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florencemtrash · 4 months

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The Artificer: Part II - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, violence, death

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

Five months later…

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger stalked forward, silent as the dead and just as unfeeling.

The Autumn Court warrior at least had the sense to tremble when The Shadowsinger came near. But he kept his red-cracked lips shut, golden eyes shining with hatred.

“Bastard.” He sneered, spitting on Azriel’s polished boot.

“I said.” A shadow darted out from his side, grabbing a fistful of matted tawny hair and wrenching it back. His skin was thin, so translucent that Azriel traced the flow of his blood in his purple veins with dead eyes. “Where. Is. She?” Every word was emphasized with a violent jerk.

He’d gone to visit you last week, carrying your favorite chocolates from Velaris and hoping for a far sweeter kiss in return. Instead your workshop had been in ruins. Swords shattered and the fire burnt out. For the first time, the room had been cold and unlit.

Azriel had only found the pathetic male in front of him, kneeling on the ground and uselessly tugging at the sword which refused to move - Sunseeker.

Azriel held it now in his hands, the pale, yellow glow sharpening the shadows beneath his eyes and the elegantly cruel cut of his jaw.

It had been a risk trying to pick up the sword, but the weapon had sung to him and his shadows, calling out for him to wield it instead of the unworthy Autumn Court male. Azriel was no replacement for its real master - he was no replacement for you - but Sunseeker willed it and he obeyed.

“Is there truly no one else capable of wielding it?” Azriel asked, sitting so close to you that your knees and elbows brushed against one another. He didn’t have the courage to kiss you just yet, but gods did he want to. And with the hours he’d spent looking at and dreaming about your lips, he was certain he had a good idea what you tasted like.

“Her.” You corrected, holding the sword up to the steady stream of sunlight that spilled through the slats in the ceiling. Pressed against the light, the sword appeared almost transparent - as if made of glass.

Azriel smiled. You liked to name and personify every tool, weapon, and piece of equipment you owned, as if you had a secret third eye that allowed you to see into the lives of inanimate objects. He wanted to believe it was true - it was the only way he could explain the wonders you produced with your bare hands.

“There is one other person capable of such a thing,” You hesitated to tell him, but ultimately finished. “My mate.”

All at once Azriel’s heart fell into free fall, prepared to crash through the cradle of his bones and into the floor. His face, marvelously, betrayed nothing.

“Your mate.” He stole his gaze away, focusing on a very interesting speck of dust on the counter, “They’re lucky.” He murmured, drawing away.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not lucky enough.” You sheathed the blade, returning it to its new place on the wall, “They haven’t found me yet.”

“Oh.” A flicker of hope filled his chest - dangerous and unwieldy. “Is that… is that something you want? A mate? ” Azriel wondered aloud before his mind could trap the words. He cringed, shaking his head in self-disappointment.

What a stupid question. Everyone wanted to find their mate. Everyone. He himself had been obsessed with the concept for hundreds of years. He had thought he’d find his mate in Mor, and then Elain, he had even thought he felt something more than friendship for Gwyn.

But more recently the idea had faded into the recesses of his mind. More recently the worst of his thoughts had fallen silent, and it was all thanks to you.

“Maybe,” You considered it, “Maybe not.” You sighed, sinking back into your seat. You rubbed at a metal coin on the benchtop, feeling the oil gather on its surface and taint your fingers grey, “My parents were mates. They didn’t love each other though. Not really.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head and shook off his sympathy.

“I don’t know if I want a mate…”

You pulled your chair closer and reached out, delicately beginning to drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of Azriel’s scars. His heart stopped when you picked up his hands and gently kissed them, your calloused fingertips rolling over his ruined skin.

“But there is something I definitely want.” You revealed, looking at him with more feeling than you ever had before.

You’d been scraping by on lingering touches and reserved smiles and momentary glances that spoke of more than friendship. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough, not since the moment he’d walked into your workroom. You felt like a woman starved, deprived of something that you hadn’t even tasted yet. It was a terrible pain to want something you didn’t even understand the nature of.

Azriel wasn’t everything. He wasn’t the air you needed to breathe. He wasn’t every piece of joy that life could bring. But he was the bright touch of color in the world that made everything that came before seem dull. And you didn’t want to live in greyscale anymore.

Azriel swallowed thickly, his hands instinctively falling to your waist and pulling you into his lap. “Whatever it is you want, Y/n - anything at all - I’ll give it to you.” He whispered reverently, closing his eyes when you pressed your forehead against his, “I swear it on my life.”

It was such sweet torture feeling you pressed against him with your hands caressing his throat. You smelled like woodsmoke and citrus. Heady, sweet, and clean all at the same time.

“Just you, Az. I just want you.”

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He tightened his grip on you, swallowing your little gasp of surprise with his lips.

Time was molten metal. Cooling, slowing, and warping around your hands as you molded it to your liking, so you could savor this moment for as long as possible.

Little did you know, your mate had found you. And he would find you again. Nothing but the crashing of the stars and the splitting of the earth would keep him from fulfilling this promise.

Azriel’s eyes darkened.

“Three of you were sent to take Y/n.” Azriel stalked around the male, slipping in and out of eyesight without warning. The male pulled at his chains and the ring of his futile efforts echoed throughout the dungeon.

“She put up a fight.” Azriel emerged from the male’s left, shooting out an arm so quickly that the pain followed after the fall of blood down his freckled cheeks.

Azriel cleaned Truth-Teller on his forearm nonchalantly, continuing his ambiguous path. If it weren’t for the hard cruelty in his eyes and the knife in his hands, he would look… normal. As if he were doing the grocery instead of slowly butchering a fae alive. He’d already taken three fingers and four toes.

The male began to shake.

“I saw the blood in the shop. It wasn’t yours, and it wasn’t hers.”

Another arm shot out, followed by a scream. The male grappled for an ear that was no longer there, feeling the blood drip down his arms from the stump.

“I DON’T KNOW!” The male cried out, curling in on himself, “I don’t know.” He repeated miserably.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel asked. His countenance said he was bored, but inside he was barely holding on by a thread. His shadows begged to be released and scattered across all of Prythian until you were returned home. They wanted chaos and pain - anything to distract from your aching absence.

Let us handle this. They hissed. We can take him. We’ll get the information. We’ll get everything. Let us-

Azriel shushed them, and they obeyed, falling to the edges of his consciousness and the edges of his body.

“What don’t you know?” Azriel leaned forward, some sick, twisted part of him relishing in the way the male flinched.

“I-I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know why he wanted her. Just some no-name artificer from-”

“Who wanted her?”

The male paled further until his skin was as pallid as moonlight on lakewater.

“WHO?!”

“THE HIGH LORD!” He whimpered, shuffling away from Azriel’s encroaching footsteps. The chains scuffed the ground and then clanged when he reached the end of his length, trailing blood. “Ber-Beron wanted her.”

Azriel stilled, his insides turning cold.

There were dozens of reasons why Beron might want you as his prisoner. Your talents alone made you worth a thousand men. But if Beron had any awareness of what you meant to him?

Azriel gritted his teeth. “For what purpose?” He growled.

The male’s dull eyes closed in defeat. He was as good as dead. He could only hope the rumours were true and that the Night Court were not the devils they pretended to be. Then, and only then, might he be offered the option of a violently quick end.

“He heard rumours of an artificer - a female artificer - capable of crafting weapons that could be bonded to a single wielder. He’s been searching for years now.” He shook his bloodied locks, “We thought…We thought it would be another dead end. Another body to bury. We didn’t think-” He choked on his words, trailing off into silence.

Azriel crouched down, dragging the Truth-Teller down the male’s face like a sculptor ready to carve a piece of marble down.

One wrong breath, one flinch, and he’d draw blood.

“Finish what you were going to say.” His hazel eyes cut deep.

He swallowed, “We didn’t think… we didn’t think she was anyone important.”

Azriel’s eyes were swallowed up by shadows until they hardened into two marble stones.

The male held his breath, feeling an oppressive power start to press down on him. Suffocating. Cold. Lethal. Darkness shoved him to the floor, crushing his ribs until they splintered and snapped.

“That was your mistake,” Azriel growled, “She is someone important. More important than you will ever be.” With a flash of blue and black, he buried Truth-Teller into the male’s chest all the way down to the hilt.

A shock of surprise and pain flooded the male’s face, and before the expression could dissipate, Azriel leaned in close enough to smell the blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin.

“She is my mate.” The male’s eyes flashed with horror and understanding, and that feeling chased him towards his death, “And your High Lord will burn for what he’s done.”

___________

His shadows roiled in frustration, climbing up his legs and arms like fire greedily chasing after oxygen. They weren’t happy about being denied a kill, and every moment Azriel kept them on a leash, the more irritable they became. Their devotion to you was second only to Azriel. Even then, they would hesitate to disappoint you, even if it meant going against their master.

Soon. He promised them. Soon.

Azriel’s silhouette was carved out of the fabric of the night sky, shadows curling around his arms and wings as he stayed low, pooling his power to keep them all hidden. Cassian and Eris lay on the ground beside him, arms and wings tucked in close.

Autumn lay like a sleeping giant all around them, sighing with a breath that had mist floating up from slick, damp earth covered in leaves. Azriel was grateful for the weather, the rain disguised the curling of their breath in the air and masked their footsteps when they crossed over from Spring. Night and mist were a Shadowsinger’s dream.

The ground rose steadily in front of them, trees only daring to inch halfway up the hill as if they too could taste the magic in the air. All the trees - save for the godstree that marked the crest of the hill and snaked its thundering hand towards the sky in a knobby, clenched fist.

Icaryon Hill was one of Autumn’s most highly guarded secrets, and like the Forest House, it hid all its treasures and prisoners underground.

Azriel leaned down, pressing his ear to the ground and straining his ears for anything. Anything at all.

Eris smirked at him, reveling in the way Azriel bristled and bared his teeth. He would never let the Shadowsinger forget how he’d become desperate enough to swallow his pride and ask him for help.

Cassian looked equally displeased at the Lordling’s presence. “I hope your information isn’t as useless as the rest of you.”

“Careful who you call useless, Bastard,” Eris drawled, choosing his words very carefully, “Or else I might have to leave you and your pretty little artificer for the dogs.”

Cassian had to stop himself from wringing his pale, slender neck, but Azriel - for once in his life - didn’t have that much self control.

He shot forward, wrapping one scarred hand around Eris’s throat and slamming his head back into the ground, pushing down until he sank six inches into the damp soil.

Eris’s eyes flashed with something like triumph and curiosity. Nevermind that the Shadowsinger was currently crushing his ribs with his knee, or that Truth Teller was starting to leave a thin line of blood on his neck.

Azriel hated him, and the piece he hated most was that even when Eris was down, he had a way of making himself out to be the biggest person in the room.

“Az, that’s enough,” Cassian hissed. His eyes kept swiveling back up to the hill, “Let him go.”

Eris had warned them there would be a narrow window of time between the changing of the guards. The belly of Icaryon Hill was so expertly warded that no one - not even the High Lord - was capable of winnowing in. At some unknown time three guards would slip out and three guards would slip in, all winnowing to the gate hidden in the base of the godstree. One - and only one - of the males would have the key necessary to enter and exit and they’d have to unlock the gate in twenty seconds or risk triggering an alarm. If any blood was spilled on the earth, internal alarms within the Forest House would trigger the arrival of a squadron of gorgons capable of turning flesh to rock with a single touch.

That meant in order to evade the wards they’d have to winnow up the hill, kill six highly-trained males without bloodshed, and find the key in less than twenty seconds if they wanted even the smallest chance of getting you out.

Cassian knew this and it made his stomach turn.

Eris knew this and it made him cocky.

“Interesting.” Eris said, tilting his head with a smug smile on his face, “The Artificer, huh? Was that doe-eyed seer not enough for you?”

Azriel began to heave with rage, eyes turning pure black. It was enough to scare even Cas. Azriel had been on edge for weeks since you’d gone missing, but Cass had never seen him so… so unhinged.

Azriel had traded in his icy rage for a darker, more visceral variety capable of driving him to madness.

And Eris was not making things better.

He continued to goad him, “Maybe she ran away? I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Eris, shut the fuck up.” Cassian growled, “When are the guards changing?”

Eris ignored him, concentrating on the Shadowsinger. Azriel may have been the one to approach him for help, but that didn’t mean he was going to waste an opportunity to advance his own agenda.

It was funny. Everyone said The Shadowsinger was near unreadable - cold as a statue and as unfeeling as steel. But deep down, Eris knew he was still the same little Illyrian bastard that had been shoved into a cellar and convinced he didn’t matter. And more than making him insecure or thoughtful, it had made him angry.

Eris switched tactics, focusing on you instead, “Maybe, when this is all said and done, your precious whore will run away too.” Azriel stilled, shadows pouring off of him to the ground where they turned into claws and sank in deep, “And just maybe, I’ll be there to fuck her the way she likes. I’d pay her good money too.”

“Eris!” Cassian’s warning came too late. Azriel raised his arm, Truth Teller glinting in the darkness.

Something in the earth shifted, thin rays of light spilling out of the gate atop the hill.

Eris smiled.

Just on time.

The guards were changing.

“Fuck!” Cassian groaned, grabbing at his swords but not daring to unsheath them.

Azriel was roiling with panic and rage, every muscle in his body feeling ready to split in two. And Eris… Eris was smiling.

“Go on Shadowsinger.” He said, pointing to the hill, “Tick tock.”

Azriel clawed the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet at the same time he clutched Cassian’s arm hard enough to bruise. They winnowed up to the gate in a whirlwind of death and shadow.

Six guards. 15 seconds.

Eris slammed his fist into two of the males’ throats, cutting off their roars of alarm. Two swift kicks to their knees and they exploded out with a sickening snap. Sharp cracks followed and they fell to the ground, their necks sticking out at a harsh angle.

Four.

Eris dropped to his knees, ripping at amour in search of the key.

Cassian rolled to the ground, narrowly missing the downward swing of a sword that buried itself in the ground. He bounced onto his feet, as lithe and limber as a fae a quarter of his size. He grabbed a fistful of blood-red hair, swiftly bringing the other elbow down. He made perfect contact at the base of the skull, severing the connection between the spinal cord and the brain.

Three.

This was taking too long. They would never make it in time.

But… but how was it still so quiet? Cassian dared to look up from his search for the key and his blood ran cold.

Azriel…

Azriel was death and decay given form. The moment they reached the gate, for the first time in his life, he relinquished full control of his shadows.

They swarmed around him until he was nothing more than a dark, blurry cloud of destruction. He grabbed the male closest to him, digging his hands into his throat and registering the horror in his eyes before shadows poured into his eyes, mouth, nose, ears. They flooded every sense, screaming in Azriel’s ears of a power that he had never been desperate or angry enough to unleash… until now.

The shadows filled the male’s body, wrecking bones and ripping apart tendons with a force that transformed them into razor sharp talons. The male gurgled, body jerking around in pain. Azriel finished him off by snapping his neck with a clean, sharp jerk. The body fell to the ground with a hollow thud.

Two.

The remaining guards similarly dropped to their knees, empty eyes and hands left to ghost over their throats before they fell forward. Dead.

Shadows leaked out of their eyes and mouth, slipping over their cooling bodies like the rain that pitter pattered against their backs. But no blood. Not even a drop.

One tendril of night slid up Azriel’s leg and washed over his hands, depositing a glittering bronze key that burned with warmth.

He should have felt more. More surprise and some semblance of disgust at what he’d just done. What he’d been capable of. But those feelings remained hidden, sullen and silent behind walls of obsidian willpower and adamant.

Cassian and Eris stared at him, wasting a few precious seconds to gape at the littering of bodies around them, raindrops pattering onto their backs and slowly absorbing into leather and skin.

Cassian swallowed, daring to break the silence, “I never knew you could do that.” He admitted blandly. Cassian wasn’t afraid of his brother - he never could be. He’d survived too many battles by his side to ever fear being on the wrong end of his blade… but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be unnerved by the powers that thrived within him, and how little anyone knew about them.

“Neither did I,” Azriel said without emotion, closing his fist around the key. “Let’s go.”

He stalked to the gate where it hummed in the ground like a dropped coin, fluttering with life, beckoning him to enter.

Just a little longer, Y/n. I’m coming.

He used the key and the gate opened.

You crouched in the darkness, cradling your ruined hands and trying not to cry.

The first few weeks Beron had let you out of your cell during the day, bringing you to the forge hidden beneath the hill so you could set about building him a weapon of his own. You’d leaned into his desires, working the metal until it sang a song of promise to the cruel High Lord.

He wanted power, and you’d promised it to him, proving your worth long enough for Azriel to come find you. But it had been almost two months, Azriel was nowhere to be found, and Beron was losing patience.

He traded empty compliments for threats, and when those failed to do anything, he turned to outright cruelty. Just this morning, he’d had one of his men whip your hands until they bled. Then, as a personal touch, he’d torn your shirt to pieces and trailed his fingers down your back. His touch had been light. You could’ve mistaken them for the kisses of a lover if it weren’t for the fact that he’d set the tips of his fingers on fire so they burned the whole way down.

They smarted and burned, the pain seeping in now that the shock was ebbing away.

“He’s coming. He’s coming.” You murmured to yourself, curling in on yourself with your arms pressed close to your exposed chest. “Just stay strong. Stay strong.”

“He’s not coming for you, dear.” A phantom hand, cold and bony as death, caressed your back. You looked up, eyes shining like two shards of glass in the darkness.

The High Lord was as handsome as he was deadly, the smooth and elegant planes of his face and his honey-sweet voice in stark contrast to the light of his eyes - or rather lack thereof.

They held no warmth, no pity, no fear.

“He’s not coming for you.” He repeated.

“Liar.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head. His blood-red robes trailed along the grate of your prison cell, blocking out the meager light that trickled down. The gold-trim embroidery winked deceptively, flashing sultry looks of wealth and opulence in your direction.

Your stomach growled painfully and you wrapped yourself up as best you could. You’d spent most of your life time by the forge. Cold was not a familiar experience.

“I don’t know what that Illyrian bastard, Azriel, promised you. Wealth. Prestige. Love.”

You growled, kicking the wall hard enough for a shower of dirt to rain down on your head. You tried not to flinch when debris landed on sensitive skin, “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

Beron smirked, amused, “So much anger. So much defensiveness for a male who won’t care about you the next time a pretty female with doe eyes wanders into his path.”

You bared your teeth at him.

“Ahhhhh,” he clicked his tongue happily, “So perhaps you’re already aware he holds a certain reputation. Pity.” There was another swoosh of his velvet robes, “I’m promising you safety, enough gold and silks to make an empress jealous, and in return I just ask for you to do what you’ve always done.” He held up his hands, “I don’t understand where the difficulty lies”

“In return you’d want to make me your bitch.” You spit out, “To give you the tools to kill whomever you pleased.”

“I already have the tools to kill whomever I please.”

“No. No you don’t.” He narrowed his eyes in displeasure. You limped forward, holding your hands close to your chest. Your body may have been weak, but your heart and your mind were still strong. Not even Beron was capable of taking that from you. You looked up at the High Lord unflinchingly, “When Azriel comes for me - and he will - I’ll ask him for your head on a pike.”

Beron sneered, “If he and his half-breed Lord decide you’re worth the trouble, I’ll kill your little Shadowsinger first and reduce him to ash.”

You set your jaw, refusing to look away as the High Lord turned on his heels and left the room. Only then did you sink to your knees exhausted and breathed in the scent of damp, rotting earth.

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#the artificer #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger #shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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plutoswritingplanet · 6 months

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Mortal Kombat 1 Intro Dialogues

a/n: some slightly flirty dialogues for suggested characters from Mortal Kombat 1 (and 11), reader is a blood mage, adjacent to "Unpunishable"

Warnings: Suggestive Language, Obscure References, Poor Attempts at Comedy

Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung: Liu Kang is squandering your potential.

Reader: I trust his judgement completely.

Shang Tsung: You were made for so much more.

...

Reader: You want me to make a deal with the Devil.

Shang Tsung: All I ask in return, is your soul.

Reader: It's too high a price!

...

Shang Tsung: I lay before you my eternal heart...

Reader: There is no love with you, only ownership.

Shang Tsung: I dearly love all of my possessions.

...

Reader: I must believe there's good even in the darkest corners of the world

Shang Tsung: Finding it in me might turn out to be a futile fight

Reader: I don't give up easily, Shang Tsung

...

Shang Tsung: Have you ever thought to say "stop"? "If you love me, you would stop?"

Reader: Not in a thousand years.

Shang Tsung: I see now, why we're destined for each other

...

Reader: The things you've been doing in your laboratories are vile

Shang Tsung: I've used the same magic, as the one coursing through your veins

Reader: Liar!

Liu Kang

Liu Kang: Empress Sindel has approved your application to study Outworld's medicine.

Reader: I'm honored by her trust.

Liu Kang: You'll do a splendid job as Earthrealm's ambassador.

...

Reader: I fear the pull of darkness overpowering me.

Liu Kang: I will guide you, until your mind is at peace.

Reader: What if it never ends?

...

Liu Kang: In the previous timeline, you were my close friend and adversary.

Reader: And in this timeline?

Liu Kang: I'm inclined to say the same.

...

Reader: Doesn't it get lonely, being a God?

Liu Kang: I'm devoted to protecting Earthrealm and its people.

Reader: You didn't answer my question.

...

Liu Kang: Beware Shang Tsung's honeyed words.

Reader: You've said we were destined for each other in all timelines.

Liu Kang: And your union always leads to your suffering.

...

Reader: You knew I'd reject Shang Tsung's offer? Fight him every step of the way?

Liu Kang: I had faith, you would make the right choice

Reader: Honestly, do you have music playing in your head when you say garbage like that

Johnny Cage

Johnny: Let me just say, there's no other place I would rather be, than right here with you right now.

Reader: I can change that very easily.

Johnny: Why so serious, sweet cheeks?

...

Reader: No, Johnny, I won't be playing in any of your movies, ever.

Johnny: Can I ask why?

Reader: Why I don't want the job that makes your brain explode?

...

Johnny: You might wanna reconsider your rendezvous with the Sorcerer.

Reader: Which one?

Johnny: Oh, you are a bad woman.

...

Reader: Don't be such a baby, it's just a scrap.

Johnny: And I need a hot nurse to patch it up.

Reader: Why do I even… You're impossible.

...

Johnny: You have experience with emotionally fragile men, right?

Reader: You're self-aware today.

Johnny: I was talking about Kung Lao...

...

Reader: Okay, Ninja Priest was actually kinda good.

Johnny: YES! I knew you had a thing for the clergy.

Reader: That's not what I... You're such an ass!

Kung Lao

Reader: Do you think Liu Kang has destined us to become friends?

Kung Lao: Obviously, I'd never choose this for myself.

Reader: He could've made you less of twat...

...

Kung Lao: It's way too dangerous for you to travel Outworld alone.

Reader: I don't need a babysitter, Kung Lao.

Kung Lao: Prove it, then.

...

Reader: If you buy me dinner at Madame Bo's, I'll heal your arm.

Kung Lao: I see your time with Shang Tsung is rubbing off on you.

Reader: See, now I gotta hurt ya.

...

Kung Lao: How does it feel, being in the center of the Snake's attention.

Reader: Fuck you man, I didn't ask for this.

Kung Lao: Not good then.

...

Reader: Come on, I paid for dinner last time.

Kung Lao: I'll be happy to pay... Once you beat me.

Reader: You can be an ass sometimes, you know that?

...

Kung Lao: You know I only meant it as a joke, right?

Reader: Let me show you just how funny I think you are

Kung Lao: Bring it on, Nurse.

Bi-Han

Reader: You betrayed everything your clan stood for.

Bi-Han: You have no moral high-ground here, Healer.

Reader: I don't need it.

...

Bi-Han: Join the Lin Kuei, and unleash your true power.

Reader: Not while they're under your command, traitor.

Bi-Han: Your pride will be your downfall.

...

Reader: I can feel your blood run cold through your body...

Bi-Han: It will boil while I destroy you.

Reader: You'll freeze to death, then.

...

Bi-Han: Your aversion to power is your greatest flaw.

Reader: Should I follow your lead, then, and betray all I love for a promise of greatness?

Bi-Han: Is it wrong to want more?

...

Reader: Maybe I can beat some sense into you…

Bi-Han: I will crush you, little girl.

Reader: Great, a quip about my height, so original.

...

Bi-Han: We meet again, Blood Mage.

Reader: I knew you couldn't stay away, Bi-Han.

Bi-Han: Let's see if your training has progressed.

Erron Black

(am i the only one devastated he wasn't included in mk1?)

Erron: What's a pretty lookin' thing like you doin' in a place like this?

Reader: Holy shit, you even talk like a cowboy!

Erron: …Nevermind.

...

Reader: If I win, I get to wear the hat.

Erron: You'd look mighty fine in it, I'd wager.

Reader: Don't you pull your punches on me now, Black.

...

Erron: There's quite the price on your head, sweetheart.

Reader: And you'll do everything to collect it, right?

Erron: I could be persuaded against it, with the right motivation...

...

Reader: Do you flirt with all your targets?

Erron: Only pretty little ones, like you, girlie.

Reader: Well then, let's dance, Cowboy.

...

Erron: I wouldn't mind giving you a ride around town, little lady.

Reader: I'd rather beat you where you stand.

Erron: Be still, my beating heart.

...

Reader: I know who sent you.

Erron: Someone who's eager to get their hands back on you.

Reader: You can both keep them to yourself.

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #mosrtal kombat 11 #shang tsung x reader #liu kang #johnny cage #kung lao #bi han #sub zero #erron black #shang tsung #my writing #requested

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its-your-mind · 3 months

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ORV as textposts 37/???

[Photo ID - ten images from the ORV manhwa with Tumblr posts or tweets pasted upon them. The first image has Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja fighting facing opposite directions with Yoo Joonghyuk facing the viewer. Yoo Joonghyuk has veins drawn on his face as he loudly yells. A post by Tumblr user gay arsonist is pasted on his speech bubble. It reads, "fuck you (confession of love)". Kim Dokja has three rounded lines drawn from his head and his unedited speech bubble reads, "Oh..

The second image is a zoomed-out side portrait of Kim Dokja as he glances up toward dots of light. The text post is by Tumblr user petrichorsuggestions and reads, "so full of love i could explode with it"

The third image are panels of Kim Dokja and Yoo Joongdok side-by-side. Kim Dokja is in the left panel and glancing toward Yoo Joongdok in the right panel. Yoo Joongdok is staring right and away from Kim Dokja. The first text post is an anonymous Tumblr ask at the top of the image that reads, "you are not nearly funny or attractive enough for this" The response by Tumblr user weirdwerewolf is near the bottom of the image and reads, "are we about to kiss?"

The fourth image shows Yoo Joongdok staring at the top right of the image with bags under his eyes. The text post is by Tumblr user ufocorpse and reads, "'are you a boy or a girl?" I am the physical embodiment of suffering"

The fifth image shows Han Sooyoung between Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk. She is pointing to Yoo Joonghyuk, who is standing to the viewer's right with his hands in his pocket and noticeably angry.

Han Sooyoung is glancing to the viewer's left at Kim Dokja. She has a speech bubble above her that reads, "Have you two decided to wear matching outfits?" Kim Dokja is wearing a white coat and is angrily walking toward Yoo Joonghyuk, who is wearing all-black. The text post is by Twitter user @/ chaiconsumer and reads, "Few understand the importance of having a sick ass jacket that everyone recognizes you by"

The sixth image shows Kim Dokja and and Yoo Joonghyk staring at a shining golden egg with golden leaves. Kim Dokja is closest to the egg with Yoo Joonghyuk behind him and to the viewer's left. The text post is by Tumblr user siflshonen and reads, “'I could fix him"; "I could make him worse!" Why??????? Why all this DIY???? I just wanna stand over his shoulder and see what he can possibly fuck up next"

The seventh image shows Kim Dokja with a black shadow over his eyes and a star symbol next to him while he smirks. He is wearing a wet white shirt that's been torn and damaged. A river and cityscape is behind him. The text post are Tumblr tags that read, "#i bet you thought im dead just because i fell eight stories onto my car #but you forgot: i got demons livin' in me!"

The eighth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk fighting against magic circles with lightning around them. The text post is by Twitter user @/botanise and has been edited to read, "God will see me and say put that beast in a situation"

The ninth image shows Lee Gilyoung happily holding and talking to a praying mantis-like creature around the size of a cat. The text post is by Tumblr user gayarsonist and reads, “I love megafauna because its just like what if an animal was really big wouldn't that rule. and it does."

The final image shows Kim Dokja laying face-first on the ground with a deep wound on his lower back and blood around him. The text post is by Tumblr user Donald Trum (Deseaced) (trem... @/timheidecker and reads, ' have died. Badly." /End ID]

ID by @incorrect-web-novels tysm!!!

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader webtoon #orv shitpost #orv textposts #kim dokja #lee gilyoung #yoo joonghyuk #dokhyuk #yoohankim

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aerynwrites · 6 months

Text

Losing You

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: based on these three requests! Halsin would definitely flip out if you were injured in battle - so here’s a little insight into that scenario. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: canon typical violence, blood, injuries, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort.

You knew the shadow cursed lands were going to be a completely new trial all together, but you weren’t prepared for this.

The first ambush by the shadow creatures when you first arrived hadn’t been something to cause you great worry. But after reaching last light and venturing out once more, another ambush had taken your group by surprise.

You’d all been doing fine, Gale and Halsin’s spells holding the most of them off and Shadowheart keeping you all safe and healed. You’d just managed to take out one of the shadows before a panicked call of your name reached your ears.

You turn just as a creature materializes in front of you, its clawed hand swiping upwards in a flash.

You don’t even register the pain at first, the creatures strength sending you flying through the air until you land harshly against the cold ground.

The wind is knocked from your lungs, and it’s then, as you struggle for breath that the pain washes over you in an agonizing wave.

You faintly register the way you cry out Halsin’s name on instinct, and you hear the way he calls for you in kind.

But the only thing you fully recognize is the pain. It’s all comsuming, starting in your abdomen and radiating outwards as you try in vain to sit up and turn yourself over to asses the damage.

Your futile efforts are stopped by a gentle hand on your shoulder, slowly helping you to roll over.

“My heart…” Halsin’s voice is calm at first, but even in your dazed state you don’t miss the way his words pitch upwards as you finally settle into your back, the sudden movement making you gasp as another wave of pain shoots through you.

“Shadowheart!” Halsin calls for the cleric, and you can faintly hear Gale telling her to go while he deals with the few remaining enemies.

Halsin hands are on you now, flitting over your body worriedly as you finally manage to raise your head enough to try and take in the damage.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the damage done. Or rather what you can’t see. There’s so much blood. It runs in thick rivers from the deep wound in your stomach, and seeing the wound just makes the pain elevate.

Your can feel yourself start to hyperventilate, panic settling in full force as Halsin hovers over you, pulling out what little healing supplies he carries in his pack.

“Oh gods…” Shadowhearts gasp meets your ears as she finally appears your side. You watch through bleary eyes as she shakes her head. “We have to get them back to last light I…my magic is sapped - I - I don’t have enough power to heal something like this-“

“Then help me with whatever magic you do have,” Halsin barks, voice unusually panicked. “They won’t make it to last light like this I-“ he pauses, eyes flitting over your form. “We must stop the bleeding.”

