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© svthub — est. 09.13.2022 — updated 09.14.2025
VIRGIN NIGHT ✶ Chwe Vernon
SYNOPSIS. There’s a killer hunting virgins in the city. And when you realize you could be next, you turn to the one person you trust most to help you stay alive: your best friend, Vernon.
GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, friends to... (?), psychological horror, thriller, smut.
WC. 7.1k+
RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).
WARNINGS. Ambiguous/open ending, explicit sexual content, consensual non-consent, virginity loss, psychological distress, gore/violence mentions, murder references, manipulation, stalking, fear, dark themes, dry humping, nipple play, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, multiple orgasms, lots of teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie, aftercare.
AN. This is probably the most spontaneous writing I've had in the last few days, I literally sat down and wrote after DAYS without writing anything. But this is very different from anything I've ever posted here, so please make sure you've read all the warnings. Dividers credit.
READ ON AO3
The sirens hadn’t stopped in three days. They echoed through the streets, cutting through the air unmercifully. What was likely one of the most shocking and tragic events in the city’s history was now being called The Virgin Massacre by the news. Every victim had been found the same way, same pattern, same mark carved into their skin.
The whole city was locking doors, lighting candles, closing their curtains, praying that superstition might save their daughters. Meanwhile, you were making your way home after a 12-hour shift with the rain falling relentlessly and cold, turning the streets into a blur of reflections, red lights bleeding into puddles, the wind carrying the sound of distant sirens and the bustling city.
You put your coat tighter around you, hurrying down the block, your shoes clicking on the wet pavement. It was late — too late — and you cursed yourself for staying behind at the café. You’d promised Vernon and your mom earlier you’d head straight home after work, but the manager had begged you to help close up.
Now you were paying for it with every step echoing through the nearly empty street.
Your breath came out shallow bursts. The air smelled like rain and fear, one that had settled over the entire city since the murders began. Every news alert, every whisper online said the same thing: the victims were all virgins.
At first, you’d laughed it off, thinking it was all a rumor. But tonight, when you saw the police cars two streets away and the white sheet covering another girl’s body, virgin scrawled across the wall beside her in a deep, bleeding red, the joke stopped being funny.
You pulled your phone from your pocket and hit Hansol’s name. One ring. Two. Three.
“Pick up, pick up, come on,” you muttered under your breath, glancing over your shoulder. The street should've been empty at these hours, but there was a tall figure walking a few steps behind, the heavy rain blurring the face of whoever it was.
“Peach?” Vernon’s voice finally came through the other line, rough, sleepy, calling you by the nickname he gave you ages ago.
“Hansol,” you exhaled in relief, voice trembling, “I think someone’s following me.”
“What?”
Your pace quickened. You turned a corner, splashing through puddles as you increased the speed. “I just left work. There is a man and he’s been behind me since the main street. I looked back, and he–”
Another sound cut you off. This time, of a foot falling into a puddle. A loud gasp escaped you, but not loud enough to be a scream.
“Y/N, where are you right now?” Vernon’s tone was serious, more than you ever heard him sounding. You scanned your surroundings until your eyes landed on a street sign and you told him. “Run. Don’t look back. I’m coming. Keep me on the line.”
The phone slipped slightly in your shaking hand as you ran. Your breath tore at your lungs, the rain stinging your face. You could hear the rhythm of footsteps matching yours getting closer by the way they echoed through the street. You darted across the street, heart hammering against your ribs, keys already in your palm. You could see your building now, just a block away.
“Hansol,” you whispered into your phone, “I think he’s still there.”
“I’m almost there, peach.”
Something darted behind you, a shadow slicing across the glow of the streetlamp. You screamed and bolted, fumbling with your keys. Finally, you dashed inside the building and raced up the stairs without a glance back, footsteps chasing you, hurried and heavy. Somehow, you made it to your apartment, slamming into the door. Your hands shook too violently to fit the key.
The steps were already on your floor when you jammed the key into the lock, shoved the door open, and slammed it shut. One, two, three locks clicked into place at record speed, your chest heaving as you pressed yourself against the door, trying to get your pulse back under control.
Silence. Except for your heart roaring in your ears.
You pressed your back against the door, chest rising and falling too fast. Your hands were numb, your hair dripping down your neck, your body was shaking from head to toe. You watched through the peephole the hallway light flickered once, twice, before steadying again.
You don't know how long you’d stayed there until a knock came through. You nearly screamed when you heard his voice.
“Y/N?”
You yanked the door open to find Vernon there completely drenched, breathless, eyes wild. He must have ran straight over.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping inside before you could answer. His hands cupped your face checking you over for bruises, or any way you could be hurt.
“I don’t know,” you managed to say, voice shaking. “I think he followed me here.”
Hearing this, Vernon locked the door, double-checked the windows, the rooms and closets of your apartment, then turned back to you, who was sitting on the living room floor now, your knees pressed against your chest and your head buried in your arms, body still trembling, although you didn't know if it was from fear or cold anymore.
You couldn’t believe you’d almost been killed tonight. Killed because you were a virgin. A twenty-something virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. And now you were at risk of being killed because you'd never had sex. How ironic was life?
It’s not like you planned on being a virgin forever. It wasn’t even your desire, it just hadn’t happened before because you’d never felt that way with any guy. Well, there was one guy that you felt that way, but you didn't think he’d look at you that way.
You heard his footsteps echoing through the silent apartment until he knelt in front of you, trying to lift your head to look at him. “Hey. You’re safe now. I’m here.”
You nodded, though the words didn’t reach you. Your body was trembling so hard you could barely stand, your thoughts working a million miles an hour. Vernon guided you toward the couch, wrapping you in a blanket, crouching in front of you again.
“What exactly happened?” he asked softly.
“I saw him. Dark jacket, hood up, red mask. I thought I was being paranoid, but then he started walking faster when I did. And when I ran…” you swallowed hard, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your brain slowly processed the seriousness of the situation, “he ran too.”
Vernon’s jaw tightened. You knew that was the way he showed he was angry. “Did you see his face?”
You shook your head. “No. But…” you hesitated, lowering your voice. “The police found another victim near the coffee house. She was my age. And–”
“And she was a virgin,” he finished grimly.
Tears were now falling down your cheeks uncontrollably without you even noticing, your lower lip trembling with the same intensity. “I’m scared.”
He reached out, taking your cold hands in his. “You’re safe now. I promise.”
You closed your eyes, shaking your head and letting more tears fall down. “You can’t promise that.”
Vernon really wanted to argue, but something about the fear in your eyes stopped him. Instead, he just said, “So you’ll come stay with me at my place. We don’t know if he might still be out there.”
Outside, thunder rolled, rattling the windows so hard it made you flinch.
“Okay.”
“Another young woman has been brutally murder tonight,” the stern-faced reporter announced into a microphone. “The killer is still at large. Citizens are urged to stay indoors and lock their doors.”
You sat curled on Vernon’s couch, your knees pressed tightly to your chest. It was already the third night you’d spent at his apartment, too scared to be on your own, not that he’d let you go, anyway. He’d been the one to invite you to stay, and now you were practically quarantined together, hadn’t stepped outside in days, hadn’t even ordered food, terrified that the next delivery man could be him.
During this time, two more girls were murdered, and the pattern only grew clearer and clearer. Vernon had already begged you multiple times to stop watching the news, to stop feeding your fear, but you couldn’t help yourself. The anxiety would come either way, whether you knew what was happening or not.
You watched the news attentively and didn’t speak until the reporter’s voice faded completely.
“Hansol,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around your body, “these girls were about our age.”
He looked up from where he stood by the window, watching the rain. His jaw flexed. “I know.”
You swallowed hard, twisting the string of your sweater between your fingers. “All the victims… they were all virgins. I am too.”
The living room went quiet as you turned off the TV, leaving only the low hum of the storm outside. When he didn’t say anything, you glanced away from the dark reflection on the screen to his face. His eyes were tired, red around the edges.
Just as you, Vernon hadn’t slept either, helping you whenever you woke up in the middle of the night, shaken from another nightmare of being followed. He'd talk to you until your breathing evened out again. And knowing him the way you did, it wouldn’t surprise you to learn he stayed awake afterward, just sitting there in the dark, keeping watch until morning.
You’d been best friends since middle school, inseparable, always there for each other when things got bad. And now things were worse than they’d ever been.
“Peach–” he started, but you cut him off.
“I don’t want to die, Hansol.”
He froze at the sound of your voice. Having known you his whole life, Vernon could always tell when fear was real, and this time, it was. The tremor in your tone said more about your vulnerability than any tears ever could.
“You’re not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.” Your voice cracked. Vernon's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, unsure how to calm you when he was barely keeping it together himself. “Every single person who–who died was like me. I was almost one of them, and I don’t want to be next. I can’t just wait here for–” you stopped yourself, shaking your head like you could chase away the fear. You met his eyes again. “You’re the only one I trust.”
It was now or never. You’d been stewing over this idea for days, ever since you started staying here with him. Not that it was a new thought; if you were being honest, it had been simmering in the back of your mind for a while. But given the circumstances, this felt like the perfect moment to finally summon the courage to say what you’d been holding in for so long. At least now, you had an excuse.
You got up from the couch, moving slowly, and Vernon’s eyes stayed on you. “Peach, what are you saying?”
“There’s one way I won’t fit the pattern.”
“Okay, and how do you plan on—” He stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning as you bit your lip and got closer to him. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You can’t possibly mean that—”
You tugged nervously at the sleeve of his Star Wars shirt. “I do. You’re the only person I trust, Hansolie.”
The way you said his name — soft, pleading — made him shut his eyes tight, as if that could block out the look he knew you were giving him.
“Peach.” His laugh came out nervous and strangled. “That’s not exactly what they teach you in self-defense.”
“I’m not joking, Hansol.”
“I know you’re not, that’s the worst part.” He ran a hand down his face, trying to process it, heart suddenly going a mile per minute inside his chest, and it most definitely wasn’t because of the thought and fear that there was a killer on the loose. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
“Yes,” you said quickly. “And I’ve been thinking about it since the second murder. It’s logical.”
“Y/N, it’s insane.”
“Maybe.” You shrugged helplessly. “But it might save my life. Do you really want to be without a best friend?”
His eyes searched yours, to see if this wasn't a very nasty prank you were playing on him. “So you want me to–”
“Take my virginity, yeah,” you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve again. Your voice held a mix of courage and certainty he was sure he’d never seen before. Still, your eyes gave away the spark of nerves beneath it.
Vernon’s brain blue-screened. Like, there’s just no way this was his real real life. Either he accidentally overdosed on coffee or he’s straight-up dreaming, because the girl he’s been low-key simping for since forever – his very own best friend, the one he never had the nerve to even flirt with — could not have just proposed that to him. Maybe he was overtired. Maybe the world glitched for a second. Vernon didn’t know.
He opened his mouth to argue, but his heart was hammering so fast now it drowned out his thoughts. “Why me, peach?”
“Like I said, I trust you the most.” Your voice softened. “And because you won’t make it weird.”
“Make it?” He barked out a nervous laugh. “This is already super weird.”
You gave him a look that was somehow both terrified and amused. “Would it help if I said I actually like you?”
It was always funny to hear people say your best friend was a man of few expressions. To you, he was the most expressive person you knew, people just never paid close enough attention to him like you did. Right now was one of these examples, when Vernon’s eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets, his eyebrows threatened to touch his hairline, and his mouth hung open in shock.
“Like me? Like–like me like me?”
“Hansol, we’re not in middle school,” you said, rolling your eyes with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
“I just need to confirm which level of insanity we’ve reached tonight!”
You smiled faintly despite the situation. “You’re cute when you panic.”
He was pretty sure his soul left his body for a second. “You can’t just say stuff like that right before asking to… to...”
“To help me not get murdered?” you finished bluntly. “Not die a virgin?”
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face again and crossing the living room trying to get some space so his head could finally fully function. It was funny that for someone who was usually a thinker, he was doing it very little and with very low performance right now.
“You’re actually unbelievable.”
“Am I wrong?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “If you say no, I’ll just ask someone else."
He snapped his head up. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, if it’s about our friendship, I get it. But I don’t exactly have time to be picky right now.”
“And who else would you ask such a thing?”
“I mean, there's Chan and–”
“Don’t—don’t even joke about that,” he cut you off mid-sentence, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear there was something possessive in the way he looked at you. “You’re not asking anyone else.”
You sighed. “Then say yes.”
“Peach,” he warned, voice low, but you didn’t flinch, walking towards him again.
“Hansol, I’m scared.” Your voice broke then. “And you’ve always protected me. Every single time something bad happened, you were there.”
You sounded scared, yes. But layered beneath it were a thousand other unspoken things, suggestive things, that made his chest tighten at the possibility. It was impossible to reconcile them with the fact that you were his best friend, the one person he knew wasn’t supposed to be needy for him. Except maybe you actually were.
Vernon met your eyes, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stared at each other. The storm roared outside, but in that tiny apartment, the only sound was your uneven breathing, your chest rising and falling, his mind going around in circles.
“Tell me this isn’t just fear talking,” he said finally.
“It’s not.” You took a shaky breath. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Hansol.”
His world tilted slightly. “You pick now to tell me that?”
“Well, I didn’t think I’d have a deadline.”
He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t funny, more disbelief, panic, and affection tangled together. Vernon stepped closer, hardly believing he was really doing this, until the space between you was almost nonexistent.
You both stood there for a moment, caught in an awkward silence, hands hanging uselessly at your sides. Vernon could feel the tension buzzing in the air between you. Someone had to do something. And it had to be him. He was supposed to be the one guiding you through this, because it was your first time. If he hesitated any longer, you might rethink everything, maybe even walk over to Chan’s place instead. And that thought alone was enough to make him move.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, breathing hitting your face. “If I do this, it’s not just some survival plan. I don’t want to be something you regret.”
Your eyes softened as you shook your head. “I won’t. I could never regret you.”
Vernon exhaled shakily, unable to believe this was really happening. “You sure?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of hesitation again. There wasn’t any.
You nodded without wavering. “Im sure. I want this, and I want it with you.”
Slowly, like he was afraid you’d change your mind, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your skin was soft and warm beneath his fingertips, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter shut at the gentleness of the touch.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in closer until you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “And I don’t want you to ever forget that.”
His words made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a flush spread across your cheeks. You’d never thought you’d hear those words from him, especially not in this context. But now that you were finally giving in to what you’d both been feeling for so long, it felt right.
“Kiss me, Hansol.” Your voice came out in an almost desperate whisper.
“Now?”
You opened your eyes, finding that teasing curve already on his lips. Once a ragebaiter, always a ragebaiter. “Well, it could be tomorrow, but I kind of have a deadline here and—”
He didn’t let you finish. His hands came up, cupping your face, and then his lips were on yours.
It was slow and explorative at first, his mouth moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. You melted into him instantly, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from turning into a puddle on the floor. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss until your tongues met.
The soft sound that escaped your lips made him groan low in his throat, a sound that vibrated between you. The heat of him slipped through his clothes, too much and not enough at once, leaving you aching to close the distance that still existed between you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, to explore every inch of him the way you’d always fantasized about.
As if sensing your need, Vernon began to guide you toward the hallway that led to his room, his lips never leaving yours while his hands traveled through your body. It wasn’t hurried, but desperate in a quieter way, exactly as you’d expected kissing Vernon to be, and somehow, even better.
Halfway there, he pressed you against the wall, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. Your head fell back, giving him freer access, while your breaths came in ragged gasps and small moans slipped from your lips. Vernon’s mouth trailed lower, past the collar of your shirt, his hands gripping your waist and fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you against the wall.
You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, and it made your head spin with desire, fingers clenched to his sleeve like your life depended on it.
“Hansol,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Please.”
He looked up at you then, eyes dark with lust. “What do you need, peach?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Huh?”
“I need you,” you breathed, arching into him. “I need to feel you.”
“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”
His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his hard length pressed against your core through the thin fabric of your clothes. Another moan slipped past your lips at the sensation, your hips rolling instinctively to seek more friction.
You had made out with other guys before, sure – some good, some forgettable — but none of them had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever felt like having Vernon pressed against you, making your pulse trip over itself. Everything outside this apartment could disappear and you didn’t even care. The fear, the sirens, the headlines, it all burned into nothing.
Your mind erased the fact that there was a killer out there. That you’d almost been one of his victims just three nights ago. All you could think about was him: the warmth of him, the feeling of him, the way everything narrowed down to just him.
Vernon carried you to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before lowering you onto the bed. His body followed, fitting naturally over yours as if it had always belonged there. His lips found yours again, hungry, desperate, stealing the breath from your lungs, and your hands roamed over his back, fingers digging into the firm muscles as he rocked against you. He was rock hard and the friction was a delicious torture, bulding a pressure inside you until you actually thought you might combust just from drying humping him.
Breaking the kiss apart, Vernon sat back on his heels, reaching for the hem of your shirt at the same time as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. Slowly he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes raked over your exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like he wanted to devour every inch of you.
“God, Y/N,” he breathed, his hands skimming up your sides, over the swell of your breasts. “You’re perfect.”
His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the thin lace of your bra, making your arch into his touch. Another whimper escaped your lips, your back bowing off the bed as he continued his teasing caresses. You ached for more, for his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body traveling to where you needed him the most.
“Please, Hansol,” you begged, not even caring how desperate you sounded. “Touch me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Vernon unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, his lips immediately latching onto the hardened peak. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hand fisted in his hair, holding him in place while he lavished attention on your breasts.
Your hips rocked against his, seeking more of that delicious friction you felt before. You could feel the dampness growing between your thighs, the evidence of your desire for him, and Vernon seemed to sense it too, one hand sliding down past the waistband of your sweatpants to palm you through your panties. You immediately cried out at the contact, your hips bucking into his touch.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice showing a hint of disbelief. His thumb brushed against your clit and you squirmed. “You’re so wet for me already.”
Slowly and tortuously, Vernon started to kiss down your stomach, with you writhing in anticipation under him. Suddenly, he paused and looked up at you with a mischievous grin that you knew so well.
“Tell me peach,” he whispered against your skin, nose hovering just below your bellybutton, “have you ever touched yourself before?”
Your cheeks flushed hot at the question, and you averted your gaze shyly. “Maybe,” you admitted after a moment.
Vernon chuckled, low and sultry, the sound sending shivers down your body. “And what did you think about when you did?” he pressed, fingers tracing patterns on your hip while he slowly pulled your sweatpants down.
You bit your lip, hesitation warring with arousal. But the desire won out. “You,” you confessed. “I thought about you, Hansol.”
His gaze was locked on you, dark with an intensity that seemed to consume his entire face, like his lust and desire were swallowing the rest of him whole. “Fuck, Y/N. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
Rising from where he was, Vernon captured your lips again, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You moaned into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair again as he explored your mouth thoroughly. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting for breath. Still, he gazed down at you with a hunger that made your core clench with need.
“I’m going to make you feel so good, peach,” he promised, leaning down to trail another set of open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your breasts. “I’m going to worship every inch of you.”
“Please, Hansol.” His name came out in a moan this time, showing how desperate you were for whatever he was wheeling to give you. “I need you.”
He smiled against your skin, continuing his trail between your breasts, ignoring your pleas. You weren't surprised that Vernon was a tease; he was like that in every other aspect of his life, and now he was just making clear that he would take his sweet time with you, as if you were now his favorite pastime.
“Did you imagine my fingers doing this?” He cupped the soft mounds in his hands, squeezing gently while his thumbs massaged your nipples. “Squeezing and playing with your perfect tits?”
You gasped, arching into his touch. “Y-yes. I imagined your hands on me all the time.”
“Mmm, and what about my lips?” he continued, laving his tongue over one peaked nipple. “Did you think about my tongue circling these pretty buds?”
“Yes, yes I did.” You nodded, breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair again. “So many times.”
Vernon chuckled low at your desperation, moving down your body until he was nestled between your thighs. “And this pussy,” he growled, blowing a stream of cool air over your heated flesh. “Did you ever slide your fingers inside here, wishing it was my cock stretching you open?”
You cried out at his words, rocking your hips forward instinctively. “God yes,” you whimpered, letting him pull your panties down your legs at a torturously slow pace. “I imagined your cock splitting me open so many times, filling me up so good.”
At your words, he looked up at you grinning like a devil, before diving in and devouring your pussy like a man starved. You screamed in pleasure when Vernon’s tongue started to work magic on your clit, flicking, sucking and circling the sensitive nub until you were squirming beneath him.
“Fuck, you taste amazing. I could eat this sweet pussy for hours.”
You gasped, feeling his tongue delving deep inside you, lapping up your juices. Vernon feasted on your cunt like it was the first and last meal he’d ever have in his life, eating you out with a wild hunger you were sure you’ve never seen before. Then he slid a finger inside your dripping pussy, pumping it in and out while he sucked hard on your clit.
“Did you touch yourself like this? Finger-fucking your tight little hole until you came hard?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, rolling your hips down to meet his face, thrusting on his finger. “I came so many times thinking about you doing this to me.”
“Mhmm, need to stretch you, peach,” he groaned against your slick folds, and you swore you could cum just from the deep, rumbling sound. “Gotta loosen up this tight little cunt so it can take my cock. Think you can handle another finger, baby?”
You moaned in response, feeling him slip a second finger alongside his tongue, pumping them slowly as he kept licking and sucking at your sensitive clit to ease it in. Your hands were now gripping his hair so tightly that you thought you’d tear some strands out when you had to remove them.
“That's it, nice and easy.” He worked a third finger inside you, stretching your tight walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. “Fuck, you're so goddamn tight. Can't wait to bury my cock in this sweet cunt.”
You never would’ve imagined Vernon to be this vocal in a moment like this. But here he was, every word spilling from his lips only driving you further out of your mind. And all you could do was moan and writhe beneath him in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving to you.
“Tell me,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look up at you. “Tell me what you thought about me doing while you played with this pretty pussy.”
At this point you were too far gone to be ashamed. “I imagined your face between my thighs,” you admitted breathlessly. “Licking and sucking on my clit until I exploded.”
“And my cock? Did you imagine me fucking you hard and deep?”
His fingers pumped faster, curling to rub against that secret special spot inside you as his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard.
“God yes,” you moaned, without knowing how the words were managing to leave your lips. “I’d imagine you pounding into me, stretching me open with your cock.”
Vernon groaned loudly, doubling his efforts and fucking his fingers into you in earnest now. You hips bucked against him again and this time you didn't stop, moving uncontrollably against his face.
“I bet you thought about me painting your insides with my cum. Filling you up real nice.”
“Yes, yes!” you screamed, teetering on the edge now, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers. “I wanted it so badly! I need your cum inside me!”
“Then come for me, peach,” he ordered, pumping his fingers faster. “Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.”
“Hansol,” you cried out, your orgasms building fast and hard. “I’m gonna–”
“Let go, baby. Come for me. Go on.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your body convulsed around his fingers, your vision whiting out as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of pure bliss. Your pussy spasmed violently around his plunging digits, juices gushing out to coat his fingers and tongue. You screamed his name again and again, trembling and writhing beneath him, lost in ecstasy.
Vernon lapped at your dripping folds, determined to lick up every drop of your essence. He didn’t stop until you were completely spent and trembling beneath him, your body going limp with satisfaction. When he finally resurfaced, his chin was slick with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean while locking eyes with you. The sight made your core clench with a sense of renewed desire.
He crawled up your body, trailing up kisses, a grin on his face. “You look so fucking sexy like this. All sated and glowing from my touch.”
You blushed at the compliment, but your only response was a small whimper, still reeling from the intensity of your climax. Vernon chuckled softly, trailing his fingers up your body to cup your face and capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
His weight settled on top of you, his hardness pressing against your still sensitive center. You could feel how much Vernon wanted you too, how much he was holding back, so you bucked your hips against his for the thousandth time tonight.
“Please, Hansol,” you whispered against his lips, hands sliding down to palm him through his sweatpants. “I need you inside me.”
He groaned at your words, hips rocking into your touch. “You sure you’re ready for that?”
In response, you reached down and started pushing his pants down, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang free, long and thick and already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a slow stroke from base to tip, making Vernon close his eyes at the feeling.
“I’m sure,” you breathed, stroking him again. “I want all of you.”
Vernon reached between your bodies, his hand enveloped yours as he grabbed his throbbing cock, rubbing the head through your slick folds. You gasped at the sensation, desperate for him to fill you up.
You wrapped your legs around his hips almost instinctively, rocking your hips forward and making his cock slide easily between your slippery pussy. “Please. I need your cock inside me so bad.”
He gasped at the delicious sensation, positioning himself at your entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your hole and you could feel yourself throbbing with anticipation.
“Last chance to back out,” he said, voice strained with restraint. His eyes searched yours, filled with heat and desire, but also a hint of caution. He wanted you to be sure.
“Don’t you dare.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep him there. “I want this. I want you.”
And with that, Vernon pushed inside you with one smooth thrust, filling you slowly. You gasped and cried out at the sudden sensation of fullness, your walls stretching deliciously around his thick length. It burned slightly at first, but it quickly morphed into a deep, aching pleasure.
His head dropped to your shoulder. “Fuck yes. You feel incredible, peach. So hot and tight.”
You nodded, too overwhelmed by sensation to form words, but sharing the same feeling as him. Vernon began to move then, slowly at first letting you adjust to the intrusion. Each thrust pushed him deeper, almost hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your toes curl just minutes ago.
“You can go faster,” you practically begged, nails digging into his back. “Please.
He obliged, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, snapping his hips forward with more force and setting a steady rhythm. The new angle sent shivers shooting up your spine, your pussy clenching more and more around him.
You met each thrust with eager movements of your own hips, relishing the feeling of Vernon moving inside you. His breath came in ragged pants against your neck as he drove into you like his life depended on it, chasing not only his pleasure but yours too.
“Harder,” you panted, raking your nails down his back. “Fuck me harder, Hansol!”
Vernon complied eagerly, pounding into you with renewed vigor.
The room soon filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. Vernon’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles on the overstimulated nub. The added stimulation sent you hurtling toward another peak, your body tightening like a coiled spring.
“Come on, baby,” he encouraged, fingers working faster. “I want to feel you come around my cock now.”
He powered into you, chasing your releases with single-minded focus. Your own pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building higher and higher with each powerful stroke of his.
“Come with me, Y/N. Come on my cock, baby!”
Just like that, your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, clamping down around him like a vice, your body trembling enough to make your feet sink into his ass searching for steadiness.
“Where—where do you want me?” Vernon asked, his voice strained, and you could feel that he was almost there.
“Inside, please,” you replied breathlessly, aching to feel him fill you completely. “You can cum inside.”
He needed no further encouragement.
With a final, mighty thrust, Vernon buried himself to the hilt and came with a loud groan of completion, spilling deep inside you in long thick spurts. You continued to move beneath him, working him through his release until he collapsed on top of you in a boneless heap, careful not to crush you with his weight.
You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his sweat-dampened forehead. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other as you tried to catch your breath, Vernon still buried deep inside you. After a moment, he lifted his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes shining the same way you imagined yours did.
“Hi,” he simply said, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose.
A slow smile spread across your face, and Vernon mirrored it back at you. In that moment everything else faded away; the fear, the danger lurking outside these four walls. There was just you and him.
“Hi.”
Vernon kissed along your jaw and neck. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.”
You could only hum in agreement, still floating in the realization that the guy you’d loved for years loved you just the same. He pulled out slowly, a soft grimace crossing his face as his softening cock slipped free of your still-fluttering heat, his release spilling out of you.
“Come on,” he murmured, gathering you close and rolling to the side. “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can sleep.”
You nodded weakly, too sated to move just yet. Vernon pressed one more kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you and sliding out of bed. You watched him walk to the bathroom, admiring the sight of his bare back. He returned a moment later with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up before tossing it aside and climbing back into bed.
You got up to pee, and when you came back, Vernon pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin and wrapping his legs around yours. You nestled into his embrace, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.
He stroked your hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in return. “For what?”
“For being here. For making me feel safe.”
His arms tighten around you. “Always, peach. I’ll always keep you safe,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep now. We can talk more in the morning.”
You nodded drowsily, already slipping under the covers. As you drifted off in his embrace, you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly you fit together. Being here with him felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. And that knowledge brought a sense of profound peace and happiness to your heart.
Morning came softly, a pale, silver light slipping through the curtains of Vernon’s bedroom, like the world hadn’t almost ended in a downpour over the past three days. The storm had passed, leaving everything outside washed clean. The city felt quieter than it had in days, as if the air itself was holding its breath with fear.
You woke first. Vernon was still asleep beside you, his arm loosely around your waist, the rise and fall of his chest slow, steady, peaceful. For the first time in weeks, you felt calm. The fear that had been gnawing at you was gone. There was no other place in the world where you felt as safe as you did with him.
You lay there for a moment, watching the soft light paint across his face, and smiled. He looked different like this, softer, younger. Beautiful.
After a few minutes, you carefully slid out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. You wanted to make breakfast, something normal, something that didn’t smell like panic or sleepless nights. Maybe eggs, a french toast, maybe some orange juice.
The apartment was cold under your bare feet as you padded toward the kitchen. You hummed under your breath, something small and tuneless. You opened the living room curtains, letting the sunlight you hadn’t seen in days stream into the apartment.”
“Morning,” you whispered to yourself, watching the streets below, already filled with cars and people going about their day.
You didn’t hear the creak of the other door until you turned to walk toward the kitchen again.
Vernon’s office door, the one he always kept closed. You’d never been inside. He’d laughed once and said it was too messy, too embarrassing, and you knew that was probably true, considering he was extremely messy and was only keeping everything in place lately because you were here to organize.
But the door was open now. Halfway open, in fact.
You’d always been curious about what might be there, so instead of walking to the kitchen, you walked to the door. Maybe now you could help him organize whatever mess it was.
You didn’t know why, but suddenly and somehow the air in the hallway felt heavier with each step you took. The closer you got, the stronger the faint metallic scent became, something sharp, sour, familiar in a way you didn’t want to name.
When you pushed the door open fully, your whole world tilted.
Polaroids.
Dozens of them.
Taped to the walls, hanging in uneven lines, faces of people you’d seen on the news. The victims. Some of them smiling, some of them terrified. And at the center of it all, a table. On it, a red mask. The same one the killer wore when he followed you three nights ago.
You stumbled back, your hand flying to your mouth.
No. No, no, no.
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You turned, eyes darting to the hallway, but he was already standing there. Vernon leaned against the doorframe, barefoot, hair mussed, wearing the same shirt and boxers from last night. There was no panic on his face. No fear. Just a quiet, tired calm.
“How many times have I told you not to go into this room, peach?”
# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST
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loml || jeonghan
Pairings: Oncologist!Jeonghan x TPA!Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Jeonghan, your boyfriend of six years, cancels off the wedding when it's just a month away.
Warnings: Jeonghan is confused about his feelings which could lead to allusion of emotional infidel.
A/N: First attempt at SMAU, feedbacks are appreciated.
→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️
burning cigar (x.mh)
pairing: xu minghao x f!reader
genre: supernatural au, angst
description: minghao visits you when you need it the most. when it's time for the choice.
warnings: death, smoking, drinking, body horror (gradual decay + skeletal imagery)
w/c: 2k
a/n: heavily inspired by cigar by tamino and van gogh's skull of a skeleton with burning cigarette. happy late halloween (???) the inspiration hit very late in my defence. i have been in love with tamino's discography lately. comments/asks/rbs are always appreciated! unedited :)
THE HOUSE WAITS IN ITS OWN SILENCE.
You move through the corridor—slow, barefoot, the floor cold beneath you—and the hallway stretches longer than it should. Every door looks slightly ajar, every light dimmed to a dull orange hum.
He’s at the sink when you reach the kitchen. His hair falls forward as he tilts his head, damp at the ends, glinting like spilled ink in the light. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, the collar open, and when he turns to look at you, for a moment—just a moment—he looks like he always did.
Alive, beautiful, bored.
The tap drips once, twice, then stops, as if even the house is holding its breath.
“Minghao,” you breathe out, and your voice sounds wrong even to your ears—thin and frail.
His eyes catch the faint shimmer of the bulb above, and you almost forget what’s missing in them until he smiles.
“You’re awake,” he says, though you aren’t sure that’s true. His voice is soft, calm, like the hush that comes before a storm. He doesn’t sound much like he did the last time you saw him.
You take another step closer. “You’re here.”
He nods once, holding up the wine glasses he was washing. His fingers look thinner than you remember, but their careful movements haven’t changed. “You called.”
You shake your head instinctively. “I didn’t.”
He hums, a sound so low it runs up and into your breastbone. “Not with words.”
He dries his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. You notice the faint tremor in them, or maybe you imagine it. The kitchen light flickers once, and the shadow of him stretches long across the tiled floor, longer than it should be.
“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the table. His tone carries the same easy authority it always had, the kind that made you obey before you could think.
Minghao pours the wine. The sound of it is low and steady, a dark stream filling the glass until the surface trembles. You think of your blood—how it used to rush in your ears, how it’s been so faint lately you sometimes press a hand to your own wrist just to find proof.
He sets your glass down and sits across from you. The chair doesn’t make a sound.
“You always liked red,” he says. “Said it looked like blood.”
You glance at the glass. The shadows make it look much darker, more black than fresh blood.
For a while neither of you speak. The clock in the corner ticks without rhythm, the faintest scraping sound behind its ticks, like something small trying to get out. His hand rests near the bottle. You notice how still he is, how his chest doesn’t rise when he breathes.
