your knuckles knocked on the wooden door frame to get rid of remaining thoughts that decided to bury themselves in your brain. You disliked the suffocating taste of the home, standing on the steps and hearing the excited footsteps of Ray.

“I got the blessing, my love.” They smiled. “Are you alright?”

“Let’s just go to the car,” you replied.

Ray walked and helped you into the car, you could feel the boiling excitement from underneath their very skin.

“Do you think that we could go to the beach?” You smiled. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

[ravers8fantasy]

Punch out characters on a road trip!!! 🚙💨

I got inspired after my parents took me on a random road trip across the Scottish boarder yesterday (to ENGLAND EWW/j)

Update: I FORGOT TO PUT THE SEATING ARANGEMENT HERE OMDS im gonna get my sick ass into bed I swear just let me do the punch out grind real quick-

Little mac:

had to beg his parents to let him go on a road trip with everyone (they made him keep them and doc on speed dial)

had a feeling something crazy was going to happen so he chose to sit next to kaiser in the front (and oh boy was he right)

him and disco hyped up tiger to start rapping when there was so radio signal, Mac ended up beatboxing (beatboxing champ of the bronx/j)

got into a disscusion about road laws with Joe and piston because he thought driving with sandals/flip flops was illegal

Glass Joe:

Got left at a service station somewhere so the group had to go back and find him, he was so mad

lore dropped that he got hit and run three times in a row by a car when he was a kid. No one spoke for a while after he shared that information

bear hugger's emotional support squirell jumped him because he wouldnt give it the nuts he brought and he was screaming like he was being murdered (well, it was a squirrel so)

everyone actually liked the music he played, it was the most relaxing

Von kaiser:

designated driver because he has the most experience doing long distant drives

shocked everyone, not because he managed to get to their destination without a GPS, but because he drove the whole way in busted af van

one of his sandals slipped off after psycho squirrel scared him, so he was basically driving with one shoe on (this is what promted the discussion about road laws)

his music kept switching between calm classical and german heavy metal (this made the whole squirrel attacking joe thing even funnier)

Disco kid:

designated DJ but let the others take over the aux

was literally just screaming whilst the squirrel was going crazy for Joe's nuts (haha- wait no be mature)

him, Mac, Aran, Tiger, kinda Don his voice cracked, super macho man, Joe, and Soda all had a little sing song together to the sound of Bear's guitar

was a back up dancer for Tiger's improv rap 'concert' but got sent flying to the back of the van because Kaiser accelerated suddenly

King hippo:

ate all his road snacks within the first hour and got sad about it, joe tried to give him some nuts but thats when the squirrel struck

played eye spy with Aran in the back seat and kept picking Don's toupee as his object since it was the only thing he could see infront of him

fell asleep for most of the drive ngl, apart from the squirrel and Aran almost pissing himself situation-

got his crown stolen whist he was sleeping by Aran who passed it to bald bull , to sandman who passed it to macho who passed it to- basically everyone tried it on

Piston hondo:

lore dropped that he knew how to drive an old fashioned motorcycle, him and kaiser ended up talking about bikes for ages

was eating seaweed sheets and offered to share with the others because they were curious

realised his music could be heard by everyone after the feral squirrel knocked his headphones off (bro was embarrased af)

he took a nap and woke up thinking he got a really good beauty rest, when really tiger had actually just threaded his eyebrows

Bear hugger:

fell asleep alot, only woke up when his flippin squirrel escaped the beanie and started attacking Joe over nuts

collective team effort to get that squirrel back inside of Bear's beanie, he sang a song as an apology bless

brought a guitar and at first sang by himself until he started strumming some club classics and eventually some of the other boxers joined in

tried alot of snacks, but his favourite snack was the seaweed sheets Hondo brought

Great tiger:

Whilst Hondo was asleep, Tiger threaded his eyebrows because why not

got his jewel stolen by bear's squirrel and started arguing with it like it actually understood him

kept teleporting out of the car when he needed stuff (like the toilet or more food) which stressed everyone tf out cus they would be mid convo and he would just disappear

did an improvised rap on the spot, no one realised but the rap was actually a very symbolic diss track about all of them (the boxers, even the ref got mentioned)

Don 'rosey posey' flamenco:

he said the van smelt so he sprayed soooo much rose scented perfume, everyone got a head ache

was afraid to take a nap because he was scared someone was going to sneak up and snatch his wig (Tiger and Aran im looking at you two)

was clinging onto his toupee for dear life when bear's squirrel went crazy, also got a full front seat view of joe getting jumped in HD 4K

was singing really well until his voice cracked and he got embarassed but everyone kept hyping him up awww(I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM)

"sing rosey posey, do a dance for us as well!"

"....I hate you guys why did I even come"

Aran Ryan:

the reason why they had an emergency service break, woke up from a nap and was literally about to piss himself bro was like on the edge

kept barking at people through Hippo's window when they were driving through towns

at one point he managed to grab bear's squirrel, but it ran down his top and he started shouting the most heinous string of swears ever

started calling Don 'Rosey posey' because of his perfume, eventually the other boxers started calling Don 'rosey posey' as well (Aran found it hilarious when everyone started calling him by that nickname)

Soda popinski:

had to sit weirdly at first because he was too tall for the busted van, his seat ended up breaking because of it

the squirrel also annoyed him, it was hanging off his mustache for like most of the ride

his music jumpscared everyone, he put on hardbass and rock but turned the volume up LOUD.

was singing along to Macho's music... well shouting. He searched the lyrics to Kim K's Jam 'turn it up' and him and macho sang it like 2 drunk himbos on a hen do

Bald bull:

bro was not here for the ride he just wanted to sleep and relax, he shouted everytime someone pulled out a camera

him and sandman had a bet on wether or not Kaiser was gonna crash, he won.

genuinely could not believe Bear's squirrel was jumping Joe he thought it was a fever dream

didnt put his music on because he was too busy telling Macho and Soda to put a better song on

Super macho man:

kept fucking singing, even when there was no music playing

thought his part in tiger's rap was a compliment when really Tiger was calling his muscles faker than his fans

someone called him and everyone laughed because he had a really stupid ring tone

recorded Joe getting attacked, also made Bear upset after saying that he was going to chuck the squirrel out the window what a douchebag

Sandman:

Absolutely terrified that Kaiser is driving, has one hand on the grab handles at all time

was laughing at Bear's squirrel harassing everyone in the van, but stopped to shout at Bear to get it under control when it started jumping Joe

fell asleep. Then woke up to tell Aran to fuck off then went back to sleep. Then woke up again to watch Tigers rap performance

(he was the only one who realised it was a hidden diss track)

told Aran to stop barking at people but ended up joining in because he got tired of listening to Macho sing and honestly he was bored

・*:..｡o♬*ﾟ・*:..｡o♬*ﾟ・*:..｡o♬*ﾟ・*:..｡o♬*:..o♬

Okay so I had to refine this sm because when I did it last night they were so jumbled, so mixed and lwk really unhinged so I had to reign it in a lil. If there are any spelling mistakes im just gonna leave them here im so ill and cant be bothered to fix it, anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 18

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed,"

summary: you spent the days with negan

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 18

masterlist!

previous | chapter 17

next | chapter 19

You’ve lost track of time. Days? Weeks? Maybe months? The lines between each are blurred into a gray, endless fog. It feels like a lifetime, every moment dragging in this hell, locked away in a basement where time itself has abandoned you. No sunlight. No air. No life.

Your skin has become paper-thin, ghostly pale, your hair longer now, wild and unkempt, hanging like threads of darkness around your face.

You can barely recognize yourself anymore. Who are you now? A hollow shell of the girl who once laughed under the Texas sun, free, warm, loved.

But now—now you are something else entirely. Your body bears the marks of your captivity—bruises, cuts, reminders of Negan’s rage.

Your muscles ache, protesting every movement as you sit huddled in a corner, shivering in the same clothes he left you with, now ragged and clinging to your bones.

You try to hold onto Joel's face in your mind, but it’s becoming harder. The image of him is fading like the light you once knew. You wonder if he's okay.

Is he searching for you? Does he even know where you are? The thought of him keeps you breathing, keeps your heart beating through the endless fear.

You imagine him finding you—saving you. His arms wrapping around you, holding you close, whispering that it's all over, that you’re safe again. But all you have are those thoughts, like distant stars barely visible in a night sky choked with clouds.

Here, there’s nothing but the endless cold concrete, the bucket in the corner, and the faint, rotting smell that clings to the air. You barely register it anymore.

You’ve learned to survive in this dark corner of hell, learned to please the man who holds your life in his hands. Negan. The name makes your skin crawl.

He took you, stole you away from everything, ripped your life apart. And for what? You still don’t understand why. Why you?

Negan comes every morning. At first, you refused to eat, refused to give him the satisfaction, but after the first time he beat you—after the sharp sting of his fist connecting with your ribs and the choking terror of his threats—you learned to obey.

Now, you force yourself to eat, to keep your body moving, even when you want to crawl into a dark hole and disappear forever. Survival. It’s the only thing left.

Sometimes, he’s sweet, too sweet, sickly almost, like a poisoned lullaby. He’ll apologize, say he didn’t mean it, that he only gets angry when you don’t listen.

Negan strokes your hair, his fingers weaving through the tangled strands, the sickly sweetness in his voice every time he speak to you sending chills down your spine.

You’ve learned to obey, to keep your head down, to be the good girl he expects—because when you’re not, when you step out of line, he turns into something else.

A storm, violent and unpredictable, his fists crashing down like thunder, his words sharp as lightning. The bruises on your skin, purpling and yellowing, are the remnants of his rage, each one a testament to how dangerous he can be.

And yet, beneath the horror, it feels hauntingly familiar. The blows, the threats, the control—it all pulls you back, back to a place you thought you’d escaped. Your father.

His memory clings to you, like a shadow that stretches across your life, refusing to fade. Even though he's dead, you can still feel him—his presence, his hands, his cruelty.

It's as if his spirit never really left, lingering in the dark corners of your mind, waiting to reemerge. You thought you were free of him, free of the suffocating grip he had on your life, but here, with Negan, it’s like you're back in his grasp all over again.

The abuse, the beatings—it’s the same cycle, a vicious loop that you can never seem to break.

You feel his hands around your neck, the phantom pressure tightening like a noose, choking the air from your lungs. He’s gone—dead and buried—but his grip remains. He’s still with you in every bruise, every whispered threat, every moment of fear.

He never truly left.

No matter how hard you try to forget him, to sever yourself from the past, he clings to you like a shadow, a ghost that refuses to leave. Your father—his voice is always there, whispering in the back of your mind, telling you that you are never enough, that you will never be free.

Even now, trapped in this basement, his presence lingers, as if he’s still wrapping his hands around your throat, suffocating you with the weight of his expectations and his violence.

You try to push him away, but it’s like he’s sewn into your skin, a part of you that you can never shed.

At night, the screams from above pierce the silence, wrenching you from whatever restless sleep you’ve fallen into. They are horrible, gut-wrenching screams—women’s screams.

The kind that seem to come from the deepest, most primal part of a person, like their very souls are being torn apart. You try not to think about what’s happening up there, but the screams fill the air, bouncing off the cold, damp concrete walls, wrapping around you like a suffocating fog.

And then there’s the sound that follows—the roar of a chainsaw tearing through the air, a sound so brutal, it feels like it’s cutting through the world itself.

After that? Nothing. Silence so deep, it presses on your chest, and you wonder what horrors have just been erased from existence.

You don’t ask him about it. You’re too afraid of what he might say. Too afraid of the truth.

But the stench in the air the next morning tells you everything you need to know. That thick, metallic odor of rot and iron—it settles in your throat, clinging to you, reminding you of the evil that lives in this house.

You know there is something sinister about Negan. You can feel it in your bones, hide under the smile and the words. You’ve always known.

And yet all you can do is pray. Pray that God will protect you, that somehow you will be spared from whatever horrors unfold above you.

When morning comes, Negan greets you like nothing has happened. He walks in with a grin stretched across his face, carrying breakfast like he’s done a hundred times before. His mood is light, almost cheerful, as if the darkness of the night doesn’t touch him.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me lately,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction, and it makes your skin crawl. But what choice do you have? He’s too strong. You’re too scared.

Survival means keeping him happy, following his rules, doing what he says, no matter how much it tears at your soul. So you nod and force yourself to smile, even though it feels like your face is cracking apart.

“I got something for you,” he says, and his hand slips into his pocket. For a second, your heart lurches with fear—you don’t know what he’ll pull out. But then, he shows it to you. A pen. And a small notebook.

“This’ll be good for you,” Negan says, placing them in front of you like a gift. “Thought maybe you could write. Draw. Whatever. Something to keep you sane down here.”

Sane. The word feels bitter on your tongue. Like it’s even possible to stay sane in this nightmare.

But you stare at the notebook, feeling its weight in your hands, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, a flicker of something stirs inside you. The pen feels strange between your fingers, foreign, like you’ve forgotten how to even hold it.

You open the notebook, and the blank pages stretch out before you like a vast, empty desert—an expanse of nothingness that almost makes you dizzy. What could you even write? What words could you find to capture the hell you’re living?

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the blankness is the only thing left that’s yours. Everything else has been taken from you—your freedom, your dignity, your body. But these pages, for now, are untouched. Clean. Yours to fill, if only for a moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, your voice barely more than a breath. Negan smiled, satisfied with your obedience, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek. You flinched—just a little, barely noticeable—but he ignored it.

"Now I have some business to take care of," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You behave. Do not do anything you'll regret okay? Can you be a good girl for me again?"

You nodded, your throat tightening as you forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“Good fucking girl,” he said with a grin, the words dripping with his twisted affection. "I won’t be long," he added, standing up from the mattress, his heavy boots echoing across the floor as he walked to the door.

The sound of the basement door closing was like a tomb sealing shut, the click of multiple locks slotting into place one after another, leaving you buried in silence.

The notebook.

It became your only refuge after that, the one place where your mind could escape the prison of this basement. You wrote. You wrote endlessly, pouring your thoughts, your fears, your pain onto the pages like you were trying to bleed them out.

Every word, every line felt like a lifeline, as if the ink could tether you to some version of yourself that still existed somewhere beyond these walls.

You wrote to him.

Joel.

It felt like talking to him, like he was sitting beside you, like you could feel the warmth of his arm brushing against yours, steady and grounding.

You imagined his low voice, whispering comfort, his hand reaching out to hold yours, and for a moment, it felt real. But Joel wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere, and that truth was a cold, jagged edge cutting into your heart.

You missed him so much it ached, a raw pain that twisted inside you, relentless, like a knife lodged deep in your chest, twisting with every breath.

"Joel, please. I miss you. I miss you so much." The words scratched at the paper, desperate, spilling from your soul like a confession. You wrote as if your words could reach him, as if somehow the ink would find its way to him across the miles, across the darkness.

Ever since Joel saved you, pulled you from the wreckage of your old life, you clung to him like a lifeline. He was all you had, the only person you trusted, the only one who truly saw you. You were so dependent on him, as if the moment he stepped out of your sight, the ground beneath you would crack open and swallow you whole.

Without him, you were scared—terrified, really. Scared of the dark, of the silence, of the things Negan might do when he came back. But mostly, you were scared of how alone you felt without Joel. It was a loneliness that burrowed deep into your bones, sinking in like ice.

You wrote everything down, pouring your heart onto the page, as if the words would somehow keep you sane. The notebook became your only friend, your only lifeline.

Each stroke of the pen felt like a small rebellion, a way to remember who you were before this. You wrote about Joel—the way he used to look at you, his touch, his laugh. The life you had together. You wrote about the nights spent on the road, just the two of you, moving from town to town, motels, dusty highways, sunsets that belonged only to you both.

Those memories were sacred, and they felt so far away now, so unreachable. The thought of never feeling that freedom again—of never hearing his voice or feeling his hand in yours—crushed you.

You would give anything to go back, to be on the road with him again, just the two of you, against the world.

Every night, after you wrote, the tears came. Silent, aching sobs that wracked your body, shaking you to your core. You prayed through the tears, but even your prayers felt hollow, slipping into the void.

Negan had taken your Bible, the one Frank had given you, and without it, you felt like a part of you was missing. You couldn’t open its pages and find the comfort you once had.

Now, you prayed in the darkness, with nothing but your tears and your fear to keep you company.

"God, please, if You’re there, save him. Save Joel. Forgive him for whatever he’s done to protect me, to protect those he loves. Please… don’t let anything happen to him. Save him for me. I need him. I need him so much."

And then, through your prayers, in this place, in this basement that smells of damp stone and decay, you mourn them.

Your father and your mother.

But it isn’t just because they were your parents, or because you share the same blood running through your veins—no, it’s something deeper. You mourn what they became.

You mourn the lives they could have lived, the people they could have been if they hadn’t turned into things they were.

You mourn for the little boy your father once was, before life hardened him, before the world broke him into the man who used his fists instead of his words.

Somewhere, deep in the maze of your memories, you imagine him as a child—wide-eyed and innocent, before anger festered in his heart. A boy who might have been gentle once, kind even, before the weight of his own father’s hand crushed whatever light was in him.

You mourn for him because no child dreams of becoming the kind of man he did. No little boy dreams of being a tyrant in his own home.

And your mother—oh, you mourn her too. The little girl she once was, soft and full of hope, long before she learned to bend under the weight of your father’s cruelty.

You can almost see her, a girl with ribbons in her hair, laughing at some long-forgotten joy. But somewhere along the way, life taught her obedience.

It taught her that silence was safer than rebellion, that turning the other cheek meant survival. You mourn for the girl she used to be, the girl who lost her voice and her strength long before you ever knew her.

Some people are not meant to be parents.

That truth settles over you like a heavy, unshakable fog. Your father and mother—they were never meant to raise a child. They were broken long before you came into their lives, shattered pieces trying to fit into the roles they were handed.

They thought if they could survive the same cruelty from their parents, then you could too. They thought they were preparing you for a harsh world, just as they had been prepared, passing down the same legacy of pain and survival.

But some legacies are not meant to be carried.

Some cycles are meant to be broken.

And you—you never had a choice. The cruelest thing about childhood is that we cannot choose our parents.

We are born into the hands that hold us, for better or worse, and we carry their shadows long after we’ve escaped their grasp. You mourn not only for them but for yourself too.

For the little girl you were supposed to be, the happy child you never got the chance to become. The girl who should have danced in the sunlight instead of cowering in the dark.

The child who should have known love, who should have felt safe.

Your childhood died alongside them. Maybe not in the physical sense, but in spirit. It died when the first bruise bloomed on your skin, when the first cruel word cut deeper than any blade could.

You grieve for the girl who once dreamed of a family that didn’t hurt her, a girl who imagined a father’s arms as a place of safety, not violence.

You mourn her because she never had a chance. That girl, that innocence, was lost long ago, buried beneath years of fear and shame.

You feel it now—the weight of all that loss, all that mourning. It presses down on your chest, as heavy as the darkness around you. You mourn for them, for their broken childhoods, for what they became.

But mostly, you mourn for yourself. For the life you might have had, if only you had been born into different hands. Hands that didn’t hurt. Hands that didn’t break.

***

That night, after hours of scribbling your heart onto the pages, exhaustion pulled you into a restless sleep. The dream came slowly at first, like an old memory resurfacing, soft and warm. You were no longer trapped in the basement.

No, you were outside—underneath a sky full of stars, the air cool and fragrant like summer nights back when things were simple. And then, you saw him—Joel, standing in the distance, his silhouette familiar, strong, safe.

"Joel?" you whispered, your voice barely a breath, but he heard you. His head turned, and his eyes found yours, dark and full of something you hadn’t seen in so long. Hope.

You ran toward him, your feet barely touching the ground, heart pounding, tears springing to your eyes. He was here—he was really here. His arms opened just as you reached him, and you collapsed into his chest, your body trembling as he held you tight. You breathed him in, his scent, his warmth—everything you had missed. You clung to him, as if letting go meant losing him all over again.

"I found you, baby girl," Joel’s voice was a low, comforting rumble in your ear. "I told you I’d find you. I’m never leaving you again. Never."

Tears streamed down your face, your sobs muffled against his chest. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but hold him and feel the solidness of him, real and alive in your arms. The relief was overwhelming, like a weight lifting off your chest, letting you breathe again.

But then, something shifted. The warmth of his body faded, the stars overhead dimming, and suddenly, you were back in the basement. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. You blinked, confused, trying to hold onto the warmth of Joel’s presence, but he wasn’t holding you anymore. He was on the floor, crumpled in front of you.

"No…" You whispered, shaking your head. "No, no, no…"

Joel lay motionless, blood pooling beneath his head, dripping from the corner of his mouth, his eyes closed, his face pale. "Joel!" Your scream tore through the room, your voice raw and desperate. "Get up! Please get up!"

You tried to move, tried to reach him, but your arms were bound behind your back, your body pressed against the cold concrete floor, facedown. You squirmed, panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave. The ropes bit into your wrists, leaving your skin raw, but you didn’t care. All you could see was Joel—lifeless, covered in blood.

"Joel! Please, get up!" you screamed again, your throat burning, but he didn’t move. He didn’t stir.

Through the blur of your tears, you saw him—Negan. He was standing over Joel, his face twisted into a cruel smile, his barbed-wire-covered baseball bat dripping with blood. Your heart lurched as Negan lifted the bat again, bringing it down with a sickening thud against Joel’s skull.

"Stop! Please, stop!" you begged, your voice breaking, tears streaming down your face. You cried and screamed until your voice gave out, until all that was left was a hoarse whisper. "Stop… please…"

But he didn’t stop. He kept swinging, over and over, each hit more brutal than the last. Joel’s body jerked with each blow, but he never opened his eyes. He was gone.

"JOEL!" You screamed one last time, your heart shattering in your chest as the world spun around you. Everything blurred—Joel’s lifeless body, Negan’s twisted grin, the blood, the bat, the horror of it all.

And then, just as suddenly, you woke up.

Gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you shot upright. Your heart pounded in your ears, your skin slick with cold sweat. It took you a moment to realize it was just a dream, just another nightmare. But it felt so real, so vivid, that for a moment, you couldn’t shake the image of Joel’s broken body from your mind.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to breathe, trying to calm the panic surging through you. The tears came again, hot and relentless, and you sobbed quietly, rocking yourself in the darkness.

"It was just a dream," you whispered, trying to convince yourself. But the fear was real. The pain was real. The helplessness of watching him die again and again—that was real.

Just as you were trying to steady yourself, trying to pull yourself back into the present, a voice cut through the silence.

"‘I miss you so much, Joel,’" Negan’s voice echoed in the darkness, cold and mocking. "'I pray for you every night. Please save me.'”

Your heart stopped. You turned slowly, the horror creeping back into your veins as you saw him—Negan, sitting at the edge of the room, your notebook in his hands. He was reading your words, your letters to Joel, the deepest parts of your soul, laid bare and exposed.

"I gotta say," he smirked, eyes glinting with something dark, "you really are somethin’ special, huh? Writing all these sweet nothings to your precious Joel. Too bad he ain't comin'."

Negan’s smirk widened as he caught the fear in your eyes, his steps deliberate as he approached you. You sat up quickly, your body instinctively recoiling from him as he lowered himself to the edge of the worn mattress. The small space between you felt suffocating. His presence swallowed the room, and your skin prickled, every nerve on high alert.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice came out shaky, a whisper laced with desperation.

Negan chuckled darkly, his gaze locking onto yours with a smug, possessive gleam. “Just checkin’ on you, doll,” he mocked, his tone syrupy and insincere, like the words themselves were dripping venom.

You could feel the tension coil in your stomach, your hands gripping the thin sheet as if it could somehow protect you. Negan’s chuckle echoed in the small space, and you saw something shift in his expression.

"You keep callin' for him," he said, his voice lower now, laced with a quiet fury. “In your sleep, you know that? You call his name. Joel.” The name left his lips like a curse, venomous and heavy.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the weight of his words sank in.