“Halsin…” your voice is weak as you call out for you lover, but he is quick to respond, his gaze turning to you as he reaches to take your hand in his bloodied one.

His eyes look panicked as he gazes down at you and you can see the apology before he utters it.

“My heart, we…We must stop the bleeding before we can move you. This is going to hurt, I’m so sorry-“

You don’t even have time to question anything before you feel a firm pressure on your wound, the action sending fire through your very veins.

A scream tears from your throat, hands scrabbling for purchase against the assault. Your fingers finally find Halsin’s familiar form, pushing uselessly at his arms, tears now streaming down you cheeks.

You can register nothing but the pain, your mind clouded with it, your muscles locking down against the waves of it.

You feel the pressure shift, another wave of agony pulsing through you before Halsin face is hovering over your own, brows pulled together, eyes glistening with worry.

You reach up for him then, hands landing on his shoulders as your fingers dig into him, anything to try and relive the pain.

“It hurts,” you whimper, fear now creeping into your hazy mind.

He reaches a hand up, cupping your face, and you notice his hands are shaking as he wipes the tears from your cheek.

You can feel the way your lower lip wobbles as you speak again.

“Am I going to die?”

Halsin’s lips set in a firm line then, eyes full of determination. “No, you will not die this day, or you any day I am by your side.” He pauses for a moment, and you see the moment an idea comes over him.

His eyes slip closed before the familiar golden glow of magic envelops his hand as he reaches it up over you. “I will take your pain away, my love. Then I will be at your side when you wake.”

You don’t protest as his magic flows through you, pain ebbing away almost instantly as darkness clouds your mind.

The last thing you feel before unconsciousness consumes you is the gentle press of lips to your cheek.

———

You wake to weak candle light and, surprisingly, little pain.

The room you’re in is dimly lit by various candles littered around the space, and as it has been since you’ve arrive in these cursed lands, the sky outside remains dark.

You recognize the last light inn, even in your bleary eyed state. You take a deep breath and close your eyes again, trying to ground yourself.

The air is cool but not uncomfortable. Your fingers twitch against soft sheets atop an even softer bed. Though you suppose anything is softer than the bedroll you’ve been sleeping on in the last weeks.

It’s also quiet. Much quieter than your used to for the only safe haven in the shadow cursed lands. Which means it must be well into the evening, everyone having retired to bed.

You only open your eyes again when the gentle rustle of fabric meets your ears. You turn to the source of the sound, only to be met with the familiar sight of a certain Druid sitting by your bedside, his hand clasped loosely with yours as he leans back in his chair, eyes closed in what you assume to be the trance he falls into at night.

You squeeze his hand in yours instinctively, seeking out that familiar comfort as the memories from before come slowly back to you.

Halsin’s eyes open the moment your hand stirs against his own, hazel eyes widening as he takes you in. He lets out a small sigh, lips tugging upwards ever so slightly.

“You’re awake,” he says simply, scooting closer to your bedside.

You nod and move to sit up, a sharp gasp escaping your lips at the pain that shoots through your abdomen at the action.

Halsin is reaching out immediately, hand on your shoulder as he urges you to lay back down.

“Careful, my heart, your injuries are still fresh. You must not move too much until Shadowheart or I are able to heal you further,” he explains, voice gentle.

You give him a small nod as you rest back into the pillow, grimacing at the pain now blooming in your abdomen.

“Gods…” you whisper, “It landed a solid blow, didn’t it?”

Halsin’s lips fall into a frown, brows drawn tight. He says nothing at first, instead standing to turn to the table near the bed and grab a small cup.

You watch in silence as he mixes something into the cup before moving to the small fire in the hearth and the pot hanging over it. He dips a ladle into the pot before transferring the contents into the cup and stirring it before returning to your side.

The cup is steaming, and you catch the faint smell of medicinal herbs and something slightly sweet.

“Here,” he says softly, holding the cup out as he reaches for you with his other arm. “It should help with the pain. I will help you drink.”

Halsin slides one arm under your shoulders slowly, delicately lifting you up just enough so you can drink comfortably. The small movement bring no more pain, so once you’re sure you’re secure in Halsin’s hold, you reach up for the cup.

It’s warm in your hands, and it’s then that you realize just how cold you are. Even with the blankets draped over you, a persistent chill nips at your skin.

You blow on the still steaming liquid before taking a tentative sip, expecting it to be too hot and also not pleasant in taste.

You’re surprised on both accounts.

It’s the perfect temperature, not too hot at all and it actually tastes pleasently sweet. It tastes like…

“Is there honey in this?” You ask, eyes flicking to your lovers only to see his lips twitch upwards.

“There is,” he smiles now. “I know the taste can be unpleasant and you already know of my penchant for the particular treat…I thought a little something sweet couldn’t hurt.”

You smile at him in return, already feeling the affects of the drink. “Thank you.”

Halsin continues to support you as you finish off the concoction, and then he takes the cup from you before slowly helping you lay back down.

The blankets shifted with the small movements, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spin as the cool air kisses your exposed skin.

“Are you cold?” Halsin asks, concern lacing his words.

Nodding, you pull the blanket up to your shoulders again, silently taking note of the banded covering most of your torso.

“It is a little chilly in here,” you admit softly, trying to hide another shiver.

Halsin turns to look at the fire, the flames dwindling and embers glowing softly.

“I’ll stoke the fire,” he tells you, turning back to face you. “I need to change your bandages, so I’ll try to make it warmer.”

He squeezes your hand gently before turning to his new task with you watching on in silence. He pokes the burning logs already in the hearth before adding a few new ones. The flames lick eagerly at the new fuel, and you can feel the room rise in temperature just from that.

Once Halsin is satisfied he walks to a table across the room and washes his hands in a large bowl of water sitting atop it.

You watch silently as he goes through the motions, and despite your silent admiration of your lover, you can’t help but notice the stiff set of his shoulders, or the way his lips stay pressed in a thin line.

When he finally returns to your side, his hands are full of supplies. New bandages, a small bowl that once again smells of something medicinal, and several other items.

He sets them all down on the small side table next to your bed and gestures to the blanket covering you.

“May I?”

You nod, “Of course, Halsin.”

He nods and folds the blanket down to your waist neatly, finally giving you a clear view of what hid beneath.

Bandages span from just below your chest all the way below the waistband of your pants. You briefly realize these are not the pants you were wearing when you got injured - the leather armored pants being replaced with simple cotton ones. At least the fact that Halsin was probably the one to change you nullified any embarrassment you may have felt otherwise.

Neither of you speak as Halsin begins unwinding the old bandages, the white cloth getting more discolored the more he unwraps. When it’s finally fully removed, you’re able to see the full extent of the damage.

By all accounts you should probably be dead.

There’s four red, angry claw marks coming from your left hip all the way up and across your stomach to the right side of your ribs. The blood has been cleaned off, but a flash of the pools of crimson liquid pooling on the ground makes you tear your eyes away from the stitched up wounds.

“H-how…” you trail off, unable to voice the question.

How am I still alive?

Halsin is quiet at first, focusing instead on cleaning your wounds and gentle applying what you assume to be a healing poultice.

He lets out a quiet sigh as you flinch against his minstarations, even his earlier concoction not enough to numb the pain from direct touch.

“In truth…” he pauses. “I was afraid you were going to die on that shadow cursed battlefield.”

He doesn’t look at you as he continues his work, being even more gentle this time.

“I…I do not feel fear often. Having had centuries to master that specific part of myself, but…” his words die on his tongue, and you can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

“I have not cared so deeply for someone in many years, and the thought - the thought of losing you was more than enough to bring that unfamiliar fear to the forefront of my mind.”

His words settle into the quiet room, the fire crackling the only sound to penetrate the silence.

Finally, he speaks as he begins wrapping the new bandages around your middle, hands moving slowly as not to aggravate the wound.

“Shadowhearts magic was depleted, mine was about to be as well. We used what little magic we could conjure to stabilize you, and then Gale managed to open a portal here to the inn,” he focused on his work as he continues. “I was afraid you were going to die, my heart. And there was little I could do about it.”

He secures the final piece of cloth before his hands fall back to the bed, fingers digging into the sheets.

“I would not have survived that.”

You let out a shaky breath, reaching out to take his hand in your own, unfurling his fingers from the covers to lace them with your own.

“Hey…” you whisper, gaining his attention enough to tug him towards you. “I’m here. I am alive because of you. I’m okay.”

Halsin shakes his head, eyes falling closed, “But you could have-“

You shush him softly, tugging on his hand more intently.

“Lay with me?” You ask. “Please?”

Your lover hesitates, eyes opening to look down at your bandages before looking back up to your pleading eyes.

You pull him closer again, his thighs now pressed against the edge of the bed. “I’ll be fine I just…” you trail off. “I want you close.”

Halsin sighs, but not in anger or disappointment. In fact he sounds…relieved. Like the fact that you are alive and no longer on deaths door has finally settled in.

He nods, helping you adjust to the other side of the bed before he slips in beside you, pulling the covers up around your waist once you’re both settled.

You want to roll over onto your side and curl into him, but you know you can’t. So you settled for the way Halsin lays on his side instead, his arm draped carefully over your hips, thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the unmarred skin of your right side.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” you whisper, one hand falling to cover Halsin’s.

You turn to look at him when he doesn’t respond. Leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He responds in kind, lips molding against yours before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“And I won’t let you,” he promises.

You smile as Halsin captures your lips again. The action is full of so much. So much love and care and affection.

And most importantly, promises to keep you safe.

A promise you know he’ll fulfill. As many times as it takes.

#Halsin x reader #halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 #bg3 halsin #halsin

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kiwisbell · 12 days

Text

helen ; chapter four

nowhere to run

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the capture.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tommy gets stuck with the babysitting gig, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, joel in a church, violence against pastors, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, Big Angst, we're getting there though, the smut returns, fingering, conflicting emotions, kidnapping, Angry!Joel, cliffhanger (oopsie daisy), the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9k a/n: fucking hell. i'm so sorry for how long it took me to bring this chapter to you, friends! my thesis sucked all the life from me and i had to go on a quick trip to the underworld and back to get it back again. thank you so much to my baby @cavillscurls for beta reading and as always being the biggest goddamn help throughout the process. below is the moodboard that mya made for this chapter and the reason i'm her no. 1 lovergirl. prev | next

When he was young, he fed stray dogs on the street.

He would steal sandwiches, pluck out the meat to gnaw on himself, and toss the bread onto the pavement. He would sit back on his haunches just like them and lick his chops when he was finished. Being a runner earned him good money, but it was hard to find jobs that would take a scrawny eight-year-old with dirt on his nose. His memories of those days are far away, foggy around the edges, but he still smells the eye-watering prickle of trash, cigarette smoke, wet fur of the dogs. He still remembers the moist scratch of soaked-through denim after a night sleeping outside in the rain, the bone-deep chill that lasted for days in winter.

One night, a Sunday in July, a hand stretched out toward him. He had not eaten in days, and he’d begun to feel the stretch of his skin around his ribs. A skeleton haunting the wrong body. The face is blurred now, but he remembers the hand. Long-fingered and a little wrinkled, a bracelet dangling from the bluish vein-ringed wrist, a charm in the shape of a cross.

The hand brought him from his bed of ratty blankets and old newspapers to a giant cathedral. The bold lettering above the grand doors read The Sisters of Saint Eustace. Joel had been too small, too weak, to reach up and touch the golden words, but they were tarnished with age and buffed around the edges. He looked up at the owner of the hand—the hand which then lowered onto his shoulder, collarbones protruding, and squeezed just hard enough to sting.

He felt the warm soak of the daytime breeze on his face.

“You must come inside with me,” said the woman. He remembers that the hand belonged to a woman. There was a black hood around her head that made her appear as wraithlike as death itself.

The Creation of Adam was immortalised on the north wall. It was the first thing he saw when he walked inside.

“I can’t go inside,” he said.

“And why not?”

He turned his head away from the image of Adam and God, whom he did not know at the time, and could never have hoped to know. How could he, after all, when God had never appeared to him? Then, God was only a man, frail and old, reaching out a wrinkled hand. Why should the weak ask for aid from the strong?

“The dogs need someone to feed them,” he said.

He still does not know God. He does not suspect he ever will. But there’s a warm, soft palm encasing the skin and muscle over his heart, irradiating down to the bone. There’s an intermittent puff of air on the back of his neck, slow and ticklish, the way snow melts. The dog that still lives in the core of him shows its belly.

You’ve moved closer in the night, your soft skin warming his back where your shirt rides up. You breathe silently, catlike, as measured as the rise and fall of the winter sun. He listens for a while, his chest pushing out to match you. As he settles into the new rhythm, he feels for a moment as if it’s all been a dream. As if he never lost you, never lied.

His name leaves your sleeping mouth and his heart ceases altogether. It’s the breathless sound of need, of a desire he supposes you’ve forgotten. In your sleep, some stale withered flower blooms under a fresh rainfall, and he wonders what you’re dreaming about.

Before Joel put his mouth between your legs for the first time, you had forgotten what pleasure tasted like.

It was July, sweltering, and you were draped across the sofa with his head in your lap. It was date night, and his turn to choose the movie: some god-awful karate action film that was a sequel to a sequel to a sequel and so on, infinitely repeating. Neither of you were paying attention to the exchange of staged punches. You were occupying yourself with threading your fingers through Joel’s hair, and he’d taken to toying with the little bow that held up the waistband of your shorts. You watched him pull the strings until they unfurled only to tie them again with one hand. The white noise of on-screen blows lulled you into a gentle doze as you both lay idle.

“Joel.”

“Hm,” he said, the scratch of his beard tickling your belly.

“The door,” you said. “Someone’s knocking.”

“Hm,” he said again, his questioning pitch the only indication he was truly listening.

“You should probably get it.”

His sleep-soaked eyes fluttered shut, his lashes brushing your skin. He gently squeezed your hip. “I’m just fine here.”

“What if I told you I had a surprise for you? And what if I told you I worked very hard to find your surprise?” you cooed.

Joel blinked up at you. “You got me somethin’?”

Your heart swelled. “Yeah, I did. Come on, cowboy.”

Outside, Tommy lounged against the hood of the surprise as you guided Joel outside, your fingers over his eyes.

“I don't like bein’ blind,” he grumbled. “Can't you just tell me?”

“How about I show you?”

You lifted your hands. For a moment, Joel blinked, his eyes adjusting to the blazing light of the sunset, and his lips parted at the sight before him.

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “You… got me a car?”

“It's not just a car. Boss Mustang 429,” you said sheepishly. “1969. You know, the one you never shut up about. I thought this might help.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and you watched him swallow it. “How…”

“Tommy called me a while back. He'd sourced it from another garage; it was bound for the dump, but I wanted to surprise you by fixing it up. So… surprise.”

Tommy tossed the keys to Joel, who caught them without even looking. “Your girl can get her hands dirty. Helped me fix up the whole damn thing.”

You tried to gauge his reaction, the slight hollow in his throat where he seemed to store the falling sunlight, a faint sheen of sweat turning him gold. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when he didn't say a word.

“It's too soon.”

His head whipped around, his brows curving up in the middle. “What?”

You wetted your lips, panic closing your throat in at all sides. “I know we haven't been dating long, but… I don't know, I couldn't pass up the chance. But now I know it's too soon. I shouldn't have presumed—”

Faintly, he shook his head, his eyes darting across your face as if he were trying to trace it, and closed the distance between you. You gasped as he slanted his mouth over yours, his hands cradling your face, old paper and salt and your perfume. You threw your arms around his neck, a buoy for the drowning man whose arms wound around your waist and pulled you so close he could disappear altogether. Maybe he was trying to. Selfishly, you would let him.

Tommy grumbled something—“You’re welcome, asshole,” probably—and his own car roared to life as it pulled away.

The car keys jingled in the bowl in your foyer as Joel tossed them blindly behind him, his heel shutting the front door. He kissed you like you were a fever he needed to burn out, and you felt the match strike where his hand curled its heavy weight around your neck.

“What time do you fly out?” he grumbled against your mouth.

“Not until morning,” you said breathlessly, watching him drop to his knees in front of you, taking your little shorts with him. Your chest heaved at the sight of your Joel, made humble at your feet, pressing his searing-hot lips to the bare skin of your belly. “Joel…”

“Nobody,” he said, his voice the velvety drag of night, “is like you. Not a goddamn soul.”

The admission caught in your throat the way a web ensnares dewdrops. The intricate folds of your brain would forever carry the imprint of the words—words no one else had ever said.

A starving artist, an old teacher of yours had said, remembers every kind word said about their art. They eat from them when there's no other food in the house.

“You're it for me,” he told you. “There's nothing else.”

You wake slowly, serenely, a yawning ache blossoming in the core of you.

Maybe that's why, even now, you cannot forget the way he touched you that night. You still recall every thumbprint, every stroke of his tongue, every soft cry into the otherwise empty room.

The fact is that nobody can love you the way Joel Miller does. Not even when his love hurts more than anything else.

He's watching you now. His eyes are half-open but alert, instinct pulling him closer to your side of the bed. Or, maybe you're the one who’s crawled closer to him.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t speak, but you feel the pads of his fingers on your belly, the soft fabric of your shirt bunching over his bruised knuckles, and his eyes shutter at the touch alone, a worn sinner.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, and it's chipped porcelain, the sound of his voice.

A part of you wants to cry, to let the pressure build until it crests, to feel the salt settle in the pores at the sight of him so close, so open. But you've shed your tears and he’s slept in your bed, and now his fingers brush the hem of your panties, not begging entrance, but asking, wondering—

You say so weakly, “I need you to touch me,” and he nods because he knows, because he's Joel, because your body has not become foreign to him even if you've made your heart a stranger.

You shiver as his hand dips beneath the cotton, two fingers sliding through the gathering wetness between your legs. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, black as the sky, his bicep flexing as he parts your folds with his fingers. Absently, possessed, you sling your leg up over his hip to spread your thighs.

The shockwave brings you down as he slides his middle finger inside you, sinking to the knuckle. The gasp that leaves your mouth feels like inhaling glass. You cup the back of his neck for purchase, tugging the little curls at his scalp, and watch as he bares his teeth.

“That's it, baby,” he says brokenly, the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit as you writhe. Back in his arms, your heart thunders in your chest, the ache of his absence ringing in each rib like the aftershocks of a blow. He pumps his fingers inside you, curling up against the spot he knows as intimately as his own hand, studying your face as if he has become the artist and you the muse. For a moment, you think you see the reflection of your face in the whites of his eyes, and you’re overcome with a shudder that compresses your spine.

He’s too close. Too far away. Your hand curls around the scruff of his neck, a misbehaved dog. You’ve let him in, it’s too late, too soon, and you’ve assumed all the blood he’s spilled, taken it inside your body with the press of his fingertips past your begging entrance.

You hate that your body still sings for him, that your eyes cannot shutter, that you cannot shuck the curtains closed despite all he’s done. You hate that his eyes still hold the sorrow you’d seen in him since that very first night, and you hate that you existed so happily, so blindly, with him, in spite of the arid darkness that has always lingered just under the brown you thought you knew so well.

But he’s always known you, and that may be what hurts the most.

He’s always been keenly aware of your moods, your tastes, your body, and he plays you now like a pipe, lending his body to yours in supplication. Your heart aches as you let him inside, some feeble breach of contract, as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing was a lie.

He slides his fingers from you and spreads them before your eyes, the sight of the slick webbing eliciting a gasp you can barely hear. He licks his fingers clean and dips them back between your bodies, circling your clit with a renewed fervour.

“Fuck.” Your eyelids droop, your stomach tightens, and the glint of Joel’s bared teeth is that of a wolf’s in the dark. “I’m… fuck, I’m…”

“I know,” he says, “I know,” and you wish he wouldn’t.

The rhythmic, meticulous path of his fingers is nothing like the desperate writhing of your hips, the feverish grinding, the cries. Prey caught in a trap, you grasp the iron bars of his shoulders tight and beg for mercy.

And it feels so good, so right, that it slashes open your heart and spills the blood. The cold bite of his wedding ring bumps up against your opening as you blossom, brittle as a new bud, his fingers pumping in, out, in—

“Oh, God,” you whimper, burying your face in his throat, sinking into the familiar warmth.

Joel grunts, his nose sliding across your temple. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon… I’ve got you… Can feel it…”

Normally, you would lick and bite and kiss the sweet, humid skin of his throat until you came, soft as dough in his arms. There’s a steel edge to the way you come now, fingers stiffly prickling his scalp, eyes bleeding tears into the crook of his neck. It feels good—good to slash at the bars that cage you in, good to weep over the loss of some willpower you let dissolve.

He doesn’t stop until he’s wrung every drop, inhaling the cloying smell of soiled linen and sticky perfume and saltwater. He closes his eyes against your temple and you can feel the caress of his lashes—wet, like yours.

His lips always carried the faint bitter bite of black coffee, and he always said yours tasted sweet. Like goddamn honey, he’d whispered into your throat the first night you let him inside, and you’d laughed—maybe the graze of his mouth was ticklish, or maybe you thought it was funny: the idea that you could be so sweet.

Now, you’re splintering as your eyes flicker down to his mouth, plush lips moist but split from the blow of an enemy. If you kissed him now, he would only feel a sharp sting. If you kissed him now, you’d let the blood win out. You would only hurt him and yourself alike.

“What are we doing, Joel?”

His eyes shimmer in the dark, his palm tentatively cradling the crown of your head. The hollow of his throat deepens, and you hold your breath.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” says Joel. “If you want me just to use me, then use me. You can have me whenever you want. I just wanna be someone you need—even if you don’t need me the way you used to.”

The sob lurches out of your throat, your forehead dropping to his as the climax burns out, smoke from a snuffed candle.

When you can breathe again, you push yourself upright and cross the room to gather your toiletries. “I’m not going to use you. I never should have done this.”

“Stop.” Joel grunts as he stands, apparently forgetting about his wounded ankle. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Joel, let’s just—”

“I don't want it to be like this,” he says. “I don’t want it to hurt when I touch you.”

“It doesn't,” you whisper, hugging your bag to your chest along with a bundle of clothes. “That's what scares me.”

His brows curve upward in the middle and you're overcome by the need to fix your eyes to the floor. “Baby, please… Please just look at me.”

You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and pin him with your gaze. “I feel like I’m mourning a marriage that didn't even end,” you tell him, and Joel lurches forward as if he means to grab the words in mid-air.

“And maybe we did lose it,” you say softly, though the words sting on the way out of your mouth. “But maybe that's… good. I don't want a relationship based on lies, Joel. I don’t want to wake up every morning next to the man I love and wonder what he’s still keeping from me.”

Joel lowers himself into the chair by the table like a weight is tied to his chest. He's still shirtless, his wound bleeding through the gauze around his arm, but he's staring at you. Suffocating you.

Twisting his wedding band around his finger, he says, “If there's even the smallest chance that you really could still love me… that this ain't over, even though I’ve done everything wrong by you… I’m gonna fight for it.”

Not everything, you want to say. Not everything, or I wouldn't be so hurt right now. It’s funny that the words won't take shape—wraithlike as the black ink snaking up and down his back. “I know you will.”

“And if you want all the truth I‘ve got, even if it's bloody, I’ll give it to you.” He leans forward, muscles flexing under inked skin. “You’re my everything. Nothin’ about that has changed. Not one goddamn thing.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, the tang of iron flooding into your mouth. “It’s not just about the lies,” you say, dropping into the chair across from him. “You've put me on a pedestal. You may be strong and you may know how to fight, and everyone in the world may know your name, but… I don't think I can survive being all that you breathe for. Not if it leads to this.”

He remembers waking up each morning in the orphanage, sunlight turning technicolour through stained glass images of praying hands. He’d always thought the sun was so strong, gathering pieces of itself just to wake half the world, reviving dead plants, rattling the bones that stirred dead in the earth. He’d put his fingers through the many colours just to watch them dance. He’d wiggle his digits and remember he was alive.

He watched you walk down the long aisle toward him in a white dress, a bouquet of daisies in your hands, the sun carving your path. His hand flexed at his side like it did on those long-gone mornings, and he briefly doubted he’d be able to touch you at all—like you’d disappear, smoke curling around the contours of his fingers, a dream.

“My heart hurts, Joel,” you say brokenly, your palm flattening against your chest. “I’m not as strong as you are. I’m just a girl who married the man she loved. One day, you're going to realise that I don't bleed gold. I’m not a deity. I’m not someone you go to war over. I’m not fucking perfect, and if you keep treating me like I am, you’re only going to be disappointed.”

Joel just watches the tears fall, somewhat enraptured by the way they linger like dew on your lashes, until you blink them away and they cascade down the curve of your cheek. He wonders if this is how it feels to be the painter, desperate to capture even a brushstroke of the subject in front of him. He used to watch you paint for hours, holed up in your studio, covered in splotches of oils he would later take his time to wash away. The colours would curl around the drain, a snake poised to strike, and he’d kiss you, his canvas, tasting the poison of paint at the corner of your mouth.

He’s made something dark of the light that grew inside you. He’s tainted your image with the blood he’s shed, and every one of the thousand cuts has struck true. He thought he was protecting you.

He was only hurting you.

“I just wanted to have you. And you wanted to forget.” Your eyes no longer meet his, tracing the lifelines in the oak table back and forth. “So where do we go from here?”

There’s a troubled tic in his brow, punctuating the feverish flitting of his eyes between each of yours, always restless. “You think I fell in love with you because I thought you were invincible?”

You lift your head, the whites of your eyes gleaming. Joel brings his chair closer to yours, and you don’t make a move to pull away.

“I fell in love with you because you’re human,” he says. “Because you’re kind. Because you have a heart bigger than any I’ve seen. Because you’re funny, and talented, and you love to make art, and when you find something you love, you give your soul to it. I love you because you’re an angry drunk and you hate mornings and you’re so fuckin’ frustrating when you won’t give up. I fell in love with you because you were the only person who’s ever taken a real shot at lovin’ me.”

Your bottom lip quivers and he wants to coax the heavy ache from your very soul, venom from the wound.

“You are my everything, baby. You are. And I know it ain't healthy, but I don't care. If that means I see you as a god, fine. You think I can stop lovin’ you the way I do? I can’t. But I never once thought you were perfect. Perfect people don’t fall in love with men like me.”

You laugh a little, but it’s taut, stuck in the back of your throat.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’m not even sure I want that. But I do want to be the kind of man you’re willing to love again. You’re my best friend, and I’ll do whatever it takes, you hear me? I’m not givin’ up.”

You sniffle, your quivering hands folded into one another atop the table. He wants to reach out and touch you, pull you back into his gravity, smell your perfume. He wants to do a thousand other things he does not deserve.

“You’ve killed Manuel’s son,” you say quietly. “There’s still a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “And he’s gonna pull it.”

You shake your head, lips parted around words you choose not to say. Instead, you look away, and he feels he's lost something he'd been holding.

“Do what you need to do,” you say, and every syllable cuts him along the bias of the bone.

He has known your hurt, your anger, your sadness. Something in an artist’s heart has never seen a day of peace, you told him once. He thought it was a joke; he may have even laughed.

I loved you.

Joel swallows. “I need you—”

“—to stay here.” The corner of your mouth pulls up despite your sombre tone. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a knock at the door before he can open his mouth to reply. You stay apprehensively glued to your seat as Joel peers through the peephole only to unlatch the chain on the door.

“Anyone see you come in?” he asks Tommy.

“I’m sure plenty of people saw me, brother. But they can’t do anything, now, can they?”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw feathers. “You bring everything?”

Tommy scoffs, gesturing toward the bags weighing down his arms. “Everything on your fuckin’ mile-long list? Yeah. You gonna let me in?”

Joel ushers him inside and triple-checks the hallway to make sure nobody is lurking nearby. Your voice brightens by a fraction and it feels like an electric shock tingling at his fingertips.

“Tommy.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He squeezes your shoulder and drops the bags at your feet. “You hangin’ in there?”

Joel watches from the shadows of the hall, his heart leaden at the sight of you smiling for someone else. He’ll do anything to earn that. He’ll forsake all he has, all he is. He’ll crawl on his hands and knees all the way back through hell; he already knows the way.

“Brought your supplies,” says Tommy, kneeling at your feet and opening the bags. Your brows knit together at the sight of your oils from home, your brushes, your pallets long ago stained with colour. “Heard you were feeling inspired.”

Your gaze lifts to Joel, eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”

He’s sheepish, ducking his head. “Just… thought you might be goin’ crazy, stuck in here.”

“That's not why I’m going crazy,” you grumble.

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if anything’s missin’, it's his fault. Most of your canvases were destroyed, but these are all good.”

Your heart feels a little lighter now that you can smell the tangy, cloying scent of your paints and run your fingers over the bristle of your brushes. You give Tommy’s hand a pulse, your thank-you barely snaking past the lump in your throat. “Tell Maria I said hi.”

He gives you a knowing look. “I’m holdin’ you to your promise, y’know. You still have to paint the nursery.”

You cast your eyes toward Joel, who leans against the wall in the dark corridor. “Yeah,” you say softly, stripped to the bone by the way he watches you, unblinking. “I don't break my promises.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, and the gleam of his wedding ring lingers in your periphery long after you've torn your gaze away.

“Tommy’s gonna stay with you,” says Joel, “while I take care of the rest.”

The rest. Of course. “Why now?”

“He just killed Cabrera’s son,” says Tommy. “And we don't want to risk anyone comin’ around, lookin’ for revenge.”

“But you said no business can be conducted here.”

“For enough money, a person will break any rule.”

“That kind of undermines the entire concept of your entire Underworld, doesn't it?” you say. “Rules aren't really rules.”

“But there are consequences,” says Tommy. “Just… if you’ve got enough money, you can hide from ‘em for a while.”

“Until they hunt you down,” you utter, looking across the room at Joel. His silence feels like hot hands on your bare skin. You turn back to Tommy. “What about Maria?”

“She's with her mom this weekend,” says Tommy. “Won't even notice I left the house. You need someone to model, I’m your guy.”

“No,” says Joel.

“I didn’t mean I’d get naked,” says Tommy.

Joel clips Tommy’s shoulder on his way to you, and his brother takes the hint to make himself scarce, disappearing into the bathroom. Joel kneels at your feet and places his hand on your calf. The weight of it is warm, carrying words he has no time left to give.

“This will be over soon,” he says, and he sounds so sure that you almost believe it.

“And then what, Joel?”

He sets his jaw. There's little of the predator, of the boogeyman, in his eyes. All that rich brown betrays now is a quiet resolve. A promise.

“Home,” says your husband. “We’ll make another.”

You squeeze your eyes shut only to open them again and find the hand that rests on your skin. He's bruised, bloodied, and violent, but he does not squeeze or press. He never once has. You wonder idly how often he's put those hands on your body while thinking of a time he'd taken the life of another.

“And what if we can’t?” you ask him.

The first time you'd unveiled a piece to him—the first piece you'd ever painted of you and him, together—Joel had instinctively touched the supple blue skin beneath the woman’s breast, as quickly as a nurse finds a vein.

“She’s blue,” he said. “Is that… how you feel? Like you’re… blue?”

“Blue doesn't just mean sadness,” you told him. “It could almost mean serenity. Stability.”

He looked at you, puzzled, for a while, his hand still extended, pressed to the barely-dry canvas. “Where I grew up,” he said, “I was never really taught anything besides black and white.”