“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Neither should you,” he points out, sipping from his glass. “You don’t look well.”
You want to argue but your throat closes. There’s truth in what he says. Something inside you must have wanted this, must have opened the door, must have whispered into the dark.
He leans forward, and that’s when you see it—the skin along his wrist, thin and gray where the light hits it, like paper soaked through. A crack runs up the bone beneath, like dry bark struck by lightning. You blink, and it’s gone.
“Death suits you,” you murmur, because it does. The dim light gathers around his face like it’s been waiting there, tracing the hollow under his cheekbone, the cut of his jaw, the faint bruised tint beneath his eyes. His mouth, once flushed and warm, now looks cold, the color of dried petals. Even the small crease that used to form between his brows when he thought too hard is softened now, almost peaceful.
He looks like someone carved from the memory of a face, not the face itself—familiar, but a step removed from life. And still, somehow, unbearably beautiful.
Minghao smiles again, slow and amused, as if you’ve said something flattering. “I wear it like a coat, huh?”
You nod, swallowing another gulp of wine. “But without the fur.”
You can’t tell if you’re shivering because of the wing or the man next to you. Minghao reaches out to clasp your palm, and it takes everything in you to not flinch away from his ice cold hands. They’re still. So still, without anything beating inside them. The smell of damp earth clings faintly to his skin.
You don’t pull away. “Do you think it would suit me?”
He tilts his head, considering, and for a moment his neck seems too long, tendons standing out in thin, pale cords beneath skin that doesn’t quite hold together. His thumb moves absently over the back of your hand and you watch as a flake of ash loosens from his nail and drifts down onto the tablecloth.
“If you wanted it to,” he admits finally.
The light above you flickers again. When it steadies, you see the bruise on his throat has spread—an ink stain blooming downward across his chest. His shirt sticks to it like damp gauze.
You stare, unable to help yourself. “You’re falling apart,” you whisper.
He hums, unbothered. “Everyone is. Do you still have those cigarettes lying around?”
You can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s speaking a truth you’ve been too afraid to name. He asks with something that sounds more like hunger than habit, and you don’t have it in you to deny him that. So you nod wordlessly, and gesture toward the counter.
He moves slowly when he rises, the smell of dirt rising with every step.
He finds the pack where you left it months ago, by the window. His fingers shake faintly as he draws one out, and when he reaches for the lighter, you see it clearly—the skin at his abdomen has caved in, deep enough that something dark has begun to seep through. Not blood—something thicker, slower, as though the color itself were draining from him.
You don’t say anything. He lights the cigarette, the flame trembling between his hands. The first inhale is long and deep. When he exhales, smoke leaks out from more than just his lips—it curls faintly through the seams of him, from the corner of his eye, from the hollow of his throat.
He looks out the window. “I used to stand here,” he murmurs, “every night you fell asleep before me.” His reflection catches in the glass—blurred, flickering, one eye too dark, the other socket empty. “You never liked me smoking inside.”
The glass trembles in your hand again. You look down and realize your knuckles have gone pale, the skin tight over bone. “I don’t mind now.”
He turns, smiling around the cigarette, and the ember paints his face in brief, living color. For a moment, he almost looks whole again—until the smoke parts and the illusion breaks. The side of his jaw is wrong now, slack where flesh has begun to give way, shadow sinking into the curve of his cheek. The skin there glistens faintly, like wet clay left to dry.
“I didn’t like how you disappeared,” you admit.
He looks down at his cigarette, exhales again. The smoke pours out from him like uncontrolled breaths. “Maybe I was only practicing.”
He crosses back to the table. The smell follows him—sharp and chemical, seeping into the air until it catches in your throat. It’s acrid, almost rotten, the kind of smoke that clings to fabric and memory alike. You want to open a window, but you don’t move. You can’t.
He leans down, resting his elbows on the table’s edge. The ash at the tip trembles, then drops, scattering across the wood like gray snow.
“Minghao,” you plead, “you really shouldn’t be here. You should’ve gone.”
“I did,” he answers simply, as if explaining to a child. “But you called. And you keep calling.”
You think you see the faint shimmer of bone at his collar, where his shirt has slipped open—a quiet gleam that should frighten you, but doesn’t.
Minghao studies you for a long moment. His left eye flickers in his pocket, opaque, but so close to disappearing. “You’re fading,” he says finally. “You know that.”
“I’m fine,” you manage.
He tilts his head, and you can hear something creak faintly inside him, like a hinge giving way. “No,” he says, affectionately. “You’re not.”
He reaches out again, brushing his fingers just below your jaw. The touch is featherlight, but when he draws his hand back, his arms have become more bone than flesh.
Your vision wavers. All you can see is the pale arc of his face across from you, its shape still beautiful, still terrible in its ruin. The skin near his temple has thinned completely now, and beneath it the skull gleams faintly, yellowed like old ivory.
He doesn’t try to hide it anymore.
“Does it frighten you?” he asks.
You shake your head, though your hands are trembling. “No,” you whisper. “It’s—” You search for the word. Sacred. Final. Real.
“You aren’t dreaming.” Minghao reminds you, but his voice is coming back to the one you knew—gravelly, like a cough resting at the base of his throat all the time.
He lifts the cigarette again, the smoke curling around his jaw in slow, silvery threads.
Your stomach twists. “You shouldn’t—” you start, the words stumbling over themselves. “You shouldn’t smoke. Stop it.”
He laughs, a sound that seems to echo from deeper inside him than before. “Darling, I can’t anymore. Not unless I visit you. Let me feel alive for a while.”
“Still—”
“I can’t die twice, can I?”
The ember flares when he smiles, catching on what’s left of his cheek. You watch as the light slips into the hollows, into the fine fractures near his temple. His skin gives way quietly, peeling back like wet paper.
You want to look away, but you don’t. You can’t. The ruin is mesmerizing—its own kind of grace. The cigarette burns down between his fingers, the ash trembling, until it meets the bone.
Minghao watches you through the veil of smoke. “You don’t have to stay,” he says finally. “You don’t have to go, either.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s no right side.”
He leans forward. The sockets of his eyes seem deeper and empty now. “You can join me,” he says quietly. “Or you can wake up from me. You’ve been standing in the doorway too long.”
You stare at him, at the ghost of his mouth still trying to smile even as it falls apart. You look down at your own hands. The wine glass trembles, the reflection of the room warped against its surface. For a moment, you think you can see through your own skin—the faint shimmer of something beneath it, the pale blur of a vein that doesn’t pulse anymore.
“I don’t want to wake up,” you say, barely moving your lips.
Minghao’s face tilts toward you, and the light catches on the ridge of his skull, the hollow where his cheek used to be. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
The silence stretches thin between you. The house groans softly, as if shifting under its own weight. Somewhere deep in the walls, a clock ticks once, then stops entirely.
The smoke has filled everything now. It hangs low over the table, gliding through the air like water, blurring the edges of him, the edges of you. It stings your throat, but you breathe it in anyway, like it’s the only thing left to keep you tethered.
Minghao’s hand rests on the table. Bone, tendon, the faintest shadow of what used to be flesh. You reach for it, and the thought forms in your chest like prayer. If death wears a face, let it be his.
Revenge II: Ascension
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You swore you would never return to your hometown. But now you must get some answers—be damned if anyone who gets in your way.
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: witch!reader x Jeonghan, mentions of Chan
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, supernatural au, witch au
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS—cursing, mentions of fire and the effects to the body, death of a family member, family trauma, heavy grief, religion/occult themes, violence (reader is a tough one), mention of knives and stabbing (not graphic), torture/interrogation (nothing super graphic), mentions/talks of murder (nothing super graphic but reader is a witch so), strong sexual content including kissing, breast play, (fingering if you squint), clit stimulation, throat grabbing, unprotected sex (good ole rough missionary), creampie (let me know if I miss anything), pet names and all that jazz. If I miss anything please let me know.
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 12.5k
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐀𝐍: This one was long time coming and I cannot thank @hannieoftheyear and @yoongihan enough for looking at this for me and giving some well needed feedback. I took a break from this admittedly because the subject matter was heavy to write but I pushed through. Also thank you to @gyuswhore and @sailorsoons for letting me run things by them and yap unexpectedly (oui oui)! 🤭
divider credit: @strangergraphics
𓆩☾𓆪 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: Burn Your Village x Kiki Rockwell, The Tradition x Halsey, Hush x The Marias, Violet x Hole!, Everybody Supports Women x Sofia Isella
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
There is a chill in the air you don’t welcome. It’s eerie; it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and brings a sinister shiver through your body that makes you want to jump out of your skin.
Returning to your hometown after years of being away feels like stepping back in time. The buildings and roads look mostly the same, with only a few new shops and budding stonecrop flowers blooming in the flower beds. As the sun dips below the horizon, it casts a soft glow of deep blues and purples across the sky, a sight that usually brings you ease and comfort.
Instead, you feel pain, a grief that gnaws at you deeply, threatening to turn you inside out.
You come here with your aunt and cousin, who were also excommunicated, not because you want them to, but because they do not want to leave you alone. Jeonghan also wanted to come, but you told him to stay behind. The last thing you want is for him to see you like this— broken, drowning in your own despair. You feel empty inside, like you can never experience joy again. Rain was the purest form of good you had in your life, and she was taken away from you, violently and cruelly. You will never be able to get her screams in the dream out of your head; it will haunt you for the rest of your days. You can’t escape the darkness you feel— it’s embedded in your heart.
“Are you going to be able to get through this?” Your cousin, Geneva, nudges your shoulder with hers, taking you out of your thoughts.
You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult for you to speak. “I have to,” you say, trying to hold back tears. “She would want me to do this.”
She places a supportive arm around you, allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder. “I know you wanted to do this alone, but you are stuck with us. We’re family.”
Family. That word feels like a twisting knife in your gut. You know she means well, and you love Geneva and your aunt, Lena, but the notion of family is so tainted in your mind. The family you had with your mother and father was shattered when they threw you out in the streets for righting a wrong, and Rain… that is a wound that will never heal.
You walk down the narrow road until the ruins of the community center come into focus, the strong, suffocating smell of charred wood and burned plastic following shortly after. It was exactly how you imagined it in your dream, down to the broken stone that surrounded the site. You didn’t inform anyone that you are coming to her funeral, as you have a strong feeling they would be on the lookout and bar you from entering. You find your former coven gathered together by the beach behind the building, your parents standing next to the High Priestess and other grieving people, their heads bowed in sorrow.
Your mother clings to your father, weeping with a cry that comes from the pit of her stomach, the heavy weight of loss killing her softly. Your father tries to remain strong, shaking everyone’s hand with trembling hands who offer their condolences, holding back tears. Shocked and worried expressions appear on the members' faces when you approach the beach, your heart beating violently as you are face-to-face with your parents, a mix of grief and anger igniting in your veins.
“What are you doing here?” Your father’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and laced with bitterness, stepping protectively in front of your mother as if warding you off. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“No, I shouldn’t be,” you retort, each word dripping with venom, the raw anger seeping from your very core. “My sister should still be alive.”
You stand your ground, your eyes piercing his soul until he sighs heavily, stepping back as the High Priestess moves forward. No one knows her real name, an enigma that once plagued you during your time here. She is a beautiful older woman with silver hair who moves gracefully and has an air about her that seems sweet, like a grandmother who bakes apple pies.
But you aren’t a fool. You know exactly who she is.
“You are more than welcome to stay,” she says with an authority that irritates you to your core. “Rain was loved by everyone and should be celebrated before her ascension into the afterlife.”
She motions for you to sit front and center, directly in front of the wooden boat that cradles the lifeless form of your sister. You give a nod to Aunt Lena and Geneva before walking over to the boat slowly, your heels crunching on the small rocks and pebbles in your way. Your heart tightens as she comes into view, her lifeless, burned body surrounded by sea lavender, her favorite flowers. The Rain that you knew, the sweet girl who loved her flowers, her family, her community and especially you—is gone.
A fresh wave of devastation washes over you as your knees shake, and you force yourself to step away before you break down in tears. You make eye contact with your mother, who, for a second, you think might give you a shred of comfort, but then your father pulls her way, ending that fantasy. Even in mourning, the man never fails to be cruel.
You take a seat next to Lena, who holds your hand warmly as you take deep breaths.
“Before we began,” the High Priestess speaks, silencing everyone in an instant. “Is there anyone who would like to say a few words about our departed, Rain?”
There is shuffling behind you, and you turn around, watching a young boy no more than eighteen or nineteen walk to the front. His hair touches his shoulders, wavy and black and shiny, in all its glory. He is lean and athletic with a striking look that should be on runways and magazines, not in this forsaken town. But his eyes tell a different story; they are bloodshot red, swollen, and full of sadness, like he hasn’t stopped crying since she’s left this world— just like you.
You recognize him as Chan, Rain’s boyfriend that she emailed you about. She sent pictures of them together, and the way he looked at her, like she was his sun, made you feel good about him. But you catch him staring at her in the boat, and he has a look of despair that breaks your heart. The weight of his grief feels like a storm cloud, and you feel those same swirling emotions in your chest. Feeling devastated is an understatement.
“Rain was everything to me,” his mouth quivers as he tries to hold back his emotions. “I loved her. Still love her.” He looks up at the sky, his eyes blinking furiously as he tries to hold back tears. “Why did it have to be her?”
It’s like a levee broke— everything that he was oppressing and holding back until this very moment surges through him like an unforgiving flood. He lets out a wail that penetrates your heart and seeps into your bones. There wasn’t anyone within a 50-mile radius who didn’t feel what he put out.
Chan calms himself, turns around, and looks at her one last time, blowing her a kiss and muttering an affirmation that you couldn't barely hear: "I love you."
Before anyone can approach him, he storms off, leaving a sand trail in his wake that carries in the air. You understand exactly how he feels, having someone you love ripped away in one of the worst ways imaginable.
Other people stand and say nice things about her, but it didn’t lessen any of the pain that you feel. All it told you was that Rain’s presence was a positive force in everyone’s life, and she deserved better. You contemplate getting up and saying a few words, but at the last minute, you hold yourself back. These people are the same people who cast you out and pretend you don’t exist. Your father regards you with disgust, and your mother can barely look you in the eye. The High Priestess walks around like she is Jesus Christ personified; her self-righteousness makes you want to claw her eyes out.
They don’t deserve to see your tears.
You remain silent, your rage boiling under the surface as everyone walks up to the boat, saying their final goodbyes. You purposely stay behind, wanting to have your final moments with her alone and uninterrupted. The sun has officially disappeared, replaced by the waning crescent moon that illuminates the darkness. You can’t help but chuckle at the irony— Rain was born on the same type of moon. The wind picks up as you draw closer, and it suddenly smells like mandarins and honey. It’s like she is here with you.
“Rain, Rain, Rain,” you chuckle lightly, but the sound feels hollow in your chest. “I said I would never come back here. You’ve made a liar out of me.” You gently grasp her hand, fresh tears forming in your eyes as you touch her cold and distant hand. “It should have been me. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
You hear footsteps approaching, and you quickly wipe away your tears, leaving a gentle kiss on her forehead before walking away. You stand between Aunt Lena and Geneva while the other members of the coven form a circle and join hands.
“It is now time for Rain to ascend into the afterlife,” the High Priestess announces, closing her eyes as she begins to recite the spell.
Ashes of our ashes
Blood of our blood
Circe, watch over Rain’s soul
May she be with you in peace
She offers a basket of cheeses and various herbs into the air, the wind picking up more than it did earlier. Everyone else joins in and recites the spell, with you reciting it louder than others, eager for Circe to hear you loud and clear. You say every word with conviction, determined to get Rain to ascend in peace by any means. The flames on the torch burn more brightly, a sign that you and the coven have been heard, and a loud whistle is heard in the wind, followed by quiet. Your heart feels the lightest it has in days, with a sure feeling that Rain has officially ascended. Your little sister is gone.
Your mother wails in your father’s arms, letting out a scream that feels like a Banshee. You can’t stand it anymore.
“I’ll be back,” you say to Lena and Geneva. “This is just.. too much.”
You walk away as fast as you can, the voices of conversation fading behind you as the sight of the burned building comes into view. You stare at it in incredulity, almost in disbelief that you dreamt this. You’ve never had premonitions before. The acrid scent of smoke infiltrates your nose, mixing with a deep sense of dread. This feels like a walking nightmare.
Stepping closer to the building, you inspect the burnt wood, desks, dressers, and anything that was within your view. You notice the dismantled baskets and remaining wrappers of food and debris that surround you. What was Rain doing?
“She was making baskets of free food and clothes to pass out at the shelter in the city.”
Your head snaps to your left, finding yourself staring at Chan. You hear the sadness in his voice, the pain in his chest that is akin to what you felt. He bends down slowly, picking up a burnt piece of cloth, clutching it in his fists.
“Rain came to the community center often to practice her magic,” Chan discloses, walking around the debris. “She used to tell me that sometimes she would have premonitions and see things before they started to happen. Kind of like a deja vu.”
You nod silently, the wheels in your head turning as you notice the irony in all of this. “She never told me that.”
“I know,” he sighs heavily. “She was still trying to understand it herself. She tried to talk to your parents about it, but they never took her seriously. A witch, imagining things. You see how crazy that sounds?”
You let out a short snort of disbelief, shaking your head. “Yeah, it sounds like nothing has changed around here.”
He nods in agreement, a deafening silence falling between you two. The moon rises through the trees, followed by another chilling wind. You shuffle around the debris, looking for more clues that could tell you what happened. To make sense of what you saw. You scan the lock that is still attached to what remains of the door, still locked in place.
“How did they say the fire happened?” You turn to Chan, holding up the lock.
“The police are saying there was a gas leak and it caused the blowup,” Chan discloses, his voice trembling slightly as he steps closer. “But I don’t think it was that simple.”
“What do you mean?” you probe, folding your arms tightly across your chest.
“Rain and the others couldn’t leave the center as hard as they tried,” Chan clarifies, pointing at the lock. “Both doors were bolted shut, and the knobs wouldn’t budge. Magic in all. I tried the doors myself because I heard her scream. I ran for help and was on my way back before it happened.”
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you meet his haunted gaze, and an icy dread settles in your bones. “What are you saying, Chan?”
He takes a deep breath, fighting back tears as he reveals the truth. “This was intentional. The fire was started from inside.” His voice quivers, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “I thought I could save her. I failed her.”
You swallow hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper, the implications of his words hitting you like a vicious punch in the gut.
“Do they know?” you murmur, trying to stay calm and keep your emotions in check. “Do my parents and the High Priestess know this, Chan?”
Chan looks away in shame, hesitating before he finally answers. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” You purse your lips, trying to keep calm. “And let me guess, they said to let the police and nature handle it right?”
“…Yeah.”
The anger you have been desperately trying to hold back, the years of being excommunicated and not being able to see your family or sister, and the victim-blaming— you’ve had enough.
“Fuck that.”
You walk furiously back toward the rest of the congregation, your rage compounds with every step. Faces turn as you walk by, whispers surrounding you as you press on, determination set in your jaw as you set your sights on your parents. Why they choose not to take action now really blows your mind. A member of the community, your sister, is dead, possibly murdered, and they don’t want to do anything? They want to let “nature” take its course? Absolutely not.
“How long have you known?” you demand, raising your voice. “How long have you fucking known she might have been murdered?”
A hush fell over the group as your words hung heavy in the air. The High Priestess, standing in front, shifts uncomfortably. “Let’s talk about this privately—”
“NO!” you roar, taking a few steps back. “You knew this whole time that this might have been an attack on the coven, my sister by extension, and you are going to do NOTHING?”
“The Coven is NONE of your concern,” she spits out, the nice facade gone. “You are only here because I allowed you to be here. You have no right to question what goes on here anymore—”
“Oh shut up!” you retort, fire running in your veins. “Fuck you and the coven. All of you are cowards, and I would burn all of you at the stake if it meant Rain could still be here.”
Before you even register it, dark clouds swarm over the town, the wind picking up violently, a perfect, chaotic mirror to the storm raging inside you. The thunder roars and cackles, and a single stroke of lightning strikes the nearest tree, causing a large branch to fall at the feet of your parents. You turn to face them, fear-stricken in their faces, and all you can do is shake your head.
“I don’t know if this is your doing,” your Aunt Lena’s calm voice cut through the chaos as she appeared, seemingly from nowhere, beside you. Her hand, calm and steady, rested on your arm. “But it’ll be best to table your emotions before anyone else gets hurt.”
You know she is right, and as much as it pisses you off, you must conserve your energy to find out who is responsible for the travesty. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and counting until you shove your rage back in its cage. You don’t truly know if this is your doing or if it’s the gathering of spirits telling you to pull back, but the wind dies completely, and the clouds disperse. Maybe there is more to your magic than you are aware of.
“You’re all pathetic,” you say, each word hitting like a dagger as you point at everyone. “You preach about community and working together, but when a member of the coven is dead, you don’t do shit. You failed me first, and now you failed Rain. This coven is a disgrace.”
Taking one last contemptuous look, you turn on your heel and walk away from the coven, determined to make this the very last time you come to this town. If they don’t want to do anything and hide behind their cowardice, that’s fine. But by the powers that are invested in you by your ancestors, by the very blood that runs through your veins, you will avenge Rain.
And it will be glorious.
It’s been a couple of months since the funeral, but everything still hurts the same.
You move on autopilot most days, doing your day-to-day things and trying to be present for the world, as you know Rain would want that. Jeonghan has been there for you every step of the way, taking off work and doting on you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Aunt Lena and Geneva have stopped by, cooked for you, and helped you with some things at the lounges while you try to heal.
It’s extremely hard to be happy and move on, as if everything is fine. Your grief is tumultuous like the sea; sometimes it's calm, and you can breathe, and other days your emotions are crashing over you all at once, threatening to wash away the remaining sanity you have left. You hear her screams, and they keep you up at night. Your heart has been torn to shreds, and you don’t know how you will be able to recover.
The only thing that keeps you going is doing your own investigation of the fire. Police have been no help, and your parents are not going to do more than the bare minimum. How did it happen? Who would want to attack the coven? What was the purpose? All these thoughts plague your mind as your resources are limited. The town’s security cameras were conveniently out at the time of the attack, and there is still the question of why no one was able to use their powers to free everyone in the community center. The coven is one of the best-kept secrets in the nation. Who found out who they really were?
You’ve heard of religious organizations that are aware of the presence of witches who think they shouldn’t exist, but no one has dared attack a coven in half a century. The most you have seen are protests and Bible scriptures from the book of Revelation thrown around, but not at your former coven specifically. The salvage you saw was a declaration of war, and unfortunately for the perpetrator, you are not afraid to fight back—anything for Rain.
You sit on your couch, rummaging through any and all new sources about that night on your laptop, for any clues, a sign that would point you in the right direction. All of the articles reveal the same recycled words:” gas leak”, “accident”, and “unexplained.” Shutting your laptop in frustration, you let out an exasperated sigh, laying your head on the armrest.
“Are you alright?”
You lift your head slightly, gazing at Jeonghan as he leaves the bedroom. He is dressed in a dark suit, accompanied by a dark grey suitcase and other travel gear. He looks at you tenderly, but there is a sadness in his eyes that you can’t bear to acknowledge. You know it’s because of you, and you wish you could fix it and be the partner you want to be, the partner he deserves. But you can’t help it, you feel dead inside.
“Yeah, I was just looking into some things about the lounge,” you fib, scratching the palm of your hand. “I thought I noticed something that was off.”
He studies you, his expression shifting from concern to mild surprise. “Oh. Is everything okay?”
“Mmhmm.” You nod, sitting up fully to face him. “I just have a lot of things swirling in my head, I guess.”
Jeonghan pauses a moment longer, letting out a quiet sigh. “I have to go on another business trip. I’ll be gone for a week at the most.”
“Hey, it’s fine,” you assure him, slowly standing up. “You’ve been here as much as you can, I appreciate it. I will not break while you’re gone, okay?”
You give him a small smile, the best that you can muster up while you feel like crap. You know you lied to him about what you were really looking at on your computer, but you know he will disapprove. The last thing you need is him telling you to “relax” or to “let things be what it is”. This is the only thing keeping you going, and you have to see this through.
Jeonghan steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “I love you, you know that, right?”
You throw him a concerned look, sauntering to him and grabbing his hand. “I know. I would never question that.”
He leans in and kisses you, with purpose and the intent to make you feel better. To make you feel something. Any other time, this would have worked. His touch, his love, would have made everything okay and put you at ease. But you feel numb inside— an empty shell of who you used to be.
“I want you to focus on work and have a safe trip, okay?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I do love you, Yoon Jeonghan. I just need some time.”
Understanding sets into his beautiful brown eyes as he leaves a lasting kiss on your lips before grabbing his suitcase and checking his watch. “I have to go, but I’ll call you when I land, okay?”
You nod silently as he walks out the door, waiting for the lock to click before you exhale the breath you had been holding in. You want to be the person you used to be, the lover he needs. He’s been so understanding, and you couldn’t love him more than you do now. But you have to uncover the truth about Rain, and nothing else can supersede that.
You close the curtains in your living room, moving the coffee table to clear space for what you need to do. It’s been a while since you have cast any spells, but you are tired of searching for answers, and nothing is coming to fruition. When all else fails, magic will lead the way.
Grabbing a white candle, a lapis lazuli stone, and frankincense incense, you set them quietly on your living room floor. You hear the wind chimes outside on your balcony, the melancholic melody settling the unrest you have been feeling inside. You set your intentions, the image of your sister in the forefront of your mind, happily sprinting in the sunflower fields that she wrote to you about and sent pictures of. She should still be able to do that— this isn’t fair. You need to reveal the truth.
You light your white candle and burn the incense, allowing the aroma to fill the air and bring clarity to the moment. Clearing your throat, you chant the spell with a focused mind:
By the flame’s glow, let truth be known, reveal what’s hidden, let deceit be shown.
You repeated it until your throat was dry, allowing the energy to flow through you until you felt content. You know this spell will not reveal the truth instantly, and you have to be patient, but you have all the time in the world. Extinguishing the candle, you hold the stone close to your heart as the incense burns until it runs out. For the first time in months, your brain isn’t in a fog, and you feel relieved.
Thank you, ancestors.
As the days pass, your resolve only strengthens. Jeonghan’s work trip has been extended by another week, and secretly, you are relieved. He’d been dotting over you, calling and texting you almost every hour, and it’s making you crawl out of your skin. You love him with every fiber of your being, and you appreciate him more than he knows, but you welcome the reprieve. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to lose someone like this, and you don’t have the strength to help him try.
You’ve been spending more time with your Aunt Lena and Geneva, secretly corresponding with Chan to see if there was any new information about the attack that would give you a lead. So far, everything remains the same, and it makes you frustrated. It seems like everyone in the coven is moving on from this tragedy, but you are still there, reliving it every day for the first time.
You are most disappointed in your parents. This was their daughter, your sister, a person— and they are just standing by and doing nothing. You want to give them the benefit of the doubt and blame this on the High Priestess, as she is more concerned with maintaining her control over the coven and keeping outsiders out of their business. But you know your parents, they aren’t mindless sheep. They chose this.
“Don’t worry,” Geneva rubs your shoulder softly. “Something will come up, okay? What’s done in the dark is always brought to light.”
You sit with her and Aunt Lena in your kitchen, sitting at your island bar as she finishes making a pot of gumbo that you have been craving for a long time. Aunt Lena makes the best gumbo you have ever had, and though you have tried to replicate it so many times, it just doesn’t come close. She hands you a bowl filled to the brim with mixed rice to your liking.
“Eat up,” she says, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been eating much the past couple of days.”
“Aunt Lena, I am fine,” you say, spooning a mouthful of gumbo and rice in your mouth. “I’m even better now that I have this.”
“Mmhmm,” she purses her lips. “Eat.”
You do as you’re told as she puts the remainder in containers for you to have for the next couple of days, though it won't last long. If there is one thing you do miss about the coven, it’s the home-cooked meals and the bakery. You are a good cook and can navigate your way around the kitchen, but you have never been particularly skilled at mastering the art of baking. Your mother was always by your side when you made desserts, whether it was cherry scones, banana bread, or anything sweet that needed to be made. It was one of the ways that you bonded, and she would tell you stories about the coven or other witches and how things came to be. Maybe if you had more time, you could have been a better baker, your magic would have been more potent, and you would still have a family.
You still don’t know if you were responsible for the sudden weather change that night of the funeral. It’s commonly known that when witches are in the presence of other witches, their magic intensifies due to the different energies, and if not controlled, it can be catastrophic. But the way the lightning struck the tree and the branch landing in front of your parents, it felt personal, and it hasn’t happened since. The only witches that have been able to do that were deemed too powerful for this world and were burned for it by religious psychocants. You don’t want that to be you, but eventually you have to know.
You finish your food, your stomach full with richness and a warmth that spreads throughout your body. You watch as they clean up the dishes, your muscles slowly relaxing, with an incessant need to lie down. Your relentless investigation has been wearing you thin with little to eat or drink, and you feel it catching up to you now. With a final glance at the kitchen, you get up slowly, sauntering to your couch and collapsing onto it heavily.
“Looks like you need a nap,” Geneva comments as she wipes her hands on a hand towel. “Do you want a blanket?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. “You can grab the blue one from the closet.”
Geneva retrieves a plush blanket that’s as soft as clouds, gently pulling it over you as you lie your head on a couch pillow, fighting to keep your eyes open. The blanket carries the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile, further putting you at ease as you finally manage to close your eyes.
“We’ll let ourselves out when we’re done, so don’t worry about a thing,” Aunt Lena calls from across the room.
“Sure,” you murmur, nodding slightly before you fall into the deepest of sleeps.
You don’t dream at all. You have a deep, dark sleep that pulls you into the deepest part of your subconscious, holding you close like a warm hug—similar to Jeonghan’s. You even felt light snores vibrating against your back. You wake up slowly, the sun long gone and replaced by the glowing super moon shining softly in the night sky. Your living room resembles your bedroom, and your usual smooth, plush blanket has been replaced with a thick, white one filled with goose feathers. As you look around carefully, you notice an arm around you that holds you tight when you move, and everything begins to make sense. Jeonghan must have come home early and moved you to bed.
Your heart softens, appreciating his effort to carry you into bed and to lie next to you. You know you haven’t been fair to him, rejecting his advances of affection and keeping your distance. Despite this, he never wavered; he understood you were grieving, and still stayed. You feel terrible for being relieved he was gone and enjoying the peace from not having him shower you with affection every moment of the day. Maybe what you needed was space to miss him, and you should have communicated that somehow. But at times, you don’t want to talk, or think, or sometimes breathe. You just want to exist and that be enough.
“Hey.”
Jeonghan’s sleepy voice startles you as it breaks through your thoughts, his thumb caressing your stomach.
“Hey, yourself,” you reply softly, shifting to touch his hand. “How did you know I was awake?”
“You didn’t move the whole time I put you in bed. It was like you were comatose,” Jeonghan explains. “But you do this thing where you wiggle your toe before you fully wake up, and I felt it.”
“Ah,” you nod, looking away bashfully. As long as you have been together, you always feel shy when he points out your little quirks. “I forget how observant you are.”
“Well, I think everyone should know the person they love,” he stifles a yawn, stretching his leg to cover yours. “How are you feeling, baby?”
You hesitate before responding, collecting your thoughts and thinking of your answer carefully. “I guess I’m okay?”
You sit up slowly, the straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulder. You move to adjust it, but Jeonghan beats you to it, his soft fingers gracing your skin like velvet as he slips it back up. “I got you, princess.”
You smile softly, stepping out of bed and stretching in the direction of the open window. You glance at the time display on your clock, making you jump at the amount of time you've been sleeping. A sharp cramp grips your bladder, urgency propelling you forward. You dash to the bathroom, barely managing to slam the door behind you. With a sigh of relief, you settle onto the toilet seat just in time. Your body relaxes as you lean back on the toilet seat cover, feeling at ease.
“Are you okay?” Jeonghan’s sleepy voice calls from the other side of the door.
“Y-yeah,” you respond, rubbing your eyes. “I didn’t realize I had been sleeping for that long, and my bladder is just responding to it, I guess.”
You finish your business, you wash your hands, and take a good look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red and your hair is disheveled as if you have been hibernating through a very long winter. Your head is buzzing, and despite the many hours of sleep, you are still exhausted. You yearn for a shower that will wake you up and rejuvenate your spirit.
You quickly discard your clothes and turn on the shower, letting the water get to the hottest you can handle before stepping in and letting it cascade over your body. You need time for yourself, to unwind and get your head together before you go out there and face Jeonghan. You know he is going to want to talk about what is going on in your head, what you’re feeling, and you want to be prepared for that.
You take your time, scrubbing yourself from head to toe, letting the pressure from the shower head release the tension in your shoulders, and the fog in your head starts to clear. It’s not enough to distract you from the heaviness you feel in your heart for Rain, but it’s enough to get through now and try to get back to normal, whatever that is. You hear the bathroom door open, and you let out a soft groan in annoyance—the small window you had to yourself and your thoughts are interrupted. You quickly shut off the water, push the curtains open, and face Jeonghan, your body dripping with water.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to shower,” Jeonghan remarks, handing you a large towel to wrap your body in. “I would have joined you.”
Your eyes shift to the floor, avoiding his all-knowing expression. “I just needed some time to myself,” you say honestly. “My head is buzzing and I just need it to stop, you know?”