"You keep thinkin' about another man, callin’ for him when you’re supposed to be mine,” Negan’s voice dripped with malice, and his eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, brushing his fingers lightly against your leg. You flinched instantly, your body recoiling at the touch, trembling.

"I don’t want what’s mine calling for someone else,” he whispered, his fingers tracing your skin in slow, taunting circles. You fought the urge to pull away, your body frozen in place, fear anchoring you.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing so fast it felt like it would leap out of your chest. Your mind scrambled for a way out, for something to say, but all you could feel was the dread crawling up your spine.

"I got you something,” he finally said, breaking the suffocating silence, his voice slick and dangerous. You blinked at him, confused, but too scared to respond.

He stood up, walking toward the door, leaving it wide open for just a moment. The fresh air from outside rushed in, cool against your skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as you stared at the open door, your mind racing. Could you run? Could you grab something—anything—and fight back? But the fear was paralyzing, locking your muscles, chaining your thoughts. You wanted to be brave, to fight, but all you could feel was the weight of his presence suffocating you.

Before you could think any further, Negan returned, the door shutting with a heavy thud that echoed in your chest. He held a package, neatly wrapped, and sat down beside you again, closer this time.

"Here," he said, handing it to you with a twisted grin. “Go on, open it. You finished your breakfast like a good girl.”

You hesitated, eyes darting from the package to his face, trying to gauge his intentions, but there was nothing but malice in his expression. Slowly, you took it, your fingers trembling as you peeled away the wrapping.

Inside, folded carefully, was a dress—a nightgown, white and beautiful, but as your fingers brushed the fabric, you realized how thin it was. Too thin. The kind that clung to every curve, every inch of skin visible underneath. The kind of dress meant to be seen.

Your throat tightened as the realization hit you. This wasn’t a gift. It was a trap.

"Now what do you say?" Negan's voice cut through your thoughts, sharp and expectant.

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, forcing the words past your lips. “Thank you,” you whispered, hating the sound of your own voice, hating the way you had to play along.

Negan’s grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Good girl.”

Then, he leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours. “Now try it on,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a sinister edge to his voice.

You blinked, confused for a moment, before standing slowly, clutching the nightgown tightly to your chest. You moved toward the large wardrobe at the corner of the room, trying to hide behind it, but his voice stopped you cold.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Negan asked, his voice dripping with amusement. You turned back to face him, your heart sinking.

"To try it on," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

Negan’s eyes darkened as he shifted on the mattress, half reclining now, one arm propped lazily behind his head. His grin grew wider, more dangerous. “I said try it here... in front of me.”

Your blood ran cold. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing tighter, suffocating you. You stood frozen, unable to comprehend what he was asking. What? you thought, your mind reeling, but you didn’t dare say it.

"You heard me," Negan said, his voice now edged with impatience, more of a threat than a request. “Try it here. Now.”

Your legs felt like they were made of lead as you took slow, reluctant steps back toward him, your hands trembling as you clutched the nightgown tighter to your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your skin prickling with fear.

You moved to put the dress over your clothes, thinking maybe that would satisfy him. Maybe he would let you off this time.

But before you could pull it over your head, Negan’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

"What are you, fucking stupid?" he snapped, his tone sharp and cutting. “I said take off your clothes.”

The room spun. You felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you, the world crumbling away as the full weight of what he was asking—what he wanted—settled in your bones. You froze, your fingers clutching the fabric so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The room spun. You felt like the floor had disappeared beneath you, the world crumbling away as the full weight of what he was asking—what he wanted—settled in your bones. You froze, your fingers clutching the fabric so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

"Don't make me say it again," he said, his voice low and commanding. The authority in his tone left no room for defiance. With a shaky nod, you surrendered to his demand, peeling off the clothes you’d worn for what felt like an eternity.

They were stained and tattered, memories of the darkness that had become your life. The cool air of the basement brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his predatory gaze.

As you stood there in just your underwear, the vulnerability wrapped around you like a heavy cloak. "All of it," he commanded again, his eyes narrowing as he observed your hesitation.

You felt the tremors in your hands as you slowly removed your last layer, exposing your skin to him, a mix of fear and a desperate need to please overwhelming your senses.

Tears trickled down your cheeks, silent witnesses to the turmoil inside you. You turned away, unable to bear his hungry gaze as you slipped into the dress, its fabric a soft caress against your bare skin, but it was far too revealing, too intimate. This is basically lingerie, you thought, your heart racing as he took in your form.

“Such a beautiful little thing,” he purred, a twisted smile spreading across his face. “Now spin around for me. Let me see all of it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic drumbeat as you turned slowly, the weight of his gaze burning into you.

The dress clung to you, exposing more than it concealed. “All of this is mine,” he said, stepping closer, the words dripping with ownership.

You froze as he closed the distance, his hands trailing down your body, a feather-light touch that sent shivers coursing through you. He brushed away the tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, the juxtaposition of tenderness and menace leaving you paralyzed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His breath was warm against your neck, a stark reminder of the power he held over you. “You don’t like the gift?”

You couldn’t respond, fear stealing your voice. Instead, you stood still, feeling small under his scrutiny. He stepped behind you, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, wrapping around you like a vice.

“Why do you want that man when you have me here, hm?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed gentle kisses to your neck, each one igniting a storm of emotions within you. “I can treat you better than him.”

Your heart ached, caught in a vice between longing and despair. The tears continued to fall, and you closed your eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to envelop you, even as his actions sent icy dread through your veins.

You wanted to scream, to fight back against the helplessness swirling around you, but you were trapped in this moment, bound by fear. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to break free, the weight of it all pressing down on you, suffocating you.

His lips traced the sensitive skin of your neck, and every gentle caress turned into a reminder of the man you longed for—Joel. It was as if his presence was woven into your very essence, and now, here you were, lost in a nightmare that seemed to stretch endlessly.

With each passing second, you felt a chasm grow between your heart and your body, a space filled with fear and longing that you couldn't bridge.

When his fingers brushed against your breast, you flinched, instinctively moving away, but he followed with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked at you like a storm brewing, full of anger and hurt. "What's wrong, hm? You don't want me?" The accusation in his voice stung like a whip, and your heart raced with a mix of dread and sorrow.

You shook your head, but he continued to advance, anger simmering beneath his skin. "Is that how you treat someone acting nice to you?" The slap was sudden, shocking, and it sent you crashing to the mattress. "Ungrateful bitch." The words cut deeper than the physical pain, sinking into your soul and planting seeds of doubt.

As you lay there, you felt your spirit fracture beneath the weight of his anger. You missed Joel’s strong arms, his gentle smile, the safety he once offered. Now, all you could feel was this relentless dread creeping in, wrapping around your throat, tightening with every ragged breath.

"Do you miss him? Or do you miss a dick, hm, little whore?" The cruel words hung in the air, a poisonous cloud that filled your lungs with despair. You shook your head, tears streaming down your face, each drop a silent plea for deliverance from this torment. "No, please... no."

But he didn’t hear your cries. Instead, the cool steel of his belt gripped your wrists, binding you in a way that made the world tilt beneath you. Your heart raced, pounding against your chest like a caged bird desperate to escape, a tempest of emotions swirling inside you.

“No, no, please,” you whispered, desperation clawing at your throat as Negan tightened the belt around your wrists, a cruel mockery of security. Each pull sent a shiver down your spine, not from cold but from the weight of what was to come.

When you screamed, the sound was swallowed by the suffocating silence of the room. A sharp pain flared across your cheek as his hand connected, the sting grounding you momentarily in the chaos.

Tears streamed down your face, a mixture of anger and helplessness flooding your senses. You could feel the fabric of your dress riding up as he unbuckled his jeans, the movement surreal against the horror unfolding.

“Stop! Please, don’t do this!” Your pleas felt like whispers lost in the wind, but they carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. You were trapped in this moment, suspended between defiance and despair, fighting against the reality that loomed over you.

“I can’t believe I haven’t tried you for this long,” he sneered, his words slicing through the air like a knife. “God, you must be special for that man to keep you for himself and took you away.” Each syllable was a taunt, a reminder of the love you held for another, twisted into a weapon against you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness that made your skin crawl. “It will feel so much better than what that boy did.” The implication hung heavy in the air, suffocating. You were drowning in memories and fear, lost in a storm that threatened to pull you under.

The sharpness of his voice echoed in your mind, and your heart sank. He knew. He knew about Jamie, the scars etched deep within you, and the thought of it sent a fresh wave of nausea through your gut.

"No, no, no!" you screamed

"Stop! Stop, please!" You screamed as you cry, Negan still pinned down your head, "Shut the fuck up," he said.

You can feel that He positions himself from behind, the tip of his erection brushing against your butt. "STOP! PLEASE!" you shout, tears streaming down your cheeks. Negan grins wickedly, knowing full well the effect he has on you.

He entered you fast and hard, it hurts, but even then, all you can do was just scream and cry, scream and cry, "Fuck, you're so tight!" He groaned deeply as his pace quickened, rough, it hurt you.

“Please…” you whispered, your voice barely rising above the mattress that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on you, smothering any flicker of hope.

Tears flowed freely, soaking the fabric beneath your cheek as you surrendered to the wave of despair washing over you. Each sob felt like a prayer, a desperate plea to the universe to intervene, to turn back time, to rewrite the cruel script that had ensnared you.

“Joel... please... save me,” you begged into the void, hoping him to hear you, hoping he can feel you, that you are here, you're still here waiting him to save you, again.

You need him. You crave him. His strength, his warmth, the way his presence used to make you feel safe, even in the darkest corners of your mind.

***

Days blurred into nights. Negan came to you every evening, his shadow stretching long and cold against the walls as he descended into the basement.

Each time, it was the same—he would pin you down, and did it over and over and over and over again. If you fought back, it hurt more. His fists would meet your skin, and the bruises would bloom like dying flowers under his hands. So, you stopped fighting.

You learned to stay quiet, to turn your eyes toward the window while he took what he wanted. Sometimes you watched the way the trees outside swayed gently in the night breeze, imagining that you could drift away with them, become one with the wind. The numbness crept in, slow at first, then all at once, until you felt nothing at all.

In exchange for your silence, Negan began to “reward” you. Dresses, makeup, things that seemed like tokens of his twisted version of care.

The bruises hid beneath the fabric he chose, and your reflection in the mirror looked like someone you didn’t recognize—someone who had forgotten how to fight, how to scream.

Eventually, Negan moved you to his bed. It was no longer the cold, damp basement floor; instead, it was his bed—his space. He didn’t trust you with a room of your own, of course.

That would mean freedom, something he kept locked away just as tightly as the doors around this prison of a house. It wasn’t generosity that led him to this decision; it was control. He wanted you there, beside him, each night, a reminder that you belonged to him.

And he wanted you to believe it too.

Every touch, every forced intimacy, was his way of branding you, of forcing you to accept his twisted version of reality. You didn’t resist anymore—not after what happened the last time.

Your body had learned to be still, to let the moments pass. Fighting back brought only more pain. And so, you existed, a hollow shell of who you once were, doing what you had to in order to survive.

The house was a labyrinth, locked and fortified in ways that made it impossible to escape. You had tried once—how stupid and naïve you had been to think Negan wouldn’t expect it. There were locks on every door, cameras watching your every move, and nowhere to hide. You had thought maybe, just maybe, you could find a way out. But before you even made it to the front door, he was there. He’d known all along, watching, waiting. The punishment was swift, brutal.

He beat you until you could barely stand. Every strike felt like a sledgehammer to your soul, breaking something deep inside that you feared would never heal. And when you begged for forgiveness through sobs and screams, he looked at you with that same twisted smile. Like he enjoyed it.

After that, you learned. You couldn’t afford to be stupid again. The house was a jail, with walls thick and doors that were locked tighter than your own hope. The CCTV cameras were everywhere, unblinking eyes that saw everything.

Negan didn’t just want control over your body; he wanted your mind too. He played this sick game, pretending you were his partner, forcing you into the role of some perfect little housewife. It was all a game to him—house, husband, wife. He wanted you to take care of him now, as if that was your purpose. As if sparing you from more pain was his twisted version of kindness.

One thing you noticed. No more screams. You hadn’t heard any since he brought you upstairs, but you could still hear them in your mind, could still feel the weight of the chains that used to bind you down there. Negan had a room at the far end of the hall, with a thick iron door, always locked.

You didn’t know what was behind it, but you could guess. Based on everything else about him, the life he lived, the things you glimpsed in passing… you knew he wasn’t just a monster in private. He had power. He had wealth. He had a darkness that ran deeper than you could fathom.

Now, you played along with his sick fantasy. You made breakfast in the mornings, your hands moving through the motions, numb and mechanical. Eggs, toast, bacon sizzling in the pan.

You folded his laundry, cleaned the house, did everything you were asked to do, all with the heavy knowledge that you needed to survive. You needed to be smart.

You cracked eggs into the pan, the familiar sizzle filling the quiet space. Bacon followed, the scent swirling through the air, but your mind was miles away.

You let your hands move on autopilot, stirring, turning, arranging, while your thoughts drifted to Joel again. 

Where is he now? Does he even know I’m still alive? 

You didn’t know what day it was anymore. Time had become an illusion, slipping through your fingers like sand, impossible to hold onto.

Negan’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. He entered the kitchen, and you felt him before you saw him, his presence like a looming storm cloud.

He slapped your ass as he passed by, his lips finding your neck with a kiss that sent shivers down your spine, but not in the way you wanted.

It was always wrong, always forced, always laced with something dark that you couldn’t escape.

You set the plates down on the table, your movements mechanical as you sat across from him. Negan grinned as he took a bite of the scrambled eggs, then paused, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“Why the hell do these taste sweet? Did you put cinnamon in them again?”

You froze, staring at him, your mind racing. You had done it on purpose, hoping the warmth of cinnamon would taste better, make him taste better.

“I told you not to do that,” he growled, his fist slamming down on the table. “I don’t understand why you like that damn spice so much."

“I... I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, but the fear laced every syllable. You’d done it to survive, to cope, to feel something, anything other than the numbness that threatened to swallow you whole.

Negan shook his head, “We’re going on vacation,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart skipped a beat. Vacation? You stared at him in disbelief, the word foreign on your tongue, like it didn’t belong here in this nightmare.

Negan never did this—never took you anywhere, never let you out of the house. You’d been trapped for so long, the idea of leaving, even for a moment, felt surreal.

“Vacation?” you echoed, unsure whether to feel fear or hope.

“Yeah, just need to get out for a while,” Negan replied, leaning back in his chair, completely at ease. “You’ve been good this month. You deserve a little reward.” His tone was calm, almost too calm, as if you should be grateful for this twisted gesture of kindness.

You nodded, a forced smile tugging at your lips as you turned away. Inside, your mind raced. A vacation—the word was a double-edged sword, dangling freedom just out of reach but with invisible strings attached.

You didn’t trust it. You didn’t trust him.

By the time you finished packing, your nerves were frayed. You zipped up the small suitcase Negan had given you, staring at the unfamiliar clothes inside.

Dresses, shoes, makeup—things he had forced upon you, things that felt like pieces of someone else’s life. You weren’t sure who you were anymore, let alone what this trip would mean. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were leaving the house.

As you stepped outside, the air hit you like a wave, crisp and fresh against your skin. The sun was brighter than you remembered, almost painful as it splashed across the pavement.

You blinked against the light, scanning your surroundings, trying to memorize every detail—the street, the houses, the trees. Anything that might help you if you ever got a chance to run.

Negan locked the door behind you with a loud click, the sound startling you back to reality. He looked up, catching the way your eyes darted around the neighborhood, and his expression darkened. He stepped toward you, his presence looming like a shadow.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Try anything, and I’ll kill you. You know I will.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. Any fleeting thought of escape vanished, crushed under the weight of his threat. He always meant what he said.

With a shove, Negan guided you toward the car, the one you recognized all too well. The first time you saw it parked in front of your house, it was just another car, another passerby.

You never knew then how much it would change everything, how much it would take from you. Now, it was like a cage on wheels.

As the car pulled away from the house, you watched the neighborhood disappear in the rearview mirror, your pulse quickening as each street faded behind you. 

You were leaving. But not the way you had dreamed.

Negan glanced over at you, smirking as if amused by the tension rolling off you. “You made it,” he said suddenly.

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

He chuckled, the sound bitter and low. “You made it to California. Without him.”

California.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. No. No, California. This was the place you had always dreamed of settling down with Joel—the place you had whispered about in quiet moments together, imagining a life of peace and love far from the chaos of your old life.

And now, you were here.

But without Joel.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up as you realized just how far away you were from Joel. So far away from the life you wanted, from the man who promised to protect you, to love you.

Instead, you were trapped in this waking nightmare, every mile taking you further from the only person who could save you.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “We’ll go shopping first,” he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His tone was casual, almost light, as if this was just another normal day for him. But nothing about this felt normal to you.

You nodded stiffly, your mind spinning as the weight of the situation sank in. Shopping? Like everything wasn’t completely wrong? Your chest tightened further, your thoughts pulling you back to Joel—so far away now, so unreachable. You were losing yourself with every mile, every moment trapped with him.

Negan shifted in his seat, his eyes sliding over to you. You felt his gaze before you saw him reach out. When his fingers brushed against your cheek, you flinched instinctively, recoiling from his touch. His laugh was low and mocking, a cruel sound that made your skin crawl.

“Little girl’s scared,” he sneered, his voice soft but dripping with condescension. “Now, you don’t want people in public seeing you like that, do you? Looking all frightened, like I’m some monster.” His words were meant to soothe, but they came with an underlying threat, a warning that made your blood run cold. “Act like you’re my girlfriend. Because you are mine. And if you want to be safe... well, you know what to do.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, your heart hammering in your chest as his words sank in. Mine. The way he said it, the possessiveness in his voice—it twisted something deep inside you, a sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake.

Negan leaned closer, his fingers tightening slightly on your jaw as he turned your face toward him. “Sweetheart,” he crooned, his tone shifting to something almost affectionate, but it was laced with menace. “You’re pale as a ghost. Put some fucking makeup on later, will ya? I can’t have you walking around looking like you’ve seen a damn corpse.”

You didn’t respond, too frozen to move, but he didn’t seem to care. He continued, eyes darkening as he spoke. “I’m gonna buy you some dresses. Nice ones. Make you look pretty for me. We’ll stay in a hotel for a day or two, just the two of us. Won’t that be nice?” His grin widened, and the weight of his words settled like stones in your stomach.

It wasn’t a question. It never was.

You forced yourself to nod, knowing better than to argue or resist. Not now. Not when you were so far from help, so far from him.

Negan led you through the brightly lit aisles of the mall, his large hand gripping yours, his presence as commanding and unsettling as ever. You kept your head down, trying not to draw attention to yourself. It had been so long since you’d been out in public like this, since you’d seen the outside world beyond the prison of his house. The colors and sounds of the mall felt jarring, almost unreal.

He’d been in control the entire time—picking out dresses, shoes, makeup—showering you with expensive, branded items you had no say in. Every time you hesitated or tried to speak, he would flash that same dangerous smile, and your voice would die in your throat. You just smiled and nodded, doing what you had to do to survive, to avoid provoking him.

Negan was wealthy, more than Joel. The things he bought were far beyond what you could ever imagine affording. He never flinched at the price tags, never hesitated to pick the most luxurious items. But the more he showered you with these things, the more you felt trapped, like he was putting a price on you, buying your compliance with each extravagant purchase.

But you could feel it deep down—something wasn’t right. Negan had never treated you like this before, never taken you out, never spoiled you with gifts. It was all too strange, too sudden. There was an unspoken tension in the air, something lurking behind his actions, behind the forced smiles and fake affection. He was up to something, and you knew better than to trust whatever game he was playing.

When the shopping was over, you climbed back into the car with him, your arms full of bags, your mind full of questions. But you kept quiet. There was no use in asking. Not when the answer would come on his terms.

The hotel room wasn’t what you expected. It was plain, with just a bed, a dresser, and a small bathroom—nothing fancy despite the luxury of the shopping trip. Negan set your bag down, full of the clothes he had bought for you, and locked the door behind him, the metallic click ringing ominously in your ears.

He motioned for you to sit on the edge of the bed, and you obeyed, your body moving on autopilot, fear guiding every step. The room felt colder now, the walls seeming to close in on you as the reality of the situation sank in.

Negan stood in front of you, his dark eyes watching you intently, that familiar threat lurking beneath his calm exterior. He waited for a moment before speaking, as if enjoying the tension hanging between you.

“We’re gonna get some dinner soon,” he said, his voice low and serious. “You put on the dress I bought you. Put some makeup on. Dress nice, dolled up—you understand me?”

You hesitated, confused by his sudden shift in tone, but you nodded. Of course, you nodded.

“I’ll be waiting in the restaurant downstairs,” he continued, leaning in closer until his face was inches from yours. His breath was hot against your skin as he spoke, “But listen to me carefully now...”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his expression darkened, his voice becoming more menacing. “There’s a friend of mine coming here. He’s gonna ask for you to come down to meet me, and you’re gonna act nice, okay? You’re gonna do exactly what I tell you to do.”

You stared at him, fear rising in your throat. A friend? What did he mean by that? Why was someone else involved? None of this made sense.

“And if you try anything...” Negan’s voice dropped to a growl, his grip on your face tightening. “If you even think about running or doing something stupid... I swear to God, I’ll chop you into pieces and ship you to that fucking old man of yours. You understand me?”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You just nodded, too terrified to do anything else.

“Good girl,” he said, smiling that twisted smile again before letting go of your face.

Negan walked over to the small table by the window, where he pulled something out of his pocket—a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Your heart sank even further.

He tossed the bag onto the table, along with a couple of pills in a clear container. “Now, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement, “you're gonna have a little fun tonight. You’re gonna need this.”

You shook your head instinctively, fear shooting through your veins. “No, I don’t do th—”

Negan’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, threatening look. He stepped forward quickly, his large hand grabbing your face roughly, his fingers digging into your cheeks so hard it hurt.

“You think you get to say no to me? After everything I’ve done for you? You’re mine now, you don’t get to refuse me.” His voice was low, menacing.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to shake your head, your voice trembling as you pleaded, “Please, I don’t want to—”

He squeezed your face tighter, cutting you off. “You’re going to take those fucking pills, and you’re going to snort this,” he snarled, his eyes flashing with cruelty.

Your heart raced as you stared at the drugs on the table. Panic swirled inside you, but the terror in Negan’s eyes, the violent way he held you, made you realize you had no choice.

You didn’t know what he was capable of, but you were sure he meant every word of his threat.

Negan let go of your face with a shove, and you stumbled backward, gasping for breath as your skin stung where his fingers had been. He stood there, towering over you, his presence suffocating. “Go on,” he said coldly, “take the pills. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

With shaking hands, you reached for the pills. They felt like poison between your fingers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Negan, not with the way he was staring at you.

You knew there was no way out of this. You could feel your soul breaking as you placed the pills on your tongue, forcing them down with a dry swallow.

“Good girl,” Negan said mockingly, watching your every move like a predator. He grabbed the bag of white powder, dumping some onto the table. Then, he handed you a rolled-up bill. “Now snort this. It’ll help loosen you up.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t move fast enough. He slammed his hand on the table, making you jump. “Do it!” he barked, his patience running thin.

You shakily took the bill, your mind racing with desperation. Every fiber of your being screamed against what was happening, but you were trapped—cornered.

Slowly, you leaned over the table, and as you inhaled the powder, you saw your friends do this, you have never take it before, your vision blurred with tears, your whole body shaking with fear and disgust.

Negan’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he watched, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “That’s my girl. Now you’re ready for a good time,” he said, his voice dripping with venom.

He turned and headed the door, “Now, get ready. I’ll see you downstairs.”

The door shut behind him, and you were left alone in the silence of the room. The air felt suffocating, your mind racing with questions, with dread.

You stood up slowly, your body shaking as you moved toward your bag. The dress he had picked out for you lay on top, soft and elegant, but it felt like a costume—a mask you had to wear to get through this night.