“Colours are different that way,” you said. “They mean a thousand things to a thousand people. They can all look at the same painting and feel something unique.” You gave him a wry smile. “You look at a painting of us having sex and see sadness. I’m trying not to read into it.”

He chuckled. “You should know that's not true. And I like the way you think.”

“You never told me what you think about the painting,” you said playfully. “Do you like it?”

Joel’s hand travelled from the woman’s breast to her hand as if pondering the wash of blues that coloured her skin. Her fingers, intertwined with her lover’s, squeezed down on him—a lifeline.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It's the way I feel when you touch me,” you said. “Like I’m falling apart and coming together at the same time.”

Joel tentatively reaches for your hand and turns it over in your lap, palm to the ceiling. “If you decide a home isn't what you want with me,” he says, tracing your lifeline, “then that’s all right. But I just… I want to know if—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pressure accumulating behind the inner corners of your eyes. Joel meets your gaze and it takes all you have to suppress the shudder at the feeling of his thumb making its ghostly pilgrimage across your palm. “Don't ask me yet. Please.”

He bows his head and his hand slips from yours, and you choke on the memory of a love uncompromising, effortless, simplistic.

“Just come back alive,” you tell him. “Come back to me, okay?”

Joel rises to his feet, and a kiss plants its roots at your hairline. “Always.”

“When he said to watch me, I don't think he meant the whole time.”

Beside you, Tommy clears his throat, averting his gaze to the floor. “Sorry. Just… it’s impressive, what you do.”

You’re still outlining the tangled limbs of the man and woman, their bodies disappearing into one another, each line indistinguishable from the next. “Well, if it helps, I don't know how cars work.”

He laughs. “Yeah, all right.”

You set down your pencil, casting a glance out the window. Outside, the stars wink down at you. “Will he be okay?” you say softly.

Tommy sighs. Now that he no longer needs to hide the fact that it isn't his brother doing the books, the sting of the reminder rings in your chest with the sound of his binder closing.

“I don't blame you, y’know,” he says, “for stayin’ pissed at him.”

“Good,” you reply, “because he's an idiot.”

“Yeah, that's one thing that's never gonna change.” Tommy leans back in the chair, taking a swig from his beer. “I tried to tell him he was makin’ a mistake. He's a stubborn bastard.”

“He is,” you say, frowning at the curl you've drawn over your subject’s forehead. He looks back at you, brow furrowed, one eye visible, the other blending with hers. It's gruesome, in a way: the frenetic lines, the frantic way their fingers dimple one another’s flesh. “But I can be stubborn, too.”

Tommy leans forward, studying the beginnings of your sketch. “I know he's made mistakes, and Christ knows I’m crazy for defending my dumbass brother. But if you knew how much he loved you…”

“Tommy,” you cut in, setting down your pencil. “Loving me isn’t the problem.” The outline of the bodies on your canvas blur as your eyes burn with tears. “I wonder if he ever really left—in his heart, I mean.”

Tommy’s voice is quiet. He’s twirling a small switchblade in his hand. “All he's ever wanted is peace.”

You cast your eyes toward the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling over, or to find some answer spelled in stars you cannot see. “Then why couldn't he just stay out?” you whisper. “Why did he have to come back?”

“You know, when we were kids, Joel would take all my beatings,” says Tommy, flicking out the blade. It glimmers in a way that catches the light as easily as a flame on kindling. “He'd say everything was his fault when it was really me who knocked over a shitty old vase or vandalised a fresco. And he'd just fuckin’ grin and bear it because that's who he is.”

He’d just been a kid. Just a kid who wanted to protect his little brother, who took every beating, who grew up in a faith he never had faith in.

The fragile wobble in your voice betrays the steel wall of your back. “He let me fall in love with him, Tommy. He let me give my soul to him.”

He ducks his head, folding the blade back into its wooden hilt. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly.

“And Maria?” You let out an airy laugh. “How did she react when you told her about all this?”

He doesn't meet your eye, and you feel your stomach turn over as he sets the blade on the table, bringing his hand over his jaw.

“Oh,” you say.

“We all do things we’re not proud of. Anyway, I had it easier,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just a mechanic.”

“And my husband’s a killer, right?”

Tommy sighs. “I know you shouldn't take my word for it. But he does want peace. And he came back because he didn't see another choice.”

On the canvas, the man holds the woman close, pulling her tight to his chest, as if he knows she's about to fall. “I hate it,” you say softly, “knowing he's felt so much pain, and I can't make it better. I hate that this is something he needs to figure out himself, Tommy. I hate that I can't be the person he thinks I am.”

“I think you don't give yourself enough credit.” When you turn to face him, Tommy puts the switchblade in your open palm. Your fingers reflexively close around it, and it's cool to the touch. Smooth. The grain in the wood looks like the wriggling lifelines in a human hand. “You made him leave this life. You got him to care enough to make a real one, and you didn't even know it.”

You flick open the switchblade. “This is beautiful.”

“Gave it to me for safekeeping when he retired,” says Tommy. “It was the prize for completing his first job.”

You frown at your reflection, angling the knife up and down. “How old was he?”

Tommy covers the blade with his hand and retracts it. “Keep it,” he says. “It never belonged to me.”

You try to push it toward him, suddenly repulsed. You've heard from his own mouth about the lives he's taken, but the thought of your Joel holding the very same weapon, sinking it into flesh, slicing through the strings that hold a person together, makes your fingers tremble. “It doesn't belong to me either, Tommy.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I think you’d know what to do with it better than me.”

You swallow hard. “A man declares war because he wants peace.” Your thumb slides along the smooth edge of the hilt before you hide it inside your bag. “I can't pretend to understand what you both went through, Tommy. But know that I’m glad you found a good life. And know that if you break Maria’s heart, I’ll make you swallow paint.”

Tommy nods sombrely. “I’ll tip the can myself. We're thinking green for the nursery.”

“Green is good.” You give him a conciliatory smile.

“Joel’s a good man,” he says. “He's just… misguided.”

“Are you a man of God, Tommy?”

He laughs. “I don't think anyone who came out of that place alive still believes there's a God. If only the Sisters could see us now.”

“I hope they never do,” you tell him. “I hope they never get the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him.”

“I don't think they’d be much satisfied,” says Tommy, “if they knew he'd found peace after all.”

Hours unfold. The canvas sits untouched as you and Tommy sit next to one another, the moon outside slowly enveloped by clouds. The silver silhouette casts a halo through the grey, and you think of your Joel, alone on his warpath, bloodying the ring on his finger. You think of your name on his back, nestled above the praying hands, and the pit of restlessness yawns wide open.

“He should be back by now.”

Tommy rubs his palms over his thighs, a behaviour you've noticed in Joel. “Yeah, he should.”

“But he'll be okay,” you say, a minute warble colouring your voice, “right?”

“He's Joel,” is all he gives you in return.

Your fingers twist themselves into knots in your lap until the jab of a car horn outside jolts you back to life. “Tommy,” you rasp, wetting your lips. “Go find him.”

He nods, standing abruptly from his chair and yanking his coat free from the hook by the door. “He’ll kill me for leavin’ you alone,” he says.

“We both know he needs you,” you say, turning your head to watch the moon peek out from behind the sheet of grey. “Just bring my husband back.”

There's a distinct sensation that erupts across the skin of a nonbeliever who crosses the threshold of a church. It begins in the floorboards, where the soul of a supposed Christ lingers, and radiates up through the soles of the feet, through the knees, until it circles the brain, persistent as a murder of crows. You don't belong here.

The little church is nothing extravagant, which Joel has to find a little funny. Five rows of pews on either side, a basin of holy water next to the pulpit, a smattering of devotees kneeling on the padded seats in front of them. He swallows the burn and approaches the pastor.

“My son,” says the man, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming Joel back from a pilgrimage. “Welcome. What troubles your heart today?”

Joel pulls the Benelli from his canvas bag and blows out the pastor’s kneecap.

His deafening roar echoes off the domed ceiling and reverberates through the stained-glass paintings of the Virgin Mary. “Fuck!” cries the pastor, scrambling backward with a hand covering his bloodied leg. “Fucking cunt, fucking asshole, vete a la mierda! What the fuck is your problem?”

Joel turns and fires another two shots at the guards on the balcony. One of them tumbles over the edge. The kneeling figures flee the scene, some screaming, some praying.

“Donde esta Cabrera?” Joel growls, bunching the pastor’s white collar in his bloodstained fist. When he doesn't reply, Joel applies pressure to the wound in his knee between his thumb and forefinger. “Habla.”

“Fuck!” he howls. “He isn't here. Hijo de puta, he's not here!”

“Fine,” says Joel, hauling the man upright with little regard for his obliterated knee. “Then we're takin’ a little field trip.”

Joel knew many of Cabrera’s secrets during his time working for the bastard. He would have changed the codes to the vault, but it’s the same nonetheless. Joel shoves the pastor down the winding staircase and aims the barrel of the shotgun between his eyes.

“Open the vault.”

“Manuel will kill me,” pleads the pastor.

Joel lifts a brow. “You see me cryin’?”

A pale, trembling hand rises to the keypad and types in the code. Inside the vault, two women are counting piles of cash behind the counter. Joel gestures toward the door with his shotgun. “Ladies,” he greets, “out.”

They scurry out of the vault with their hands in the air. Inside the small concrete cell, safes are embedded in the walls, twice Joel’s height, one of them unlocked and brimming with neatly piled heaps of bound bills and documents. Joel reaches up and unlatches a shelf, watching the avalanche of blood money cascade onto the floor around his feet. With one hand, he produces a lighter from his pocket and flicks on the flame. It ignites the piles of cash and papers as Joel walks out, leaving the wounded pastor on the floor.

A whisper goes up in flames behind his back. “El espectro.”

At the aggressive slam of car doors, Joel climbs the staircase to the balcony and looks over the rear exit. Outside, Manuel Cabrera and his men cross the concrete toward the church. Joel curses, ejecting the shell from his shotgun and inserting a new clip. The stained glass crumbles with the first shot as he puts a bullet in a bodyguard’s head. The shouts flutter toward the sky in the ensuing panic. Joel hears Manuel cry out his orders: Around the back. You two, flank him. The bastard’s here; go fucking kill him.

The smell of smoke begins to stick to his throat as he takes another shot. The sound of dress shoes clatters, echoing, across the floorboards below him. “Goddamn it,” he growls. He’ll be flushed out before long if he doesn't move. Joel checks his clip, fruitlessly searches the body on the balcony for more ammunition, and kicks him over the edge. The resounding thud of his corpse against the pews is somewhat gratifying. Cabrera’s men crowd the dead man, which gives Joel just enough time to descend the staircase and shoulder open the back door. The parking lot teems with Cabrera’s army ants, creeping around parked cars as they search for the boogeyman.

One of the bodyguards ducks behind a Range Rover, and Joel bares his teeth, the wolf at the hunt. He shoots out the front tires, which deflates the car just enough to give him a glimpse of the man’s head. He takes the shot.

“Puta!” someone cries. Joel ducks as a shot pings off the front bumper of the Cadillac next to him, and he briefly takes stock of his ammunition. Fuck. He would have really liked to keep the fucking high ground. Now, he's as trapped as they are. Rats in a maze of shiny new cars.

Joel peeks around the corner and feels the heat of a bullet seat through the sleeve of his jacket. He shoulders the sting of the new wound and rounds the corner, raising his weapon and firing. He counts another two, three, five dead, and the moist air begins to cling to the back of his neck, sweat lining his collar, blood soaking his sleeve. He calls Cabrera’s name. He calls again.

“Let's end this,” he growls. “Come out, and I’ll spare the rest of them.”

An explosion nearby sets him off-kilter, rattling the earth beneath him. The church goes up easily, flames licking the sky, sirens blaring several blocks over, the steady eruption of chaos like golden nectar in his mouth. Joel rises to his feet and continues his charge.

He calls Cabrera’s name again. He thinks of your body, prone and cold on the floor, reaching for him. He thinks of that night and imagines himself saving you before any of it happened. He imagines turning out of the restaurant that very first night, retreating into the darkness where it was comfortable and you were safe.

No—he'd gone to the light. He’d let it all topple, and he'd do it again. This world is not where he belongs. You are what the word has led him to. All the gospel and the hymnals and the nights spent praying on his knees to a false god led him to your soft, supple side, not to the jagged edges of this unforgiving Underworld.

He calls Cabrera’s name again, but he hears the roar of the engine too late. The circle of vehicles crowds him, claustrophobic, and it's Manuel Cabrera who steps out.

He looks the same as he did eight years ago, when Joel approached him and asked to be released from his contract, if not a little more grey. He's dressed in an Italian suit and his shoes are unscuffed. His hair is combed back and his eyes are sunken into his face.

Something strikes Joel in the back of his head, and he sees the Creation of Adam on the north wall of the orphanage, the wrinkled old hand, the stray dogs.

The starchy scent of the canvas sack jolts him awake. Someone yanks it up over his head, and he blinks in the harsh light of day.

He's in a giant empty warehouse. Light filters through the broken glass windows high above their heads, shards and empty bullet casings and cigarette butts crunching underfoot. Judging from the scuffling of feet around him, ten or so men surround him where he sits in an old folding chair, bound by the wrists. He feels a throbbing ache in his skull and winces. You’ll give him hell for this.

“It’s good to see you, Joel,” says the silhouette sitting across from him, flanked by two more shadows. Joel blinks them into focus. “It’s been a long time.”

The edges soften until he can see the whites of the eyes, the cool detached gaze, the glimmer of a silver watch. “Manuel,” says Joel. “¿Cómo está su hijo?”

A huff of air is all he gets in reply. Manuel sheds his long coat and leans forward on his elbows. “You know, Joel, my son was a fucking moron.”

“I could've told you that,” says Joel, “and I would've saved you a lot of breath.”

“My son,” growls Manuel, “was a moron, but he was my son. I told him as much—told him there was nothing he could do, not when Joel Miller was hunting him down. And when I asked him what he had done to warrant the boogeyman’s vengeance, he said it was because of a girl.”

Manuel rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw, laughing like the situation is amusing. “Well, that’s good for you, Joel. Good to finally find something you care about, to find a reason. I see you're putting your retirement to good use. Fighting for your very own Helen of Troy.”

Joel says nothing, studying the manic glint in Cabrera’s eye. He recalls that same look from the night he asked to leave, placing his gun on the desk between them.

“I want out,” he said.

“Out?” said Cabrera. “And why, Joel, would you ever want out?”

“Because I’m done here,” he said. “I'm done in this world and I’m done with you.”

Joel wonders if Cabrera had been waiting for that exact moment: for Joel Miller, the ghost in the corner of the Underworld’s bedroom, to step forward and give Manuel Cabrera the opportunity he needed to rise to the very top.

“Very well,” he said after a long silence. “But I want you to consider whether your freedom is worth what I’m about to ask of you. It will not be easy.”

“It’s worth it,” said Joel. “Now tell me what I need to do.”

Cabrera sits across from Joel the same way he did eight years ago, the same insidious gleam in those black eyes, smiling smugly without moving his face at all.

“You've changed,” he says. “You’re softer, Joel. That wedding ring must've done a number on my killer.”

“Maybe I never stopped bein’ a killer,” says Joel.

“Maybe not. But the difference is that now, you have a reason to keep living.” Cabrera has the gall to feign remorse as he shrugs his shoulders. “You took my son from me, Joel. You understand how this world works.”

Joel kicks out his leg instinctively, baring his teeth at Cabrera like a caged dog. Two henchmen clap down on his shoulders and abruptly pull him backward in the chair. The rope around his wrists chafe.

“When I signed that contract,” he growled, “I had nothing to live for. Nobody to love. Until the day she showed up in my life. She gave me a word to follow that wasn’t yours or your God’s.” His mouth hardly fits around the name. Yours has always felt softer on his tongue. “Trust that Emiliano deserved worse than the death I gave him.”

“A woman above God,” Cabrera utters under his breath, rubbing his palms over his thighs before he rises to his feet and grabs Joel by the hair at the scruff of his neck. Joel winces at the prickling sensation erupting across his scalp. Cabrera’s breath stinks of weed. “El espectro,” he says mockingly. “The fuckin’ boogeyman. You're not so scary like this.”

Cabrera forces Joel to look up at him. The pressure accumulates behind his nose, painful enough to make his eyes water. “You burned my church down, Joel,” says his captor. “Money is replaceable, sure, but the leverage I had on this city… Hijo de puta. Just for a fuckin’ girl, Joel?”

Joel can't help but sneer. “Yeah, I enjoyed that part.”

It earns him a blow across the jaw, and he relishes the electric lash that wriggles down his side. Cabrera lets go of his hair and gestures with a glance to his men before he turns away, plucking his coat from the chair.

“Manuel.”

He watches Cabrera consider it: to indulge Joel, or to let him rot.

The first hit he executed on Cabrera’s behalf earned him just ten thousand. Then thirty-something, having long ago left the Sisters, the hard wooden floors worn with the pressure of so many kneeling bodies, the Marines, and the sound of warfare, Joel didn’t have many places to stay. He took the red money, earned from the body and probably the pockets of a dead senator, and rented a place.

Nighttime in the city didn't mean quiet, not outside nor in. That night, Joel sat on the side of his bed in a cockroach-infested Brooklyn apartment whose walls smelled of cigarette smoke, and he put his face in his hands. Leaving one war only to enter another, Cabrera told him, is just the way of life. You, Joel, are a killer.

But that can’t be all, he thinks now, his hands bound and his blood singing in his heart. He wonders if you're asleep by now, if you've taken to his side of the bed like you used to, if you've stretched your hand across the linen for a taste of the memory of that love-like-sunlight.

It's your blood, he realises, that courses through him. Your blood that tastes sweet as ichor, your blood that runs in his blue-green veins. It's your blood he hears whispering to him when the dreams go black as pitch and he cannot hope to breathe.

The last contract he took for Cabrera earned him no prize but his freedom. Nothing but the smell of your perfume and your warm body tucked neatly into his every night and the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands could have satisfied him. He was not just a killer. He’d proven it. He’d lived it in eight years of gentle mornings, kissing you awake starting at the roots of your hair, and he’d loved it as much as they all had tried to make him love a God that never loved him.

He’d never forgotten how to kill. But he hasn't forgotten how to love, either. That, he figured out all on his own.

“All I wanted was peace. And your son took that from me.” Joel lifts his head to watch Cabrera: the way his spine stiffens, the way his eyes narrow minutely. “He killed my peace and so I killed him. So you can either pull your contract,” Joel says, feeling the snarl pull at his vocal cords like jagged claws as his voice begins to rise, “or you can die screaming like your bastard son.”

He barely lurches forward in the chair before a plastic bag is shucked over his head, suctioned tight around his throat. Two men hold him down as Joel struggles against his bonds, gasping against the cool plastic. He's overpowered, hands wrenching his shoulders back against the chair. He kicks out for leverage, but his strength is waning, and the brief high of losing consciousness brings him back to you.

He took you to Greece for your honeymoon—or, rather, you took him. You were more travelled, more comfortable in the bright spots of the world, more settled in the spotlight. He thinks about how the sun adorned your skin like sequins, how eyes followed you everywhere you went, how you would see him frowning at all the attention and quietly take his hand.

They don't exist, you would tell him. You're all mine now, Joel Miller. And it’s just you and me.

Maybe there's a scrap of truth to fate. He's always been yours, long before he ever knew your face.

He basks in the sunlight on the beach for the time being. You wore his sunglasses when yours broke. You let him apply your sunscreen and you tucked your head into his shoulder on the luxurious chair. You fell asleep with your hand on his chest. Joel spent an hour studying the band around your ring finger.

Maybe Greece was a dream. Maybe the sun was a trick of the light and the clouds were smoke and the sky was black and the memory dwindles to a pinprick and he's grasping onto the image, your smile, your laugh, bells and perfume and a candle set at the foot of a golden statue—

“Stop.”

“Stop,” says a voice, and the air comes rushing back in. Joel wheezes, blinking hard to clear the spots or maybe to preserve the picture. But you're gone, slipping softly away as the brush of your knuckle over his cheek, and Joel is alive again.

“Tommy?”

His brother doesn't look at him, but Joel sees the brief shimmer of gunmetal hidden in his waistband.

He can feel the bruises blooming in a circle of fire around his throat. You’ll really be furious with him.

Joel watches his brother pull the handgun and feels the ropes cut into the tender skin of his wrists, helpless as he feels now. “What in the hell…”

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #john wick au

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shutuperce · 6 months

Text

your fall 2023 byler reading list 🍂🍂

BIG BYLER FIC REC DUMP cause i haven't been writing a lot but i HAVE been reading and y'all need to read these! hope u enjoy as much as i did <3

got your spell on me, baby - @astrobei -Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 7,919

TW: none

'To be fair, Will’s costume is great, now that Mike knows what it is. And, okay, wait-

“Oh, this is so good. This is so good.” Max points at Mike, wheezing. “Because you’re dressed as-”

Will’s still looking straight up at the sky. The length of his neck is very, very flushed. Mike can feel his entire face going redder than Vader’s lightsaber. He clenches his hands into tiny little fists, and says, around a groan: “I’m not Han Solo, guys.”'

THE halloween byler fic. the party at college, bi lucas sinclair content, halloween party shenanigans.

these nerds, using star wars to flirt 🙄

background lumax & their amazing couples costume, el & will power sibling duo!!!

bowie references to heal the soul

all in all one of my favourite getting-together fics for this time of year :)

what a match: i'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet - @perexcri - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 28,150

TW: guns, blood, gore (just demodogs though no human gore)

'One month ago, if you had asked Will Byers what he’d do if Mike Wheeler threaded his fingers through his hair, looked him dead in the eyes, and started leaning in for a kiss, he wouldn’t have said this.

He wouldn’t have said he’d be staring right back into those yawning dark eyes, one hand on Mike’s waist, the other against his cheek. There wouldn’t have been any lightning in his veins or blood rushing in his ears.

He wouldn’t have said that Mike Wheeler would be tilting his head in the opposite direction, eyes widening just the slightest as if asking permission, his mouth slightly parted.

He wouldn’t have imagined it at all.'

SO SO GOOD. apocalypse post s4, background jancy and platonic stobin, interruption trope x10000 so it's SO SATISFYING at the end.

WILL WITH A GUN.

jonathan & mike solidarity <3

all in all amazingly well written mike and will being blushing messes. love them. fluff in the apocalypse.

take my hand, wreck my plans - @parkitaco - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 6,297

TW: discussion of past trauma

'"I am not taken," he says out of habit, even though he kind of is. He and Will aren't together - he blushes at the thought - but they do spend an awful lot of time together, and Mike doesn't ever find himself wishing he was anywhere else. "Will and I are-"

"Ooh, I didn't even say anything about Will!" Max crows. "Oh, this is excellent."

Mike hides his face in his hands even though she can't see him. "Oh my God. Can you put Lucas back on, please?"

Max cackles in to the receiver, the sound fading as Lucas presumably wrenches the phone out of her grip. "We gotta go, Mike," he says, laughing a little. "Max has class and I'm driving her."

"Tell her she's the worst," Mike grumbles, fiddling with the phone cord.

"Say hi to Will for me!" Lucas sings, and hangs up before Mike can protest.

Mike groans and flops back on his mattress. It's going to be a long year.'

part of a series!! byler college au, friends-to-lovers, background party friendship, AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES. OH MY GOD, THEY WERE ROOMMATES??

taylor swift title... do u really need any other persuasion

the whole series is just AMAZING. mike & will getting a break, living together at college and figuring shit out <3

i might be hoping about this - @astrobei - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 15,321

TW: none

'Will lets out a small squawk as Mike’s hand— his very cold, very freezing hand— finds its way around the blankets and under his sweater. “I’m sick, you weirdo,” he says, half-laughing into the side of Mike’s head, “I have a fever.”

“I don’t care,” Mike mumbles, “you’re warm and I’m cold. This is nice.”

“You’re going to get sick,” Will tries, for the umpteenth time, but it’s pointless. Mike Wheeler is stubborn and hardheaded and he never does anything halfway— not even this.'

established byler at college!! so yeah i have a love of college byler and this is one of my top fics for sure. 2nd astrobi fic on this list because i love their writing <3

will gets sick, mike takes care of him. need i say more?

silly goofy guys living together & doing silly goofy domestic shit

this fic makes me SOFT.

accidentally on purpose - @itsromeowrites - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 5,019

TW: none

'It starts out with a kiss. An accidental kiss. Because Mike is sleepy and Will is pretty, and who can really blame him? And then there's another one, just as accidental. But the third? Well, that may be a little more on purpose.'

literally smiling so hard at this fic. like hello. soft secret boyfriends and loads of party content, all the kids are okay <3

established byler, how the party finds out. all fluff all the time. jonathan attempts the Talk. mike has no idea what's going on. et cetera.

background lumax, lucas & dustin being lil shits together, and el using her powers to cheat at splashing games. all in all a good time!

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - anonymous - Stranger Things (TV 2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Words: 14,958

TW: none

'“I’ll leave you be until lunch,” Max starts negotiating, nodding at him as if that’s a good deal. Which—considering it's Max, it is, but Mike doesn’t want to give in just yet. She sighs. “I won’t laugh about the sweater anymore. Or the weak disposition that gives you stupid allergies all the time.”

Mike’s frown deepens, but she wasn’t as mean as she could have been, so he’s gonna take it. He needs to get this out anyways, or he’s going to keep running in circles as if stuck in a hamster wheeler—an accurate representation of his brain when it comes to Will, really. He presses his lips together and tries to figure out a subtle, non-funny way to say it, but he comes up blank.

Fuck, whatever: “I almost kissed Will. Again.”

Max actually has to cover her mouth with her hand, disguising a worryingly loud snort with a cough. The teacher turns their way and stares, then goes back to explaining the exercise on the board. Mike scribbles it down while Max gets herself under control.

Screw his life.'

senior year, post-vecna. the party being friends but also little shits to each other.

madwheeler bandmates!!!

will steals mike's entire closet

they are Dumb Idiots who are mutually pining from afar

and other lovable tropes. takes place in november so good fall vibes :)

#perce reads #byler #byler fanfic #fic recs #byler fic recs

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wackyharpy · 2 months

Text

Merchant's Daughter (Part 2)

God! Aemond x Human●Fem! Reader

Summary: In order to ease the wrath of one of the Gods, the girl among humans is chosen to be gifted to him.

Part 1

To find more stories — masterlist

A/N: I know you've been waiting for it. So here is chapter 2, finally. Want to express my gratitude for your likes, comments, and reblogs. I appreciate it! Love you, guys! Enjoy the story :)

P.S. English isn't my native.

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW, sexual content, typical treatment of women those times, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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The man of her father's age opened the gates and kindly smiled at her.

"Welcome to Ēbrion, my lady. The residence of the God of Murk and Affliction — my lord."

She examined the pale complexion of the man, who wore perfectly ironed and starched white shirt with a black suit. His skin was pallid as if the blood no longer rushed in the veins. The man was acting as an alive human, though, there were doubts whether he was one.

"Who are you?" She cautiously inquired, still considering if she could trust him.

"I am a butler, my lady," the man was still smiling warmly.

"What is E... Ebrion?"

"Ēbrion," he pronounced it correctly and went on explaining, "this is the name of the castle, my lady. It means "dusk" in the Valyrian language."

Valyrian — the language of Gods.

The butler took her case and pointed at the lane with his thin arm. She made several uncertain steps walking into the territory of the castle. The gates behind her started closing by themselves what surprised her a little.

"Why is the castle named like that?" She curiously looked at the man and then turned her glance to the great piece of architecture in front of her.

"Due to my lord was born at dusk," she heard the butler's soft voice behind her back. "Please, my lady, may us come inside. Dinner is already awaiting for you, along with a hot bath. You must be exhausted after the journey."

She felt someone's presence the whole dinner as if an invisible person were in the room together with her, hiding stealthily. Somber aura hung over making the air in the castle humid. Although, it could have been her nervousness, and heightened temperature of the body due to her anxiety.

Massive walls were decorated with modeling, ornamented in pretentious paintings of mythical creatures and flowers; pictures in wooden frames adorned the rooms. Events of Gods' and humans' history were depicted on them. At times, it seemed the characters on canvases revived — expressions were altering on their faces, their eyes were watching her with the penetrating gaze. Here and there muted fragments of their conversations were echoing across the halls.

The servants of the castle were moving around ghostly — once they were working in one place, then, after a blink, there was no one in the room, the servants quickly were shifting to other places.

When the girl needed explanation or help, miraculously the butler appeared near her. A moment she turned her head, he vanished as though he weren't there initially.

Who were all these people serving the God of Murk and Affliction? Ghosts? Corpses who came to life? She doubted that someone ever would provide her answers.

She had been staying in this bleak place for a week and hadn't ever met its owner. Each day was gloomy and dull, the atmosphere outside was constant. Once in a while, it was drizzling — at those moments chilly spirit was sweeping through the halls, and the girl was hiding in the chamber, allocated for her, under the thick blankets.

The longer she had been staying here, the more dreadful anticipation of the meeting with the God became. She couldn't comprehend why he still hadn't appeared in his residence. But, she had a horrible feeling the moment she would meet him, it would be the most terrible encounter in her life. It seemed as if it were easier to face the Death than the God of Murk and Affliction himself.

One evening was especially murky. Since morning it had been pouring, so the whole day felt macabre. The poor girl had low spirits — there was no joy in here, nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to speak to.

The servants had prepared a hot bath for her. While she was lying relaxed in the tub, pleasant water was soothing her strained muscles, several women were readying her bed, changing usual white linen into black one with red intricate patterns on it.

After, they dried her with soft towels, brought her a beautiful transparent nightgown to wear, something unpleasant tugged and then dropped in her abdomen. Her mind gave the cue that tonight was going to be the encounter. Their lord was coming back home, and his servants were preparing Ēbrion to greet him with lush tables full of mouthwatering dishes, polished floors and decorations, and the main gift who was standing in this chamber.

Her.

Now she realized why her bedroom was in the remote part of the castle — nobody would hear her voice, her screams, her calls for help. As though there were somebody who would safe her.

"My lady," the servant gently took her hand and led her to the bed, helping her to get onto it.

"Please, lie on your back, my lady."

She did as she was asked. Her breath caught in her lungs — the feeling of terror was capturing her body slowly.

"What are you doing?" The girl jumped terrified when the servants grabbed both her arms.

"Please, my lady, you have to lie on your back," the woman's gentle voice asked her again.

Be obedient.

The girl gulped and lowered herself on the duvet. She was trembling, as a small leaf ready to fall on the ground in late autumn, while her wrists got tied to the headboard. A silk bandage covered her eyes — according to the servants' words, it was an order.

And there she was lying, alone, on the fresh and still cold bed, her arms attached to the headboard with ropes. She relied only on her ears hearing attentively what was happening around. The baldachin made of heavy fabric was completely closed. She was in the utter darkness.

Anticipation was eating her from the inside. It felt as if her heart could jumped out of her chest because of how afraid she was.

The echoes of someone's steps were audible in the corridor, reaching closer and closer to her chamber. She strained her body and tightly clenched her legs — was stiff as the violin's string.

All at once, the doors opened and she heard heavy male breathing, and loud stomps of leather boots. She tried to produce no sounds as though he didn't know she was here.