You hate the tug and pull of your emotions lately. One moment you want to be in his arms and let him love you, and the next you want to be left alone to wallow in your turmoil. It’s confusing you, and as much as he says he understands, it has to confuse Jeonghan, too. He doesn’t deserve this— he deserves a partner that is loving, attentive, and not out of their mind with grief. You love him, but you aren’t okay, and you don’t know when you will get back to that person again.
You skirt out of the bathroom to your walk-in closet, grabbing the nearest underwear you could find and slipping them on eagerly. You quickly apply lotion and throw an oversized t-shirt over your head, stumbling slightly before walking back into your bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you, a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.
“Come sit with me?” Jeonghan suggests, pointing to your side of the bed.
Sighing softly, you climb onto the bed and position yourself comfortably while gazing at him. His hands grace your hips, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. “Jeonghan…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says with absolute certainty. “You can push me away, not talk to me, sleep on the couch as many nights as you want. I love you, and I’m not leaving you because you aren’t yourself right now.”
Not yourself right now. Those words slice through you, leaving a piercing ache that settles deep in your chest. “Jeonghan, you don’t get it.” Your voice trembles with each thought coming through your head. “What if I am like this forever?”
You move out of his embrace and put distance between you two. “My sister, the one person I loved more than anything on this planet, is dead. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone close like that?”
Your bottom lip trembles, and the buzzing in your head grows louder, but you try with all your might to stay focused. “I can’t email her anymore, receive new photos or updates about her life. She is six feet in the ground under a bed of flowers, and I can’t even go and visit her if I wanted to. She was pure light—my baby sister. How can I go back to who I was before? What if who I am now is who I will be forever? Would you still love this version of me?”
Tears blur your vision, droplets falling on your face that are too fast to contain. Your heart is fractured, and more than anything, you feel impossible to be loved.
“You know I would,” he avows, his voice carrying a tinge of hurt as he grasps your hand tightly. “Why would you question that?”
He closes in on the space between you, holding you close as you cry heavily in his arms. You breathe him in, smelling his distinct body wash along with his own scent. Everything you felt comes out in jagged sobs, and he holds you through it all, threading his fingers through your hair, and occasionally his lips would brush against your forehead. Jeonghan didn’t say much, but you feel safe and comfortable all the same. As time goes on, you feel calmer, able to breathe a bit easier, and rein in the turbulent emotions that have been plaguing you for months. He leaves the room momentarily, comes back with a damp face towel, and kisses you softly.
“I know you don’t want puffy eyes when you wake up,” he says, wiping the tears off your face slowly.
You let out a dry laugh, watching him wipe away each tear with care until none are left. “You’re too good for me.”
“No, lover, I am perfect for you,” he corrects you.
He pulls out another towel from his pocket, wiping your face dry and removing the slight tresses of hair that covered your face. He gazes into your eyes with a look of reassurance, and without any words, you know what he is saying: you’re stuck with him.
“I do know what it’s like, to lose someone, you know,” Jeonghan says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know the pain that you feel.”
Your eyebrows furrow at his statement, wondering where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”
Jeonghan lets out a small breath before he sits down next to you, raking his fingers through his hair. “I know you know that I grew up in the foster care system for a bit, but I have never explained why.” You adjust the hem of your shirt, smoothing out the slight wrinkles. Jeonghan sits back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he recounts the memories of his past before you.
“It was New Year's Eve, and I was eleven,” he began. “My parents were coming home from the grocery store to buy a few things for dinner. In our household, we had a tradition of making pizzas every New Year's Eve, and my father would light the fireworks in the street when the clock hit midnight.” He pauses for a moment, his hand clutching the sheets. “That day, it was snowing and the temperatures dropped below the average, but my dad forgot to buy sparklers, and my mother needed marinara sauce and mozzarella for the pizza. So they went out and told me to get ready to cook, and they would ‘be right back.’ They never came back— the ice on the road was too dangerous to drive on, and they hit a tree. Died instantly.”
You shudder at the revelation, your heart sinking deep into your stomach. Jeonghan has never talked about his parents or his time in foster care. He always says it’s the “past” and he would rather not dredge it up again. It wasn’t lost on you that he had a look of sadness every time they were brought up, and you never pressed more than he wanted you to.
“I miss them every day, and it took me years to get over their death,” Jeonghan reveals, blowing a small raspberry. “I was sent from foster home to home until I was eighteen and kicked out. However, that’s another conversation for another day.”
He grabs your hand tenderly, pulling you close to him, and you naturally lay your head on his chest. You feel like crap, dismissing his feelings and not considering that he may have lost people in his life. Maybe you are more alike than you realize.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like an idiot for even asking that earlier.”
“Well, you didn’t know, baby,” Jeonghan says pensively, lifting your chin and kissing you earnestly. You feel warmth throughout your body, a sparkling feeling that makes your heart beat faster. Gods, you love him.
“I love you, Hannie,” you say, locking in with his gaze. “There isn’t anyone else in this life I trust more than you.”
He looks at you tenderly, with a look of love that makes your heart swell. Leaning in closely, you kiss him, slow and deliberate, hoping that what you feel for him could be said without words, and that would be enough. Jeonghan’s hand cradles your jaw, deepening the kiss as he lays you down on the bed, his hair falling from behind his ears and covering his face.
He stills for a moment, lowering himself until his forehead is pressed against yours. You can almost feel his heartbeat going pit pat against his chest, and there’s no question he wants the same thing you do.
“I need you,” you whisper, your fingers curling into his shirt. “I want you.”
“Then I’m yours,” he murmurs, his voice full of yearning and promise.
You kiss him like you're afraid he’ll disappear, clinging onto him tightly as you two get lost in each other. His hands grope your breasts, squeezing them tightly as he mouths along your throat, worshipping you like you were a goddess. You let out a deep moan, your eyes fluttering as his tongue tastes your sweet skin. His scent, clean skin, faint cologne, something purely him—fills your lungs until you’re dizzy.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough with passion.
You feel on fire, alive for the first time in a while, and you want more.
“Don’t stop.”
Jeonghan takes a deep breath, lifting up to gaze into your eyes, with a haze of lust that sets you ablaze. His hands find your waist, slowly sliding your panties down until they disappear entirely. His touch feels electric, your legs slowly spreading apart while his fingers find a way in between them, softly rubbing your clit. Your breath hitches as you sigh in relief at his warm touch.
“Hannie…” you moan, touching his hand that is pleasing you. “Please, I need this.”
He chuckles, not saying a word, but lifting your shirt and exposing your breasts. He sucks on your nipples with intent, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you as he teases you the way he likes, and all you can do is submit to his control.
“You’re so wet,” he moans, his fingers slipping inside your hole. “And normally I would drag this out, but I really need you too.”
He removes his fingers quickly, shoving down his sweats and boxers until his dick is exposed, hard and dripping with precum. He rubs it along his shaft and lines himself up against your entrance, entering you inch by inch. You let out a deep moan from the pit of your soul, missing the way his cock fills you up every single time. Him being inside of you satisfies a repressed craving you have been ignoring deep inside, and you are ready to relish in it.
“Jeonghan,” your voice is shallow and breathy, watching him thrust into you slowly. “Please.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he utters, his eyes rolling backwards in pleasure. “You just feel too good.”
His hips snap into you suddenly, a sharp cry escaping you as his thrusts into you with a ravenous intent. The bed creaks as he fucks you harder, deeper, with his hands around your throat and saying sweet, nasty things in your ear. You love all of it, you welcome what he gives you with joy, and you return his enthusiasm, digging your nails into his back.
The squelching sounds of your cunt being onslaughted by Jeonghan sends you over the edge, your fingers rubbing your clit with an insatiable need to cum hard on his cock, to release the pent-up emotions of what you have felt for the past months. As if he read your mind, he kisses you deeply, moaning into your mouth as you are finally taken over the edge, shaking uncontrollably underneath as you fall into a deep, unfiltered bliss of ecstasy.
“Fuck!” you cry out, pleasure washing over you with a smile on your face.
Jeonghan’s thrusts become sloppy, his breathing shallow and breathy, before arching and crying your name, flooding into you until he has nothing left. He consumes you with a kiss, trembling, forehead to forehead, as your breath mingles together. You love him, and he loves you as much, and tonight has never made it clearer.
Time slips away, the ache of your grief twisting into something softer— not necessarily peace, but something close to it. The silence that follows isn’t empty; it’s complete, alive, and full of matrimony.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I haven’t been the best person lately.”
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” he says softly. “Like I said, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”
You mull over his words, knowing that he is right. “Okay.”
“Let’s get you tucked in bed, yeah?” Jeonghan suggests as he reaches over you to move the blanket back from your side of the bed. “I bet all this rigorous activity took a lot out of you.”
You let out a low chortle, scooting over to the right without any complaint, fluffing your pillows before lying on them flatly. He is right; you feel fatigued, tired, and unable to open your eyes. Your mind is filled with a low static, making it impossible to form a coherent thought. Jeonghan wraps his warm hands around your waist and kisses the back of your neck, causing your body to relax instinctively at his touch. The noise in your head gradually fades away, and all that’s heard is the low hum of the humidifier in the room before you drift into another deep slumber.
Maybe this is what you needed— to sleep, cry, and be held and loved.
You don’t wake up until after ten. The sun’s harsh daylight shines through the part of your windows that aren’t covered by curtains, strategically placed over your eyes. Your bed feels lighter, and the arm that held you throughout the early morning is no longer draped around your waist. Gingerly, you cover your eyes with your hand, blocking the light as you turn around slowly to see that you are alone in bed.
With a soft groan, you sit up, letting out a quiet yawn as you slip out of bed and head into the bathroom. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look well rested, and the redness in your eyes has disappeared, and your skin has a healthy glow. Maybe sleep and a little sex were what you needed.
You shower, brush your teeth and finish your morning routine, busy yourself with making the bed and changing into something more comfortable, and recall what the last 24 hours have been like. You still don’t know more about the fire than what Chan told you, and you are running out of resources and leads that could possibly give another explanation. The truth-revealing spell hasn’t provided any results, and it makes you wonder, are you looking in the right direction?
You also think about Jeonghan, who finally opened up and talked about his parents. He has, for the most part, told you everything you wanted to know, but when it came to his parents or his past, he always skirted around it. He always says the past is behind us for a reason, and he wants to live in the now and move forward. You get that, but deep in the pit of your heart, it bothered you that you shared your whole life with him, and he could not give you that in return.
But after last night, hearing what happened to his parents, you get it. Losing someone close to you like that changes you, and you are sure being in the foster system is no walk in the park either. He kept that part of him guarded for so long, and it feels like you are closer than ever.
It’s unusually quiet. You didn’t wake up with Jeonghan leaving the bedroom, and he didn’t say anything about running errands. Technically, he was still supposed to be out of town for his work trip, yet he was holding you in your sleep. You grab your phone from the nightstand, checking your messages for any recent calls or texts from him.
Nothing.
You leave your bedroom and walk down the hall to the living room, which looks the same as before you fell asleep. The only difference is that Jeonghan’s office door is slightly open, with a soft creak from a chair and a hushed voice coming from behind it. You creep toward it slowly, not wanting to interrupt his call.
“He really screwed this up. Fuck!” You hear him curse, followed by the sound of shuffling papers.
“Don’t let this distract you from our goal,” a deeper voice says, making the hairs on your neck stand up. You realize Jeonghan isn’t on a call; someone else is in the office with him. “We are almost complete, and his will be served.”
His will? You think. What are they talking about?
“I know, but—”
You step closer to hear more of their conversation, not noticing how close you are to the bookshelf until you accidentally bump into it, making one of the vases shake at the top. You move quickly from the door and place yourself on the other side, acting as if you were grabbing a book while the door swings wide open. You gaze at the man who steps out of the office, a tall man with thick muscle build and short black hair cut just below his ears. You have never seen him before, but the way he looks at you and then smiles, unnerves you— the alarms are going off in your head.
“Ah, you must be the pretty lady Jeonghan keeps mentioning at the office,” the man says smoothly, extending his hand. “I’m Cedric.”
“H-hi,” you reply nervously, shaking his hand. “I’m—”
“Oh, I already know your name,” Cedric interrupts. “Trust me, you’re all he talks about.”
“And here I thought you could keep my secrets,” Jeonghan quips as he follows behind him, shutting the office door. He walks around to you and plants a kiss on your lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”
You smile softly, the chill settling in your bones as you feel the man staring at you. “Good morning yourself, handsome. Is everything alright?”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Jeonghan replies, with a faint hint of panic in his tone.
“Well, it sounded like someone screwed up,” you say, gazing into his eyes. “You sounded worried.”
“Oh no, everything is good,” Cedric cuts in, taking a step into your personal space. “We were just discussing some catering stuff for the big party at the boss’s next week. I expect you’ll be there?”
“A party?” You look at Jeonghan, confused.
“Oh, it’s not a big deal,” Jeonghan replies, interlocking your pinky with his and pulling you behind him. “I mentioned it to you in passing, I think, but I didn’t think you wanted to go, considering everything.”
“You think?” you say, squinting your eyes at him.
Cedric raises a brow and shakes his head, scoffing lightly as he slaps a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Don’t you know not to keep things from the missus?” He lets out a cocky laugh. “I’m going to head out and finish some work at the office.” He looks you up and down, an expression on his face like he wants to eat you alive. “Hopefully, I’ll see you next week?”
“We’ll see,” Jeonghan interjects before you can respond. “I’ll walk you out.”
You hear the men walk down the hall, and you are planted in place, unable to get rid of this dreaded feeling in your stomach. You have met some of his coworkers in passing, but they have never come into your home. Jeonghan always made a point of separating business from home, except for the few times he had to work from home. But a party? Jeonghan definitely never mentioned it before. You feel uneasy… is he hiding something?
No… no.. Jeonghan would never hide anything from you.
You shake off those thoughts, chucking them off as paranoia, and walk into the kitchen for a glass of water. You drink slowly, savoring the cold liquid and clearing your mind. Leaning over the counter, you take a deep breath and set your glass on the counter with an unexpected loud clink. Suddenly, you feel cold arms wrapping around you, making you yelp.
“Jesus, Jeonghan,” you exhale sharply, swatting his hand. “My heart almost fell to my ass.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says, leaning in and kissing your neck. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of things you didn’t mean,” you mutter under your breath, barely able to contain your frustration.
“Hm?”
You reluctantly turn around and face him, trying not to crumble under those beautiful brown eyes. “You definitely did not tell me about the party,” you say, gently poking his chest with your finger. “Do you not want your sad, grieving girlfriend messing up the vibe?”
“What? No.” He looks at you, wide-eyed and taken aback. “I just thought the last thing you wanted was to be around a bunch of people. You haven’t exactly been yourself…”
“Well, no shit,” you retort, untangling yourself from him. “My sister is dead, but I’m still functioning and capable of doing things.”
He takes a step back, ruffling his fingers through his hair as he searches for the right words. “I’m not saying you aren’t capable of things. I know you are. But you haven’t shown any interest in doing anything outside the house. You barely want to be around me.”
“Are you serious?” Your voice rises in shock, in disbelief that he would say that. “What was this morning then? Was I just a good fuck?”
“You know it’s not like—”
“Then what was it, Hannie?!”
You feel the tension crackling in the air between you two. He’s right—you didn’t want to be around him before. But it wasn’t because you didn’t love him.
“Jeonghan, it’s no secret I haven’t been my usual perky self,” you say with a heavy sigh. “But how do you expect me to act? My sister is gone, I saw my parents in god knows how long, and they acted like I was the one who shouldn’t be there. I am tired, frustrated, and above all, sad.” You ball your hands hard enough to feel your nails piercing the palm of your hands. “But it does not change the fact that you still lied to me.”
Your stomach tightens, a familiar ache in your heart, making you take a deep sigh. Jeonghan lied to you, and regardless of his reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re hurt.
“You’re right,” Jeonghan admits. “I didn’t tell you about the party, and it’s not because I didn’t want you to go. I was just looking out for you and your well-being. I thought you wanted time and space.”
“Well, lying to me doesn’t help my well-being, does it?” you retort.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket, the familiar two-sequence pattern taking you out of your head for the moment. Looking at the screen, your eyebrows knit together as you answer the call. “Aunt Lena? Is everything alright?”
“We finally have a lead,” Aunt Lena discloses, her tone clipped and absolute. “I need you to get down here today. You are going to want to see this.”
Your heart skips a few beats, feeling a slight relief finally. The spell finally came through. Jeonghan watches you with curious eyes, and you keep your poker face on, your tone neutral. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
You hang up the phone quickly, shoving it in your pocket as you eye your keys hanging on the hook by the door.
“I uh, got a call about the Lounge near Aunt Lena,” you clear your throat. “Apparently, a delivery arrived, and I need to sort it out.”
“Lena can’t do that?” Jeonghan asks, folding his arms as he leans against the counter.
“No, she can’t make it there today,” you shout, running into your room and grabbing your purse and a pair of sneakers.
You leave as quickly as you came, putting on your shoes quickly and grabbing your keys off the hook. You feel his eyes bore into you, watching your every movement. You know you’re a hypocrite, getting on to him for lying when you are doing the same thing. But your reasons are more important, and you don’t need him talking you out of it— not when you are so close.
“We’ll talk when I come back, alright?” You glance at him quickly before rushing out the door.
“I love you,” you heard him call out just as the door shut.
Lena sent you the location shortly after you made your trip up north. The second location of Enigma was situated near the bay, with its crystal-clear waters, the big city behind it, and a sense of good vibes all around. There was also a warehouse behind your lounge, and you used it to store extra items that would later go into the club. It was once an old paper-printing facility, beautifully constructed in the 1920s and still standing strong today, although the exterior has seen better days.
You pull into the back lot, the late afternoon sun shifting into the golden hour. The air feels cold and daunting, as if you are about to walk into something sinister. Exiting your car, you walk into the spacious warehouse, meeting the eyes of Lena, Geneva, and, surprisingly, Chan, whom you did not expect to see. Behind them is a man tied to a chair, wearing a mask that obscures his vision. You notice his face and arms are bruised, and he faintly smells of smoke.
“There was another attack on the coven last night,” Lena reveals, her eyes low. “The High Priestess is dead, and some members are seriously injured.”
Your breath catches, your feet planted on the ground in shock. The High Priestess is dead? You thought you would never see the day so soon. Not that there is any love lost between the two of you.
“Yeah, like my mother,” Chan spits angrily. “I caught him right as he was about to stab my mother with a knife. I knocked him out with some crushed-up valerian root, chamomile, lavender, and passionflower, and then dragged him into the woods and called your Aunt.”
“Huh. Knock out powder,” you nod, thinking of the shimmery light purple powder. Chan is too young to experience death, especially with people close to him. You feel for him. “Your mom… will she be okay?” You ask gently, feeling sorry for him.
He hesitates before responding, his eyes shifting to sadness, like a small child. “Yeah,” he confirms. “He stabbed her hand and would have gotten her for good if I had not gotten there.”
You let out a small sigh of relief and give him a comforting hug. You don’t know him that well, aside from what Rain has told you about him, but he made her so happy, and he is going to all of these lengths to reveal the truth about her death. You feel as if you could trust him, and he has earned your respect.
“Good, I’m glad it wasn’t anything worse,” you nod. “But you need to go home and support your mother.”
Chan looks at you, his expression one of confusion. “Go back home? And be reminded of everything I have lost because of this guy?” He points angrily at him, his chest heaving heavily.
“Yes,” you respond, standing firm. “You still have your mom, who was stabbed and needs you. Go be with her, okay?” You place a supportive hand on his shoulder. “We got it from here.”
He hesitates before reluctantly leaving, pausing at the door and looking back. “Please keep me updated. I love Rain too.”
You nod in agreement, trying not to think too deeply about his words. You hear Rain’s screams in the back of your mind, and you shake your head, ridding them away. You glance at the man tied to the chair, his head bowed as if he were asleep. But the one thing about the human body is that, when you study it enough, you can tell the difference.
“Wake up,” you command, handing your purse to Lena.
“What are you going to do…” Lena’s voice trails off.
You gaze at her, displaying a sinister smile as the rage bubbles inside of you like a volcano. “I’m going to ‘wake’ him up.”
You walk over to him, your fingernails digging in your palms as your fist lands on his face, earning a grunt from his bruised lips.
“Ow, what the fuck was that for?” the man yells, his strong accent echoing throughout the warehouse.
“You weren’t sleeping anyway,” you shrug, rubbing your knuckles. “But I still had to make sure.”
You could have used your magic, mumbled a spell or two that would have made his blood boil, or mimicked a brain aneurysm. But in this moment, you want to get your hands dirty.
“Why did you attack the coven?” you demand, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “Where are you from?”
He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yeah, I would actually,” you retort, frustration bubbling up at his evasiveness.
The masked man bows his head, as if savoring the moment. You shoot a quick glance at your aunt and Geneva; their worried expressions confirm that they know exactly what you’re planning.
“You two need to leave,” you say firmly, removing the bracelet from your wrist. “It looks like I have my work cut out for me.”
“Wait—” Lena steps in front of you, her voice cautious. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
You look at her incredulously, surprised that she would question you. “Aunt Lena, I am more than sure that I am going to kill this man slowly if he does not give me the answers that I want.”
You turn your attention to him, who is now sitting up straight with a smirk on his smug face. You want nothing more than to wipe it off with another punch.
“I don’t want you to lose control,” Lena says slowly, taking your hand. “We need the information has, and then we can figure out what to do with him after that. Think about this.”
“Yeah, YN, think about it,” the man mocks Lena, a wide grin spreading across his face.
You feel the blood run cold in your veins, bewilderment hitting you narrowly in your chest. How the hell does he know your name?
“How do you know who I am?” you question him, exchanging shocked looks with Lena and Geneva. “Who are you?”
The man lets out a low rumble of a chuckle, cocking his head back against the chair. “My name is Puriel, and I am your reckoning.”
It is your turn to scoff, observing the man with a swollen lip, bruised up, and tied to the chair. The cockiness of the man exudes from him, making you sick.
“Is that your real name, or are you a huge fan of the Testament of Abraham?” You taunt him, removing the mask from his face. “You already know my name. No need to hide from each other now.”
In another life, you would have found Puriel handsome, with his tanned skin, striking almond colored eyes, and chiseled jaw covered by a light beard. You can tell he works out; his biceps bulge as he tries to free himself from the restraints that are placed on him.
“I’ve known a lot about you, love,” Puriel says with a twinkle in his eyes. “I know about your lounges, your coven, the burning fire we rained on that putrid town that killed your poor, innocent sister.”
You turn away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath as your hands balled together tightly. He is trying to get in your head, saying things that would have you in a fury of rage and want to make you snap his neck without revealing a single drop of information. As tempting as it is, you are smarter than that.
“That accent,” you say, locking your gaze into his. “Are you French?”
“Yes,” he confirms, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement. “How did you know?”
“Well, your name is French, and your accent has a little oui oui to it,” you reply, your tone matter-of-fact. “It was easy to put two and two together.”
He nods, looking impressed. “I gotta say, I didn’t think someone from a backwater trash kind of town would know anything about anything worldly.”
“Backwater trash, huh?” You chuckle. “What do you baguettes know about that?”
You suppose his words were supposed to sting, making you cry, or you fly into anger. But you feel nothing, if anything, annoyed that he has not told you what you want to know. You run your fingers through your hair, tension coiling in your muscles, glancing at Lena and Geneva as their feet are planted to the ground, watching the interaction.
“You said we,” you start, walking in a circle around him. “Who were the others with you?”
Puriel studies you, his left eye squinting as he debates whether to tell you anything. “We are the Iustum Currum, warriors of the Lord Almighty, to rid the world of witches and the supernatural. You’re an abomination of God.”
His words don’t surprise you— there are religious fanatics all over the world who preach about the Book of Revelations, Judgment Day, and the like, but still commit the ultimate sin of murder and other heinous crimes in the name of their “Father”. These people preach about Christianity but truly do not read their Bibles past the Old Testament. Your former coven isn’t the first one to be attacked in history, but you want to know why you? Why the coven?
“I bet you’re probably wondering why you and your coven?”
You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Former coven.”
“Former, current, it doesn’t matter,” Puriel snorted, shifting up in his seat. “You are still a witch, and you will burn in the lake of fire under his will— like your High Priestess.”
You feel the irritation creeping up on you, painfully aware of the obvious dodging he is doing with your questions. “Again,” you snap, your eyes narrowing as you lean forward, unwilling to let him evade the topic any longer. “Why the coven?”
The silence stretches between you, and you have half a mind to end all of this and his life right here. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, the rehearsed lines of evasion ready to tumble from his lips, but you won’t let him get away this time.
“Because you're witches, whores, and you need to be rid of the world, to make it fitting for a righteous paradise,” Puriel smirks. “We have eyes and ears everywhere and have been around for a very long time, sweetheart. We’re closer than you think.”
He winks at you, and you feel disgust in the pit of your stomach. The tension is thick in the air, and you have to walk away, nothing but visions in your wake as you think of the many ways you want to hurt him. This was obviously a planned attack, and they had an insider working with them. But who?
“Are you okay?”
You turn to face Geneva, her eyes full of concern. “He’s an asshole,” you spit out, shaking your head. “He’s just another religious fanatic who thinks all witches are bad and we deserve to be burned at the stake. Nothing new under the sun.”
You see car lights flash through the warehouse windows, and you exchange quick glances with Geneca and Lena.
“We will go check it out,” Lena announces, with Geneva following her.
You are left alone with Puriel. Your anger rises through your skin; the thought of your sister dying because of their agenda, because of “God’s will,” makes you shake uncontrollably. Rain was innocent, and she did not deserve to die the way she did.
“Yeah, fuck this.”
You stomp towards Puriel, pulling out your keys, fiddling with the chain until the small pocket holster attached to it opens, revealing a small knife. “See, unfortunately for you, I am having a bad day, and instead of ending your life quickly, I am going to drag this out as long as I can.” You press your blade against his neck, pressing on it deeply until it indents a small cut. “Who was all there the day of the fire? Give me names.”
You feel his Adam’s apple shift against your blade as he lets out a silverly laugh. “Now, why would I tell you that?”
You study him, noting how calm he is despite his life being in danger. “You don’t want to live?”
His laugh becomes louder, sending chills down your spine. “I would be more worried about your life, sweetheart.”
“What do you mean—”
You are met with a headbutt to your forehead, catching you off guard as you realize his hands are no longer restrained by the ropes. You are fast, but he is quicker, tripping you with your foot and making you fall on your back. You feel a boot to your back, and you howl as the pain sears in your back, your nimbleness gone as you try to recover. Puriel cackles from his ugly soul, picking up the knife that flew out of your hand in the scuffle. It feels like everything is happening in slow motion, watching him step over you and crouch down, flipping her over while twiddling the knife in his hands.
“Quelle belle vue,” he murmurs, brushing strands of hair off your face. “Too bad you’re a supernatural whore.”
He licks his lips, and you feel bile rise in your throat, his touch making you feel dirty and violated. You feel tears build up in your eyes, the rage you’ve worked so hard to hold being unleashed as you lie there helpless.
“Any last words, belle?” He asks, raising the knife across your heart.
You nod slowly with tears streaming down your face. You think quickly, knowing what you have to do— it’s either him or you. The intention is set in your mind, digging your nails into his shirt and placing them over his heart as you mutter these fatal words:
“Nunc Mori.”
It happened quickly. Puriel’s eyes widen in shock as he clutches his heart, gasping for air as the veins on his neck bulge and turn an ungodly green. You take a deep breath and scramble away from him as you watch him cling to the last bit of essence he has left, his eyes turning bloodshot red and his face purple as if he’s suffocating. You watch the life leave his eyes, collapsing on the cold, hard floor in front of you. You’re frozen in shock, as you have never used that spell before. You’ve heard and read the stories over the years, but to see it in front of you fills you with a chill that is embedded in your spine that you don’t think you can ever get rid of.
“What happened?!”
You hear footsteps rushing behind you, followed by soft hands raising you from the ground. Lena wraps you in her arms, and you involuntarily let out a sob, the shock of everything leaving you and instead filling you with hurt.
“I can’t go home,” you say frantically, panic taking over. “Jeonghan will know something is up, and I just can’t.”
“I know, I know,” Lena says warmly, rubbing your back as you sob. “You’ll stay with us for a couple of days, and we’ll work out what to say to Jeonghan, okay? I’ll get some people to dispose of the body.”
In the far distance, you hear Geneva mutter an incantation, waving her hands over Puriel’s lifeless body until it disappears from view. You understand it’s to keep the body invisible until it can be taken out, but you are shaken nevertheless. You almost died today, and thanks to your quick thinking, you made it out alive, but it’s not enough.
Lena walks you to the car, making sure you are settled in before coming in from the driver’s side, pulls out of the parking lot, and heads east towards the bridge that separates your lounge from the city. You close your eyes, fatigued, and so many thoughts are swirling through your head that it makes your head buzz. But one thing is clear: the Lustum Currum has made an enemy out of you.
AN2: Part 3/4 will be coming soon! This went way longer than I anctipated (but I enjoyed adding to it). Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs and/or DMs :)
taglist: @hipsdofangirl @helloamalien @asasilentreader @lovetaroandtaemin @gyupremacy @superpietom @applekeu @junplusone @cheolifyme @straylightdream @coupsalchemy @hannieshuji @livelaughloveseventeen @lovelylonelinesssvt @j3nnch3ls3a @seungcheolsblackcard @yeriiiyoon @emilliereads @fairwanda
ᯓᡣ𐭩 peace and war
⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~3.8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, torture, weapons (knives, guns), open wounds, blood. do not interact if it is triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: soulmates don't ever mean that everything magically falls into place. it takes effort for you to adjust to seungcheol's life, especially when he comes home injured and moody from failed missions. it also takes a lot out of seungcheol when his worst fear: you getting implicated in his life, comes true. ultimately, it's up to both of you to put the pieces of this tangled, complicated puzzle together.
here's the original fic!! this can be read as a standalone, but i highly recommend reading it first for a better understanding of the backstory <3 used the same thumbnail for consistency lol
author's note: suuurprise it's pt2 lmaooo! couldn't really think of a better date than to release this, almost 9 months after the first part was uploaded 💀 thank you to @jjeonghaniee and @alien0n3arth for the suggestion!! always so nice when readers like the first part heheheheh, and i hope i did this justice >:) this is really my first time doing anything mentioning gory stuff inside...
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"I'm alright," Seungcheol mumbles as you clean his forehead. "it was a small scuffle."
"Small, my ass," You retort firmly. "Look at you."
Look at him, indeed. His forehead sported a bleeding cut, and his forearms and hands, callused and rough, were covered in scrapes and wounds. Not serious enough to warrant a doctor's visit, but what could you do? As his soulmate, you were always going to worry.
"I don't get why you had to fight," You sigh, reaching for another gauze. "There were so many opportunities to settle it in peace."
"Not a chance," Seungcheol hisses when you carefully dab at the next cut with antiseptic solution. "They were pushing my limits. I told them not to intrude and bother my side. They had to be taught a lesson."
"What lesson could possibly be worth a turf war with a whole other territory?"
"If it serves as a good enough reminder never to go near my men again, I'll do it all over. My men are hardcore, but they didn't sign up to be attacked or killed in the middle of the night. Some of them are husbands and fathers. It's not those bastards who need to explain to their wives and children that Papa isn't coming home."
You sigh. "I know that. But isn't fighting an even worse alternative? Isn't that just opening up another opportunity for even more lives to be lost?"
"It's not that simple," Seungcheol counters as you finally start to clean up your little work area. "It's about respecting one another's territory. That's probably the number one rule, if there ever was one in my work. If you don't do that, then there will be consequences. That's how it's always been."
You shake your head as you gather the items and stand up. "Then you'll have to figure out for yourself whether fighting to make up for lost lives is counterproductive or not. For all I know, you'll end up missing, hurt, or even worse because of your need for 'respect'."
Seungcheol seems to shoot you glances as you finish up. He finally catches your arm as you start to exit the room. "I'm sorry. I know I always make you worry when I work."
You frown at him. "I was beginning to think you either didn't know or didn't care. I don't really enjoy sending you out of the front door, wondering if you're going to come home at night. I said I'd stand by you, and I always will, but... well, you're the one who tells your men's family about them should something go wrong, but who tells me about you?"
Seungcheol sighs. "I know. This job isn't your usual 9 to 5. I know that." He bows his head and kisses your hand. "I won't die. I can promise you that. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not someone who goes back on his promises."
You shrug. "No one can promise that. We literally got together while you were bleeding out in that building."
"...Yeah," Seungcheol admits. After a brief pause, he continues. "Then I promise I'll always try my best to come home to you. That sounds a bit more realistic to you, my dear poet?"
You survey him, then sigh. "I guess I'll have to settle with that for now."
--------------------------------
Life could really be a bitch.
Who knew that coming home with takeout was a one-way street to getting a gun pointed to your head?
Your belongings now lie on the ground, and you crouch over it with both hands above your head.
Funny how you'd never actually learnt what to do in these circumstances, given that your partner was... well, in the thick of the industry. Perhaps another lesson Seungcheol had not taught you, maybe due to the fear that you would actually need it someday, or perhaps just pure avoidance. Either way, if you made it out, you were going to have a very long conversation with him.
"Get her up," Someone barks an order, followed by a couple of hands hauling you unceremoniously to your feet.