With trembling hands, you picked it up and began to change, your mind going blank as you prepared yourself for what felt like the next step in Negan’s twisted game.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hands trembling as you smoothed down the dress Negan had chosen for you. It clung to your body in all the right places, elegant and far too glamorous for a simple dinner.

Your reflection stared back at you, but you barely recognized yourself—pale, hollowed-out eyes, with layers of makeup hiding the exhaustion, the fear. You were doing exactly what Negan had told you to do, like a puppet on strings, hoping that by following his orders, you could stay safe.

A knock on the door startled you. You grabbed your purse, your heart beating wildly in your chest. This was it. You were about to meet Negan’s "friend," the one he’d warned you about.

When you opened the door, your stomach dropped. The man standing in front of you was older, dressed in a suit, his graying hair slicked back, but there was something off about him. His eyes roamed over you, slow and deliberate, starting from your feet and lingering on every inch of your body. The smile on his face was thin, predatory.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, his voice smooth, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You forced a smile, your lips feeling like they might crack from the tension. “Just a second, I’ll get my purse,” you said, retreating into the room. You felt uneasy but tried to convince yourself it was nothing. Negan said you were going to meet him downstairs.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable click of the door closing and locking behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you turned, seeing the man now standing inside the room, the door sealed shut. Panic rippled through you.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaky, trying to make sense of the situation. Maybe he was just being overzealous. Maybe he didn’t mean any harm.

But he smiled again, that same unsettling smile, and took a step forward. “Negan told you we were going downstairs, didn’t he?”

Your stomach twisted into knots. You forced yourself to nod, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes, he’s waiting for us…”

The man chuckled, low and mocking. “He used the old excuses, huh?” His eyes gleamed with something dark, something vile, as he continued to advance on you.

You stepped back instinctively, feeling the panic rise in your chest. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, just kept coming closer, his steps deliberate. “You’re quite young,” he said, almost to himself, like he was studying you, enjoying your fear. “How old are you?”

You took another step back, the edge of the bed pressing against your calves. “What is going on? Where's Negan?” you tried again, your voice wavering with the growing dread.

But he just smiled wider. “It’s alright,” he said softly, like he was trying to soothe you. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be quick.”

Your blood turned to ice. “What? What do you mean?”

He laughed again, a sick, twisted sound that made your skin crawl. “Of course he never told you. You thought this was just a nice little dinner date, didn’t you?” His voice dripped with condescension. “I heard you’re experienced with older men.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind raced, trying to connect the dots, and then it clicked—the shopping, the hotel, the dress, this strange man, the way Negan had spoken to you before he left. This wasn’t just vacation.

“No,” you whispered, your breath catching in your throat. “No, no, you’ve got it wrong. Negan said—”

“I know what he said,” the man interrupted, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “But I paid a lot of money for you. You better be worth it.”

The realization slammed into you like a freight train. Negan hadn’t taken you out for dinner. He had sold you.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, shaking your head as the panic clawed at your insides. You turned to run, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and yanking you back.

“Ooh, fiery, are we?” he sneered, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer. “I like that.”

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing in his hold, but he was stronger, and before you knew it, he had tossed you onto the bed. The soft mattress did nothing to cushion the impact, and your body hit with a thud, the air rushing from your lungs.

You scrambled, trying to push yourself up, but his weight was on you in an instant, pinning you down. His hands gripped your wrists, forcing them above your head as he loomed over you, his breath hot and sour against your face.

Your mind spiraled in a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. You’d survived so much, endured so much, and now this? You felt the crushing weight of helplessness pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“No, please,” you begged, tears streaming down your face as your voice cracked. “Please don’t do this.”

"Please, I beg you, sir, please don't" you cry, no God, not this please, no.

He laughed again, that same cruel, mocking sound, and leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered,

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. This won’t take long.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing for an escape, but there was none. You were trapped, powerless, and every second that passed felt like a step closer to losing yourself completely.

In that moment, all you could think about was Joel—his face, his touch, the way he’d promised to keep you safe. But now, you were so far from him, so far from everything you had ever wanted. And as the man’s weight pressed down on you, suffocating, you realized with chilling certainty that no one was coming to save you.

You were alone.

IM SORRY BUT THIS CHAPTER LAZY ASF, I SWEAR I WILL DO IT BETTER NEXT CHAPTERS, ENJOY!

[sinisteryanderescribe]

Hello Sia I was thinking of what Norton's reaction if Nurse Reader if she got invited into the manor

Maybe in the ashes of memories timeline Nurse Reader is like an employee that the manor hired to help with Alice, because she isn't feeling well during the part 2

Then Nurse Reader saw Norton doing during the night or something

A Memorable Face

…………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………….

Norton is likely to experience a range of emotions upon encountering you at the manor. Given his experiences in the mines, he might initially feel a mix of surprise, confusion, and perhaps even a tinge of gratitude upon seeing you again. The memories of the explosion, as well as the care and kindness you showed him during his recovery, could resurface, evoking a sense of nostalgia and perhaps even a renewed appreciation for you.

Moreover, Norton might undergo a transformation as he realizes the significance of you being at the manor. He may be compelled to reflect on his past behavior towards you, recognising how you had treated him with kindness and respect despite his initial coldness. This realisation may lead Norton to feel a sense of remorse and a desire to make amends for his past demeanor. Even though you may be a class higher than him, he couldn’t help but admit to having a soft spot for you.

Norton's heart raced as he stepped into the opulent halls of the manor, his mind still reeling from the enigmatic invitation that had brought him to this place. The memories of the mine explosion, the acrid scent of smoke, and the agonizing pain that had wracked his body flooded back with every echoing footstep. As he navigated the grand corridors, his thoughts drifted to the you who had tended to him during those dark days of recovery, your unwavering kindness a stark contrast to his own initial aloofness.

Meanwhile, you who was just hired by a strange manor just walked out of Alice’s room after tending to her, a sweet but noisy little thing she is. As you wandered the ornate halls of the manor, a sense of anticipation mingled with trepidation, your thoughts inevitably turning to the enigmatic figure of Norton, whose distant demeanor had not dulled the empathy and care you had shown him during his convalescence.

You’ve always wondered what could have happened to the man. After the accident of the explosion the news stated that there were no survivors but there was a few who got heavily injured and some who were reported missing…

It was under the moon's silvery gaze that your paths converged once more. Norton, his troubled gaze scanning the dimly lit ballroom, caught sight of you, a familiar figure amidst the gathering. Time seemed to stand still as your eyes met across the room, a torrent of unspoken emotions swirling between them. The years had etched lines of wisdom and resilience on your faces, yet the bond forged in the crucible of adversity remained palpable, an invisible thread that connected their souls.

For Norton, the sight of you reignited a long-buried ember of gratitude and remorse. His steps faltered as he approached you, the weight of unspoken apologies and newfound appreciation heavy on his tongue. As he stood before you, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow on your features, he found himself at a loss for words.

…you were still as beautiful as ever.

In that fleeting moment, you beheld the man you had once nursed back to health, your hand tenderly cubbing his cheek, grazing your thumb on his cheek. His gruff exterior now softened by the passage of time. The echo of distant pain lingered in his eyes, yet beneath the surface, you glimpsed a glimmer of vulnerability that had eluded you before. As your gazes locked, an unspoken understanding passed between you, bridging the chasm of silence that had separated you for so long.

The touch of your soft skin stirred a tempest of emotions within Norton, kindling a fervent desire to express the depths of his guilt and remorse. Yet he didn’t know when to start.

With a reverent touch Norton gently wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into the shelter of his embrace. He found solace in the gentle curve of your waist, his touch a whispered vow of unyielding devotion. Pressing his lips against the crown of your head, his breath mingling with the soft tendrils of your hair.

“ Norton…”

The man said nothing but with a whispered sigh, he nuzzled his nose and face in your hair, inhaling the delicate fragrance that enveloped you. The heavy scent of your perfume stirred a symphony of memories, each note a testament to the enduring imprint you had left on his heart.

There’s so much to ask but right now, you stayed silent as you melted in Norton’s arms…

[keehomania]

under the moon (달 아래) — kim namjoon (김남준)

this is part one, part two can be found here

✧.*

life had unraveled like the frayed edges of a delicate drapery. each thread that once held your world together seemed to have slipped through your fingers, leaving you grasping at memories that no longer felt like your own. the air had grown heavier, thick with a silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. colors that once brightened your days had faded to muted shades, as if the world itself had lost its vibrancy, reflecting the numbness that settled deep within you.

time moved differently, stretching endlessly in moments that felt like they would never end, yet slipping away in a haze when you tried to grasp it. nights bled into days, marked only by the quiet echoes of thoughts you couldn’t quite escape, thoughts that circled in your mind like a storm you couldn’t find shelter from. you were adrift, untethered, as if the solid ground you once stood on had crumbled beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a void where nothing made sense.

even the simple things, the ones you had taken for granted, felt foreign and out of reach. laughter sounded distant, like a memory of a dream you weren’t sure you ever had. the warmth of sunlight on your skin felt like a distant echo of a comfort you could no longer feel. you had become a stranger in your own life, watching from a distance as it fell apart, powerless to stop the pieces from scattering.

you sat on the docks, your feet dangling over the edge, barely touching the cold, dark water below. the wooden planks were weathered and rough beneath you, each one holding the memory of countless others who had sat here before, lost in their own thoughts. the day was heavy with the scent of salt and seaweed, the gentle lapping of the waves the only sound breaking the silence. above, the sky was a vast expanse of blue, dotted with stars that seemed too far away to matter.

in your hand was a bottle of soju, the cool glass damp from the night air. you had been nursing it for a while, taking slow, deliberate sips, letting the burn settle in your chest before swallowing it down like a bitter truth. each sip felt like a small rebellion against the ache that had taken residence in your heart, but it did little to numb the pain.

the events of the past few days replayed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. you had trusted him, loved him with a fierceness that scared you at times. but he had left you, not just abandoned, but burdened with the weight of his debt—debts you hadn’t even known existed until the collectors came knocking. and as if that betrayal wasn’t enough, he had left you for your best friend. confronting her had been like walking into a nightmare. the hurt in her eyes when you accused her, the way she had looked at you with pity, not guilt. you had expected an apology, a confession that she had made a mistake, but instead, she had stood by him, unwavering. his mother’s arrival had only made things worse, her voice shrill and unforgiving as she berated you, her book club friends nodding along, their eyes filled with judgment. you hadn’t meant to cause a scene, but their anger, their righteousness, had pushed you out, sent you running until you found yourself here, alone.

you took another long drink from the bottle, the alcohol warming your throat as it went down, but leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. the docks had always been your refuge, a place where you could escape the noise of the world, but tonight, even the quiet seemed to mock you. you stared out at the horizon, the lights of the distant city blinking like tiny, indifferent stars, and you wondered how everything had gone so wrong.

a rustle caught your attention, and you glanced to your side. across from you, not too far away, sat a homeless man, his clothes tattered and worn, his face weathered by years of hardship. his eyes, however, were sharp, and they were fixed on the bottle in your hand. he didn’t say anything, just watched you with a mix of curiosity and hunger, and you could see the desire for a drink etched in the lines of his face. you sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of everything that had happened, and without a word, you extended the bottle towards him. he hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer, his movements slow and deliberate. he took the bottle from your hand with a nod of thanks, but still, neither of you spoke.

the silence stretched between you, thick and impenetrable, as he took a swig from the bottle. you watched him, noting the way his hands trembled slightly as he drank, the way his eyes closed for a brief moment as the alcohol slid down his throat. he settled beside you, the two of you sitting in a shared, unspoken understanding of the night’s loneliness.

“do you ever wish you could sleep for the next hundred years?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. the words had slipped out before you could stop them, a quiet admission of the exhaustion that had seeped into your bones. you didn’t expect an answer, and the man didn’t offer one. he continued to stare out at the water, the bottle now resting in his lap, his silence a mirror to your own thoughts.

but you couldn’t stop. the words kept spilling out, each one tugged from the depths of your sorrow. “life is awful,” you continued, your voice cracking with the weight of the truth. “every time i think it’s getting better, it just gets worse. it’s like some cruel joke, this constant cycle of hope and disappointment.” the man didn’t move, didn’t even look at you. his silence was deafening, yet somehow comforting in its neutrality. he wasn’t there to judge or console, just to listen—or maybe, not even that. perhaps he was just a presence, a reminder that you weren’t entirely alone, even if it felt like it.

your voice faltered, and you felt the first sting of tears burning at the corners of your eyes. you tried to hold them back, to swallow the sobs that were building in your chest, but it was useless. the dam broke, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your cries. the tears were hot against your skin, your sobs muffled as you tucked your head between your knees, trying to make yourself as small as possible, to disappear into the night.

for a long while, the only sound was your crying, the grief pouring out of you in waves. the man remained silent, his gaze now fixed somewhere in the distance, as if he was watching a world that neither of you could see. you didn’t expect him to comfort you, didn’t even want him to. all you needed was to release the pain that had been choking you since everything had fallen apart.

when your tears had subsided into soft, hiccupping breaths, the man shifted beside you. he sighed, a deep, resigned sound, and for the first time, he spoke. his voice was rough, like gravel being dragged across pavement, but there was a quiet wisdom in it, a hard-earned understanding of the world. “life won’t get better just because you want it to,” he said, his words hanging in the cold air between you. he didn’t offer any more than that, no advice or platitudes, just the blunt truth that he had learned over years of hardship.

he stood up slowly, the bottle now empty in his hand, and he moved a few feet away, curling up on the wooden planks with his back to you. you watched as he settled down, pulling a tattered blanket around himself, his body already relaxing into sleep. the conversation was over, and you were left alone again, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. you stared at the empty spot beside you, where the bottle had rested just moments before, and felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. life wouldn’t get better just because you wanted it to, but you hadn’t given up wanting, not yet.

you stood on the edge of the docks, the wooden planks beneath your feet creaking softly as you stared out at the water. the sun hung low in the sky, its golden light casting long, warm reflections on the rippling surface of the bay. the distant murmur of the city seemed to fade as your gaze followed the gentle dance of the waves, their rhythmic motion both calming and hypnotic. it was then you heard it—a sudden splash that jolted you from your reverie.

you turned swiftly, eyes scanning the dock for the source of the disturbance. panic gripped you as you spotted a small figure struggling in the water. a little boy, no older than six, flailed desperately, his tiny arms reaching out as he bobbed helplessly. his parents, oblivious to the danger, chatted animatedly on the dock, their laughter ringing hollow in the midst of the growing crisis.

your heart raced, and you glanced over at the homeless man who usually occupied a corner of the docks. he lay slumped against a crate, fast asleep, his tattered coat pulled tightly around him. desperation surged through you as you realized the responsibility of the moment fell squarely on your shoulders. you cursed under your breath, frustration and fear mingling as you pushed yourself into action.

without a second thought, you sprinted toward the edge of the dock. the world seemed to blur around you as you dove into the cold, dark water. the shock of the chill hit you hard, and for a split second, you were enveloped in a freezing embrace. the surface above you shimmered faintly, growing dimmer as you plunged deeper. your limbs cut through the water with urgency, each stroke bringing you closer to the struggling boy.

when you finally reached him, his face was etched with sheer terror, his eyes wide and glassy. you grabbed him firmly, wrapping your arms around his small, shivering body. he clung to you with a vice-like grip, his sobs muffled by the water. you kicked with all your might, pushing upwards, determined to get him to safety. as you breached the surface, the dimming light of the sun cast eerie shadows across the water. you could see the boy’s father now, his face a mask of fear and urgency as he maneuvered a small raft toward you. with a final burst of energy, you managed to get the boy onto the raft. the father, his face etched with gratitude, reached out a hand towards you.

you were about to grasp it when you noticed something strange. the sun, which had been steadily sinking, was now obscured by an enormous, dark shadow. your gaze followed the shadow up, and your breath caught in your throat. the sun was being eclipsed, a celestial body slipping between you and its light. the sky darkened abruptly, the shadow growing ever larger, swallowing the golden hue with an ominous, encroaching blackness.

panic gripped you anew as the raft’s father shouted at you to take his hand. but before you could respond, a strange, powerful force seemed to pull at you from below. the water beneath you churned violently, dragging you down with an insistent, merciless strength. the familiar warmth of the sun’s rays was now a distant memory, replaced by the encroaching darkness. you struggled against the pull, but the force was overwhelming. as you descended, the water around you grew darker and colder. You glanced up one last time, the surface above you now a faint, distant blur. the sun was gone, and the moon seemed to press down on you with an oppressive, unyielding presence.

in the depths of the water, you began to see fleeting, fragmented visions—glimpses of your best friend, their face full of concern; your boyfriend, looking at you with eyes filled with love and worry. these images flickered like memories on the brink of dissolution, fading in and out as you sank deeper and deeper. the darkness enveloped you, the water now a viscous black void. you reached out, but there was nothing to grasp, nothing to hold onto. the last remnants of light slipped away, and with a final, desperate gasp, everything went black.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of the goryeo dynasty's capital. a palpable excitement filled the air as the crowd gathered, their murmurs rising to a crescendo as they awaited the arrival of the imperial procession. the cobblestone streets seemed to vibrate with anticipation as the riders galloped in, their horses' hooves striking the ground in rhythmic beats. the crowd parted respectfully, creating a clear path for the approaching figures.

the lead rider, whose face was partially obscured by an ornate mask, exuded an aura of authority. despite the mask, his commanding presence was unmistakable. as he drew closer, the mask was subtly lifted, revealing the sharp features of kim namjoon, the fourth imperial prince of goryeo. his eyes, sharp and discerning, surveyed the crowd with a mix of regality and practiced indifference.

at the palace, the scene was one of a different nature entirely. the atmosphere within the grand palace complex was a blend of opulence and casual domesticity. In the palace's expansive hot springs, a more relaxed environment prevailed. the tenth prince, baekhyun, splashed gleefully in the steaming waters, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. his actions were a far cry from the formalities of court life, displaying a childlike exuberance that was both endearing and mischievous.

beside him, the fourteenth prince, kang daniel, remained close, his presence a constant in baekhyun’s playful antics. daniel’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he engaged in the water games, showing a loyalty and camaraderie that was evident in their every interaction. the water playfully splashed around them, creating a lively contrast to the otherwise serene setting. the third prince, kang chaehee, observed from a slightly elevated edge of the hot springs, a sly scowl playing on his lips. his eyes followed the two princes with an air of calculated disbelief, as though he were silently plotting his next move or simply reveling in their stupidity.

the thirteenth prince, kang younghyun, joined the others with a warm smile, his entrance into the water adding a new layer of mirth to the scene. younghyun’s demeanor was that of a congenial companion, blending effortlessly into the group as he splashed and laughed with baekhyun and daniel.

the eighth prince, kang chwe hansol, watched the scene unfold with a calm and thoughtful expression. his gaze, serene and contemplative, contrasted with the playful energy of the younger princes. hansol’s mind was occupied with matters of the palace and the well-being of its occupants, a duty that seemed to weigh heavily on him. the ninth prince, kang yeosang, also observed from a distance, his face a mask of indifference. his role in the royal family was less pronounced, but his presence was a constant backdrop to the more dominant personalities of his brothers.

as the evening wore on, hansol noted the conspicuous absence of the fourth prince. his brow furrowed slightly in concern. “if namjoon is any later,” he said thoughtfully, “he’ll miss the ritual ceremony.” the ritual itself played a vital role in the dynasty as a whole, a tradition that had gone on for what could have been centuries. its purpose was not only to bring the princes together, but to rid them and the palace of spirits and hexes.

baekhyun, still immersed in the water, nudged daniel playfully. “i heard,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “that namjoon’s been killing people like a wolf. maybe we’ll be next.” he let out a playful howl, imitating a wolf with exaggerated movements. chaehee’s eyes narrowed, and he chided sang with a tone of authority. “quiet, baekhyun. this is all but the time for such nonsense.”

just as baekhyun began to submerge himself deeper into the water, a sudden figure emerged behind him. you gasped for air, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch your breath. the shock of the cold water and the realization of being in such a strange and precarious situation overwhelmed you. your mind raced, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

baekhyun turned around abruptly, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at you. “there’s a girl in the water!” he called out in shock, his voice carrying across the hot springs.

the princes froze, their expressions shifting from surprise to confusion as they took in the unexpected sight. before you could fully process the situation, a voice to your left beckoned you. you turned to see a slave girl standing at the edge of the hot springs in the bushes, her eyes darting nervously between you and the assembled princes. she gestured urgently for you to come over and whispered a name that you struggled to understand—“come on, my lady nabi.”

you had no clear idea of what she was saying, but the urgency in her voice compelled you to follow. you moved toward her, the water clinging to you as you emerged from the hot springs, your movements slow and hesitant. the princes watched in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on you. hansol’s eyes widened slightly as he processed the situation. “na…bi?” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the rippling water. the name hung in the air, its significance unclear but laden with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

the slave girl, chayeon, moved swiftly and decisively, her demeanor a stark contrast to the chaotic scene unfolding around you. her clothes, though simple and practical, were impeccably clean, and her face wore an expression of stern disapproval. she guided you away from the hot springs, her hands gripping your arm with a firmness that left no room for argument.

“lady nabi, what are you doing here?” she scolded, her voice a sharp whisper that cut through the murmurs of the princes. “you mustn’t be here. how did you end up in the water? this is no place for you!” her words came rapid-fire, her frustration palpable. her eyes scanned you, as if seeking to understand how you had arrived in such a predicament.

as she ushered you away, her scolding continued, though her voice softened slightly. “are you feeling alright now? are you hurt?” her concern, though genuine, was laced with an undercurrent of irritation. the whirlwind of her reprimand left you bewildered, struggling to make sense of your surroundings.

you were still disoriented from the cold shock of the water and the suddenness of the situation. you wondered why chayeon kept addressing you as “lady,” and why you had been dragged into this unfamiliar place. your confusion deepened as you took in the scene before you.

the outdoor pools, set amidst the grand palace grounds, were filled with people clad in elaborate period clothing. their garments were rich with color and intricate designs, the fabrics shimmering in the soft light of the setting sun. the setting was almost idyllic, with the gentle sounds of the water mingling with the low hum of conversation. it struck you with a sense of surrealism—the opulence and the formality of the setting contrasted sharply with the disarray of your predicament.

a growing realization began to dawn on you. the period clothing, the palace surroundings, the way chayeon addressed you—it all seemed to indicate that you had somehow crossed into another realm, a place that bore the hallmarks of the hereafter. the thought was disorienting and unsettling. overwhelmed and unable to process the strange new reality, your vision began to blur. the world around you grew dim, and with a final, desperate gasp, you fainted, collapsing into the comforting embrace of darkness.

the fourth prince made his entrance at the palace gates. his arrival was marked by an imposing presence, the grandeur of his attire and the regal bearing of his posture commanding attention. as he rode through the gates, his lead attendant followed closely, speaking with a tone that was both respectful and cautious.

“your highness,” the attendant said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “remember to uphold the honor of your adopted family name before the king. after your audience, you will need to return to shinju.” namjoon’s face twisted into a sneer at the mention of his adopted status. his tone was laced with sarcasm as he replied, “ah, yes. i had forgotten that i’m not just an adopted son but a hostage in this palace.”

his demeanor hardened as he rode further into the palace grounds. the vast courtyard stretched out before him, the silence heavy with the weight of his impending actions. he dismounted with a grace that belied the storm brewing within him. his hand moved to his sword, and in a swift, decisive motion, he drew it from its sheath.

the courtyard was filled with startled gasps as namjoon took a swing and, to everyone’s horror, struck his horse. the animal reared up, a cry of pain escaping its throat before collapsing to the ground, lifeless. the suddenness of the act stunned everyone into silence. the scene was one of utter shock, with onlookers frozen in place, their eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fear.

a soldier stepped forward, his voice trembling as he stuttered, “your highness, you’re not allowed to carry a sword inside the palace.” he extended his hand, a gesture that seemed both hesitant and necessary. namjoon’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes cold and unyielding. without a word, he handed over the sword, the metal gleaming ominously as it was taken from him. the soldier, still visibly shaken, added, “i will prepare a horse for your departure.”

namjoon’s response was delivered with an unyielding finality. “i won’t be going back,” he declared, his voice echoing with a resolve that left no room for further discussion. he wasn’t going back, he wasn’t going to allow himself to return to shinju as a hostage.

the world around you began to coalesce into something more tangible as you slowly regained consciousness. the first thing you noticed was the softness of the bed beneath you. it was an opulent four-poster, draped in rich, dark fabrics that exuded an air of both comfort and grandeur. the room was lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp, and the furnishings, though elegant, felt strangely foreign.

you groaned softly, your head throbbing with an intensity that made it difficult to focus. the pain was sharp and persistent, a constant reminder of the disorienting turn your life had taken. as you attempted to sit up, a woman in traditional attire entered the room, her presence graceful and composed. she had an air of authority about her, and she approached with a concerned expression.