The God knew everything since the moment the convoy entered his lands. His henchmen saw her every step in the mist — vultures, ravens, trees, serpents, the fog itself. Everything and everyone felt foreign presence of a stranger, a human they'd never seen. And he already knew her name — the wind had whispered him.

The girl heard clatters of the crystal jug and goblet, and then quiet pouring of the liquid.

"Do you know who I am?" She heard a deep voice rumbling right from the chest. It felt dangerous and spellbinding at the same time as if looking at the volcanic eruption and hearing grumbles that come from the inside of the mountain.

"God of Murk and Affliction," her own voice sounded pathetic that was natural for such a miserable human she was.

"Remember it. I am a God, you are a human. A little pitiful human."

The baldachin opened suddenly revealing her small body to him worn in transparent fabric. He, without any shame, was staring at her young untouched body smelling her scent — dulcet and virginal.

The girl began moving, yanking the ropes, pulling her legs. Her heart was beating as a bird in the cage, fluttering small wings with the hope to escape. Unfortunately, there was no way back, no way home.

The God's large palm wrapped her thin neck pinning to the bed, his long nose grazed the side of her left cheek reaching her ear.

"Be a good girl for me. If you appreciate your life, be obedient," he whispered and left a light kiss on the earlobe.

She was incapable to breath, her body felt numb due to fear — the girl was lying still on the bed praying to remain alive after this encounter.

But who was she praying to? The Gods who themselves suggested to send her here?

She became alone, abandoned by humans and Gods who knew, who saw, who heard everything from above. They didn't care. One mortal girl was not a big deal.

The night had been dragging a long while, darker than it had ever been in any place of the world. It felt like infinity until the dawn. The infinity with his hard cock between her quivering legs, his heavy breathing and rumbling growls and moans.

She felt sticky hotness between her thighs — blood mixed with her juices and his semen. His strong hands left bruises on her innocent body, he bit her with his sharp fangs, penetrated her with rough thrusts. It was pleasure and pain she was experiencing. Her fleshy insides were fluttering because of exhaustion, but for the God it wasn't enough. He interchangeably used his shaft and long digits exploring the girl's interior.

Her crying didn't halt him, her moans encouraged him to keep on moving.

He examined every inch of her body craving to know all her cavities, convexities, and curves. He played with her breasts, nibbled her nipples, smelled her hair, and teased her clit.

She was different, unlike the Goddesses he had laid with. He sensed purity in her which he was devastating with his sinful actions, wicked tongue and perverse, constantly seeking for fulfillment dick. He adored her hot blood that could be heard rushing in her veins, he relished her taste feasting between her legs for hours till she couldn't take it anymore.

Everything was his from then. She belonged to him and only him.

He took her almost every night, and when the daylight touched the floors of her chamber, the servants always fetched her hot bath and breakfast. The God bestowed her with rich dresses made of heavenly fabrics and precious jewels that no mortal queens or kings ever possessed.

She was his own little human.

She was a good girl for him, and according to his promise he once made, she enjoyed only pleasure in bed. The God allowed her to explore the castle and the territory outside as a gift for her obedience.

Daily she had been spending time in the library, in the garden, or riding a horse in the surroundings of the castle. Her white stallion — a present from the God — was her loyal friend ready to take her anywhere she desired.

The girl was scared no more. The God's henchmen were watching her, the woods were protecting her from the possible danger that may have come from outside of his possessions.

She felt save and secure. Once she came here as a slave, a toy for the God, now she became his girl who he cared for and cherished.

***

The girl was bouncing on the God's hard cock standing on the hands and knees. Light breeze was tickling her nude body, sweet scent of grass and flowers enveloped the space around them.

Since her appearance here, the God's lands has changed reasonably. Thick fog has gone from Ēbrion to the borders of his possessions hiding them from the world outside. The sky wasn't overcast anymore allowing the rays of the sun to elucidate the territories around.

"My Lord..." she moaned loudly.

He gripped her hair tightly accelerating his thrusts.

"My Lord... Aemond! I need a break. I can't take it anymore," her ragged breathing showed her tiredness.

The God groaned, and grudgingly came out of her hot insides. She stretched her body on the blanket, closed her eyes enjoying the warmth of the day. The woods around them were shuffling. How much time had passed since she arrived in here? She didn't remember.

The days and nights blurred, time had no sense for her anymore. Once she was cut from the world she was born in, left forsaken in the unknown place, but now it seemed to be just a memory of long ago times.

In front of her was sitting her beloved man, the God who was spreading his wrath in the world, but sought love and appreciation in her hands.

Her dear Aemond.

"Are you tired, my love?" He took her arm and kissed it.

"A bit, my lord," she smiled, exploring his sturdy body with her curious eyes, and stopping her gaze at his thick cock patiently waiting to be buried deep within her walls again.

"Hmmm..." He thoughtfully rubbed her abdomen. Something began sparking in his good eye.

"What are you thinking about?" She half rose up on her elbows.

"Want to breed you, my love. To conceive a child with you," lust was heard on his tongue. He leaned his face closer to her, his silver hair glistening in the beams of the daylight.

"Do you want a half-God child from a mortal woman? I'm not even a queen, just a merchant's daughter."

An astute smile appeared on his face. He delineated her cheek with his long finger, then gently kissed her full lips.

"I don't want a half-God child. I want you to give birth to a God." He whispered into her mouth, and then pinned her to the blanket with the weight of his body.

She gulped and asked surprisingly:

"How?"

"I will make you my wife. My Goddess."

With these words he pushed his hard cock into her entrance, catching her moan with his lips.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aegon ii targaryen

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seeingivy · 6 months

Text

funeral

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: depictions of grief, talk of addiction/anxiety

an: i am alive (mostly). eat your cake, even though I think it Is bad (this chapter was the hardest to write, right next to the "the third act" chapter

songs mentioned: marjorie by taylor swift

previous part linked here

“What are you thinking, Eren?” Hange asks.

The question is stupid. Eren is thinking of the only logical conclusion that he can draw from the autopsy report. The implication of it, of how Marco really died, is sitting right in front of him.

The patient is a twenty-three year old Caucasian male with no significant medical history. Emergency services responded to the scene of a motor vehicle crash around nine p.m. At the scene, responders found that the patient was trapped in the vehicle, upturned on the side of the road, with no pulse at the time of arrival. Patient was declared dead on scene. Autopsy concluded that primary cause of death was asphyxiation, secondary cause being severe loss of blood due to injuries in the extremities.

“I’m thinking that the paparazzi killed him, Hange.” Eren spits.

“Eren.”

“Hange, don’t. Just-” Levi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Levi’s eyes are borderline gaunt. Eren knows the past few days have sat horribly on Levi’s shoulders and perhaps the past year and a half have too.

The guilt is excruciating. Because all Eren knows how to do is ruin people.

He dragged Levi and Hange into his mess, when he asked them for help. But it had gone too far at that point, the interview, the night on the beach, the fight - he had exhausted all ends and desperately needed someone on his side.

Levi and Hange all but berated him for it. For letting it get so far, for waiting so long when he should have known that they were always there to help. But this reaction, Levi being the one to side with his outburst is proof enough that he made the wrong choice, that he should have stuck with himself. That them bending backwards and forwards to get him out of his mess has truly taken its toll.

Levi and Hange always mimicked him and you. Eren and Hange, he knows they both have a tendency to get so lost in the emotion, to feel it so deep that the response is too loud, too much for what’s called for. That’s when you and Levi would come in, to soothe them down and bring them back to Earth.

In the same vein, you and Levi, you planted your weeds too deep into the ground. Rooted in exactly what he’s not quite sure - perhaps misplaced insecurities, whatever the two of you seemed to hide in those deep inner walls - but it kept you both stagnant, stuck where you were. That’s where Hange and Eren came in, pushing you both to soar a little bit higher than what you imagined for yourself.

But now Levi’s here, all but exhausted and broken, the same way he’s sure you were. That’s why things got so fucked up. Eren didn’t let you pull him down. He didn’t pull you up.

“They killed him, Hange.” Levi states, tone void of any emotion.

“Levi. It’s almost midnight, we’re all feeling emotional right now. We should look at this all with a clear mind tomorrow.”

“They killed him. There is nothing to look at.” Levi says, enunciating every inflection of his words.

Eren knows it for a fact. And from the look on Hange’s face, he knows they do too. His train of thought is cut off by the knocking - rapid, loud consecutive knocks slamming against the wood.

“God, Eren. Go get it now before they run off with our food.” Hange murmurs, gesturing towards the door.

Eren shuffles past the length of the hallway and swings open the door to find not his UberEats bag, but Lana, out of breath and panting on his doorstep.

“Ew. You just left two hours ago. Why are you back already?”

“Eren. Oh my god.”

Lana wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard, as she cries into his shoulder. Her demeanor settles an immediate panic under his skin. The last time she reacted like this, Eren had to watch the most gut wrenching interview of his life while she held his hand. God knows whatever she’s about to tell him now is going to break him.

Eren brings his hands up and grabs her shoulders, applying pressure to stop her from shaking in his arms.

“Lana. What’s wrong with you? Why are you-”

“Eren. I’m so sorry, you- I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, just-just say it.” she pants, hiccuping in between her tears.

Eren frowns, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her out of the cold Seattle air into the kitchen where Hange and Levi are cooking by the stove.

“Hi Lana Bear! How are you, kid?” Hange says, all but bouncing over to wrap their arms around Lana.

This only upsets Lana more, the discomfort worsening in Eren’s chest as he can’t help but stare at her, at her brown eyes turning almost red from the downpour of her tears and the tension sitting in her shoulders.

“What is it? Who died?”

The question, when Eren asks it, is entirely rhetorical. A figure of speech, meant to emphasize that Lana’s reaction was extreme, too obscene for whatever it is she must be talking about. But when she doesn’t respond and swallows hard, the look on her face so crestfallen, Eren’s chest settles into a panic.

His first thought is you.

“Lana. Is she dead? What are you-”

Lana scrambles for the remote on the counter, switching from the Disney Channel to the first news report she can find. The image is of an overturned car, the metal crushed and steaming in the front, accompanied with words that burn Eren’s ears. The first hit is relief - that it’s not you. The second hit is painful, like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs.

Because it’s Marco.

“What?” Levi says, taking his eyes off the stove to glance at the screen.

Eren can feel his phone incessantly buzzing in his pocket and he reaches for it immediately, Lana leaning into his side as she continues to cry into his shoulder. Levi and Hange are moving closer to the television, like that’ll somehow make the sound better, the image clearer, like they’ll be able to find falsity in it.

jean: the bodt’s said the funeral is going to be near the old house. ask levi and hange if we can all stay in the townhouse together.

bertholdt: reiner and i are heading over tonight.

sukuna: Let me know if you need anything. Give the paparazzi hell for this one.

connie: i’m coming back to seattle. i-i don’t know if i can do this.

Eren’s quick to respond to that one.

eren: i’ve got you man. meet us in new york as soon as you can, we’re all going to stay at the townhouse. don’t leave sasha’s side until you get there okay?

connie: alright. okay, thanks.

eren: phone is on.

“This is bullshit. How do they know it’s him?” Levi says angrily, hands crossed over his chest.

“Levi.” Hange says, voice nearly cracking.

“No, I’m being fucking serious. How do they know that this guy is our Marco? There’s no proof. Call the Bodt’s right now.” Levi says, pacing the kitchen for where he left his phone.

Eren frowns, his head racing as Levi walks the length of the kitchen and Hange settles into their immediate panic.

“Eren.” Lana says.

“Hm?”

“I have to tell you something. You’re going to hate it. I-”

“Just tell me, Lana. No-no beating around the bush.”

“The paparazzi…got to him first before the police.” she whispers.

“What?” Eren says, through gritted teeth as his head all but short circuits.

“They knew it was his car, he’d been driving it around that part of Nashville for a while. They were probably just following him to get pictures wherever he was going. But then he-he crashed and-”

“And what? They took pictures of it? Of him?” Eren asks, squeezing Lana’s shoulders too hard.

“Yeah. They-they only called the police when they were done, Eren. I-”

The tears fill Eren’s eyes as the implication cuts deep. It all but sears the air in his lungs, the tears welling so fast that it’s already obstructing his vision. All he can feel is Lana’s hands, squeezing his biceps, as he tries to control the heaving in his chest.

“How long?”

“Eren.” she says, tone so pitiful it makes his blood boil.

“How long, Lana?” he asks, voice cracking.

“It took them forty-five minutes to get there. They would have been there in fifteen.” she whispers.

And now, the autopsy report tells him enough. With a definitive resolve that the paparazzi killed Marco. Because he died from asphyxiation, from being twisted in the metal, not getting any air. And if the police had gotten there maybe a moment earlier, a second faster, they could have gotten him out, could have at least made sure he was breathing.

They wanted a picture. Marco died for it.

The anger surges through Eren, tenfold when he remembers the paparazzi lining up Jean and Mikasa’s engagement party, Falco’s school, his house the day his grandpa died. When you walked into his garage, drenched from the rain with a deep cut on your face and skidded knees, scared to death.

“I’m done sugarcoating, Hange. Eren is right. They killed Marco.” Levi responds.

Hange sighs, leaning against the counter as Eren walks up to them, resting his head against their shoulder. They all stand there in silence, not even seventy-two hours after the fact, and it still hasn’t hit Eren.

In full flesh, that Marco is gone.

The rapid knocking on the door, real this time, breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Probably Zeke or Armin. I’ve got it.” he murmurs.

“Thanks kid.”

Eren watches as Levi sinks into Hange’s arms, sighing as he shuffles to the door and flicks on the porch light. He swings it open and immediately feels his throat tighten, fully constricted, at the sight of you standing in the lamplight.

You’re looking up at him, swallowing hard, as you stare into his eyes and all Eren can do is wonder if your brain is short circuiting as much as his is. Surely, it isn’t. Eren has every reason to be embarrassed, to be ashamed. And you don’t.

For posterity, he fights all instincts, every urge in his body, to reach forward and hold you. To let your sweet flowery smell take over his nose, to settle his face into that crook in your neck, to have your soft, soft touch running over his skin. To let the mountain of emotions he’s been carrying fall, because you’re here.

But he can’t.

“Hi Eren.”

“Y/N.”

He can’t help but inspect every micro-movement, every gesture you make. Your eyes are nearly glassing over with tears and you’re nervously fidgeting with your fingers. You’ve dropped your gaze to focus on the ground, a habit you always had when you were sad, as your voice breaks into the air.

“Can I ask you something? Please?” you whisper.

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and praying to god you remember what it means, as he nods.

That he’s here and he’s got you.

“Anything. What is it?”

“Is he dead?”

Maybe not anything.

He can’t be the one to tell you. You of all people that Marco died, at the hands of the paparazzi. The same paparazzi who in your very pointed words, gutted your first love like a fish. Who were partly to blame, who drove you out of here alongside him.

“Y/N.”

“Is he?” you repeat, voice smaller.

“Okay. Let’s go inside, you-”

“Is Marco dead, Eren? I’m asking you a question.”

Your anger in your voice is enough to make him stop in his tracks, the second time your voice is laced with that animosity that it scares him into responding. He hears it, in his worst hours, echoing in his mind.

How many times are you going to keep breaking shit without any care in the world? The camera, the fucking award you picked over me, Connie’s fucking livelihood, my heart. God, Eren. All you’ve ever cared about is yourself. From the start.

He swallows hard.

“Yes. Marco’s dead.”

And you don’t even know the half of it.

He watches your glass tears, the ones sitting right on the edge of your eyelashes, fall in full force, onto your cheeks as you immediately start hiccuping, hands clasped against your chest.

“I-I saw it on the news. I-I didn’t believe it but I- They always lie about stuff. I thought it was the same as that and-”

“Y/N, come ins-”

Your panic sets in so fast, so quick that Eren doesn’t even register it. Because one second you’re panting and the next Eren’s watching you retch onto the grass Connie mowed this morning. Eren pushes you into the house the second you stop, straight to the kitchen where Levi and Hange are still standing in their spots.

“Wait, is that-”

“Do you guys know if we have something like…anti-nausea? Is that what you do when someone throws up or-” Eren asks.

“Is that Y/N?” Levi asks.

“Yeah, she-she was on the porch, I-”

Levi’s quick to walk up, hands on your shoulders as he talks, voice quiet and calm when he speaks near your ear. Hange moves to Eren’s side, her face wearing that concerned look she gives him too much these days, as they both rummage through the cabinets for anything that could help.

“Y/N. You okay?” Levi asks.

“I-I threw up on the-the porch. On the g-grass. So-sorry.”

“It’s just grass. What’s-”

Eren tries to still it - that pounding in his heart - as he walks over with the glass of water he filled up for you. Your hands must be wobbling too much because Eren doesn’t let the glass go, instead tilting your head up softly with his hands and pouring the water into your mouth.

“Hey. Drink some more for me.” Eren states, voice soft as he instinctively reaches forward to fix the hairs sticking to the sweat beading your forehead, feeling your skin burning under his touch.

“We should take her temperature.” Eren says.

Levi and Hange dart out of the room, to the drawer upstairs where the thermometer is, as Eren takes breaks between helping you drink the water and rubbing circles into your back.

Eren can feel every muscle in his body tense, his skin burning when you lean forward, forehead resting against his chest as you groan out in pain.

“Hey. You with me?” Eren asks, murmuring straight into your hair.

Eren feels your breathing still against him, his hands intuitively wrapping around you this time, cradling the back of your head in his hands. You hum in response to his question, which is a good enough answer for Eren now.

“Found it.” Levi says, all but speed walking as Eren spins you around, watching as Levi meticulously pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and holds the sensor against your head. You’re all standing there in silence, craning over the little plastic as the two consecutive beeps go off.

“98.6. You’re okay, Y/N.” Levi mutters, setting the thermometer back on the table.

“Thank you, Levi.” you respond back, rubbing your arms on your biceps as you stare at the two of them, withdrawn and withholding from you.

Granted, you’d do the same. You wouldn’t rush to their arms either if they ignored you for two years.

“You can take this for nausea. If it happens again.” Hange says, placing a bottle in your hands.

“Sure. Thank you, Hange.” you respond.

The silence hangs in the air between the four of you as you stand there, each of you racking your heads for the right thing to say. Eren wants to tell Levi and Hange to stop being so rude, that they were the ones who were begging you to come back and now that you’re here they won’t even talk to you. Levi and Hange are debating which one of them should yell at you first, for being withdrawn from them and not asking for help the way Eren did. And you’re figuring out who you should apologize to first, between the three of them.

None of you break. Because it’s not the right time. Because Marco is dead.

“Everyone is sleeping together upstairs. There should be an extra air mattress up there, Eren will get it for you….knock if you need something.” Levi says, tone exasperated as he shuffles away.

“Welcome back, kid.”

Hange gives you a full smile as they follow him, leaving you and Eren in the kitchen. The distance Levi is putting in between you and him stings, but you swallow the burn and remind yourself that you’re the one who inflicted it on yourself.

At the time, after the interview, the rationale made more sense. Nonsensically, you decided that you were done with the industry and that, by proxy, meant that you were done with them too. You did your interview and stuck to your word, never looked back.

It’s humiliating now. Debilitating thinking about how much you must have hurt them. Because each of them, they continually reached out until it stopped. Mikasa made every effort to have you come to her engagement party, that she would even stop the press from coming for Vogue the way they had planned for you.

And when you didn’t show, all she did was send you pictures, of her and Jean cutting the cake and of the dress she had bought for you to wear. Hange and Levi were so vigilant about it, on making sure that you were okay, that you had security details, that people really were leaving you alone. You didn’t heed any of their efforts, because for all intents and purposes, you were leaving the girl you were behind.

Her dreams, the love she held, the friends she had.

It seems stupid now. It seems incredibly and gut-wrenchingly stupid that your last words to Marco were over two years ago because you were punishing him for something that wasn’t his fault. That you can’t go to any of them for comfort because the thing that they need comfort from is you.

All you know how to do is ruin people.

“Are you hungry? Or do you want to go to bed?” Eren asks.

“I can go to bed. Levi said air mattress?”

“Yeah, we’re all sleeping together in the loft upstairs.”

“We?” you ask.

“Mikasa and Jean are here. Ymir and Hisu, Bertholdt and Reiner, Connie and Sash. Everyone else should be getting in tomorrow.”

Eren pads towards the stairs and you awkwardly follow, crawling up the stairs behind him. You can hear the loud chatter of voices, talking over each other, as you try to catch the ends of their conversation.

“But where do they go when you pee?” Sasha asks.

“Fuck do you mean, where do they go?” Reiner says, voice incredulous.

“Like in the bowl? Because if you’re sitting on the toilet, they have to go somewhere?” Sasha repeats.

“Sasha. It’s almost one in the morning. Please stop talking about balls.” Ymir groans, earning a good amount of laughs from the group.

“Eren, tell them all to shut the fuck up.” Jean groans, forearm over his eyes as he and Mikasa roll around on their mattress.

Eren looks at you, eyes weary, before he turns to respond to them.

“Y/N’s here.”

They all peek their heads up, curious eyes falling on you, as you give them a halfhearted smile, trying your best to wipe your sweaty palms on the back of your dress.

“Hi guys.”

The silence is deafening. You can’t pick what’s worse - Reiner and Bertholdt squinting their eyes at you or Mikasa and Jean refusing to look at you.

Mikasa and Jean.

Historia stands up, strutting over from her air mattress, to wrap her arms around you, the pressure of the hug so hard you can barely breathe. You breathe in her smell, spicy and sharp the way it’s always been, as she pulls away. Her warm hand is resting on your cheek, the smile on her face so genuine that it untangles the smallest parts of discomfort on your chest.

“Hi princess. Missed you.”

“Thanks, Hisu. I missed you too.”

That’s always been the thing about Historia. That she’ll pick up, even when you haven’t called her in two years, and run to your aid.

“How’d you know we were here?” Jean asks, hands resting on his knees.

“I asked Historia.” you respond.

“Told you I was her favorite. She reached out to me before you.” Historia mutters, flopping back onto the air mattress she’s sharing with Ymir.

“You’re so arrogant, Historia. And full of shit.” Jean responds, rolling his eyes.

“You’re so right, Jean-Boy. This is just like what we fought about earlier.” Connie responds.

The group of them break out into an argument, Historia looking like she’s full on about to wrestle Connie as he only instigates her on. Mikasa’s already resting with her eyes closed as Jean turns pink in the face from his irritations.

And you can’t help but laugh, warm tingling in your chest at all of them, wholeheartedly the same. You look over at Eren and smile, which he returns. But despite it all, that stillness, that outsider feeling sits in your skin. Because despite them being the same, the striking differences in the room tell you things are wholeheartedly different too.

“Okay. Where’s the extra air mattress?” Eren asks.

Connie turns, eyes wide, as he gives the two of you a sheepish smile.

“Really funny story. Sooooo….”

“God. What did you do?” Eren groans.

“Long story short, I was thinking about waterbeds. If you pop a water bed, it should be like a waterfall right? So if it’s an air mattress, it should be like an inflatable air balloon thing. Like the weird noodle guys at the car store? Right? So, I tried to pop it. And succeeded.” Connie responds, rambling.

“Was it cool?” you ask.

“Ugh. Not at all, princess.” Connie responds.

You smile, perhaps bigger than you should at Connie using your old nickname, as Eren starts yelling at him.

“You should be the one to sleep on the floor since you’re the one who ruined the mattress.” Eren states.

“She should sleep on the floor. She got here last!” Connie responds.

“She just threw up. And she wasn’t going to sleep on the floor regardless.”

“Is she contagious?” Connie responds.

“Connie!”

Eren rolls his eyes as Mikasa stands up, shuffling to your side and lightly tugging your arm. You look at her, taking her shorter hair in, as you give her a smile.

“Hey. Want to go change? Your old clothes should still be here, don’t know how well they’ll fit.”

Eren breaks out of his conversation, leaning forward to where the two of you are talking, to interject.

“What’s mine is yours. Take mine if you need to.” he says, before returning in full flesh to the argument he’s having with Connie. You can tell they’re both joking from the way they’re trying not to laugh as you start to walk away.

The two of you quietly pad down the length to the two doors, directly across from each other, as you take in the scribbled signs switched. Your old room now reads Jean and Mikasa with Connie’s handwriting scribbled underneath inscribing please fuck quietly on the door. And consequently, Eren’s room now reads Eren and Y/N with Sasha’s handwriting scribbled underneath reading yall are fucked UP for this.

You turn to Mikasa and give her a weird look.

“Right. We’ve been here for a week, actually. Table reading season four stuff. Jean and I want to share a room so we moved all of his stuff to your room and your stuff to Eren’s room. We’ll put it back.” Mikasa states, pushing open the door to Eren’s room as she starts rummaging through your old drawers in the closet.

“No, no. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to impose on you guys when you’re almost about to be newlyweds?” you ask.

“Yeah. Yeah, next year. And we just moved it because we thought you weren’t going to come back. And Eren didn’t want to toss your stuff and all.” she responds. She pulls out a shirt, most definitely from when you’re fifteen, as you both snicker at the size and she keeps digging.

You walk around Eren’s room, your room too now, as you eye all the boxes filled with your things, tangled in with Eren’s clothes lying around on every open surface. You take a seat at his desk as you start inspecting his little bulletin board, the pictures underneath the pins.

One of him, Lana, and Sukuna - the three of them smoldering at the camera. Eren and Connie smiling, Eren and a little kid with short curly hair, and two pictures of you. The first one is of you and him sleeping on set and the other is the two of you with Falco, both of you crouching down to his height and hugging him from behind.

And hanging around both of the pins are your friendship bracelets, which you take off the hooks to inspect.

So that’s where it went. In all of the fire of moving around so much, jumping from one place to another, you always thought you lost it. But you must have left it here all along.

You run your hands over the beads, yours and Eren’s names, as Mikasa gives you a head shake, indicating she didn’t find anything.

“S’okay. I’ll look through Eren’s stuff I guess.” you murmur.

Mikasa nods as she leans against Eren’s desk, hands crossed over her chest, as the silence hangs in between the two of you. She takes one of the bracelets from your hands, twisting the beads in her fingers, as you do the same with yours.

You find solace in the fact that Mikasa is still wearing her engagement ring - a constant in the sparring mix of changes you just witnessed in the room.

Connie sober. Ymir and Historia sharing a mattress. Eren and Connie getting along. Mikasa and Jean even tolerating being in the same room as Eren. In the same room as you. And the jarring absence of Marco.

“How are you?” Mikasa asks.

“Okay, Mika. How are you?”

Mikasa sinks down, sitting flat on the floor as she hikes her knees to her chest. You follow suit, dropping from your chair to sit next to her, lacing your arm through hers as you both blankly stare at the floor ahead of you, picking what topic to broach first.

I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in two years. Our friend is dead. Eren is here.

“The engagement party looked beautiful, Mikasa.”

She smiles, leaning her head against yours.

“Thank you, Y/N. It was quite nice actually.”

“I watched it on Vogue. Cried quite a bit.” you respond.

She laughs, rolling her eyes at you as she lightly shoves you.

“Should’ve come then. Cried in real time.”

You swallow hard, cheeks warm, as you squeeze her hand. You know she’s joking, but the guilt runs too deep.

“I’m sorry for not coming. I-I really wish I was there. And I know there’s no justification for it but-”

“We aren’t mad at you. Jean and I.” she clarifies.

“I’d understand if you were. I’m your best friend. I’ve-I’ve been with you guys since the start and-”

Mikasa’s hands are soft on your shoulders, tears gathering in her eyes, as she looks at you, eyes pinched in pain.

“You had every right to not come. To be done with this. What they did to you, to Eren- Y/N, god.”

You swallow hard.

“It didn’t warrant me not coming to you-”

“It did. You don’t even know the half of it. You-you and Eren. You just-”

There’s a knocking at the door and Eren pads in, eyes wide as he sees you and Mikasa on the floor, tears gathered in her eyes and your limbs tangled together.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can come back.”

“No, no. It’s okay, Eren. Her clothes are too small. I can go grab mine for her if you two want to talk-” her words pointed, the emphasis on the last words hard.

“No, don’t bother Mikasa.” he responds, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of clothes for you.

Mikasa turns back to you, giving your cheek a pinch.

“I’ll make Jean sleep on the floor if Connie doesn’t give up his mattress. It’ll be like old times.” she responds, shuffling out of the room as you stay on your spot on the floor.

You hike your knees to your chest as you twist the beads in your fingers again, Eren’s name that you used to wear on your wrist almost every day foreign in your fingers.

“Eren. We’re going to be late.” you groan, impatiently tapping your foot on the ground as you wait for him by the door.

The two of you are already thirty minutes late to Erwin’s going away party, the last car waiting to take the two of you, Marco, and Annie out to the little soiree that Erwin is throwing for himself - in celebration of him being killed off.

“Sorry, sorry. Looking for my bracelet.” he responds, darting back and forth from different corners of the room.

“Well, hurry up. Annie’s getting pissed.”

“I found yours! But where is mine?”

You look down at your wrist to find the pink beads on your wrist, spelling out your name against your pulse point in your wrist.

“Oops, sorry. I’m wearing yours.” you respond.

Eren’s quick to walk over to where you’re standing on the door - giving you enough time to groan at how haphazardly he got ready for the party. His tie is loose against his neck, hair all messy as you reach up to fix it.

“God, Eren. At least brush your hair.”

“Quit moving your hands.”

Eren takes his hand in yours, quickly sliding the bracelet off your wrist and switching it with the one in his hand.

“Well, get ready properly. Your tie isn’t even on right.” you respond, irritated as you reach forward to tighten the fabric and smooth down his collar.

“And if I told you I put it on wrong just so you would fix it, what would you think?”

“That you’re asking for a death sentence from Annie for wasting time.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to lift the hand he just placed the bracelet on. His thumb is straight against your pulse point, blood pulsating under the spot, as he lifts his hand to leave a kiss right there.

“And that it’s cute that you did that.”

He gives you a wide grin, locking your hands together as you both rush out the door.

Eren shuffles out, sitting across from you as he puts the stack of clothes between you and hikes his knees to his chest. He holds his hand out and you place the bracelet in his hand.

“You left it in the bathroom.”

You nod as you try to steady your mind - still running a hundred miles per hour and overstimulated from seeing everyone again. From how familiar it all feels, how easy it all is to fall back into this despite how different things are.

How you and Eren are miles apart, how you haven’t talked to them all in months, how Marco is dead. That Marco’s death is suspending all of you in a weird state of reality, that every angry word spoken and every bit of harshness seems miniscule now.

“Do you want me to leave?” Eren asks.

“No.” you shrug.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

Eren nods, counting each of the beads on the bracelet, as you both sit there in the silence, letting your eyes float around the room as you let your mind wander.

Marco and Colt playing chess everyday when he visited you in Canada, Marco falling for every stupid joke that Connie played on him, the way you all cried when Marco died in the show, Marco at the awards show.

“Eren?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

The question takes Eren off guard. He debates it then and there - telling you the truth full and whole - on the basis that he can’t handle the way you’re looking at him. At the fact that you even asked that, at the implication that you thought he could ever forget.

“Of course. On set, in the-”

“No, no. I mean, for real.”

“At the awards show.” Eren responds, without a beat.

“Yeah.”

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer, like he can’t get enough of you.

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other.

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit a murder.”

“You want me so bad.” you say, sarcastically.

“Obviously.”

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there’s like seven people who just watched you suck face. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard.

