#wyvern whispers

[wyvernwhiskey]

Thank you for the tag. :)

Not Raphael shockingly, seemingly Lorenzo from The Mysterious House/The Return of the Pumpkin Rabbit. Not sure if this thing is even really a rabbit or rather just a monster in a disguise. I really love monsters and have a soft spot for anthro murder hobo rabbits so I'm not even mad. Would marry in a heartbeat if his wife Rachel allowed it. Tags: @sideshow-cellophane-blog @cacklingyeena @crystalizedbloodd @mostthingshalloween @jazzyysnazzy (And anybody else who wants to participate, of course no pressure <3)

^tagged by @soctherapy but the post was getting too long

this isnt a win for me.......

Tags!: @rae-unbeloved @lil-gae-disaster @fictionalcharactergraveyard @livelaughlovelams @alexanderhamiltonhasafatass

[wyvernwhiskey]

I already know I'm not the first person to have this sudden realization, but my day is no less ruined (or perhaps made) because of it.

[igneouswyvern]

If you follow me you are now legally obligated to play Tunic sorry I don't make the rules

LOOK AT THE LITTLE FOX!!!!!!!!!!

(also it has some of the best game design and worldbuilding of any game I have ever played. it's genuinely so good like I am not kidding)

[wyvernwhiskey]

Stupid, sexy Raphael and his stupid, beautiful eyes...babygirl if you give me that pathetic look I am going to submit to your every single one of your crazy whims. I'm so lovesick for him, I swear.

[igneouswyvern]

Just a PSA for all you parents hoping to have a wonderful birthday party at McDonald’s for your kiddos.

Please for the love of GOD clean up after yourselves. Hell, make each kid clean up after themselves. Most of them are at least 6 or 7 right? They’re perfectly capable of putting their fries and unfinished cheeseburgers in their happy meal box and transporting it to the trash can when they’re done.

And those cake tins and wrapping paper you brought? Even MORE your responsibility. Don’t just leave that shit lying around.

Cleaning up spills? Wiping down tables? That stuff’s our job. We’re the ones with the supplies, so we don’t expect you to be able to take care of that yourselves. But it’s not unreasonable to ask you to simply walk your trash over to the garbage can.

Just because you payed a hundred bucks for your premium McDonald’s birthday party doesn’t mean you get to leave a huge mess for the employees to deal with after you’re gone, and make the play area basically unusable until somebody is able to clean it up.

We are not your slaves. We’ll do our part, you do yours.

—sincerely, a very angry McDonald’s employee

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 24

"What is this place?" Manon asked Glennis as she found the crone polishing the handle of a gold-bound broom beside the fire. Two others lay on a cloak nearby. Menial work for the witch in charge of this camp.

"This is an ancient camp-one of the oldest we claim." Glennis's knobbed fingers flew over the broom handle. "Each of the seven Great Hearths has a fire here, as do many others." Indeed, there were far more than seven in the camp. "It was a gathering place for us after the war, and since then, it had become a place to usher in some of our younger witches to adulthood. It is a rite we've developed over the years—to send them into the deep wilds for a few weeks to hunt and survive with only their brooms and a knife. We remain here while they do so."

Manon asked quietly, "Do you know what our initiation rite is?"

Glennis's face tightened. "I do. We all do." Which hearth had the witch she'd killed at age sixteen belonged to?

"You're not a cold person."

He arched a brow. "Is that your professional opinion?"

Manon studied him. "You can descend to those levels when you are angry, when your friends are threatened. But you are not cold, not at heart. I've seen men who are, and you are not."

"Neither are you," he said a bit quietly.

The wrong thing to say.

Manon stiffened, her chin lifting. "I am one hundred seventeen years old," she said flatly. "I have spent the majority of that time killing. Don't convince yourself that the events of the past few months have erased that."

"Keep telling yourself that." He doubted anyone had ever spoken to her that baldly-relished that he now did, and kept his throat intact.

She snarled in his face. "You're a fool if you believe the fact that I am their queen wipes away the truth that I have killed scores of Crochans."

"That fact will always remain. It's how you make it count now that matters."

Make it count. Aelin had said as much back in those initial days after he'd been freed of the collar. He tried not to wonder whether the icy bite of Wyrdstone would soon clamp around his neck once more.

"I am not a softhearted Crochan. I will never be, even if I wear their crown of stars."

He'd heard the whispers about that crown amongst the Crochans this week-about whether it would be found at last. Rhiannon Crochan's crown of stars, stolen from her dying body by Baba Yellowlegs herself. Where it had gone after Aelin had killed the Matron, Dorian had not the faintest idea. If it had stayed with that strange carnival she'd traveled with, it could be anywhere. Could have been sold for quick coin.

Manon went on, "If that is what the Crochans expect me to become before they join in this war, then I will let them venture to Eyllwe tomorrow alone."

"Is it so bad, to care?" The gods knew he'd been struggling to do so himself.

"I don't know how to," she growled.

Ridiculous. An outright lie. Perhaps it was because of the high likelihood that he'd be collared again at Morath, perhaps it was because he was a king who'd left his kingdom in an enemy's grip, but Dorian found himself saying, "You do care. You know it, too. It's what makes you so damn scared of all this."

Her golden eyes raged, but she said nothing.

"Caring doesn't make you weak," he offered.

"Then why don't you heed your own advice?"

"I care." His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it-decided to let go of that leash he'd put on himself. Let go of that restraint. "I care about more than I should. I even care about you."

Another wrong thing to say.

Manon stood—as high as the tent would allow. "Then you're a fool." She shoved on her boots and stomped into the frigid night.

I even care about you.

Manon scowled as she turned in her sleep, wedged between Asterin and Sorrel. Only hours remained until they were to move out—to head to Eyllwe and whatever force might be waiting to ally with the Crochans. And in need of help.

Caring doesn't make you weak.

The king was a fool. Little more than a boy.

What did he know of anything?

Still the words burrowed under her skin, her bones. Is it so bad, to care?

She didn't know. Didn't want to know.

[wyvernwhiskey]

I will say this is another reason I adore the Raphael fandom in particular. Soft and sweet Raphael? Awesome, loved! Sadistic, abusive Raphael? Oh just as loved. Even if you characterize him in your own way people will still support you and I seriously love that about this community.

Getting into fandoms is so scary .if I characterize this guy wrong everyone is going to kill me I can sense it

[wyvernwhiskey]

Yes, yes...I know I posted a photo of the big kitty earlier, but I got a gorgeous up close shot that I could NOT resist sharing! I'm deeply in love with this form.

It likely is just because I'm a rancid monster fucker, but I mean it when I say this might just be one of the most beautiful character designs I've ever seen. Also reminds me that I need to do writings and drabbles for him.

[igneouswyvern]

Hello everyone it is I, the user formerly known as lesbianempower. I have decided to undergo a rebrand and will now be known as IgneousWyvern--just Wyvern for short! Also my pronouns are they/them now.

[wyvernwhiskey]

Oh, the curse of writing fanfictions on a whim and praying, no, begging they gain some form or another of traction on Tumblr...not to say mine are merely mindless, but they're sure as hell impulsive. I am a woman with far too much creativity.

writing smut is fun. editing smut is slightly less fun. accepting your editor's edits to your smut is the most humiliating thing a person can go through

[kabsey]

When the gods are dead (and after a much-deserved wyvern-spotting vacation), Lucanis and his beloved Rook de Riva return to Treviso, where he takes up his duties as First Talon (or the ones that Caterina delegates to him at least). Viago insists that he undergo the same poison microdosing regimen that he and Rook have completed.

One poison is particularly brutal, and after throwing up for eight hours straight while racked with muscle cramps, Lucanis weakly jokes from a cot in Viago’s lab that he might actually prefer to die at that point.

And Viago, half-prepared next dose in hand, turns from his workbench and pierces him with those sharp blue eyes.

“If you leave Rook to mourn you, I will burn this whole fucking city to the ground and rule the Crows from Salle.”

He turns back to his mixing as Lucanis and Spite just stare at him with mouths slightly open.

Then Spite leans over and whispers, “I think. I know. What ‘sexy’ is. Now.”

[mahalachives]

This Is Why We Can’t Have Diplomatic Visits

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader (mated-pairing), minor reader x Eris

Genre: Crack Humor, Unserious, Canon-Compliant (ish)

Summary: When a diplomatic dinner in the Autumn Court takes a turn, a few too many glasses of wine—and Eris Vanserra’s smug face—lead you to publicly threaten him on Azriel’s behalf. What follows is an escalating war of petty letters, unsolicited gifts, and one extremely scandalous painting. Azriel is jealous. You are chaotic. Eris is entertained. And the Inner Circle is placing bets.

It started with wine.

Not just any wine. Autumn Court wine—potent, honey-sweet, and designed to hit like a chariot on fire. You’d only had two glasses. Three if you counted the one you “borrowed” from Mor when she wasn’t looking.