“nabi,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. the name felt like an intrusion into your fragile state of awareness, and you looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“what do you mean, nabi?” you asked, your voice strained. “i’m (y/n) (l/n).” the declaration felt weak even as you spoke it, and you noticed the woman’s eyes widening in surprise. the woman’s face reflected a mix of shock and disbelief. “you’re not nabi?” she repeated, her tone tinged with uncertainty. her gaze darted between you and the door, as though she were expecting someone else to appear.

realization dawned on you, and a sudden, albeit delirious, laugh escaped your lips. “oh right, i died. i must be dead,” you said with a half-hearted chuckle. the absurdity of the situation hit you again, and your mind raced to piece together the fragments of your memories.

chayeon stepped into the room, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. “no, you didn’t die,” she clarified. “you had a near miss, and we brought you here for safety.” her words did little to alleviate your confusion, and you blurted out, “i didn’t die?” your sense of reality felt tenuous, and your panic surged.

you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled toward the door, the pounding in your head growing louder with every step. the sight that greeted you outside was both breathtaking and bewildering. you found yourself in a spacious courtyard, surrounded by traditional architecture that spoke of a bygone era. the buildings were constructed with ornate wooden beams, their roofs sweeping gracefully upward in elegant curves. the lush greenery and tranquil garden added to the sense of otherworldly calm.

the unfamiliarity of the scene only heightened your alarm. “where am I?” you wondered aloud, your voice trembling with a mix of anxiety and confusion. you turned back to lady ja, who had followed you out of the room, and pleaded for clarification.

her gaze softened with a mixture of pity and patience. “you are at the residence of the eighth prince, wang chwe hansol, in songak,” she explained. the name rang a distant bell in your memory, but the pieces were still not fitting together. as the words sank in, a realization began to form in your mind. “songak?” you repeated, the name resonating with a sense of historical significance. “is this goryeo?” the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of historical context.

lady ja nodded, her expression confirming your growing suspicion. “yes,” she said, “the current king is taejo wang geon, the founder of goryeo.” her words struck a chord with you, and the implications of what she was saying began to crystallize.

the recognition hit you like a wave. songak was indeed the old capital city of goryeo. you were not just in a different place but in a different time altogether. the realization was both thrilling and terrifying. you had somehow been transported into the past, into the very era of taejo wang geon’s reign. the weight of the revelation was almost too much to bear. your surroundings, the people, the architecture—all of it was a vivid testament to a historical period you had only known through books and tales. you stood there, trying to come to terms with the fact that you had somehow come into someone else’s body, into a world that was both rich in history and utterly foreign to you.

lady ja’s voice broke through your thoughts. “think hard about where you are,” she urged gently. “this is the residence of prince haneul, and we must ensure that you are properly cared for.” you nodded numbly, your mind still grappling with the enormity of your situation. as you took in the sights of the palace, the historical context of your predicament began to settle into place. the world around you was not merely a fantastical dream but a reality rooted in a time long past.

the throne room of the goryeo palace was a place of imposing grandeur and intricate design. richly adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of historical triumphs, the walls of the room gleamed with polished wood and gold accents. the vast chamber was dominated by the throne itself, a majestic seat of authority, intricately carved and elevated on a dais.

king taejo wang geon presided over the court with a gravity befitting his esteemed position. his regal presence commanded attention, his robes a cascade of deep, rich colors that spoke of both power and tradition. at his side were the six princes, each seated in a manner that reflected their rank and status. however, the fourth prince, namjoon, was notably absent from this gathering, his absence a conspicuous gap in the otherwise well-ordered assembly.

the tension in the room was palpable as an official presented a dead bird, its lifeless form displayed for all to see. the bird had fallen dead after a single bite from the crown prince’s breakfast, an unsettling testament to possible tampering. the sight of the dead creature stirred murmurs of concern among those in attendance.

king taejo's gaze was sharp and unwavering as he addressed the issue. “find the culprit responsible for this heinous act,” he commanded, his voice echoing with the weight of authority. the room fell into a hushed silence as the gravity of the situation sank in.

amidst the tension, jackson wang, a cousin of the king, stepped forward with a calculated expression. his tone was smooth yet insistent. “your majesty,” he began, “i must speak. there are growing concerns about the crown prince, wang taehyung. rumors suggest that he suffers from an incurable disease, and some believe he is unfit to assume the throne.” the words hung in the air, charged with implications. his proposal was audacious, but not without precedent in the power struggles of the royal court. he entreatied taejo to consider dethroning wang taehyung and replacing him with another prince. the notion of replacing the crown prince was met with a mix of surprise and unease from those present.

outside the throne room, crown prince taehyung himself arrived just in time to overhear jackson’s suggestion. his expression was one of barely contained frustration and hurt, his position at the heart of the debate adding to his evident distress. he hesitated at the door, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the gravity of the situation. inside the throne room, king taejo turned his attention to the remaining princes, his gaze probing and expectant. “do any of you agree with wang jackson’s proposal?” he asked, his voice laced with the tension of the moment. “is there anyone among you who would like to see the crown prince replaced?”

the princes exchanged glances, their reactions a mix of anxiety and discomfort. some avoided eye contact, while others looked visibly taken aback by the king’s question. the atmosphere was thick with uncertainty as they weighed their options, each one acutely aware of the delicate nature of the discussion.

the eighth prince was the first to break the silence. with a calm yet resolute demeanor, hansol moved forward and knelt before the king. “your majesty,” he said earnestly, “i beseech you to reconsider these words. there is no one among us who wishes to replace crown prince tae. we are united in our belief that he is the rightful heir.” his plea was followed swiftly by the thirteenth prince, who also approached the throne and knelt. “i too implore you, your majesty, to retract this proposal. crown prince taehyung is our leader, and we support him wholeheartedly.”

third prince chaehee was next to kneel, his actions reflecting the collective sentiment of the princes. his expression was guarded, but his voice carried a sense of urgency as he added his support to the plea. the younger princes, recognizing the shift in the room, followed suit. they too knelt, their voices merging in a unified plea for the king to reconsider. “please, your majesty,” they said in chorus, “do not dismiss crown prince taehyung. he is deserving of his position.”

in the midst of this fervent display of loyalty, king taejo called forth his esteemed astrologer and fortune-reader, choi jisoo. the elderly man, dressed in robes adorned with celestial patterns, approached the throne with a measured step. he began his explanation with a reverent tone, his words flowing with the weight of ancient knowledge. “the stars,” he began, “do not indicate that the crown prince is unfit. instead, they reveal a future filled with promise and stability. the alignment of the stars suggests that crown prince tae is destined to lead with wisdom and strength.”

the king listened intently as he continued to elaborate on the celestial omens, his confidence in the prince’s future unwavering. the explanations of the stars, combined with the united front of the princes, seemed to sway the king’s judgment.

king taejo’s expression softened as he addressed the court. “i have heard your pleas,” he declared. “i reaffirm that crown prince taehyung will take the leading position in the upcoming rites. his position is secure, and he shall fulfill his duties as our future sovereign.” the room erupted into a murmur of relief and approval, but not all were pleased with the outcome. hyun’s expression darkened, a subtle shift in his demeanor betraying his displeasure. his eyes, though fleetingly narrowed, reflected a deep-seated discontent, suggesting that the issue was far from resolved.

in the lavishly adorned quarters of queen jiyoung, the air was filled with an opulent serenity. the queen's residence was a realm of understated luxury, with delicate silks draped over intricately carved wooden screens and the gentle flicker of oil lamps casting soft shadows across the richly decorated walls. the fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood mingled, creating an atmosphere of calm and refinement.

jiyoung, seated gracefully at a low, ornate table, was engaged in conversation with chaehee, her expression one of composed interest. her attire, resplendent in hues of deep purple and gold, emphasized her status and authority. the intricate embroidery on her gown depicted scenes of serene landscapes and mythical creatures, adding to her regal bearing.

“i must admit, chaehee,” she said, her voice smooth yet laced with an edge of surprise, “i didn't expect crown prince taehyung to emerge from this latest crisis unscathed. i had anticipated that his position would be in jeopardy, particularly with the evidence presented against him.”

chaehee, standing by her side with an air of practiced deference, offered a sympathetic smile. “your majesty, it seems the king has decided to keep the crown prince in his position for now. the princes’ pleas and the astrologer’s predictions seem to have swayed him.” her gaze hardened slightly, her fingers drumming lightly on the surface of the table.

a court lady approached with a respectful bow, interrupting their conversation. “your majesty,” she began, her voice tentative, “there is a visitor outside requesting an audience. he has been waiting for some time.” jiyoung’s expression shifted to one of irritation. “a visitor? at this hour? who could it be?” her tone was sharp, revealing her displeasure at the interruption.

the court lady hesitated before responding. “it is your son, prince namjoon, your majesty. he has been waiting outside for your presence.”

jiyoung’s irritation grew palpable. her sons were often seen as pawns in the grand scheme of palace politics, and the timing of this interruption seemed particularly inconvenient. “prince namjoon?” she repeated, her voice tinged with frustration. “i have no time for such distractions right now. tell him to leave. i am not to be disturbed.” the court lady bowed deeply, her face a mask of regret as she turned to deliver the message. “yes, your majesty,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of her duty.

the night descended upon songak with a veil of darkness, its silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind against the palace walls. within the confines of your room, the atmosphere was heavy with a sense of desolation and uncertainty. You had locked yourself away, seeking refuge in the solitude of the opulent space, but it offered little solace.

the room was adorned with luxurious fabrics and furnishings, yet the grandeur did little to dispel the turmoil within you. you huddled on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the silken covers but feeling cold and detached. your mind replayed the events of the day with haunting clarity. the dead bird, the tense courtroom, and the disturbing reality of your situation all blended into a nightmarish haze.

as you shivered beneath the covers, you grappled with the reality of your existence. “did i die in the water that day?” you wondered aloud, your voice trembling in the quiet room. the thought that your host body, nabi, might have met the same fate only compounded your anxiety. the idea that you had somehow taken on nabi’s life in this strange, historical world was both disorienting and terrifying.

“am i (y/n) (l/n), or nabi?” you questioned, your voice barely more than a whisper. the realization that you were living someone else’s life was an unsettling one. yet, amidst the confusion, you decided to view this as a stroke of fortune—a new chance at life, albeit in a form you had not anticipated. if you were to continue as nabi, you resolved to make the most of the unexpected opportunity.

the enormity of your predicament loomed over you. despite your determination, you were acutely aware of how little you knew about goryeo. the intricacies of the court, the historical context, and even the line of succession were mysteries to you. you weren’t even sure which king followed taejo. your attempt to guess was a shot in the dark, and you feared it might be embarrassingly wrong. as you sat brooding, the soft murmur of voices reached your ears from outside the door. prince hansol had returned home, and you could hear him speaking with his wife, lady ja. their conversation was laden with concern.

“she was in the water for two hours before resurfacing,” lady ja was saying, her tone filled with worry. “she was like a corpse. we fear she might harm herself.” chayeon’s voice joined the conversation, her words carrying a hint of distress. “she lost her memory. we don’t know what to do.”

the weight of their concern seemed to seep through the walls, intensifying your sense of isolation. lady ja’s anxiety was palpable, and the thought of harming yourself felt like a grim possibility. the fear that you might be beyond help was overwhelming. suddenly, the door to your room was thrust open with a force that startled you. standing in the doorway was hansol, his face etched with a deep concern. his presence was commanding, yet there was a softness in his eyes that belied his authoritative stance.

“please, don’t be scared,” hansol said firmly, his voice cutting through the fog of your confusion. “i brought you here, so i will help you through to the end.”

he extended his hand toward you, his gesture a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil. he brought you there? what exactly did he mean by that? the sight of his outstretched hand seemed to pierce through the haze of your thoughts. you looked at it, feeling a mix of desperation and resolve. the prospect of remaining in this strange new world was daunting, but the notion of giving up was even more so. despite the uncertainty, a new wave of determination surged within you. the realization that you could not go back or change your appearance fueled a newfound resolve to face the challenges ahead. you took a deep breath, gathering your strength, and reached out to grasp his hand.

as your fingers closed around his, a sense of commitment and hope took root. hansol’s grip was firm and reassuring, offering a semblance of stability in the midst of your disorientation. you looked up at him, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. “i trust you,” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering tremor of uncertainty. “’i want to make sense of this life.”

namjoon’s mind drifted back through the fog of time, to a moment of clarity from his childhood. the memory was etched into his mind with a precision that made it feel as though it had happened only yesterday. he was a young boy then, barely old enough to understand the gravity of the world around him. the palace, once a place of warmth and familial affection, had turned cold and unwelcoming. the loss of the crown prince, taejo and jiyoung’s firstborn, had cast a shadow over the entire court. the death had shaken the very foundation of their lives, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill.

jiyoung’s grief was intense, her sorrow a constant, gnawing presence that colored her every interaction. she had been inconsolable, a stark contrast to the determined, almost clinical demeanor of king taejo. the queen’s eyes, once so full of life, were now heavy with an unspoken anguish. her hands, which had once cradled her child with tender care, now trembled with a mix of rage and despair.

in the aftermath of the tragedy, taejo had made a decision that seemed both practical and cold-hearted. he sought to fortify the kingdom’s borders through another marriage, a strategic move intended to bolster alliances and strengthen the realm. the political implications of his choice were clear, but to the grieving queen, they were an affront to her sorrow. as the king prepared to finalize his decision, the palace was awash with tension. jiyoung, her face streaked with tears and resolve, confronted him.

her voice was a strained whisper, laden with desperation. “how can you even consider another marriage?” she demanded. “do you not feel any sadness? is our loss so easily forgotten?” taejo responded with an unsettling calmness. “my decisions are guided by the needs of the kingdom,” he said. “this marriage is necessary for the security of our borders. it’s not a matter of personal grief.”

the queen’s eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity. her hand clenched around a small, ornate dagger, a symbol of her resolve. “you will choose between your marriage and your son,” she declared, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. she seized namjoon, who stood beside her, and pressed the dagger against his young throat.

the king’s face darkened, a storm of conflicting emotions crossing his features. “this won’t stop my decision,” he warned, his voice edged with a steely resolve. “you cannot use our son as leverage.” the tension in the room reached a breaking point. rhe queen’s grip on the dagger tightened, her face a mask of defiant rage. with a sudden, violent movement, she raised her hand, intent on striking out in her desperation.

taejo acted swiftly, his hand grasping her wrist in a desperate bid to prevent the impending violence. but the queen was resolute, wrenching her arm free from his grasp. in the struggle, the dagger’s blade sliced across namjoon’s young face. the sharp edge cut through flesh, spraying blood in a sudden, horrifying arc. hansol rushed forward in a panic. his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood seeping from namjoon’s wound, the child’s face contorted in pain and shock. the sight was etched into his memory as he reached out, his own face pale and stricken.

years later, the mask namjoon wore was a constant reminder of that night, a physical manifestation of the emotional scars he carried. the memory of that moment—the struggle, the pain, and the betrayal—was a shadow that lingered in his past, shaping his present in ways both seen and unseen. the mask, more than a protective covering, was a symbol of the emotional wounds that had never truly healed.

as dawn crept over songak, its light filtered gently through the silk curtains of your chamber, casting a soft glow across the opulent furnishings. you emerged from the cocoon of your blankets, your mind still tangled in the disarray of your new reality. chaeyeon arrived promptly to escort you around the grounds, her demeanor a blend of professionalism and sympathy. the palace grounds were a sprawling expanse of beauty and grandeur, with meticulously manicured gardens, serene water features, and stately buildings that spoke of the power and wealth of the dynasty. the scent of blooming flowers and the soft rustle of leaves in the morning breeze created an atmosphere of tranquility.

chaeyeon led you with practiced ease, her steps light and graceful. she spoke with a calm, informative tone, filling you in on the details of your life as nabi. “this is the western garden,” she said, gesturing to a lush area adorned with vibrant flora. “you used to spend a great deal of time here, enjoying the serenity. and over there,” she pointed towards a grand pavilion, “is where you and lady ja often held tea parties.”

you nodded, feigning familiarity with the surroundings. “it’s all starting to come back to me,” you said, though internally you struggled to piece together the fragmented information. the “amnesia” you claimed was a convenient cover for your ignorance, allowing you to absorb details about your new identity without raising suspicion.

chaeyeon’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze scrutinizing you with a hint of suspicion. “are you certain you’re not faking your condition?” she asked, her tone laced with concern. “perhaps you had a secret relationship with someone or incurred a debt that might explain your current state.”

the accusation took you aback, and you paused, considering her words. “did nabi have a secret life?” you mused aloud. “was she someone who acted one way in public and another behind closed doors?” chaeyeon’s eyes widened slightly, her suspicion momentarily replaced by concern. “nabi was always so quiet and reserved,” she said, shaking her head. “it’s hard to believe she would have done anything underhanded.”

your tendency to refer to yourself in the third person seemed to convince chaeyeon of your genuine amnesia. she softened her stance, though her gaze remained thoughtful. “if you truly don’t remember, then we’ll have to help you piece together the fragments of your past,” she said, her voice gentler now. you sighed inwardly, recognizing the futility of explaining that you were merely inhabiting someone else’s body. the truth was far too complex to convey, and the best course of action was to continue with the pretense of amnesia.

as you walked alongside her, your gaze fell upon the distant river that meandered through the palace grounds. across it, you could see prince hansol and lady ja enjoying a quiet moment together. hansol’s attention towards his wife was marked by an evident tenderness, his every gesture reflecting a deep affection. curiosity piqued, you asked chaeyeon, “what can you tell me about prince hansol?”

her face lit up with pride as she spoke of him. “prince chwe hansol is truly the finest man in all of goryeo,” she said, her voice brimming with admiration. “he is often regarded as the one who should have been the first prince. his wisdom and kindness are unmatched, and he is deeply loved by all who know him.” you absorbed her words with a mix of relief and contemplation. from your limited historical knowledge, you wondered if he was the prince who later became king gwangjong.

as you continued to observe the serene interaction between hansol and lady ja across the river, you found yourself lost in thought, the quiet affection between the couple stirring something within you. the tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the sharp voice of a woman you hadn’t noticed approaching.

“how dare you stare so rudely?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the calm like a blade. you turned to face the intruder, immediately noting her keen, almost predatory eyes. “being lady ja’s cousin is no excuse for such impropriety.”

before you could respond, chaeyeon quickly bowed low and urgently nudged you to do the same. “princess seulgi,” she whispered in warning, her tone laced with anxiety. princess seulgi, you thought, sizing up the woman before you. her posture was rigid, her gaze unyielding, and her expression one of barely concealed disdain. there was an air of superiority about her, as if she expected the world to bend to her whims. despite chaeyeon’s subtle attempts to pacify the situation, hana’s eyes never left you, narrowing slightly in irritation.

with a voice sweetened by insincerity, she said, “it’s such a shame, nabi, that you seem to have forgotten your manners along with your memory. you could stand to relearn quite a few things, it seems.”

the condescension in her tone was unmistakable, and you felt your irritation bubble to the surface. internally, you grumbled at her haughty attitude, unwilling to be cowed by her status. so, with a bright, wide smile, you met her gaze and replied, “if you dislike me, princess, just say so.” for a moment, silence hung between you, thick with tension. hana’s eyes widened in shock, her sharp tongue momentarily stilled by your audacity. she had likely expected you to cower or apologize, not to confront her so directly.

you continued, your voice steady and firm, “it’s clear you’re the type to bide your time, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in with criticism. but that doesn’t work with me.” seulgi’s shock quickly morphed into anger, her face flushing with indignation. “you insolent little—” she began, her voice rising as she spat out, “bitch!”

you raised your voice right back, ready to escalate the argument further. but just as the tension reached its peak, a commanding presence interrupted. “enough.” the single word, spoken in a calm yet authoritative tone, immediately silenced the room. you and hana both turned to see hansol approaching, his expression unreadable but his mere presence enough to quell the brewing storm.

he stepped between you and the princess, his gaze settling on you as he urged you to walk with him, toward the library. “nabi,” he began, his voice softening slightly, “it seems you’ve forgotten the proper way to greet a member of the royal family.” you felt a rush of embarrassment as the reality of the situation dawned on you. bowing hurriedly, you tried to recover, offering a modern and awkward, “hello.”

the corner of hansol’s mouth twitched slightly in what could have been amusement, though his expression remained mostly neutral. “i suppose your amnesia means you don’t remember much at all,” he mused, his tone more curious than accusatory. “including whether you’ve peeped on the princes’ bath before or after you lost your memory.” caught off guard by his question, you struggled to form a coherent response, heat rising to your cheeks. “i don’t remember,” you admitted, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

hansol didn’t press further, his gaze thoughtful as he considered you. “what is it that you want to do with yourself now, nabi?” he asked. there was a sincerity in his tone, as if he genuinely wanted to help you find your place. “i brought you here when you first accompanied lady ja, and i intend to look after you. but i need to know what you wish for your future.” his concern surprised you. you hadn’t expected him to take such an interest, especially given that you were technically a stranger in this body. yet, there was a part of you that wondered why he would go to such lengths, even if you were related to his wife.

determined to assert some control over your situation, you squared your shoulders and said, “i’ll take care of myself, your highness.” the words came out more confidently than you felt, but you were resolved to prove that you weren’t a burden. he seemed taken aback by your response, his brows knitting together slightly in confusion. your modernisms, the casual way you spoke, must have seemed strange to him. “you’ll take care of yourself?” he repeated, as if trying to understand your meaning.

realizing your mistake, you quickly added, “what i mean is, i’ll find a way to live here and be of use. i don’t want to be a burden.” his expression softened again, though a hint of concern lingered. “very well,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “but you must understand that you’re not alone here. we all have roles to play, and we’ll help you find yours.”

as he spoke, he moved around the room, his steps measured and deliberate. you followed him, your eyes tracing the lines of the bookshelves that lined the walls. the library was grand, filled with volumes that spoke of a rich history you barely understood.

“i have many talents,” you blurted out, trying to reassure both him and yourself. “i’ll find a way to make myself useful, i promise.” you nearly ran into him as he stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his closeness made you tense, the air between you charged with a subtle, unspoken tension. he studied you intently, his gaze searching for something in your eyes.

“you seem like someone else,” he observed quietly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your consciousness. you were flustered by his remark, unsure how to respond. but before you could speak, he continued, “it doesn’t matter who you were before, nabi. what matters is how you move forward now.” his words were a comfort, a reminder that while your situation was strange and frightening, you had a chance to shape your own path.