“I love you guys.”

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure whatever is going on, without Connie and and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.”

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch.

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.”

“Do you think he’s haunting us?”

Eren frowns, the memory refreshing in his head. One he thought of a few days ago, lingering on the fact that Marco’s probably turning in grave right now. Granted, Marco was very vehement about his stance on you two - your interview and what Eren did, making Marco so agonizingly and uncharacteristically angry that it bothers him now.

For not listening to him. That if he does ever get to cross that bridge with you, at least be your friend again, that Marco won’t ever know.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t just go out there and tell her. You know where she lives.” Marco states, irritated.

“Because I just can’t, Marco! You watched the interview!”

“The entire song was about how she forgave you. How she isn’t holding a grudge against you. And-and the way she was talking about it, some part of her knows that other people had something to do with this, Eren. She knows deep down.”

“The interview was fucking horrible. This entire thing, this thing that I did, fucked her up so bad that she isn’t even doing this anymore. This was all she wanted, ever since she was a kid, she-she was so determined and she gave it up because I said all those things, because I did what I did.”

“Eren. It’s more compl-”

“No, it’s not. And she fucking hates me. You should have seen how upset she was at the awards show…..I-I ruined it for her. I ruined her entire dream, Marco.”

“God, Eren. Your tunnel vision is insane. You’re not even giving her a fighting chance when she doesn’t even know the truth!” he says.

“Maybe haunting is too mean of a word. I think he’d be happy to see us together, right now. Even if the circumstances aren’t the best.” he responds.

You smile, giving him a nod.

“He always did like playing cupid, didn’t he?”

“At the engagement party, he walked around telling everyone that Jean and Mikasa were only dating because of him.”

“That’s a lie.” you state.

“No one believed him.” Eren responds.

The two of you fall into silence again, resting your chins on your knees, as more thoughts swim through your head, pain so palpable it’s sitting in your chest. That if Marco were here, he’d be prancing in and giving you two devious smirks, lovingly teasing both of you. Pulling both of you aside, saying that bygones should be bygones if you still love each other.

You look up at him, watch his eyes flutter open and close, as he fidgets with his hands.

You still love him.

“Can we be civil for the weekend? Like…like you’re not Eren and I’m not Y/N, we’re just-” you sutter.

Your question falls short, hanging in the air as you watch the gears in Eren’s head turn.

“I just mean. So many things happened between us. And I know there’s hurt there, on your part and maybe mine too, but…..I don’t want us to be mad at each other at the funeral. Or after.”

You swallow hard.

“I’d hate for one of us to die being mad at each other. Without having talked in years.” you whisper.

Eren gets it. The guilt that must be wracking you for not talking to Marco, when you were one of the people who was closest to him. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, as he fidgets with your fingers.

“He knows you loved him, Y/N.”

He watches the tears pour down your eyes, face pink and eyes swollen, as you talk.

“Did he? Because I ignored his texts. For years. He texted me happy birthday, asked how Falco was doing, wanted to know if I watched Halloweentown on October first like I always do, if I was happy, if I wanted to talk and-”

He squeezes your hand, pulling out his phone, as he scoots to the space next to you. He tries to still the pounding of his heart as you lace your arm through his, leaning your head against his.

“He knows, Y/N.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was with him. I talked to him quite often after….after everything that happened. I promise you, he knows you loved him.”

You shake your head, guilt sitting in your head.

“I have something for you.” he murmurs.

“What is it?”

“It’s from a few years ago. I think he was really, really drunk.”

He hands you his phone, open to a voicemail from Marco, as you wipe the tears on your phone and press play. His voice comes through the speaker booming and giggling and hiccuping as he talks.

“Eren. Eren! Fuck, I love you so much dude. You’re-you’re such a guy. Like I-I just see you and think hmmmm. That’s a guy. Are you with Y/N? Tell her I love her. She’s my best friend. You’re all my best friends. I’m so happy I got to grow up with all of you. Oh, Connie just threw up on the floor, oh Connie- hey, stop! Okay, love you brother, I have to go.”

The voice cuts off abruptly, as you laugh.

“Never could hold his drink, could he?”

“Not everyone can be alcoholics like Jean and Mikasa.”

You both laugh, chest aching from how familiar, how soft this feels. That you’re both sitting in this room, where you grew up, fell in love, slept next to each other every night. Eren can see the tears welling in your eyes, thinking of his best efforts to stop it, at whatever is plaguing your mind.

“So. You said you’re not Y/N and I’m not Eren. So who are we?” he asks.

“I meant that metaphorically, you’re-”

You watch Eren’s eyes flit around his room, scanning till he stops around his bookshelf, and turns back to glance at you.

“Your new name is Margaret.”

“Ew. And I didn’t mean it like that, Eren.”

“Who is Eren? My name is….” he responds, giving you a smile as he elongagates the syllables waiting for your response.

You roll your eyes.

“Bruce. Your name is Bruce.”

“Bruce Wayne!”

“No. Not like Bruce Wayne. Think of someone really boring. Irritating, agitating.”

“Perfect! I’ll just think of you after five shots of tequila.”

You both laugh as Eren stands up, holding a hand out to pull you up. He sets the stack of clothes in your hand as he makes a move to walk out of the room. Except he hangs on the door for a second, voice soft when he talks.

“Does Bruce have permission to say something?”

“Sure.”

“I know he technically just met Margaret because she was born a minute ago, but he missed her. A lot.”

You feel your cheeks burn as you give him a nod, murmuring a quiet me too before sinking into the bathroom to slip his clothes on.

Connie, does in fact, not give up the mattress. Jean and Eren begrudgingly share as you and Mikasa cuddle into the night.

You wake up first, to find Mikasa sprawled over your entire frame. Her entire body is burning hot and you send a silent prayer to the world's strongest soldier, Jean Kirschtein, for putting up with this for so long. After you all but free yourself from her grasp, you spare a quick glance to see Jean must be smothering Eren more than Mikasa was you and silently muse that the two of them truly are made for each other.

You pad down to the kitchen, yanking the hood of Eren’s hoodie over your head, to find Connie sitting at the table, scribbling away in a journal, a steaming bowl of oatmeal next to him.

“Good morning, Con.’”

He looks up, one of his hands going instinctively to cover what he was writing as you take the seat next to him, crossing your legs up on the chair. He immediately relaxes, giving you a bright smile.

“Good morning, princess. You can have some if you want.”

“No, no. I don’t want to impose.”

“What’s mine is yours.” he says, mimicking Eren’s voice.

You snort, reaching for his spoon, as you take a bite of the warm food, soothing the stiffness in your throat.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“Mikasa basically strangled me all night.”

“Ew. Of course she has the cuddle bug. I swear, Jean and Mikasa were always goo goo ga ga, but they’re even worse now.”

“They’re getting married, Connie. It’s sweet.”

He smiles, sliding the string through the pages, as he turns to you giving you a smile.

“Yeah. It is sweet.” he responds, voice quiet.

Connie swallows hard, eyes weary as he turns to you.

“I want to apologize.” Connie says.

The elephant in the room. He’s the first one to touch it.

“Oh. That’s okay, I under-”

“No, no. It’s not okay.” he responds, tone almost harsh.

You and Armin share a look the second he breaks the frame, glass shattering over the length of Armin’s apartment.

“Why the fuck would you guys bring me here?” Connie asks, sweat beading his forehead.

From the way he’s moving, all erratic and nonsensical, it makes you think that it’s out of his system. That if Connie had a chance, this would be when he would sneak off to the bathroom to get his fix. But he’s nowhere near that, instead settled into Armin’s tiny New York apartment, screaming at the two of you.

“Connie. You asked us too.” you respond.

“I was fucking high! Why would you guys even entertain a word I said?” Connie states, voice even more agitated now.

“Connie. You…you need help. We looked at some rehab places while you were asleep and-”

“Rehab? I’m not going to rehab. Are you trying to ruin my fucking career, Armin?”

“No, but we want to make sure you’re okay. They’ll be discrete, we’ll make sure the security detail is good so that you can be better and-”

“I am fucking fine. Do I look like I need help?”

You and Armin share a weary glance, before looking back at him.

“Connie. We love you. We-we just want to help you, okay?” you say.

“Does it ever embarrass you when you do this, Y/N?” Connie says, voice laced with venom.

“Sorry?”

“Does you not think it’s embarrassing to beg like this in front of people who don’t fucking care about you the way you do about them? I figured that Eren putting you in your place like that would set you straight but it seems like you didn’t learn your lesson, did you?”

You swallow hard, eyes and skin burning as Connie waits for your response.

“You don’t mean that. You-you’re just mad because you can’t be high right now.” you murmur.

“Am I, Y/N? Or is it true?”

“It’s not true. This isn’t you, Connie.”

“God, Y/N. Wake the fuck up. We aren’t fifteen anymore. No ones sitting here holding your hand telling you that you’ll be the best anymore. I get that you need that ego boost to move forward but I sure as hell am not going to be the one to give it to you.”

“Connie, that’s enough-”

Connie swallows hard, eyes focused on his fingers as he talks.

“I know-I know that I said it wasn’t true. But I really did say all of those things because I was high. Or because I wanted to be high and was in withdrawal and-”

“I know that, Connie. I’ve never held it against you.”

He frowns, twisting his pen to his fingers.

“You always give grace even when you don’t know the whole story. Me, Hisu, Eren.” he murmurs.

“You deserve it…and I partially knew. I mean, addiction is a disease. It hurt at first but that wasn’t your fault. You just needed to be treated and helped and I’m glad you did.”

He smiles, resting his cheek against his hand.

“Thank you, Y/N. Don’t mind me if I spend the rest of my life asking for forgiveness. I won’t ever feel like I deserve it but I’ll keep asking anyway.” he murmurs.

“I’ll always give it to you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder.

You silently wonder that if you ever did come back, sans funeral, if things would be like this. If you and Eren could pretend, if Mikasa and Jean could look past it all. Because some parts of it, they feel earnest, truthful. But you can’t tell if you’re all suspended in some disbelief, clouded by your grief and trying to cling onto one of the things Marco loved most. His time on the show, with you all.

“Honey when I’m above the trees, I SEE IT FOR WHAT IT IS.” Connie sings, screams.

“Oh my god, Connie.” you deadpan.

He’s singing happiness. Like the happiness you sang in your interview, when you forgave Eren.

“THERE’LL BE HAPPINESS AFTER YOU. BUT THERE WAS HAPPINESS BECAUSE OF YOUUUU. BOTH OF THESE THINGS CAN BE TRUE, THERE IS HAPPINESS.”

You clamp your hand flat against his mouth, trying not to snicker, as he continues to sing underneath your hand.

“Are you insane? They’re all sleeping.” you whisper.

“Not anymore we’re not.” Ymir responds, immediately smacking Connie against the head.

“You’re going to give Eren a nightmare, Connie.” Historia mutters, dragging her feet into the kitchen as Ymir follows.

“I’m already living it.” Eren grumbles, leaning against the counter as he splits a PopTart with Jean.

Slowly but surely, every one of them shuffles down to the room, the deja vu of the situation hitting deep as each person follows suit. Sasha ambles down after a few minutes, finishing off the bowl of oatmeal that you and Connie were sharing while Reiner and Bertholdt murmur quietly over the coffee cup. Eren’s in hushed conversation with Jean and Mikasa, fixing himself breakfast, as Hange and Levi wander into the room, immediately thrown off by all of you in there.

“Jesus.” Levi says, tone exasperated.

“Good morning, Levi.” Mikasa says, gesturing to the water boiling on the kettle for his tea. He gives her a grateful smile, taking a seat in his corner as Hange talks to the group of you. Connie’s resorted to cracking all of your knuckles since his are all worn out as they go on.

“Good morning kiddos!”

“Don’t….do such a cheery voice, Hange.” Levi says, sighing.

Hange’s smile falters, before dropping all together, and giving a thoughtful nod. Eren shuffles over to your side, taking the seat next to yours as he places a steaming bowl of ramen in front of you.

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.”

“Who?”

You roll your eyes as Eren smiles, reaching forward to flick your cheek.

“Bruce.”

“Bruce, indeed.” he responds.

Eren knows he’s in treacherous waters. That this line you’ve drawn, that you’re not you and he’s not himself, works almost too well for Eren’s purposes. That he can pretend, in earnest, that none of the things he said happened. That you and him are just as you always were, untouched in the bubble you were always in when you lived here. .

“The funeral is tomorrow, as we all know. The Bodt’s have requested that we get there ten minutes before the service, so be on time tomorrow. Bertholdt, Sasha, I’m looking at both of you. ”

You all nod, humming in response, as you start digging into the bowl, switching off with Connie and Sasha who are both trying to monopolize the only real food in a five feet radius.

“That being said…” Hange says, swallowing hard.

They’re pacing back and forth almost, teetering on their ankles, when they talk. And when they finish explaining - autopsy report in hand and the gut punch sticking in your chest - you all sit there, blankly staring.

And wander in silence for the rest of the day.

It was one thing that Marco died. And an entirely different one that he was killed.

“Someone go get Eren, we only have thirty minutes.” Levi says, everyone lingering in the kitchen and the living room, in a sea of black.

Almost everyone is here now - Erwin, Armin, even Eren’s parents - all lingering around as you wait to head to the funeral. You give a curt nod to Levi and march out to the pavement, pebbles crunching under your feet as you make your way to set.

Eren’s been in there since last night, never retreating to the room to change into his pajamas before he settled down on the couch downstairs. Despite your protests, he refuses to sleep in the same room as you. Or let you sleep anywhere else besides Jean’s old bed in his room.

You let the pebbles crunch under your feet, ignoring the sting as you pass the tandem bike, and slip onto the set. You can see new costumes designs printed against the walls, storyboards with Levi and Hange’s handwriting on them as you make your way to the back towards the piano.

When you see him, that rage, simmering warm in your stomach over the past twenty-four hours, the deep-seated pain of Marco dying alone, crying out for help, comes to a head when you see Eren. Because he’s sitting at the bench, with his book propped up against the stand, and a bottle of pills in his hands.

You march up to where he’s standing, crossing your hands across your chest as you all but glare at him.

“Oh. Hey, you look-”

“Are you serious?”

You watch his face scrunch up in confusion, that stupid look on his face aggravating you even more. His tie is unkempt, his hair is messy - he’s always so haphazard with these things.

“You’re doing pills in here before Marco’s funeral. Are you fucking serious?”

He looks down, at the bottle in his hand and stands up, and swallows hard when he looks at you.

“Wait-”

“No. No, for once, you’re going to listen to me. You-you’re sick. Marco’s dead. You can’t even give it to him to be fully there while we say goodbye? This means that much to you?” you spit, watching him shut his eyes.

“Y/N.”

“How could you do this? To him? To me?”

He reaches forward, hands on your shoulders as he squeezes, and your eyes burn like acid. And every feeling, building up over the past few days, comes tumbling out.

“Why did he have to leave us, Eren? We didn’t get enough time with him. He was only twenty-four, he didn't even get to grow old. He was supposed to die, years from now, so happy, so-so surrounded by people he loved.”

Eren forgoes the rational thought. He reaches forward fully, snaking his arms around you as he cradles your head into his frame, trying his best to stifle your cries into his shoulder.

“And you. He would hate that you were doing this. I hate that you’re doing this. You-you don’t have to. There are other things that can make you happy or-or fix whatever it is that’s wrong.”

“Y/N.”

“What, Eren?”

He pulls back, reaching for the pill bottle, and placing it in the palm of your hand. You read the label, immediately embarrassed and ashamed of your reaction.

Eren Jaeger *Lexapro 5 mg Take one tablet by mouth with the morning meal.

“Oh my god, Eren. I’m so sorry, I-”

You pull back, sitting down on the bench, as you dig your fingers into your temples, trying to stop that pulsating feeling under your skin. The rage, the feeling, coursing through you so hard that you can’t even pick what you’re mad at.

You’re breathing panic in and out, chest heaving, as Eren takes a seat next to you, leaning his elbows on his knees. And the feeling, it lands on feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed. Because Eren’s not doing drugs, he’s taking anti-anxiety pills.

“Eren. I’m so sorry. That was so horrible of me, I thought it was-”

“You thought it was like Connie.” he finishes

“Yeah. And I’m sorry for assuming, I just-”

“I’m not mad at you. You were just trying to take care of me. I appreciate it.”

You groan, embarrassment still coursing through you, as you lean your forehead straight against the piano, the smell of the ink on Eren’s book permeating your nose.

“Do you remember that birthday party of mine I told you about? When I was ten, at my old house in New York? It was when we were in Australia.”

You nod.

“I remember feeling it. A paralyzing block in my chest, like I couldn’t move. And when I was able to move, it was only because it all came rushing to me, so panicked, so fast that I-I didn’t even register what happened.”

He was barely even ten. You lift your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard, as he continues.

You’re here and you’ve got him.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought that people feel this way, that it’s normal, but I just felt too much of it. That I just can’t handle things the way normal people do.”

You frown, reaching up to cup the side of his face. Your fingers brush over his dimples, soft under your fingers, as you talk.

“Eren. There is nothing wrong with you. That’s just an anxiety attack.” you whisper.

You’re not sure what it is about what you said but when you look up, there are soft tears flowing down Eren’s cheek, the voice coming out of his mouth so garbled you can barely understand what he’s saying.

“Hey, Eren.” you whisper,

“No. No, no. Stop.”

Eren stands up, retreating to the other side of the piano, where he’s leaning over, his entire frame heaving up and down as you walk to his side.

“Why are you-”

“I don’t want you to help me. You shouldn’t be helping me.” he says, his voice shuddering.

“Why not?” you ask, frowning.

“I’ve been horrible to you. I don’t deserve your help. You-you should be cussing me out, so mad that you can’t stand me, that you want me to suffer and you’re not. And it’s agonizing for me that you aren’t.”

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around him from the back, as you feel him sigh. You lean your cheek flat against his shoulder, squeezing as hard as you can as Eren continues to cry, fists clenched so tight on the piano that white.

“You’re not you and I’m not me. We agreed on that.” you murmur.

“Y/N. We can’t-”

“Who?”

He snickers, amidst his tears, as he turns around, and you slot your arms under his. You can feel his heart thumping under your ear, loud and fast, as you place your hand over the spot. The two of you stay that way for some time, Eren's tears falling onto you, as you try your best to remedy whatever it is that's burning inside of him.

“Just calm down and breathe. Falco says it always helps to talk about something else, when he feels like this.”

He tenses at the mention of Falco, which you realize was a mistake.

“Why were you in here?” you ask.

“The Bodt’s asked me to write a song for the service.”

The perfect distraction.

“Can you sing it for me?” you ask.

He looks down, green eyes - full and round - as he nods, shuffling towards the piano bench as you take the seat next to him. You can see that the lyrics are scribbled on the book resting against the stand, the paper stiff from blotches of Eren’s tears. He starts playing the piano, his voice echoing on the walls of the set.

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were talking to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, you're alive in my head What died didn't stay dead What died didn't stay dead You're alive, so alive

You rest your hands against the keys next to his, slowly following his pace, as he continues to sing, the hum of his voice filling the air. You can’t help but think it. That he’s beautiful. That this is your Eren, miles away from whoever he was when you saw him last.

I should've asked you questions I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me Should've kept every grocery store receipt 'Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me

You can feel the tears flowing down your cheeks now, straight onto the piano keys and your hands, as you cry.

And if I didn't know better I'd think you were singing to me now If I didn't know better I'd think you were still around I know better But I still feel you all around I know better But you're still around

When you and Eren get to the service, you walk hand in hand to the piano. And play the song together, for Marco and Marco only.

You knock on the door, padding into the room to find Levi, hunched over his computer and leaning his hand on his cheek. You take the seat next to him, crossing your legs against the chair, as he looks over at you, expressionless.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” you say.

Four days after the funeral and all of them have cleared out. Forced to go back to wherever they were before, to push down the beating pain and move forward. The grief, perhaps it did suspend reality for the rest of you. Leave you to pretend that nothing that happened was real, that you were still teenagers running around on this set together.

That wasn’t how it was for Levi. Because in almost a week of being there, he had yet to talk to you with a straight face.

“What are you working on, Levi?” you ask, cracking your knuckles.

He turns the laptop towards you, one of the old hard drives from the earlier seasons pulled up on his computer. He plays the video, one of Jean sitting in a chair behind the green backdrop.

“Okay, Jean. Tell me your goal for the end of the show.” Levi asks.

The video, Jean must be barely sixteen, wearing one of the old costumes from season one. You remember now, that Hange was insistent on documenting everything - that you all were going to grow up so fast that they should keep videos. Obviously, Hange is too disorganized to do it themselves, so Levi bit the bullet and did it for them.

“I don’t know. That’s so far away, Levi.” he groans, scrunching up his forehead.

“Just answer, Jean. Where do you see yourself at the end of the show, when you’re in your twenties?”

“With Mikasa.” he responds.

You both smile as Levi switches to the next videos, the two of you watching all of them in silence.

“I want to be myself. That’s all I want to be, not embarrassed or ashamed, I-I just want to be me.” Historia says, smiling into the camera.

“I don’t know. That’s a weird question, Levi.” Mikasa grumbles, glaring at him.

“You’re horrible, Mikasa. Jean said he wants to be with you.” Levi responds.

“Well, that’s a given. Of course, I’m going to be with Jean.” she responds, giving one last eye roll to the camera.

“Doing something important. That means something to people.” Connie responds.

You swallow hard, as you see Eren, fifteen and so smiley, as he crawlsl onto the little stool.

“My turn?” Eren asks, giving Levi a bright smile.

“Yes, kid. Your turn. Why else would you be sitting here?”

“Okay. This is a secret so don’t tell anyone.” he says.

“I’m not broadcasting to a news channel, Eren. Just hurry up, I still have to get through half of you.”

Eren nods, reaching up to fix his hair, before he talks - his voice filled with that confident resolve, that one he always sported when he was fifteen.

“I want to get the Best Actor in a Lead role award. And on the same night, I want Y/N to become a triple threat. And then I want us to tell her that I told her so. Me and her, at the top.” he says, giving the camera a bright smile, before jumping off.

The next one is of you, what you said being entirely lost to you in your memories.

“What do I want to do when I'm in my twenties? Hm.” you echo.

“Today would be nice.” Levi deadpans.

“Well, I don’t know! That’s so broad. I want to be doing stuff like this. Acting, making music, To have people enjoy the work I make, and making it with my friends, like Eren and Mikasa and Armin. I want to be here, more than anything. It feels so right to me, that I get to do this. It’s special, it’s a privilege and I’m really thankful I get to do it.”

“Note to anyone watching. This is one of our only kids with manners.” Levi says, setting the camera down to give you a hug.

You bite down on your cheek, looking over at Levi, as he plays the last one. Of Marco.

“Okay, Marco. What do you want to do when you’re in your twenties?”

“Well. I know what I’m going to be doing.” Marco says, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“See. Spoiler alert, but Hange and Levi just killed me off this show. But we made a deal. That I get to be in each season, even if its a super minor role like a flashback or whatever. So in my twenties, I’ll be here. Surrounded by all my childhood best friends, making this show that’s always meant so much to us.”

You swallow hard as Levi wraps his arms around you, the two of you watching Marco’s smiley face disappear from the screen.

“So I’ll see you in four months? For season four?”

“Damn right you will.” you respond.

And for the first time in a week, Levi breaks a smile.

“Good.”

next part linked here

an, again: SEASON FOUR ERA (this shit abt to be so awkward when they're not all sad/grieving )

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly-y-blog @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi

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sidthedollface2 · 1 month

Text

A Crown fit for a God (Part 3)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: Elain questions Azriels whereabouts. While Rhys places a target on your back after you seek the help of two other Death Gods.

Azriel touches what does not belong to him and craves more.

word count: 5.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, attempted SA, angst, hurt/comfort, light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I had the tickle to write smut so I give you crumbs…for now. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

*quote from the chaos of stars

Khaos was to be one of the many shooting stars that showered the Night Court skies. The Night Court would be celebrating Starfall, their yearly event to star gaze as spirits made their migration. Had she made her destination they would recognize her as one of their own and welcome her with open arms. Except for the first time the Night Court had in possession four instruments of conquest. The harp, mask, crown, and the horn, commonly known as the Dread Trove; Therefore diverting her journey to The Autumn Court.

~~~~~~~~

Bryaxis roared as he agreed to fight in the war. The reason for the blast; a form of communication, letting you know his end of the bargain was done. A bargain made with the High Lady cementing his plans- your plans. He requested a window below the library to see the sun and stars and most importantly lightning, conjured by you of course. Gods did he enjoy the spectacle, your wrath illuminating the dark sky striking fear and anxiety in peoples bones. The thrill of watching their faces as they waited for that crack of thunder. The sadist in him couldn't wait to be unleashed and bear witness to your fury, cracking of bones and screams in terror. The sweet scent of blood splattered throughout the field. He was giddy with excitement.

Azriel had rushed to the house of wind only to find the inner circle gathered in the sitting area. “Az! I’m so glad you're safe. Feyre and I figured out why the house was so moody.” Elain bounced over to her lover, wrapping her arms around Azriels neck, bringing his mouth to hers in an endearing kiss, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. Azriels arms remained at his sides, as she embraced him. His brows furrowed when she attempted to deepen the kiss.

He had just held you in his arms moments ago, your frame tucked closely within the shelter of his wings. Just the two of you and no one else existed at that moment. Not the flying of splintered bark or decayed leaves from the blast, or the dust, heavy with smoke and mist. He just saw you. Felt the power in your veins, saw the moon and all its stars in your eyes, the ruler of the skies and ruler of his mind.

He already missed the way the stars danced in your eyes as you looked up at him. He wanted to see his shadows dance along glittered starlight, not dirt covered flower beds and baked goods.

Azriel didn’t allow Elain to deepen the kiss, instead he broke apart from her eager mouth and gently pulled her arms from around his neck. “Elain I think we sho–”

“You smell different,” Elain interrupted, sniffing around Azriels chest and neck trying to find the source. “Just stepped on an orange on my way here,” he replied, rubbing the back of his tense neck. Her eyes narrowed, not trusting a single word out of his mouth.

Azriel met Nestas cold glare, a slight shake to her head followed. He was being put on the spot in front of his whole family. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead, wiping his clammy hands along his thighs, he started towards the stairs, “I’m gonna go shower.”

“I’ll join you!” Elain exclaimed, reaching for Azriels hand, intertwining her fingers with his. He silently begged for someone to stop her. To pull her away from what he knew she wanted, what he’s been giving her for the past six months. For anyone to suddenly need her so he could enjoy the scent of your body a little longer. So he could aggressively fist his cock and imagine he was fucking your throat instead.

Slowly Azriel climbed the steps, each step creaked as the wood carried their weight closer to their bedroom. He’d have to imagine it was you instead of her. Your mouth pressed against his lips as he swallowed your moans, hands trailing down your stomach till he reached your wet cunt. Your perfect body pressed against the shower wall as he sheathed himself inside you, taking you over and over and over–

“Azriel? Did you hear me?” It was Cassian that broke his thoughts.

“Sorry, zoned out for a bit. What did you say?”

“Rhys wants to debrief you.” Cassian jerked his head to Rhys' office.

“Now?” Elain whined, “can’t it wait for morning? It’s late.”

“No, he’s right Elain. Better now that it's fresh in my mind.” Azriel didn’t know if he should thank Cassian, the mother or the Gods for sparing him. Elain began to speak again but it was Azriel who seemed to read her thoughts, “don’t wait up,” he finished; releasing her hand that she so tightly held.

Not sparing her a second glance, Azriel followed Cassian to Rhys office, his shoulders more relaxed than before and his shadows seemed to have calmed down. Throwing his arm around Azriels shoulders in brotherly love, Cassian leaned in close and whispered, “you fucken owe me asshole. Now tell me all about her.”

Azriel tried to play it off with a smirk, but a wide smile danced on his lips. He’d get to stroke his cock to the thought of you after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel didn’t sleep in the room he shared with Elain, her once alluring scent now seemed too sweet. Her hands were suddenly too rough from pruning rose thorns and the leftover dirt beneath her nails made him sick.

He knew he needed to find the time to break things off. Cassian had told him that much. It wasn’t fair to lay next to Elain while he dreamed of you. Although Azriel didn’t divulge too much to Cassian about his fantasies, which wasn't the case when it came to Elain.

With Elain he had told Cass every dirty detail, how many times, positions and even sounds. He knows it was wrong. Didn’t think much of it before, as it was spoken between brothers and no one else. It would be different with you though. You were different. He was going to do it tonight. Tonight he would break things off with Elain and devote his efforts in getting to know you.

~~~~~~~

There were strong wards surrounding the Prison in the Night Court, used to prevent anyone from winnowing inside or flying to the entrance. The power needed to pass through the wards was more than you expected. It wasn't till you reached the stone gate that you realized that only the High Lord of the Night Court's blood would open the gate, something that you couldn't manipulate or conjure. You pinched the space between your brows in irritation as you thought of a way to bypass the blood sacrifice. Starting small in order to regain your power you attempted to push at the stone gate, hoping that it would just topple over. It didn't. Since the prison was on a cavernous mountain perhaps a little quake would loosen the rock and stone exposing the entrance for you to just strut right in.

You knelt in front of the stone gate, both knees firmly planted in soil and moss. You closed your eyes to focus on your magic. The sea breeze caressed your wind-chapped cheeks as you listened to the roar and crash of waves when they met the edge of the mountain. You summoned the power of the land through your fingers, plunging them deep into the soil in front of you. With a roar that echoed the strong ocean waves the mountain trembled in fear. The more your arms quivered in pain the deeper your fingers dug into the ground. Every inch rooted into the land caused the mountain rock to shrivel and rumble till small cracks webbed along the stone gate.

Azriel and Cassian were in the middle of breakfast when the floor beneath them swayed side to side, followed by a rolling motion. Dishes broke into pieces as they crashed to the floor, glass and sharp porcelain scattered the ground. Rhys urgently summoned them mind to mind.

There's a breach at the prison, get over here now before she releases them all.

Azriel and Cassian shared a look before they scrambled into their leathers and sheathed their most effective weapons, knives, daggers and swords, preparing for the worst.

Small cracks etched along the stone wall but it wasn't enough to open the gate. With your power almost completely drained you called upon the light. Seconds from opening your eyes to wield a crack of lightning a cool tendril wrapped around your wrist, carrying the smooth echo of ‘Please don’t do this’ in the whisper of Azriels voice.

The soothing touch jolted you. Your eyes shot wide open long enough to see the sky illuminate in a bright flash. A loud roaring sound boomed through the air as a violent strike of lightning slammed into the stone gate, crumbling it to pieces.

When you looked down to your trembling hands submerged in the rich soil, black tendrils seeped from the ground, wrapping up your arms and cooling your hot skin. “I think you like playing with fire don’t you?” Dusting the dirt from your hands you caressed the little shadow and quickly made your way inside the prison, looking at the sky one last time just in case you couldn't make it out.

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

“Hello Bone Carver.” You smiled at your old friend, “Remember that favor you owe me?”

The Bone Carver just rolled his dark eyes. “Whatever you're going to ask me, the answer is yes.”

You beamed, “thank you.”

It had been easier getting out of the mountain than getting in, a flaw in the protection wards you’d fix before you left.