"Where are you -- get your hands off me!"
"Pipe down, Miss Mafia," One muffled voice replies. "No one's gonna hear you. Your little lover boy isn't around. You can save your breath."
And suddenly the world is thrown upside down as you feel yourself leave solid ground, undoubtedly from a rough shove, and land with a painful thud on what seems like wood. A sliding door slams shut, and after about twenty tense seconds, the vehicle starts to move.
Well, fuck.
For them to be able to plan this, mastermind this whole capture when they knew Seungcheol wouldn't be around, all while being in security's blind spot... You know they were no amateurs. They'd taken your device, of course, and no doubt shattered it to leave no trace of your location. If Seungcheol were to even mysteriously know to look for you, he wouldn't even know where to begin.
But what you didn't know, as the van sped through the city, was that actions ultimately always leave traces. Traces would always bring consequences. And they would be terrible to behold, your captors would only realise later, when Seungcheol finally found out.
-------------------------
"I do not," Seungcheol snaps, "fucking understand why I am still hanging around here when my person, my fucking soulmate, is gone." His tattoo is burning, not unlike the very first time he met you. But now the burning feels... more urgent. Like it's urging him to do something, go somewhere.
Lee is barely restraining him in the maximum security room, his body already straining with effort. "We need to do this strategically, sir, not burst in like complete newbies --"
"Every second I spend here is another second I don't know where she is," Seungcheol growls. "And you'll realise that makes me pissed. Fucking pissed. And if you don't let go of me right now, Lee, I will blow your fucking brains out."
The threat doesn't faze Lee. He already knows by now Seungcheol would willingly set the world at your feet, and the rage, the sheer shock at the turn of events, is rendering him completely emotional and utterly illogical. Ironically, the thing Seungcheol used to hate the most.
"Blow my brains out later. You're going to thank me for this." Lee grunts, before finally shoving Seungcheol away and pulling out his earpiece.
"All units to the front gate. Mobilise D-22, all arms."
"Roger that."
"You want to save her?" Lee asks, advancing upon Seungcheol. "Then we do it right. We only have one shot. If we fuck this up, I don't know what they will do to her--"
Seungcheol slams his fist on the table.
"They know she can be used," Lee warns. "They already know she can be held as leverage over you. If we burst in there like children and try to snatch her, our chances are going to plummet even more."
Seungcheol glares at him. "And if by the time I get there, and she's not there anymore?"
"She will be," Lee promises, while hoping to high heavens that he's right. "They want you there to negotiate. Classic game."
------------------------
Seungcheol's about 30% relieved that Lee is actually right.
He is, however, 200% furious when he spots you with the barrel of a gun pressed into your head, absolutely too close for his liking. Weapons near you seem to drive his head into a blur of red. His own is instantaneously pulled out, aiming at the gunman. "What do you want?"
The gunman shrugs. "I don't answer to you. My boss will address you directly."
The jab, the subtle dig that he wouldn't even deign to answer his question, does little to quell Seungcheol's anger. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway. He barely registers it.
There's a tense few minutes, both sides holding up their weapons, until the door finally bursts open, and a familiar figure enters. His severe limp and horribly scarred face are reminiscent of a fight that happened not so long ago, and when he smiles, Seungcheol is reminded of the same way he did when he gunned down some of Seungcheol's most loyal men in the middle of the night.
"Long time no see," The man greets cordially, as if they were meeting over coffee. When he turns to look at you, Seungcheol immediately swings his gun toward him instead.
The man grins wider. "Struck a nerve, child?"
Seungcheol doesn't reply.
The man looks at you. "Look at him," He jests. "All prickly and whiny because of you. How does it feel to have one of the most powerful men on his knees for you?"
"Don't answer him," Seungcheol warns you, then addresses the scarred man. "You don't touch her, or speak to her. You wanted me here. Now talk."
"Skipping the formalities? She and I haven't even been properly introduced."
His men laugh, pure disdain on their faces, and Seungcheol finally makes up his mind: None of them would die painlessly. He wasn't planning to allow them to live anyway, but this further proved it. He might personally strap bombs to them, or he'd sink his knife into their skin, inch by inch. The possibilities were endless. But it's okay, because once he secured them, he'd have all the time in the world to make his decision.
He releases the safety. The man turns around.
"You fire, and all of them," He gestures to the men surrounding him, "will fire back, Choi. Don't think I don't know how sneaky you can be. I arranged so many people for this."
He approaches you and tilts your head. Seungcheol scans the room quickly. Lee promised an intervention, so where the hell is he?
"So nice of your little boyfriend to come alone like we instructed," The man sighs. "Clearly didn't want to mobilise people to save you. He wanted to be your knight in shining armour, didn't he, sweet one?"
As he continues circling you, Seungcheol quickly realises he has an advantage. They don't know that he isn't alone. He almost chuckles at the utter naivety. Why would he, someone with a constant target on his back, ever, ever walk into a hostage situation alone, especially to save someone this important? And how stupid could they be, Seungcheol wonders incredulously, to think that he wouldn't pull out all the big stops he had for you?
As if on cue, Lee's quiet voice plays into his concealed earpiece. "We're ready. All eyes secured on the target building. On your signal."
Seungcheol's finger slowly moves to the trigger. One shot is all he needs. Lee's been by his side long enough to know his signals without even speaking.
But no, he wouldn't be shooting anyone. He plans to keep everyone alive. Take it slow, a sadistic voice in his head croons. They have so many debts that haven't been paid.
But first, you need to be safe. He can't forget himself entirely before that happens. As a hand, littered with past scars and calluses long earned, reaches towards your waist, Seungcheol finally snaps. Fuck twenty guns to his head. He'll accept a hundred, even an entire war -- as long as nobody ever touches you like that again.
He aims too fast for anyone to react. The shot rings out as the bullet flies -- towards the opposite wall.
And then all hell breaks loose.
-----------------------
Lee can be many things, but he's a damn good fighter. He's smart, calm, and strategic. Some of the various reasons why he stuck by Seungcheol for years.
Today, he doesn't disappoint. The doors burst open, men filing in and shooting, and he knows that they'll make it out.
"Keep them alive," His brusque order, while rushing to your side, rings out clearly in the space. "Keep all of them alive for me."
He's reaching out for you immediately, sinking onto his knees to meet you and pulling your shuddering form into his. You're terrified and awed in equal measure. You've never seen him in action before.
"I'm here now," He vows, voice low and resolute. "We're going home. Just give me a moment, and I'll bring you home. Don't look at whatever's happening around you. Just look at me."
The sound of shouts rings out as men fall and people scuffle furiously for control, but his voice remains constant, as he repeats again and again for you to look at him. Finally, when it really all seems too much, he covers your ears tightly and simply holds you close.
At some point, the noise dies out, and Lee approaches him cautiously. "Sir," He begins. "We've secured the hostiles. All alive and accounted for. They're immobilised, but... all yours."
Seungcheol turns behind. "Alright," He says, then reluctantly lets go and stands up, but not before addressing you, voice starkly tender. "Stay by Lee. I'll be back, alright?"
At your shaky nod, he leans back down and presses his mouth firmly to your forehead. "You were very brave, my love," He tells you quietly, voice resolute and firm. "The bravest person in the world. Just give me a little while."
He nods to Lee, who stands guard by you immediately, gun in hand and expression alert. He strides towards the group, tied up in the centre of the room, and quickly, his tenderness shrivels.
He pulls out his knife, carefully wiping it on his shirt before sinking down to meet the ringleader.
"Mr. Wang," He greets, just as cordially as the other did when he first approached. "How does it feel to be here like this?"
To his credit, the man isn't fazed. Instead, he smiles, mouth bloody and bruised. "How arrogant," He says softly. "You can kill me, but what about every other threat in the world? This sends a sign, Choi. From now on, your little girl will be the target. Not you. You might kill me and walk out alive with her today, but from now on, everyone else who wants to get to you..." He laughs, seemingly unfazed in the face of death. "They don't even need to track you down. They just need to catch her," His eyes linger on you. "At a very inconvenient moment."
Seungcheol chuckles. "And I appreciate you looking out for my family affairs."
He turns to the first man. "But you know me. I don't give in on anything I think is important. Very irritating, I know."
He turns to the first man. "Your motto was always to die in action, no? Die along with your men. I fulfil a lot of last wishes. And so I'm equally willing to fulfil yours."
The back of his knife strokes the face of the first man next to him. He recognises him as the one who held the gun to your head. Then, ever so slowly, the knife slides in. Just a little into his left chest, enough to make the man buck up and groan in pain.
Then he stops.
"You owe me a lot, Wang," He says quietly. "You killed my men and invaded areas that belong to me. A life for a life. I like to do things quick, but for your debts... it'll be a little different today. I suggest you close your eyes if you can't handle it."
Wang chuckles. "You and your little knife don't scare me, young man."
Seungcheol merely smiles.
He examines the knife, then, as easily as breathing, pushes it in a little more. The man wheezes, blood now beginning to ooze from his mouth.
"I will bleed you dry," Seungcheol now murmurs to the man, who's looking at him, wide-eyed in terror. "I will scare you as much as you scared her today. I'll let you die out here slowly, wondering if maybe, just maybe...." He smiles, then slides the knife in even further. "Oops, sorry. You shouldn't have done that."
He doesn't need to swear or raise his voice to make his point. He only does that when he's threatened, but he isn't now. He's still furious, but calmer than he's ever been in the past hour, and he knows he's in the lead here.
The young man is trembling now, trying not to yell in pain. The blood is running from his mouth and nose. Seungcheol is an honest man. He holds himself true to his words. He will bleed out dry, a living example of what happens when people push past his limits.
Wang laughs, a razor-sharp sound. "So you're just going to press a blade into my heart and watch me die? How anticlimactic."
"Oh, no," Seungcheol laughs, just as amused. "I will personally arrange something special, just for you. After all, you're the leader, no?" He looks to Lee.
Lee seems to catch on, with a flicker of shock. Seungcheol has only given him this look twice over the past 5 years. "Sir..."
"You know what to do."
Lee looks rather alarmed at the finality in Seungcheol's voice, but he nods anyway. "Yes, sir."
He strides away, and another of Seungcheol's men automatically takes his place next to you. You're still seated on the ground, trying not to gape too much at the man currently slumped down, breathing shallowly and shuddering weakly.
"I'll give him five more minutes," Seungcheol says to no one in particular, conversational as though he were talking about today's weather. "Amazing what the human body can do to last you through, no?"
Amidst terrified looks from the other fighters tied up on the floor, he paces back and forth, as if waiting for something -- Lee, presumably. The man in question only returns minutes later, nodding tersely at Seungcheol. Seungcheol then claps once. "Get him up."
Five burly men haul Wang up to his feet. Seungcheol cocks his head dismissively. "Follow Lee. I'll be there shortly."
He heads towards you once more. "I'll give you a choice now, darling."
You look up at him. His eyes are more tender than you've ever seen them, but you know that behind them is a sheer fixation: He won't leave this place today without settling every score he has with Wang, once and for all.
"W-What choice?"
"You can watch what happens to him."
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You don't need to," Seungcheol tells you gently. "Your choice. I'm just saying that you can. If you think... it's all a little too much... then you tell me, and you don't watch."
You're warring with yourself. You want to see it. But the implication of it makes you nervous. After all, you've never seen him do anything like.. this in front of you before. He's done too good a job masking both sides of his life, making sure they never clash.
But you realise... your view of him can't really be changed. He came for you. And no matter what happened in the future, he always would. He could never stray far from you, like a moth could from the light. And luckily for you, he's someone who wouldn't be afraid to do anything.
So you nod. "Okay."
"Okay," Seungcheol reaches out his hand. "Hold on tight."
He pulls you up as you take his hand, then to no one in particular, he speaks again. "Kill the rest."
And then, he leads you out of the place.
-----------------------
He doesn't bring you far. He takes you to an adjoining storage area, where Lee has wrangled Wang into a chair and tied him up securely.
Lee now hands Seungcheol a metal device. It looks odd, with some kind of screw attached to the back. But Wang seems to recognise it, and his eyes widen a fraction. "What--"
"Darling, look at this," Seungcheol shows it to you. "Back in the days, people used this as a punishment method. They called it the pear of anguish, if my memory serves me right."
You look at the structure. "What... where is that supposed to go?"
Seungcheol shrugs, then nods to Lee. "Open wide, Wang."
Lee turns to Wang and pushes his mouth open.
No. It can't be.
"That's... going into his mouth?"
"Yup."
There are also four funnel-like shapes at the end. You think you might gag.
Seungcheol notices, and asks you. "Do you want to wait outside instead?"
You nod slightly. "I don't think I can..."
No questions asked, Seungcheol promises. He'd never make you watch or do anything in his work that you didn't want to. He orders Lee to bring you out.
He turns to Wang. Smiles at him for the last time.
Then he gets to work.
Screams come out from the room. Lee covers your ears. But all you can think about is the grim, almost-manic smile Seungcheol might have on his face as he watches Wang die out beneath him.
-------------------
It's about half an hour before Seungcheol finally walks out, squinting in the sudden sunshine.
He spots you waiting next to Lee, and without another word, despite having literal blood on his hands, strides right to you and picks you up.
"Let's go home," He tells you. "No more shit. You're safe now."
And so he does. At home, you carefully wash the blood off him (most of it not belonging to him, thank goodness), and as you're drying his hands off with a warm cloth, he cups your face with his free hand.
"I'm sorry," He begins, sounding absolutely ashamed. "I... I should never have let you get involved. Should've protected you better."
"It's okay," You mumble. "It's not your fault. You wouldn't have known."
"I'm thankful for this," He gestures to the snapdragon tattoo, now reverted to its original colour. It no longer burns. "It brought me to you earlier. I don't..."
He stares at his hands, as if memorising the grooves of it, how crimson had just earlier traced them. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't find you. If we had reached a second later..."
"You'd still have found a way to find me."
"I'd kill anyone that stopped me."
You look up at him. "I believe you."
"Don't act strong, my love," He murmurs. "Not in front of me. You were terrified. I know you were."
You nod, vision blurring with tears. He tugs you into his embrace, hands coming up to carefully cradle your head, as if impossibly terrified that you're going to break.
"Don't hide from me, darling," He murmurs.
"I thought I was going to die," You whisper quietly. "I thought that was it for me."
His response is an angry sound. "Never. I'll never let that happen. I'll find you. I always will."
And fortunately for both of you, you believe him. You knew that he wouldn't hold back when it came to you. You would always trust that in peace, in war, or even if the world itself was coming to an end...he'd be there.
Choi Seungcheol would always find you.
-------------
fin.
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Session Two: Secret's Out - L.JH
🎙Who: Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x female reader 🎙What: Smut (18+). Friends with benefits. Producer/Idol Jihoon. Canon idol-verse. 🎙Word count: 3.8k 🎙Warnings: Kissing. Profanity. High heel kink. Dick stepping (light). Marks (bruises/hickies). Slight pain kink. Manhandling. Fingering. PIV sex. Protected sex. Dirty talk. 🎙Summary:
Everyone knows that Jihoon does not like high heels. Everyone assumes it's because he's insecure about his height. Everyone happens to be very fucking wrong.
Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.
Masterlist 🎙In The Studio Masterlist
A/N- This was originally on my old account @/whipped-for-kpop-fics, but I’ve decided to private a lot of stuff on that account and just move it over to here after some editing, where I can actually track it all properly.
Jihoon doesn't like it when you wear high heels.
You've always assumed it's because of the added height, and he's never really given you, or anyone else, reason to think otherwise. When the guys have teased him about it in the past, Jihoon had never corrected them and just made vague sounds in response, if he even responded, because he often ignored the jabs.
So, it makes logical sense that his aversion to you in high heels is because he's sensitive about his height, and heels always make you much taller than him. Being a good friend, you take that at face value and refrain from wearing any heels around him, not wanting to make your precious friend feel insecure in any way.
The plan on this day isn't to make him insecure either; you'd genuinely never want that. But you know that even though you two have plans, he'll still be working for quite some time once you arrive at his studio, because he always fucking does that. Which means he'll be busy, and you'll both be seated in different places, so taking the chance to break in the heels you just bought won't cause any problems, right?
“What are you doing?” Jihoon asks as soon as you sit on the couch in his studio and open the shoe box, revealing the brand new, sleek, black stilettos inside. He isn't even back in his chair from letting you into the studio yet, just standing and staring at you a little dumbly, eyebrows furrowed. “You know I don't like you wearing heels.”
“I've got to break them in, and it's not like I've got anything else to do while you spend the next hour telling me you'll be done in a minute,” you point out. “And we're both going to be sitting down the whole time, you won't even notice the height.”
“The height doesn't bother me,” he informs, making you look up at him questioningly.
“It doesn't?”
Jihoon scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I've told you assholes; I'm not insecure about my height.”
“Then why are you against heels?” You raise an eyebrow in intrigue, trying to figure it out yourself. But Jihoon gives you no assistance in any way and simply sits down and turns back to his desk with clearly zero intention of answering.
You stare at the back of his head for a second, then give in trying to magically understand, and instead go back to taking your brand-new shoes out of the box and slipping them onto your feet. Of course, you already tried them on in the store, so you know you like them quite a lot; they're simple but elegant, with a little dainty silver chain around your ankle.
“Will you take a picture for me?” you ask as you take your phone from your pocket and extend your legs out, already pretty sure he will refuse.
As expected, Jihoon's response is a simple and firm, “No.”
“Fine.”
You try to get a good picture of your new shoes to send to your friend, but the angles are quite frankly put, shit. So, you get up and move aside, to prop your phone up on the floor on selfie mode and set a timer. You quickly shuffle back just enough to get a decent view of the lower half of your legs.
You don't notice, because you're busy trying to take a photo that really shows off the shoes, but Jihoon looks over the second he hears you move. Though he's not really paying attention to you but your feet. He keeps trying to look away and finish his work, but he's too distracted.
You're driving him insane and you don't even notice.
“Okay, I can't decide which one is better,” your sudden voice jolts Jihoon back to reality, and he looks up at you to see that you're now just standing there with your phone in your hands, flicking between two photos. “Will you pick for me?” He doesn't have the chance to respond before you turn and approach him. Jihoon's gaze drops back to your shoes, and he swallows hard.
That you notice.
“Ji?” you wonder, stopping at his side and offering your phone. He makes a vague grunt of a sound in response. “Will you pick for me?”
It takes a few seconds for Jihoon to force his eyes to focus on the little screen held out to him. He just stares as you flick between the two photos slow enough that he can get a good view of them both and compare them mentally. At least that's what you hope he's doing. Really, he's just dumbly staring with slightly widened eyes, no thoughts in his head.
“Which one?” you prompt when he remains silent for too long.
“Ei-” he starts but his voice cracks, so he quickly clears his throat. “Either.”
“Either?”
“Either.”
“Right,” you mutter while looking at him suspiciously and locking your phone blindly while lowering it. Jihoon lets out a relieved little exhale. “What's going on with you?”
His head darts up to look at you. He looks very caught out; eyes big and cheeks tinted a soft pink. “What? Me? Nothing.” He tries to turn back to his computer, but you grab the back of his chair and pull it away from the desk. Jihoon yelps and tries to catch the edge of the desk, though he doesn't react fast enough, giving you space to nudge him further back and move over to stand right in the way of his computer. “I need to-”
“What's going on?” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest.
It feels oddly reminiscent of the very first time your relationship turned from platonic to sexual those months back. You've had a lot of sexual encounters since watching him jerk off in that very chair, but you can never forget that first one.
Your eyes drop down to his crotch inquisitively. You're pretty sure he'd be honest if you had disturbed him when he was in the middle of masturbating, in fact, he's told you as much multiple times before and it always ended with you both getting off in some way together. And there's no bulge in his sweatpants, so clearly, that's not the issue here anyway.
“Nothing, let me-” He tries to scoot forward with one hand reaching forward to urge you aside, but you lift your foot to put it on the edge of the chair between his thighs to stop it moving. Jihoon immediately freezes, eyes blown wide and glued to your foot a handful of inches away from his crotch. “Fuck,” he whispers, slowly leaning back in his seat until his back is pressed against the backrest while his hands grip the armrests.
You stare at him consideringly for a moment, trying to decipher what the fuck is going on here, and the whole time, Jihoon's wide eyes remain on your heeled foot. You adjust it a little as you lean back against the desk for balance. You don't intentionally move your foot closer to his crotch, the flat of your shoe more firmly pressed to the seat between his thighs, yet it happens and Jihoon swallows thickly. It's now that you notice the subtle change in his sweatpants; a sign that Lee Jihoon is getting hard. And suddenly, it all makes an awful lot of sense.
Why Jihoon doesn't like it when you wear high heels.
Why he's been looking at your feet darkly in what you had initially assumed was hatred.
Why he can't seem to remove his gaze from your heeled foot now that it's so close to his hardening dick.
Lee Jihoon has a high heel kink.
An amused smirk tilts your lips up as you unfold your arms and rest your palms on the desk either side of your ass. “Oh, I see what this is,” you muse, tone a little teasing.
You know from experience that Jihoon can handle a little teasing where his kinks are concerned, he does the same to you too. But you both never push too far, still walk carefully along that edge ready to pull back in a second if you notice the other getting uncomfortable.
Without hesitation, you lift your foot and lightly press it against that rapidly swelling bulge. Jihoon's head immediately tips back and he lets out a broken little moan.
“You've got a high heel kink, don't you, babyboy?” you coo while applying a little more pressure, and grinning in satisfaction at the moan it pulls from Jihoon's chest. He doesn't even try to respond, just grips the armrests harder and subtly rolls his hips up to press his cock harder against the underside of your shoe. “Cute.”
Jihoon always looks so fucking beautiful like this; when he's focused on his pleasure and moving his hips to search for it without a care in the world, no shame in his veins just pure arousal. You truly do wish you could have him like this always; keep him to yourself selfishly and allow no one else the pleasure of this sight. But you can't, you both may only be seeing each other sexually, but you also have agreed that it doesn't have to remain that way at all.
Still, it doesn't stop you from wishing this moment could last.
Unfortunately, your legs have other thoughts, and the position soon grows uncomfortable and unsteady for you. Jihoon's head jolts up when you remove your foot. His eyes are so heavy-lidded when they land on you, and full of betrayal at you removing the source of his pleasure.
“Just give me a second.” You giggle amusedly and slide yourself up onto the desk after moving aside his keyboard to give yourself space. “Come here,” you encourage, motioning him closer with a curl of your finger.
Jihoon immediately rolls over in his chair between your spread thighs and grabs your right leg himself to lift back up and put your foot back against his aching erection. He doesn't even say anything, just holds your ankle in his left hand, and uses his right to press down on the top of your foot and keep the pressure how he wants it, while he essentially humps your sole. It's both entertaining and pretty arousing. Seeing Jihoon be so utterly shameless always does something to you; always makes you throb with need for him.
You can't help but wonder how far this kink of his goes; if he just wants to rub against the flat of your shoe, or whether the heel itself plays a part. Though you can't imagine it would do much but hurt in a non-pleasurable kind of way if he rutted against the thin stiletto heel. Still, he has a high heel kink, not a regular shoe kink, so the heel has to be important, right?
Curiously, you lift your left foot and place it flat on his right thigh. Jihoon's closed eyes snap open and look at your left foot, his hips slowing down a little now that you have pulled his attention elsewhere.
You're very aware of the fact that Jihoon does like some pain during sex; you're not sure of the extent, but you're confident enough to not worry here, knowing that he can handle it.
You adjust your footing a little then tilt your foot back, digging the thin heel into his thick thigh. Instantly, Jihoon moans, thick and needy, as his head tilts back and he goes back to rutting up desperately against your shoe.
“Oh, baby.” You hum appreciatively. “Gonna make yourself cum like this, hm?”
“C-can't,” it's the first thing he's said in a little while; the first attempt he's even made to utter a single syllable. His voice is deep in the way it gets when he's so full of arousal that he can't think straight. It's truly one of your favourite sounds and always sends a shiver down your spine.
“Can't?” you repeat, adjusting your left foot so it's higher up and angled, so that when you press your heel back down against him, it's on his inner thigh. His back arches as he gasps and moans, much higher in pitch than his speaking voice in a contradiction that would make you giggle if you weren't too focused on the arousal simmering in your stomach.
“Can't,” he confirms, then grips both of your ankles hard to still your feet and give him enough mental clarity to open his eyes and land his dangerously dark gaze on you. You're pretty sure you know what this means, and feel yourself clench on nothing in anticipation.
Jihoon's jaw flexes a little as he clenches it, and then he's up, kicking his chair away carelessly to grip your thighs and pull you right to the edge of the desk while his lips crash onto yours with burning desperation, tongue quickly darting into your mouth to find your own.
“Need you,” he informs breathlessly when he pulls back; far too quickly for your liking, but his hands are working on the fastening of your jeans so you really don't have it in you to complain. Jihoon is about to fuck you and based on how he's acting, and the pure need in his eyes, he's going to fuck you so good.
“You need to move so I can take these off,” you remind, nudging at his firm stomach to try and get him to back up, but Jihoon refuses. “Ji-”
“No,” he answers, moving just enough to pull open the top drawer of his desk on his right and grab a condom; one of many he keeps in the drawer so that he can fuck you whenever the mood strikes you both. Admittedly, it's a lot.
“What? How else-” You yelp when he wraps an arm around your waist to lift you enough that he can roughly try to tug your jeans and underwear down.
He only manhandles you when he's turned on so much that he can't even think rationally and the only thought on his mind is burying his cock as deep into you as humanly possible. And knowing that, being manhandled by Jihoon only turns you on more than the show of strength itself.
You brace yourself with one hand and help him with the other quickly.
Together, you work the clothing down to your mid-thigh, and then Jihoon puts you down and forces his hand into the gap between your thighs and the clothes.
“Ji,” you gasp as he plunges two fingers right into you. The jeans around your thighs make it hard to spread your legs, so you're kind of tight like this, but Jihoon knows you, knows you can take it, especially when you're wet like this. Plus, he already fucked you this morning in your bed, so he is certain you can handle this rough behaviour right now.
“Get me ready,” he grunts, tracing his lips over your jaw and bullying a third finger into you to curl and stretch them. He can't really thrust them at this angle, he's got very limited space, but he does what he can to make you gasp and get wetter by the second.
You reach aside blindly until you find the condom on the desk to grab before your hands find his waistband and yank open the tie to loosen them. You don't even push down his sweats that far, you both can't reach and don't fucking care, just want to get his cock out and in you. Quickly, you shove down his boxers a little and pull his erection out so that as soon as you've got the condom out of the wrapper, you can roll it onto him.
“Hands on the desk,” he orders, pulling his fingers from you to grab your thighs and push them up, making your body naturally lean backwards. You plant your palms on the desk behind you for support and watch as he lifts your legs to his shoulders, resting your calves there before reaching down to grab his erection and line up with you.
Jihoon only glances up at you to check in quickly and noticing that you're more than okay with all of this, he wastes no time burying his hard cock in you right to the hilt. It's another thing he doesn't do unless he's insanely turned on and desperate to cum; go fast from the get-go. He'll usually ease into you to allow you both to savour the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. But when he's like this, he doesn't have the patience for that; he just wants to cum with your pussy hugging him tight.
You both moan at the feeling of getting what you both so desperately want.
Jihoon takes a second, then another, squeezing your thighs appreciatively like he always does when he's buried in you, and then he pulls back and starts to fuck into you in short, powerful thrusts aimed right at your most sensitive spots. Your head drops back as you moan with every thrust, little ‘ah-ah-ah’s that give him all the information he needs to know that he's fucking you right.
As much as Jihoon is desperate to cum, he will never pick his pleasure over your own. Without fail, he'll always make sure you orgasm before him, even like this. Though he doesn't have the patience for multiple when he's in this state, like he usually gives you before allowing himself to fall over the edge with you.
Today is no different; Jihoon wants you to cum first and soon, he can feel himself hurtling towards his end. You're so fucking tight like this, and he can see those fucking heels in his peripheral, and feel the blooming bruises on this thigh from you digging them into his delicate skin.
So he slides one hand down from your thigh to force its way between them and thumb at your clit harshly; it's messy and not very coordinated for a usually very coordinated man, but there's not much else he can do like this. There's not much else he needs to do. He feels you tightening up around him and groans, hand on your thigh squeezing encouragingly, and hips keeping the exact same pace and angle to not risk ruining your impending orgasm.
“Ji,” you warn, voice getting higher.
“I-I know,” he replies and squeezes again. “Cum for me baby.”
It's a few more rough presses of his thumb against your clit and then you're tensing up a split second before your back bows and you let out strings of moans and curses mixed with variations of his name in a combination that is pure music to his ears.
There's a fraction of a moment here where he regrets not pressing record on the room mic so that he can listen back on this session like he has many of them before, but he doesn't have the brain power to consider it for long.
Jihoon knows you don't need him to keep playing with your clit or fucking the same way to ride through your orgasm, so he moves both hands to press against the back of your thighs, folding you up. He hadn't intended for your heels to wind up pressed to his chest, it's just a real fucking happy accident that causes him to rapidly piston his hips, fucking his cock into you with nothing but the intention to cum.
You whine at the fast stimulation. It's teetering on the brink of making you too sensitive as the dregs of your orgasm trickle through your system, while also feeling so fucking good that you never want him to stop. It feels good, perhaps too good even, but you just take it, eyes rolled back, and head lolled back on your shoulders.
After a moment or two, you have enough presence of mind to lift your head and look at Jihoon. His eyes are closed tight, eyebrows furrowed with utter desperate concentration as he chases his high, and sweat dappling his forehead.
Without thought, you press both heels into his chest, and just like that, Jihoon's hips slap harshly against you a few times as his orgasm racks through his body while he chokes out gasping moans and digs his fingers into your thighs tightly. You don't bruise quite as easily as him, but you're pretty sure he's going to create at least a few faint ones with how hard he's holding you. Not that you mind.
Slowly, Jihoon falls still, and then loosens his hold, though he doesn't open his eyes yet as he pants and tries to suck in some air.
You know he's feeling much more like himself again when his hands slide up to lift your legs by the back of your ankles so that he can press a soft, grateful kiss to the exposed skin on the top of each foot. He carefully pulls out of you, with one hand holding the condom in place, and the other supporting your ankles in his other hand. He gently helps you lower your legs down before he moves aside to dispose of the condom and grab the wipes from the drawer.
“So,” you start, when he's back in front of you and doing his best to wipe at your sticky thighs. He looks at you and notices your grin. “High heel kink, huh?”
“Shut up.” He scoffs, though there's a twitch to his lips giving away his little smile when he turns to clean himself up too, then throws out the dirtied wipes.
“What?” You giggle and slide off of the desk carefully to pull your underwear and jeans back up and fasten them into place. “It's cute.”
“Seriously babe, shut up.”
“No.” You giggle and toddle over to throw your arms around him from behind.
He sighs and finishes tying up his sweatpants back in place before turning to face you, naturally putting his hands on your waist. “Hm, maybe you can wear heels around me more,” he muses upon realising that your modest cleavage is right in his face. He leans in and doesn't hesitate to suction onto the skin that he can access like this.
“Shall we go now?” you suggest while running your fingers through his hair. He hums against your skin, then smooths a hand down to your ass to slap it quickly. “Asshole.”
“Mm,” he agrees and steps back to eye the growing bruise, then lowers his gaze to your feet. “You need to change those though; I can't be seen with my dick hard in public.”
“Spoilsport.”
“I'm a fucking idol, I can't risk that shit,” he scoffs, then moves to save his work and turn off everything while you remove the high heels and pack them neatly back into the box they came in.
“Yeah, whatever, they're off. Now let's go get takeout and fuck in the backseat.”
“Sounds good to me, baby.”
Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖
Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle
🎙In The Studio taglist: @jaja-salute @ateez-atiny380 @cheoliranggyu @my-neurodivergent-world @hufflepuffwriter1995 @bleudandelion
Back To You
Master list.
Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt. 5 | Pt.6 Final
stepping out today hide ya girl 😤👊
synopsis... this is a request from my lovely @coupsarchive "bae can you do smth like sugar baby dino being hella clingy to reader or dino being that annoying bff, smth dino 😗" and for my other anon you know who you are (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ pairing... annoying bsf!chan x reader
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ genre... smau, fluff, crack, brainrot
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ trigger/content warning... mentions of death, kidnapping, murder, chan's abs..., lmk if i missed anything!
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging!
a/n... i really don't know how i feel about this one... but i wanted to put something out before i disappear for a week/can't find time to write ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و♡
hanniehaeo navi 𝜗𝜚 taglist 𝜗𝜚 kofi
© intellectual property belongs to hanniehaeo 2025
images belong to original owners; the work isn't an accurate representation of reality
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૮ ․ ․ ྀིა taglist: @livelaughloveseventeen @coupsarchive @choco-scoups @markoplolo @strawberry-yeo
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banner from @seventeenzone / divider from @cursed-carmine
OT13 reaction to their s/o experiencing a wardrobe malfunction or unwanted attention on a date
Request: if you could do a svt ot13 reaction to their girlfriends having a wardrobe malfunction in a date , or like someone they are enjoying their date and some men are making them uncomfortable, watching them with disgusting lustful eyes , or just touching them Inappropriatetly in public because as a girl I have experienced this things some times and because SVT ofcourse without a doubt seems like respectful, protective partners how would they react .