“i won’t ask further about your memory,” he added, his tone gentle. “but you must not worry lady ja any further. she cares deeply for you, and so do i.” you nodded quickly, agreeing to his terms. “i won’t,” you promised, feeling a renewed determination to adapt to this life. with that, he dismissed you, and you ran off, your mind buzzing with everything that had transpired. as you left the library, you couldn’t shake the feeling that hansol saw through you, that he knew there was something fundamentally different about you.

as namjoon roamed the dimly lit library, his fingers traced the spines of countless books that lined the shelves. the scent of old paper and ink hung heavy in the air, a quiet reminder of the knowledge stored within these walls. the books there were far from ordinary, though—jisoo’s collection was infamous for its peculiar and often forbidden contents. namjoon’s sharp eyes quickly zeroed in on a particular shelf, one that seemed to be tucked away more carefully than the others. his lips curled into a smirk as he pulled out a slender, well-worn volume, its cover unassuming save for the faint, faded title that promised scandalous secrets within.

he flipped through the pages, his amusement growing with each explicit passage. lost in the irony, he didn’t notice jisoo’s approach until the man was practically breathing down his neck. “enjoying the collection?” his voice was light, almost teasing. his presence was like a shadow, creeping up without warning, and it made namjoon’s grip tighten on the book.

namjoon didn’t bother to hide the volume he was holding. he met jisoo’s gaze with a lazy smirk. “you’ve got an interesting taste. planning on lending me these?” jisoo’s eyes glittered with amusement, though the smile on his lips was sharp. “if it suits your fancy, i’d be more than happy to let you borrow them. but something tells me you’re not here just for a light read.”

namjoon’s expression hardened, and he snapped the book shut with a decisive clap. “why was i called here?”

jisoo didn’t seem perturbed by the shift in his tone. he folded his arms and leaned back against the nearest shelf, his posture relaxed yet calculating. “the court lady who prepared crown prince taehyung’s breakfast was found hanged this morning. a curious case, given that it’s rather difficult to hang oneself in such a manner.” namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “a suicide, then?”

jisoo shook his head, his gaze darkening. “not quite. a death staged as a suicide, which suggests the involvement of someone who knows their way around the palace. someone with the means to silence her before she could speak.” namjoon’s smirk faded as he absorbed the implications. “you’re suggesting it’s someone within the royal family. perhaps even a prince.”

jisoo nodded, his expression grave. “that’s exactly what i’m suggesting. and you’re the one I want to find the culprit.” namjoon let out a low, humorless laugh. “what am i, a dog now? people keep calling me a wolf, and you must think i’ve actually become one.”

jisoo’s gaze remained steady, unflinching. “you’ve spent years in the shadow of this court, namjoon, watching and learning. no one knows the intrigues here better than you.” he turned away, pacing slowly between the shelves, his thoughts churning. “i’m a hostage, jisoo, not a hound to be sent sniffing out conspiracies.”

jisoo’s voice followed him, cool and measured. “maybe you were. but that display earlier—killing your horse in front of everyone—that wasn’t the act of a hostage. it was the act of a man who no longer wants to live as one.” namjoon halted, his back to jisoo, his fists clenching at his sides. the truth of those words stung, even as they ignited a flicker of something deep within him—a desire for something more, something beyond the chains that had bound him for so long.

he continued, his tone coaxing, “if you fulfill this task, it could be your chance to claim that freedom you’re so desperate for.” namjoon remained silent, weighing the offer. the idea of being free, of no longer living under the constant threat of being used as a pawn, was tempting. but the risk was high, and the stakes higher still. it was then that jisoo dropped the final piece of information, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. “it was crown prince taehyung who requested this investigation.”

namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, and he turned slowly to face jisoo. “taehyung?” he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. before he could respond, the door to the library creaked open, and tae stepped inside. his presence was commanding, even in the quiet, scholarly atmosphere of the room. he was dressed in the formal robes befitting his station, though there was an air of exhaustion about him, as if the weight of the crown was already pressing down heavily on his shoulders.

“crown prince taehyung.” namjoon bowed his head slightly, though his eyes remained on the prince, searching for answers. taehyung’s expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “namjoon,” he greeted, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air. “i’m glad you’re here.”

jisoo stepped forward, his tone shifting to one of deference. “your highness, i’ve informed him of the situation.” tae nodded, his gaze never leaving namjoon. “there have been whispers of an assassination attempt during the upcoming rites. if those whispers are true, i need someone I can trust to root out the traitor before it’s too late.”

namjoon’s eyes narrowed as he considered the prince’s words. this was more than just palace intrigue—it was a matter of life and death. “and if i succeed?” he asked, his voice low, careful. tae met his gaze squarely, the gravity of the situation reflected in his eyes. “if you find the one responsible, i’ll give you anything you ask for.” namjoon’s heart pounded in his chest as the possibilities raced through his mind. this was his chance—his chance to finally step out from the shadows and take control of his own destiny. but he wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

“anything?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of challenge. taehyung didn’t flinch. “anything.”

namjoon let the silence stretch between them for a moment before he spoke, his voice steady and clear. “i want to live here, permanently.”

taehyung’s eyes widened slightly, the request taking him by surprise. he had expected namjoon to ask for land, titles, perhaps even power. but the capital, along with a wife, that was a different kind of demand altogether. “done,” he said after a moment, his voice firm with resolve. “if you find the culprit, i’ll see to it that you’re granted a permanent residence in songak.”

the ladies of hansol’s household bustled around the courtyard, their nimble fingers busy at work crafting delicate lanterns shaped like flowers. the air was filled with the scent of freshly cut paper and the faint tang of glue, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the women. each one of them worked with a practiced ease, folding and cutting the colored paper with precision to create intricate designs. you, however, were utterly hopeless at it. no matter how hard you tried, your fingers fumbled with the delicate materials, and your lanterns came out misshapen and clumsy.

it wasn’t long before princess seulgi took notice. her sharp eyes caught every flaw, every misstep, and she wasn’t one to let them slide. “it seems your amnesia has taken more from you than just your memory,” she remarked, her tone laced with disdain as she inspected your work. she held up one of your malformed creations with a look of barely concealed disgust. “this is hardly suitable for the rites.”

you bit back a retort, feeling your frustration rise. it was bad enough that you were struggling with those tasks, but having seulgi point out your failures so openly stung even more. still, you were determined to prove yourself, to show that you weren’t as useless as she made you feel. “i can still help,” you insisted, trying to keep the desperation out of your voice.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “very well,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “since you’re so eager to contribute, why don’t you make the glue for us?”

you didn’t miss the challenge in her tone, nor the way the other ladies exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with pity. making glue was a dirty job, often relegated to the lowest servants, but you swallowed your pride and nodded. “i’ll do it,” you replied, trying to sound confident.

the task was every bit as grueling as she had intended. you were sent outside, away from the cool shade of the courtyard, to work under the sun. the thick, sticky mixture of rice flour and water required constant stirring to keep it from burning, and the heat made the air feel heavy and oppressive. your arms ached from the effort, and sweat dripped down your forehead, but you pushed through, determined not to give seulgi the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

at one point, you paused to stretch, your body protesting the repetitive motion. you leaned back, stretching your arms overhead and bending at the waist to relieve the tension in your muscles. the movement was hardly graceful, but you were too focused on easing your discomfort to care. it wasn’t until you straightened up that you noticed hansol standing a short distance away, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. you froze, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. the thought of hansol watching you as you contorted yourself in such an ungainly manner made you want to shrink into the ground. quickly, you turned back to the pot of glue, resuming your stirring with renewed vigor. “the princess put me to this task,” you explained, trying to sound nonchalant despite your awkwardness.

hansol’s lips twitched in a barely suppressed smile. “i see you’re demonstrating your many talents,” he said, his tone dry as he echoed your earlier words. you couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. “yes, well, i suppose i should have specified that glue-making wasn’t one of them,” you replied, shaking your head at the absurdity of the situation. he chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. for a moment, the tension between you eased, and you found yourself feeling grateful for his presence. but before you could say more, he was called away by one of the other princes, leaving you to your task once more.

later in the day, the princes gathered to prepare for the upcoming rites, practicing a ceremonial sword dance that required both grace and precision. tenth prince baekhyun was by far the worst at the dance. his movements were stiff, his timing off, and after several failed attempts to keep up with the others, he finally threw down his sword in frustration. “this is pointless,” he muttered, his tone sulky as he stalked off to the side, clearly in no mood to continue.

the other princes paused, taking a break from their practice. ninth prince yeosang, took the opportunity to speak up. “is it true that the king intends to abdicate his throne to crown prince tae after the ceremony?” the question hung in the air, bringing everyone up short. even the most practiced of the princes couldn’t hide their surprise at the boldness of his inquiry. all eyes turned to jisoo, who had been observing the practice from a distance.

jisoo’s expression was unreadable as he responded. “i know nothing of the sort,” he said carefully, his tone giving nothing away. but his non-answer only fueled the tension. hansol frowned at yeosang, his voice low and admonishing. “you were foolish to say that, kwan. the king must not hear such rumors.” third prince chaehee crossed his arms and spoke up. “we’re all curious, hansol. and it’s not yeosang’s fault for asking. besides, jisoo didn’t exactly deny it outright.” the tension among the princes was intense, each of them silently weighing the implications of the question.

exhausted from the day’s work, you decided to rest outside, hoping to clear your mind. as you leaned back against a tree, you noticed a familiar figure walking by, his robes fluttering slightly in the breeze. it was jisoo, the court astrologer—and, you realized with a start, the hobo from the pier. the recognition hit you like a lightning bolt, and without thinking, you leapt to your feet and took off after him.

“wait!” you called, your voice breathless as you darted through the courtyard. jisoo glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in recognition, and then he began to move faster, slipping through the narrow alleys of the city with practiced ease. you chased after him, your heart pounding in your chest, but he was always just out of reach, his figure disappearing around corners and ducking into shadows. finally, you lost sight of him altogether, standing in the middle of a busy street with no idea where he had gone. the disappointment was bitter, and you were about to turn back when the sound of hooves thundered through the air.

namjoon came riding furiously down the street, his horse galloping at a breakneck pace. villagers dove for cover as he barreled through, his expression set in a fierce scowl. you didn’t see him until the last moment, too distracted by your pursuit of jisoo to notice the danger. by the time you did, it was too late—you froze in the middle of the street, your eyes wide with shock as the horse bore down on you.

a peddler’s pack brushed against you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, arms flailing as you teetered on the edge of the ravine that bordered the street. the ground seemed to drop away beneath you, and you felt the sickening lurch of gravity pulling you down. panic surged through you, your mind racing with the realization that you were about to fall. but just as you began to tip over the edge, a strong hand shot out and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you up with a force that left you breathless. you were yanked into the saddle, your body pressed against namjoon’s as he steadied his horse with a firm grip. for a moment, you could only cling to him, your heart pounding in your chest as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. the world spun around you, the near-fall leaving you shaken and disoriented.

you stared up at namjoon, wide-eyed and breathless, your fingers clinging desperately to his robe as the horse thundered through the city streets. the wind whipped through your hair, your heart still pounding from the near fall into the ravine. for a moment, all you could focus on was the intensity of namjoon’s face—the sharp line of his jaw, the cool indifference in his left eye, the slight frown that seemed permanently etched into his brow. it was as if he held the world at arm’s length, letting nothing and no one touch him. the ride was brief but harrowing. you felt the rhythm of the horse’s hooves beneath you, the power of its muscles as it responded to namjoon’s every command. you wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to unearth a flicker of emotion from him, something other than the stoic mask he wore so effortlessly.

finally, namjoon slowed the horse, bringing it to a halt just outside the palace gates. the sudden stop jolted you from your thoughts, and you blinked up at him, still gripping his robe as if it were a lifeline. his gaze flicked down to you, the barest hint of curiosity in his eyes, before he looked away. without warning, his arm released you, and you found yourself unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. you landed in an undignified heap, the breath knocked out of you as you hit the dirt. for a moment, you could only lie there, staring up at the sky in stunned disbelief.

“what the hell was that for?” you demanded, scrambling to your feet and glaring up at him. you dusted yourself off, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “you could’ve at least helped me down like a normal person.” namjoon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he regarded you. for a moment, you thought he might apologize—or at the very least, offer an explanation. instead, his lips quirked into a faint, mocking smile.

“perhaps i thought you’d enjoy the challenge,” he replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. you narrowed your eyes, not about to let him off the hook so easily. “you’re impossible, you know that? just because you ride in here like a—”

but before you could finish, namjoon clicked his tongue, and the horse reared up on its hind legs. you stumbled backward, losing your balance as the horse’s hooves pawed the air above you. panic surged through you, and you fell back onto the ground once more, landing with a hard thud. by the time you regained your composure, namjoon had already ridden off, the sound of his horse’s hooves echoing through the streets. you stared after him, fuming, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. he was insufferable, arrogant, and completely out of control.

“lady nabi, are you all right?” you turned to see chaeyeon hurrying toward you, her face etched with concern. she reached out to help you up, her hands warm and steady. “what happened? i saw you with prince namjoon just now.” you sighed, brushing off your clothes once more as you accepted her help. “it’s nothing. just a misunderstanding,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant despite your lingering irritation.

chaeyeon gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. instead, she glanced over her shoulder, as if worried someone might overhear. “princess seulgi is looking for you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with urgency. “you should come quickly.”

with a nod, you followed her through the palace grounds, your mind still reeling from the encounter with namjoon. as you walked, she filled you in on the latest developments—apparently, seulgi was currently meeting with her brothers, or at least the six of them who got along. namjoon was noticeably absent, though it was clear from the tension in the air that his presence, or lack thereof, weighed heavily on the gathering.

by the time you reached the small courtyard where the meeting was taking place, you could already hear the low murmur of voices. the princes were discussing something in hushed tones, their expressions serious. as you and chaeyeon approached, you caught snippets of their conversation, the words charged with a sense of foreboding.

“…difficult to get along with him,” one of the princes was saying, his voice tinged with frustration. “he’s moody and unpredictable. it’s like walking on eggshells around him.” you recognized the speaker as tenth prince baekhyun, his youthful face twisted into a pout. his words were met with nods of agreement from the others, though no one seemed willing to voice their thoughts too openly.

just as he opened his mouth to continue, the door to the courtyard slid open with a soft thud. the princes fell silent, their eyes snapping to the entrance as namjoon stepped inside. the tension in the room was heavy, the air thick with unspoken worries. seulgi was the only one who looked pleased to see him, her face lighting up with a smile as she stood to greet him. “namjoon,” she said warmly, moving toward him with a graceful sweep of her robes. “i’m so glad you could join us.”

namjoon offered a polite nod. “it’s good to see you,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual warmth. but before he could say more, chaehee, the third prince, cut in with a smirk. “don’t try too hard with namjoon, brother. he understands the language of beasts better than people.”

the barb hung in the air, and the other princes stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances. even seulgi’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes darting between namjoon and chaehee, as if bracing for the fallout. but namjoon didn’t react as expected. instead, he simply met chaehee’s gaze with a calm, measured look. “ah,” he said softly, his voice as cool as ice, “that’s why i understand my brother’s words so well.”

the room went silent, the tension simmering beneath the surface. even the normally boisterous sang seemed cowed, his earlier bravado evaporating in the face of namjoon’s quiet menace. the princes exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to respond. at that moment, the maids entered the courtyard, carrying trays laden with snacks and refreshments. it was also your cue to join the gathering, though you hesitated, doing your best to hang back out of sight. the last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself, especially with namjoon’s unnerving presence so close by.

but your attempt to skulk behind a pillar didn’t go unnoticed. baekhyun caught sight of you and immediately zeroed in, his eyes narrowing as he tried to place why you seemed so familiar. “you there!” he called out, his voice ringing through the courtyard as he stepped closer. “i know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

you froze, your heart sinking as his gaze locked onto yours. he was right, of course—you had crossed paths before, but not in any way you wanted to be reminded of. you went cross-eyed in panic, silently praying that he wouldn’t figure it out. but he was nothing if not persistent. his brow furrowed as he racked his brain, and then his eyes lit up with recognition. “wait a minute, weren’t you the peeping tom at the baths?” the words hit you like a ton of bricks, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out a denial. “no! absolutely not!”

but in your haste to deny the accusation, you stumbled backward, accidentally knocking into a maid carrying a tray. the tray wobbled precariously, and with a horrified gasp, you watched as the plateware went crashing to the ground, shattering into pieces with a deafening clatter. for a moment, the entire courtyard fell into a stunned silence. all eyes were on you—the princes, the maids, even chaeyeon—each one of them staring in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. seulgi’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.

“what have you done?” her voice was low and cold, her tone cutting through the air like a knife. “are you truly so incompetent that you can’t even keep out of trouble for a single day?” faced with her anger and a roomful of staring princes, you felt a wave of mortification crash over you. the humiliation was too much to bear, and without thinking, you turned and bolted from the courtyard, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls as you fled. as you ran, you caught a glimpse of namjoon out of the corner of your eye. he was standing off to the side, his expression unreadable as he watched you go. but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or maybe something else entirely.

you ran through the palace corridors, your heart pounding in your chest. slowing your pace, you took a moment to lean against a column, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. “hang in there,” you whispered to yourself, willing your racing heart to calm. the palace, with its sprawling halls and myriad of secrets, was a dangerous place for someone like you—a place where one wrong move could mean disaster. but you couldn’t let yourself be consumed by fear or anger. you had to stay sharp.

as your breathing evened out, you heard footsteps echoing through the hallway. panic gripped you again as you realized who it was—baekhyun, the tenth prince. he was still convinced he recognized you correctly and was now on the prowl, searching for you. you quickly ducked behind a pillar, watching him from your hiding place. he moved with eagerness, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny as he walked. you bit your lip, hoping he would pass by without noticing you. then, he stopped in front of a door, peering through a small tear in the fabric that covered it.

you tensed, realizing where he was looking. on the other side of that door was chaeyeon, who had no idea she was being watched. baekhyun’s eyes widened with curiosity as he leaned in closer, clearly intrigued by what he was seeing. you felt a surge of anger. it was one thing to be an immature prince, but this—this was crossing a line.

before you could react, chaeyeon suddenly looked up and saw him. her eyes went wide with horror, and she let out a sharp scream that echoed through the hallway. the sound startled baekhyun, and he stumbled back from the door, his face pale with shock. without thinking, he turned and ran, his feet slipping on the polished floor as he tried to make a hasty escape. but he didn’t get far.

you stepped out from your hiding place, planting yourself firmly in his path. your eyes narrowed with determination, you crossed your arms over your chest, blocking his way. sang skidded to a stop, his expression a mixture of guilt and indignation. “what are you doing?” he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to regain his composure. “move aside!”

you didn’t budge. “where do you think you’re going, prince baekhyun?” you asked, your voice stern, it almost sounded like a grandmother scolding an errant schoolboy. “you think you can just run off after what you did?”

his eyes darted around, as if looking for an escape route. “i didn’t do anything!” he protested, though his voice lacked conviction. “that slave—she’s lying! she can’t prove anything!” his mouth opened and closed as he fumbled for a response, but you cut him off, taking a step closer to him. “don’t lie, i saw it clearly,” you said, your voice firm. “what you did was wrong, and you need to apologize.”

the prince’s face twisted with a mix of outrage and disbelief. “apologize? to a slave?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “i’m a prince! i don’t bow to the likes of her—or you, for that matter!” but you didn’t back down. “you may be a prince, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like that,” you shot back. “you owe her an apology, and i won’t let you leave until you give it.”

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could see the childish petulance rising in him. he turned on his heel, determined to storm off, but you weren’t about to let him go that easily. you reached out and grabbed the edge of his cloak, pulling him back. “let go of me!” he shouted, trying to shake you off. he shoved you hard, and you stumbled back, crashing to the ground. the impact sent a fresh wave of anger surging through you, and as you sat there, stunned, you decided you’d had enough.

without a second thought, you lunged forward, grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him off balance. he yelped in surprise as he went down, flailing his arms in a futile attempt to stay upright. the two of you hit the ground with a thud, and before he could recover, you pounced on him, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “what are you—?” he began, but his words were cut off as you pulled his head back, your eyes blazing with fury.

“you think you can just shove me around and get away with it?” you growled, your voice low and dangerous. “i don’t care if you’re a prince—i’ll still kick your ass.” he tried to push you off, his hands scrabbling at your arms, but you held on tight, refusing to let go. his struggles only fueled your anger, and before you knew it, the two of you were engaged in a full-on tussle, rolling across the ground in a tangle of limbs.

baekhyun managed to get one arm around your neck, pulling you into a headlock, but you were too fired up to care. you twisted and turned, using every ounce of strength you had to break free. when his grip loosened for just a moment, you sank your teeth into his arm, biting down hard. “ow! you bit me!” he howled, letting go of you in shock. but before he could recover, you kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling onto his back. you didn’t give him a chance to get up. you climbed on top of him, your fists clenched, and started smacking him repeatedly.

“spoiled brat,” you hissed, each word punctuated by a slap. “you think you can do whatever you want, but i won’t let you! you’re a pervert, a peeping tom—” sang flinched with each blow, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to protect his face. “stop! you’re going to regret this!” he shouted, but his words only fueled your rage.

“i’ll regret it?” you spat, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you’re the one who should be regretting everything. you think i’m going to let you get away with this? not a chance!” his eyes blazed with fury, but there was also a flicker of fear in them. “you won’t escape unscathed, you know that?” he warned, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

but you were too caught up in your fury to care. you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up so that your faces were inches apart. “we’ll see about that,” you hissed, before delivering a final, mighty head-butt. the impact stunned both of you, the force of it reverberating through your skull. baekhyun’s head snapped back, and he let out a pained groan, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to stay conscious. you, too, felt the dizziness wash over you, but you refused to let it show.

with him dazed beneath you, you rolled up your sleeve, ready to deliver a doozy of a slap that would leave a mark. but just as you were about to bring your hand down, a strong grip caught your wrist, stopping you mid-swing. you looked up, startled, and found yourself staring into the amused eyes of namjoon. his hand was wrapped around your wrist, holding it firmly but not painfully. he seemed almost entertained by the sight of you and sang sprawled out on the ground like children caught in a schoolyard brawl.

“what do you think you’re doing?” namjoon asked, his voice calm and composed, but with an undercurrent of amusement that made your blood boil even more. you gaped at him in surprise, struggling to find the words. “i—he—” you stammered, trying to pull your wrist free from his grasp, but namjoon’s hold was unyielding.

before you could say more, baekhyun, still reeling from the head-butt, tried to charge at you, his face twisted in anger. “let me go! she—she attacked me!” he yelled, his voice shaking with indignation. but hansol appeared just in time, stepping between the two of them with a stern expression. “that’s enough, baekhyun,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “there are eyes watching. we can’t afford to make a scene here.”

baekhyun glared at him, his chest heaving with fury, but he knew better than to argue with his elder brother. with a final huff of frustration, he flounced off, storming down the hallway in a fit. namjoon finally released your wrist, and you scrambled to your feet, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. you couldn’t believe what had just happened—the fight, the princes, and now namjoon, standing there with that infuriatingly calm expression.

you narrowed your eyes at him, the anger from before flaring up once more. “and what about you?” you demanded. the anger that had fueled your fight with sang still simmered beneath your skin, and now it was directed entirely at namjoon. “you’re not getting away without an apology.”

his brow arched, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “an apology?” he repeated, as if the concept was entirely foreign to him. “who are you to demand such a thing from me?” you squared your shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “someone who deserves respect, that’s who,” you shot back. “or do you only apologize to people who share your bloodline? because if that’s the case, then maybe you should start practicing, seeing as you’re on such thin ice with your brothers.”

his eyes darkened at that, the playful glint disappearing as something more dangerous took its place. he stepped closer, towering over you, his presence suddenly more imposing. “so, if you’re a slave, i ignore you,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “but if you were a princess, i’d bow at your feet? is that what you’re saying?”

you held your ground, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “i’m saying respect should be given regardless of status. but clearly, that’s a concept beyond your understanding.” for a moment, there was silence between you, the tension thick in the air. then, without warning, namjoon leaned in, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “when i do apologize,” he said slowly, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “it means you’ll die.” before you could respond, namjoon turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing. his words echoed in your ears, the warning clear, but so too was the challenge.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the palace grounds as you made your way to the bathing pools. the path was quiet, the only sounds your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. the stillness of the night mirrored the turmoil within you. the jisoo man you’d seen earlier—was he real, or had your desperate mind conjured him from nothing? it felt like a sign, divine or otherwise, a spark of hope that there was a way to return home. you desperately needed to leave goryeo, especially with the looming punishment for hitting a prince hanging over your head. every step toward the bathing pools solidified your resolve. if there was even the slightest chance that jisoo held the key to your escape, you had to find him.

the pools were a serene sight, surrounded by tall trees that shielded them from the rest of the palace. you hesitated for a moment, peering into the dark waters before slipping into the pool. the water was cool, a refreshing contrast to the heat that had built up in your body from your frantic thoughts. you submerged yourself, holding your breath as long as you could, as if the water could wash away the fear and anxiety knotting in your chest. when you finally emerged, gasping for air, your eyes locked onto a figure standing at the edge of the pool.

namjoon. his mask was off, revealing the multitude of scars crisscrossing his back and torso, alongside the gash on his eye. the moonlight accentuated the lines of his disfigurement, a stark reminder of the pain he must have endured. his gaze was fixed on the still water, lost in thought, until your sudden appearance shattered the silence.

his head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. for a moment, the two of you were frozen, caught in each other’s gaze. then, in a swift motion, namjoon’s hand flew to his face, covering the scarred eye with a mix of shame and fear. “did you see?” he asked, his voice hesitant, almost childlike in its vulnerability. you could only stare, your mind blank with shock. Tthe sight of his scars, the rawness of his question, rendered you speechless. but his expression darkened at your silence. he stepped closer, and before you could react, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the throat.