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

By the time Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel trekked up the mountain you were long gone. Upon entering the prison Azriel was easily able to follow your scent which led him to the Bone Carvers cell. Rhys entered and excused the other two males.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into brother?” Cassian questioned, glancing at Azriel with his eyebrow raised. Azriels brows creased as he tilted his head, not understanding what he meant. “She almost leveled a fucking mountain. I love you brother, but I don't think you can handle her,” Cassian smirked, “but I know I can.”

Azriel snorted. They had shared females in the past accidentally and sometimes in the same room. “She’s different Cass. Touch her and I’ll cut off your hands.”

“Don’t need my hands to fuck her Az.” Cassian threw his head back and howled in laughter as Azriel punched his shoulder in jest.

Rhys walked out of the cell and stared at Azriel as if he knew something Azriel didn’t. His violet eyes bore into hazel ones with a look of sympathy, knowing what lay ahead for Azriel.

“What did he say?” Azriel nervously asked.

Rhys didn’t answer as he turned his back away from him, starting his walk back down the mountain. Cassian and Azriel shared a glance, a look of worry in both their eyes.

Back in Velaris, Rhys paced back and forth, his knuckles white from clenching them into fists. The violet of his eyes black with rage.

“She knows about Velaris and can easily bypass the protection wards. Now she knows how to get in and out of the prison. Find her before I do because I'll fucking kill her.” Rhys' tone was low and deadly like a viper ready to strike.

Without another word Azriel set out to find you, again. But this time he was determined to get answers. No more riddles, no distractions. There was a pattern he picked up on. You seemed to befriend the deadlier creatures of Prythian, The Suriel, Bryaxis somehow, and now The Bone Carver. Azriel set his sights on the middle of Prythian where the weaver Stryga was confined.

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

Work out of your home Court was almost complete, the allies that you needed were aware of their duties and were loyal to your mission. Your limbs ached and burned from your travels across multiple courts, the only thing bringing you a sense of peace was this last stop. Possibly the worst, not the person you had to visit but the stench alone turned your stomach.

The severed head in the sac you carried grew heavier and heavier as your final destination grew closer. Crimson stained your clothes leaving them stiff and rough against your delicate skin. Your hair has clumped from the dirt and blood, it’d been days since you had a nice bath. You open and close your mouth as the sour taste of decayed flesh hits your taste buds. Food wasn't easily available but the horrid smell had you doubling over, emptying what was left from your stomach. Sweat now beads down the side of your face. Heavy eyes spot the weavers cottage in the distance. Finally you think.

“Stryga!” You shout, as you rap at the wooden door, “open up!”

Strygas feet shuffle to the door, “must you shout? I’m blind not deaf you insubordinate buffoon,” she scolds as she swings the door open.

Thankfully she doesn't see the way your face falls as you hold in your gag. “I missed you too Stryga.” She beckons you inside, her arm extended towards her cluttered home. “I don't mean to be rude, but I’m in a hurry. It’s not far from now Stryga. You’ll still be able to eat your fill of evil males,” you declare, handing her your sac with the severed head. “I’m going to kill him, both of them. Don’t you worry. Your neck still remains attached to your spine. But I’ll need some help and I’d love nothing more if you fought by my side.”

Stryga lowers her head and you witness her undying loyalty as she motions to kneel before you. “That's unnecessary,” you attempt at grabbing her arm, stopping her bow.

“It would be a pleasure to unleash my wrath for you Khaos, Goddess of creation and decreation,” Stryga pledges as she remains within your grasp. “So, not a buffoon then?” you stifle a laugh at her earlier jab, and for the first time in your presence Stryga smiles.

“No one calls me that anymore.” You remind her, a wave of sadness crossing your eyes as you remember your mission and how far you are from home.

“Buffoon? Or khaos?” She smirks as you throw her a faux glare.

Stryga suddenly stiffened, her ear catching a faint whisper as she tilted her head. Her clawed fingernails digging into the worn wood of the door.

“Stryga?” You whispered, peering behind you at the dozens of trees that seemed unmoving.

“Shadows follow you.” She brings her forefinger to her lips, shushing you, “non threatening it seems,” her brows furrow, "they're captivated.” Her soulless eyes widen as they seem to meet your gaze. “The shadows have stolen from you.”

You don’t have time for her to elaborate. Quickly making you exit and excusing yourself, she shocks you with her parting words. “Do you know what it takes to make a star shine?”

You shake your head as if she can see you. “Darkness,” she replies. “I knew that,” you answer as you take steps away from her cottage, eager to leave before the shadows master finds you. “Then why do you run?” She retorts, crossing her arms as she braces against the frame of her door, a smug expression on her deadly face.

You don't spare her another glance but her words linger long after you've left her cottage. With your work away from home finally done you winnow to your home court, disappearing in a cloud of glitter and smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You inhaled the crisp air, holding it in your lungs for three seconds before exhaling. Calming your racing heart and releasing the power that traveled through your veins. You smile briefly as the pressure of water against your body washes away days of dirt and blood. Finally letting your limbs relax, stretching your arms high above your head, reaching for the blue sky wanting nothing but to hold the warmth of the sun. In the peaceful silence of the forest you give yourself a moment of weakness. You allow the ache that's burrowed deep within your heart to break free from its prison. Your body’s screaming for a day a week or even a few hours of rest, where shifting isn't needed, and glamouring your true form doesn’t eat up most of your power. Where wars dont need to be fought and kings don’t need to die. You let your strength rest; to feel your pain shatter the windows to your soul for just a moment.

~~~~~

Azriel followed the sound of hushed whimpers, his shadows jumping from tree to tree. The soft cries soon turned harrowing then muffled, like a palm over the mouth.

‘Broken’

His shadow informed him.

Taking cover in the darkness below a large tree he heard the faint weeping, the sudden scent of citrus invading his nostrils. Your shoulders shook with the force of your cries as you cleaned off your wings. Azriel tried to look away from your bare back as you bathed beneath the mouth of a waterfall. Immediately he noticed your wings, two forewings and two hindwings that tapered towards the end like those of a luna moth.

You can shapeshift, he realizes, the large expanse of your wings covering your behind from view, leaving Azriel curious. But why were you crying? You didn't seem broken like his shadows had mentioned. That's when he saw it. Blood. You were cleaning off blood from your wings. Someone you had just killed he imagines. No, It was your blood. At the base of your wing closest to your back a large slash cut deep, almost severing your wing.

“You’re hurt, I can help you.” His voice rang out over the rushing water, slowly inching forward so as to not seem threatening. Frightened by his sudden appearance you vanish before his eyes, leaving a cloud of shimmering powder, momentarily blinding him. Weaving through the darkness of the in-between, you swiftly emerge, tackling Azriel to the ground, unsheathing his own dagger in the process.

Clothed in nothing but a thin nightgown, you straddle him, truth teller firm in your grip pushing against the column of his throat. His shadows swirled above your head creating a crown of darkness as if you were their queen. Azriel narrowed his eyes, ‘traitors.’

“Why have you looked for me?

Azriels speechless as he beholds your beauty, ignoring your question. His eyes wander over each of your features as if committing to memory. His hazel eyes land on your pouty lips and his throat bobs as his desire consumes him. Instinctually his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, just in case.

“Why have you looked for me?” You repeat, forcing his dagger against his jugular, a bead of blood painting his tan skin. Azriel smirked, the thrill of a dangerous female only exciting him, causing the scent of his arousal to fill the air. “You plan to kill me with my own blade?”

“I could kill you without it.” You counter, the force of your power sizzling through your fingers.

Azriels eyes flutter closed, the scent of his arousal drifting to your nose, a husky scent with a touch of night. “So the rumors are true,” Azriels brows furrow, “the shadowsinger playing hero to a damsel in distress, bedding any female that bats her eyes.”

Azriel then twists his foot around your ankle, using his weight to roll you over onto your back. You drag the blade across his throat as he tumbles you to the ground. His hand firmly grips your throat while the other wraps around your wrist, pinning you to the forest floor. With his knees firm on the ground, caging your hips, your legs resting on top of his thighs, making it easy for you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Who told you that?” He asks angrily, blood dripping down his throat from the shallow slash you gave him.

“Eris Vanssera '' you gasp, the slight pressure of his fingers around your throat arousing you more than it should. Yet the grip he holds on your wrists sends you in a panic as memories from your morning assault come crashing.

The males rancid breath makes your stomach churn as he licks at your cheek. The whole weight of his grotesque body has you pinned down, barely able to wriggle out from under him. With one hand he holds your wrists down above your head as the other fumbles with his belt.

Mid-flight he had collided into you, both barreling out of the sky crashing to the ground. Furious, he had attempted to sever your rare wings. The impact of your fall momentarily ceasing your powers, causing you to fight hand to hand.

Your crying only eggs him on, excitement in his rotten attempt at a smile. You're not sobbing out of fear. No. You mourn the life you have to take. You mourn every life, weather deserved or not. The spark that creates life remains. Rooted deep within you, pushed to the side in order for darkness to prevail.

Loyal to your duties as a Death God by any means necessary, you sucked in the secretions from your lungs and violently spat. Thick mucus covered the fat bastard's face, briefly losing his grip, giving you just enough time to unsheath your knife and drive into his thick skull. Later, you’d gift his remains to a dear friend.

Azriels eyes widened with shock as he felt a sharp pain shooting through him. Grunting and hissing he clutches his side, finding Truth teller lodged deep into his rib, warm blood dribbles from the wound staining the ground he's crouched at. “ Did you just stab me?” he chokes out, wincing as he pulls the dagger free, fingers splayed wide attempting to stop the bleeding.

Scrambling out from under him, chest heaving as the adrenaline flows through you. “You’ll live,” you pant as you stand, dusting off browned leaves from your back and knees. A sigh escapes your lips as you notice a blood stain on your white night dress. All you wanted was to wash up the violence that painted your skin and even then your efforts were futile. Azriels eyes trail up your body as he remains kneeled still putting pressure on his rib, his magic working to heal the open wound.

Anger courses through him as he zeros in on a purple bruise on your inner thigh, visible from how short your dress is. “Tell me who he is and I’ll kill him for you.” Those simple words had meant so much you almost cried at the gesture. While you slaughtered the bravest of males and brought warriors to their knees, destroyed kingdoms for unworthy kings, defended the defenseless not one person had offered to protect you. Countless times you had braved your own storm with not one soul willing to weather the chaos. Despite being used for your endless power, time and time again you still gave more than what you could ever receive in return. You save everyone but who was there to save you? You were one female and strong enough to fight your own battles and conquer without the help of highlords or kings. So why was this male cracking the shield of vulnerability wrapped so tightly around your heart?

Azriel seemed to notice your internal struggle, “come here,” he rasped as he stared through your troubled gaze. The tousled waves of his hair that fell so effortlessly over his forehead looked so enticing your fingers twitched. His hazel eyes had darkened and the way his thick thighs looked kneeling gripped you so fiercely your legs moved on their own volition. Standing on weak knees, his eyes never left yours as he patted his thigh, urging you to place your foot on his strong muscle. You obey his command with a slow nod. Azriel chances a glance at your exposed leg, “who do I have to kill?” He asks, softer this time. His bloodied fingers wrap around your delicate ankle and for once you don’t mind. Strong hands gently smooth over your leg, wrapping to the back of your calf. A shiver runs through you at the simple touch, his attentiveness relaxing your muscles. Slowly he lifts the hem of your gown, just enough to expose the bruise and nothing else. “Tell me whose entire family line should I butcher for touching you?” he murmured against your skin, circling your tender bruise with his perfect nose. “I killed him,” you breathe looking down at this male whose lips are inches away from your throbbing core.

“Mmmm good girl,” he growls, meeting your hooded gaze as he licks your inner thigh followed by a tender kiss. You nearly buckle at the sensation of his lips against your skin. The way his rough hands are caressing up and down the expanse of your leg. Lustful eyes roll back as he deeply inhales the sweet scent of your arousal, smothering his handsome face against the heated flesh of your leg like a house pet greeting their owner. “Let me worship you,” he purrs, his hot breath ghosting over your covered core as the tips of his fingers kiss the space between your legs. Azriel could cum right now just watching you throw your head back as you gasp from his fingers grazing your pulsing core. His pants are pulled tight from his cock pushing against his leathers, wanting to bury himself inside you. He’s willing to wait as long as you need but right now he’ll take whatever you give him.

When your eyes meet Azriels again you don’t miss the burning desire in his beautiful eyes or the outline of his bulge as it strains against his pants, suddenly it becomes too much too soon and before you know it you’ve shoved him away, the yearn clouding your vision clears and your back to being a powerful Death God.

“Is that what you tell the females you lay with? That you’ll worship their bodies like the Goddess they are?”

Azriel hangs his head between his dropped shoulders. Shame of his past finally catching up to him when it matters the most. When what he wants more than anything is threatened by his past mistakes. What was he thinking? Oh Gods and Elain. He was offering to please and bed you while he still hadn’t broken things off with Elain.

“You never answered my question. Why have you looked for me?”

Azriel remains silent.

“Did I offer a service which benefited you or your court?”

“Not exactly.” He answers

“Do you seek to use my power for your gain?” You continue, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“No”

“Do you seek treasure?”

“No” He replies with a scoff.

“You seek power then?”

Azriel shakes his head, “no, not power.”

“Knowledge?”

“Nope.”

“You do not pursue power, nor do you wish to bathe in coins, and knowledge is neither here nor there, so you must be searching for love?”

Azriel stilled.

“Ah, love it is. I regret to inform you, I cannot make someone love you.”

“That's not it. You healed me as a child. You were a stranger that showed me more kindness than my own family, and I've spent my entire life looking for you. Not to ask for more healing or to share your magic with others who may need you, but to offer my gratitude. All these years I’ve wondered what you’ve made of yourself, if you're happy, successful, have you found love or have you married or.. ” his gaze shies away, “or if you’re mated.” His tone is sincere, like he's been practicing those words for centuries.

You narrow your eyes at him, gauging whether he's telling you the truth or not, though you sense no lies. “What’s your name shadowsinger?”

“Azriel.”

“Azriel, I'm sorry but the person you're looking for doesn't exist anymore, but I’m even more sorry that I don’t recall this interaction.”

You watch as his expression sombers.

“I’m very flattered though,” you give him a tight lipped smile and get closer, deciding to sit next to him on the stone flat rock that rims the pool you were bathing in. Hoping to offer the same sincerity, you gently place your palm on his lap. “I suppose I can answer your questions, I feel it's the least I can do since you’ve indeed stalked me all these years.” Azriel chuckles remembering the night he said he wasn't a stalker. “I’m not happy, or successful where coin is involved. I have found love in all the faces I’ve seen and the wonderful friends I’ve made, but I’ve only loved one male.” while heat flushes your cheeks and a smile escapes your lips, Azriel frowns, unprepared for the hurt your answer would cause. “His name is Lucien, but –”

Azriel doesn't hear a word you say after that, the weight of your confession pinning him where he sits. Thank Gods for that because he's sure he’d topple over if he were standing. His mind imagines what Lucien had done for you to love him. What words did he use to make you sigh, what cheesy jokes he told to hear you laugh.

Does Lucien know that your skin feels like the finest silk known to man. Has he had the pleasure of kissing you and taking you to bed?

Azriel can feel his anger bubbling or jealousy he's not quite sure but he's unable to stop the hateful words from spewing out, “Lucien can’t love you, he has a mate! And she's pretty and sweet, she's sunshine and rainbows. She's gentle and soft.–”

“And everything I’m not.”

You finish as you swallow the tight knot in the back of your throat. You turn away from him, wiping at a stray tear that's rolled down your cheek. The truth in his words hurting you more than they should; since you’ve moved on. Lucien has too at least that's what you've heard.

Moving on doesn't cure the sadness or put together the broken pieces of your shattered heart. Forgetting Lucien doesn't erase the years of longing. You could never blame him for leaving you. Out of left field he grew distant, a silent struggle you knew nothing of. And you haven't seen him since.

Azriel places his scarred hand on your shoulder, an apology on the tip of his tongue as well as clarification for his words. He doesn’t get the chance as his touch burns your skin causing you to jolt and shrug him off. Azriel panics as he notices your red rimmed eyes, wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t..what I meant was-”

“No. You're right. How can someone like him love something like me?”

Azriel shakes his head. You thought of Lucien like the sun, brilliant and warm, setting fires to forest floors and warming the coldest of hearts. And you the moon, who only glows with the help of the sun. You had it all wrong. Lucien was just a sly fox sneaking his way into the heart of the moon. How could someone like him love something like you? The real question was how could he not love you?

Females like you were born during a raging storm under the phenomenon of an eclipse. With lightning in your veins, thunder in your heart and chaos in your bones.

He shouldn't feel hope in your sorrow but he’s glad Lucien didn’t choose you. Azriel would choose you; In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, he’d find you and he’d choose you.*

If he had the chance he’d rewind the clock and say what he actually meant. If not for a chance at forever then to ease your heavy heart. The words he spoke out of jealousy would hold a different meaning had he spoken them out of love.

‘Lucien can't love you the way I want to love you. He has a mate! So you were not made for him, but perhaps you were made for me. She’s pretty and sweet, sunshine and rainbows. But you balance strength and femininity like no one else. You're stunning, and selfless, you glow like the moon and shine brighter than the stars. She's gentle and soft but she can never compare to you. Not then, not now, not ever. No one has compared to you.’

But those words remain unspoken as he watches your figure retreat into the orange glow of the forest. Your beautiful wounded wings gracing the ground with your presence, leaving behind a trail of starlight. It was then he realized you didn't need to be saved, you needed to be found.

~~~~~~~~

You could cry tears of happiness as you near your humble cottage. Weaving through the tallest of trees and jumping over a running brook with flat rocks covered in moss. A sigh leaves your lips as you take in the place you call home. The wood creaks a familiar sound as you bounce up the worn steps.

Before your hand reaches the bronze knob, the door swings open and warmth envelopes you in a crushing hug. Your melodious laugh echoes in the air as strong arms spin you round and round. Your eyes meet those of amber as he finally lets your feet touch the floor. “I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, as a warm palm cradles your face, gently tracing circles on the apples of your cheek. He wraps his arm around your waist bringing your body flush with his. His heat offers a comfort not found with anyone else. And you allow yourself to melt into him as he softly brings his lips to yours.

His tender kiss turns desperate when you run your fingers through his auburn hair, lighting a fire that only the wetness between your legs can extinguish. The night runs long as this male beds you over and over and the only name that slips past your lips like a prayer is, “Eris. Eris. Eris.”

Part 4

A/n: The Vanserra brothers have entered the chat. 😏 what do you think happened between Lucien and Reader? any guesses?

taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3

#azriel x reader #azriel x fem!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel fanfic #azriel #acrownfitforagod

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hanniluvi · 10 months

Text

BITE ME — SUNGHOON ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS : Throughout history, it has been a common practice for vampires to select unsuspecting individuals from the streets as a source of food, feasting not only on their blood but also on their fear. Sunghoon, accustomed to encountering terrified individuals, found it unusual to come across someone devoid of terror in their eyes—until he met you. Not being in the right state of mind, you had requested him to bite you instead. This unexpected request stirred a peculiar warmth in Sunghoon's pale cheeks, deviating from his usual routine of draining all of one's blood.

— when a supposed feast turns into an surprising attraction.

PAIRING : vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE : fantasy, vampire au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS : mentions of blood, biting, kidnapping, marks on body, mentions of food, cursing, mentions of toxic parents, abandonment, lmk if there’s any more!

FEATURING : all of enhypen

WORD COUNT : 15.7K+ (15722)

SOPH : its here its here!!! def the longest fic i’ve ever wrote 😭 . god this fic will be a ROLLER COASTER i swear (me saying that as roller coaster by txt is playing). i gen had so much fun writing this fic and i was so immersed in writing 😭 this is my first time writing a vampire au so i think its pretty okay for a first timer 🙏 posted a teaser of this and FINALLY finished it sooo thats great 😊 anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

thank you for my wonderful mooties who read / seen some parts of the fic, your help + comments were great <3 + esp @flwoie , who proofread the whole thing that made their grammar checker crash MANY times … love you 😊🩷

also tysm for 1.5K+ :( <3 i can never be more grateful for all of you guys to keep little tabs on my works so thank you <3 i guess you say this is dedicated for it since i dont have an event planned out for it sooo <3!

ONE — desire for blood

The moon held high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the deserted streets. Sunghoon quickened his pace, brushing against the tall trees that stood before him. Seeking respite, he sought out an empty clearing, settling upon a rugged rock, a faint groan escaping his lips as a throbbing ache pulsated in his head. The change in his eye color served a reminder that he needed to find something, a person whose blood he could consume.

“Jay, I’m going to murder you.” he muttered under his breath, stealing a glance at the night sky. Jay had left him to venture alone, an attempt to foster his independence. “I better find someone, fast.” Renewed determination surged through him as he rose from the rock, relying on his heightened senses and supernatural swiftness to locate his prey.

It was difficult to find someone out in the dark, anyone would know better not to walk alone at night. Especially near the forests, near the vampire’s homes. Yet, there were always those foolish souls who remained oblivious to the dangers, dismissing the existence of the immortal creatures. This was the only time Sunghoon wished for a person just like that to appear in front of his eyes.

Moving with an otherworldly grace, Sunghoon's senses sharpened, propelling him forward with astonishing speed as the scent grew stronger. His swift strides covered considerable ground within mere seconds, until his gaze settled upon a woman strolling along the trail adjacent to the forest—an unwitting offering destined to be his meal for the night.

Focusing on his thoughts, he quickly tapped into the energy that coursed through his immortal veins. Gradually, his body began to shimmer, as if fading from the mortal realm. His transition was complete, and Sunghoon found himself invisible, taking swift steps toward his victim.

Unaware of the danger, his target continued along her path, oblivious to the invisible presence stalking her. Sunghoon positioned himself behind you, mere inches away, his concealed form ready to strike. A muffled scream escaped your lips, stifled by his own hand.

Frantically attempting to break free, her resistance waned, her body growing limp in his firm grasp. A smirk tugged at Sunghoon's lips as his elongated fangs became visible, a sinister transformation hinting at his insatiable thirst. Another night, another feast secured. Without delay, he took her away to his old castle, where he would drain every drop of blood from his new victim.

TWO — bite me

Upon entering the castle, Sunghoon was greeted by a bustling scene that filled the halls. His eyes landed on Jay, lounging in a chair and casually holding a wine glass filled with blood. Jay's legs rested nonchalantly on Sunghoon's cherished table, an act that irked him.

"You're back?" Jay chuckled, wiping the traces of blood from his mouth. Sitting up straight, he placed the glass down and met Sunghoon's gaze. "How did it go?"

"It went fine, but once I finish my meal, I'm going to make sure you regret leaving me alone," Sunghoon retorted, his tone laced with a simmering threat.

"Oh, come on—wait, you brought your meal home? I thought you were planning on disposing of that body," Jay remarked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah, well, Jake does this all the time," Sunghoon replied dismissively, his impatience growing.

"That's true. Well, you better hurry. I can sense that the girl is about to regain consciousness," Jay advised, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm on it. And please refrain from putting your feet on my table. I had it custom made for a reason," Sunghoon grumbled, annoyance evident in his voice.

"I can't make any promises," Jay retorted with a smirk, reclaiming his drink. Sunghoon rolled his eyes in exasperation before walking up the spiral staircase. He showed no signs of struggle as he made his way to his room.

Arriving at a door emblazoned with his name, Sunghoon pushed it open, revealing a room adorned with eerie decor. He carefully placed you in front of his ornate chair, a seat that had witnessed countless victims before their deaths.

Adjusting the leather straps to your wrists, he makes sure it’s difficult for you to break free. Settling into his seat, he positioned himself directly in front of you, patiently awaiting your return to consciousness. It didn't take long for the groan that signaled your awakening to reach his ears.

As you struggled to open your eyes, the world appeared hazy and disorienting. Blinking repeatedly, you attempted to discern the figure before you, but the blurriness persisted. Your hand instinctively moved to rub your eyes, only to discover the confinement of the restraints. Panic surged through your veins—were you being held captive?

"You're finally awake?" His voice resonated, sending shivers down your spine in a way no ordinary human's voice ever had. Gradually, your vision cleared, revealing a man seated across from you. His dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, while he wore a black cloak, a suit adorned with ornate gold gems, and a partially unbuttoned white shirt, hinting at an air of elegance mingled with darkness.

Taking off his cloak, he makes eye contact with you again, and you get a gulp of fear. A smirk played on his lips, his sharpened fangs now fully visible, confirming your worst suspicions—he was a vampire. Your heart raced, with fear coursing through your veins with increasing intensity. Fuck, they were actually real. You were certainly not dreaming.

"Your fear only enhances your scent. Only makes it smell sweeter and irresistible for vampires like me." He remarked, rising from his seat, his senses captivated by the intoxicating aroma that came from you. Rare and special, your scent beckoned to him, captivating his vampiric instincts. Grateful that Jay's hunger hadn't pushed him to steal his meal in mere moments, Sunghoon savored the anticipation.

“You'd better calm that racing heart of yours before I lose control," he warned, his frigid breath grazing your neck as he leaned in closer to deliver his message. Inhaling deeply, you tried to steady your breathing, attempting to stop the pounding beats that echoed within your chest. Sunghoon emitted a low chuckle, surprised at how obedient humans could become when vulnerable to the supernatural allure of his presence.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he observed your lack of response. Returning to his seat, he locked eyes with you once again, awaiting your words with an air of anticipation. Yet silence hung heavily in the room; words didn’t seem to escape easily from your mouth.

“You know, I��m not very patient,” he hissed softly, dissatisfied with the lingering quiet that filled his large room. “Don’t think you have any chance of making it out here alive. Just spit it out already.” Crossing his legs, he reached for the golden wine glass, tapping his sharp nails against the delicate surface, his gaze never leaving yours.

Caught off guard by the pressure, panic slipped past your lips, the words tumbling out before you could fully comprehend their weight. ‘Just….bite me.” The room fell into an eerie silence, granting you a moment to process what you had just said. Regret mingled as you realized the significance of what you had uttered.

“Well, that’s certainly unexpected,” Sunghoon responded, a mixture of bewilderment and intrigue flashing across his eyes. He sets the golden cup down, unable to form words himself. The request to be bitten, especially after learning his true nature as a vampire, was entirely new to him. It sparked a strange sensation within his being, a feeling he couldn’t quite decipher. Do humans also feel these kinds of emotions?

“You’re definitely a weird one,” Sunghoon remarked, still feeling flustered by your unconventional response.

“What do you mean?” you questioned, pretty oblivious to the whole situation.

“Most people wouldn’t dare ask a vampire to bite them, especially after their lives are on the line. It takes away the thrill of the feast,” he explained, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Wait, so you vampires feed off fear too?” you inquired, attempting to make sense of the earlier statement.

“That’s a bit rude of you to address us that way.” A small frown forms on his face. “But, of course,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone, “that’s why I told you to claim your racing heart. Fear tends to make it beat even faster.”

“Well, guess what? I am scared right now,” you retorted, defiance lacing your words. “But you can just take a small amount of blood—definitely not all of it, I swear. And don’t forget, I’ll fight back if you push too far.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his amusement turning into a more serious demeanor. “Bold words from a mere weakling. Don’t forget who holds the power of a vampire here.”

“Don’t forget, you’re basically glued to that seat.” He taps on the arm rests of his chair, signaling the leather straps that restrain your hands from moving anywhere.

“Whatever,” you dismissed, frustration tainting your voice. “Are you going to bite me or not? I just want to get out of here, even though I have nowhere to go.”

A flicker of warning passed through Sunghoon's eyes as he leaned in closer. "Don't test my patience. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Maintaining a strong gaze, Sunghoon straightened his posture, his eyes locking with yours. His tongue briefly flicked over his lips, causing his sharp fangs to show once more. “Do you really mean that?” he inquired, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

Nervously, you swallowed hard, offering a slow nod in response, Closing your eyes, you braced yourself, knowing his approach would come closer. The sound of his approaching footsteps echoed in your ears, heightening your fear. Your breath got caught in your throat as his breath brushed against your skin, signaling the upcoming bite. “The pain will be bearable. Just let me know when to stop, and I’ll stop,” he assured you.

“Really?” you stammered, your voice trembling, to which Sunghoon responded with a chuckle. “Vampires have self-control too, you know.”

With the warning given, his teeth easily punctured your neck, and to your surprise, the pain seemed to be more manageable than you thought. He proceeded to drink your blood, causing your head to grow dizzy as if he were sucking all your blood. “Stop,” you groaned, feeling the need to stop the dizziness.

Sunghoon withdrew his teeth, his mouth and fangs were stained with your blood. He was disappointed about how short you lasted, but your blood was great—the best he had in a while. It was sort of addicting; he couldn’t explain the taste. “Barely lasted two minutes. You truly are a weakling,” he snickered, wiping the blood from his chin.

"Shut up," you retorted, the remnants of your strength pushing you to respond. "Could you release my hands now? I promise I won't attempt to escape." You were desperate to remove the restraints being placed on your hands; you felt them becoming sore.

“Oh right,” he replied, walking over to free your hands effortlessly. As the restraints were finally removed, you let out a sigh of relief, feeling the soreness and observing the red marks left behind on your wrists. Instinctively, you tilted your head, your fingers gently making their way to the two puncture wounds near your neck. A hiss escaped your lips as pain radiated from the fresh marks.

“It should heal on its own soon, unless you’d prefer me to heal it immediately,” Sunghoon offered, his gaze focused on your every move. Curiosity tugged at his features as he awaited your response. “And how would you heal it?” you questioned, wary yet curious about his suggestion.

“Well, if you’re comfortable with me licking it–”

“I’ve heard enough,” you interjected, cutting him off. “I’ll pass—I’d be fine with some ointment or bandages.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll fetch something downstairs,” he stated, rising from his seat and adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “Don’t even try to leave; we have matters to discuss later. And remember, there are other vampires roaming around here who won’t show you the same mercy I did. It would be wise of you to keep that in mind.” With those words of caution, he walked towards the room’s entrance and left after receiving your assurance,

Once again, you found yourself with nowhere else to go. And you definitely did not want to face any more bloodthirsty beings; one was definitely enough. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at your stomach, and you tried to brush it aside by distracting your thoughts.

As you looked around, the weird atmosphere of the place suddenly became more noticeable, leaving you shuddering that you had only just noticed it.

THREE — keeping a secret

Leaving you to deal with your thoughts, Sunghoon ran down the stairs and made his way through the kitchen, determined to locate a first aid kit. As he rummaged through the cupboards, a voice suddenly disrupted his search, causing him to startle in fright. Jake, wearing a mischievous smirk, held a large cup of blood in his hand.

“God, don’t do that,” Sunghoon chastised, his heart still racing from the surprise.

“You haven’t had a good scare in a while, did you?” Jake chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction.

“Whatever. Do you happen to know where the first-aid kit is? I live here, yet I have no idea where things are kept.” Sunghoon said in annoyance, still looking in the cabinets.

“Why do you need it? You don’t seem to be injured.”

“I just want to have one in my room. I’m tired of coming down here every time I need something.”

“Ah, the life of a loner. That’s probably why Jay made you hunt for your own food—to get you out of your room. And you never leave that area.” Jake teased.

“And you never stop talking. Blood is all over your mouth; don’t embarrass yourself and wipe it.” Jake took Sunghoon’s remarks in stride. He wiped the blood from his mouth as instructed, unfazed by the insult. “The first aid kit is in that cabinet over there, second row.”