But it wasn’t the wine that did it. It was Eris.

He’d leaned back in his golden chair, flicking imaginary lint off his jacket, and said, in that voice that oozed smarm and superiority.

“Spymaster. Still hiding behind shadows and secrets? Tell me—do your little spies send love letters, too?”

Azriel didn’t flinch. He never did. Just stared, quiet and lethal, like he was already planning where to bury the body.

But you flinched. And then you stood.

Fast.

“Alright, you flaming ginger string bean,” you said, slamming your goblet down. “That’s it.”

Everyone at the table froze.

Even Rhysand blinked.

Feyre whispered, “Oh no.”

Cassian mouthed, do it, while Nesta smacked him.

Azriel’s voice was quiet, deadly. “Y/N. Sit.”

You didn’t.

“You’ve got some nerve, Eris Flame-Me-Up Vanserra,” you slurred, pointing at him like an accusatory ghost. “You don’t get to talk to Az like that. Not while I’m here. Not while I have working limbs.”

“I am merely speaking—”

“I will feed you to your own court’s sentient trees,” you cut in. “How dare you insult the love of my life when he’s literally ten seconds away from shadow-smothering you into next week.”

Eris blinked. “Love of your—?”

“That’s right,” you snapped, wobbling slightly as you turned to the room. “I’m his mate. His mate. Which means I’m contractually obligated to throw hands when someone comes for him. I will fistfight a High Lord’s son, I swear it.”

“I am a High Lord’s son,” Eris said mildly.

“Perfect. That means I get extra points.”

Rhysand choked on his wine. Mor was wheezing.

Azriel, still seated, rubbed his temples. “I need to get her out of here.”

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to lunge across the table. Azriel caught you mid-launch, shadows wrapping around your waist like a seatbelt.

“No murder tonight,” he murmured into your ear as you flailed. “You promised. Remember the chart?”

You paused. “…I forgot about the chart.”

He shadow-walked you right out of the room, bridal-style, as you shouted behind him, “Tell Eris his hair looks like expired cider!”

(Later in your shared rooms...)

You lay face-down on the bed.

Azriel sat beside you, silent, until you peeked up at him and muttered, “You mad?”

He sighed. “No. But next time, maybe let me handle the diplomatic incidents.”

You grinned, cheek smushed into the pillow. ���Yeah. But you can’t deny it was hot.”

His shadows twitched.

“…Maybe a little.”

The next morning...

You were halfway through your hangover tea (Azriel’s special brew—spitefully effective and probably brewed over the bones of your enemies), when a knock echoed through your suite.

You blinked at the door. “Did you order breakfast?”

Azriel looked up from his perch at the window, sharpening Truth-Teller like he was fantasizing about Eris-shaped practice targets. “No.”

The door creaked open before either of you could reach it.

And in walked a servant. Carrying flowers.

Not just any flowers. Fiery red, golden-tipped Autumn Court blooms. A bouquet the size of a small wyvern. Tucked inside was a silver card with your name on it.

Azriel was on his feet in a blink. “Is that—”

You snatched the card, flipped it open, and promptly choked on your tea.

To the Spirited Mate of the Shadowsinger, Your defense was both reckless and deeply entertaining. Consider me intrigued. — Eris Vanserra (P.S. His brooding is a bit much, isn’t it?)

You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my gods.”

Azriel snatched the card out of your hand like it offended the air.

He read it.

He blinked once.

Twice.

“…He flirted with you.”

“He did.”

“He flirted. With my mate. After you threatened him.”

You beamed. “I think I impressed him.”

Azriel looked like he was experiencing all five stages of grief at once.

Azriel, deadpan: “I will end him.”

You: “Please don’t. I want to see if he sends chocolates next.”

(Later that afternoon.)

Cassian nearly fell off the roof when he saw the flowers.

“Wait—wait—he sent you a bouquet? Like a come-hither bouquet??” he hollered.

You nodded solemnly. “Apparently, threatening political figures while intoxicated is a turn-on.”

Mor snorted wine through her nose. “You have to frame that card.”

Azriel, pacing behind you, muttering, “I’m going to set his hair on fire.”

You leaned back and grinned. “You jealous, Az?”

His shadows twitched. “I am offended on a spiritual level.”

“Don’t worry,” you said sweetly, grabbing his belt and tugging him close. “You’re still my favorite broody bastard.”

He glared, then kissed you hard enough to shut you up.

Cassian: “Gross. Az, do that in private. Or at least wait until I’m done throwing the bouquet off the balcony—!”

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

You found Azriel hunched over the desk in your shared study, shadows swirling like angry cats, quill scratching furiously on parchment. He didn’t look up when you entered.

You peered over his shoulder.

Dear Lord Eris,

Thank you for your recent gift.

It is always a joy to be reminded that the Autumn Court has mastered both combustion and desperation.

Combustion and desperation? You clapped a hand over your mouth.

I assure you, the letter continued, that my mate is not accepting applications, suggestions, or flame-adjacent flirtations. She is, as you might have noticed, spoken for.

By me.

P.S. Your hairline is retreating faster than your moral compass.

“Az.”

He kept writing.

P.P.S. If you send one more gift, I will return it—on fire.

“Azriel.”

He didn’t stop.

P.P.P.S. My mate says hello. She also says your flowers were basic.

“AZRIEL.”

He blinked up at you, shadows pausing mid-scribble.

You snatched the letter from his hands. “You’re writing to him? Like some kind of spiteful pen pal?”

“I am responding diplomatically,” he said flatly.

“You called him desperate with a receding hairline.”

“I lied about neither.”

You stared at him. “You signed it P.P.P.S. Az.”

He crossed his arms. “If he wants to play games, he should at least know I play better.”

Three days later...

It arrived in a crate.

A massive, magically-sealed crate, right in the middle of your shared living room. Wrapped in velvet. Stamped with the Autumn Court crest.

Azriel stood in front of it with arms crossed and a look on his face like someone had personally insulted his siphons.

You blinked at the shipping label.

“…Why is it addressed to 'The Mate of the Shadowsinger'?”

Azriel growled. “Because Eris is a walking provocation with a god complex.”

Rhysand strolled in, already grinning. “Is this the painting?”

You whipped around. “Wait—you knew about this?”

“Oh yes,” Rhys said, summoning wine. “Eris sent me a copy of the concept sketch. Asked if it was too much. I told him to go bigger.”

You: “Rhysand!”

Azriel: “He dies. Today.”

Cassian burst through the door with popcorn and a chair.

“Wait for me to sit down,” he said. “I need to see Azzy’s face.”

Mor followed behind him with her phone. “I’m recording this for posterity. Also, Feyre’s demanding updates.”

Nesta: “You people are sick.”

You: “Nesta, you’re holding a betting slip.”

Nesta: “Your point?”

Azriel hissed under his breath and yanked the crate open with a sharp crack of shadow.

The velvet fell away.

Everyone stared.

It was a painting. A life-sized, oil-painted portrait of Eris Vanserra, lounging on a chaise, completely shirtless. Smirking like sin.

Wearing a robe.

Not just any robe.

A robe made of Azriel’s shadows.

You choked. “Oh my gods.”

Mor dropped her drink.

Cassian fell out of the chair.

Nesta whispered, “He committed to the bit.”

Rhysand, between wheezes: “Look at the brushwork. He used actual shadow magic to give it texture. It’s…magnificent.”

Azriel was frozen. Face blank. Siphons pulsing.

“…He stole my shadows,” Azriel said, voice flat. “He stole my sentient, living shadows and turned them into a bathrobe.”

You: “Technically it’s a cape-robe hybrid, but yes.”

Azriel turned to you slowly. “You are not helping.”

You swallowed a snort. “I’m sorry. I’m panicking. My coping mechanism is commentary.”

Rhysand wiped a tear away. “Can we hang it in the River House?”

Azriel: “I will burn it.”

Cassian: “NO. This is history.”

Azriel, quietly: “He signed it.”

You all leaned in.

At the bottom corner, in crimson ink:

To Azriel, with admiration. Your shadows look better on me. — E

You: “…You have to kill him now.”

Azriel: “I’m writing a second letter.”

Cassian: “Make it a sonnet.”

Rhys: “Make it a duel.”

Azriel vanished into his shadows, already plotting vengeance.

You stood there, blinking at the painting. "...I kind of want to keep it."

Two days later...

You were eating breakfast when a letter appeared in a swirl of shadows and glitter.

Glitter.

That was the first sign something was deeply wrong.

Mor peered at the envelope. “Is… is that a glitter bomb curse?”

You blinked. “Azriel knows how to do that?”

Rhysand, sipping tea: “He’s been studying with Amren. She’s very proud.”

The envelope was addressed to:

To Eris Vanserra, Lord of Autumn, King of Flamboyant Delusions.