“i asked if you saw!” he bellowed, his grip tightening. the suddenness of the attack, coupled with the sheer strength behind it, made your heart race in terror. “please, please,” you gasped, your hands clawing at his arm in a desperate attempt to free yourself. “i won’t say anything! i swear.”

namjoon’s eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit. the intensity of his gaze was suffocating, but you forced yourself to meet it, praying he would believe you. “forget me,” he ordered, his voice low and menacing. “forget what you saw here tonight.” you nodded jerkily, too afraid to do anything else. after what felt like an eternity, he released you, his hand trembling slightly as he backed away. he grabbed his mask and clothes, casting one last look at you before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

as he left, a small object fell from his grasp, unnoticed by him in his haste. you waited until you were sure he was gone before approaching the spot where it had landed. it was a hairpin, intricately designed, delicate in its craftsmanship. you picked it up, holding it gingerly in your hand. it was a small thing, but something about it felt significant, as if it held a piece of his story. clutching the hairpin to your chest, you slowly made your way back to the palace. the long walk back gave you time to think, to process everything that had happened. your heart still raced from the encounter, but beneath the fear, there was a growing realization that namjoon wasn’t just the cold, unfeeling prince you had initially taken him for.

by the time you reached the entrance of the household, the entire family was waiting for you outside. their faces were a mix of worry and anger, and your stomach dropped at the sight. “where have you been?” lady ja demanded, stepping forward with an air of authority. her tone was sharp, but the underlying concern was unmistakable. “you left without a word! the whole household has been worried sick.”

the word “family” struck a chord within you, and you blinked in surprise. It was such a simple thing, but hearing it made something inside you shift. you looked around at the faces surrounding you, at the worried expressions of the servants, the stern gaze of lady ja, and something clicked into place.

“I’ve… come home,” you whispered to yourself, the words heavy with realization. and for the first time since you’d arrived in this strange world, it didn’t feel so foreign. you didn’t feel so lost. there was still much you didn’t understand, still so much to figure out, but in that moment, you felt a small, tentative sense of belonging.

queen jinyoung soaked in the warm bath, her body submerged beneath the surface, save for her head resting against the smooth edge of the porcelain tub. steam rose in delicate wisps, curling around her face and obscuring the sharpness of her features. the water was scented with jasmine and lavender, calming scents that usually soothed her nerves. but tonight, they failed to quiet the storm brewing in her mind.

she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting back to the recent conversation she had with her eldest son, chaehee. it had been late at night, the palace shrouded in darkness, when he had come to her chambers. chaehee was always careful, always discreet, and he knew better than to be seen sneaking into his mother’s quarters at such an hour. the candles flickered as he entered, casting his face in a dance of light and shadow, highlighting the tension etched into his brow.

“we can’t wait any longer,” chaehee had said, his voice low and urgent. “the rumors are spreading faster than we anticipated. the court is abuzz with talk that the king may abdicate the throne to tae.”

jinyoung had felt her chest tighten at his words. she had known this day would come, had prepared for it, but the reality of it was still a bitter pill to swallow. taehyung, the crown prince, was favored by the king in ways that none of her sons were. he was seen as the rightful heir, the embodiment of everything the king wished to pass on to the next generation. but jinyoung knew better. taehyung was a threat—a threat to her sons, to their future, to everything she had fought so hard to secure.

“we need to speed things up,” she had murmured, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair with a white-knuckled intensity. “the upcoming ceremony is our best chance. if we’re going to eliminate tae, it has to be then.” chaehee had nodded, his eyes gleaming with cold determination. “leave it to me, mother. i’ll ensure everything goes according to plan.”

“see that you do,” jinyoung had replied, her voice steely. “we cannot afford any mistakes.”

now, as she lay in the bath, those words echoed in her mind. the plan was set into motion, and there was no turning back. the fate of her sons rested on the success of this plot. her heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and resolve. if tae were to ascend the throne, her family’s future would be in jeopardy. but if they succeeded—if they succeeded, her sons would finally have the power and recognition they deserved.

she closed her eyes, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles, but not her troubled thoughts. the image of chaehee’s face, so full of confidence and ruthlessness, stayed with her. she had raised him well, molded him into the man he needed to be in this cutthroat world. but even as she took pride in his ambition, there was a part of her that worried. the stakes were higher than ever, and if they failed—no, she couldn’t think of that. failure was not an option.

the following day, the princes gathered in the training grounds for one final run-through of their sword dance. the air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the upcoming ceremony hanging over them like a shroud. taehyung stood at the front, watching the princes with a critical eye as they practiced the intricate choreography. the dance was a vital part of the ritual, a symbol of the unity and strength of the royal family as they drove out the demons from the palace.

the princes moved in perfect synchronization, their swords slicing through the air with practiced precision. tae couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he observed them. despite the tension that often simmered beneath the surface, they were still his blood, and they had trained long and hard for this moment. as they completed the final sequence, tae’s lips curved into a rare smile of approval. “well done,” he praised, his voice carrying over the training grounds. “we’re ready.”

tenth prince baekhyun, panting slightly from exertion, turned to thirteenth prince kyeom with a mischievous grin. “do you think she’ll be here today?” he asked, a hint of eagerness in his tone. daniel smirked, catching the excited glint in baekhyun’s eyes. “who? the one who gave you that lovely black eye?”

the other princes chuckled, and baekhyun’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “it wasn’t like that!” he protested, though his smile betrayed him. “sure it wasn’t,” chaehee drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “you just happened to trip into her fist, is that it?”

the teasing continued, lightening the mood among the brothers. even namjoon allowed himself a small smile at baekhyun’s expense. but as soon as he caught hansol’s gaze on him, that smile faded, replaced by the stoic mask he usually wore. hansol’s eyes were thoughtful, as though he was trying to puzzle out something about namjoon, but he said nothing.

meanwhile, chaehee’s attention was drawn to a line of black-clad men entering the grounds, their faces obscured by demon masks. they were part of the ritual, their role to represent the evil spirits that the royal family would symbolically banish. but to hyun, they were more than just performers. he had chosen them carefully, ensuring that they were loyal to his cause. his eyes flickered with a brief, calculating light as he watched them take their positions.

but chaehee wasn’t the only one with a plan. unbeknownst to him, tae had been working on his own counterplay. the crown prince had always been astute, quick to sense when something was amiss, and he wasn’t blind to the undercurrents of tension surrounding the ceremony. that’s why, in a quiet moment before the ritual began, he sought out namjoon. the exchange of masks was swift, and soon namjoon was clad in the elaborate costume of the crown prince, his face hidden behind a mask that bore the markings of leadership. taehyung donned a simpler outfit, blending in with the other princes as they prepared for the ceremony.

the palace courtyard was packed with onlookers, all eager to witness the grand ritual. the air was thick with the scent of incense, and the rhythmic beat of drums set the tone for the performance. namjoon took the lead position, his presence commanding as he stood at the forefront of the princes. to everyone watching, he was the crown prince, the one who would lead them in driving out the demons.

the ritual began, a carefully choreographed mix of martial arts and dance. namjoon moved with fluid grace, his sword cutting through the air in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the drums. the other princes followed his lead, their movements synchronized as they played their part in the elaborate display. as the dance progressed, the demon-masked men entered the scene, their presence dark and ominous. they advanced toward the princes, their swords drawn, and the real battle began. namjoon took them on with an impressive display of skill, his movements precise and controlled. he danced between them, his sword clashing against theirs in a series of carefully timed strikes.

chaehee, also masked, joined namjoon in the fight, their swords working in tandem as they recited an incantation to drive out the demons. the performance was flawless, a testament to the hours of practice they had put in. but then, something unexpected happened. more masked men appeared, descending from above like shadows. their arrival was sudden and unplanned, and immediately, the king and jisoo knew that something was wrong. the newcomers weren’t part of the ritual—they were assassins.

the atmosphere shifted in an instant, the crowd’s murmurs turning into gasps of alarm as the assassins drew their swords and charged at namjoon. jisoo’s voice rang out, calling for the soldiers to protect the king, and the royal guards surged forward, surrounding the king’s platform. namjoon, still masked and mistaken for the crown prince, found himself at the center of the attack. he fought back with fierce determination, his sword moving in a blur as he defended himself against the onslaught. but the odds were overwhelming, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t fend them off alone.

hansol was the first to realize that something was amiss. without hesitation, he charged into the fray, his sword flashing as he cut down the attackers. the other princes followed suit, their faces set in grim resolve as they joined the battle. together, they evened the numbers, driving back the assassins with a renewed vigor. chaehee caught sight of one of the demons—the very man he had conspired with. their eyes met through the slits in their masks, and in that brief exchange, a silent understanding passed between them. hyun knew this was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment to strike and make it look like an accident.

with calculated precision, he maneuvered himself closer to namjoon. the sounds of clashing swords and the shouts of the combatants filled the air, masking the tension that thrummed between the two brothers. namjoon was fully engrossed in fending off another attacker when a third made its move. he twisted his sword in a way that seemed unintentional, a misstep in the dance of battle, and his blade sliced across namjoon’s arm.

he gasped as pain seared through him, his sword slipping from his grasp as he staggered backward. the world seemed to slow as he looked down at the wound, blood soaking into the fine fabric of his costume. for a moment, he was disoriented, his mind reeling from the unexpected betrayal. and then, as if on cue, one of the assassins saw his opportunity. the masked figure lunged at him, sword raised for the kill. namjoon, weakened and caught off guard, could do nothing but brace himself for the inevitable.

but at the last possible second, another figure intervened. a masked prince—swift, precise, and unyielding—threw himself between namjoon and the assassin, deflecting the blow with a resounding clash of steel. namjoon barely had time to register what had happened before he was pushed aside, the masked prince taking his place in the fight. the assassin hesitated, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift, and in that brief hesitation, the masked prince drove his sword through the attacker’s chest. the demon crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

the remaining assassins, sensing that their plan was unraveling, began to retreat. hyun, still masked, barked orders at the soldiers, commanding them to chase down the fleeing attackers. the courtyard was a chaotic whirlwind of movement as the soldiers pursued the assassins, determined to capture them before they could escape. the king, who had been watching the scene unfold with mounting dread, hurried down from his platform the moment the danger had passed. his gaze was frantic as he looked for taehyung, his fear palpable. but when he reached the center of the courtyard, he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

the mask had been removed, and instead of tae, he found namjoon standing there, clutching his wounded arm. the realization struck the king like a blow, and for a moment, he was speechless, the words caught in his throat. “where is taehyung?” the king demanded, his voice tight with fear and urgency.

namjoon, already in pain and now reeling from the king’s clear distress, felt a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with his injury. he swallowed hard, the hurt evident in his eyes, as he struggled to find the words to respond. the king’s priority had always been tae, and now, in this moment of crisis, it was clearer than ever.

before namjoon could respond, tae stepped forward, still clad in his simpler attire, but with a regal bearing that could not be mistaken. “i’m here,” he said calmly, though there was a sharpness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. the king’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he immediately moved to embrace tae, his concern for mamjoon seemingly forgotten in the wake of his son’s safety. tae, however, held himself stiffly, his eyes flicking toward namjoon with an unreadable expression.

queen jinyoung, watching from a distance, felt her heart sink as she realized her carefully laid plans had been thwarted. the ceremony had been the perfect opportunity to eliminate taehyung, but now, it was clear that her plot had failed. worse, her eldest son had been implicated in the attempt on namjoon’s life. she knew there would be consequences, and the realization filled her with dread.

namjoon, his face pale from the loss of blood, suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the tension in the courtyard. “i’ll catch them,” he declared, his tone firm despite his injury. without waiting for permission or acknowledging the pain in his arm, he turned and began to walk away, his steps purposeful and determined.

“namjoon, wait—” taehyung called out, moving to follow, but the king grabbed his arm, holding him back. “no, taehyung,” the king said, his voice filled with urgency. “you can’t go after him. it’s too dangerous.” his eyes flashed with frustration, but he stopped in his tracks, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. he watched helplessly as namjoon continued on, his figure growing smaller as he disappeared into the palace corridors.

the city streets blurred past namjoon as he sprinted through the narrow alleys, his focus entirely on the figures moving with alarming speed across the rooftops. the assassins, their dark silhouettes stark against the night sky, seemed to dance effortlessly between the buildings, but namjoon was relentless. his breath came in sharp bursts, each exhale mixing with the cool night air as he pursued them with a single-minded determination.

his boots pounded against the cobblestones, his cloak billowing behind him like a dark specter in the night. the chase led him out of the city and into the dense woods that bordered the outskirts. the trees loomed tall and foreboding, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to ensnare the unwary. namjoon’s heart raced, adrenaline pumping as he navigated the underbrush, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his path.

he finally caught sight of the assassins again, their figures moving with purpose through the trees. his gaze locked onto one of them—a particularly formidable figure—whose sword gleamed ominously in the moonlight. with a burst of speed, he closed the distance, drawing his own sword with a metallic hiss. the confrontation was immediate and intense. the assassin met namjoon’s blade with a skilled parry, the clash of steel echoing through the woods. they circled each other, eyes locked, each strike and counterstrike a testament to their training and resolve. mamjoon’s movements were precise and calculated, each swing of his sword a carefully measured attack. the assassin, equally adept, responded with a series of fluid, almost graceful maneuvers, his own blade a deadly extension of his will. it was his lifeline, it was what his second family taught him to do. the rumor had long swept the palace that namjoon had hunted down every wolf in the area, and he only proved it to be true.

as they fought, you had been wandering through the woods, taking a break from your sightseeing. the peaceful silence of the forest had been disrupted by the sounds of the fierce battle, and curiosity had drawn you further into the woods. the clash of swords was soon replaced by more hushed, but still tense, sounds as you stumbled upon a secluded clearing.

there, hidden behind the trees, you watched in horror as a group of masked assassins gathered around a figure you recognized as prince chaehee. the assassins, their heads bowed in deference, stood in a semi-circle around him. his expression was cold and calculating as he surveyed the group, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless edge. with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the failed assassins, his voice a low murmur of disdain. the air grew tense, and you watched in growing dread as his guards stepped forward. without hesitation, the guards drew their blades and executed the failed assassins. the silent, efficient killings were over before you could fully process what was happening.

you gasped involuntarily, the sound escaping before you could stifle it. the noise was faint, but in the quiet of the night, it was enough. chaehee’s head snapped around, his eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the disturbance. panic surged through you, and you took a step back, trying to retreat quietly. you bolted, stumbling through the underbrush as fast as you could manage. the woods seemed to close in around you, branches snagging at your clothes as you fled.

namjoon had managed to subdue the assassin he was fighting. panting heavily, he pressed the blade of his sword against the assassin’s throat, his eyes cold and unyielding. “tell me who you’re working for,” he demanded, his voice a low growl. the assassin, still reeling from the fight, hesitated. namjoon’s grip was unrelenting, and the assassin’s eyes darted nervously. his eyes flicked towards the trees, sensing that something was off. just as the assassin seemed on the verge of breaking, you burst into the clearing, breathless and disheveled.

“help!” you gasped, staggering towards namjoon. “you don’t understand, i saw—” before you could finish, the assassin saw an opportunity. he grabbed you, holding his sword to your throat with a threatening snarl. namjoon’s eyes widened in shock, his blade momentarily faltering. namjoon’s expression hardened, and he raised his sword, pointing it directly at your face. the cold steel of the blade felt like a chilling weight on your skin, and you could see the glint of the edge as it pressed against your neck.

“please,” you begged, your voice trembling. “just let me go.” namjoon’s smirk was icy and detached. “one woman means nothing to me,” he said, his tone devoid of sympathy. “tell me what i want to know.”

the assassin wavered, his grip on the sword loosening slightly. namjoon’s gaze was steely, his resolve unshaken. he pressed the assassin further, his voice a harsh demand for the name. victory seemed close at hand when you took a desperate measure. with a burst of adrenaline, you bit the assassin’s hand, the sudden pain causing him to stagger back.

the assassin stumbled in fury, moving to strike you again. namjoon’s reaction was swift, but before he could intervene, a dagger flew through the air, embedding itself in the assassin’s head. the figure slumped to the ground, lifeless, as hansol stepped into view. his arrival was dramatic but unwelcome for namjoon. the older prince’s presence was a complication namjoon had not anticipated. his eyes flashed with anger as he turned to confront hansol.

“you ruined everything,” he snapped, his sword still pressed close to your bloody neck, grabbed you roughly, his expression a mixture of frustration and rage. “why did you have to interfere?”

hanaol’s eyes were sharp and unwavering as he faced namjoon. with a flick of his wrist, he drew his sword, pointing it menacingly at his neck. “let her go,” haneul ordered, his voice firm and commanding. namjoon’s gaze met his, and in a swift, fluid motion, he whirled to clash swords with him. the metal of their blades met with a resounding clash, sparks flying as they engaged in a tense duel. the forest seemed to hold its breath as the two princes fought, their movements a deadly ballet of skill and precision.

“why should i?” namjoon spat, his voice laced with frustration. “this woman cost me answers. i won’t let her go until i get what I need.”

the night air was still and heavy as you stood among the trees, the remnants of the chaotic battle echoing in the distance. namjoon’s grip was a vice around your throat, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disbelief. hansol, standing nearby, observed the scene with a stern expression. “you’re saying you saw a group of assassins being killed?” namjoon’s voice was a harsh whisper, his grip tightening as he tried to extract the truth from you. “by someone’s guards?”

you nodded frantically, trying to catch your breath. “yes, i swear. they were executed. i saw it happen.” namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “show us where.”

you led them through the woods, your heart pounding as you moved swiftly through the darkened paths. the eerie silence that followed was suffocating. when you finally arrived at the spot, the clearing was empty, devoid of any evidence of the massacre you had described. you looked around, your voice trembling. “i swear, it was here. they were killed by guards. i saw it with my own eyes.”

namjoon’s patience snapped. he grabbed you roughly by the neck, his face a mask of fury. “you’re lying,” he growled. “there’s nothing here.” fear surged through you, and you gasped for breath. “i’m not lying!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “i saw it. i swear i did.”

hansol had been the one examining the surroundings. his eyes caught a subtle detail on one of the trees—a patch of blood, faint but unmistakable. “look,” he said, pointing at the stain. “they were definitely here.”

namjoon’s grip on your neck loosened as he turned to inspect the bloody patch. His expression shifted from anger to contemplation. “so whoever killed them is the one who hired them,” he deduced. he turned back to you, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “what else did you see? who else was there?”

panic gripped you, and you shook your head frantically. “i couldn’t make out the face. It was too dark, too chaotic.” namjoon’s eyes flashed with anger once more. “you’re lying. i know you are. don't you know i'll kill you for it?”

the threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, and your sobs grew louder as the weight of his words sank in. “why are you so cruel?” you cried out, your voice cracking. “what have i done to deserve this?”

he seemed momentarily taken aback by your anguish. his expression softened ever so slightly, but his resolve remained firm. “you’re in my way,” he said coldly. “i need to solve this issue, and if you’re not helping, you’re a liability.”

through your sobs, a memory surfaced—a fleeting image of the killer. you recalled a detail that had seemed strange in the midst of the chaos. “he had fur on him,” you blurted out. “i saw fur. i don’t know whose it was, but there was fur.”

namjoon and hansol exchanged a look of recognition. they knew immediately who the fur might belong to. namjoon’s eyes widened with realization. “if you didn’t see his face, then we’re still dealing with a mystery, but that clue is crucial. i need to find him now.” without another word, he turned and sprinted back towards the city, his figure quickly disappearing into the night. you were left standing in the woods, your body trembling with sobs.

hansol, watching you from a distance, observed your emotional state with a mixture of curiosity and concern. he approached you slowly, his expression softening. despite the gravity of the situation, he found something oddly endearing in your distress. he hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and gently enveloped you in his arms. his embrace was warm and reassuring, a comforting contrast to the harshness you had just experienced. “it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice soothing. “you’ll be alright. i promise.”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his robes as you wept uncontrollably. hansol’s hand gently stroked your back, shushing you softly. “you did your best,” he said, his tone calming. “just try to stay calm. we’ll figure this out.” as the tears slowly subsided, you could feel haneul’s reassuring presence grounding you, offering a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil. the night continued to envelop the woods in its dark embrace, but for a moment, in his arms, you felt a fragile sense of security.

you woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows, a gentle warmth settling over you as you stirred from sleep. the sudden clatter of footsteps and the murmur of voices drew you from your dreams. you blinked groggily and found lady ja standing beside your bed, her face etched with concern. “wake up,” she said, her voice a mix of urgency and worry. “i’ve been looking for you. what happened to your neck?”

you touched the tender area where the assassin's blade had grazed you. “it’s nothing,” you assured her, offering a reassuring smile despite the sting. “i’m fine. it’s just a scratch.” she didn’t look entirely convinced but let it go, focusing instead on the bustle around her. the other maids were helping her sort through a collection of old gowns, meticulously folding and packing them.

“what’s all this for?” you asked, observing the activity with curiosity. “it’s for a donation,” lady ja explained, her tone carrying a hint of pride. “the king has these events from time to time, where old clothes are given to those in need. hansol goes to oversee the donations.”

you tilted your head, thinking. “does he go alone?” she nodded, confused. “yes, he usually does. why do you ask?” you shrugged. “i think you should go with him. it’s what husbands and wives do, isn’t it?” her eyes lit up with a soft smile. “is that so?”

you nodded enthusiastically. “of course. and if you want, i could even do your makeup for you. it would be my pleasure.” lady ja’s gratitude was evident in her eyes. “would you really? that would be wonderful.”

“absolutely,” you said, eager to help. you busied yourself with powders, oils, and brushes, working diligently to enhance her features. as you applied the makeup, you apologized for your lack of experience. “i’m not quite used to this yet. i hope it turns out alright.”

she seemed pleasantly surprised as you finished. “you did a marvelous job,” she said, taking the mirror you handed her. her eyes widened in amazement. “you’ve made me look so youthful.” you smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “i’m glad you like it. enjoy yourself today.”

to your surprise, she had other plans. “no, you should come with me. i’d like your company.”

you both ventured out together, joining the others in distributing food to the children. from a distance, hansol observed you with a warm, approving smile. the scene was bustling with activity. you were handing out treats to the eager children when a small altercation caught your attention. one of the boys snatched a treat from his friend’s hand and dashed off, leaving his friend in tears.

without hesitation, you pursued the boy, your heart pounding as you caught up to him. you knelt to his level, pinching his cheek gently. “is it okay to steal from a friend?” you asked softly. the boy shook his head, eyes wide with remorse. “then,” you said with a smile, “how about we make a deal? if you give the treat back, i’ll give you both two each.” the boy’s face brightened as he returned the stolen treat. you handed out the additional treats, and the children’s smiles returned. lady ja watched, her eyes filled with admiration, while hansol’s smile broadened. the scene was one of simple joy, and it seemed to resonate deeply with both of them.

you found chayeon in the corridor, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with your rising panic. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you approached her. “chayeon,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “what’s the punishment for hitting a prince? is it severe?” she glanced up from her tasks, a hint of discomfort in her eyes. “it’s not something to take lightly,” she said vaguely, her tone evasive. “it could be quite serious.”

before you could probe further, the clatter of footsteps and the sight of two guards alerted you to prince baekhyun’s arrival. he climbed the stairs with an air of authority, his gaze fixed on you.