“Thanks. By the way, where’s Jay?” Sunghoon asked.

“Probably in the dining room. Why do you ask?” Jake responded.

“I need some more food.”

“Feast wasn’t enough today?”

“Not that. It was too good, and now I crave for more.”

“You should have shared; it must have been good if you say so,” Jake remarked playfully.

"Whatever. See you later. And make sure you clean up your mess. We don't need any more corpses lying around randomly," Sunghoon cautioned.

"Aye, aye, captain," Jake retorted, giving a mock salute.

After leaving Jake behind, Sunghoon continued his search for Jay and found him in the dining room, indulging in another feast. The woman’s screeches were so loud that it was possible to hear them outside of the castle.

“Oh god, not in open daylight.” Sunghoon pretended to cover his eyes, not wanting to see one of his brothers attack a person who's still alive. “We’re vampires, there’s no sunlight— ”

"Take a joke, will you? You're worse than Jake sometimes." Jay laughed, finding amusement in Sunghoon's reaction.

"Chill out, would you? No wonder the others tease you so much," Jay shot back, grabbing a cloth to wipe his mouth as he glanced at Sunghoon.

"Do you need anything?" Jay asked, curious to know what Sunghoon wanted.

"Yeah, do you have any blood packets?" Sunghoon inquired.

"Again? I told you to hunt for something fresh. Why settle for a packet?"

"You saw me carrying someone earlier. I guess that wasn't enough?"

"You need to hunt with me next time. You're not very good at it," Jay remarked.

"Says the person who needs at least five people to feel satisfied with their hunger," Sunghoon countered.

"Shut up. Anyway, you can take that one," Jay pointed to a person sitting in the room without moving. "He's under the influence of sleeping pills. He won't wake up for about eight hours."

"Well, it's certainly better than nothing," Sunghoon responded.

"Are you kidding? That one is blood type AB, the best kind you could get. You should be thankful," Jay emphasized.

Without further ado, Sunghoon sank his teeth into the guy's neck. The person's face grew pale, and their heart gradually slowed until it ceased to beat.

"You were right; that was the best kind," Sunghoon stated, satisfied with his meal. Though, it wasn’t better than yours.

"And you sure were starving. You owe me," Jay reminded him.

"Whatever. I'll just ask one of the guys to hunt someone like that for you," Sunghoon teased.

"You better keep your promise," Jay warned.

"I can't make any promises," Sunghoon mocked Jay, leaving the dining room and making his way back to his room. Jay laughed once more, sinking his teeth into the woman again.

Perhaps he would find a way to make you pay for making him come down here to face two of his annoying siblings.

FOUR — sealing the deal

After what seemed like hours, Sunghoon didn't take that long to come back to his room. I guess he is pretty attached to his own room. Meanwhile, you remained seated, growing increasingly bored as time dragged on. As he closed the door behind him, Sunghoon spoke up, breaking the silence.

“I’m back. Have you noticed any improvement in the healing of your wounds?” he asked. You emitted a soft hum in response, acknowledging the progress. Brushing your fingers over the scabs, you could feel the rough texture of the forming scars.

“Though they’re drying up, I still wouldn’t mind some ointment. And, of course, bandages, of any kind, really,” you requested. Sunghoon surprised you by offering his assistance and asking for your consent. It was a rare display of kindness from him. "Sure," you mumbled, feeling a warm flush on your cheeks. Pushing aside the unfamiliar feeling, you tilted your head towards Sunghoon, allowing him to take care of your wounds.

Sunghoon approached you, and a slightly surprised expression appeared on his face because of your agreement. He brought a chair and placed it closer to you, taking a seat. He moved closer, carefully examining the wounds on your neck. After looking at them, he reached for the first-aid kit he had brought from the kitchen.

Opening the kit, he took out the tube of ointment and a pack of bandages. With gentle movements, he applied the ointment to your wounds, his touch surprisingly tender. You felt a soothing sensation as he spread the ointment over the scabs, alleviating some of the discomfort.

Once the ointment was applied, he proceeded to place a couple of bandages on your neck, securing them in place. He worked efficiently, his movements precise yet careful. The bandages provided a protective layer over the wounds, preventing you from picking at the scabs.

As Sunghoon finished tending to your injuries, he stepped back, looking at his work. “There you go,” he said softly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “That should help with the healing. If you want me to check up on it, just let me know.”

You thanked him, appreciating his unexpected act of kindness. Despite the circumstances, there was a fleeting moment of connection between you and Sunghoon—a brief glimpse of a different side to him.

As Sunghoon tidied up the first aid kit and stowed it away, an uneasy silence settled in the room. You anxiously twiddle your thumbs while waiting for him to address the matter he mentioned earlier.

"Oh, right!" Sunghoon exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering. He took a seat closer to you, causing a slight flutter of anticipation in your chest.

"You mentioned that you have nowhere to go, correct?" he confirmed, seeking clarification.

"Yes, that's right." You nodded, your voice tinged with curiosity. You couldn't help but wonder where this conversation was headed.

“How about I let you stay here?” Sunghoon proposed, his voice filled with a surprising offer.

“Here...?” you repeated, a hint of disbelief in your tone. The room you were currently in didn’t exactly scream comfort or safety.

“Yes, here in my room,” Sunghoon confirmed, slightly perplexed by your reaction. He was about to remind you of your past statement about having nowhere to go.

“And how long are you suggesting I stay?” you asked, wanting to clarify the terms of the arrangement.

“As long as you want,” he replied, not understanding why you’re hesitating to just agree.

“Well…I have to ask, what’s the catch?” you questioned, sensing that such an offer wouldn’t come without a price.

“You catch on quickly,” Sunghoon remarked, acknowledging how clever you were. “In exchange for your stay, I propose that you provide me with your blood. It seems like a fair deal, doesn’t it?”

“Woah, hold on,” you protested, feeling a mix of shock and distress at Sunghoon’s proposal. “There’s absolutely no way I’m agreeing to this. I mean, we just met! Aren’t you trusting me, a stranger, a little too much now?”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly unfazed by your reaction. “It didn’t strike me as that crazy of an idea, but I guess humans are more sensitive about these things,” he remarked, surprised at how fast your voice was raised at him. “I don’t know why you’re so baffled now; you were the one who asked me to bite you.”

“Okay, that was clearly different! It was due to shock, alright?” you said, clearly not being able to rack up any responses to fire back.

“But, whatever! Anyway, as we were saying, of course it sounds crazy to me! You’re a vampire, not some ordinary person that I know. It’s not like I can trust you completely,” you shot back, your frustration becoming more evident.

“Look, I don’t even know your name.” You paused, realizing the absurdity of the situation. You two were getting into a heated conversation, trying to make deals, yet you both haven’t introduced yourselves properly.

“Oh, right—the name is Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon,” he interjected, his tone brimming with impatience. You swore if he wasn’t a stupid vampire, you would’ve knocked him out right there.

“And yours?” He interrupts your thoughts, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It’s Y/N,” you replied, slightly taken aback by his abruptness.

“Nice to properly have a greeting with you, Y/N,” Sunghoon says with a slight smile. “Now, let's go back to our previous discussion, shall we?”

“Glad you mentioned that. So, exactly how is this deal supposed to work? Where would I even stay, and how often would I have to give my blood to you? Lord, who knows, you might kill me on my second day staying here!” you exclaimed, wanting to understand how shameless Sunghoon can be with his crazy thoughts.

“I understand your concerns about the deal. Let’s address them one by one, alright?” You nodded, willing to hear him out despite your concerns.

“As for where you’ll stay, you obviously don’t need to worry about that. I mean, how bad could it be?” he added with a smirk. “Consider it your sanctuary; don’t worry about anything.”

“And regarding the blood part,” he continued, his tone serious. “I assure you, I have no intention of killing you—well, I’ll try not to. We can establish some clear boundaries after you accept this deal. And we’ll figure out something where you can provide blood for me in controlled amounts.”

You furrowed your brow, still skeptical. “But why do you even need my blood? Can’t you just feed on others?”

Sunghoon sighed, his expression softening slightly. “It’s not as simple as that. I won’t go into all the details now, but let’s just say that your blood has a unique quality that appeals to vampires, especially me. It’s not something I can easily explain.”

You pondered his words for a moment, considering the possibilities. The idea of staying at this castle with a vampire, in fact many, was still unsettling, but you were running out of options.

“Fine,” you finally gave in. “I’ll give it a try. It's not like I can do anything anyway. But if anything feels off or if you break our agreement, I’m out.”

Sunghoon nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fair enough, Y/N. I’ll do my best to upload our agreement and ensure your safety.”

"Wait, so you’re telling me you put on the bandages and ointment for nothing?” you asked, touching the side of your neck.

“Oops,” he says, scratching the nape of his neck.

With that, a strange alliance between you and Sunghoon started to take shape, settling for a unique and uncertain journey ahead.

FIVE — the consequences

As the first night at Sunghoon’s place began, you couldn’t help but wonder how you had gotten yourself into this situation. It was clear that he hadn’t fully thought of a plan for your stay or how to ensure your safety amidst his unpredictable siblings.

Sunghoon, maintaining his composed demeanor, raced his mind as he contemplated the best course of action. Though Sunghoon lived in a spacious place with a huge room of his own, it became apparent that it was not designed to accommodate two people. After all, as a vampire, he would have never imagined sharing a room with a mere human, especially in a place he cherished deeply.

Sunghoon couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside. He reminded himself of the circumstances that brought you here, his promise to keep you safe, and the fact that this arrangement was temporary. He had to do something to make you feel comfortable; he isn’t that bad of a guy after all.

After a few moments of deep thought, he finally spoke up. “Y/N, I apologize for the lack of preparation. You see, I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t expecting this either, until you decided to kidnap me,” you joked, recalling the past moments and trying to tease him with it.

“I guess you’re right.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, smiling to himself as he remembered the past. “But here we are, working something out together.”

Sunghoon contemplated his thoughts, attempting to find a suitable solution. “Well, I guess you can just sleep on my bed.”

“What the hell are you saying? Me, sleeping on your bed?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, surprised by your strong reaction. “What’s wrong with sleeping on my bed? Why do you seem so offended by the idea?” He blinks in confusion, not understanding the commotion with his idea. “You should consider this a luxury—even my siblings do! They rarely lay here, and I’m allowing you to.”

You crossed your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. “It’s just...we barely know each other, and it feels too intimate to share a bed. Plus, it’s your personal space.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, feeling the need to tease you just a little bit. “Intimate? It’s just a bed; we are just sleeping on it. I don’t see it as a big deal. Besides, it’s a spacious bed, and I promise not to invade your personal space. What did you think was the intent behind my words?”

A mischievous smirk graced Sunghoon’s lips as he observed your cheeks turning a shade of red. Caught off guard by his response, you quickly cleared your throat, attempting to regain your composure. However, his gaze remained fixed on you, his smirk persisting, much to your annoyance.

You sighed, trying to find the right words. “Look, I appreciate your offer, but I think it’s best if we find another solution. I need my own space, and you should have yours too.”

“Alright, here’s the plan. You take the bed, and I’ll take the sofa. How does that sound?” Sunghoon proposes, trying to find a compromise.

“The sofa? Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable to sleep on for the night?” You voiced your concern, staring at the white sofa near his bed. It looked rather small, especially for his height.

“It can actually turn into a bed,” he reassured you.

“But I’ll feel bad if you have to sleep on the couch. Are you sure? We can always switch.” You protested, not easily accepting his kind act.

“Look, it’s either we both sleep on the same bed or I sleep on the couch. Keep arguing, and you’ll end up sleeping on the floor. Got it?” Sunghoon’s voice turned stern, attempting to make his point clear.

"...Understood," you reluctantly agreed, realizing his sudden change in mood.

You found yourself lying in Sunghoon’s bed, gazing up at the ceiling. The mattress was undeniably comfortable, but the unsettling atmosphere of the room made it difficult for you to drift off to sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, a chilly breeze seemed to brush against your body, further heightening your unease. This room was definitely not meant for humans to stay in.

Shifting slightly, you noticed Sunghoon’s silhouette remaining still in the darkness. His presence offered some sense of reassurance, but it wasn’t enough to completely dispel the unsettling feeling that hung in the air.

“Stop moving around so much; people might hear you,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice audible in the quiet room, causing you to freeze in your position. You didn’t know he was awake.

You remained silent for a moment, not sure if you should tell him the reason why. However, Sunghoon’s persistence broke the silence; his words were laced with a subtle attempt to gain your trust.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied, turning away from him and facing the other side of the bed.

“Sleep well, Y/N,” Sunghoon said, his voice echoing with the same enigmatic tone that had sent shivers down your spine when you first met.

In a way you couldn't quite understand, Sunghoon's presence was driving you to the edge of madness, albeit in a strangely captivating manner.

“So you’re suggesting I stay here for my entire stay?” you asked, still unsure of what had been planned by him.

“What? Would you rather be thrown into a bloodbath with six other vampires?” Sunghoon questioned you and was quite offended by your response.

“I think I’ll pass on that,” you replied, not eager to experience such a gruesome scenario. The thought of facing six vampires who were similar to Sunghoon, or even worse, sent a shiver down your spine. If they had possessed even a fraction of his intensity or darkness, you knew you would deeply regret your decision to stay. In fact, the idea seemed so terrifying that you would rather take matters into your own hands and end your own life than allow them to have a single drop of blood, Sunghoon included.

Ignoring the potential dangers ahead, you found yourself in his lavish library, with shelves overflowing with books. It was a comfortable and well-maintained space, with not a single speck of dust in sight. Picking up a nearby book, you asked, “You’re quite the reader, huh?”

You read the title, “How to Kill People : Guide for Vampires,” and quickly returned it to its original position. Sunghoon chuckled at your reaction, reminding you, “You’d probably see worse than that.”

His comment left you both intrigued and slightly unnerved, wondering what exactly he meant by it.

“Before I leave, let’s go over some rules I want to establish, shall we?” Sunghoon asks, only to get a nod from you. You hoped these rules weren’t going to be as bizarre as it was for you to be sleeping on Sunghoon’s bed for the whole stay.

Sunghoon dragged a nearby chair and settled himself into it. Resting his arms on the sides of the chair, he cleared his throat, preparing to lay down some ground rules.

"Rule Number One," he began sternly, pointing at you to emphasize his point, "you cannot leave this area until I say it's okay. As I mentioned earlier, I live with six other people who are extremely nosy. Any noise or disturbance will attract their attention, and they'll come running like meerkats trying to figure out what's going on."

You fought back a chuckle, imagining the scene he described, but you held it in, not wanting to upset Sunghoon by not paying attention.

"Rule Number Two," Sunghoon continued, his voice carrying a sense of seriousness, "is to never, and I mean never, expose yourself to them. They can get you killed in an instant, no joke. The last thing we need is another dead body lying around here, especially in my room."

You gulped, feeling a wave of unease wash over you. You nodded along to his words, but your mind began to wander, causing his instructions to fade into background noise. Your nods became automatic, hoping that he would finish speaking soon.

Sunghoon noticed your lack of focus, though he chose not to mention it. He debated whether to stop talking and address the issue or to continue and hope you would snap back to attention. Reluctantly, he decided to keep going, aware of the possibility that you were nodding along to nothing.

"...You got it?" he asked, his voice snapping you back to reality. You nodded and agreed, though you had no recollection of what he had just said. "Really? What did I say?"

You hesitated, realizing that you had completely missed his instructions. Sheepishly, you asked him to repeat it once more, hoping to catch up.

“We are going to be here for a long time, aren’t we?” Sunghoon let out a sigh, clearly disappointed.

He started from the beginning again, and this time, you made a conscious effort to pay attention.

At least that’s what he hoped you would do.

SIX — under his care

"You know, you're going to have to take care of me, right, Sunghoon?" You asked nervously, feeling the weight of your dependency on him.

"What do you mean? You should be able to take care of yourself," Sunghoon replied, seemingly indifferent to your needs.

“I need some food to survive being confined here; I’m not like you,” you pleaded, hoping he would understand.

"Oh. Take a blood packet," he suggested, opening a drawer to reveal a neatly arranged row of plastic packets. He quickly handed one to you, but you couldn't help but feel repulsed by the sight of the bright red liquid.

"I'm not a vampire, Sunghoon. I'm human. I need real food and water, not your blood packets," you protested, suppressing a gag.

"Oh, right," Sunghoon muttered awkwardly, realizing his oversight. He awkwardly moved closer, retrieving the blood packet from your lap and returning it to the drawer. He seemed to be slowly grasping the responsibility of caring for a human, but you couldn't shake the feeling that he resented it. The thought crossed your mind that he might even be contemplating killing you on the spot, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“So…I’m supposed to hunt for you?” Sunghoon asked, sounding completely clueless about the needs of a human. “What kind of food do you guys enjoy?”

"I'm not really picky," you replied, trying to think of all the things you could eat.

"You're okay with raw animals?" he asked, clearly unaware of human dietary preferences.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you retorted, slightly alarmed by his suggestion.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really familiar with this," Sunghoon admitted, realizing his lack of knowledge.

"We eat warm, cooked foods. Sometimes when it’s cold, although it's not always enjoyable. You might need to cook something," you explained, hoping he would understand.

"Cook? The only thing I know is how to boil organs," Sunghoon confessed, his words never failing to make your jaw drop. He’s so unpredictable, you hate it.

"Enough of that," you said firmly, shaking your head to dispel the uncomfortable thoughts. "At least you can do something."

"You have to eat something cooked?" Sunghoon scrunched up his face, contemplating what the future held for him.

"Yes, that's what a normal human being needs," you replied.

"I'll figure something out. You're not picky, right?" Sunghoon asked, trying to reassure himself.

"Don't think I am," you responded, amused by his concern.

"I'll be back," he said, determination filling his voice.

"Don't take too long; I'm starving," you teased, sinking into Sunghoon's comfortable couch in the library and surrounding yourself with piles of books. You just hope he will do something right for once.

Leaving his room behind, Sunghoon let out a deep sigh of exasperation. Cooking a full meal that didn't involve blood was a daunting task for a vampire like him. The last thing he needed was to be caught in the act and subjected to endless questions from his nosy siblings. He moved swiftly and silently through the house, his senses heightened, ensuring that his movements remained undetected.

When Sunghoon opened the fridge, he wasn't surprised to find a limited selection of ingredients. After all, it was a typical vampire household with a preference for non-food items. Who would expect to see a fridge stacked with fresh produce? Luckily, among the assortment of mysterious meats, Sunghoon managed to unearth some ingredients courtesy of Heeseung's recent cooking practices. Heeseung seemed to have taken an interest in culinary pursuits, although the reason remained unknown.

"I'll keep it simple," Sunghoon muttered to himself, reaching for a container of eggs. Setting the eggs aside, he looks through the unorganized cupboards, looking at the scattered pots and pans. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork. As he moved around the kitchen, the sound of clattering pans and plates filled the air, punctuated by brief pauses as he adjusted his movements to avoid making too much noise.

“What are you doing?” Heeseng’s voice rang out, laced with confusion, as he came to a sudden stop upon seeing one of his brothers actually cooking.

Sunghoon turned to face Heeseung, holding a pan in one hand and eggs in a bowl in the other. He couldn't help but feel a bit sheepish, caught in the act of preparing a meal.

“...Practicing?” Sunghoon shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed about him catching him out here.

"You're making eggs? Want me to help? I can cook some meat or something." Heeseung offered, rolling up his sleeves. "Gotta get some protein for a guy like you." He flashed a smile and opened the fridge.

Sunghoon couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh, setting down the pan and bowl. Heeseung's easy-going nature reminded him why he was his favorite brother. Heeseung never questioned him unnecessarily and was always there to lend a hand when needed.

In no time, Heeseung finished cooking and guided Sunghoon through the steps. As he cleaned the countertop, he asked, "So, what made you want to try your hand at cooking?"

Sunghoon quickly tried to come up with an excuse, standing awkwardly with the dish in his hands. "Uhh...I've seen you cook multiple times and was curious. I thought I'd give it a try and see if I could make some real food. If it turns out good, maybe I'll start cooking more often."

"Ah, I see. Well, if you ever need any help or have any questions about cooking, my room is right next door," Heeseung offered.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind...if you're home," Sunghoon replied, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

As Sunghoon entered the library, he saw you lying on the couch, engrossed in a book, with a stack of books beside you. The sight of you brought a flutter to his heart, a feeling he couldn't quite explain. He greeted you and placed the dish on the table, letting out a sigh of relief.

"You have no idea what I just went through," he exclaimed, flopping face down onto the couch in front of you. You chuckled, and once again, he felt that ticklish sensation in his stomach. These random feelings were starting to puzzle him, but he pushed them aside and focused on your words.

"It's a shame you have to keep going through this," you remarked, surprised at how delicious the simple dish tasted.

Sunghoon sighed, realizing he would have to cook three meals like this every day and rely on Heeseung's help. However, he found himself not objecting to the idea. In fact, he rather liked it, though he couldn't quite figure out why.

SEVEN — unexpected encounter

As the days turned into weeks, the routine of sleeping in Sunghoon’s bed and spending time in the library continued. Sunghoon remained consistent in his actions, always bringing you food despite the strange glances he received from his siblings.

Engrossed in one of the books from Sunghoon’s collection, you heard the door creak open. Assuming it was Sunghoon returning, you began to express your relief, only to pause when you looked up and realized it wasn’t him standing near the door. Instead, it was a different guy—blond hair with bangs gracefully covering his forehead. He exuded an attractive presence with his tall physique and sharp features. Both you and the unknown guy shared a moment of shock, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.

“I knew Sunghoon was hiding something!” he whispered to himself, unaware you could hear his words. He seemed rather happy that his prediction was correct rather than shocked by a random stranger at his house. “No wonder why that sweet scent lingers around his door,” he continues, pretending to act all smart.

“Um, who are you?” you questioned, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh right! The name is Jake. And yours?” he introduced himself and asked, offering a friendly smile. He seems way nicer than Sunghoon, as you thought.

“Y/N,” you said, offering the same smile back. He chuckles. “Nice to meet you, Y/N!”

“Dang, so Sunghoon was brave enough to keep a human hostage?” Jake remarked, clearly surprised that you even managed to live. The Sunghoon he knew would have sucked out all of your blood already. Were you that special to him?

“Where is he?” you inquired, wanting to know Sunghoon’s whereabouts. You couldn’t believe you’d be caring about someone you hated the first day you met him.

“Hunting, perhaps? Why, looking for some company?” Jake teased with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I don’t mind...” you responded, contemplating the idea of having some company while you waited for Sunghoon’s return.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Jake exclaimed enthusiastically, grabbing a book he had been eyeing from the shelf. He hurriedly made his way over to you, claiming the empty spot on the cough. His vibrant energy was surprisingly comforting, quickly making you forget that he was just a stranger a few moments ago.

“What brings you here?” you asked curiously, genuinely interested in his presence.

“I always sneak into Sunghoon’s library, even though he never explicitly allows it. Sometimes he’s fine with it, sometimes he’s not,” Jake explained with a slight pout, recalling past experiences. “Especially this week! He specifically told everyone to stay out of his room and the library because of some deep cleaning. It’s complete nonsense! He always shows up to my room uninvited and complains whenever I do the same.” He scoffs, closing the book for a quick moment.

You chuckled at his storytelling, finding yourself drawn into his narration. It was as if you were being hypnotized by his words. Jake glanced at you, noticing the way your eyes crinkled with amusement. His smile widened, and he felt surprisingly comfortable sharing snippets of his life with you.

You found yourself engrossed in constant conversation with Jake, losing track of time as it slipped through your fingers. He made your entire day in the library more bearable, and you enjoyed his company immensely.

"Sunghoon should be returning soon," Jake mentioned, unaware of how much time had passed. "I should probably leave now."

"Oh, but will you come back tomorrow?" You asked eagerly, hoping he would say yes.

"I'll try my best. Just promise me that you won't tell Sunghoon that I've been sneaking in here, okay?" Jake requested, his eyes searching yours for assurance.

"I promise," you replied sincerely.

"Pinky promise?" he suggested playfully.

"Absolutely, I can even come up with something to prove that my lips are sealed. Maybe I can offer you my blood? You know, to seal our deal." you added, having no harm behind your words.

"You're quite bold, aren't you?" he remarked, slightly taken aback by your audacity.

"Do you want to?" you asked, your voice teasing.

"Where would you like me to bite you?" he quipped back, playing along with your banter.

And with that, Jake left with a broad grin, bidding you farewell with a wave. You waved back, and as your sleeve rolled down, it revealed the two distinctive fang marks near your wrist, a reminder of the unusual encounters you've had lately.

You hoped Sunghoon wouldn’t bother to check your arms.

EIGHT — unwanted guests

As days turned into weeks, Sunghoon diligently continued making your meals, ensuring you had warm and cooked food to sustain yourself. He became more skilled in the kitchen with each passing day, and you couldn't help but appreciate his efforts. Despite the initial awkwardness, a sense of familiarity grew between you, and you found solace in his presence.

Meanwhile, you continued to meet Jake in the library, enjoying each other's company and engaging in conversations that ranged from lighthearted to deep. He became a source of comfort and distraction from the confinement of the vampire household. The stolen moments with Jake brought a sense of excitement and adventure to your otherwise mundane routine.

If you were going to be honest, it would’ve been difficult to choose who was better between the two. While you appreciated Sunghoon's care and the bond that was slowly forming between you, there was an unspoken understanding that your connection with Jake was something entirely different.

Despite the initial success of the plan, Sunghoon's peculiar behavior didn't go unnoticed by his siblings. They started to find it strange that he never left his room and continued to cook meals despite being a vampire who normally consumed blood.

As Sunghoon returned to his room, Sunoo made sure to close the door behind him, maintaining the air of secrecy. When he joined his brothers downstairs, their confusion and concern were evident.

"What's going on with Sunghoon?" Jungwon asked, his expression reflecting his bewilderment after returning from a short trip.

"I've been noticing it too. He's been like this for the past week," Niki chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is not his usual behavior."

"He's been acting strange, not just with the cooking but also isolating himself in his room," Jay chimed in, furrowing his brows. "I tried talking to him, but he just brushes me off."

"He even told me not to enter his room and to stay away from his library," Heeseung added, his voice filled with genuine confusion. "It's like he's hiding something."

Sunoo, who had just returned from escorting Sunghoon back to his room, couldn't shake off his own concerns. "I've been trying to protect him, keeping everyone away from his room," he admitted. "But I don't know what's going on either. Something feels off."

The brothers exchanged worried glances, realizing that Sunghoon's behavior was a cause for concern. They knew they needed to get to the bottom of it, not only for their own peace of mind but also for Sunghoon's well-being. They decided to confront him together, determined to uncover the truth behind his recent actions and offer him support if needed.

Little did they know that their investigation would reveal the hidden secret you and Jake shared, adding an unexpected twist to the situation and potentially reshaping their perception of Sunghoon forever.

Sunghoon overheard his brothers' worried conversation, their voices growing louder and catching his attention. Concern filled his mind as he realized they might discover his secret. In a state of panic, he darted around, desperately searching for a solution.

Finding you in the library, he hurriedly approached you, his face filled with urgency.

"You need to hide right now," Sunghoon urged, his voice hushed but filled with intensity.

Startled by his sudden request, you quickly set aside the book you were reading and stood up, ready to follow his lead.

"My brothers are onto me. They suspect something's not right," Sunghoon explained, glancing around nervously. He keeps staring at his door, trying to listen for any sudden noises. "I'm afraid they might come barging into my room. We can't let them find you."

You could see the worry in his eyes, and you understood the weight of the situation. Without hesitation, you followed Sunghoon's lead and looked around for a hiding spot.

"Where should I hide?" you asked, trying to remain calm.

Sunghoon scanned the room, his gaze landing on a large antique wardrobe tucked away in a corner.

"Quick, get inside there," he said, opening the wardrobe door and motioning for you to step inside. It was large enough to fit you and pretty hidden away from any of his siblings.

You hurriedly made your way into the wardrobe, squeezing yourself in and pulling the doors shut. It was a tight space, but you hoped it would provide enough cover.

As the brothers deliberated downstairs, their uncertainty apparent, Sunoo voiced his reservations about invading Sunghoon's privacy. Nervously fidgeting with his fingers, he expressed his concerns.

"I don't know about this. I just don't want to intrude on his personal space," Sunoo admitted, his voice filled with unease. "You know, maybe he's still trying to deal with the past.” He bit his lip, avoiding delving into the details of his troubling history.

Heeseung sighed, acknowledging the validity of Sunoo's thoughts. He too was unsure of what to do, caught between his curiosity and his desire to respect Sunghoon's boundaries. The situation left them all in a state of indecision, unsure of how to proceed.

"I'm still worried about his well-being," Jay voiced, with Jake nervously nodding in agreement. Jake's heart raced not only out of concern for Sunghoon but also out of fear of you and him getting caught in the midst of their investigation.

"Okay, let's go." Jungwon decisively took the lead, leading the way up the stairs. The rest of the brothers followed suit, their curiosity piqued as they contemplated what Sunghoon could potentially be hiding.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the brothers could sense the tension in the air. They approached Sunghoon's closed door, hesitating for a moment before Jungwon took a deep breath and knocked.

"Sunghoon, are you in there?" Jungwon called out, his voice filled with concern.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Sunghoon's voice came from the other side, slightly shaky but composed. "Yes, I'm here. Give me a moment."

The brothers exchanged glances, their anticipation building. They knew something was off, and their worry for Sunghoon only grew stronger. As they waited for him to open the door, they couldn't help but wonder what they were about to uncover.

Sunghoon swung the door open, his mouth full of food, as he greeted his six brothers. "Whoa, what's the occasion for this surprise gathering?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to mask his unease.

The rest of the brothers exchanged puzzled glances, failing to detect any apparent change in Sunghoon's behavior. "Do you need something from me before I continue finishing my meal?" Sunghoon inquired, hoping they would take the hint and leave him be.

Niki stepped forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Do you mind if we come in?" he asked, voicing the question that had been on everyone's mind.

Sunghoon shrugged, reluctantly allowing them entry. "Sure, but just for a little while. I'd like to eat my meal in peace."

Sunghoon reluctantly stepped aside, allowing his brothers to enter his room. As they filed in, their eyes scanned the surroundings, trying to piece together the puzzle of Sunghoon's recent behavior. The room appeared relatively normal, with the plate of food he cooked on his table and an organized bed.

"What's been going on, Sunghoon?" Heeseung finally spoke up, his voice laced with concern.

“What do you mean? I’ve only tried new things; it’s been interesting, I’ll tell you that.” Sunghoon shrugged, pushing away Heeseung’s question.

"Would it be alright if we entered the library?" Jay proposed, and the six brothers turned their gaze towards Sunghoon.

Sunghoon forced a smile, concealing his anxiety behind a facade. "Of course, go ahead," he replied, his words betraying his true feelings. Deep down, he was terrified of being discovered, even though he had already hidden you away.

Jay reached for the doorknob, his hand trembling slightly as he cautiously opened the door. The brothers held their breath, unsure of what awaited them inside. Their curiosity had overridden any doubts or concerns.

As the door swung open, the brothers stepped into the library, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of unusual activity. Sunghoon tried his best to act nonchalant, with his heart pounding in his chest. He hoped that you had a good hiding spot and that his siblings wouldn't stumble upon any evidence of your presence.