You opened it carefully.

Inside was a single glamoured photo.

You gasped.

So did everyone else.

It was Azriel.

Shirtless. Covered in shadows and golden siphon light. Standing in the training ring like a bat-winged revenge model.

Arms crossed. Wings flared. Muscles rude.

And across the bottom, in elegant Night Court script:

“Thanks for the inspiration. I decided to try robes too. Mine actually fit.”

Cassian dropped his toast. “He made a revenge thirst trap.”

Rhys was howling. “This is the most aggressive form of flirting I’ve ever seen—and they’re not even flirting with each other!”

Mor fanned herself. “I’m not even into Azriel and I need a moment.”

Nesta blinked. “Send it to Eris twice.”

You were speechless. “Did he… pose for this??”

You were so close to getting away with it.

The Eris painting? Hidden behind your old training gear.

Azriel’s shirtless calendar? Laminated. Hung on the inside of your closet door. Discreet. Artistic. Totally justified.

The flower crown? Just a seasonal craft project gone awry. (You may have hot glued it to his head in the July page.)

But then Azriel found it.

You came home to find him sitting on the bed.

Silent. Staring at the open closet.

The calendar dangled from his fingers.

His flower-crowned portrait smiling back at you like an idiot with a six-pack.

You froze.

He didn’t look at you.

Just said, flatly:

“…You laminated me.”

You opened your mouth. “That could’ve been anyone.”

His head turned slowly. “You gave me dimples.”

“They’re accurate!”

“There are sparkles on my abs.”

You folded your arms. “What do you want from me, Az? You looked hot. I have eyes. I commemorated the moment.”

“You hot glued a floral tiara to my head.”

You stepped closer, hands on hips. “It’s not a tiara. It’s a statement.

He stared at you for a long, long moment.

Then:

“…What’s the statement? That I moonlight as a whimsical forest prince?”

You grinned. “Exactly. A deadly, brooding, morally ambiguous flower fae.”

His shadows twitched. His jaw worked.

Then—slowly—he stood.

Crossed the room.

Picked you up without warning and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“AZRIEL!”

“You’re going to explain to my face,” he said, walking toward the bedroom, “why I’m September and March in your calendar.”

“BECAUSE YOU PEAKED TWICE.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T MAKE IT A STICKER BOOK!”

He slammed the door behind him—laughing.

End

This oneshot is unserious, and It had no direction whatsoever. Enjoy the chaos. 🩵

[lokiina]

Inquisitor: Rook, what was so urgent you need my help for?

Rook (whispering): I need a Wyvern

Inquisitor: .... why?

Rook: Don't worry about it, can you get me one?

Inquisitor: I'm worrying about it. What the hell do you need a Wyvern for?

Rook: SHHT- Shh... Not so lou-

Lucanis: *kicks the door down* YOU HAVE WYVERNS?

[wyvernwhiskey]

Being so for real, this line in particular always causes me to kick my feet, squeal and giggle like a lovestruck fool. I don't know what it is about the way he says it, but it is just so flustering. Could always be that grin, but you know...I could listen to him talk for HOURS.

"My sights are set on something much more valuable than your soul. Succulent, though it would be."

[danikamariewrites]

Hi I hope it’s ok if i request this you really don’t have to do it. But a Xaden riorson fluff and angst where the reader gets really hurt but they are trying to help people so she hides it from Xaden and when he finds out he’s really mad at her but he’s really just scared of losing her and hates seeing her hurt with a happy ending. I hope this is ok and there is no pressure to do this I completely understand if you don’t want to.

My Greatest Fear

Xaden Riorson x reader

Note: I haven’t written for Xaden in so long, I’ve missed him. I’m so ready for Onyx Storm and I kind of want to do something to celebrate. Should I do a countdown with fics for each FW boy for the week leading up to the books release? I hope you like this fic anon and thanks for requesting :)

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, and stitches

More than anything you want to sneak away from the crowded hall. To blend in with the shadows of Riorson House and limp away to your bedroom. Clutching your side you skillfully dodge riders, healers, and everyone in between.

“Y/n! Can you assist over here?” Violet calls to you, her arms full of bandages. You meet her pleading gaze, putting on a generous smile and nodding as you make your way over to her. The slash on your ribs can wait. Others with worse injuries need help.

Pulling the laces of your vest tighter with shaking hands you take the bandages from Violet to help distribute them. “Thank you,” Violet breathes out. She rushes off to take another box from Liam, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

A small sigh escapes your lips at the sight, making you wonder where your own boyfriend is. Xaden wasn’t among the injured, not that he would ever let himself be seen like that thanks to the Colonel’s words in the last Assembly meeting. But this wyvern attack has been the worst one yet. Healers are still bringing people in and you don’t want to thank the gods until you lay eyes on an unharmed Xaden.

————

After an hour you were exhausted and light headed. The more you felt the cut on your side dripping blood the tighter you pulled your vest, hoping to keep your skin together. Slumping on the ground you rest for a moment.

Taking deep breathes you try to focus on the chaos around you, tuning out the pain.

Opening your eyes you see Liam staring down at you, a worried look on his face. “Hey,” he says softly. “Xaden is back and asking for you.” Your heart picks up at the mention of your boyfriend.

“Is he ok?” Liam smiles at you. “Of course he is. He’s Xaden.”

You chuckle, “Don’t let him hear you say that. It’ll go right to his head, it’s already big enough.”

Liam holds his hand out to help you. You brush him off, using the wall to help you stand. Liam eyes you as you take a shaky breath. Pulling yourself together you do your best not to limp toward Xaden. You can feel Liam’s gaze burning on the back of your head at your slow movements.

Whipping around — as slowly as possible — you scowl at him. “Stop it. Are you coming or not?” You snarl. Liam holds his hands up in surrender, hurrying his steps to catch up with you.

Stepping into the throne room you take another steadying breath, using the wall to help keep your balance. As leaders of the rebellion mingle, discussing the wyvern and Venin, your eyes immediately find Xaden. You let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him unharmed.

Before you can make your way to him Liam waves him over.

The first thing Xaden notices is how pale you look along with the dark spot growing on the side of your uniform. He wordlessly reaches for your ribs, watching for your reaction. Your hand flys out to grasp his wrist. Your grip weak. “Don’t,” you whisper harshly.

“What’s wrong?” You shake your head. You’re struggling to breathe now. Xaden looks to Liam for answers but all his brother can do is shrug, mirroring his worry.

Your other hand grips Xaden’s bicep as hard as you can. “I can’t…I need,” Xaden holds you closer to his body. His hand gently touching your side. You hiss at the contact and try to push Xaden away. “What do you need baby?”

You don’t know what happened after that. When you blacked out all you heard was Xaden yelling for help and your vest being ripped apart.

When you came to the dizzy feeling is still with you. You try to sit up but a large hand on your shoulder stops you. “Don’t even,” the worry clear in Xaden’s voice. You stare up at him with big eyes, remaining flat on the bed.

Xaden sits on the edge of the bed with a huff. He looked like he was struggling not to scold you. “Why?” Is all he asks.

You knew what he meant. Why walk around tending to the injured when you were bleeding out. Truthfully, you knew it was bad. The Venin you went hand to hand with fought nasty.

“Colonel Gerault yelled at me last time, saying leaders shouldn’t look weak even if we feel weak. You know how he gets about image. Violet needed help and so did our other riders. I needed to know they were ok before I asked for help.”

Xaden let out a deep sigh, annoyed with your selflessness. He rolled his neck while simultaneously clenching his jaw. The tension this man holds in his whole body is astounding. “That’s not true and you know it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while as Xaden contemplates his next words.

He gently holds your hand, running his thumb across your knuckles. “Do you know what the biggest loss in this war would be to me?” You shrug as the possibilities run through your mind knowing Xaden can hear your thoughts.

With each passing thought his frown deepens. “Not this house, not my dragon, or my father’s legacy. It’s you, sweetheart. You would be the greatest loss for me. I can replace a house and all that other shit. But there is no replacing you.”

A tear escapes down your cheek. Squeezing Xaden’s hand you give him a sad smile. “I need you.” He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Xaden shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby. I just need you to get better.” You hold out your pinky for him. Your sacred tradition when making sure one sticks to their word. “Promise.”

He wraps his pinky around yours before adding, “And, you will stay in bed until that wound is fully healed.” You open your mouth to protest but Xaden gives you a look, lifting your entwined fingers. Showing that you are bound to do as he wishes while you’re hurt.

“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly. “Thank you.” He drops your finger, pressing another kiss to your head, then your lips. You grab the back of his head to deepen the kiss. Xaden moans at the feeling of your tongue swiping against his bottom lip. After a few more minutes of passionately making out Xaden pulls away.

You whine at the lack of lip contact. “You need to rest. If we do what I want to do you’re going to need new stitches.” He smirks at you. “Guess I better get to healing.”