“you should show more gratitude,” he said as he approached, his tone unexpectedly light. you blinked, confused. “gratitude for what?”

his expression shifted awkwardly. “i had to beg the king to let you go unpunished.” you were taken aback by his unexpected revelation. “why would you do that?”

baekhyun hesitated, unable to find the right words. the silence stretched between you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his actions stemmed from something more personal. the thought that he might be harboring feelings for you crossed your mind, but he remained tight-lipped. before you could voice your curiosity, you gave a sincere, “thank you.”

you turned to leave, but sang’s voice halted you. “wait,” he called, his tone shifting to something more casual. “you should repay me for this favor.”

you arched an eyebrow. “repay you how?” baekhyun’s gaze softened slightly, though he still maintained his composure. “i want to see you at least once a day, every day.”

a laugh bubbled from your lips, both relieved and amused. “that’s the least i can do,” you said, beginning to walk away. “consider this our first day,” he called after you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. with a final nod, you walked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and curiosity about the new arrangement.

the night was cloaked in darkness as namjoon raced through the narrow, twisting paths leading to the hidden temple. his breath came in ragged bursts, the cold night air stinging his lungs as he pushed his horse to its limits. the news of the renounced monks taking refuge in an isolated temple had reached him in the midst of the chaos, and he knew he had to act swiftly. the steep, rocky hillside loomed ahead, its shadowed contours barely discernible against the moonlit sky.

the temple was perched precariously at the top of the hill, its ancient stone walls weathered and worn. as he approached, he could see the flickering glow of torches from within the temple's crumbling walls. he dismounted swiftly, drawing his sword as he climbed the final ascent. his mind raced with thoughts of the assassins who had attacked him, their inability to speak striking him as odd. he recalled tales of monks who had their tongues cut out as punishment, their silence a symbol of their penance.

reaching the temple, he found the entrance unguarded, the heavy wooden doors hanging loosely on their hinges. the interior was dimly lit by a few scattered torches, their light casting eerie shadows on the cracked and crumbling walls. the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and incense, a remnant of long-forgotten rituals. the temple seemed abandoned, but an unsettling sensation of being watched prickled at the back of his neck.

he closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the subtle sounds around him. the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of wooden beams, and the whisper of unseen movements made his senses keenly aware. suddenly, a figure lunged at him from the darkness, a dagger gleaming in the dim light. instinctively, namjoon deflected the attack with his sword, the blade clashing with metal. he spun around, narrowly avoiding a thrust from a spear, and with a swift and decisive motion, cut down the attacker.

the clamor of combat erupted as more figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding namjoon. he fought with a fierce determination, his movements fluid and precise. his sword sliced through the air, each strike calculated and deadly. the attackers were relentless, but namjoon’s skill was unmatched. he dispatched the first wave of opponents with ruthless efficiency, their bodies falling to the ground as he pressed on.

“where is your leader?” he demanded, his voice cold and commanding. when he received no reply, he growled in frustration. “is there no one here who can speak?” a burly man, his face concealed by a demon mask, charged at him. with a practiced swing, namjoon cut the man’s throat, the blood spraying in a grotesque arc. the temple’s interior was now a scene of carnage, the floor slick with blood and littered with the fallen bodies of the monks. namjoon’s sword flashed through the darkness, his movements a deadly dance of precision and power.

the fight was brutal, each clash of steel and every cry of pain adding to the growing chaos. namjoon’s dexterity with both the long sword and short dagger was apparent, his skill honed through years of training and combat. the battle seemed to stretch on endlessly, but namjoon’s resolve never wavered. his efficiency was such that within minutes, the last of the monks lay defeated on the cold stone floor.

the silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of flames. namjoon stood alone amid the carnage, his breath coming in heavy, labored gasps. just then, the doors to a nearby building burst open with a deafening crash, and a lone monk stepped out, his eyes cold and calculating. he bowed to namjoon, his expression inscrutable.

“are you the one responsible for this?” namjoon asked, his voice laced with steel. the monk’s gaze was unwavering. “these men had their tongues removed as punishment for their grave sins,” he said. “i have looked after them.”

namjoon’s face hardened. “then all i have to do is get rid of you.” the monk’s eyes flickered with a hint of something—fear, perhaps. “for whom are you doing this?” he asked. “does your mother know?”

namjoon’s smile was cold and dangerous. “a place of no speech, yet someone here has a lot of words,” he replied. he raised his sword, the blade gleaming in the flickering light. “you’ll die for her sake.” the monk’s defense was swift but ultimately futile. namjoon’s first blow was deflected, but he pressed on with a series of quick, lethal slashes. the monk fell to the ground, the life draining from him as namjoon’s sword pierced his gut. as the man gurgled out his final breaths, namjoon leaned in close, his voice a deadly whisper. “you’ve lived off the queen, so now you die for her.”

with that, namjoon turned and walked away, the weight of his bloody sword heavy in his hand. the temple was already beginning to burn, the flames consuming the ancient structure in a brilliant, destructive blaze. the night was filled with the crackling of fire and the distant wail of sirens as he made his way down the hillside. as he staggered away from the burning temple, the sight of the inferno lighting up the dark sky, he found himself near the palace. his heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. he needed to confront his mother, to make her understand the cost of her machinations.

in the dead of night, he slipped into the palace unnoticed, his steps silent on the cold marble floors. he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors until he reached queen jiyoung’s chambers. the door was slightly ajar, and he could see the queen sleeping soundly within. without hesitation, namjoon pushed the door open and stepped inside. his bloodied sword still dripping, he approached the bed where his mother lay. queen jiyoung stirred, her eyes opening in shock as she saw the figure looming over her. she shrank back, her face a mask of fear.

namjoon’s smile was a mix of sadness and resolve. “you will remember this night,” he said softly, his voice carrying a bitter edge. “you abandoned me, but i shall not leave. i ask only that you see me.”

the night air was still, heavy with the smoke from the burning temple. namjoon, covered in blood and soot, wandered through the quiet, his mind a tumultuous storm of rage and pain. his steps led him to a small, serene area by a river, where prayer stones were meticulously stacked by mothers who sought divine protection for their children. the sight of these humble offerings, imbued with the hopes and fears of countless families, was like a cruel reminder of the normalcy and peace he had been denied.

with a sudden, violent motion, he lashed out at the prayer stones. his sword, still slick with the blood of the monks, sliced through the air and sent a stack of stones toppling over. they tumbled and scattered across the ground, the delicate balance of their arrangement shattered. his face twisted into a mask of fury as he watched the chaos he had wrought, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

you had been trailing on a path of your own, yet his distress and desperation were in reach. as you saw the destruction and the storm of emotions on namjoon's face, you rushed forward to try and stop him. but as you neared, he turned and roughly shoved you away, his strength surprising and painful. you stumbled, barely catching yourself as you fell to the ground. when you looked down, your hands were smeared with the remnants of the toppled stones and, to your horror, the blood that had transferred from his.

hia laughter came out in a jagged burst, a chilling sound that reverberated through the night. “it’s the blood of those i killed today,” he declared, his voice a mix of derision and anguish. he looked at you with a wild, unhinged expression, his eyes alight with a manic energy. the laughter died in his throat as he glared at you, his anger and despair mingling in a volatile mix.

“why do you even care about these prayer stones?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space. “my mother shouldn’t be here praying. she should come to me and beg for mercy instead.”

you tried to hold him back, your voice trembling but resolute. “you’re injured,” you said, hoping to redirect his attention. you meant his hand, which was gripping the sword with a force that must have caused him pain. but instead of heeding your concern, namjoon grabbed you by the collar, his grip tight and unyielding. his eyes, though fierce, held a flicker of surprise at your lack of fear.

“i told you,” he warned, his voice low and intense, “i killed people.” his words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze with calm understanding rather than the fear he seemed to expect. you did not flinch or recoil but remained steady, sensing the torment within him.

“i understand,” you said softly. “tell me what happened. why did you do it?”

the vulnerability in your tone seemed to reach him, and for a moment, his fierce grip loosened. he stared at you, confusion and a touch of something like relief crossing his features. he shook his head, as if trying to dispel the emotions swirling within him. “go,” he said, his voice cracking. “you don’t need to be here.”

but you stood firm. “no,” you said. “i understand more than you think. you grew up in a world where wielding a sword was a necessity, where killing was not a choice but a survival tactic. what you did today—what you’ve done—was driven by what you were taught.”

namjoon’s face was a mask of conflicted emotions, his eyes searching yours for judgment or pity. instead, he found only empathy. “but what can you do?” you continued, your voice steady and kind. “what can anyone do in a world like this? you must be feeling so miserable right now. i think i understand.”

his grip on your collar finally released, and you took a step back, giving him space. he remained where he was, his body slumped slightly as if the weight of his actions was beginning to sink in. he stared at the scattered prayer stones, his breathing ragged and uneven. you turned and began to walk away, leaving him to grapple with his grief and anger amidst the ruins of the prayer offerings. the night air was cool against your face, and the distant sounds of the village were muted. as you walked away, you glanced back once, seeing namjoon standing alone in the moonlight, the broken stones a mere reminder of the cost of his struggles.

the punishment for namjoon’s reckless act of burning down the temple had been swift and severe. though his role in thwarting the assassination attempt had earned him some leniency, the king had ordered him to be isolated from the other princes for a time—enough to reflect on his actions and the consequences they might have had. he had fulfilled his promise and did all he could to protect tae, which did not go unnoticed. he was given the right to stay. in fact, he was given the right to stay at the palace, but with rewards came consequences. he was to remain confined to a small, remote building on the palace grounds, away from the eyes of the court and the whispers that followed his every move.

the morning had been uneventful, a silence hanging heavy in the air as namjoon spent his hours alone, the weight of solitude pressing down on him. the palace, so full of life and noise, felt a world away from where he now sat, by the stream that bordered the isolated quarters. the water moved slowly, mirroring his own sluggish thoughts as he stared into the distance, lost in the turmoil of his mind.

inside the palace, the maids were gathered in a small cluster, their voices low but urgent as they debated amongst themselves. “i’m not going,” one of them whispered harshly. “i heard what he did. he’s dangerous.” another shook her head, her hands trembling as she twisted the fabric of her apron. “but someone has to take him his lunch. he hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

“then you take it,” the first maid retorted, crossing her arms defiantly. “i’m not risking my life.”

“i’ll go.” the maids turned, surprised at the sound of your voice. you stood at the edge of the group, having overheard their conversation as you approached. your expression was calm, resolute, as you looked at the tray of food they were hesitating over. “i’ll take it to him,” you repeated, stepping forward and reaching for the tray. the maids exchanged uneasy glances but made no move to stop you.

“are you sure, my lady?” chaeyeon asked, her voice laced with doubt. “they say he’s not right in the head after what happened.” you met her gaze steadily. “i’m sure.”

with the tray in hand, you made your way to the stream, your footsteps light and measured. the closer you got to namjoon’s solitary retreat, the more you could feel the tension in the air, like the calm before a storm. you found him sitting at the very end of the stream, where the water pooled in a small, quiet basin before continuing its journey downstream. he was alone, as you had expected, his figure tense as he sat with his back to you, staring into the distance.

for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if he had heard you approach. but then you gathered your resolve, stepping forward and setting the tray down on the ground beside him. the sound of the plate touching the stone was a soft, delicate clink that seemed to echo in the silence. “eat while it’s warm,” you said gently, your voice breaking the quiet.

namjoon didn’t respond, didn’t even turn to look at you. his silence was heavy, but you could sense the conflict within him, the battle between pride and despair waging just beneath the surface. you turned to leave, respecting his need for solitude, but as you took a step back, something stopped you. a frown creased your brow, and before you could think better of it, you sat back down beside him. the water flowed softly beside you, a soothing presence amidst the tension.

“i won’t say a word about what i saw,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the stream. you didn’t need to elaborate; you both knew what you were referring to—the prayer stones, his confession, the blood on your hands. namjoon finally turned to you, his eyes dark and intense as they searched your face. “i know,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.

you tilted your head slightly, studying him. “how do you know? because you’ll kill me if i do?” to your surprise, namjoon’s lips curved into a small, almost incredulous smile. it was the first sign of softness you had seen from him since your encounter by the prayer stones.

“i can’t believe you’re not afraid of me,” he said, a hint of wonder in his tone. there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you, as if he couldn’t quite understand why you weren’t running from him like the others. you returned his smile, though yours was softer, more reassuring. “why would i be afraid of you?”

namjoon’s gaze faltered, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. “you saw me without my mask,” he began, his voice tinged with a sadness that made your heart ache, “you should be afraid of an ugly face like that.” you shook your head, your expression earnest. “i could never be afraid of you,” you said softly, the sincerity in your voice undeniable. “besides, you were never ugly.”

the silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions, the air around you charged with the weight of what wasn’t said. namjoon studied you, as if searching for any hint of deceit in your words, but finding none. then, as if realizing the futility of his own brooding, he released a small sigh. “you should go,” he said, though there was no force behind his words. “this isn’t a place for you.”

you forced yourself to feign seriousness, though your heart ached for him. “eat the food,” you said, trying to bring some normalcy back to the moment. “i have to take the plates back.” his lips twitched into a faint smile, the closest thing to real warmth you had seen from him in a long while. “all right,” he conceded, reaching for the plate. you watched as he began to eat, your heart heavy with the knowledge of his pain, but also with a sense of hope that led him to think that he wasn’t as alone as he felt.

lady ja lay in her bed, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps as the illness that had ravaged her body slowly drained the life from her. the once vibrant, commanding presence of the lady of the house was now reduced to a frail figure, barely recognizable beneath layers of quilts. her face, once full of warmth and intelligence, was pale, her skin translucent like fragile porcelain, and her eyes were dull, clouded with the pain she could no longer voice.

beside her, hansol knelt, his tall frame bent low as he held her hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they clasped hers. he had seen her strength, her will to survive, but now all of that was slipping away, and he was powerless to stop it. the room was dim, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls, as if the darkness itself was encroaching upon her. “my lady, please hold on,” he whispered, his voice thick with the desperation he could no longer contain. he squeezed her hand gently, trying to offer her whatever strength he had left. the weight of what was happening, of what he was about to lose, pressed down on him like an unbearable burden.

lady ja’s lips curled into a weak smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as she gazed at him with a mixture of tenderness and resignation. “your highness,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room. “i know you don’t love me.”

her words struck him worse than a physical blow, and his eyes widened in shock, tears welling up and spilling over before he could stop them. he opened his mouth to protest, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in his throat, choking him with their falseness. he couldn’t lie to her, not now, not in those final moments. seeing the truth in his eyes, lady ja’s smile grew sadder, her hand—a mere shadow of its former strength—reached up to brush a stray tear from his cheek. the touch was feather-light, but it burned with the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

“i’ve seen the way you look at her,” she continued, her tone gentle, free of any bitterness or accusation. “i know you’ve grown to care for her.” haneul’s chest tightened painfully, guilt and sorrow warring within him as he struggled to keep his composure. the truth in her words was undeniable, and it tore at him to know that she had been aware of it, even as she lay dying.

“take care of her,” lady ja whispered, her voice growing weaker with each word, as though even speaking was now too great an effort. “If you can, marry her.”

the tears flowed freely now, silent but unrelenting, as hansol held her hand, feeling the life slipping away from her with each passing second. her breathing grew fainter, her chest rising and falling in a barely perceptible rhythm until, finally, it stopped altogether. her eyes fluttered shut, the last remnants of life leaving them as she passed into the silence that awaited her. for a moment, hansol was frozen, his mind struggling to comprehend that she was gone. the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the world itself had paused in reverence of her passing. he leaned over her, pressing her hand to his lips, the weight of his grief pressing him down until it felt as though he might be crushed beneath it.

it was then that you entered the room, returning home after what you had expected to be just another day. you stopped short in the doorway, your eyes landing on the scene before you—lady ja’s lifeless form on the bed, hansol hunched over her, tears staining his cheeks. panic surged through you, a cold, sharp terror that clawed at your chest and left you gasping for breath. the sobs began to tear from your throat uncontrollably, your mind refusing to accept what your eyes were seeing. you stumbled forward, your hands reaching out as if to pull her back from the brink, to undo what had already been done.

hansol turned at the sound of your cries, his expression weary and etched with sorrow, but there was something else there too—a deep, all-consuming sadness that made your heart ache. his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he spoke to you. “be quiet,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm, the words laden with a grief that was beyond anything you could imagine. “let’s not wake my wife.”

the absurdity of his request, of the idea that she could be woken, struck you like a physical blow, and for a moment, you stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief. the reality of the situation, the finality of her death, slowly sank in, and the sobs caught in your throat, leaving you breathless and trembling. you collapsed to your knees beside the bed, your hands covering your face as you wept, the sound muffled but filled with a raw, unfiltered pain that echoed through the room. hansol remained by lady ja’s side, his hand still holding hers, as he watched you with a look of profound sorrow. there were no words left to say, nothing that could ease the pain or make the loss any less devastating.

lady ja’s funeral was a somber affair, the sky overcast and heavy with unshed rain, as if the heavens themselves mourned her passing. the courtyard was filled with mourners, all dressed in white, the traditional color of mourning. the air was thick with the scent of incense, its curling tendrils rising like prayers to the gods above, carrying with them the sorrow and grief of those left behind. you stood among the sea of mourners, your heart a leaden weight in your chest, eyes fixed on the simple wooden casket that held lady ja’s body. it was adorned with white lilies, their delicate petals trembling in the light breeze, a cold contrast to the cold, unyielding wood that now encased her. the image of her peaceful face, so serene in death, was etched into your mind, and the tears you had fought so hard to contain began to blur your vision.

beside you, hansol was a figure of quiet devastation. his usually composed demeanor had crumbled in the face of such overwhelming loss. his eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, were fixed on the casket, his hand gripping yours with a desperation that belied his outward composure. you could feel the tremors that ran through him, the silent sobs that shook his frame as he struggled to keep his grief in check. chaeyeon stood on his other side, her small frame trembling with barely restrained emotion. her usually bright eyes were dulled with sorrow, and she clutched a small white flower in her hands, her knuckles white from the intensity of her grip. her gaze never left lady ja’s casket, and you could see the tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving glistening tracks in their wake. she had been so close to her, and now the loss of her was a wound that would take a long time to heal.

the princes had gathered as well, all of them standing in a line of solemnity. each one wore the same expression of respect and sorrow, but there was something different about the thirteenth prince, younghyun. his usually vibrant, youthful face was marred with an anguish that went beyond the collective grief of the others. his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, and you noticed how he seemed to shy away from the others, as though the weight of his emotions was too much to bear.

the ceremony passed in a blur, the priest’s words of blessing and farewell barely registering in your mind. all you could focus on was the sight of lady ja’s casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground, the finality of it hitting you with a force that nearly brought you to your knees. hansol squeezed your hand harder, as though grounding himself through your presence, and you held on just as tightly, a silent promise that you would face this together.

after the ceremony, the crowd began to disperse, each mourner paying their final respects before departing. you saw younghyun slip away from the others, his shoulders hunched, and you felt an urge to follow him. something about the way he carried himself, the way his steps faltered, tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t leave him to his grief alone.

you found him sitting on the stone steps that led to the courtyard, his face buried in his hands. his shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, and you hesitated for a moment before approaching, unsure of what to say. the last thing you wanted was to intrude on his pain, but you couldn’t stand to see him suffer alone.

“your highness,” you called softly, your voice gentle as you took a seat beside him. he didn’t look up, but his sobs quieted slightly, as though your presence alone was enough to offer some small comfort. “what’s the matter?” you asked, keeping your tone soft, hoping to coax him into opening up.

when he finally looked at you, his face was tear-streaked, his eyes red and puffy from crying. “i loved her,” he confessed, his voice breaking on the last word. you nodded, understanding the depth of his pain. “we all did,” you said, your voice filled with the same sorrow that weighed on your heart.

but he shook his head, his expression filled with a sorrow that went deeper than mere grief. “no,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “she was my first love.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to him, your frown deepening in confusion. “why didn’t it work out?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

younghyun let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound rough and full of pain. “because hansol had her heart from the start,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. “no matter how hard i tried, no matter how much i loved her, she was always his.” his words struck you like a blow, and you felt your heart ache for him, for the love that he had never been able to claim. he had loved her so deeply, and yet it had never been enough to win her heart.

he turned to you, his gaze filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart clench. “she said i reminded her of you,” he said, his voice breaking once more. a tear slipped down your cheek, the weight of his words hitting you with a force you hadn’t expected. you reached out, placing a comforting hand on his, and he grasped it desperately, as though it were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

“she would have given you a chance if she had known,” you said softly, your voice filled with the sincerity of your words. you believed that, in another time, another place, lady ja might have seen the love that younghyun held for her, and perhaps things would have been different. he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment before he released it, letting out a shuddering breath. he was silent for a long time after that, lost in his thoughts, and you stayed beside him, offering what comfort you could with your presence.

eventually, you knew you had to return to hansol’s place, to be there for him in his time of grief. you rose from the steps, giving kyeom one last look of understanding before you turned to leave. as you walked back, your mind heavy with the events of the day, you were suddenly stopped in your tracks when a hand was clamped over your mouth.

panic surged through you, your eyes widening in fear as you screamed, the sound muffled by the hand that held you. you thrashed violently, struggling to break free, but strong arms held you fast, lifting you off your feet. you were thrown onto a horse, the guards surrounding you offering no explanation as they forced you into the saddle. your heart pounded in your chest, terror gripping you as you were carried away, the familiar surroundings of the courtyard disappearing behind you. the ride to the palace was a blur of fear and confusion. you tried to make sense of what was happening, why you were being taken in such a manner, but your mind was too clouded with panic to think clearly.

when you finally arrived, you were still thrashing, your attempts to escape growing more desperate as they dragged you inside. the guards were silent, their faces expressionless as they hauled you into the grand hall where king taejo sat upon his throne, his gaze cold and calculating as he watched your approach. you forced yourself to bow, your mind racing with fear and confusion. “your majesty,” you stammered, struggling to keep your voice steady. “what is it that you needed?”

king taejo rose from his throne, his presence commanding and intimidating. he stepped down from the dais, his gaze never leaving yours as he approached, the weight of his authority pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“i’m glad you asked,” he said, his voice smooth, almost pleasant, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. you locked eyes with him, your fear growing with each passing second as he came to a stop before you. there was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that made your blood run cold.

“you will become my wife tonight,” he declared, his voice firm and unyielding.

the words hit you like a physical blow, your mind reeling in shock and horror. you had never imagined this, never considered that such a fate would befall you. the reality of it crashed down on you, a wave of dread that left you trembling. but there was no escape, no way to refuse. you were trapped, a pawn in the king’s game, and the realization of it was more terrifying than anything you had ever faced before.

✧.*

a/n: this will take a while since this is based on scarlet heart and ts has like 20 episodes

[https-ivy]

Vestiges Of You.

Aventurine x fem! reader; not proofread, this was supposed to be a 300 words drabble lmao?? wordcount; 804.

everything i feel returns to you somehow, consuming me to the core, i'll be gone by midnight; goodbye.

There is a bit of you at the beach.