The library appeared just as it always did: shelves filled with books, a cozy atmosphere enveloping the space. The brothers exchanged glances, perplexed by the situation. Everything seemed normal, except for Sunghoon's apprehensive demeanor.

"Smells...rather sweet," Jungwon says, surprised at how quickly he picked up on it. The others nodded in agreement, detecting the faint yet enticing scent in the air.

“Could it be from the cups?” Sunghoon points at them, thankfully coming up with a quick excuse.

Jungwon's face lit up with understanding, and he couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief, followed by a chuckle. “Ah, you've got yourself some good blood there.”

The others continued to look around, not seeming to find anything suspicious.

"Are you sure there's nothing unusual going on here, Sunghoon?" Jake asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. He had to look convincing to his brothers, at least.

Sunghoon shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'm just enjoying some alone time with my books," he replied, hoping his casual tone would deflect their attention.

The brothers continued to search the library, their footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor. Sunghoon's anxiety grew with each passing moment, praying that his secret would remain hidden.

“Well, there’s nothing,” Jungwon says, finishing his search.

“Sunghoon, just know we care about you, and you can tell us anything, okay?” Heeseung says, making Sunghoon nod to his words.

“We will be leaving now; don’t spend too much time in your room,” Niki says, walking closer to the library’s exit. Finally, satisfied that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, all of the remaining brothers made their way back towards the library entrance. Sunghoon released a silent sigh of relief, grateful that they hadn't discovered your presence.

Sunghoon had nothing else to say but nod his head, wishing his brothers a short goodbye. As the door closed behind them, Sunghoon leaned against it, his body trembling with a mix of fear and relief. He knew he had narrowly escaped being caught, but he also realized that he would have to be even more careful moving forward.

Turning his attention to you, he approached your hiding spot with a mixture of concern and gratitude. "You can come out now," he whispered, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "We managed to keep them away, at least for now."

How long will this thing last before the secret is out?

NINE — unbreakable cycle

Sunghoon's recent behavior has left you puzzled. Lately, he has been requesting your blood more frequently, surpassing his usual once or twice a week routine. Not only that, you started feeling a bit tired too, having both Sunghoon and Jake take your blood whenever they wanted.

"Y/N, I need more," Sunghoon said, entering the library with a breathlessness that hinted at an intense workout session. His exhaustion was evident, as if he had been pushing himself too hard in his training.

Concerned by Sunghoon's increased requests for your blood and his apparent exhaustion, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You set aside the book you were reading and approached him with a furrowed brow.

"Sunghoon, are you okay? You seem really tired," you remarked, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is something bothering you?"

Sunghoon sighed heavily, leaning against the library wall for support. His gaze met yours, reflecting a mix of weariness and determination.

"I've been pushing myself harder lately," he admitted, his voice tinged with fatigue. "I've been training more intensely, trying to improve my abilities. But it's taking a toll on me. I’ll be fine with a little bit of blood, though."

"Sunghoon, maybe you should take a break," you suggested gently. "Rest and recuperate. Pushing yourself too hard might do more harm than good."

"Thank you, Y/N." He let out a small, quiet chuckle, feeling a bit strange for you to be caring for him right now. "I'm assuming you're tired too? You look like it; it seems like you've been draining all your energy for more than one person."

"How did you know?" you asked, taken aback by his observation.

"What? I was just teasing," Sunghoon replied, his chuckle fading as he sensed your surprise.

Shit. You inwardly cursed your slip-up, realizing you had revealed more than intended.

"Who have you been seeing?" Sunghoon's tone turned stern, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You awkwardly laughed, trying to brush off his suspicions. "I was just joking, Sunghoon. There's no one else."

But Sunghoon wasn't convinced. He could sense the subtle changes in your heartbeat and the uneasiness in your eyes. The trust between you seemed to falter, and he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss.

"Your heart is beating faster," he pointed out, his voice tinged with a hint of betrayal. "Who have you been seeing behind my back? Why can't you be honest with me?"

"Why does it have to concern you?" you replied defensively, feeling a surge of frustration. The tension in the room escalated as both of you struggled to communicate your true feelings.

"It's my room," Sunghoon retorted, his voice growing louder with anger. "You've been hiding something from me, and now you're avoiding giving me your blood. Is this all because of one of my brothers?"

The words hung in the air, a bitter realization dawning on both of you. Sunghoon's protective instincts clashed with the sense of betrayal he felt, while you grappled with the weight of your secrets.

Sunghoon's grip tightened on your wrist, causing a sharp sting and making you instinctively try to pull away. As you did, the pressure on the bite mark caused a slight seepage of blood, staining your sleeve. He stared at the blood with a mix of shock and confusion.

"Did—did one of my brothers do that?" Sunghoon asked, his voice filled with disbelief as he looked back at you. A whirlwind of emotions swept across his face.

"It's nothing. Just mind your own business," you scowled, your frustration evident as you continued to struggle against his grip, wanting to break free.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, his anger rising. "How can you expect me to ignore this?” Sunghoon clenched his fists, his anger boiling over. He clearly allowed it to take the best of him, not knowing there could be other ways to talk about this. "I can't believe you would lie to me like this! How could you hide something so important?"

You stood your ground, your own anger rising to match his. Why would you want to allow him to be the only one who could yell? “You don’t have to know everything. You probably see me as a burden anyway.”

"Burden? You think I see you as a burden?" Sunghoon's voice was filled with frustration. "I've done everything I can to protect you and keep you safe. And this is how you repay me?"

"I didn't ask for your protection! Look, I’m glad for your help, but what’s with the big fuss?" You shot back, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You think you're the only one who has sacrifices to make?"

Sunghoon's face was twisted with anger and hurt. “Since you think my brothers are so great, why don’t you just leave right now? Let them have you! Then you would know what it feels like to be abandoned!"

"You don't owe me, Sunghoon. God, just because you're some vampire, do you think you're superior? I wonder how your family even manages to deal with you," You say, returning the same harsh tone he gave you.

The words stung, hitting him like a punch to the gut. You hadn't meant to belittle him, but in the heat of the argument, it felt like the only way to defend yourself.

Sunghoon's expression hardened, his anger giving way to a deep sadness. Your words only brought back his past, making him wince. He turned away from you, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and hurt. "Is that really what you think of me? Just some stuck-up vampire who thinks he's superior?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voice choked with emotion. "I've done everything to make you feel welcomed and loved; well, I tried, and this is how you see me? I never wanted you to feel like that."

The realization hit you like a wave, crashing down your walls of anger. You hadn't meant to reduce him to a stereotype and make him feel unappreciated for all he had done for you.

"I– I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled, your voice filled with regret. "I was just angry and hurt. I didn't think about how my words would affect you."

Sunghoon shook his head, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his emotions. "It's too late now. I can't forget what you said or how you made me feel."

As he walked away, shutting the door with a resounding thud, the silence in the room was suffocating, the realization of the damage you had caused sinking in.

What the hell was that about, and why do you feel guilty?

Great, there's more stuff that you need to take care of.

Guilt was starting to eat you alive, and you had to do something about it quickly.

And how will you do that? It’s simple—asking his sibling for help.

Jake.

TEN — the plan

To your luck, Jake managed to sneak into the library, closing the door quietly behind him. His eyes widened as he looked at you, sensing the tension in the air. He walked closer, whispering to you.

"What's going on with Sunghoon?"

You sighed, the weight of the argument still lingering in your mind. "We had a big fight. Things got really heated between us."

Jake furrowed his brows, concern etched on his face. "What happened?”

"We had an argument about you," you said, wincing as the incident kept replaying in your head. You didn’t want to tell him everything; guilt was just starting to take over you again.

"Me? What about me?" Jake asked, his expression turning serious as he took a seat next to you.

"He found out," you replied, pulling down your sleeves to reveal the fang marks on your arm. "He found our secret meetings."

Jake's eyes widened in realization, and his voice filled with concern. "He knows about us? So was that why he glared at me all day?” Jake says, finally piecing the puzzle together.

“How did he react?"

"He was furious," you confessed, your voice filled with regret. "He accused me of betraying his trust and hiding things from him."

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I never wanted things to get so complicated. I'm sorry, Y/N."

"It's not your fault," you reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his. "We both made mistakes. I should have been more honest with him from the beginning."

Jake nodded, his gaze filled with a mix of guilt and determination. "We need to find a way to fix this, to make things right with Sunghoon.

"But how? He probably hates me now," you said, frustration evident in your voice as you rubbed your head with your hand.

"He doesn't hate you. He probably never will. You just have to be the first one to reach out and talk to him," Jake reassured you, his hand comforting you as he rubbed your back. "Trust me, he's seemed really happy ever since you got here."

"Really?" you asked, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

"Really," Jake confirmed with a nod.

"Okay, so how am I going to apologize?" You asked, eager to find a way to make things right.

"I have a plan," Jake said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Curiosity sparked within you as you leaned in, urging him to share his idea.

Jake leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a whisper as he shared his plan with you. His eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and mischief, making you curious about the details of his scheme.

"Here's what we're going to do," Jake began, his voice filled with confidence. "We'll organize a surprise gathering for Sunghoon, something that will catch him off guard when he sees you walk to him instead. I’ll tell him how I need to talk to him.”

You listened intently, nodding as Jake outlined the steps of the plan. It involved a lot of convincing. Sunghoon knew one of his brothers knew you; he just didn’t know which one. Despite his possible anger toward one of them, he’s going to have to speak to them, not wanting to expose the secret of you being here.

"And when the time is right, you can seize the moment and apologize to him sincerely, letting him know how much he means to you." Jake explained.

A mix of anticipation and nervousness filled your chest, but you felt a glimmer of hope. It seemed like a thoughtful and heartfelt gesture that could mend the rift between you and Sunghoon.

"Are you in?" Jake asked with a hint of excitement in his eyes.

With a shared sense of determination, you and Jake began to put the plan into action, eagerly looking forward to the opportunity to make amends and rebuild the trust that had been fractured.

You had to make things right again.

ELEVEN — making up

“Are you ready to talk to him?” Jake asked, sensing your nervous behavior.

"I believe so," you replied with a sigh. "I've allowed him enough time to process."

"Okay, I'll inform him before he comes upstairs," Jake said. You nodded nervously, fidgeting in your seat as you awaited the opportune moment to reveal yourself.

Before you knew it, you heard footsteps ascending the stairs, approaching Sunghoon's room. Holding your breath, you waited for the perfect moment to exit the room.

You opened the door, revealing a fatigued Sunghoon perched on his bed, awaiting Jake's arrival.

"Sunghoon?" You called out his name, causing his eyes to widen. He averted your gaze, not quite ready to meet your eyes. A part of him yearned for a conversation with you, while another part hesitated, unsure of the outcome.

Taking control of the situation, Sunghoon cleared his throat and spoke, his tone detached: "YN, you should return. Jake could return at any moment."

You were hesitant about carrying out the plan; it would reveal who you’ve been seeing for the past few weeks.

But you gathered your courage and walked further toward him, taking a seat beside him on his bed.

Sunghoon's gaze shifted from the floor to you, his eyes searching for answers. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the conversation that was about to unfold.

"I'm sorry, Sunghoon," you spoke up, your voice filled with sincerity. "I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I never wanted to hide anything from you, but I was scared. Scared of causing any conflicts between you and your family. I thought hiding it was the best thing I could do.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said anything harsh to you. You didn’t deserve it,” you continued, looking back to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon's features softened, and he moved closer, his eyes locking with yours. "Y/N, I didn't handle the situation well either," he admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "I let my anger get the best of me, and I'm sorry for hurting you."

"I just... didn't want to talk to you after you made me think about my past,” Sunghoon sighed, feeling the weight of his experiences. He found himself unexpectedly opening up to you, trusting you with a part of his life he had never shared with anyone before.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the memories to resurface, replaying the painful moments from his past.

"I'm exhausted from constantly taking care of you. Why can't you be normal and not some damned vampire?" Sunghoon's father's voice reverberated in his mind, filled with anger and frustration.

"I'm sorry, Father. I just haven't had anything to fill me up. Not even regular food. I feel myself growing weaker day by day," Sunghoon confessed, his voice tinged with sadness as he recalled the desperate need for blood.

"You're fortunate that your mother and I provide for you. Who else would? But god, I can’t handle having such a freak in the house,” his father continued, reaching for his phone and dialing his mother's number. "I have to do something about you."

"What do you mean?" Sunghoon's fear intensified, unsure of what his father intended. "Father? Father!" he pleaded, trying to push him away, but his father remained fixated on the call to his mother. Sunghoon sat there in resignation, realizing that his true family was willing to abandon him or, worse, even consider harming him.

After hours of intense discussion between his parents, Sunghoon's heart sank as his mother called him over. He hoped against hope that he would be able to stay, praying for a positive outcome. Taking a seat in front of his parents, he braced himself for the verdict, hoping it would be in his favor.

"Sunghoon... I'm sorry, but you can't stay here anymore." His mother's voice trembled with sadness, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's just not possible. It’s not safe.”

“You can’t just throw me out like that!” Sunghoon's voice wavered with a mix of sadness and frustration, unable to comprehend how his own parents could abandon him. "I'm your child!"

"You're not our child—well, my child. You're just some wretched vampire who has no place in this household. Who knows what harm you could bring to your other siblings?" His father's words were laced with bitterness, his tone devoid of any remorse as he witnessed his son's disbelief and hurt.

He sat there, his mind filled with shock and a deep sense of loss, as he watched his mother pack up his belongings. After leaving his family home, Sunghoon's life took a drastic turn. He found himself in a state of constant turmoil, resorting to feeding off random animals he came across in a forest. If it hadn't been for Heeseung's intervention, he might still be wandering the streets, struggling to survive.

"But unlike my past parents, my siblings here embraced me wholeheartedly. They provided me with a sense of safety and acceptance that I had never experienced before," Sunghoon explained, his voice tinged with vulnerability and the hope that you would understand his deep-seated trauma.

"Oh my god, Sunghoon, I'm so sorry," you exclaimed, overcome with regret as the weight of your words and their impact on him sank in. "I had no idea about your past and what you went through."

Sunghoon's smile softened, touched by your genuine remorse. "It's alright. I never expected you to know or bring it up. We can leave it in the past now," he said, a sense of relief evident in his voice.

He reached out for your hand, his hands trembling slightly. “I forgive you. Do you forgive me?” You smiled, reaching out and taking his hands into yours. “I do.”

The weight of the tension that had been lingering between you lifted, replaced by a sense of relief and renewed hope. You and Sunghoon slowly embraced, holding each other tightly, letting the healing process begin.

Jake smiled, quietly slipping out of the room, leaving the two of you to mend the bonds that had been strained. As you and Sunghoon held each other, you knew that despite the challenges you had faced, your love for each other was stronger than ever, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Next time, there will be no more misunderstandings.

You were going to make sure of that.

TWELVE — secret revealed

"You know, your brothers are eventually going to figure out that you keep me here, right?" you remarked, laying on Sunghoon's lap. Despite the mixed signals between you, there was a sense of comfort in your connection, and you both secretly wished for more.

Sunghoon chuckled, his fingers tracing gentle patterns through your hair as he continued reading his book. "You think so?”

“It has been quite a while. You think they would be okay with the sudden news?" You asked.

"They better," he replied with a playful smirk.

"I hope they'll be comfortable with it." you said, still filled with worries.

"They should be. One of my brothers already knows you, so that's one less person to convince," Sunghoon said, his tone lightening the mood.

"Ah, Jake," you nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "And just to clarify, we are not offering blood to my brothers to win them over. Just putting it out there," he added, making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Blood is only yours.”

“That’s quite flattering coming from a human like you.”

"Oh, stop it—tell your brothers about us whenever you feel like it’s time.”

“Like right now?”

“Well, do you want to?”

“I’ll ask them to come upstairs.”

"Sure, go ahead," you replied, lifting your head from Sunghoon's lap and adjusting your position. You watched as he stood up and made his way towards the door, calling out to his brothers to join him upstairs.

As you waited for them to arrive, a mix of anticipation and nervousness filled the room. You couldn't help but wonder how they would react to your relationship with Sunghoon. Would they be accepting? Would they hate your guts? Only time will tell.

Soon, you heard footsteps approaching the room, and one by one, Sunghoon's brothers entered. They glanced at you in shock, stopping in their tracks besides Jake.

Jay furrowed his brows, puzzled by the presence of a human in Sunghoon's room. The sweet scent emanating from you intrigued him, adding to his curiosity. "Who is this?" he asked, his confusion evident.

"This is YN," Sunghoon replied, observing Jay's expression as he connected the dots. "She's the person you saw me carrying on my shoulder."

Recognition dawned on Jay's face. "Ah, so you're her!"

"Well, that's certainly surprising. A human living here with us." Sunoo chimed in, happy that his suspicions were correct after all.

Niki's eyes widened in astonishment. "Wait, she's been here for months? How is she not freaked out by all of us being vampires?"

"Right...you're human. Aren't you scared or uncomfortable being around vampires?" Heeseung asked, with a hint of confusion and amusement in his tone.

You remained calm, unaffected by their supernatural nature. "To be honest, it was a bit overwhelming at first. But, after a while, Sunghoon seemed chill, making me think you all would be the same.”

The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone but Sunghoon and Jake processed the unexpected situation. It was clear that your presence had caught them off guard.

Jungwon couldn't help but offer a lighthearted remark. "So that sweet scent was yours. Well, well, who would've thought a human would willingly enter our world?"

You chuckled, feeling at ease in their presence. "I guess I'm an exception."

Jake, who had been aware of your connection with Sunghoon, smiled warmly. "We're glad to have you here, YN. It's refreshing to see someone who embraces us for who we are."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I couldn't have asked for a better family, and I'm grateful that you all accept YN."

Niki shook his head in disbelief, still processing the revelation. "I can't believe I only found out about this now. Sunghoon, you really kept this secret well."

Jake, unable to resist adding some mischief, chimed in with a cheeky smile. "Well, I already knew about it."

His statement caused a range of reactions among the others. Some looked at Jake with astonishment, while others couldn't help but let out a shocked gasp.

"You knew too?!" Sunoo exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.

Jake simply shrugged, enjoying the reaction he was getting. "Yeah, I've known for a while. I guess Sunghoon didn’t find out that I knew about YN until a week ago."

Jay shook his head, finding the situation amusing. "I can't believe you two managed to keep this from us. Secrets, secrets everywhere."

Sunghoon placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I couldn't have asked for a better family, and I'm grateful that you all accept YN."

As the initial shock subsided, the room filled with a mix of laughter and teasing remarks. It seemed that despite the surprise, they were all eager to accept the new dynamic and embrace you as part of their vampire family.

“Since our Sunghoon has taken an interest in you, we accept you here.” Heeseung smiled, noticing how Sunghoon would look at you with such loving eyes. It was amusing but weird to see his brother act in such a way, but it made him feel pleased.

Feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance, you realized that you had truly found a home with these vampires, a place where you wished to stay forever.

THIRTEEN — transforming

"Sunghoon, have you ever thought about turning YN into a vampire?" Heeseung's curiosity was piqued as he prepared a meal downstairs while you were sleeping. He couldn't help but wonder about the possibility of Sunghoon turning you into a vampire.

Sunghoon's response was immediate, with a hint of surprise in his voice. "No, why would I?"

Heeseung's expression turned serious as he voiced his concern. "But she's human. Are you prepared to watch someone you love age and eventually pass away?"

Sunghoon's features shifted, his realization dawning upon him. The idea that you couldn't remain with him forever settled heavily in his mind. "Oh, I hadn't truly considered that. But what are the chances of a successful transformation? And if I were to proceed, how would I even do it?"

Heeseung paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The chances of a successful transformation can vary. It depends on factors such as blood compatibility and the individual's willingness to undergo the process. Turning someone into a vampire is a complex undertaking that should be approached with great care."

Sunghoon absorbed Heeseung's words, his mind racing with possibilities. "If there's a way to turn YN into a vampire, and if it's something she genuinely desires, I would be willing to explore that option. However, it's a decision that we would need to make together, considering all the risks and consequences involved."

Heeseung offered an encouraging smile, understanding the weight of Sunghoon's contemplation. "I have faith that you'll find a way, Sunghoon. Just remember to have open and honest communication with YN and support each other in whichever path you choose."

Sunghoon nodded gratefully, appreciating his brother's guidance. He knew he could rely on his brothers for wisdom and support as he navigated the complexities of your relationship.

“I’ll talk to her about it when she wakes up,” Sunghoon says, bringing the plate of food to his room.

Gently whispering your name, Sunghoon noticed you were still peacefully asleep. A smile graced his lips as he approached the table, carefully setting the prepared food down before settling himself beside you.

As he brushed away a few strands of hair from your face, he couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty. A stirring feeling fluttered in his stomach—an undeniable effect you had on him that he couldn't ignore.

His fingers continued to play with your hair as your eyes slowly opened, revealing a pair of curious and sleepy eyes that met his. A smile formed on your face as you took in the sight of him smiling back at you.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, his gaze never leaving you. You nod, snuggling in closer to the blanket, letting a small chuckle escape from his mouth.

“I need to tell you something, but eat and freshen up first, okay?” Curiousity took over, making you nod as you got out of bed.

As you finished your meal, you couldn't help but notice Sunghoon's slightly nervous demeanor. The anticipation grew within you, and you decided to break the silence.

"What do you want to say to me?" you asked, wiping your mouth with a napkin. Your eyes were fixated on him, searching for answers in his expression.

"Have you ever wanted to turn into a vampire?" Sunghoon finally brought up the question, hoping to gauge your thoughts on the matter.

You pondered his question for a moment, reflecting on your past perceptions and current feelings. "It seemed cool and everything when I was younger, like in the movies. But now, I'm not so sure about it," you admitted, voicing your uncertainties. "Why do you ask?"

Sunghoon took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before responding. "I've been thinking about it lately—about the possibility of turning you into a vampire," he confessed, his eyes searching yours for a reaction.

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his thoughts. The idea had never crossed your mind before, and now it hung in the air between you, laden with implications and questions.

"Why would you consider that?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in your voice.

Sunghoon's gaze softened, and he reached out to gently hold your hand. "Because I can't imagine a future without you, YN. Turning you into a vampire would mean we could be together forever. I don't want to watch you grow old and leave this world while I remain the same."

A whirlwind of emotions swirled within you as you processed his words. The thought of eternal life was both alluring and daunting. You thought about the sacrifices and challenges that would come with such a transformation, but also the promise of everlasting love and companionship.

"I need time to think about this, Sunghoon," you replied honestly, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "It's a big decision, and there's so much to consider."

He nodded understandingly, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Of course, YN. Take all the time you need. I just wanted to open up this conversation and let you know what's been on my mind."

Hours turned into days and weeks. After pondering about it for a while, you decided to talk about it with Sunghoon. "Sunghoon, I've made up my mind," you said, your voice steady. "I want to be with you, and if becoming a vampire means we can be together for eternity, then I'm willing to take that step."

A mixture of relief and joy washed over Sunghoon's face as he squeezed your hand. "Thank you, Y/N. I can't express how much this means to me," he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

"Okay, I don't want to scare you, but part of the transformation process would involve you drinking my blood regularly," Sunghoon explained, gesturing towards his sharp teeth. "It's how you'll develop your own fangs and embrace your vampire nature."

You couldn't help but feel a slight shiver of unease at the thought. Drinking blood was far from your comfort zone, as your experiences with blood were limited to minor accidents and dental procedures.

"It does sound a bit intimidating," you admitted, your voice tinged with apprehension. "I've never done anything like that before."

Sunghoon nodded understandingly, realizing the unfamiliarity of the concept to you. "I completely understand your concern. It's a significant step, but I assure you, I'll be there to guide you through it every step of the way."

He gently took your hand, his touch offering a sense of reassurance. "We'll start slowly, with small amounts. I'll make sure you're comfortable and safe throughout the process. You won't be alone in this."

His words, coupled with his caring demeanor, helped alleviate some of your worries. You began to consider the possibilities that lay ahead.

"I appreciate your support, Sunghoon," you replied, mustering up courage. "If this is what it takes to be with you and embark on this journey, I'm willing to give it a try."

Sunghoon's eyes lit up with gratitude and love. "Thank you, Y/N. Your trust means the world to me," he expressed, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

"Let's start, shall we?" Sunghoon smiled, gently taking your hands in his. You nodded, watching him get up and get a cup. "You can look away if you want."

Choosing to avert your gaze, you listened intently as the sound of blood pouring into the cup filled the air. It was a strange and surreal moment, knowing that soon you would be consuming that very substance. Your heart raced, but you trusted Sunghoon's guidance and the new love that you two were creating.

The clinking sound of the cup being placed on the table made you turn your head, catching a glimpse of Sunghoon as he healed his cut with his vampire abilities. It was a fascinating display, reminding you of the extraordinary world you were about to become a part of.

Your eyes shifted back to the cup, anxiety creeping in once more. Sensing your worries, Sunghoon reached out to reassure you. "Don't worry, Y/N. Just think of it as a cup of wine," he suggested, his voice soothing and comforting. "An expensive and rare kind that you can't get anywhere else."

His words brought a hint of lightheartedness to the situation, and a small smile formed on your lips. Sunghoon's ability to find humor even in unconventional circumstances was one of the things you admire about him.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself for what lay ahead. As you lifted the cup to your lips, the scent of blood filled your senses, mixing with a hint of excitement and fear. You closed your eyes and took a small sip, feeling the warm liquid glide down your throat.

The taste was distinct and unlike anything you had experienced before. It carried a primal energy tinged with a hint of sweetness. As you swallowed, a surge of energy coursed through your body, awakening these random senses.

As you placed the cup back on the table, your eyes met Sunghoon’s. He smiled and was glad you didn’t back out. This was only the start, and Sunghoon would gladly walk that path with you.

FOURTEEN — always forever

Sunghoon's voice trembled with concern as he pleaded, "Please, Y/N, you need to drink this as well." You lay in his bed, eyes tightly shut, consumed by fear and doubt.

"I'm really scared, Sunghoon. I don’t know what’s happening to me," you confess, your voice quivering. Cold beads of sweat trickle down your forehead as the symptoms of the transformation continue to unsettle you. The thought of relying on blood for sustenance forever sends a chill down your spine. "I don't want to spend eternity feeding on blood."

"I understand your fears, Y/N," Sunghoon spoke softly, his voice filled with compassion. He grabs a cloth, wiping off the sweat on your forehead. “This feeling is only temporary. After this, you’ll be back to normal again, just with new abilities and drinking blood.”

He watches you open your eyes, looking at the cup of blood on the nightstand. The blood started to increase more and more daily, making you feel worried.

"Once the transformation is complete, you'll gain better control over your vampire instincts and abilities," he explained, his voice gentle yet reassuring. “You can’t just die on me here, just because you don’t want some blood. We made a promise.”

“I don’t know…” Fear was starting to eat you alive, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue this. You felt like dying; these new abilities were starting to take over your body. You felt your teeth shifting and your body stirring with random feelings—you had no control over your body.

It took a while for you to realize the process wasn’t pretty. The thought of relying on blood for sustenance sent shivers down your spine, and the mere idea of an eternal existence dependent on it felt overwhelming.

Sunghoon noticed you felt like giving up. He prays that you wouldn’t; he couldn’t bear seeing you leave, especially after trying out his idea. He found himself falling for you; it was impossible to get out now.

He reached for your hand, pouring out his true emotions. "But please remember that I love you. I have never felt this way before, and I can't imagine my life without you. This transformation is a means for us to be together and embrace our future. It won't define our entire existence."

His words reached the deepest corners of your soul, stirring emotions that intertwined with your fears. The intensity of his love and the profound connection you shared offered a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of uncertainty.

"But Sunghoon," you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability, "what if I can't handle it? What if I can't adapt? I don't want to lose myself or hurt anyone."

Sunghoon's hand gently cupped your face; his touch was warm and reassuring. "Y/N, I have complete faith in you," he declared, his voice filled with unwavering belief. "You're strong, and together we'll navigate this journey. I'll be by your side every step of the way, guiding and supporting you."

His eyes locked with yours, their depth revealing his sincerity. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. I’ll be yours always and forever.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you absorbed his words, feeling the weight of his love and commitment. Though your fears still lingered, his unwavering support brought you solace and reminded you of the extraordinary bond you shared.

With a trembling hand, you reached for the cup, your gaze never leaving Sunghoon's. As you took a sip, his tender smile filled you with a sense of courage. It was the strength of your love that would carry you through the uncertainties, assuring you that together you could overcome any obstacle.

In that moment, you knew that your love for each other would be the guiding light amidst the darkness. As you embarked on this transformative journey, you held onto the belief that love could conquer all and that with Sunghoon by your side, there was nothing you couldn't face.

From that point forward, you mustered the strength to confront your fear of blood. There were moments when the metallic taste in your mouth became overwhelming, and you longed for a different existence. However, with Sunghoon's unwavering support and guidance, you persevered.

As time passed, you noticed the unmistakable signs of your transformation. Your once ordinary teeth have now sharpened into the iconic fangs of a vampire, marking your departure from humanity. It was a strange and exhilarating feeling, knowing that you were no longer the same as before. Sunghoon observed your progress with pride, a smile dancing on his lips as he witnessed your remarkable adaptation.

Under Sunghoon's patient instruction, you embarked on training sessions together. He taught you how to harness your newfound invisibility and leverage your enhanced speed to capture your future prey with precision. Although you made occasional missteps and errors, Sunghoon remained a pillar of calm and support, always offering gentle guidance, unlike his interactions with his own brothers.

Together, you honed your skills, learning the delicate balance between strength and restraint. Sunghoon's understanding and empathy fostered an environment of trust and growth. With each passing day, you grew more confident in your abilities, emboldened by the unwavering belief Sunghoon had in you.

"You're doing great," Sunghoon reassured you, his words instilling a surge of confidence within you.

"You think so?" you asked, seeking affirmation.

"Yes, absolutely," Sunghoon replied with a warm smile. "You're adapting to this new life with remarkable ease. It's truly impressive, even more than I could have imagined."

His genuine praise filled you with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Hearing such words of encouragement from Sunghoon, who had experienced the vampire transformation himself, meant the world to you. It reaffirmed that you were not alone in this journey and that your progress was real and significant.

Sunghoon's unwavering support gave you the strength to push beyond your limits and embrace the challenges that came with your newfound abilities. With each step forward, you grew more confident in your capacity to navigate the vampire world alongside him.

"Thank you for being so patient with me, Sunghoon," you said, a genuine smile gracing your lips.

"Of course, YN," Sunghoon replied, his own smile mirroring yours. "I'll always be here for you, ready to offer my support and guidance whenever you need it."

His words resonate deeply within you, reaffirming the strength of your bond. Sunghoon's unwavering patience and dedication have been instrumental in your transformation journey. He had never faltered in his commitment to helping you navigate this new world and discover the extent of your potential as a vampire.

With Sunghoon by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of security and assurance. He had become more than just a mentor or guide; he was a pillar of strength, a source of comfort, and a confidant who understood you in ways no one else could.

As you gazed into his eyes, you knew that this journey was not just about becoming a vampire. It was about the profound connection and trust that had blossomed between you. And with each passing day, your gratitude for Sunghoon's unwavering presence in your life only grew stronger.

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