[pa1nrema1ns]

Two Intertwining Melodies || Sung Jin-woo (Part 2 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N: Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for all of your interest and feedback on part one of this series. Due to the sheer enormity of the second chapter, I've decided to expand the siren au into a trilogy rather than a two-parter. My dear friend and beta reader @forbidden-sunlight has been an absolutely incredible source of support in the creation of this story. She also wrote the imagine that inspired this au. Links to the prologue and first chapter are posted below. Do be sure to read them first before continuing. And as always, heed the content warnings that are listed.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🦪 Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🧜‍♂️ Part 1: Master and Apprentice 🦈 Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, canon divergent, graphic descriptions of gore, death, and violence, afab!reader, reader is a makeup artist and hair stylist in the entertainment industry, a/b/o dynamics, heavy mentions of heat cycles, knotting, and breeding, threats of assault/non-con made by Kang Taeshik towards the reader (Jinchul intervenes and protects her), suggestive themes, some sexual descriptors, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo.

Word count - 9.6k

Summary - You find yourself returning to your childhood home of Jindo Island after receiving the offer of a lifetime. However, you can't shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

[Skill: "Monarch’s Domain" Has Been Activated.]

“Come on out!”

A cacophony of deafening blasts, wails, and the clash of steel rings across the crimson-tinged horizon of the one hundredth floor of the Demon’s Castle; a perfect accompaniment to the Armageddon currently taking place. Infantrymen by the hundreds emerge from the shadows to skewer Baran’s forces while Iron, Igris, and Tank slaughter the larger and more formidable combatants with wanton brutality. Issuing a non-verbal command, Jin-woo orders Tusk to incinerate his enemies with ‘Song of Inferno,’ and a calamitous ball of flames bursts forth, eradicating most of the battalion.  

“Amazing… on all the top floors I’ve been with him, I’ve seen nothing quite like this,” Esil whispered in awe. Although she was a demon princess who grew up in this wasteland and had seen many spectacular sights, the power of commanding shadow soldiers was most certainly not one of them.

In contrast to his companion, Jin-woo calmly observes the cataclysmic destruction with a piercing gaze. Despite gaining the upper hand against his troops, Baran remained steadfast in his refusal to engage directly in the ensuing fight. This simply would not do. Jin-woo needed to secure his victory in this decisive battle, and fast.

Jinwoo’s opponent possessed the last ingredient required to craft the Holy Water of Life: The Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch. A fortnight of endless fighting had culminated to this moment, and he was on the precipice of triumph. But the Demon King was unlike any adversary he had ever faced before. Jin-woo could gauge just from the sheer murderous energy emanating from him that Baran was in a league of his own. And his power spoke for itself: endless demon hordes at his beck and call, a wyvern as a mount, and an insurmountable supply of mana that showed no signs of running out. Jin-woo would need to approach his foe strategically lest he lose this war of attrition.

At long last, as if he could sense the siren’s impatience, the Demon King makes his move. He bids his steed to fly at a lower altitude. Once within range, Baran unhinges his jaw and unleashes a massive beam of white lightning. Within seconds, thunder runs rampant throughout the land, devastating everything in its path. However, Jin-woo and his shadow army stand strong regardless of the imminent danger.  The siren even has the audacity to smirk. 

So Baran thought he could defeat him with electricity? Excellent. He really could not have asked for a better opponent. As luck would have it, Jin-woo’s oceanic nature gave him the edge in this situation. The surface of water, acting as a conductor of electricity, causes high voltages and amps to spread rapidly. With this in mind, Jin-woo launches a counterattack.

“Wreak havoc on all who dare to stand in my way, Charybdis!”

Powerful torrents of black seawater manifest from the shadows just before Baran’s attack could hit him. The rushing stream then runs across the land and coalesces into a violent maelstrom in the sky. The raging vortex absorbs most of the lightning in its maw before redirecting its flow towards the Demon King. Baran wills his steed to evade by canting to the left, but Tusk incapacitates him by striking the wyvern’s wing with a blast of fire magic. The Demon King leaps from his mount’s back before it’s forced into the whirlpool and electrocuted. He lands gracefully on his feet and shoots a sinister grin at Jin-woo.

“It was worth it to let Tusk have the sphere,” the siren remarks nonchalantly, as if it was just any other day and not a fight to the death. “I’m glad you’re finally on the ground. Constantly looking up was making me tired.”

With the Demon King grounded, Jin-woo no longer required the aquatic effects of Charybdis. The dark water above evaporates as it returns to the abyssal depths of the ocean, its job now complete. With this hindrance finally gone, Baran doesn’t hesitate to release another beam of white thunder, this one even greater than the last. Tusk attempts to lessen the impact with ‘Song of Protection’, but the force of taking a direct hit ends up obliterating him. Undeterred by his comrade’s demise, Iron bellows at Baran and slashes at his body with his axe. But he proves to be no match for the speed of the Demon King, who ruthlessly splits his head in half. Igris then valiantly joins the fray and swings his great sword at the demon. However, this too is a fruitless endeavor, as Baran swiftly catches his blade and wipes him out with a flick of his wrist.

Just as Igris’s body fades, Jin-woo emerges from the ashes in his true sirenic form, Knight Killer and Baruka’s dagger at the ready. “Scylla!” He snarls a second incantation that brings forth another wave of black water, this time in the shape of a six-headed beast. The aqueous leviathan slams into Baran, crushing his body under its weight and submerging the entire floor of the dungeon in water. The Demon King swiftly breaks free from the tides and springs onto the roof of one of the sole remaining towers. Soaking wet and surrounded by large bodies of water, Baran ends up on the defensive; if he were to use his lightning, he risked electrocuting himself. Jin-woo was also in an environment that favored him, and the Demon King could not pinpoint his whereabouts while he was swimming underwater.

Even with this advantage, the gap in power was still significant between the two. Knowing this, Jin-woo doesn’t allow him a moment of reprieve. He uses his tail to project his body from the currents and launches at the Demon King with his daggers. The demon responds in kind, countering his onslaught with a flurry of strikes from his own weapons. Jin-woo holds his own against the extraordinary speed of Baran’s slashes. But he was low on mana, and fatigue was rapidly building up. While oceanic magic was incredibly effective, it incurred a high cost of mana. This, coupled with an extended exposure to a dry, fiery atmosphere, was having a seriously detrimental effect on his endurance. It was time to end the battle after dragging it out for so long. Jin-woo just needed an opportunity to catch the demon off guard– 

Klang!

A loud noise reverberates in the dungeon as a lance ricochets off Baran’s head. The demon redirects his focus to the sheepish face of Esil. Huh? I thought I told her to head for higher ground. When did she…? Jin-woo ponders briefly before banishing the thought. He requested a distraction, and someone kindly provided him with one. He wasn’t about to squander his only chance.

Using Baran’s hesitation to his advantage, Jin-woo discards his short swords and sinks his fangs into the Demon King’s neck, crushing down on his windpipe. As Baran struggles to throw him off, Jin-woo unsheathes his claws and gouges out chunks of flesh. The demon howls in agony, his pained cries music to the siren’s ears. “How stupid of me,” Jin-woo sneers, his voice deepening in pitch as his actions became more monstrous, “I was fighting you like a man this entire time, when this is who I really am. Heh, I guess being disguised as a human for so long made me forget.”

Summoning all his strength, Jin-woo uses his muscular arms to tear Baran’s torso from his body. The vicious mauling completely eviscerates the demon, with only his entrails being left over in its wake. His victory now secured, Jin-woo exhaustedly slumps to the ground and reverts to his human appearance. The throes of battle destroyed most of his clothes, much to his chagrin. The only apparel that remained intact were his tattered jeans, and those only just spared his modesty. He scoffed in annoyance; he’d need to purchase a new wardrobe soon to make himself more presentable for you …

“Jin-woo, sir!” Esil dashes towards him with a worried look on her cute face. The siren smirks, satisfied despite the many setbacks he faced during this confrontation.

“Esil, tell your father the Radis clan is now the number one family.”

“Jin-woo sir,” the demon girl responds exasperatedly, “Our family name is Radir.”

6:00 AM, on the outskirts of Jindo Island…

Jin-woo deeply inhales the crisp morning air as he soars through the endless skies. Much had transpired in the short time between the conclusion of his showdown with Baran and now. He had gained the Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch, along with the World Tree Fragment, and Spring Water from Echo Forest. With these three components, he was at last able to craft the Holy Water of Life. Once finished, he cradled the precious vial in his palm, as if trying to ascertain proof of its existence. Afterwards, Jin-woo deposited it into his magical inventory for safekeeping.