A/N: i’m so sorry you’ve experienced this :'(
Content: hurt/comfort, harassment
protective and assertive — seungcheol, mingyu, seungkwan
he sees it and his body is all warning. he steps in and positions himself slightly between you and the person making you uncomfortable, and speaks firmly to set boundaries. he apologizes if he startled you, but he’s no-nonsense in keeping you safe. your comfort is his priority. will go to the point of filing criminal charges for sexual harrasment.
calm and strategically protective — jeonghan, jun, wonwoo, woozi, vernon
he doesn’t lose his mind, but he’s calculating: shifting chairs, repositioning you, holding your hand/arm tightly. he might offer an excuse to move somewhere safer, suggesting you two leave or change spots without making a scene. he wants you to feel protected without embarrassment. you will feel a mix reassured by how he manages to protect you so thoroughly while maintaining composure and never letting the aggressors see his irritation, only your safety and comfort.
outspoken and immediately confrontational — hoshi, minghao, dino
he doesn’t hold back. if someone is making lewd comments or touching inappropriately, he calls them out directly and loudly enough to make them stop. he will even alert staff or the surrounding people if that's needed. his first priority is getting you out of the situation quickly and out of reach of anyone else who might cause discomfort. along the way, he sometimes lets a hand rest lightly on your back and reassure that anyone trying to cross the line will face him first.
supportive and attentive to your emotional state — joshua, dokyeom
after the incident, he’s not just focused on the physical protection, but on making sure you feel emotionally safe too. he’ll ask if you’re okay, hug you, stay by you, and reassure you that none of that was your fault. he’ll let you vent, and he listens without judgment, and keeps you at the center of his attention until you feel better again.
a home with the devil (part one)
🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked
🎪 For @camandemstudios' Midnight Menagerie Collab
Everything is glamorous and joyful at The Midnight Menagerie. The lights shine bright, the laughter and music are loud, the performers are beautiful. You like it here. If you keep ignoring the warning signs, you might even love it here. If you keep looking away, you might even stay forever.
♫ Seven Devils Florence + The Machine
PAIRING: animal handler!mingyu x fem!reader WC: 8.2k / ??? TAGS/CONTENT WARNINGS: horror, ambiguous ending, creepy, body horror (in case you want to skip, it's when 1. when mingyu and reader watch the contortionists' routine in pt. 1, when reader sneaks into the animal hold in pt. 2, and when reader is on the tightrope in pt. 3), snakes, hallucinations, descriptions of death/murder, blood, vomit, knives, stabbing, burns, uh. possession adjacent?, bruh idk, side characters SMUT TAGS: will tag when we get to it A/N: hello! as usual, this was supposed to be a one shot. as usual, it isn't. LOL. enjoy but not too much bc idk what updating schedule is going to look like right now. i know not a lot is going to make sense yet... but hope you'll be patient with this one. anyway, happy halloween. love u bye.
prologue
AN INCONCEIVABLE AMOUNT OF TIME AGO, a grief unlike any other was borne of a mortal man. It was tremendous and ugly and relentless, touching every corner of the man's world. It warped every beautiful thing he knew into something just as ugly as itself. It lied to him like deception was art and it was the master. It told him life was no longer worth living, nothing could ever be beautiful again, no place would ever feel like home. It blended the days together until the mortal man didn't know how long it had been since his life became so silent.
I tell you this grief was unlike any other because grief with nowhere to go… lingers. It wakes up beside you, replaces your food at every meal, walks alongside you, sings you to sleep and lies awake next to you at night, whispering horrid things in your ear. At some point, it starts to become its own being. It starts to become you.
The man's grief became hungry, feeding on his pain voraciously, the taste of it so acrid, devastating, and delicious. And it found ways to make it even more flavorful. It played with its food, wondering what the anguish would turn into if it made the man's loved ones turn their backs to him. What would the desolation become if it took away his livelihood and his prospects? What would the misery feel like if it conjured phantasms of what the man had lost to meet him around every corner, sending him chasing after illusions that dissolved behind walls and crowds?
The delicacy of his despair increased tenfold.
Then, Grief had a brilliant idea. What would that all look, smell, and taste like if one night, he came to the mortal man and offered him a small hope? Promised him his life before these misfortunes? Gave him something to hold onto? All in exchange for a tiny price?
What would hope do to a human as desperate as this one?
Grief may have been borne of the mortal man, but an inconceivable amount of time ago, the devil was borne of grief.
dusk
FALLING ASLEEP IN THE CAR hardly ever results in a restful sleep for you. You nod off with your neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, you spend the entire time in a weird half-awake state, and when you fully come to, it's over the course of several seconds as you feel the car exiting the highway or reaching a stop sign. You fight from acknowledging that it's time for you to give up your weak grasp on sleep and just open your eyes. But something tells your body you're reaching your destination, and you slowly wake to find you're right. You're one turn away.
Waking up now isn't anything like that. You open your eyes like you simply blinked from one second to the next—not as if you've been asleep. There is no slow swaying of your body to tell you it's time to wake up, no gentle pull from a fragile dream state. Just an abrupt shove back into consciousness you don't even recall slipping out of.
You find yourself seated in the back of Maya's car, exactly where you'd been when you must have dozed off, except now, you're alone. The car is neatly parked on the side of the road, like your friends thought this was a nice place to stop for a break. You can't imagine why because there's nothing but cold, silent wood for miles along the winding highway.
You should be sandwiched between Jackson and Chris, who had been passing a 40 back and forth, drunkenly spilling malt liquor on you on more than one occasion. Wendy should be in the front passenger seat, laughing at whatever Maya was saying as she drove—something about who was going to be at the party. The party you weren't at right now.
“Come.”
You look to your right, where you swear you heard a man speak to you. All you're met with is a quickly darkening wood and the barely-there reflection of yourself in the window. You pause, brows furrowing a little the longer you look at yourself. Has the look in your eyes always been so… distant? Have you always looked this tired? So pale? Your classes this quarter had been taking a toll on you, but you didn't realize how… haggard you looked.
“It's time.”
“What?” you find yourself asking before you can register it's the voice again—muffled, far away, and belonging to someone who isn't in the car with you. You think you should be scared. You think you should feel anything other than placated. You aren't and you don't. “Time for what?” You wait a beat and when you don't hear it again, you hesitantly call out, “Jackson?”
Of course, with all the windows up, you don't hear anything else. You don't know what to do with yourself, sitting here alone. Did your friends stop to pee in the woods? Did the car break down, forcing them to find help? You should probably just wait for them to return.
As soon as the thought enters your head and you start to slouch against the seat in preparation to wait, a horrible feeling seizes your chest, squeezing tight and robbing you of your breath. All the air in Maya’s car suddenly feels like it's been sucked out by a vacuum, and in a panic, you flinch away from your seat, hands fumbling against the door to your right as you struggle to unlock it and throw it open.
When you finally do, you fall right out of the backseat and onto the side of the road, dead leaves crunching under your weight as you gasp for lungfulls of crisp, cold air—so clean and icy, it stings your chest in a very different way than being in the car did.
Through the ragged sounds of your wheezing, you think there are words dancing through the trees to get to you, but you’re not sure this time. After a few moments, you finally catch your breath. Maybe I’ll go look for them, you think instead. The storm in your chest turns into a soothing calm at the thought.
You press your palms against the asphalt and brace, pushing yourself up to your knees and looking up at the seemingly never-ending woods before you. Dusk is stealing whatever remaining light the day lent quickly. The trees are growing darker by the second, tall and ominous and daunting as they tower over you. Fog rolls in, curling just inches above the floor like it's reaching for you. Beckoning to you.
You recall the words you've used to describe these same woods your entire life: creepy, terrifying, dark, nightmare fuel. You've been warned again and again never to enter them—alone or accompanied. You've heard rumors about cults that thrive in these woods, away from prying eyes. Feral people who choose to stay in the safety of this wilderness rather than join society. Right now, though, the only word you can really come up with to describe it is… peaceful. In some twisted way, maybe even beautiful.
“I can show you something beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” you repeat pathetically, frowning as you stare into the increasing blackness. You think you can see someone walking between the trees if you stare hard enough. You think it could also be a trick of the darkness.
“Yes,” the voice answers this time. “Beautiful. Grand. Magnificent.”
“What… what is it?”
You shiver as what feels like lips, ice cold and rigid, graze your ear and the voice whispers: "You'll have to follow me.”
Don't.
It's a new voice, and its rage-laced authority snaps you out of your daze. You gasp at the ice-cold sensation on your ear as you frantically scramble away before turning to find nothing but the same car you exited. No one there, no space for anyone to even crouch behind you and touch their lips to your ear.
Leave. RU—
“YOUR FRIENDS CAME TO HAVE FUN!” The voice suddenly bellows, becoming so loud, you instinctively shove the heels of your hands into your ears and cringe into the cold metal of the car. The fear lasts only half a moment more before your body settles back into the calmness you felt upon escaping the car, the faint sound of music drifting over your cupped hands. You let them fall back down to your lap. “Don't you want to join them? I know where they are.”
“Where are they?” you ask, slowly pushing yourself off the car. You stare into the darkness like that's who you're talking to.
“I'll show you.”
You squint, straining your eyes to see past the first few dozen feet into the woods. You think you can see the shape of someone moving through the trees like they’re almost dancing amongst them. The shadows swallow the image up before you can say for sure.
When you were seven, Maya dared you to run into the woods as far as you could for one minute before turning around and coming back. When you were 16, a boy at school asked you to hook up with him in the privacy of these trees. And when you were 20, you decided you'd never go anywhere near them again after they found the body of a girl who'd been missing for six months. Every time you so much as glanced in the direction of these woods, you felt your heart drop into your stomach, gut twisting almost painfully as it told you to run far away and to stay away.
Right now, though, you don't feel scared. You don't feel apprehensive. You just feel… nothing, really. And wouldn't you have alarm bells ringing in your head if this wasn't safe to do?
“You know where all of them are?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet and craning your neck to see if you’ll catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure again.
“I do.”
You take a hesitant step forward off the asphalt, even more dead leaves crunching under your foot. You look down at the sound. The ground is so littered with leaves, you can’t see the dirt beneath your foot. You frown a little seeing how dirty your sneakers look, though, caked in mud that looks like it dried hours ago. A spot of red at the end of the toe box.
“Come on,” he says again. You take a few more slow steps, and when you breach the treeline, you feel an overwhelming sense of relief. “That’s a good girl.”
You don’t know how long you’ve been walking. It could be five minutes; it could be five hours. All you know is that the longer you walk, the lighter you feel—physically and in every other way. You start to feel like you can float, like you’ve never felt a bad feeling in your life, like everything is beautiful. The darkness of the trees towering over you is more and more breathtaking in beauty than it is in uneasiness. Every noise, near or far, seems to harmonize with the distant music you can still hear. The fog growing thicker and thicker feels like a blanket weighing down and suffocating your anxieties, your skin immune to the cold of the autumn night.
You don’t see anyone or anything else as you walk, but you don’t have to question if you’re going in the right direction. You just know you are. And when you start to see lights in the distance—seemingly appearing out of nowhere one at a time, softly bouncing like buoys bobbing in the ocean—you know you’ve arrived. The music, pleasant and mollifying, begins to grow louder as you approach the warm glow surrounding the tents in the middle of the clearing up ahead.
When you get close enough to see through the fog clearly, you realize it’s a circus of sorts, not quite like the ones you grew accustomed to traveling through town—the ones with the rickety fair rides outside, the sad, dirty tents still wrinkled from where they were unfolded from the moving truck… so few people roaming around, the employees were all just lounging about in their ridiculous costumes, sharing cigarettes.
No, this circus looks like a small, glamorous city teeming with joy and liveliness. Crowds of elegant, gorgeous people wander, laughing, smiling, and enjoying various attractions; the only one you can make out from where you stand involves a ball of fire bursting into the air above a wall covering its source. You can hear the delighted cheers every time another plume of smoke dissipates into the air.
Several pristine, velvety tents of a deep, rich purple are scattered among the grounds, all facing one, grand, glittering tent with three peaks, small black flags gently flapping in the breeze atop them. You can't tell if it's black or purple, but it almost reflects the still-darkening sky. You think it might be the most stunning thing you've ever seen, and you watch with envy as several people disappear into it, positive that whatever is inside is all the more impressive than the outside.
“Why is this here…?” you ask, either to yourself or your new friend.
“It's been waiting for you.”
“Me?” A hum of affirmation. “What has…?”
“The Midnight Menagerie.” It's a whisper that passes over you like wind, gone before you can register its sensation on your skin.
The voice doesn't bid you farewell, but somehow, you know you're alone now that he's delivered you to your destination. Before you can question it, you continue walking the last few dozen yards to the circus, your steps quickening with excitement the closer you get.
You stop just short of the grounds, which are closed in by a white brick wall a couple of feet taller than you are. The gates of the entrance are wide open, the name of the circus displayed in an iron arch above it, the letters curling and curving just as prettily as the shadows you thought you saw earlier. The circus had been calling you, you realize. Overcome with the immense desire to lose yourself in the crowds within, you eagerly take a step across the threshold of the gate.
You feel the heat before you see the fire. It's toasty on your face and it steals the air from around you for the second time tonight. The bright orange glow of the flame follows, striking the ground where your foot landed, and drawing a line across the gateway just as you jump away.
You gasp and move back, eyes widening at the line of fire now licking a burnt scar into the path where your foot had just been. The music stutters a little as you look up and meet the gaze of who you can only assume is a fire breather. He's stood on top of a circular pedestal, no doubt his makeshift stage to entertain guests as they walk by. Curiously, despite the earlier cheers, though, no one pays him any mind now.
The man is tall—even moreso with the stage—looking down at you with a carefully blank expression. He has a faint scar running through his right eye, a different color than the natural brown of his left: a blue so icy, it's almost white.
“Why did you do that?” you ask dumbly. You're not sure that's the question you wanted to ask, but your disappointment at being barred entry smothers you.
“You're not wel—” He chokes on his own words, eyes narrowing like he knew this was coming. You frown at him as he purses his lips tightly, every muscle in his body tightening like he's bracing himself against something you can't see.
A wave of black suddenly blankets the fire, wrestling with it in a way you know should startle you. Instead, you're fascinated by the shadows, watching as they push and writhe and move with wild, unnatural motions that make it look like they're attempting to mimic human movement. They smother the line until the flames are just embers in the charred earth, disappearing along with it. In their place, you find another man standing in the middle of the gateway. Long, lithe, and exuding grace even as he just stands there.
“Don't mind him,” he says, not bothering to spare the fire breather a glance. “Soonyoung is our feistiest performer.”
The fire breather stumbles off the platform suddenly, staggering away like he's in pain, shadow nowhere to be found. Your eyes follow him, something akin to concern bubbling in your gut as the music stutters a few more times.
The new stranger cuts your line of sight, his lips turning up in a gentle smile as he draws your gaze to his eyes.
“I'm Minghao,” he says softly. “Welcome to The Midnight Menagerie.” He steps aside and extends his arm to show off the circus. The music swells, and you feel your excitement return as you finally step over the threshold and into the glow, the scorched ground long forgotten to you.
“Thank you,” you say, looking around in wonder. “It's been such a long time.” You're not sure why you say that, but it feels right. After all, who knows how long you've been walking.
“Or not long at all,” Minghao says cryptically, eyes twinkling under the string lights. “Come. Let's show you around, hm?”
You follow obediently, taking the arm he offers you and looping yours around it. You walk the grounds like you've known each other forever, chatting and giggling as he points out games, snacks that fill the air with the most delicious aromas, and performers on pedestals, much like Soonyoung. You frown a little at the thought of the stranger. What was it he was going to say to you? Was it that you weren't welcome? Did he—
“Ah! Looks like I'm running out of time,” Minghao exclaims just as you two stop in front of the glittering big top you saw from afar. It's even more magnificent up close.
You think the circus was probably named after the tent. Or maybe the tent was fashioned to match its namesake. Either way, it looks like someone found the darkest place on Earth, plucked the midnight right out of the sky—stars and all—and wove it into the fabric that would house this circus and its performers. Your awe must show on your face because Minghao grins.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?”
You nod. “Like the stars themselves are sewn right into the tent.” He hums in agreement, though you can tell the wonder has long worn for him.
“Are you ready to go in?”
“In?”
He nods excitedly. “It's almost time for my performance.”
Your eyes widen and your arm falls away from him. “You're a performer!”
“I am,” he says, lips pressing together like he's hiding his amusement at your surprise.
“What do you do?”
“I'll show you.”
He reaches forward and lifts the flap, and you swear the stars on the fabric dance away to accommodate the movement. It's dark inside—so dark, you're not even sure anyone else is in there. You look back at Minghao, a little hesitant. He encourages you with a single nod and a smile so friendly, it expels any doubt you have. You duck into the tent, your guide right behind you.
You walk in the dark—unnervingly cold and silent—for only a brief moment before the shadows give way to a ring full of spectators, all eagerly awaiting the next act. The circle encasing the stage itself is empty, but it's clear everyone is anticipating Minghao to take it because they all begin to cheer upon his entrance. You startle at the sound, booming and excited and more… uniform than you expected it to sound.
“Take a seat,” Minghao says, gently pushing the small of your back toward an empty spot on the bench nearest to you. You turn back to him just before you take it. Shadows lick at his feet before snaking up his calves, knees, thighs and cradling his waist. “And enjoy the show…”
With that, the shadows swallow him up whole just as they did the flames, disappearing into thin air. You flinch down into your seat. You force yourself to look away from the space Minghao was just standing in and focus on the spectators around you. They make no noise and show no reaction now, sitting with rigid postures, hands in their laps as they stare blankly straight ahead at the still-empty stage.
“Did you… did you see that?” you ask, leaning toward the woman next to you.
The music stutters to a complete stop as she jerks her head toward you in a series of short, stilted, and labored motions—like her neck hasn't been oiled in decades and has grown rusty. When her eyes meet yours, they're wide open and uncomfortably red, and her smile looks like it's held up by fish hooks tucked into each corner of her mouth. You're filled with inexplicable sadness, and you flinch a second time.
“See what?” she asks, voice saccharine.
Before you can decide whether or not to answer, the lights go out and a voice announces over the speakers: “Put your hands together for our next act!” The woman's neck snaps back forward in one go, her eyes on the stage once more. “An enigma cloaked and dripping in black, he rules the dark—commands the source of all your fears… feeds off the light of life. Beware of being pulled too close to his orbit… I bring you: THE PRINCE OF SHADOWS!”
If you thought the ring without lights was dark, you were mistaken. As soon as Minghao's stage name is announced, shadows erupt from the center of the ring in billows of black, stealing any remnants of light in the room until you can't see your hand in front of your face. Along with it comes silence so loud, you feel your eardrums vibrating.
“Yes. I see now,” the saccharine voice whispers into the void next to you.
Like he's taking a breath and inhaling what was always his, the shadows come hurdling back to the stage, disappearing where Minghao now stands. His gaze goes from the floor directly to you, and the music that plays then is slow to start, the sound of strings being plucked delicately as the man starts to move—just as slowly, one limb, one joint, one finger moving to each note. You realize his act is a dance when the music picks up, beautiful and eerie voices somehow harmonizing perfectly with Minghao's body. He moves his body like he has no bones, bending and swooping every which way and you think he looks a lot like the shadows he calls on.
The music swells, transitioning from a peaceful, almost melancholy tune to one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as shadows start to leak out of Minghao's arms—viscous, lazy, and leaden, almost like it's just waking up from a deep sleep.
Then, as the music begins to feel what you can only describe as violent, the shadow takes the form of a human being itself. Minghao turns to it, unperturbed by the shadow that begins to mirror his every move. Like they're tethered together, they dance facing one another, the intensity and desperation in Minghao's eyes growing.
“The Prince of Shadows…” a voice whispers, much too soft to be the announcer over the speaker. “So elegant. Graceful. Lovely. So…” The voice warps slightly, sounding a bit like several voices, most of them deep and disjointed. “Lonely.”
The shadow being stands still now even as Minghao continues to dance. It has no discernible features—no eyes, no nose, no mouth—yet you can tell it watches him closely with little regard for his growing despair. Loneliness blooms in your own chest, its shadows spreading inside you until you want to run onto the stage to embrace Minghao.
As soon as you have the thought, the sound of two hands clapping together twice echoes through the tent, producing wind strong enough to chase away the shadows—Minghao along with them. It isn't until the dancer is gone that you realize you had been holding your breath. You gasp and inhale your first breath of air in… you're not sure how long. You press a hand to your chest to keep it from heaving, looking around to find the other spectators unaffected. They continue to stare forward just as they did when they were awaiting Minghao.
“A little too… macabre for my taste,” a soft, velvety voice says. It brushes up against a long-slumbering memory in the corners of your mind.
You turn over your shoulder to find the outline of a man—tall, broad, and backlit by the blinding stage lights behind him as he descends the stairs down to your seat. You bring a hand up to shade your eyes, narrowing them and straining to see the man's face between your fingers. The lights sweep to the other side of the tent, granting you reprieve. You let your hand fall and find yourself face-to-face with a man who looks so achingly familiar, nostalgia and devastation fill your mouth—so thick and heavy, it threatens to choke you.
You know his hair like your hand already made a home in it once before, fingers carding through the long black strands lazily, nails scratching his scalp as he began to doze off. You can mix paints to match the exact shade of his skin on the very first try. You look at him now and know you've looked into those dark eyes your whole life—enough to be aware they're a lot more expressive than this. They're guarded. He's guarded.
You try to swallow the lump in your throat and fail, coughing around it instead.
It isn't until he comes to a stop on the step next to your seat that you realize he's flanked by a massive tiger. It sticks close to him, muscular and majestic, its white fur shiny and smooth like it’s combed through every hour. Your eyes widen and you freeze, but your body doesn't allow you to react the way you think you normally would. The man tilts his head at you before following your gaze down to the animal, which stares at you with piercing eyes—one blue, one brown. The tiger seems familiar in a different way—like someone you may have passed walking down the street once.
How absurd. I've never met a tiger. You actually giggle at the thought before frowning again.
“You have a tiger.”
“I do,” he says. It pays him no mind as it continues to stare at you. “I have many… animals. I'm the keeper here.”
“The… animal keeper…?” He nods. “Oh” is all you can say. He sits comfortably in the silence that follows, but you rush to fill it. “Is it… nice?” You nod at the tiger.
He laughs a little. “‘It'? The tiger is male. You can say ‘he.’” You flush at the correction. “He's very nice. One of the kindest souls I've ever met.”
The tiger's eyes finally leave you, turning up to look at his owner. When he does, the light floods his face more clearly, and you can see the large feline has a scar running through his right eye.
“Are you enjoying the show?”
“I…” your voice gets stuck in the lump and nothing else comes out.
His smile quirks up a little higher. “Mind if I sit?”
“Um,” you glance back at the odd woman next to you to find she left in the time you've been staring at this man.
You immediately scoot over, and he thanks you as he sits down, one foot going up to rest against the back of the seat in front of him. You realize the people in front of you are gone too. When you take a look around… you find that everyone is gone. It's quiet now. The air feels a little colder, the lights a little more clinical, and your joy a little less potent.
“If you're not enjoying the show, you can always l—” he clears his throat like he just saved himself from choking on his own words. He gives you a slightly pained smile before saying, “You shouldn't spend time doing things you don't enjoy.”
“I'm enjoying…” Even you hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I think.”
“You think,” he repeats. His expression suggests he's amused but his eyes are devoid of any feeling. Any depth. Any life. He watches you with a soft, barely-there smile on his lips. “Well, maybe you need to see more to make up your mind.”
“Maybe.” You pause, remembering your manners. “How about you? Are you enjoying the show? Even though, y’know… you’re kind of part of it.”
He laughs a little at that. “I shouldn’t say no since, y’know… I’m kind of part of it,” he borrows your own words, making you laugh along. As soon as you do, his posture loosens a bit and he becomes more generous with his smile, though it still stays close-lipped. He’s handsome—remarkably so, actually. Handsome to the point that he doesn’t seem quite real. But the smile isn’t right. “But… no. I’m tired of it.”
The atmosphere grows increasingly lackluster by the second, Mingyu’s very presence seeming to wipe it away before your very eyes. You nod. “Night after night… that would be tiring.” He nods but offers nothing else. “When is your performance?”
“Ah, well, I’ve already gone,” he responds, your disappointment fast-acting as it blankets you.
“That’s a shame. I missed you.”
You meant you missed his performance, and you’re sure that he understands that. Still, his face falls a little—enough that his smile no longer feels as genuine, just something to make himself approachable.
“You did,” he says regretfully. “But my act isn’t all that anyway. All I do is throw a few treats at this big cat.” He nods at the tiger, which is still sitting next to him, clearly at attention and scanning the environment for dangers. That “big cat” glances at him like he’s peeved, and it erases how intimidating the animal is.
“I think it’s amazing you can even get a wild animal to trust you enough to throw treats at it,” you say. “I’m sure a tiger like that wouldn’t really tolerate anything being thrown at it. Treats or not.”
The tiger huffs and finally relaxes, laying down at Mingyu’s feet. The handler grins—a full one with his teeth showing now—and your breath catches. You get an overwhelming sense of deja vu so strong that you’re convinced you know exactly what is going to happen next. You frown.
“What's your name?” you ask. He raises his eyebrows at the abrupt question. You think he’ll ask you what’s yours first.
“What's yours?” He proves you right. For some reason, you acquiesce and give it to him. His smile slowly fades and he nods once as he repeats it. There’s familiarity in it. If you think an echo could be a feeling, that’s what you feel stirring in your chest now. “That's a beautiful name.”
“And yours? It's only fair you give it to me now.”
He stares at you hard before he tells you: “Kim Mingyu.” He bows his head. “At your service.”
For a reason you don't care all that much to delve into, the words make you smile. The music drifts back into the tent from outside, and Mingyu, seemingly noticing the slight change in both you and your surroundings, clears his throat loud enough that he drowns out the music.
“The next act is ready.”
“Hm? How do—”
The cheers startle you, and you look around to find the crowd back in their seats like they never even left. The woman next to you shouts and claps in perfect unison with everyone else, ignoring the way you're staring at them all. When they continue to cheer for an uncomfortably long time, you start to feel your uneasiness seeping back into your system.
“Are you alright?”
You turn back to Mingyu to find him looking at you almost indifferently. But you know his face. You can't tell how or why but you do, and you see hope in his eyes. He brings a single finger up to gently rest between your brows, and you inhale sharply at the contact, the sensation feeling like a truck hitting you. You think you fall backwards as you're engulfed in black, the ominous sounds of applause fading, replaced by only a feeling. Peace.
“Do you believe in heaven?” You recognize Mingyu's voice.
“I think so,” you feel your lips form the words.
“So you must believe in hell.”
“Why must I believe in such a thing simply because I believe in heaven?” this version of you asks, amused.
“That line of thinking is so like you.” He says it with adoration.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“It is simply impossible for you to believe the worst in anything or anyone… yet you jump at the opportunity to believe something beautiful lies ahead.”
“Well… what if something does?”
“I already have you. What could possibly be more beautiful ahead of us?”
You open your eyes to find that you haven't moved. If Mingyu notices the way your breathing changed or the blood that rushed to your cheeks, he doesn't say. He simply presses his finger softly against you to smoothen the crease of your confused frown.
“You seem like you have a question,” he observes, mouth staying just slightly ajar as his finger slowly traces the bridge of your nose down to the tip and down to your philtrum, where he rests in the tiny divot for only a moment. He takes his hand back before he can decide whether or not he's going to trace the outline of your lips too, and the thought alone has your heart pounding. “You can ask me anything.”
“I…” Without his finger there, your brows furrow once more. The too-perfect applause around you still doesn't stop. “I think I… I do have questions…” He leans in, the hope in his eyes growing. It makes you want to remember what you're so curious about. “Did… do you believe—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer bellows into the speaker twice as loudly as before. Mingyu's face stays stoic, but you see the hope die right before your eyes. Still, he smiles at you and nods at the stage, motioning for you to redirect your attention. You do, finding the stage lights wildly sweeping across the tent as the announcer continues. “Prepare yourselves for a dance of devotion: two souls so inseparable, they've forgotten where one ends and the other beginssss…” The voice comes down to a whisper. “The Sonsssss of Lamia.”
The lights all come together to the center of the ring, where two people stand turned to one another, their heads resting on each other's shoulders. You can only see the face of one of them, and his eyes are closed, everything about him so relaxed, he could be asleep. When their act doesn't begin immediately, you look at Mingyu, whose eyes are so distant, you doubt he's watching the performers. They slide to you when he notices you watching him.
“Who is Lamia?” you ask softly.
“A mythological queen,” he says, not bothering to whisper. “A god fell in love with her, and driven by jealousy, his wife cursed her, forcing her to eat her own children. She went mad with grief and became a monster.”
“A monster?”
He nods solemnly. “A snake.”
What sounds like the strings of a violin fill the tent, the stage demanding your attention once more. The men are still in the same position except now, the one facing your side of the audience has opened his eyes, and he's staring right at you. He's stunning, the corner of his lips curled up into a soft, natural smile even though his face remains expressionless.
Both of them slowly lift their cheeks off their partner's shoulder, their movements in perfect sync. They turn their heads so they're facing one another, but only for a moment before they begin to circle the stage until the one whose eyes you met has his back to you. He slowly bends backwards with unfathomable control until his palms are flat against the floor, his gaze on you upside down. His partner, now with a clear path to you, stares just as openly. You realize the two look enough alike that they could maybe be twins. But this one, although just as breathtakingly beautiful, has a glint of mischief in his eyes whereas the other… you look down at him. His eyes are empty.
The corner of the mischievous one's mouth turns up into a smirk before he reaches forward to rest his hands on his partner's hips. He shifts his weight onto him, and with the same amount of control as the man in the backbend, he arches his back and begins lifting his legs up behind him until he's in a perfect C-shape.
“They're contortionists.”
Mingyu hums. “They're a lot of things.”
You think you'd find the statement amusing if you didn't feel a growing discomfort in your gut.
The two dive deep into their routine, bending and stretching and flexing every which way, never not touching each other. Every time you're sure they're too tangled up in each other to possibly continue, they prove you wrong. And it's almost disturbing… how intertwined the two become without having to think twice about it—like their bodies know where the other's is at all times. They wrap around each other so gracefully so easily, and you understand why their act is named after a woman who became a snake. Slithering is the best word you can use to describe what they do with one another.
The violin turns a touch sweeter, and the two men easily fall into a dance, the mischievous one holding his partner's hip with one hand and cradling his hand in the other. They waltz around the ring, one of them spinning or being lifted every so often. It feels like hypnosis, your gaze being forcefully dragged across the stage after them. Then, as one spins into a turn, you notice the hand that remains connected to his partner's doesn't quite follow his movement, almost like it's stuck in mud. You tilt your head curiously but neither of the performers pay it any mind.
The spin ends with his back pressed against his partner's chest. He leans his head back onto his shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of his neck. His partner wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him to his body tightly, and he smiles at the sensation, head lolling a bit in pleasure on his shoulder.
“Are they… lovers?” you whisper, perplexed because you thought they had been twins this entire time. The position feels too intimate for twins.
“Would it comfort you to think of them that way?” It's a question you don't expect and it stumps you.
“I don't know,” you admit.
Whatever Mingyu says next is lost to you because the mischievous one leans forward and affectionately caresses his partner's bare skin with the tip of his nose. And as he begins to drag it across the vein running down his neck, your stomach plummets. You watch in horror as the skin on the tip of his nose sticks to his partner's, clinging to it, pulling taut, ripping away when he gets too far down. And when it meets his neck in an otherwise gentle kiss, the man's mouth does the same, the pink of his lips bonding to the tan of his partner’s skin.
A dance of devotion, the announcer had called this. Two souls so inseparable… they’ve forgotten where one ends and the other begins.
The mischievous one’s fingers press hard into his partner’s arms. It would be bruising for anyone else. For them, it’s gruesome. His fingers disappear into his flesh, the skin growing over the appendage with enough give that you can see it wiggle underneath. And all his partner does is sigh deeply and sink further into his chest. It’s clear the feeling elicits pleasure for him.
Your discomfort is no longer growing. It's exploded into its own monster inside you, taking root in every corner of your body until you're completely rigid, afraid that any movement will attract the contortionists’ attention. Afraid that they'll come for you next, their skin sticking to and reaching for yours. Hungrily clawing at you and claiming you for itself. Devouring you whole until you’re no longer you.
The feeling in your stomach turns from nausea to an ugly, stinging ache. You rest your hand against it, wincing when you think of your skin touching your own skin.
“Contortionists… gymnasts… dancers…” Mingyu lists in boredom as you watch the mischievous one most literally tear his hands and arms from his partner's where their skin had melded together, and spin him around to face him again. You yank your own hand away from your body. You have never wanted anything as badly as you want to be able to look away right now, but you can't. It wasn’t so far off to think of their performance as hypnosis. You’re entranced, if not completely under the control of the two. “They also do trapeze.”
You don’t trust yourself to speak without throwing up as soon as you open your mouth, so you don’t. The two men face each other once again, standing incredibly still as the violin screeches to an ugly, squeaky stop. You try to swallow your anxiety away—try to find the delight and bliss you had mere minutes ago. You fail as you anticipate the moment they inevitably touch again.
They take a step closer and when they're toe-to-toe, their heads tilt slightly in opposite directions and the terror paralyzes when you realize they're about to kiss.