Aventurine gazes whilst the sun gradually inches down, orange in hue, it mildly kisses the horizon; two souls intertwined. Standing on top of a building in the city, a March spring breeze wafts past him, and the smell of oleanders trails it.

The scene is familiar, to a distant one on the beach. The solitude, the oleanders you used to grow, the sun cozily inching down your wall, the ripples of the waves against the shore, the medley accompanying it, as you pluck the strings with a plectrum, pressing strings against frets with your opposite hand simultaneously.

Your black cat leaps on his lap, it purrs against his stomach, and he strokes it.

‘remember when we first met?’ you pause. ‘we had plenty to discuss. Now, only silence remains…’

‘you know,’ you continue. ‘I guess, the moral of time, is that… you never became jaded by my presence; our meaningless conversations, or this comfortable silence.’

Aventurine does not reply. He merely grabs your hand, and squeezes it reassuringly, pulls it towards his lips as he plants a kiss.

There is a bit of you in April.

Your window flung open, the breeze emerging in carries a scent of peach, a warm sun beams at your back, at your oil paint-stained white shirt. The neighbourhood is extremely quiet, everyone’s inside their home, with fans nudging the cool air at their faces.

‘don’t you feel like going back inside yet? It’s hot,’ Aventurine starts. He anticipates a response from an instance, but you appeared rather too resolute on your painting—it was of an orchard of apricot trees, the leaves and branches shimmering with heat-haze.

‘I don’t think so, I’ll finish this one first,’ you mutter, cautiously painting a cloud. ‘I love April. In it, my ideas are always inventive, sharp, and tender. Do you get it?’

Aventurine hums as he nods. His gaze wanders off toward the market nearby—a mother with brown sunglasses on exits with her young child, who’s wailing. ‘Icecream?’

‘Yeah, vanilla flavour please.’

There is a bit of you in black polished heels.

‘I’ve always loved the sound of heels against the flooring,’ you mutter, bending over as you tie the ankle straps of the heels—black, polished leather; a gift from Aventurine. When you’re done, you tap continually on the floor, and it sounds akin to an exaggerated film soundtrack. ‘it sounds like learning to walk away, from what was never mine to ever have…’

Aventurine raises a brow, ‘did you have a tough past?’

‘Partially, though what am I if not a little hardship? Which reminds me, you never told me much about your past…?’

He offers a half-hearted smile, as he averts his gaze. ‘…The heels suit you, are you sure they are your size?’ ( I apologize; I don’t want to bring it up, I don’t want you to pity me. )

‘Yeah…’ you half-heartedly mutter, removing the heels. ( do you not trust me? )

There is a bit of you in his muddy teacup.

‘Regrets,’ you mumble over the counter. Aventurine stares as you fiddle with your teaspoon—like lifting the world’s edge, like unravelling its threads, apathetically, perfunctorily. His teacup simply lies before him, long cold, and muddy-looking. ‘I have many… so do you.’

A train passes over the railings nearby, quick against the steel, unlike your stagnant manoeuvres, followed by a mysterious silence of what hangs in the atmosphere, and remains unspoken. ‘are you not exhausted of lying?’

‘I never lied to you about a single thing,’ he replies.

‘But you don’t trust me, with anything, at all— regardless of who is in your life, you still seem to have the same disgusting thoughts about yourself; it never stops, it never goes away. I wish I could…’ You place the teaspoon down, the tone of your voice gradually creaking. ‘Take away your blues. I have.. many selfless wishes for you. I wish you would take care of yourself, I wish you would cherish every instant of this ephemeral lifetime, I wish you would relinquish the past; that was then, this is now. Yet you’ve always been a bitter man, and it makes me bitter, too. I hope you will understand, that is all I have to say…’

Reality begins to melt away, in the darkness, akin to a candle’s wax, in the heat of a flame. Everything feels as if it occurred a long time ago, in a far-off world, out of reach. Or, is it occurring in the future, in an alternative far-off world?

( have you seen my lover? The one that owned the beach, April’s beauty, the black leather heels I purchased, my muddy teacup, my dreams, my heart? )

There is a bit of you in all he is.

ironvy, 2024. do not copy, share, repost, or re-upload my work on any website without prior consent.

[raapija]

Xan we get anything slightly angsty from the pookie au 🥺 theyre too content

Thank you for the prompt <3 I'm sorry for the late response. The amount of times I've started to write something, deleted it, started again, deleted, started, deleted... ugh... But now I've finally settled for this. I struggle to write angsty stuff, but I hope you like this one. It became a lot sadder than I anticipated...

This is inspired by this post, so give it a quick glance before reading.

this is set in 2020

summary: Lance calls Fernando after a tough day and it turns even worse.

warnings: angst, self-doubt, lance having a breakdown and fernando not helping

Lance sat on the edge of his bed. The clock on his hotel room wall was too loud. It made his ears tingle with each tick, driving him mad. He got up, went to pick the clock off the wall and pulled the batteries out. He carefully laid them onto a small table and then returned to sit on the bed, now cross-legged and looking down at his phone.

The black screen of his iphone taunted him, begged for him to pick it up. It was beautifully laid on the red satin cover of the bed. Lance fought between calling and not calling. Maybe he should just go for a run to clear his mind, but the idea of hearing Fernando's voice... He needed it right now. The race had been a total fluke, finishing dead last and he had rushed through the media pen to get back to his hotel. Everyone was staring at him again.

Lance grabbed the phone, taking a while before unlocking the screen and going to find Fernando's number. It was under 'Nano ♥', like it had been for years. The emoji at the end pulled on his heartstrings.

"Cariño?"

Lance sighed when he heard Fernando pick up.

"Lancito? You okay?"

"Yeah, uh..." Lance hurried to answer. He picked on a loose thread on a seam on his joggers. The words were harder to find than usual.

"I miss you." he got out. He let his head hang down, gripping his hair and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I miss you too, baby."

"I love you." Lance added, his voice barely audible. Tears started to fall down, staining the satin under him a dark shade of burgundy. He gripped his hair tighter, so hard it hurt.

"Yo también te quiero, cariño."

Fernando's voice was so smooth, so calm. A stark contrast to Lance's sobbing, which became louder and he had to hold a hand over his mouth to keep them inside.

"Don't cry. I hate hearing you cry."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry either."

"I'm sorry..." Lance whispered. He was always apologizing. Whatever it was. Especially to Fernando.

"What is it, churri? What is making you sad?"

"I had a bad race. They're writing stories about me again."

"Don't look at those. They don't know you."

"I feel like everyone's staring at me. Like they hate me."

"That's not true."

Lance wiped the tears off his face, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down. He sniffled, and then continued: "I know it's not true, but everyone else doesn't. My family, my friends, the guys on the grid... To them that's real."

"No, don't think like that. Your family loves you, your friends love you. I love you."

The word 'love' was losing meaning over distant phone calls. Lance hated it, hated it to his core. He wished Fernando would just come back and hold him. Touch him. Even be there to just look at him.

"Where are you right now?" Lance asked. He knew Fernando was in the Middle-East, doing some sort of a rally raid. He had so many things going on, that Lance struggled to keep up. It felt like Fernando was grabbing at everything he possibly could, finding ways to keep himself occupied instead of coming home, instead of staying still.

"Somewhere, always somewhere."

"But never here."

Lance felt like choking again. He missed him. Missed him so much it was killing him, tearing him apart. If he had known love could hurt you this much, he would've never let himself fall for Fernando.

"I'm tired of being in love and being alone."

"It's okay, I'll find you again."

"But you're so far away from me. You're always away. And I'm always alone."

"I love you, I'm coming back, lo prometo. Te amo."

Again. Love, love, love, echoing in Lance's ears. Two years. Two years Fernando had been away. They saw each other maybe once a month.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to wait."

There was a pause in Fernando's end, then a sigh, and Lance felt the tears start to well up in his eyes again.

"I'm trying."

"I need you."

"Cariño, I'm sorry. I promise I find a way back."

Empty promises. Fernando's specialty. Lance wanted to stab at him, right in the heart. A new emotion took over, anger.

"You sons miss you, too. Lando, Oscar and Carlos."

Another pause. His kids were always a way in. Lance took it as a chance to take control.

"You were there for all their life and then you go away like this. Why? Why now? You hold everyone together and now it's all falling apart. You say you love me, but you're never here to love me. You're away so much, it doesn't even feel like we're together anymore. Why?"

"I don't know..."

"Figure it out!" Lance cried. What he was about to say next tortured him, it felt like his soul was being ripped out of him. "I can't live like this. I've given you three years and you've given me nothing. Every day you just go further and further away. Like you want me to leave you."

"No. Never."

"It's what it feels like..." Lance choked out. He didn't even try to keep the tears in anymore. He was too tired of it all.

"You can not leave me. I love you. I find a way, I promise. Lance, you can't."

Lance gave out a pained groan at Fernando's pleading voice. He wanted to throw his phone at the wall. Wanted to scream at Fernando, hit him, kick him, make him understand how much it hurt.

"It's killing me. I give you chance after fucking chance. I'm done with it. I'll only give you one more. One more fucking... -If you don't come back, that's it. I won't ruin my whole life for you."

"I will."

"One chance."

"I promise, I will come to you. Lance, I promise. I lo-"

Lance hung up on him, gripping his phone tight and swinging his arm back to throw it, but he didn't. He instead crumbled down onto the bed, crying into the sheets. He wrapped his arms around himself to imagine it was someone else holding him.

Lance wanted him to come back, to knock on his door in the morning and hug him and kiss him. But a small part of him also wanted Fernando to stay away. That small part ate at him, growing bigger and bigger. Lance wanted to kill it; burn it with fire and never think of it ever again. But it became stronger every day, almost enough that it could take over. Only Fernando could make it go away. If he'd only come back.

[the-daiz]

#1— fool me once again

—Angstober day 1: Again

Pairing; Speed-o’-sound Sonic x reader

Warning(s); self-sabotage, unhealthy attachments

Synopsis; He’s always in conflict with himself, between staying and leaving, breaking your heart and caressing it. Either way, you’ll allow him to.

✎Word count; 1.1k

♪ Playlist; Again & Again || A loving feeling

A/N; happy 1st angstober day ;) I love writing angst. But anyhow, Sonic is maybeee a bit ooc

You were an eyesore.

Disgusting, vulnerable, weak, and pathetic. You were everything wrong in this world. Every single flaw that someone could possess you had it, and Speed-of-sound Sonic could do nothing but snarl at its hideous embodiment.

The recoil in his gut intensifies with every glance you give him, and the revulsion in his head yells louder at every smile you offer.

And with your touch, he wants to tear at his skin, the skin soiled by your crud.

But with your everything, he succumbs again, and yet again to the overwhelming spell you've embroiled him in.

And every time, he holds onto it, holds onto you. Loves, cherishes, adores, and promises the better of him.

You were perfect. How could a being be so entrancing in every sense? Your looks, your voice, your strength, and the beauty within you that roamed your presence like an ensnaring scent, how could it be real?

Another night beside you. Another night where the turn of your lips lock onto him. Another night he rests into a soft quiet, and he can love with no regrets.

As soon as that night passes, he is overwhelmed by loathing, at himself and you.

He doesn't want to be this close. He can't be. Letting himself swim in this soft— vulnerable feeling of 'love' made his insides churn with conflict.

And again he'll break his promise and leave for a week or two or however long he can keep himself hauled far away from your skin.

He doesn't care. That's what he tells himself. Despite the jittering within him that doesn't quiet unless in your presence. Despite the ache in his heart that cracks him every time he can make out the despair in your features. Even though every time he says he'll never come back again, that he won't let your filth taint his dignity any longer, he always finds himself being drawn back to you.

And you'll wait for him patiently. Just as you had waited before.

Again you sit in your balcony, the soft breeze of the cool night brushing past you. Your gaze is distant, absent, as your thoughts consume you. How many nights have you sat here, the sorrow in you palpable and the void in you deepening?

You allow yourself to be mistreated, manipulated, and used by that man, depriving yourself of sleep and an appetite just because of the yearning that is never satisfied without him.

Why him? You pondered. Why is the one thing that you love more than anything— why the fuck was it that bastard? Why couldn't your brain choose something else? Something truthful?

"Fuck you."

"Y/n-"

"Why can't you just leave long enough for me to forget you?" You turn away from him and storm into your home, your face twisted in utter hurt and frustration.

"I'm sorry." Sonic apologizes. He suddenly appeared before you and you stumbled back a step as you bumped into him. He tries to hold you by your sides to steady you but you push his arms away.

Damn his speed.

"Like last time?" You hiss, watching his face remain still to the familiar insults. "You're always sorry."

"I meant them all." His brows furrow.

"And how does that help me?" You retort, a resigned laugh mixing with your sentence. You sucked in a shaking breath and placed your hand over your eyes. "I don't—"

His palm clamped around your wrist, softly prying your fingers away from your temple, urging you to peer at him. You could see the turmoil in his gaze and the apology lining his expression, it made you want to pull him into you. To thread your fingers in his hair and console him, give up all the forgiveness you harbored.

You expelled a soft sigh and let your gaze fall.

"Why do you keep coming back...? Why do you keep leaving?" Your voice was hushed.

"Why do you keep waiting?" He replied, his words cruel yet his tone oddly tender. "If you just tell me to leave and never come back, then I will."

He won't

"But why can't you listen to me when I tell you to stay?" You slipped your hand out of his grasp, taking a step away from him. "I feel like every time you're here I'm breaking, but every time you aren't I'm shattering."

"Don't you think I feel the same way?" The faintest hint of desperation lapped his words as his volume grew.

"Then come back to me!" You cried, your hands clutching the fabric of your shirt right above where your heart pulsed. His form visibly tensed. The constriction in his face was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the room.

His frame relaxed as he averted his gaze. You felt the heaviness weighing at you tug harder with the guilt evident in his person.

"I'm hurt. I just want you. Do you even care about me?!" The words came out strained and tottery as you attempted to compose yourself.

Sonic's shoulders rose as he inhaled sharply before firmly trotting towards your crumbling soul.

"I never stop thinking about you. No matter how hard I try." He began, his gaze intense as he stood right in front of you. His irises absorbed every dejected, desperate, longing emotion behind yours. "I'm not going to leave this time. I'll come back the next day. I'll do as I promise.

I hate that I can't stop loving you." His voice grew vulnerable upon uttering that last phrase, and all you could do was glower at him with every bit of anger you had left in you.

"I hate..." a trembling sigh escaped your lungs as anguish pooled into your features.

"Why can't I hate you?" You muttered, then pulled him into another desperate kiss, your body portraying all the words you hadn't allowed yourself to speak. Every 'I miss you' that clouded your brain and each 'I love you' you begged yourself to deny.

His touch charred and sizzled onto your skin, and you hoped the burns that were left in his wake would stay longer than he would. Maybe the searing pain could give you the closure that he could never fulfill.

⋆

"I'll be back." He whispered, his palm pressed gently against the side of your face.

"Will you, really?" Your gaze pleaded for empty reassurance as you leaned into his touch. He enveloped you into a hug which you melted into immediately.

"Yes." He muttered into your neck. Both of you could sense the sincerity in his voice, though how long would it last?

Once he pulled away and his warmth was stripped away from you, disdain was quick to itch at the back of your throat whilst your despaired eyes watched him disappear in a blur.

Again he won't come tomorrow like he promised.

And again you'll cry a silent weep as you wait, cursing at him with all of you, knowing every single drop of rage and grief within you will dissipate once you're in his arms once more.

[ruhjkie]

Threads of Time

Summary: In a twist of fate, after their respective deaths, Aemond and Lucerys are transported back in time to the pivotal moment in Storm's End—just before Aemond demands Lucerys' eye as payment for an old debt. Unbeknownst to each other, they are thrust into the very moment that changed their lives forever. As tensions rise and old wounds reopen, both must confront the weight of their past actions, grapple with their unresolved feelings, and decide whether to follow the course of history or forge a new path that could alter their destinies and the fate of their family.

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon

Author's note: inspired by a lovely idea from @technicallyfriendly. Thank you for allowing me to use it <3

Also posted on AO3

here: Part 2

_____________________________________

The storm raged over Storm's End with a ferocity that matched the tempest inside Lucerys Velaryon’s heart. Lightning crackled in the distance, illuminating the towering stone walls of the castle, while the wind howled like a beast hunting its prey. The sea, dark and unforgiving, crashed against the walls below, as if it too sensed the impending violence.

Lucerys stood at the hall, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body tense and trembling. His hand, still clutching his hood, fell slowly to his side as his eyes locked onto the figure coming out from the shadows. Aemond Targaryen, tall and imposing, emerged from the gloom, his silver hair glinting in the brief flashes of light. His single eye, burned with a mix of anticipation and something far darker.

Lucerys remembered a time when Aemond had been his friend, his uncle — a distant yet familiar presence in the Red Keep, a boy who shared his blood but not his heart. Now, as he stared into Aemond's unyielding gaze, he longed to see something different, something that resonated with the quiet hope stirring in his chest. But all he saw was a man warped by years of resentment, his eye heavy with the weight of an old wound that only he seemed unable to let go.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a force so thick it felt as though even the castle’s ancient walls could scarcely contain it. Lucerys' mind spiraled, disoriented as fragments of another life surged to the surface. Memories of dragonfire scorching the sky, the monstrous maw of a beast closing in, and the sensation of falling into darkness—a fall that should have marked his end. Yet, here he was, standing at the precise moment when everything had unraveled, as if fate had dragged him back—for redemption perhaps, but he did not yet know. The realization was dizzying and he wondered if he was caught in some cruel trick of the Gods.

Aemond’s voice sliced through the heavy silence, sharp and cold as steel. "Wait, my Lord Strong. Did you truly believe you could fly across the realm, scheming to steal my brother’s throne without consequence?" His gaze darkened, the bitterness unmistakable, and as he tossed the dagger to his feet he said. "You owe me a debt, taoba. An eye for an eye.”

The words reverberated in Lucerys' ears, sinking into him like poison. This was the moment—the one that had haunted his nightmares and his final breaths. Now, he understood why he was here: to face the mistake that had changed everything. He had longed to apologize, but after the accident, fear took place—he knew the Greens would never allow him close to Aemond again. So, he wrote letters—many more than he had ever intended—each one an attempt to make amends, to soothe his uncle's rage, and to mend the fragile connection they had once shared. Yet, no replies ever came. The silence was louder than any rejection, and over time, the guilt settled deep within him, buried like a wound left to fester.

Now, standing on the precipice of destiny, something shifted inside Lucerys. The fear that had once paralyzed him, the fear that had driven him to flee, was no longer there. He saw it all. Instead, his fear had become a blade, poised not to strike at Aemond, but at the very fabric of fate that had brought them to this moment. The storm seemed to pause, like it was holding its breath as Lucerys made his choice. His feet moved—not in a frantic attempt to flee, but with the calm certainty of a man who knew there was no other option. If Lucerys Velaryon was to prevent the fate of a war, then so be it.

Something was not right, Aemond knew as everyone too—a shift in the tides of destiny. Lucerys caught the hesitation in Aemond’s eye. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen—Lucerys was meant to beg, to run, to fall under the weight of Aemond’s long-nurtured wrath. But instead, Lucerys was moving, and he wasn’t moving away. Lucerys Velaryon had run towards the blade.

“No!” Aemond’s voice, filled with a panic he had never known, shattered his paralysis. He lunged forward, reaching out for the boy—no, not like this, not his nephew—who had once been the center of his hatred. But it was too late. 

With a shout that was equal parts defiance and despair, Lucerys raised the dagger to his own face. The world narrowed to the cold, unyielding edge of the blade, and before Aemond could react, Lucerys drove it deep into his own flesh. Pain exploded through Lucerys’ skull—a blinding, searing agony that consumed every thought, every sense. He screamed, the raw, primal sound echoing in the storm’s howling wind. Blood gushed from the wound, warm and thick, running down his face, staining his clothes and the stone beneath him.

Aemond stood frozen, his outstretched hand hovering in the air, as if time itself had stopped. Deja vu. The dagger slipped from Lucerys grasp, clattering to the stone—a sound lost to the storm. His fierce, vengeful sapphire eye now reflected only horror, as he watched Lucerys destroy himself in a desperate act neither of them had foreseen. With one final, agonizing pull, Lucerys wrenched the dagger free, his blood-soaked eye dangling grotesquely from the blade. The sight was a twisted mirror of the vengeance Aemond had sought for so long. Lucerys swayed, his strength rapidly fading as pain and blood loss overtook him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, the dagger falling from his fingers, the severed eye rolling across the cold, wet stone.

He looked up at Aemond, his one remaining eye filled with tears and agony, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His voice, when it came, was broken, pleading. "Will you leave me be, qȳbor? Is the object of your torment finally settled? Am I free?"

The words, spoken through a veil of pain, shattered something deep within Aemond. This wasn’t the victory he had imagined; it wasn’t the sweet taste of revenge he had craved for so long. Again the gods were mocking him. All that remained was emptiness—a hollow void that swallowed reason and purpose. The debt that had consumed him, that had brought him to this windswept castle, had been paid—but not by his hand, and once again, Aemond was left to witness the ruin of his own blindness.

Aemond’s hand trembled as he reached out, cupping Lucerys’ bloodied face with a gentleness that felt foreign, wrong. The storm around them raged on, unnoticed by either, as they remained locked in the terrible intimacy of the moment.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice thick with a grief he did not yet understand. “Yes, taoba, you may leave.”

But even as he spoke the words, he knew there was no leaving—no escape from what they had done. The eye, the blood, the pain—these were the bonds that now tied them, forged in suffering and regret. They knelt there, two broken souls, as the storm finally began to subside outside, its fury spent. The chaos of the onlookers in the room crept in, but neither Aemond nor Lucerys noticed. The future lay before them, dark and uncertain, the weight of their choices pressing down like the very heavens. They were no longer just Aemond and Lucerys— rivals, enemies, whatever they might be called. They had become something more, something that defied the simple lines of love and hate, revenge and forgiveness.

The storm outside had passed, but it had washed over them both, leaving them tangled in the web of destiny. And now, a new beginning awaited.

[feefeewrites]

Veiled in Shadows

Severus Snape x reader

Title: Veiled in shadows

Severus Snape x reader

Summary: After Dumbledore's death at his hand, Severus finds comfort in the reader and makes a heartbreaking decision.

---

A creaking door interupted the heavy silence upon Spinner's End, revealing Severus' hunched frame. His face, usually impassive, was deeply etched with weariness and the burden of his betrayal.

You sat by the fireplace, some mending lying forgotten in your lap as you looked up at him. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion surrounding his features.

"Severus..." you whispered, rising from your seat and crossing the room to embrace him, feeling the tension in his body as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

He clung to you like a drowning man, his fingers trembling against your back. "I couldn't..." he began, his voice waivering, "I had to do it."

You held him tighter. "It's not your fault," you softly tried to assure him, brushing a hand gently through the dark locks of his hair. "You did what you had to do." The two of you remained it each other's arm for a long time.

But as the night wore on and the hours slipped away, a shadow fell over his gaze. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, felt a determination that worried you.

And then, when you least expected it, his hand reached out, fingers caressing your temple with a whispered incantation. Your mind swam as a fog descended, clouding your thoughts and memories. Panic surged within you, a primal instinct screaming for you to fight against the encroaching darkness.

"Severus?" you cried out, your voice laced with fear as you struggled against the invisible force that threatened to consume your mind.

Your memories slipped away like smoke, fading into nothingness with each passing moment. Faces blurred, and voices became distant echoes.

Desperation clawed at your heart as you reached out for Severus, grasping desperately at the threads of your rapidly fading reality. "Please," you begged, tears streaming down your face, "don't leave-"

It was no use. He was already slipping away, his form growing fainter with each heartbeat. And then, with a final whispered apology, he vanished into the shadows, leaving you alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and empty.

In the aftermath, all that remained was a hollow ache, a gaping void where memories once thrived. And though you couldn't remember his face or the sound of his voice, you could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers against your skin, a bittersweet reminder of a love that had been lost.