Of course, the elixir was just one of the many spoils of war he had claimed. Kaisel, the wyvern who now served as his mount, was his for the taking after Baran’s death. The gift of flight had expedited the journey home, much to his joy. A rune stone had also provided him with the skill, ‘Shadow Exchange,' a means of trading places with any of his soldiers scattered throughout land and sea. Thanks to this new ability, he was able to leave that hellish landscape. After being gone for what felt like eons, Jin-woo was desperate to return. To his family. To Ashborn. To you.

He’s relieved when the familiar cityscape of Jindo-gun comes into view. He estimates it would take roughly 15 more minutes for them to arrive over the briny waters. However, before they can make it past the coastline, the spellbinding fragrance of bergamot and vanilla overwhelms Jin-woo’s senses. This could mean only one thing: you were nearby. The headiness of your musk had also gotten more potent in his absence, signifying your fertility.

“Fuck!” Jin-woo’s hisses as desire courses hot and heavy through his veins. He tries to resist the temptation of your pheromones, but you smelt so damn good; so ready and willing for him and his knot –

Jin-woo grunts as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The pain causes him to regain some mental clarity, and he wills himself to calm down. But it’s of no use. His thoughts were currently being clouded by lust and the instinctual drive to breed. Those two weeks he endured in the Demon’s Castle had significantly intensified his longing for you, and the pent-up sexual frustration was coming to a head. Jin-woo really had to nip this in the bud. His stamina was at its limit, and he was in no condition to be seen by you. The siren also desperately needed to go home and check in on his mother and Jin-ah. He was the only alpha and protector of their family after the disappearance of his father. He couldn’t afford to waste another—

The wind carries your scent as it blows past Jin-woo’s face a second time. It was as if you were beckoning him like some sort of enchantress. Unable to ignore your maddening aroma, Jin-woo at last gives in. He knew the decision he was about to make was foolish, reckless even. But he must heed the call of his omega.

He silently apologizes to his mother and Jin-ah and asks them to wait just a little longer. “I’ll only introduce myself… maybe I can even get her name,” he tries to reason with himself while slowly succumbing to delirium. His mind made up, Jin-woo commands Kaisel to deliver him to the area where your scent is the strongest. The wyvern then returns to the void shortly thereafter, leaving the worn out siren to his own devices.

Grainy sand molds against his bare feet as stumbles across the beach in search of you. “Shit. If this keeps up, I might not make it back to Mom and Jin-ah.” Jin-woo mumbles softly. He really was in poor form. Maybe it had been a mistake to depart immediately for Jindo island without taking a break in between. Damn. 

As black spots start to obscure his vision, Jin-woo’s gaze finally lands on you. His lips quirk into a tired smile. Even through blurry eyes, you looked absolutely stunning while standing in the sunlight. Like an earthly goddess.

With his consciousness ebbing further and further away, the siren musters up the last of his energy to stagger towards you. He makes it only two steps before his body gives out and he collapses. Rather than hitting the hard ground, a soft and warm embrace met Jin-woo. He blearily cracks open an eye, curious about what broke his fall. It was at that moment your lovely, albeit worried face greeted him. Pretty, he thinks, exhaustion finally taking its toll on him. The last thing Jin-woo remembers before the darkness overtakes him is the soothing smell of bergamot and vanilla.

Two weeks ago, someone or something had been watching you. It was during the first day of filming the mystery-thriller, ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’, a passion project by renowned producer, Go Gun-hee. The man had an incredible work ethic, with a career spanning over 40 years and numerous accolades to his name. He had recently come out of retirement, and the entertainment industry was buzzing with anticipation. Known as a cinematic miracle maker, every motion picture Go Gun-hee produced set box office records. Suffice to say, you had been over the moon after finding out you were amongst the few who made the cut for makeup artists hired to work on set. Although the instant you found out where the filming location was to take place, you immediately felt your enthusiasm dampen. Jindo-gun. At one point, this had been your home. Now, it was but a distant memory.

You had spent most of your childhood on the island of Jindo. Its scenic beaches, sprawling forests, and crystalline waters made it ideal for shooting a film based on a luxury yacht charter. There was one major caveat however: the sirens. Several pods of these unpredictable creatures resided off the coast of Jindo, and the alphas were infamous for their aggression, especially during the height of the mating season.

Growing up, your parents warned you time and time again not to walk alone along the shores at night. "Don’t ever go to the beach by yourself after dark," your mother had signed this to you almost every day. A constant reminder to stay safe and vigilant of your surroundings. Townsfolk also gossiped and shared sordid stories about the lost souls who fell victim to the sirens. But this wasn’t just word of mouth, a child’s fairytale, or mere superstition. These deadly apex predators were very much real, and a troublingly high number of homicides were committed by them each year. Unfortunately, this did little to dissuade foolhardy tourists and arrogant fishermen from pouring into the island during the hotter months of spring and summer.

Eager to escape the foreboding atmosphere, you had applied to and been accepted into a 2-year cosmetology program in Busan shortly after finishing high school. Makeup had always been a strong interest of yours and with the support of both your parents you flourished in your craft.

Although you had been nervous about the transition from quaint suburbia to the big city life, you found yourself quickly growing accustomed to the fast-paced environment. Your school had also been very accommodating, providing you with a sign language interpreter and captioning services for your classes. A kindhearted young woman by the name of Lee Joohee had been assigned as your interpreter during your time in Busan. You became fast friends and remained close even after graduation.

After receiving your license, you relocated to a small apartment in Seoul and began working as a hair and makeup artist in stage productions, commercials, and musicals. You greatly enjoyed the creativity and networking opportunities of your profession, often getting to bump shoulders with many well-known actors and actresses. Within a few years, your portfolio grew considerably. This enabled you to broaden your horizons by breaking into the film industry. ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ would be your first foray into this competitive market and you wanted to prove yourself as a newcomer to the scene. So, despite your reservations, you begrudgingly agreed to board the private jet headed for Jindo island.

If you recall correctly, the mating season for the sirens wouldn’t take place for another four months, so everything should proceed without a hitch… right?  

You began to feel a little more at ease when you found out Cha Hae-In and Yoo Jinho were cast in major roles in the movie. You had first met them when they were both burgeoning stage actors. Cha was surprisingly camera shy and preferred to keep a more subdued profile whereas Jinho was outgoing and incredibly humble despite his privileged background. The bubbly brunet was the youngest son of the chairman of Yoojin Construction Company, a major industrial conglomerate in South Korea.

Although you came from different walks of life, the three of you had hit it off right away, finding common ground in your passions for campy horror films. You even taught them a few signs, and this inspired Jinho to devote himself fully to learning sign language. Cha also practiced her signs with you whenever she had the chance, but her busy schedule often made it difficult for her to find spare time. Nevertheless, you were deeply touched by the efforts made by both of your friends.

While taking a break on set, you felt a pair of eyes boring into you as you were relaxing with Cha and Jinho. At first, you chalked it up to paranoia. It had been years since you visited the island, and you’d nearly forgotten how oppressive the ocean seemed at night. But it was the middle of May. The mating season for the sirens would not take place until September at the earliest. Regardless, the sensation of being watched still lingered even after the mysterious presence had left.

There was also the enthralling scent of lavender and sandalwood thickly permeating the air. It had a distinctly masculine undertone to it that had piqued your interest. It was far too strong to be from a couple spritzes of cologne or perfume, yet more subtle than the pungent smell emanating from many of the alphas who composed the cast and crew onboard the yacht. Their musk was overbearing at best, but this fragrance was entirely different. It was sweet. Delicate. Intoxicating…

You had to find the source of it. Making up an excuse about wanting to get more fresh air, you stay behind on the deck of the ship while your friends return to their accommodations to retire for the evening. As you lean over the railing to scope out the scent, an intense wave of heat suddenly ignites in your lower belly causing you to gasp and buckle at the knees. It briefly lingers in your abdomen before shooting directly to your core. You bite back a moan as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure spreading throughout your body. Slowly but surely, you were entering into a primal state; one of pure unbridled arousal. You should be concerned. No, you should be horrified. You were so vulnerable, so out of sorts. And yet…

You had never felt so exhilarated. It was as if ecstasy became you. You were ascending higher and higher to parts unknown, all semblance of rationality long since abandoned. The coil in your gut was wound so tight, it was at its breaking point. If this continued, you would inevitably plummet over the edge and succumb to your baser instincts –  

The metallic odor of copper violently infiltrates the air, abruptly bringing you back to your senses. Your eyes bolt open, and you release a shaky breath. You’re surprised to find yourself on your knees. They must’ve given out on you at some point. However, your shock shifts to horror when you catch sight of an unruly mop of purple hair from the corner of your eye.

It could only belong to one individual: Kang Taeshik.

Shit. You’d been acquainted with the man just yesterday, but he terrified you. Taeshik was an up-and-coming actor on the scene; one who excelled in any role he played. In spite of this, the first impression he left on you was enough to make you keep your distance. Although Taeshik’s demeanor was docile, there was a cold and calculating look in his eyes that made you shudder. It reminded you of a predator eyeing its prey. The most off-putting aspect of the man, however, was his stomach-churning scent. He positively reeked of blood.