You watch, holding your breath because if you release it right now, you're convinced something terrible will happen to you. Just before their lips touch, they pause, the same pair of eyes you met at the very beginning of the act flickering over to you. And they aren't empty the way you first mistook them for. It feels a lot worse than nothing. It feels like staring into a pool of cruelty.
As if he can hear you coming to your epiphany, his already naturally smiling lips quirk up even higher, and his tongue runs across them so fast, you're not sure you even saw it. Then, he blinks, and his eyes turn a rich shade of gold, his pupils becoming narrow vertical slits of black.
The ache in your stomach turns so sharp, it becomes near-unbearable, and when you finally release your breath to gasp at the pain, the two drive your misery home and finally kiss, the skin of their lips immediately fusing together, strings of tan and pink stretching and grasping and clinging. You feel tears springing to your eyes when you see glimpses of their tongues intertwining in places where their skin parts for brief moments. Your hand cradles your abdomen despite your fear that you'll get stuck to yourself. The pain is too great.
“Their trapeze act is really something to see,” the animal handler tells you like this is all normal. “They fly through the air…” A cold breeze passes over you. “Catapult from swing to swing… even launch themselves through hoops.”
The words make you even sicker than you already are, but they mercifully snap you out of your daze and your eyes finally squeeze shut, forcing tears to slip out the inner corners of your eyes. You tremble as you start to feel unbearably cold. You think you feel wind on your face—biting and frigid the way only the middle of the night can be. Your breathing shallows as the fingers pressed to your stomach become coated with something thick and warm.
You tilt your head down and open your eyes slowly. Your hand shakes as you separate it from yourself just enough to see both your skin and your shirt drenched with blood.
“Oh,” you whisper.
“A lot of people think flight feels like freedom,” Mingyu continues, either ignorant or uncaring to how badly you're losing your mind right now. “I think it’s just another kind of surrender. Falling.”
You’re on your feet and gasping for air before you can process what’s happening, leaping over Mingyu and falling out into the aisle. Panic forces you up off the ground, and everything from there is a blur—Mingyu’s tiger, the atrocious faces of the audience, the shadows that seem to follow you, the dazzling starry tent. You squeeze your eyes shut again as you stumble aimlessly.
“Vernon? Vernon Chwe?” Wendy shrieks, giggling through her words. “He’s going to be there?”
“Yup!” Maya affirms as Jackson snorts and grins against the mouth of the 40oz bottle. “And I hear he’s freshly single!” She sings the word. “It’s your time, girl.”
“Look at these two,” Chris mutters to you and the other man in the backseat. He smiles affectionately as he accepts the bottle from Jackson. “On the hunt. Terrifying.”
“What about you, huh?” Jackson digs his elbow into your rib. You look over at him and raise your eyebrows. “You gonna be finding a man to take home tonight too?”
You can’t explain why the thought alone fills you with dread. Dating has never interested you, and neither has sleeping around. Maya has slipped you enough articles about aromantic or asexual people, but that’s never resonated with you either. You crave the same love and attraction your friends have all experienced and continue to. It’s just that no one has ever felt right.
But rather than drag the mood down with your honesty, you smile and roll your eyes. “And where are they supposed to sit if I want to bring them home? Should we lay them across our laps at the end of the night? Real romantic.”
The boys cackle as the girls do the same for a very different reason—this Vernon Chwe.
You sob as you’re brought to all fours, the feeling of dewy grass under your hand, soaking the knees of your jeans. You think the groans you hear are your own, but the world is spinning and you’re not sure.
“Help,” you breathe, knowing there's no way anyone heard you. You remove your bloodied hand from your abdomen, pressing it into the grass next to your other one. “Oh god,” you cry when you feel blood gushing out of you.
Leaning forward, you rest your forehead on your hands, trying to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth.
You stifle the feeling that you may never find someone that feels right to you.
The bile is up your throat and out of your mouth without warning, relentless and forceful, making your entire frame jerk and shake. Your throat burns as you expel the acid from your stomach, becoming raw in the process. When you feel completely empty, you find that your pain has subsided. You exhale in short puffs and finally open your eyes.
You sit back on your heels and away from your own vomit. In a daze, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before quickly lifting the hem of your shirt just to find the skin unblemished, not a drop of blood in sight. You pull your shirt back down, frowning as you blink several times to clear your vision. When it finally does, you find a woman not much older than you watching from a few yards away.
Her inky black hair is slicked down, a large feather tucked behind her ear and two tight braids with purple ribbons woven into them hanging down her shoulders and to her waist. She stands before you in a black dress that looks like it's missing a petticoat, laying limp and loose against her body, the shawl once wrapped around her shoulders doing the same.
The stranger's eyes flicker between you and the mess you made on the ground. She doesn't ask if you're okay or what you're doing on the ground at the circus. Instead, she jerks her head, motioning for you to follow her as she turns and walks away, farther from the big tent and the crowd inside it.
You glance back and for a moment, you feel a modicum of that same joy you did at the beginning of your time at The Midnight Menagerie again. The music reaches you once more, and the sound of people laughing and children squealing off in the distance makes you want to join them.
Listen to your gut, a familiar voice whispers.
The ghost of your pain reverberates in your abdomen, snapping you out of your reverie. You're starting to learn to associate the Menagerie's bliss with danger. You turn forward again to find the woman a good distance from you now.
Be safe.
You scramble to your feet and run after her.
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part two >>
Vampire Bunny Hybrid!Joshua (SVT) | Thrown Out crack | 0.9k | gn!reader A/N: @k-halloween-week last day - mayhem! also please nobody read this, i only wrote it so that @an-annyeoing-writer sees vampire bunnies can be done ❧ halloweek masterlist
“Let me out! Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?!” the man - bunny? creature? - yells, currently stuck on all fours inside a very cramped bunny cage. The bars strain against his body but hold him securely, thank god.
“What are you?!” you scream right back. Your heart is racing a mile a minute, your breathing just as fast and laboured as you pace around the room. You should probably call someone, but if you described the situation you’re in? You’d be the one getting locked up.
“I can explain! Just get me out of this!” he keeps shouting. It just makes everything worse for your spinning mind.
It started like any other day. You came into the room where you were currently keeping the bunny. You picked up the poor thing a couple days ago after you saw it wandering abandoned by the side of the road every time you drove past the spot. It wasn’t even hard to catch him - that along with his appearance made it abundantly clear he used to be a pet.
So you took him in, scheduled an appointment at the vet. Only today when you picked him out of the cage, cradling the thing - eager to cuddle you thought - to your chest as he stretched and laid his head on your shoulder, you noticed something was very very wrong.
All of a sudden the bunny started… shifting. You felt something sharp poking at your neck. What happened next, you’re not too proud of but you panicked! You threw the fluffy creature away, back into its cage where it finished the transformation, which leads you here. With a butt naked man inside a bunny cage. So far you just… threw a blanket over it so that only his shoulders and head is seen.
“No way!” you wail, falling to the ground, pulling yourself against the wall. You try to think but you’re spiralling. “What’s going on?”
A beat of silence that’s actually refreshing. Then a sigh.
“I’m a vampire,” the man sighs, “I got hungry.”
“I saw you munching away on hay and pellets,” you protest, “And blueberries. You begged for blueberries. If- If that was you. Was it you? It couldn’t be you. Give me my bunny back. What did you do to him?”
“That was me,” he groans, his head falling lower if possible, “We have… powers. We can learn to shift into an animal, though we can’t choose what animal. So yeah.”
You want to laugh and you want to cry. Mostly cry.
“But what about the blueberries?” you wail.
“I-” he sighs, stopping himself before he can actually say anything. He seems to be considering his life for a moment.
“My name is Joshua,” he tries again.
“That… doesn’t sound very old-timey,” you blink.
“It’s a biblical name,” he rolls his eyes.
“So you’ve been around since-”
“No, I wasn’t!” he snaps. A beat of silence only interrupted by your panicked breathing.
“Listen,” he licks his lips, “Can you just let me out? I promise I won’t do anything to you.”
“You’re just saying that,” you sniffle, “You already tried to bite me.”
You swallow, the realization slowly hitting what exactly could’ve happened to you if he was successful in his attempt.
“You fought back,” he reminds you, almost softly, “I respect that. I promise I won’t try to hurt you again.”
As if. You shake your head.
“You took care of me when I was… like that,” he sighs, “I’m just hungry. We don’t get any nutrition from eating actual food. It messes us up a little, actually.”
Some sort of gratitude would be nice. Letting him out would actually be the best option. If he keeps his word. Because what exactly will you do with a grown man that you’re currently holding - non-consensually - locked in a cage? Every question ends in a dead end. Well, it can’t be helped. Just your luck to stumble into a vampire masquerading himself as a bunny.
“Do you really promise?” you ask finally, tired.
“I do,” he says, earnestly, though you can hardly trust a killer, “I’m starving and weak. I can’t keep this form for long anyway.”
“Alright,” you sigh, slowly approaching the cage.
You work even slower to lift the top half. The man - Joshua - to his credit really doesn’t jump out and attack you. All he does is reach for the blanket to cover himself. He looks uneasy.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. You only hum in response.
”Would you be more comfortable if I turned back?” he asks.
”I don’t know,” and you really don’t, “That’s how you tried to bite me.”
He winces. His stomach rumbles.
“I’m really sorry,” he whispers, “It just hurts so bad.”
You swallow uneasily, putting more space between you. He watches you for a while as if deciding on something. Eventually, though, he sighs and soon enough - there’s a fluffy bunny crawling from under the blanket.
The small creature runs to you first and you nearly kick it, but it just rubs against your ankle. Then it runs through the house to the front door, scratching on the laminated wood. As if under a spell, and with a lot of suspicion, you follow. You open the door.
He runs out, turning back to look at you with a nod that seems like an acknowledgement. And then he’s running off.
Your head is spinning. You need to lie down.
CURSED COVEN [J.WW] I
A witch who's keeping centuries old secrets. A vampire who doesn't care about anything other than himself. An unconventional alliance that draws you both closer than you should be. But being good at keeping secrets comes with a price.
pairing: vampire!wonwoo x witch!reader
au/genre: supernatural au, magic au, forbidden romance, strangers to reluctant allies to lovers, angst, eventual smut.
word count: 12,8k
content warnings :blood, fucked up family dynamics, talking about death murder and sacrifices, implied killings, secrets, vampire feeding, thoughts of self-harm, threats.
note: hello! first order of business, thank you so much aeris @aeristudios for taking the time to read this over for me and reassuring me and supporting my crazies ily <3 my obsession with the vampire diaries has led me to this point! I had to write a vampire au! it's my calling!
this is part one! I'll post the second part on november! I promise!
THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.
check out my main masterlist ♡
read this post for a more detailed explanation of the lore and what inspired me to write this series!
I love to yap about tvd and this au, so, you're welcome to come scream in my inbox ♡
If you had to define your life with one sentence, the phrase “wrong place at the wrong time,” would be the most fitting, you think.
Whether by the eyes of reincarnation, fate, or the randomness of birth giving, there's no denying that whatever higher power made way for your birth on earth didn't care about your soul, it just needed a vessel to destroy.
Just one day. If you were born a day earlier, reality would be unthinkably better. You would've been just another normal newborn witch in the coven, learning mischievous spells with your friends and getting in trouble with the Wise Ones. But it couldn't happen that way. Life made sure of that. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been conceived.
“It's for the coven,” or “you should be honored to be a part of something so important,” your parents would say every time you'd ask them why they did it, in between sobs. It was hard, learning to live with it. But, little by little, day by day, you stopped caring, set on living the most you could before the time came.
The oh so powerful Moonlit Coven. The rulers of living magic for centuries, in charge of keeping it safe from the evil underworld. They wouldn't let anything happen to you before it was necessary. With a centuries old spell protecting you, nothing can kill you, yet, but can you be hurt?
Doing the grimy dishes you were careless to not clean early in the morning before closing, you're tempted to test its workings. What could happen if you accidentally grabbed a fragile glass with excessive force and it broke in your hand? Would it hurt? Would you bleed? Would it alert your family? It's a recurring intrusive thought that you never let win.
After all the years of living carelessly, building ephemeral relationships and getting emotionally wounded after they inevitably fall apart, that's the one thing you've always been careful about.
Force field spells were the foundation of your teachings, and you overused the hell out of them until you mastered them. Hence now, admittedly, you're scared. Getting physically hurt is something you never experienced, and you avoid it at all cost.
Laying low was the most important promise you had to fulfill in order for the coven to let you live in Ever Burn.
You purposely chose a ghost town as far away from your coven as possible. If you started getting hurt and healing rapidly, filling the bar with the smell of your blood for nothing to be there after, it would draw too much attention.
The couple hundred people living in town were weary of you at first, and the reason was as clear as the purified water you kept under the bar. As soon as you entered the same bar you’re standing in, looking for a job and a place to stay, you could smell the underworld injected in every corner, which the working hours of the bar being from sunset to sunrise should've alerted you of.
Not only the bar has tons of regulars who are vampires and a few werewolves here and there, but the town as a whole. The feeling of hundreds of supernatural creatures living in one place gave you goosebumps. It was hard getting used to it at first, that constant chill running down your spine at the underworld energy, but now that most of the regulars warmed up to you, it became your new normal.
Regulars that in any second are going to come knock on the locked door asking why you haven't opened if the sun already set.
Walking to the entrance with the key in hand, you partly regret choosing to get a job. You could’ve lived on a paradise-like beach with the money from the Coven, free of supernatural elements. But you weren't willing to live off your family's money for any longer. Getting a low paying job like normal people seemed like the way to go.
For the most part, the bar is a decently neutral place. The clients don’t come to make a fuss or to have something—or someone, to eat. Instead, they get drunk and flirt with you knowing they’re at least a couple hundred years older than you.
The bartender course you took still proves to be the best investment you made. You love hearing all the gossip in town. It’s incredible what amounts of illegal things people—mostly vampires, because werewolves have a higher tolerance, admit to doing to the bartender when their inhibitions go away.
A cold breeze on the back of your neck puts your thoughts on hold as you get back behind the bar. Vampires. Judging by the hour, you can guess who’s coming in.
The door creaks open, revealing the same group of friends that come in every day like clockwork.
You put all the yearning for a life you will never have behind you and your best waitress smile. A group of vampires is easy to handle on your own. As long as you're polite but not too flirty, they'll stay out of your way. This group in particular never spares you more than a glance.
From what you've gathered from sneakily listening to their conversations and from their drunken rants at 4 am, they're not murdering anyone in the plans they're whispering between themselves daily. Mostly keeping to the feed & erase process.
You’re walking forward to take their order when you feel it. There’s someone new with the two young looking vampires and their werewolf friend you’re used to seeing in the afternoons. When you lock eyes with him, blinding bleach blond hair and big eyes, you both instantly feel it in your veins. He’s a witch too.
It's a millisecond where your mouth dries incomprehensibly quickly. The last thing you wanted was for every creature in town to learn you're a witch. Underworld creatures can't recognize someone from the living magic world, and you've been good at hiding it so far, even refraining from doing any dumb spells to make your tasks easier to do. Now, it could all be at risk.
“You’re a waitress now?” The werewolf, Mingy, asks to the witch's side, managing to get your nervous system rolling again after the initial shock.
“Rob’s not here, yet.” You’re dry with your response. Small talk be damned for now.
The four guys exchange looks before the vampire with long hair speaks up. “We’ll wait for him, then.”
Normally, you'd think twice about why they'd be so adamant on wanting your boss to take their order, but at the moment, you don't trust yourself to be around this witch you've never seen before for any longer.
Why would he be hanging out with underworld creatures? It's an unspoken law that witches can't engage in relationships of any kind with the supernaturals. Every practicing witch knows that they mean nothing good, even the nice looking werewolves. Your kind always gets caught up in other supernatural creatures’ messes. And, of course, you always end up saving the day. That's why your Coven decided to live in a guarded community, away from any manipulating underworld people and keeping magic safe.
If they're together, there must be a plan of his interest happening.
From afar, the unknown witch doesn't seem to be as interested in you as you're with him. He listens closely to what the werewolf is telling the others. You can breathe, for now. It'll be best if you work while figuring out what he's doing, but not meddle in their business too much. It should be easy.
After Rob and the other waitress miraculously show up kind of on time for their schedules, you can relax a bit more. If the blond didn't say anything, you trust he doesn't want to expose you to anyone. You certainly trust him more than his companions.
As you pretend to organize the dishes you did before, making noise so the vampires don’t hear you, you whisper a spell to amplify your hearing. They’re usually funny to listen to—always loud while talking, but tonight, they’re muttering nonsense to themselves, talking about finding an unfamiliar stone. The witch is surely doing a protecting spell around them, because you’re only getting broken words that make little sense.
There's only one person from that group you ever spoke to outside of the bar. Not that you would trust him, but it could be possible to get information from him.
Hansol bumped into you outside the local library a few weeks ago. It was your day off, and when he recognized you, you nearly cast a spell to make him pass out and give you time to run away. But he didn't seem to care much about you as a whole.
You sat together at an illuminated corner and drank a cup of coffee in silence as you read your respective books. You'd enchanted the 'History of Covens' book you were holding to appear as if you were reading a common romance novel. He stared at you every now and then, and you had to pretend you weren't trying to figure out why he was reading a town history book if he's a thousand years old vampire.
"Memory failing you?" You asked after he caught you reading the title.
"Just doing some research." He shrugged.
"I'm sure you lived through everything you're reading about."
You didn't care if he saw through the uninterested persona you tried to put up. You mastered the acting of looking clueless. If he tried to erase your memory, you'd be okay.
"Reliving the old times, then," he joked, and you realized he wasn't going to give you more. Or at least he thought he didn't give you anything to work with.
It could be all connected. The new witch, the sudden history lesson, their need for your boss and a private place to chat. But dwelling on it for longer would be a waste of time. The place gets more crowded every second that passes, and the line of clients waiting for you to tend the bar increases with it.
"You're new here," a low voice directs at you, sitting in the farthest stool at the corner of your bar.
You stay focused on making the green drink Rob ordered to take to a table before locking himself and the others you were watching in his office.
All this time and you never saw anyone but him going in there. He always kept the key in his pockets, with his hand never uncovering the opening. Rob knew everyone in town, but for him to trust a few random men to go in there for hours, it means something. Something that draws you in, calls you to uncover.
"I've been here for a while," you respond without retrieving your eyes from the office door and leaving the drink with the correct client.
The person chuckles, waiting for you to come back from the table unfortunately too close to the bar. "I didn't know they hired witches around here."
Your neck cracks from how fast you turn your head to finally take a look at the stranger.
He's sipping on a whiskey you don't remember pouring, with a mocking smirk that narrows your eyes. You haven't seen him in the time you've been in town. You'd remember the stereotypical leather jacket he's wearing.
"They don't," you assert.
A quick glance around the room serves to calm your nerves. It's too late in the night, or early in the morning, for any vampire to be sober enough to assimilate your conversation. The 180 your head did at his accusation may have put you on the spot, but a bump on the road has never hindered your persuasion tactics before. It's just one annoying vampire against you.
"I'm sure Rob would love to know more about your background then," the stranger challenges.
You let out a loud chuckle at his empty threat. "You don't know Rob."
"I know everyone here." He gulps down the rest of his drink without getting his eyes off yours.
There are two possible options on why this emo vampire is so intent on getting you. Whichever it is, only one thing's for certain. You're not falling into his trap before knowing his identity and what he's looking for.
Racking your brain for any possible memory of encountering him is pointless. You remember everyone that comes even a step close to you. One can never be too careful, you learned.
"Not everyone. I've never seen you here."
He smirks again. "Few years ahead of you, sweets."
You just roll your eyes. He's clearly not going to give you any meaningful information. Why waste your time? He's just another already drunk vampire trying to mess with you.
"You're not getting a tip with that attitude," he continues, clearly not done with the bothering session. "Is this how you treat your clients?"
"You're not my client," you scoff. "I never served you."
He shakes his empty drink at you, the ice clicking against the glass enhancing his mocking smirk. A white fang claws on his bottom lip, reminding you what he is. You need to be careful. Revealing your identity could endanger the last few weeks you have ahead in town.
"You must've done your fast running thing and served yourself while I was busy."
"Sure, let's say I did." His stare stays on you as you surveil the office door once more.
It's as silent on the other side of the door as it was when they got in. You're sure if it opened, clouds of white smoke would fly away. A hard to master, but ultimately the most efficient way to turn away any prying ears.
"Well, don't do it again. I won't hesitate to stab you."
"So threatening!"
You watch as he leaves a couple of bills on the counter. At least he pays for what he has.
"Anything else I can do for you?" You portray a smile that both of you know it's just politely fake.
From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Hansol leaving your boss' office, with his hands in his pockets and heading decidedly to get out the door. His empty eyes catch yours in an instant, but he gives you no time to interpret what it means.
"How about a little locating spell?"
The words fly out of his mouth before you get the chance to shut him up. It's of little importance to him if the one thing important to you gets aired out in the open. Vampires… they only care about their business, no matter who they hurt in the process.
"And why would I help you?"
"If you don't want everyone in town to find out what you are, you will."
"You vampires and your incapability to get someone's help without blackmailing."
Admittedly, deep within you there's an insatiable curiosity that wants nothing more than to find out what the stranger is hiding. What he's after so secretly. Why he'd desperately track down a witch that knows nothing of him.
"Just need some witchy woo-hoo and we'll be done. Trust me, the last thing I want is to get involved in this godforsaken town's gossip."
"How do I know you'll hold your end of the deal?"
"I'm not planning to stay here for long." He looks smug, aware that was your way of accepting. "I'll be out of here as soon as I find what I need."
"I'm assuming you're not telling me what you need this object for, am I right?"
"You are very much correct."
Weighing your chances, you come to realize there's no need for you to follow coven rules anymore. The path formed behind you, filled with magic laws and worrisome threats, doesn't affect you as long as you're away from that life. And you can't die at the hands of anyone that isn't one of the Wise Ones.
This plan you're being sucked into might be the most entertaining thing you've been a part of in a while. Following implicit norms when nothing in this world can hurt you is foolish. You chose the way to spend the last of your life, to live freely. You always choose for yourself and make mistakes. Whatever this deal brings you, it wouldn't be worse than your prescribed fate.
"Thursday's my day off," you mention after some thought. "But I need to know more about you before agreeing to any of this."
The vampire smirks, once more, analyzing your figure up and down as you pretend to work. The bar has been oddly calm since he came onto you, but something tells you if you give him your full attention it can result in something disastrous.
"Call me Wonwoo," he extends his hand over the bar. You shake it with doubt, but knowing he won't relent. "I'll find you on Thursday."
Your boss' office door opens once more, letting out the rest of the group one by one. In the second your eyes stray to catch the men leaving, Wonwoo vanishes from his seat and into the night.
Just under an hour for the sun to fully come out, every client leaves in different states, be it angry, sad or quiet drunk or hungover. Rob joins you during the closing tasks after your other coworker ends her shift.
Your lips itch to ask Rob about the urgent meeting, about this strange vampire that claims to know him but disappears at the sight of him. For the first time in a long time, your mind wanders around this mystery instead of the sadness of your life. With purpose.
"Another round?"
Every once in a while, you find yourself pouring coffee instead of the dirtiest alcohol concoctions the supernaturals order, to feel something other than the dread of being alive for centuries.
"Thank you," Hansol replies without looking up from his ink-stained journal.
You fill his mug with black coffee, taking another look at the empty seats around him. His friends didn't come in with him tonight, and for once, he didn't have a drop of liquid that wasn't the bitter coffee your dirty machine pours.
"Alone tonight?" Your curiosity wins as you play the friendly waitress.
He rests his chin in the pale palm of his hand, not bothering to cover the writings he's been staring at with confusion since he sat down many hours ago. You read them shamelessly, recognizing the language most common witch spells use since the rise of earth magic.
"They got busy, but I needed the quiet," he explains.
Hansol, from what you've gathered, doesn't seem as vicious as the rest of the vampires you're so used to serving. Where others don't care to show up with blood stained clothes from their victims, Hansol always looks as if the thirst for blood doesn't trouble him. Or at least he cleans up after feeding.
It's odd that he surrounds himself with friends like that. They tend to spend nights at the bar telling stories about their latest catch, what lies they got in their head after feeding off their blood, all while cackling at themselves. All except for him. Of course, your perspective is skewed by simply being the bartender and watching them only during their drunk hours. He could be as in need for blood at all costs as the rest of them and you'd never know.
"I can tell Rob you're here," you intend to pry out, knowing your boss hasn't shown up all night.
He stares back at you, expressionless. "No worries."
You smile politely, slowly heading back to your station in case any vampire near passing out orders another drink. As the bar's motto says: no one is out of their mind enough if they still need something to drink. Or something like that Rob told you when he hired you. And, as you couldn't care less about vampires' well being, you serve them everything they ask.
"Actually, can I ask you a question?" You turn around at the sound of his unsure voice, which he takes as a way of agreeing. "Come, sit."
"I shouldn't." You look at the bar full of customers with a chill running down your spine, but he shrugs.
"Do they look like they'll be needing you for anything?"
Of course, he's right. Rob's nowhere to be found and the other waitress finished her shift three hours ago. There isn't anything else to do, and you have the slight suspicion that Hansol won't let you go that easily.
"I don't think I can be of much help," you gulp.
"You don't know what I'm asking you, yet." Hansol's face is void of any emotion. And that might be scarier than him being a blood-sucker.
His eyes, dark reddish brown, scan your trembling form as you sit down. There's no knowledge on vampires being able to sense people's emotions –if they were, your coven would've been the firsts ones to know– but, for a second, you fear he's able to smell your reluctance to talk, hear your heart pumping blood faster through your veins.
"You've been here for a few months already," he asserts. It's not a question, but you nod regardless. "Most human girls don't last this long here."
"Well, I'm careful," you shrug. "I knew where I was getting myself into."
"You did?" His brow lifts, changing his expression for the first time all night. "You don't seem like one of the crazies obsessed with us."
"Didn't say I was a fan, only that I know what goes on."
Hansol nods, amused by your answer.
"Is your questioning done? I can't be seen sitting if Rob leaves his office," you lie again. You've perfected the technique after so many years. Your heart stammers the same, telling a lie or walking two steps. Even less than.
"If you know so much about us, I assume you know we can't walk outside during the day."
This is the time to downplay your knowledge, at least a tad bit. You can't know too little, but knowing too much is also dangerous. Say something true while appearing clueless to everything else.
"Yeah, that's why the bar opens only after sundown."
"Well, there's something I need, but can only be retrieved at midday," he explains, still analyzing every one of your moves. "I wouldn't request anything from anyone normally, but Rob said I could trust you."
Damn Rob. "I'm not sure I'm the best fit for whatever you need."
"It's not dangerous," Hansol explains.
He might not notice, even with his vampire abilities and otherworldly senses, but the wind outside picks up with every word of his, the floor boards creak louder under a drunk man's walk, and every one of your veins scorches with warnings. The earth is showing you the signs, and it's your choice to listen to them or not.
"You know nothing about me." It's not a question, but Hansol nods. "Why are you getting me involved?"
"You won't get involved," he says, beginning to be exasperated by your lack of commitment. "Your help will remain a secret, only if you get me what I need."
Hansol seems not to know your true identity. Whatever the reasoning is behind asking for your help, it doesn't have to do with your powers. It could be true, that he simply needs someone able to walk under the sun and prefers it being a stranger. You'd prefer him not revealing how much you know about the town, helping you not to draw any more attention from hungry vampires.
"No one can know I helped you, nor that I'm aware of what happens in town," you whisper, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
"My lips are sealed," he promises, and you have no other choice but to trust him.
"So? Are you telling me where it is? How does it look like?"
Hansol surveys the obscure bar, as if now realizing you aren't alone, before flipping pages of the book-looking journal sitting on the table. The words written in every page he's passing, you know by memory. That exact witch book is no stranger to you, each visible crease and mark were made by your own desperate hands.
Near the end, on the pages you only got through on your most hopeful days, he carefully takes notice of everything drawn on them, until he finds what he was looking for.
"This." Hansol's finger taps on one of the few colorful drawings ever found on a magic journal. A ruby stone with a disc shape you've never seen before.
"That thing?"
"Yes."
The image isn't new to you, but the rock has so little importance within the magic you practice, you barely pay attention to it on your routine check ups. There's a tiny description under it, but nothing of use. Your little care of it tenses Hansol's jaw muscles. Was he hoping for more of a reaction?
"Okay, no need to go all dark on me." You roll your eyes. "Where can I find it?"
The taste of the bitter tea remains on your tongue as you wake up from your nap. Even after weeks of drinking the same concoction to give your body and mind sufficient energy, you haven't gotten used to the lingering taste, or found a solution for it. It's a small price to pay to be able to endure sleep for so little hours. A nap after drinking it activates the spell drawn in the tea leaves, and it allows you to spend the night working and the morning investigating.
How Wonwoo found out about you is still unknown. You've been careful all around town not to show even a sliver of your capabilities. With your neighbors thinking you're merely a curious human learning about the underworld, like many before you, it's not a hard part to sell, but something tipped him off. You must’ve done something wrong.
From your window, you see the sun beginning to hide behind the horizon, indicating your manipulator's about to show up and demand the locating spell he wants.
A vampire tracking down a witch for selfish reasons is almost as common as killing a human to feed off their blood. It comes inherently with becoming a blood-sucker, dragging everyone down with them. The thing is, under the nonchalant attitude and easiness to manipulate you into helping, stands a desperate vampire in need of something. He didn't just ask you, he found out about you, somehow, and disappeared at the sight of another witch.
Wonwoo's hiding something from the people in the town. People he claims to know.
A knock on your door takes you out of your thoughts. The darkness of your room, only illuminated by the single candle you maintain on all hours, gives the clues necessary to realize who it is.
"How did you know where I'm staying?" You ask a grinning Wonwoo as you open the door.
He lets himself in with a chuckle and doesn't answer, his eyes going over every corner as if it would give him more information about you.
The Coven would freak out if they found out you're letting a stalker vampire into your life, or worse, into your room. If this would've happened years ago when you were entering your rebel phase, you'd be praying to the universe non-stop. But you learned, through making mistakes and trusting the wrong people, how to do what you want, how to play around with strangers, without consequences.
Wonwoo's not as sleek as he thinks he is. If he thinks he tracked down any witch, he's going to find out just how mistaken he is.
"Have everything you need?" He questions at the sight of your empty abode.
From your awaiting past life, you weren't sentimental enough to bring anything that would remind you of it. It's enough with fate creeping behind you at every step.
"I don't need much, just information about the thing you want," you shrug, trying to pry anything you can out of him.
"Don't you need those weird leaves and fire and stuff?"
So, he knows about spells other Covens around the world perform. Not bad from a vampire of his age. And he doesn't know what kind of magic you perform, so it's unlikely he knows to which Coven you belong.
"If you need my help, then you'll have to trust me."
"I could get any witch to do this. Don't test me."
"Then why didn't you?" You probe. "I'm sure you know plenty of other witches here in your hometown who you trust more than a stranger."
Wonwoo catches your defiance, glaring you up and down. You realize you've been keeping a large distance between you when he takes a step forward and crosses the line you've drawn.
"You're good," he smirks. "I see the character you're playing, prying information out of me thinking I don't notice. It's not gonna work on me, love."
Vampires are the coldest of creatures. Warm blood doesn't run through their veins, they don't sweat, their bodies don't work normally. If it were any other creature before you, even from the underworld as well, you'd feel their bodily heat at the distance Wonwoo's standing at. But he's as cold as ice, so close to your form you fear it's contagious.
"I'm just curious about how and why you came to me." You don't let him scare you. "Especially when your brother's here working with another witch."
"Hmm—" Instead of him taking you more seriously, his smirk widens, amused. "Smarty did some research."
"Like I said, curious," you shrug.
Neither of you take a step away, challenging each other without taking your eyes of the other. One way or another, you'll get what you want from him. Thinking you were an easy catch was his first mistake. Giving in to his threats, he'll soon find out it has nothing to do with him.
"My little brother and I," he begins, "haven't been on the best terms."
"You've been following him around for decades."
"Let's just say he has something I want, but I can't ask him for it." He's vague with what he gives, but each word clings to your mind like a bug. "Is that enough for you?"
"This object you want me to find, is that it?"
Brothers who hate each other but can't seem to get enough of the other. Wonwoo probably doesn't know his brother is aware of his every move, constantly tracking him as well. Blood or no blood rushing through their system, they're connected no matter what.
"It's not really, but it'll help." Wonwoo crosses his arms, doubting you again as he takes another look at your desk behind you. "All the witches I've seen do spells a different way."
"Then, you haven't seen witches like me," you answer with pride. "Now talk. Describe the thing or I won't get even close."
"How do I know it's going to work and you're not scamming me?"
"Scamming you out of what? Are you paying me?"
"Your payment is a nice long life in secrecy." Wonwoo rolls his eyes. "Need proof, witch."
"Okay, damn!" You sit on the desk, dust blowing over the clutter of the few things you kept. "Then, tell me about something you do know where it is. You'll see."
Wonwoo stares and stares, skepticism showing all over his expression. You let the silence speak for itself, arguing pointless.
He relaxes his posture, slipping his hands into the leather pockets of his jacket. "A bright pink lighter with a tongue sticker."
"Classy."
Wonwoo's chuckle reaches your ear as you turn around, fluttering your eyes closed. His ever-chilling presence does little to calm your nervous system, a technique you long mastered but have trouble presenting when the very person you're supposed to be concentrating on is the same as the threatening force driving your decisions.
You focus on the smell of the wind slipping through the window, moist and salty, surrounding both forms in the room. Wonwoo's lungs fill with the very same air you connect with, his underworld magic mixing with the earth that gave you life and reaching the deepest parts of your brain as you seek what he's after in your mind.
Whispering passage after passage of the spell you know by heart, the picture being painted on your eyelids becomes full with color with every word. The bright pink takes form on the center, slowly, surrounded by a dark blackness and a smudge of pale brown. But the dubious sight is not to worry, as every one of your five senses work in unison to find what is needed.
Its surroundings ruffle with a wind-like shake, and the pale brown moves closer to the small pink plastic object. It's silent, the sight that becomes clearer the more you let it live, only a gush of familiar wind as a clue.
"It's in your right pocket." Your voice sounds full again.
"Even with direction accuracy!" Wonwoo reveals the lighter before he claps his hands together in irony. You see it all happen in your mind. "I'm impressed."
"Do you trust me now?" You don't bother to open your eyes and look at him.
The longer a spell took, greater the danger of a decay in quality of your next sighting. If you tune out of it, it'll be hard to gain the energy back. The test was a needed waste, but your focus will have to be placed on the object and not so much on its surroundings now.
"Trust is a very big word," he smirks with the blurt of the joke. "I'll trust you when you direct me to what I actually want."
"Then, I'm going to need more than the color this time. Tell me something about what you're looking for, a clue about who it belongs to, if you know. Or what magic it uses. Anything."
Your eyes keep closed, focused on the moon, bright on the dark blue sky, and the cold light it casts over the town. Wonwoo steps closer behind you, the zip of his jacket grazing your right shoulder.
His curious breath fans over the top of your head as he speaks, "It's a dark red rock with eroded edges."
The familiar description accelerates your heart, your interest piqued. Such a coveted rock, laying somewhere only you'll find out. You have no knowledge of what it can do, what promises it made to these two vampires who, unknowingly, both requested your help.
"I need more, vampire, common."
"It's been lost for decades, the last owner long gone by now." His mocking tone disappears with each word as he finally shares meaningful information. "It is said that it was from a witch who could communicate with the underworld."
Wonwoo's dark magic electrifies your senses, connecting with the earthly whispers leaving your mouth. Your mind travels between wood cabins in town, across every conversation being had between magical creatures. Blurring images paint your eyelids once more, dark green, gray and dry leaves being stomped over.
"I have no clue who put it there, wherever it is, but the legend says the witch was on her way to hide it before she disappeared."
A window to the underworld, locked by a key in the form of a ruby stone. The smell of the mixed magic systems prickles at your nose the closer you get. Dark and moist, you hear the wind making way between trees, tall leaves ruffling against one another the taller they get.
It's impossible not to miss, even with your limited magic, the aura embedded in the area where earth and underworld collide. The gray shape, a cave deep inside the forest, glows in the distance, but you can't go further. A barrier within you not letting you any closer.
"There's a cave in the forest by the apothecary." Adjusting to the warm light it's difficult, and you find Wonwoo hasn't moved from behind you. "I couldn't get closer, but it's definitely there."
"Are you sure?" He asks, eyeing the wide open window you used to let your spirit through.
"Yes, I'm sure. Underworld magic looks different to me than it does you. It's there, I saw it."
"I've been there in person and it's empty." Wonwoo shakes his head with a sigh.
You can't control the glare you throw his way. "You told me you had no idea where it could be."
"Why don't you do the thing with the map?" He ignores you, scanning your room in search of what he believes you need.
"It can't work if I don't use something belonging to its owner." His brewing desperation reeks of anger, not at you, but you can't help but feel at the receiving end of it. "Besides, it'd just show me what I just saw."
"You have no idea what you're doing." He's deaf to your explanations. "It has to be somewhere else."
Wonwoo paces back and forth, considering his options while you're careful to explain how your magic works. But it's as if you weren't there, a mere object he's using to get what he wants, not someone who deserves his respect. As he stares at the floor, unfocused and unfearing, only one option comes to mind.
His cold, dark blood running through his lifeless veins is easy to get a hold of. Another way of protecting you against threatening vampires you were taught early in life. You concentrate on the flow of blood up his body, your energy flying from your mind to his, engorging one of the veins inside his brain and making it explode.
The vampire, all mighty and resistant, falls to his knees with a scream, his hands gripping the sides of his head as if to control the pain. You repeat the process over and over. His powers heal the internal wound and you pop it again.
"Answer my fucking question," you demand after the tenth spell in a row. "How did you know?"
"I got a lead a few months ago and it turned out to be fake," Wonwoo moans out, pain slowly fading as he straightens back up. "Or at least that's what I thought then."
You cross your arms, unapologetic under his seething eyes. "So, you trust what I saw?"
"You make it hard not to."
"I'm going to make one thing clear, blood-sucker." You take a step forward, invading his personal space just like he did before. "I might be helping you because you threatened me, but I'm not letting you step over me again. You're getting that rock and then you're getting the hell away from me and this town, got it?"
"You talk a lot of big words," he smirks, unflinching.
"I'm not scared of your underworld kind," you spit out. "The second I was able to do magic I was taught how to defeat you. You might be irresistible to time, but you're not immortal."
"You think I'm irresistible?" He smirks, but not for long as you pop one of his veins again. "Fine! Fine! Stop with that! You won't see me again after we get it."
"We? You know where it is, you can get it yourself."
"Nope! You're coming with me and you'll see just how empty that cave is."
When the sun comes down and darkness reigns over the town of Ever Burn, every creature comes out of hiding and dances their way through the shadows, living free of judgement and fear.
On the nights when you're not needed at the bar, avoiding the empty streets and the groups of vampires eager to go out, you hide out in the deepest parts of the library, going over most of their available catalogue. Tonight is the odd one out.
Wonwoo sneaks you around the alleyways, he himself also avoids being seen. The smell of midnight dew and wet grass fills your senses the closer you get to where your vision showed you. The apothecary's worker waves her hand through the window as she sees you passing by, her gaze narrowing on Wonwoo a second too long before you return the greeting. He grabs your arm and forces you to walk faster.
"Does she know you?" You shake your arm off his hold.
"Who?" Wonwoo pretends to have not noticed the glow from inside the shop and looks forward to the tree line ahead.
The view in front kick starts a chill going down your spine. Alluringly familiar and as unknown as any place you've never set foot in, you could walk along the path with your eyes closed, following the images you saw painted on your eyelids earlier.
You point back to the store, now meters behind you as the trees grow closer. "Abby, the owner."
"We've been acquainted," Wonwoo gulps down a smirk after you both step into the tall trees. No going back now.
"Ew!"
"Don't be mean to her!" Wonwoo lays his hand on his chest, feigning being offended. "She used to be in great shape."
"I mean you!" Unfortunately, you chuckle as you say, "I'm going to puke! Poor Abby."
"She was the one who danced her way to my bed." Wonwoo swooshes his way ahead of you, giving you a bow with zero courtesy.
"Imagining you dancing is way worse, actually." You push him by the shoulder, and he budges out of your way with not much resistance. "What did you do to such an intelligent and hard-working woman to get her to be interested in you, huh?
You leave him chuckling behind and point your flashlight forward to scan for any clues. Alive with nature, the forest seems void of any life. Even animals seem to stray away from the parts close to town. Vampires in need of feeding are a danger to every life form.
From the blurry rendering, you can't decipher any particular spots on the ground or odd-shaped tree branches, but you're sure of what you felt. It was a warm glow calling for you, illuminating the way for it to be found.
There's no light source other than your flashlight, with Wonwoo being able to see in the dark, but you can almost feel the different temperatures on the way.
"It's this way," you remind Wonwoo, who's whistling an old Christmas carol and kicking rocks to the sides. "Are you always this loud?"
"Only when I'm asked to," he jokes. You give him an aneurysm in his brain and pop it again. "Stop! I'm bored! And this isn't the way I remember."
You stop on your tracks to sense the energy, just in case. Wonwoo crashes into you, a head taller and paying attention for any danger. This is where the spell took you, you're sure.
"You said you were at a cave near here." You move on, walking in between thick trees, searching for the source of warmth.
"It wasn't as shallow in the woods," Wonwoo explains, exasperated.
"Maybe your head can't handle having speed and a sense of direction at the same time. I know it's around here."
"Hey, witch, I didn't say anything!" Wonwoo throws his hands in the air in his defense, but, already done with him after being alone for over two hours, you ignore him and keep looking. "If you don't get us there in the next ten minutes, I'm leaving you alone here and finding someone who actually knows what they're—Whoa!"
The ground shakes underneath your feet, wind picking up and rustling the tree leaves as the earth caves in and swallows you whole.
For a few seconds, you feel nothing under you as darkness envelops you. You crash onto solid ground, damp dirt staining your clothes and getting under your nails. The fall will grow painful bruises along your legs, but you stretch and stand up as best as you can regardless.
Wonwoo screams your name in the distance, above you by at least three meters. His head appears on the hole you fell from, an oddly perfect circular shape that gave in under your weight.
"I'm fine, but you better figure out how to get me out of here!" You shine your flashlight over the walls, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck urging you to do so.
"You're bleeding, I can smell it from here," he asserts with confidence.
"Ow, are you worried about me?"
You feel nothing if not sore, except for the warm liquid dripping down your arm. He was right, you are bleeding, but your arm is numb to any pain. If Wonwoo hadn't smelled it, if you hadn't bothered to check, it would almost be as if nothing happened. So, this is what the protection spell is like.
"I'm worried about not finding my rock."
Wonwoo drops down into the cave with you, examining you the second he stabilizes himself. The skin around your left arm is covered with reddish smudges and dripping scarlet down to the soil below. The wound is pulsing, throbbing even, but it's painless. If you concentrate on the rugged flesh, you can feel a burning sensation, but it's so faint it could be your imagination. Without a word, he bites down the veins on his left wrist and urges you to drink from it.
"I'm not doing that, weirdo."
"You'll heal faster." Drips of cold vampire blood paint your lips before you gather the strength to push Wonwoo's arm away. "Stubborn fucking witches," he mutters.
"I'll be fine! I don't need your disgusting—" you're left wordless as you check where the wound was just located.
Wonwoo shuts up instantly as well. You both stare at your arm, a mix of dirt and blood covering your skin from shoulder down to your nails, but the open cut is nowhere in sight. You draw a circle and your muscles move like normal. Like there wasn't just a deep cut bleeding down your arm.
"You know your healing spells well," Wonwoo compliments, his interest already lost to your surroundings.
It must be another of the doings of the protection you were given at birth. No other explanation comes to mind other than it being the proof you've been looking for. Too much of a coward to do it yourself, you had to get tangled with a vampire and fall meters deep in the middle of the woods for nature to show you the makings of your destiny.
The faint burning on your arm disappears with the cut, but the warmness guiding you along the woods gets stronger. Wonwoo, not bothering to communicate what he does, goes into a tunnel just behind where you fell. Every step, the temperature rises more and more, and everything starts looking, feeling, too familiar.
They weren't leaves crushing under your feet that you heard, it was water, slipping between broken rocks at the bottom of the pit you fell into. The green wasn't bushes or trees, it was alive, bright moss covering the walls that glowed under the led light.
No more than one step ahead, Wonwoo stares at everything in awe, and you can't resist the irony. "I'm assuming this isn't the cave you checked out."
He rolls your eyes at your teasing and continues searching for what he's been looking for.
It's close. Intoxicatingly powerful, the mixed magics colliding in a bundle of energy flood up your senses. You can smell it, hear it, even touch the difference in spirit. It should be worrisome, that an object so much like the underworld sits so peacefully in your world, connecting the two.
"Do you see it anywhere?" Wonwoo interrupts your thoughts.
"I would if you stopped bothering me," you reply with your eyes closed.
You kneel on the ground, your hands against the dusty mixture of dirt and stone, feeling for any clue. The tips of your every finger tingle with energy, increasing the more you move ahead in search for it.
You crawl on the rubble, uncaring about how foolish you look. Everything's dark and wet, the floor and the cold walls you're budging against and the underworld magic exuding from pores all around you, but you follow the image on your mind, more sure of it than you were of anything the spell ever showed you. More intrigued.
The feeling of a new hard material under your hands shoots your eyes open. A brownish wooden box with a yellow glow all around. It's hot to the touch, electrifying, so different from the ambiance it's sitting in you doubt it was purposely placed there.
Against everything you've ever been taught, against the laws of the living world and against the rules of earth magic, you unlock the leather that shuts the box closed and take a look inside.
Blinding red light emerges from the opening, but before you get the chance to slip your hand inside and feel what's calling to you, a gush of wind startles you and the heavy case vanishes from your hold.
"Don't steal from me, now."
Wonwoo stands tall just steps before you, unaffected by the rays the rock expels. He examines what was just in your hands, the box just as newly discovered to him as it was to you. Yet, he refuses to act like he doesn't know something. He reaches for the stone sitting inside with no fear.
"Be careful of—" you begin to warn him about the jump in temperature, but it doesn't seem to affect him.
"This thing?" Wonwoo takes the ruby stone, now opaque as the light dimmed down at his touch, and inspects it. It's so much smaller than you imagined, almond shaped and blood red. "This is what everyone has been searching for centuries?"
"Everyone?" You ask, as you've never heard of the stone or what it is said it can do.
Now that the rock it's out of its confinements, the warmth all around drops back to normal, as if it never changed. You shiver at the switch, eyes focused on understanding what could Wonwoo be thinking as you get up.
"For a witch, you seem to know very little about your folklore."
"It's because I don't care about it," you lie. It could be convincing, according to how he sees you spend your life. "I stay away from underworld business."
"Well, since you asked so politely," Wonwoo's words are laced with irony, "it helped an old witch communicate through the barrier, but it wasn't the only thing she used. This should be enough to find them all."
"What do you want with the underworld?" It's not likely that he would share even more information with you, but every reaction counts.
"Is it wrong to want to know my birth place?" Wonwoo closes the box, confining the ruby once again.
"Never met one of you who wanted that." Your curiosity doesn't cease at his lack of an answer. On the contrary, his avoidance of the truth only makes you crave it more.
"You'd be surprised." He raises his eyebrows, not bothering to look your way.
You eye him as he walks away, mind elsewhere. He doesn't need you anymore. His wide back you wouldn't be able to miss retraces your path, and you follow him, drained steps, through the chamber until the hole you fell from stares down at you again.
The veins running through your body tingle in remembrance of how it felt to hold the ruby stone so close. It felt almost… yours. As if it wasn't the spell you performed that showed you the way, but the stone. It was unique, but far from troubling. Familiar.
"How are you planning to help me up?" You ask, seeing him ready to jump out of the hidden cave.
Wonwoo glares back, as if he'd forgotten you were there as soon as he lay his fingers on what he was looking for. Wheels turn behind his empty eyes, so gray and lifeless they appear incapable of transmitting emotions.
"Can't you do some of that witchy woo-hoo and get up?"
"You've run me dry," you answer, and his raise of eyebrows makes your eyes roll. "There's a limit to how much time I can do spells. I've been using magic for the past two hours, I need a second to recharge."
"You can wait it out here," he nods in a smirk, a show of his boastful ego.
Despite your tiredness, you find a sliver of energy left along your spent muscles. In a matter of seconds, weak electricity runs through your veins and Wonwoo's gripping at the sides of his head again, feeling his veins pop with your last efforts.
"How come you can do that?"
"It doesn't take much," you shrug, taking the chance at Wonwoo's frozen stand and marching towards him.
"I can never understand you wizards," he shakes his head.
"Witches," you correct. "For me to jump that high, I'd need to manipulate not only the ground down here, but also the air outside to hold me, and I just spent hours tracking this for you. Now you get me out."
Wonwoo sighs again, but for someone who claims to care so little, he still asks a bunch of questions. "Aren't you supposed to be mega powerful, blood oath to the earth and all? Just eat something."
"What? Grass? Or are you bringing me dinner?" Ignoring his grunts, you step in front of him, forcing him to look your way, to not leave you behind.
From the corner of your eye you catch Wonwoo's arm tucking behind his back, the coveted box now hidden behind his icy body. However, no matter how many walls there are between you and the stone, its warmth manages to envelop your body ever so slightly, tingling each of your senses. You can't lose it. Not now.
Wonwoo straightens before you, his thinking expression morphing into something not quite nice. Amused at what races through his mind.
"Hold tight."
You scoff, the unbelievable thing he's asking of you leaving you wordless. "You're joking, right?"
"I can't pull you up from that high," Wonwoo points to the cave ceiling as if it was obvious. "My arm doesn't stretch kilometers long."
You glare back, face almost morphing into a constant state of exasperated glaring his way. "It's not that high."
"What shouldn't be that high are your expectations, witch," he spits out. "Why do you think you have the right to ask me for anything? I got what I wanted and I'm leaving."
"Then, why are you still here?"
"Ugh,"he gets a better hold of the box and prepares to jump. "Better hope you don't cross paths with me again."
Wonwoo squints at the circle of sky above, considering one last time the ideal way to get through it. Your ears pick up the faintest ringing sound, screaming for help. There's no time to understand what it means, only a second where Wonwoo hisses at the box and fixes his grip so as to not touch the metal seal. It's getting hot again. Just like when it was calling to you.
The need to have the ruby stone skyrockets, overpowering your witch boundaries and all that you were ever taught. Your eardrums pulse in unison with the ringing, connected by the rhythm and your lungs screaming for air. It's both suffocating and relieving, knowing how to stop it but being so afraid to do so.
You'd never forgive yourself if you let the ruby go. Somewhere along the tracking spells and your touch over the box, you felt a connection, a reason to give to all your void past and short future. You're not scared of anything, you never were after learning what you were born to do, nothing's stopping you from following this hunch. This energy boils the blood running through your fearless veins, a purpose brewing deep besides the one thing you were fated to accomplish. How could you let it go?
"Wait!" You manage to scream out and prevent Wonwoo from leaping.
"What now?" Against his better judgment, his arms drop and he stays down. He lowers his jaw for the last time, furrowed eyebrows at your sudden concern.
You take it as an agreement, his previous offer still stands. "Just don't touch me," your hands raise in warning before you wrap them around his neck.
"Hard to do if you're hanging on for life, little mage."
Wonwoo chuckles seeing your bodies so close together. Hard to think he finds the touch of another woman simply funny, but maybe him thinking you're scared can be advantageous.
"You can't be trusted!" Your voice shakes, and you look around to avoid his stare. "I'm making sure you get me to high ground."
"'Cause I'm such a bad vampire, yeah, yeah, just hold tight before I regret it."
His cold arm sneaks around your waist, keeping you further against him so as to not lose balance. He needs not more strength, vampire powers provide him with plenty, but he secures you regardless, in case your little trust on him falters on the jump and he has to hold on to you without you holding on.
You take a deep breath, adjusting to the idea of letting someone else help you out of a situation. A once in a lifetime occurrence, since you never allowed the Coven to come close to you in a moment of need. Never.
Wonwoo flexes his legs as he prepares to jump, with one last look at you sporting a smug smirk before a gush of cold dustless air envelops you both and your nose fills with the smell of dew covered tree leaves. It's so quick, you feel the ground beneath your feet again before even taking a breath.
"That was quick," you joke, masking your little care for his powers with your eyes going wide.
You stumble against a thick tree, the coarse wood digging against your palms and feeding you with little energy. You take a deep breath, feeling it run through your veins, so quickly you realize how spent you were.
"If you're getting sick you better go hide behind that tree. Do not want to see that." Wonwoo dusts himself off after checking in on you. It worked.
You disguise a forming smirk pretending to cool down your face with your hands. "Don't be so full of yourself," your eyes roll before walking ahead of him. "I'm fine."
"A little jump puts out a witch, whoa, I should write this down."
"Do you want me to show you your weaknesses again, old man? I can do it no problem."
"Thank you for asking, but no, I don't think I need that." Wonwoo turns around in his walk over the same path you took earlier, his leather-covered back no longer facing you as he walks backwards. "And I'm not old."
"The years might be getting to your head, but for normal people half a century is old."
"That's where you're wrong." His pace slows, matching your speed and spreading his arms wide. "My life just started! Every day that I don't age is a day where I'm more free than ever."
"Finding that rock got to your head," you chuckle.
"Maybe, but this thing," he shakes the box on your face, "this just got me one step further to true freedom."
Freedom is a concept you've lived away from your entire life. Even now, in a town in the middle of nowhere, responsibilities chase you every waking hour. No matter how little you care, how many things you accomplish in the meantime, everything will inevitably come to an end. You understood that from a very young age.
Which is why you're getting in the middle of vampires going after the same object. Figuring out what they're after when they trust you so blindly. What is it if not another way to entertain your gray life as time inevitably passes?
"Will you tell me why you want it? It's just a rock with a pretty color."
Wonwoo thinks about his answer for a second, his fingers twirling around the lock holding the stone's confinement closed. There's no reason he'd want to tell you, a well kept secret until now couldn't be easy to keep under wraps just to undo it the second he can finally begin.
"I don't plan on seeing anyone from here ever again after this," he starts, testing the waters. "So, let's just say, it will give me what every vampire wants."
"That's bullshit, you creatures are after anything and everything." You follow behind him, skipping skew branches and being wary of wandering supernaturals. "Satiating your thirst can't be what you're after. You love the hunt."
"You have to think deeper," he doesn't deny the latter statement. "We used to be the most powerful creatures standing, but we now have things holding us back."
"That's how the Earth keeps the balance." Every lecture on the History of Magic comes rushing in, strings of words burned on your brain from beginning to end.
Centuries ago, witches were hunted for sport, terrorized into hiding by the underworld creatures. They were unstoppable, driving the planet into decay with their sacrilegious lifestyle. Human population reduced their numbers year after year, stories of bloody serial killers that left no trace behind flooded the news; the smell of blood and rot was embedded on every corner. Witches had to be resourceful and careful in their practicing. They couldn't be found, heard, seen, smelled.
In the depths of the desert, the Moonlit Coven promised a new beginning, a new life for all who believed in them and their knowledge of the villainous creatures. They found their way into the underworld, convincing their rulers that, if they wanted to keep their race alive, their behavior of destroying their life force wouldn't suffice. A pact was born.
The planet was divided then, Earth and Underworld became separate energy sources. The underworld closed its access to above, and its creatures would each have a life-threatening weakness that would slow down the massacre. Vampires became allergic to the sun, werewolves lost their control to turn to the phases of the moon. In return, the Moonlit Coven allowed them to stay on earth and not banish them to their birth place.
"I don't care for the balance," Wonwoo whispers between the spying trees, "I want my freedom."
Dry branches crack under his stealthy feet, putting an end to voicing his wants. You couldn't expect him to be open, no supernatural ever is. They shut out at any minimal concern, untrusting of anything remotely different from them. You can't complain, you have been taught to do the same. But underneath the individualism, there was always a sense of belonging with every species. You escaped from your Coven, but you relate more to them than to a lone vampire. Wonwoo doesn't seem to have that sense of community.
"Only yours?" You dare to ask, curious about his unapologetic selfishness. But his attention has moved on from your questioning already.
"Doesn't everyone want that?" You probe again, only to be met with an icy finger against your lips.
Wonwoo traps you against the closest tree, sealing your mouth shut as his eyes go over every inch of space that surrounds you. You realize then, it wasn't him that made the noise just now, and it wasn't you either. The forest is a common hunting ground for any supernatural, and you haven't been weary of attracting unwanted attention.
Your heart rate picks up against Wonwoo’s unbothered chest, too close on a too dangerous space. Not a ray of light finds you inside the woods, and with no chance of whispering any spell, you depend solely on the vampire's ability.
His stare finds yours, a silent conversation between a roll of his eyes and the quirk of your eyebrows. Little you know about what's going on in his mind, he has a plan, that's for sure. You can't trust a vampire, he will protect his sacred object before a disposable witch. But his hands keep you in place, out of sight from the threat.
With a new swoosh of wind, you feel watched, closely, but barely a sound reaches your ears.
Both of your breaths synchronize as you wait for your tracker to slip again. Your eyes close, an attempt at sharpening your hearing for anything out of the ordinary. Wonwoo's hold on you persists, making sure nothing you do gets you in trouble.
Why isn't he moving? He could sprint and surprise whoever is here, rip them apart in warning for any others who might want to follow them, others who are after the very stone you feel pumping heat between your chest and Wonwoo's. He must be waiting. A good hunter knows not to precipitate, to wait for the best moment to attack, to let the opponent feel they have the advantage before attacking.
The tense moment switches quickly, before your mind catches up. In a second, your hands drop with a new weight. The brown box is with you again. Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen.
Grunts and thuds echo against the walls of trees, close to your hiding spot but far enough so you can't see the quarrel. Energy concentrates on your hands, the ringing in your ears coming back now that you’re alone with the stone. Whatever goes on outside the ringing’s reach takes a secondary role.
The irresistible need to touch the stone, to give in to its calling, finally wins. Coursing through your veins, you feed off of the familiar warmth expelling from the small ruby, its polish soft under your fingers.
The red shimmer contradicts its coldness. It’s not alive, it can’t be, but the mix of Earth and Underworld magic fuels you like no other. Your lungs fill with air, your body accustoming to the new.
How have you never heard of this before? A unique drive sets within your body, a richer, stronger magic you're certain no witch has ever felt. Your kind could rule the world if everyone grew as powerful as you feel at the moment, for real this time. No hiding, no falling for the supernaturals’ threats and feigning submission. You could be free.
But there's no such thing as freedom. Consequences reach those who abuse earth magic, those who tamper with the balance and scheme their way up the ladder. Maybe the warnings about this stone never reached the Coven because no one survived its use. Though, it's too late to worry about the unknown.
A few steps behind, the fight ceases, only deep breaths and wind rustling leaves cutting through the silence. But, it is not entirely quiet. If you concentrate, shallow and strained breaths sound over the drying leaves.
“Where is it?” A female voice asks. Rugged, urged.
“No idea,” Wonwoo struggles to answer.
Whispering few words, your sight travels not far, and you see it happen in your mind. A pale red-headed woman has a hand on Wonwoo's throat while the rest of her limbs trap him against the ground. He doesn't fight back, he can't.
“These woods aren’t for sight-seeing,” she continues. “I hope you didn’t steal from me.”
“I have nothing that belongs to you,” Wonwoo snarks back.
Taking one step forward in their general direction, your feet betray you and erupt the faintest noise against the dry branches, but loud enough for an older vampire to hear. The woman’s head snaps up, the quickest glance around the woods with powers you fear you may not know.
You freeze, the strange magic coursing through your system on alert as well, but you’re not afraid. A sense of security takes the wheel, upstaging any other possible feelings. The magic follows your wants, making you invisible to the vampire’s sight. Her worried eyes go over you, unaware of your frozen form, before they go back to warn Wonwoo.
“I’ll make sure you don’t get your hands on my key.” the last word you hear as an echo.
Wary of other possible unwanted seekers, you rush to his aid. Wonwoo struggles to get up after the woman flees, evidence of the imbalance of power between vampires of different ages.
“Who was that?”
“You thought I was the only one after that?” He points to the box, still on your hands and pulsing with energy only you can feel. “There’s your answer.”
“You need help.” Assessing him from up close, you realize the fight must’ve been rougher than you heard. For how much time were you hiding?
“I don’t.” Wonwoo stands up, grouting with every step he takes away from you and trying to get back to the way to take you back.
“She got you pretty good, I can help.”
Scratch marks go all the way up his arms, now naked with the leather sleeves nowhere to be seen. Wonwoo isn’t healing, which means she was ready to hurt whoever came on her path, whatever kind of supernatural she came across.
At your insistence, he approaches one last time, personal space not a thing for him.
“I don’t want any kind of witchy magic on me, got it?” His breath against your face mirrors the cold wind, but you stand your ground.
“You love being a vampire, don't you.” He won't let you heal him. He hates earth magic.
“As much as you love being a witch.” He got the double meaning of your question. You both despise the other's world, want it as far away as possible. “Now give me my rock and let’s head back.”
The walk back to the bar poses no threat. With only one hour left of moonlight, the town seems almost empty. No lights on inside the tiny houses, a few drunken creatures struggling to stand up straight on the street, and the few brave humans beginning their day.
You know the schedule by heart already, and it's easy to assume that the bar will have a similar late-night atmosphere.
Wonwoo looks, for the first time since you met him 48 hours ago, scared. While you move forward, with your eyes facing front and only caring about going home, he silently focuses on your surroundings.
You should be glad he shut up for once, but his clear nervousness shines a new light on the situation.
“You didn't know she was looking for it, did you?”
“Why do you think I know her?"
You throw a glare his way and he shrugs. “I heard you guys. It didn't seem like two strangers talking.”
“I wouldn’t say I know her,” he starts, and you pop one of his blood vessels again. “The woods recharged you or some shit? Stop! We're not close, but we've been looking for the same rock for ages. I didn't think he had the same leads as me. That's all!”
“What does she want it for?”
“We didn't have time to have a heart to heart.”
Admittedly, it was a dumb question. Whatever it does besides communicating with the underworld, that alone is enough for these creatures to want it. An undiscovered source of knowledge and the chance to see the world where they originated from isn't something vampires would ignore.
“Does she know why you want it?” You question again. He'll slip eventually.
“She wouldn't be alive if she did.”
“Do you think she's onto you, then? I don't want another one of you on my back.”
Wonwoo groans, “you have a lot of questions.”
“You put me in the middle of this mess!”
“There is no mess, there's no way she knows I was with someone. You were invisible back there.”
Not far, you catch a glimpse of the bar's led sign, still on.
“You won't tell anyone what I am, right?” You ignore the way his tone switched talking about what you did in the woods. Still unsure of how that worked, you can't stomach explaining your gut feeling to this vampire.
“Your secret's safe with me, little mage.”
“Rob can't know about this. I'm serious, he'll kick me out.”
You stop just by the door you closed so many times at this same hour. He needs to get your reasoning. This isn't just another deal, not for you.
Wonwoo tries to get the doorknob, but you block him with your body. He tenses his shoulders before relaxing into his posture, his eyes going from the door down to yours.
“The Rob I know wouldn't do that,” he says, trying to calm you down.
“He said he didn't want any more magic creatures working for him!”
“He's just being dramatic! If you don't use your powers to slack off you'll be fine.”
His annoying voice is oddly calming, his reasoning somehow makes sense. You don't have much time ahead to work for Rob, he would understand. You've never used your powers in front of customers.
You move out of the way, now more relaxed, and let Wonwoo step inside the empty bar. The first rays of sun will begin illuminating the sky in less than an hour, so he should be getting back after you terminate your deal.
But, before any of you can get what you want, you hear him muttering a curse.
“What happ—” one step inside the place you thought was safe, and the issue presents itself.
Four men stare you and Wonwoo down, with their arms crossed like they were waiting for you. Hansol's eyes fall on your hands, or more specifically, the brown box that holds what he was searching for. You lock eyes with the blond witch you saw days ago, a light smirk adorning his face. The suffocating silence does nothing to help your distress.
“Brother! So good to see you!” Wonwoo opens his arms and walks towards Hansol.
The younger vampire's eyes stop him in his tracks, making Wonwoo's act fall flat.
“I didn't know you were back in town,” he simply replies.
“I came by a few days ago and made friends with your very nice waitress! Good hiring Rob!” He turns to your boss and lightly bumps his shoulder, but the man's expression doesn't change.
“Don't play dumb, Wonwoo. I know what you were doing out there.” Hansol's stare goes back to you, a shimmer of disappointment flashing through it before speaking to you, “Is that the rock I asked you for?”
“I—” Your eyes stammer back to Wonwoo.
But he's not looking at you, rather, he's in a staring competition with the rest of the group. “My rock, you mean.”
“It's not anyone's rock,” the witch says, his voice exactly what you'd expect from him. Then, he finally directs his words at you. “How did he get you to help him?”
You take his challenge, walking up to them, leaving the frozen state you adopted the second you entered the bar. “How did they get you to help them?”
“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo gets between you two, “we can work this out.”
“I told you we could work together years ago,” Hansol retorts, words almost spitting out of his mouth in disdain.
“People change!” When Wonwoo sees no one moving from their spots, the wheels behind his eyes start working again. “Why don't you give me the rock,” he asks you, “and then we can talk about this, huh?”
“You're not touching that box.” After what feels like hours, the werewolf, Mingyu, talks.
“Okay, wolfie, no need to bark at me.”
They talk between themselves, their past more complicated than you thought at first. You'd listen to them, think of a way to get out of town and never return, but a cold stare forbids you from it.
Hansol rests his hip against one of the bigger tables at the bar, eyes never leaving the box you're holding. The intensity of his gaze is worrying. He seemed calmer the day he asked for your help, shrugging and going over the plan as many times as you needed, but now that he's closer to getting it, he seemed as desperate as Wonwoo.
When he straightens and walks up to you, you prepare the countless spells you know to force him to step back as needed. But with every step, his challenging demeanor fades.
“I'll put it on the table where everyone can see it,” he explains, his hands hovering over the brown case that appears to hold the secrets of the entire universe.
You let him take it, feeling Wonwoo's fiery gaze on your side. Everyone loses focus on their conversations and observe Hansol placing the confined rock on the table. Surrounded by creatures who would kill to have it, it looks so harmless, so nothing.