You could feel panic setting in as he began to saunter towards you, a lascivious smirk spread across his face like a dark promise. You’re unable to rise to your feet, still weakened and lightheaded from the erotic sensations affecting you earlier. Worse yet, you feel a lump in your throat, making it difficult to shout or scream for help should the need arise. You were essentially cornered, defenseless, and alone with a menacing alpha. And if the pungency of his musk was anything to go by, he was on the verge of a rut. You sink back into yourself in fear and begin to tremble uncontrollably.

You can see Taeshik’s mouth moving as he closes in on you. You’d become adept at lip reading over the years, although it was difficult to decipher everything he was saying in the darkness. The only words that you can make out are "little omega" and "whore." Your blood curdles. Someone, anyone, please help me! You silently plead, knowing it was futile. For a moment, you foolishly imagine the owner of that enticing scent coming to your rescue.

Thankfully, just before Taeshik can grab you, a large hand envelops his wrist in a vice grip.

The purple haired nightmare cants his gaze to the side and narrows his eyes. He’s greeted by the furious expression of none other than the film’s director, Woo Jinchul. Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. Thank God, you think.

Taeshik rips his arm away and leaps back, creating some distance between himself and the taller man. Jinchul quickly assumes a protective stance in front of you. His broad back prevented you from seeing your would-be assailant, something you were extremely grateful for. For a few tense moments, you can only sit and stare at Jinchul’s imposing figure as he confronts the other man.

Despite how scared you are, you wish you could partake in the conversation if only to defend yourself. Taeshik may try to manipulate the situation by implicating you as an instigator or seductress, something many male actors in the industry unfortunately got away with due to their connections or wealth. It was despicable and made you seethe with anger at the salacious lies and rumors spread by the press and social media.

After several minutes, Taeshik departs with nary but a shrug of indifference. Apparently Jinchul’s status and power as director did nothing to intimidate him. He waits until Taeshik’s figure disappears before turning to face you. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth in his usually hard gaze, and you’re able to catch a whiff of his natural scent: cardamom and cedarwood, a calming combination.

Jinchul gently offers his hand and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. Your legs are still somewhat stiff but functional now. He permits you to steady yourself by grasping onto his shoulders and it doesn’t escape you how oddly intimate these actions are. As if to further prove this, Jinchul, in a strange display of affection, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches.

A beat passes before the realization of what he just did hits him. Jinchul’s eyes widen, and he quickly snatches his hand back as if he was scalded. And was it your imagination, or were his ears turning pink? He awkwardly clears his throat before opening his mouth. ‘Are you alright? Did Taeshik harm you in any way?’ You read his lips closely, appreciating the pauses and slow enunciation of his words. Jinchul was aware that you could lip read rather efficiently, and this made it easier to communicate with him since he would not have to always rely on an interpreter.

You shake your head and see him breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He won’t ever be allowed near you again; I will make sure of it.’ Jinchul is back to his usual no-nonsense demeanor it seems. But what had caused him to act so… tender towards you? And Taeshik? The man had always been creepy and taciturn, but he never went out of his way to torment you. If Jinchul hadn’t arrived at just the right time, you could have been assaulted. You feel bile rising to your throat at the thought. Why was this happening? You were always careful and made sure to take your heat suppressants every day. None of the alphas you worked with had ever tried to hurt you before, so why? Unless you were going into heat, but that shouldn’t be possible…

You suddenly break into a sob, overcome with emotion. Your distress causes Jinchul to spring into action. He promptly removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the night. Jinchul then produces an embellished handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. He hesitates before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his lips move again. ‘I’m here for you,’ he mouths. You wipe away the tears with the handkerchief and stifle your cries into its soft fabric. All the while, Jinchul remains by your side and grants you as much time as you need to collect yourself. When the tears finally run their course, you lower the ruined cloth from your face and chance a timid glance at him.

Jinchul regards you with a pensive expression on his sharp features. He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and reaches back into his pocket to pull out his phone. He then begins typing away and once finished with his message, he hands the device over to you, displaying the contents of his notebook app.

"As director of this film, I want you to know that I will always prioritize the wellbeing of our cast and crew. With that being said, the actions I witnessed Kang Taeshik commit tonight were morally reprehensible. I won’t disclose the full details of the discussion I had with him, as I do not wish to cause you any further emotional distress. I will say that I can personally attest to the fact that Kang Taeshik sought to menace and harm you while you were in a vulnerable state of heat."

You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as you skim over the last sentence. So Jinchul knew you had unexpectedly gone into heat? Of course he would; he was an alpha. How could you have been so stupid? The director was most certainly going to see you as a liability now… you may even end up losing your job.

You reluctantly force yourself to continue reading. If this to be the conclusion of your tenure, then at least you would see it through to the bitter end.

"Please do not blame yourself for what has happened. Your disposition as an omega has no bearing on your contract or employment, nor does it offer an excuse for an alpha, or anyone for that matter, to harass you. It is with impartial and sound judgment that I have made the executive decision to terminate Kang Taeshik and remove him from production effective immediately. This will cause some inevitable delays, but an impromptu casting call can be arranged in the meantime. I’m willing to run over schedule if it guarantees everyone’s safety."

You exhale and feel all the tension dissipate from your body. So, you weren’t the one being let go, Taeshik was. You hadn’t known much about Woo Jinchul beforehand, but you were thankful that he was a man of good character. This was becoming exceedingly rare in an industry composed of unscrupulous and morally bankrupt members of the upper echelons.

You type back a response before handing him his phone.

"I am so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I really don’t understand what happened. I’ve been taking suppressants for years, and an alpha has never tried to threaten me before. Thank you for stepping in to protect me. I really don’t know what he was planning to do."

You couldn’t help but apologize even though Jinchul had vindicated you. What leaves you reeling, however, is the reply he gives you when the mobile device is back in your hands.

"I should be the one to apologize, not you. My behavior towards you earlier was incredibly uncouth, and for that, I am deeply sorry. As director, I should be conducting myself in a manner that is more befitting. Instead, I allowed my instincts as an alpha to impair my judgement. I promise this shall not happen again."

Uncouth behavior? Did he mean when he was brushing your hair from your face? How could he be apologetic about something so innocuous?  The implications don’t fully register until you replay that last sentence: My instincts as an alpha. Instincts…alpha…!?!

He was reacting to your pheromones.

That evening, Jinchul insisted on having you treated at the on-site infirmary. Alas, with few medical staff and even less equipment it was difficult to determine what was causing your symptoms. Was it possible your medication was no longer working? Omega suppressants were highly effective, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. A missed dose or interaction with another drug could negate the effects. But you weren’t taking any other medications, and you never missed a dose.

Needing a second opinion, you were transported to the emergency room at a nearby hospital for further evaluation. Jinchul had opted to let Cha and Jinho drive you there after explaining your circumstances to them (minus the issue with Kang Taeshik; he was keeping it under wraps for now). Unlike him, they were both betas which made them immune to your pheromones.

You ended up being kept overnight for observation. After running a series of tests, including labs to assess your hormones and an ultrasound, you were found to be undergoing a pseudo estrus or ‘false heat’ as it’s more commonly referred to.

Unlike a regular heat, a false heat occurs only when a highly compatible alpha is within close vicinity of an omega. This in turn triggers a massive release of pheromones leading to an increase in libido, fever-like symptoms, cramping, and fatigue. Whoever this alpha was, their presence was so virile that your heat suppressants were fully canceled out by them.

You were questioned extensively about your experience by the healthcare team. "Do you have any partners? Are you sexually active? Is there anyone you work with who is an alpha? When did you first start experiencing the signs of your heat?" The list was never-ending. With the help of an interpreter, you answered everything to the best of your ability. And by the end of it all, you were still at a loss.

No one on that yacht had been emitting that scent, you were sure of it. It had to have been someone wholly unrelated. Perhaps a fisherman or a swimmer? But it was late and everyone who was local to the island knew better than to risk the waters at night. Everyone except you and the entourage on board the yacht, that is.

Frustrated, you eventually gave up on trying to figure out the identity of your potential mate. Your physician, a compassionate fellow omega by the name of Min Byung-Gu, strongly recommended an entire week of bed rest for you. This was to serve as a means of letting the heat cycle run its course. You were also provided with prescription medications to alleviate your symptoms.

Resting was crucial. Any physical stress or strain could worsen your condition, and omegas were particularly susceptible to injury or illness while at their sexual peak. In addition to this, your doctor recommended ceasing all contact with alphas, effectively barring you from returning to work. You were crestfallen at this, but you acquiesced knowing it was for the sake of your recovery.

To avoid any mishaps, Jinchul arranged for you to stay in a penthouse for the time being. The lavish suite was situated on the very top floor of a deluxe condominium, affording you all the personal comforts and privacy you would need. You couldn’t help but snort when you opened the door to your new living quarters. It was like you were a goddamn princess trapped in a tower.

As if that wasn’t enough, your boss had also hired two very intimidating bodyguards. Both were betas who had been tasked with protecting you during your heat. The first to be introduced was a hulking beast of a man called Thomas Andre. He was huge, with a herculean frame that looked to be made of steel rather than flesh and blood. A wild mane of blonde hair and intricate patterns of black ink also adorned his chest and arms, making him even more imposing.

The disarming smile he gives you is anything but, however. He’s also surprisingly gentle with you when he shakes your hand.

Your other bodyguard had a physicality that was far less egregious, but his razor-edged gaze, unnervingly calm composure, and the bulging muscles of his arms revealed a powerful aura that was not to be underestimated. This man had gone by the name of Liu Zhigang, a master swordsman of the highest caliber and one of the strongest individuals in China.

He too, had been unexpectedly friendly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair and calling you a “good girl,” in his native language. Your interpreter had been particularly scandalized while signing this to you after you were insistent on finding out what he said. You, on the other hand, thought it was rather cute, especially when juxtaposed with his tough guy image. There had also been no ill intent or malice in his words; he was being genuinely amiable to you, just as Thomas Andre had been.

Perhaps you could make do with this situation. But you could only imagine how hefty of a price tag these two highly skilled warriors could warrant. Jinchul was sparing absolutely no expense on you. He must have felt terribly guilty about your traumatic experience that night…

You make a vow with yourself not to take his generosity for granted.

And so, the next week passes by rather uneventfully. You ended up becoming stir crazy right from the beginning. You had been so accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a makeup artist and hair stylist that the very concept of wasting the day away seemed foreign. Gone were the 12–14-hour shifts that had once encompassed your daily routine. It was maddening, this sudden lack of purpose.

Sleeping, reading, eating, and binge-watching dramas with closed captioning had been your main escape from the dullness of being confined to bed all day. No one, not even your parents, Jinho, or Cha had been permitted to visit you while on bedrest. Jinchul and Min Byung-Gu had advised you to limit all external stimulation while you were in heat. You understood the importance of this, but it did nothing to prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness that awaited you.

Sure, your bodyguards had been cordial to you, but they were preoccupied with keeping watch over the premises and warding off any intruders. Neither one had time to engage with you beyond a simple greeting or farewell. Even your interpreter kept her presence scarce, coming only twice per day to check in with you and to relay messages from your friends, family, and the director.

It was as if you were a bird in a gilded cage. Locked away, out of sight, and out of mind. You hated every second of it. You wanted to curse the cruel hand you were dealt, to resent the alpha who had caused you all this misery in the first place. But…

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it no matter how unbearable the isolation became.

Once those seven agonizingly slow days were over and done, you were given medical clearance to resume your job. You never thought you would be so happy to work again. Of course, you still had some restrictions in place. Jinchul wanted you to take it easy, so he requested that you work no more than 4-6 hours per day. At this point, you were willing to do anything if it kept you out of that forlorn penthouse.

In addition to this, you were prescribed a significantly higher dosage of oral heat suppressants. It was to be used as a prophylactic to ensure you would not enter a second heat. The side-effects had been merciful, with nothing more than the occasional bout of nausea and a loss of appetite to show for.

Jinho and Cha were ecstatic to see you again, although your other colleagues were far less enthusiastic. The attentiveness and apparent favoritism towards you by the director did not go unnoticed. You were predictably met with the cold shoulder by many of your peers upon your return. It didn’t help that Jinchul had kept the confrontation between him and Taeshik confidential. Only executive producer Go and your bodyguards were made aware. This was done to protect you and to prevent the besmirching of your character by the media. The rest of the cast and crew had simply been told that Taeshik had departed from the film due to ‘irreconcilable and creative differences.’ The purple haired man’s PR team, for their part, also appeared to be going with this story.

Frankly, you could care less about what your coworkers thought of you. You were just glad that you never had to be around a horrible psychopath like Taeshik ever again. Cha and Jinho, on the other hand, had taken it upon themselves to act as your newly appointed bodyguards in Thomas’s and Zhigang’s stead. Any nasty gossip or snide remarks were met with a frosty glare from the blonde woman and threats of litigation from the heir apparent of Yoojin Construction.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends or a more considerate boss, but you were starting to find the constant protection and coddling from them to be too much. You were a woman with her own autonomy after all. And yet you were being treated like a piece of glass, as if you would shatter with the slightest gust of wind. It was suffocating and your newly toxic work environment certainly wasn’t making matters any better.

To keep yourself grounded (and from going insane) you had taken to embarking on early morning walks along the beach. The peace and tranquility were a welcome solace from the tumultuous reality of your situation. You could spend hours getting lost in the beauty of the dawning sun.

You should have known this temporary serenity was not to last.

That Sunday had started out much like any other morning. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, changed into a pair of leggings with a matching sports bra, and slid on some comfortable running shoes. It was a little before dawn, and you were hoping to catch the breathtaking sight of the sunrise along the sandy marshes of the island. You weren’t scheduled to work, so you had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy nature. You planned to make the most of it.

You start off by walking to a well-known bakery to purchase some freshly made kkwabaegi. The crispiness of the fried dough complements your coffee perfectly. After eating your sweet treat, you continue your journey, heading southbound for a local beach. The area was usually a tourist trap in the summer, but it was much less populated at this time of day.

The moment your foot connects with the sand, you are instantly hit by the familiar smell of lavender and sandalwood. You begin to panic.

 Shit! It was that alpha from a few weeks ago!

You know the right thing to do, the reasonable thing to do, would be to turn back and run. You were all alone in a secluded area with someone who was potentially dangerous. The last time you were near them, you had been rendered completely helpless just from their pheromones alone. If you got too close to them, you could end up going into another heat.

The other possibilities were more nightmarish. You’d heard horror stories about depraved alphas who would kidnap omegas and force them into becoming their mates against their will. Dominance amongst alphas these days was often synonymous with entitlement, something many of them would use to justify their disgusting actions. If this person nearby was of the same barbaric mindset…

Despite the storm of conflicting emotions raging within you, you remain rooted to the spot. It was just no use; you couldn’t convince yourself to retreat. Curiosity and the need for closure far outweighed your fear and anxiety. You had to find out the identity of this individual, regardless of the risk.

You steel yourself before nervously trudging in the direction of the scent. For whatever reason, the strength of the alpha’s pheromones was nowhere near the same extent as it was on that night. It was soothing this time, like a hot shower at the end of an exhausting day. Had the increased dose of your heat suppressants been responsible for this? Well, no use in questioning it now.

As the aroma grows stronger, you find yourself heading closer towards the sea. The sun was starting to peak over the tussling waves, and you briefly turned your head to avoid receiving an eyeful of blinding light. It’s in the periphery of your vision that you finally see him: the alpha that had been evading you for so long.

Even from a several yards away, you can tell he’s quite tall; standing at a height of around 185 cm. He’s also naked from the waist up, with only a pair of shredded jeans on his figure. But what captivates you most is the feverishness and intensity of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you like this before. It was almost reverent. Like you were some kind of deity.

The man staggers towards you slowly. Had he been hurt? There didn’t appear to be a scratch on him, although his remaining clothes were a mess. You reason that he must be experiencing heat exhaustion. This would explain why he had taken off his shirt. Your hackles lowered, you decide to throw caution to the wind and approach the man.

His body gives out just as you begin to close the distance between the two of you. You immediately pick up the pace, turning your walk into a jog. You’re able to catch him right before he falls face first into the sand. That was a close one, you think, releasing a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. You’re able to fully take in the man’s appearance now that he was close enough to hold.

He was unspeakably handsome. As a stylist in the entertainment industry, you’ve seen your fair share of gorgeous celebrities. But all of them paled in comparison to the robust beauty of the man before you. Unblemished olive skin that was smooth to the touch. Silken ebony tresses that you were tempted to run your fingers through. And a God-like physique that had your pulse quickening. What you’d give to caress the rippling muscles of his torso...

Just who in the world was this ethereal alpha? And how was he able to sleep so soundly in the arms of a virtual stranger? The man had even nuzzled his face in between the valley of your breasts as if it was the most natural thing on earth! Oddly enough, you weren’t put off by his actions. In fact, you found them to be endearing. Was this what it was like to form a predestined bond with someone?

You briefly consider texting your friends to get help for the man but decide against it once you start weighing your options. If he was transported to the hospital, there was a chance he would be forcibly separated from you. What’s more, if it was found out that he was the one who caused your false heat, there could be far reaching consequences. You were still being monitored on set, and Jinchul might deem this man to be a threat to you.

He didn’t look to be injured, at least not physically, so you rule out the hospital. You deliberate for a few more minutes before ultimately choosing to wait and bide your time until he regained consciousness.

The two of you remain entangled in this strange embrace as stunning shades of orange, red, and yellow paint the sky. The waves shine incandescently in the sunlight, and you find yourself facing the ocean, distracted by its splendor. After a few minutes, you feel something shifting in your arms.

You return your focus to the man. He’s finally started to stir, groggily raising his head from your chest.  You both lock eyes, your wide-eyed gaze contrasting with his half lidded one. You see his chapped lips open and close, mouthing only one word: 'Omega.'

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Alpha, your inner omega silently preens, instinct taking over.

The man attempts to talk to you again, but you hush him with the gentle press of your index finger to his lips. He obeys right away and makes no further efforts to speak. You had many questions that you wanted to ask, but that could wait for just a little longer. Your alph – no, this alpha, was in desperate need of some water. He looked awfully parched.

You unzip the tote bag you brought with you and sift through its contents before producing a canteen filled with water. You open it and push the lid to his mouth, motioning for him to drink. He follows your orders without a second thought, taking several generous gulps. Rivulets of excess water drip from the corner of his mouth, down his Adam’s apple, and you find yourself getting distracted by his body again. You internally curse as you feel yourself growing wet. You discreetly press your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache building between them.

You fail to notice the flare of the man’s nostrils or his blown-out pupils as he watches your actions from the corner of his eye.

When he’s finally had his fill, you cap your canteen and place it to the side. You then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. The man shoots you an uneasy look when he sees it in your hand. Was he unfamiliar with mobile devices? You type a quick message in your notebook app and turn the screen towards him.

“I’m going to use my phone to communicate with you because I have a hearing impairment. Is that alright? I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

The boyish look of surprise that crosses his face while he reads doesn’t escape you. He must not have been expecting you to be deaf. You anxiously await his response, unsure of what his reaction will be.

His expression morphs into something akin to barely concealed wonder, and he nods his head. You breathe deep and type away on your phone again. Your next message elaborates on your concerns.

"First, can you tell me if you’re in any pain or if you’re injured? If you are, I can get an ambulance for you. My name is Y/N, by the way.”

His eyes quickly flit over your words. In response, he dips one of his fingers into the wet sand. You’re curious at first, until you start to recognize the shapes that he’s drawing as letters. Why was he writing in the sand? Was he not comfortable with using your phone?

Once finished, his message reads:

“I’m unharmed. I do not need help. Thank you for the water.”

Great, so he wasn’t hurt. Now you can finally focus on getting some damn answers!

You start typing furiously, pouring all your heart into unspoken anger. As soon as you’re finished you nearly slam the mobile device into the man’s face. He blinks owlishly, looking adorably confused by your actions. You don’t know whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“Now that I know you’re okay, can you please answer a few questions for me? Tell me, were you sailing near a large yacht a few weeks ago? There was this scent that day, an alpha’s scent. It smelt incredible. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find this person. And then I came across you! You have the exact same smell as them! And you’re obviously an alpha yourself since you recognized me as an omega right away.  Please, just tell me who you are! I ended up going into heat because of that alpha, and I feel like I’ve been losing my mind over them!”

The man’s face flickers from shock to guilt as he reads your explosive words. You regret typing them almost immediately when you see the sadness in his steel gray eyes.

He tries to use your phone to write back, but he’s clumsy and ends up swiping his fingers over a bunch of random characters. He huffs and bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. Crap, now you were feeling even worse about unleashing your tirade on him. You’ve always had a temper on you, and it often led to you lashing out and hurting the people you cherished most. And now you had allowed your mounting frustration to get the better of you in front of this poor man. For all you knew, he could be an innocent bystander who was just trying to get some help after becoming overheated.

You had to set things right.

You gently take the phone from the man’s hands, place it in your lap, and cup his cheek. He nervously glances at you, afraid that you’ll still be mad at him. But he’s greeted by your warm smile instead. Reassured, his shoulders relax, and he leans into your touch. After a few moments, you withdraw your hand, eager to continue the conversation. You can’t help but mourn the loss of contact as you resume your typing, however. Your next message reads:

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you, especially when you probably don’t have anything to do with this. Please, allow me to start all over again and explain everything to you. Just so I can confirm if you’re the same person I bumped into several days ago. And don’t worry about having to use my phone. I’ve got a pen and a notebook you can write on.”

His eyes take on a hopeful sheen, and you have to force yourself to part from him in order to get to your bag. He really was too charming for his own good, this strange alpha…

That reminds you, you still hadn’t gotten his name!

Once the writing utensils are given to him, he starts scribbling away. His chicken scratch is barely legible, but it was better than nothing. Your handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best either, if you were being honest. He wrote:

“Omega, you are not at fault for anything. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. My name is Sung Jin-woo, an alpha from Jindo-gun. I am the person who was exploring the area around that large boat several nights ago. I became worried when I smelt an omega’s scent. It was you; you were the omega I was seeking that day. I should have shown myself to you sooner. What happened to you after I left? Did any other alphas approach you?"

Sung Jin-woo, huh? It suited him. He had an oddly formal way of writing though, one that clashed with his youthful appearance. This time, you don’t miss the possessiveness in his eyes as he writes that last sentence.

‘Did any other alphas approach you?’

You gulp, reminiscing over the entire ordeal with Kang Taeshik. Should you even tell Jin-woo? By now the problem had been resolved and Taeshik was already fired. There was no reason for you to make Jin-woo feel even worse about causing your heat.

In the end, you choose not to mention Taeshik. He was out of the picture, and you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

You resume typing in your notebook app, your response stating:

“No, not really. My boss found me on the verge of passing out, though. He’s an alpha so he could tell why I wasn’t feeling well. I was taken to a hospital by my friends since they’re both betas. I had to stay in bed for a week, but as you can already tell I’m alright now. I’m just glad I was finally able to meet you, Jin-woo 😊 You see, I work on that big ship. I’m a makeup artist and hair stylist, and the yacht is the set for a movie that’s being filmed…”

The next few hours pass in companiable silence as you communicate through pen strokes and text messages. Both you and Jin-woo had shared a considerable amount about one another over this time span.

You learn that Jin-woo had grown up on the island, much like you. He lived with his mother and little sister on the outskirts of town and served as the sole provider of the family after his father passed away. When you question what he did for a living, he paused before writing he was a fisherman. This would explain why he was out so early in the morning. The most ideal times to fish were sunset and sunrise. But how had his clothes gotten torn up like that? When you asked, he merely answered that he fell off his boat and had almost gotten swept up in the propellor. Apparently, his shirt and pants had been destroyed by the turning of the blades. You were incredulous at first, given just how dangerous that sounded, but Jin-woo had a way of selling you with his words. You eventually found yourself believing him despite your previous skepticism. He must have also been fishing that night two weeks ago.

Jin-woo had asked you many questions as well. He seemed particularly concerned about your heat cycle. When you disclosed the cause of it was your compatibility with him, his entire body tensed. Jin-woo’s hands then started to shake and you took one of them in your own to calm him. He glances at you, and you’re taken aback by the fire in his eyes. For the briefest of moments, you fear that you might’ve revealed something you shouldn’t have. Before you can compose an apology, Jin-woo releases your hand, picks up his pen, and starts writing again. Once finished, he gives you the notebook with an expression of apprehension on his face.

“Is this something you’re comfortable with? Now that we’ve met, I’m really interested in getting to know you more. But how do you feel about me? Do you want to continue this conversation? I understand if you’d want me to leave after everything you were forced to endure.”

How did you feel about him?

You mull over all that’s occurred since returning to your hometown. You had never expected to encounter so many trials and tribulations. By all accounts, you had every right to cease any further contact with Jin-woo. But you were undeniably intrigued by him. He had been nothing but respectful of your boundaries, and you found yourself being drawn in by his earnest personality. If nothing else came from this meeting between the two of you, then at least you could become friends.

You type an honest response and wait on bated breath as he reads it:

“I’m not sure how I feel about us right now. Honestly, I don’t believe in things like destiny or fate when it comes to finding a soulmate. But I do want to continue seeing you. I also would like to learn more about you as a person. Maybe we can take things slow and figure it out from there. What do you say, Jin-woo😉?”

All the anxiety seems to melt away from Jin-woo’s face. A cute grin tugs at his lips, lighting his darkened visage.

His answer is succinct:

“I’d really like that, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat. That was the first time he used your name.

A small part of you starts to wonder if the two of you really are fated to be together. Cheesy as it sounds, you were more than willing to take a chance on this budding relationship with Jin-woo.

Little did you know this meeting would set in motion a series of tragic events that would shatter countless lives and forever leave a stain on the island’s reputation.

🔱 To be continued...

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