“Can we talk?” Hansol materializes in front of you, his cautious eyes masked by his voice, calm again. “I need to tell you some things you deserve to know, and you have a lot of explaining to do.”
hiiiii!! omg I can't believe I'm finally posting this!!
i apologize for not doing it sooner, i have no excuses :( but I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update on november, i swear!
All Good Girls Go To Hell
pairing; jeon wonwoo x f reader
genre; smut, angst, toxic, dark romance
content warnings; lucifer!wonwoo, morally gray (possibly black)!wonwoo, hell, souls sold/taken, mentions/descriptions of torture (including skinning), kidnapping, being sold/traded
smut warnings; fingering, thigh riding, oral (f recieving), begging, pet names
w/c; 3.5k (halloween special drabble)
summary; My Lucifer is lonely... Waking up somewhere you don't recognize, you find yourself with a man who claims he owns you now.
song inspo; all good girls go to hell - billie elish
a/n; thank you sweet @sluttyminghao for betaing! I love you. I hope you guys have had a wonderful Halloween! I hope you enjoy a very morally gray Wonwoo. For more drabbles and more subscribe to my Patreon.
before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here
The bed feels different—softer?
Sighing under your breath, you stretch on the mattress until a whine slips from between your lips. Had your bed always been this comfortable?
No. It must be how well you slept. That happens sometimes. You wake up after a particularly good night’s rest and everything feels better. The sheets start to feel like satin under your bare skin. The mattress hugs you like a cloud, urging you to reach for your fiancé and curl yourself into his side. Only when you slide your hand along the sheets but that's all you feel. Ben got up before you and didn’t even say goodbye.
Typical.
Rolling towards the middle of the bed, you smile to yourself, feeling the sheets caress your lower back. God, it feels nice just to lie here. It feels nice to not rush yourself out of bed and back into another meaningless workday. There’s no telling how long you have before your alarm will go off… would it be so bad to just drift back off for a while?
Another sigh leaves your lips and your brows furrow. How long had you drifted back off for? Your mouth feels like cotton and your stomach is beginning to complain for food. Reaching once more across the bed in search of Ben, your lips turn down.
Things haven’t been perfect for you and your fiancé, but you do your best to make him happy. With that in mind, you finally pry your eyes open and whisper his name, only for the word to die on your lips as you notice where you are—where are you?
The sheets undercovering your body aren’t your own. This bed isn’t yours. This bedroom isn’t yours. Panic begins to rush through you as you sit up in the bed and tug the sheet up to your chest, realizing you were feeling the sheets on your skin because you’re naked. Where are your clothes?
“Ben?” Your voice echoes around the room and a feeling of dread settles in your chest. Looking around the room and towards the nightstand, your heart thumps loudly in your chest when you realize not only are you somewhere else but your phone isn’t next to you. In the place of your phone, you find a single red rose as if it were left for you to discover.
Tears prick at your eyes even as you force yourself to tug the sheet from the bed and wrap it around you in an attempt to cover yourself. How could something like this happen? You rack your brain trying to remember the night before.
Ben had to work late. You were upset with him, but you still made him dinner, promising to heat it up for him once he came home. You remember opening a bottle of wine. Was that the problem? You rarely drink but one glass of wine wouldn’t knock you out so heavily someone could come in and steal you straight from your bed. You couldn’t have been so drunk you’d sleep through someone taking you from your house, stripping you, and putting you in this bed.
The tears sit on the rim of your eyes until you blink, causing them to spill over and run down your cheeks. You are trying to force yourself to think—to figure out what to do once you make it to the large black door across the room from you—when a knock sends a shiver down your spine.
“Y/N? Are you awake?”
Who is that? The voice is smooth and deep. It’s unfamiliar and yet he knows your name. Shaking your head, you scold yourself for caring if he knows your name. Of course your kidnapper would know your name. Is that what happened? You were kidnapped?
Or is this something else? Have you finally snapped? Was the pressure of everything too much and now this is a delusion? Is the person behind that door a doctor? That could happen. Your fragile mind finally broke and this is a bougie hospital that your parents placed you in.
Then again—why would they? It has been years since you spoke to your parents. You have separated yourself from their lives and sworn to become a better person. You had found a new home and a church where you felt comfortable. That was where you met Ben. You had fallen in love so quickly that you made yourself overlook all of your fiancé's questionable habits. You were—are going to get married in a year in the church that at first offered you safety and stability.
“I know you’re awake. I’m going to open the door.”
Taking a few steps back towards the bed, you feel your heart in your throat at the idea of whoever is on the other side of that door opening it. You only have a sheet to cover your body and you still have no idea who they are or where you are, but you only get a few seconds of panic before the door does open and a tall man steps through it.
His eyes find you immediately and your breath gets caught in your throat. You had hoped for half a second that you’d know who it was. Maybe it was Ben forcing his voice lower, but that was a stupid wish because this man sounds nothing like Ben. Like his voice, his eyes are deep—so brown they almost seem black. You swallow hard and take another step back as he takes one towards you, letting the door shut behind him.
“I know you’re confused.”
That is an understatement.
Whining under your breath, you stop walking backward when your butt knocks into the nightstand, causing the lamp to fall over behind you. “Wh—where am I?” Even your voice sounds different. It sounds strained and laced with fear. You swallow hard, trying to make more saliva to coat your overly dry tongue in hopes of sounding less small. “Who are you?”
The man smiles at you but it isn’t a normal polite smile. His lips form more of a smirk than a smile as he pushes his hand into the pocket of his black dress pants as he smooths his black button-down over his stomach. “You can call me Wonwoo.”
That was one answer and yet not the one you desired more. Your eyes follow Wonwoo as he turns his eyes from you to glance around the room, his feet moving a few steps towards you until he sighs patiently. “As I said, you must be confused.”
“Very. Tell me where I am. Why—did—did you kidnap me?”
Smooth, Y/N. Like the kidnapper would just tell you if he did it. Cursing yourself under your breath, you hold the sheet tighter around your chest as you meet Wonwoo’s eyes once again. His laugh triggers a chill up your spine that has your skin erupting with chill bumps. He shakes his head and lifts the hand from his stomach to his head as he scratches his eyebrow, seeming to think carefully on his next words.
“No, Darling. I simply collected what was mine.”
Your pulse begins to beat loudly in your ears as your blood runs cold. Heat licks behind your eyes as you force yourself not to close them even as the world seems to spin in front of you. “Wh—what? I wanna go home…” You aren’t sure the words are spoken aloud. Finally closing your eyes, you whine at the sick feeling building in your stomach and rising up your throat as fear rips through your soul.
Watching you start to sway, Wonwoo tilts his head and takes another step towards you. Humans are weak. There is no denying that. It doesn’t take much to see you are on the verge of passing out. There is sweat gathering on your temples and your skin has begun to take on an unnatural color when finally your legs give out. A rush of emotions pushes through Wonwoo as he closes the space between you and him just in time to sweep you from your unsteady legs and into his arms.
You are so fragile. A mixture of intrigue and disgust worms its way through Wonwoo’s body before he turns to place you back on the bed, readjusting the black satin sheet around you so you are covered. The very act seems foreign to him. He has never attempted to protect anyone's modesty before and yet as he looks down on you now as your breathing begins to settle, Wonwoo finds himself not only keeping you covered but also pushing your hair back from your face.
It’s just so he can look at you. At least that’s what he tells himself as his fingers stroke along your cheekbone down to your parted lips. The color has started to return to you; your lips, while cracked from dehydration, are the right color again.
Settling onto the bed next to you, Wonwoo studies you silently. His eyes moving along every bit of you that is exposed to him. You are beautiful—so stunning that it makes him uncomfortable. Humans shouldn’t look like you. When God created all things—humans included—he attempted and failed at creating perfection with Adam and Eve. Their flaws… the free will that they were permitted left them scarred inside and out—but not you. If Wonwoo didn’t know better, if he couldn’t literally see your soul clinging to your body, he would think you were an angel like him.
Fingers trail along your shoulder, causing you to sigh happily at the contact. It was a dream. Ben is home and you have been home this entire time. Turning towards the touch, your lips turn up in a small smile at the brush of soft lips against your neck.
“Mmm, I had such a weird dream.” Your smile pulls at your lips as the kisses walk the length of your neck to your jaw. The breath against your skin causes chill bumps to spread in anticipation.
“Tell me about it…” The voice isn’t what you expected yet it keeps you calm as you lift your hand, running your fingers through soft hair.
“I was taken.” Gasping into your words, you arch your back when teeth nip at your sensitive skin. “Mmm, taken to hell. I was there for weeks. I lost track of time.”
A soft hum of understanding from the lips now brushing over the shell of your lips has you gripping at the hair under your fingers. You could open your eyes but something tells you to wait. This feels too good. “Yeah… There was a man. He watches me but…” Your voice lowers as the memories come back to you and you know who is kissing you. You should hate it. He took you from your home. He took you from your fiancé. He took you from Ben but he hasn’t told you why beyond saying he took what was his.
“Wonwoo…” You whisper on a soft gasp, feeling his lips pull up in a smirk.
“Yes, little angel. Keep telling me about this dream. Was it a bad dream?”
Tears press behind your eyes as you keep them shut tightly, your hand starting to loosen in Wonwoo’s hair only for his hand to rest over yours, tightening your fingers once again. Using your hand, he tugs on his hair hard enough to make you wince before you arch against him, feeling his thigh press between your legs.
“It—” You struggle to find your words, feeling not only confused but also aroused when you roll your hips over the hard thigh resting against your bare cunt. “Mm, I don’t know. I’m—please? I want to go home.”
Your words say one thing but your body another as Wonwoo traces your jaw up to your ear with his tongue. He had done so well for weeks. He had barely touched you but he had waited long enough. “Home? Darling, you are home.” Hearing you whine his name, tears rolling down to his lips now at the corner of yours, Wonwoo rocks his thigh against you and hums in appreciation. “Do you want me to tell you the truth? You want me to break your little heart?”
When you don’t answer with more than new tears for him to lick from your skin, Wonwoo growls low under his breath. You are stubborn and infuriating in ways he has never dealt with. Others pray to him. Some pray with hate in their hearts, others with devotion—yet you give him your sorrow. You pray for what you’ve lost. What you think was taken from you.
“I’ll break your heart. I’ll watch it shatter and then, sweet little one… I will bind it to me.” Leaning back to look down at you, Wonwoo narrows his eyes as you keep your eyes shut tightly. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Y/N. Open your eyes and face the truth you so desperately want…”
Forcing your eyes open, you blink through your tears to meet Wonwoo’s eyes. You know you should try to push him away. His words already make you feel like you want to die—but aren’t you dead already? You are in hell. That much you know to be true. You’ve been here for so long now that you can’t keep lying to yourself about that much. As for Wonwoo… you’ve figured him out too. The name Wonwoo is there to make you feel better about the situation, if that were even possible; the man, the being looming over you now, he’s not human. He’s something you’re terrified to even name in your own head because you know who he is.
Watching you closely, Wonwoo hums under his breath, once again sliding his hand along your head so carefully that when you flinch, it causes his brows to furrow in pain. He deserves this reaction from you, but he also deserves the way your hips move over his thigh chasing pleasure as if you are trying to distract yourself from what truth he is going to ruin your life with. Moving his eyes along your body, Wonwoo tilts his head and slides one of his hands over the sheet loosely draped over your waist, watching the silk slide from your skin as he speaks low and calm. “He sold you, Y/N. He had a choice and this is what he chose. The man you pretend to yearn for. Your precious fiancé. He wanted more than he could afford, yet instead of offering his own body and soul as payment, he gave me you.”
Meeting your eyes, Wonwoo gauges your reaction before continuing as realization settles in your eyes. “He never loved you. He loved what you gave him. A doting woman who would look past all his sins as you prayed for them for him. Do you think my father heard your prayers, darling?” Shaking his head, Wonwoo sighs resolutely as he traces your belly button, feeling you suck in your stomach under his touch. “No, sweet girl. He doesn’t listen, but I do. So when Ben asked for too much, I came and I took.”
The painful truth sends an ache through your body before resting over your heart. Closing your eyes as if you can make it go away, you stop moving completely and lift your hands to your face. You hope that Wonwoo will leave. You hope that he will let you suffer here in silence, but that doesn’t happen.
Lips press to the back of your hands before he gently pulls them away and wipes your tears from your cheeks as he whispers close to your cheek. “I should have killed him instead, but humans, especially selfish ones like your fiancé, only learn through true pain. He will live out the rest of his years with the price in the forefront of his mind. He will think of you when he wakes up. He will dream of you. He will never find peace and when he dies, little angel, he will suffer at my hands further.” Wonwoo’s words should hurt you more, but instead you find yourself listening to each one as the pain in your heart shifts into something else.
“I will tear his miserable skin from his body every single day for eternity. He will beg me to stop and to let him rest but there is no rest for the wicked, not even in hell. Every single moment he will feel the flames lick at his exposed muscles and tendons, only for the price he paid to remain in the forefront of his mind.” Smirking at his own words, Wonwoo laughs darkly as your eyes meet his once again and this time he sees understanding in them. “Yes, darling, he will think of you even in death. I will fuck you over his body, never letting him touch you. I’ll let him hear you scream my name in pleasure as pain overwhelms him.”
The idea of Wonwoo’s plans for Ben should frighten you and perhaps deep down they do, but you feel a flutter in your chest—excitement. “Promise me.”
Your voice is so quiet that Wonwoo furrows his brows in confusion before you repeat the same words louder this time. The demand goes straight to his cock before he rocks his hips towards you, feeling your wet pussy against his pants as you start to soak through the fabric. “I promise. I’ll give you anything you ask for.” The moment the words are out of his mouth, Wonwoo laughs as you start to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Except give you up and let you leave. You are mine, Y/N. I don’t abandon things that belong to me, especially something like you.”
The finality in Wonwoo’s tone causes your heart and mind to race. Thoughts flood your mind along with pleasure when he rolls his hips towards yours once again. This is the first time he’s touched you like this in the many weeks since he took you. He watched you every single day. He’d sit by your bed and attempt to soothe you, but he never took from you—until now. But is that what he is doing?
Pleasure jolts through you as his fingers slide to your hips, pulling your hips down over his thigh. This isn't taking; this is giving. More than you could ever say for Ben—for the man who sold you for his benefit. Lifting your hips into Wonwoo’s hands, you whine his name and relish in the feeling of your clit grazing the fabric covering his muscular thigh. You realize that you want this, perhaps more than you could have ever anticipated, but the look in Wonwoo’s eyes tells you his patience had been running thin. With one more content sigh slipping from your lips, he begins to take.
Wonwoo’s kiss burns with his intensity. His hands dig into your hips as he lifts you from his thigh and fingers trail between your legs. With a growling breath, Wonwoo breaks the kiss to meet your eyes as his fingers slide between your wet lips and over your already throbbing clit. “You are mine. This—” He emphasizes his words with a pinch to your clit before his fingers slide to your waiting entrance, where he eases two fingers into you. “Is mine.”
Your hands flail for a moment as pain mixes with your pleasure as Wonwoo’s fingers begin to stretch you. One of your hands finds Wonwoo’s wrist as the other grips the bedding under you in an attempt to ground yourself. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust; instead, Wonwoo curls his fingers inside of you and traces a circle over your clit, enjoying the feeling of your pussy tightening.
Soft moans slip from between your lips only to be swallowed by Wonwoo as his tongue slides along yours. Even as you try to lift your hips, attempting to chase your pleasure, he easily pushes you back down on the bed, fucking you hard and fast on his fingers. You want more. You need more, but all of that fades to the background as your walls begin to clench down on his fingers and your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave.
A dark chuckle tickles your skin as Wonwoo’s lips work from your lips to your breasts. His eyes flick up to yours and for a brief moment they are completely black. Any trace of white around his dark irises seems to have been swallowed until he blinks and the color returns.
“Wonwoo—”
“Shh, little angel. I’m not done with you. You owe me so, so, so much more.”
You start to speak, to form some retort to his claiming words, but then his lips find your clit even as his eyes stay fixed on you. Teeth tip at your soft skin and the throbbing bundle of nerves before he laughs again, leaning back enough to lick your cum from his lips and speak. “Beg me like a good girl to fuck him out of your mind. Your soul is mine, Y/N; now let me have the rest of you…”
Sobbing in pleasure, you buck your hips towards Wonwoo’s waiting mouth, feeling his smile against your skin as you do just that. Numerous pleas leave your lips as you feel your mind, body, and soul latch on to the man, the devil between your legs binding you to him forever.
© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.
🔮 disturbia episode 1. lee chan
the midnight menagerie is no ordinary circus. you thought you were safe, until you took one wrong step — into the woods, into the tent, into his trap. lee chan, the fortune teller, does not just predict fates; he shapes them until you no longer know where he ends and you begin. a body drops, then another, while the police close in and your mind fractures under the weight of his predicted truths. the harder you fight, the more blood stains your hands. was it ever really your choice? or has the menagerie luring you along? reality unravels, time loops, and every escape leads you back to the midnight menagerie. when chan finally offers a way out, the price is what you least expected.
🔪 GENRE/S :: non-idol au, psychological horror, supernatural thriller, modern alternate (dual reality / liminal world)
🔪 PAIRING/WC :: fortune teller!lee chan × fem!reader ⋅ 10,624 words
🔪 CONTAINS :: elopement gone wrong, delusions vs. supernatural phenomena, circus as an alternate dimension, gaslighting from reality itself, mind tethering, lots and lots of running and panic, slow-burn corruption
⚠️ WARNINGS :: murder (kinda graphic ig), very detailed blood loss and hands-on killing, implied long term domestic abuse (physical & psychological), eldritch horror vibes, not-deer/paradolia moments, unreliable perception, psychological domination, gore, violence as self-defense turned sadistic, captivity, panic attacks, derealization, corpse description, potential gaslighting, major existential horror, torture (burning & needle pain), strangulation and stabbing
🔪 A/N :: hi hi hi [ im guilty of something but maybe you’ll figure out what i did sooner or later? forgive me if you care]. anywayyyyy, i finished writing this (redacted) in… hmm… maybe a week? ish? i started suuuper late because exams were killing me and i was just too tired to function. the first line… okay, so it was probably inspired by a tweet?? maybe?? honestly it’s been ages i wrote the first 2k before i stopped, so i literally can’t remember if it actually was a tweet on bee’s @imnotshua pinterest feed ss. could’ve also been a last minute change… honestly your guess is as good as mine lol. massive shoutout to jj @iknowimanicon for helping me untangle my spaghetti brain with the plot and making sense of all of it, chee @nothoughtsjustfic for amazing feedbacks and patience, and ro @shinysobi, ema @hannieoftheyear, and em @gyuswhore for beta-ing for me <3 thanks to ro and and ema again and alta @haologram for making me understand how playlist making works heheh and last but not the least, thank you xie aka @joshujin for saving my ass and also going through so much hassle for me and giving me a professional level banner. i can cry. love you all soooo much!!! also, tysm to @camandemstudios for letting me participate once again and making this so fun. all the fics that came out are bangers for sure!
▸ PART OF @camandemstudios : The Midnight Menagerie, COLLABORATION
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this collab!
⟡ tracklist for tonight → disturbia – rihanna ▷ thriller – michael jackson ▷ ghostbusters – ray park jr. ▷ somebody's watching me – rockwell ▷ beat it – michael jackson ▷ scaredy cat – dpr ian ▷ avalon – dpr ian ▷ ribbon – dpr ian ▷ mood – dpr ian ▷ hip hop phile – bts ▷ ruby – woozi ▷ monster – seventeen
Episode 1
“Funny, isn’t it? Nobody even knows we’re getting married,” he says.
You wonder if eloping is really the best idea. After all, he’s the reason you fight for your life, and the reason you must hide bruises under the white of your wedding dress and sweep of makeup. At least, he bought you a beautiful gown, for after all, you’re his doll to play, and he insists you look presentable and lovely for his wedding. The clock edges toward 8:30 p.m., and though nothing has gone according to your plan, it’s not yet impossible to manage. You and your fiancé, your soon-to-be husband if your plan doesn’t succeed today, are in his apartment for the night instead of a hotel that he initially wanted to book; he’s scared that someone might see the marriage prematurely and reveal it before he’s ready. It’s funny how he’s so meticulously gauges readiness, yet only where he’s the one who's concerned.
You stand in a strapless ball gown of pristine white. Its bodice is snug and adorned with delicate floral appliqués, sparkling beads, sequins that trail down into a full, voluminous skirt layered with sheer fabrics that gives the ensemble a magical glow. A sheer veil drapes over your shoulders and flows down your back, and despite its beauty, you know that executing your plan in this dress will be arduous. But it’s a moment of now or never. He appears beside you in a champagne-colored suit, making this elopement into a big deal… without your consent, of course. “Let’s go,” he commands, “we’re already late because of you.”
You draw a deep nervous breath when you know for a fact that he's late because of him fiddling with his tie last minute and not because of you. “Just give me a second in the bathroom,” you reply.
His teeth clench as he grasps your wrist tightly. “It shouldn't be one of your funny businesses,” he warns, and though the confidence that moments ago seemed lost surges anew, you just nod knowing that whatever happens will outdo whatever so-called ‘funny business’ he's talking about.
You step into the bathroom and bend over the sink as you inhale a breath. You then lift your eyes to meet your reflection in the mirror and exhale. Slowly, your gaze travels down the folds of your gown as you brace yourself mentally for what must be done. Moving to the side, you reach for a pair of gloves on the shelf and slip them over your hands, and whisper to yourself, I can do this, as you retrieve the syringe of ketamine from the hidden space behind the small cabinet.
You step from the bathroom acting as if nothing unusual is about to happen, and notice how luck is on your side right now — his back is turned. Cautiously, you advance slowly, raising the syringe and quickly pierce the skin of his neck with the perfect amount of force in your body. Immediately he spins, tackling you and pressing his hands against your throat.
His eyes are bloodshot as he shouts, “What the fuck are you doing?! You think you can—?” You struggle beneath his grasp, but your calculations are accurate, and within seconds, you see his movements falter. He slams you against the wall with a sickening thud and his fists strikes your arms and torso, yet his coordination begins to fail.
You take a careful step back, but a smile curls on your lips, “Is that all you have?” you say as his body finally slumps to the floor.
Your time to torture.
A rush of satisfaction goes through you as your fingers brush the spot where he tried to strangle you, and without hesitation, you seize the moment to drag him across the floor. Securing him with handcuffs and rope fastened tightly to a pillar, you tape his mouth and bind it with cloth to silence any possible cries that are bound to happen because of what you have to offer. Arranging your tools—needles, lighter, knife—on the counter, you step back and allow yourself a moment of affirmation.You're doing great, a thought that feels almost external, though it’s entirely your own.
You move closer to him, kneeling so that your eyes meet his face directly when he wakes up, and a chuckle escapes your lips as you trace the fear flashing across his face as he takes in his helpless position. “Did you really think you could keep me under your thumb forever?” you whisper, and watch him flinch with each syllable.
Rising, you glide toward the counter, surveying the tools laid out before speaking in a mock pretentious tone, “Now, tell me, which should I begin with? The needle or the flame?” You pause, letting your gaze travel on him, and then add, “Maybe you will enjoy the fire first,” lifting the lighter in your hand.
The flame flickers to life between your fingers as you step toward him and press it to his arm. He tries to cry out, but it dies in his throat trapped beneath your restraints, and you hear only the shallow rasp of his painful breath. You drag the flame across patches of exposed skin, watching as the pain registers in twitching muscles and reddening flesh, and you continue until the mottled third-degree burns mark him exactly as you wanted. “All those times you forced me to bend to your will,” you let your voice fill with hatred, “and all the bruises you left, the fear you cultivated—how does it feel to be so powerless now, huh?” You pause to let each word sink into his little brain and then list the pains he put on you, forcing him to feel every past injustice.
After savoring his helplessness, you take the needle and press it slowly into his thigh until it draws a thin ribbon of blood, holding it halfway in to maximize his pain. You repeat this several times, repositioning it each time and watch as he struggles weakly, unable to escape or resist while the tears begin to stream down his face. Each attempt he makes to move only reinforces his vulnerability and pain, and you allow yourself a satisfaction in the power you hold right now.
His tears slide down his cheeks constantly, and the sight fills you with an exhilarating happiness and thrill that makes your pulse quicken. You lift the lighter again holding it aloft as the small flame dances and flickers, and for a moment you let him register the anticipation before speaking, “Do you think the pain will make you strong, or are you finally learning what it feels like to be helpless?” You laugh softly at your own words, and press the flame briefly against his skin once more, savoring the twitching of his muscles and the helplessness that comes from him.
Scooting closer, you lower your voice into a venomous whisper, “I could make this last forever; every second will remind you of what you took from me and what I will take in return,” your breath ghost across his ear and watch his muscles twitch. “I could press the flame to your skin again,” you trace the air along his arm with your fingertip to tease the warmth of his skin without yet touching him, “or leave you with these marks until you remember every time you made me shiver under your hands,” and you tap lightly at a burn you have already inflicted to make him flinch at the touch.
Your fingers curl around the needle as you hover over his thigh, “or maybe I could take the needle right here in your thigh, again and again, and let it bleed slowly just enough to taste your terror and watch you struggle helplessly,” you murmur, pressing it lightly and watching him instinctively jerk before the restraints hold him fast. “You would feel every sharp prick, every flicker of fire, every bite of cold metal, and you couldn't move. You would want to scream, and you would find nothing but the rope and tape to choke your cries.”
“I could blind you, you know? With the light and hold your eyes open, and narrate every moment of my life with you,” you continue, “all the bruises, all the fear, all the ways you tried to dominate me and failed, until your mind is nothing but my words and my memory of you.” You smirk at him and stand up, “you could close your eyes, but I would still be here making you imagine worse and worse until your heart pounds and your body fails you, and the only thing you feel is the inevitability of what I will do next.”
Moving away from him, you take your phone and turn on the flashlight, gripping his chin to lift his gaze so that the stark beam forces his eyes wide open. You hold it there while recounting the story of your life with him. “Funny, isn't it? No one even knows this is how it ends for you.” He shakes his head violently in denial and realising that you're using his own words against him, and you respond with, “You are not getting what you want this time, darl.”
Although you could extend this game until the stroke of midnight, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts the moment and disturbs your dominion, and pulls your attention away from the delicious power you held.
The caller ID reads his sister and you answer by sliding the phone to mute in case his sleep-fogged aggression returns. On the other end she says, “I’m coming over in an hour,” followed by repeated calls into the silent line, “Hello? Hello?” until you finally cut the line and let the phone fall back into your hand. You look down at him and give him a mock frown, “Guess it's time for you to say goodbye.,” and he scrabbles, panic making his movements clumsy as he strains against the ropes and handcuffs; but after everything you have done to him, he has no strength left.
You reach for the racket resting on the counter and hold it, “This is what you get for being a fucking bastard,” before bringing it down on his skull, over and over, savoring the last vestiges of your satisfaction. Blood trickles from his nose and ears, painting the floor in dark vivid streaks, and finally, he collapses into unconsciousness. You take a moment of silence before moving quickly to the knife as time is suddenly a currency you don't have anymore. Murmuring under your breath, Rot in hell, you drive it into his heart decisively but a misjudged angle by a fraction sends a spray across the front of your gown, staining the pristine white with red you had feared but couldn't prevent, making you hiss in frustration, Fuck.
The blood pools across his suit and the floor, and the sight against your dress makes you frustrated. You stab the knife into his chest repeatedly this time until the violence peaks with a split to his throat.
Quickly you seal the glove you wore in a plastic bag and don a fresh one. You move around the house, taking a deep breath as you scan everything. This time, you take your time cleaning every surface you have touched. You hadn't anticipated his sister coming over today, for you had trusted that he would manage the evening alone as he had planned the elopement. He has no family except for his sister, his circle is only of 2-3 loser friends, and none are likely to intervene, so the situation is still manageable in your head.
You make sure no trace of yourself stays, leaving the apartment as it was a few hours ago so that suspicion falls on anyone and everyone and not just you. You take the bag containing the gloves, a lighter, used rags and tissues that you used to clean everything, and carry it out with you wanting to burn them away somewhere. Changing your gown is not an option as it will waste precious time, so you leave it on your body knowing it is safer to escape as you are than to risk another delay.
You ease yourself out of the apartment with as little sound as you can muster and move to his car, deciding to abandon it near one of his friends’ workshops so that the trail will mostly run through them rather than to you; you take the keys, seat yourself, and settle your gloved hands on the wheel. Feeling the cold leather under your palms, you start the engine and pull into the street. For a long moment you drive in silence with your eyes fixed on the narrow ribbon of asphalt ahead while the reality of what you have done tightens in your chest. Panic rises in staccato pulses and you ask yourself why you didn't simply just report him, why you didn't try to restart again, yet the months of planning and the memory of his feigned support in his masked manipulative kindness makes the idea of returning to innocence impossible. Sweat beads at your brow and soaks the gloves as your thoughts race—abandon the plan and surrender at the station—and for a few breaths you decide you'll stop at the police and give yourself up.
Something moves beneath your skin and cools the decision that had begun to form; a whisper of probably your own thoughts without any words, nudges you away from confession, and the world rearranges itself in the smallest of ways so that hesitation feels harder than motion. You inhale and tell yourself, calculate… buy time… think. yn, think! and as you hesitate, the lights ahead that should be red flicker and a van pauses longer than seems necessary, and without a conscious decision your foot presses the accelerator; you pass the junction with a slip of speed and then before you fully comprehend what you are doing, you notice a traffic officer signalling for you to pull over.
The sight of uniforms in the rearview mirror sends a fresh lurch of panic through you. You suddenly remember that your gown is stained nearly halfway in red and there is no plausible explanation when they will peer in through the glass. Every sensible instinct screams that you should stop and surrender. The same ineffable current that has been steering you since you left the house hums again, insistently that counsel, and you find your hands tightening at the ten and two position, your heel dropping to the pedal and you drive on. As you accelerate you watch into the rear-view mirror and catch sight of the officers climbing into their vehicle, and within moments the flashing lights light behind you as their car surges forward to give chase.
You keep driving as the wail of sirens ring in the distance. The flashing lights behind you are closing in. You press your foot harder on the accelerator, deciding to go full speed to make it seem like the brakes have failed. You have no idea if it looks convincing from the outside, but none of that matters now. You can't believe the courage—or madness—it takes to do this. Then again, you just killed a man with your own hands, alone. It would be almost funny to feel fear right now.
Your mind is a storm. Thoughts splinter, collide, and scatter. What have I done? What am I becoming? What if they catch me? Every possibility tears through you, and you can't silence the noise in your head that's now consuming you. You feel as if you’re losing your mind entirely. The road stretches ahead under the pale wash of moonlight, a long ribbon of silver that curves through darkness. The trees on both sides rise tall and their branches form a jagged wall that eats away at the light. You can hear the sirens behind you even though the patrol cars are not yet visible. You know that if you slow down, even for a moment, they’ll be upon you within minutes.
You tell yourself you only need to escape—to somehow make it home without being seen, and without leaving a trace. To look like a normal, sane woman who never did what she just did. But your chest tightens and panic begins to feed on your reason.
Then, without warning, the car starts to lose speed. Your heart skips as you glance at the fuel gauge—its needle trembles far into the red. Empty. You press harder on the gas, but nothing happens. The engine stutters in protest. The sirens behind you grow louder, swelling through the still night air in the middle of… nowhere.
You look around frantically. The narrow two-lane road bends to the left, vanishing into the dense forest. The light is poor and the sky nearly swallowed by the dark canopy of evergreens. The shadows stretch long across the asphalt. You can't understand why they’re still chasing you. People run traffic lights all the time—why now, why me? The thought circles in your mind desperately.
You shake your head, forcing yourself to think. The car is dying beneath you, and slowing by the second. You reach for the plastic bag beside you and grip it tightly. You flick on the brake lights, bring the car to a halt on the edge of the road, and throw open the door. The sirens are closer now. Without another thought, you get out of the car and run toward the forest and let the darkness swallow you whole.
A sudden rustle catches your ear—a deer bolts across your path and vanishes into the trees. You pause for only a second, and try to just shrug it off.
But with panic searing through your mind about the police, you decide to run more deep into the forest without a thought for direction or safety. The night air hits cold against your skin and the ground is uneven beneath your feet, but none of it matters. You push forward driven only by the desperate need to disappear. You are not deep enough to be lost entirely, yet far enough to not be seen by them. Their voices and the faint wail of sirens still repeat somewhere nearby, but there is no choice now. You must rid yourself of the evidence and flee before the light finds you.
Your thoughts blur into fragments, and you have no idea what you will do in the middle of a forest, no sense of where to go or how to hide or even how to return to the main route. The only clear thing is that you can't be caught after what you’ve done. Your heart hammers as you glance down at your wedding gown, once pristine white, now soaked in dirt and dark, drying blood. The fabric clings to you, yet you can hardly stand to look at it.
You kneel on the damp dirt under you and gather a handful of fallen leaves. Your hands shake as you pull the lighter from the plastic bag. You drop the bag onto the ground, adding to it the used gloves, the used tissues, and the scraps of cloth you had used to clean the apartment. Then, one by one, you toss the gloves you were still wearing onto the pile. The lighter clicks in your trembling hand before the flame catches. You lower it slowly, and fire crawls through the heap, consuming everything you touched. The smoke twists upward through the branches above you, forming shapes that almost seem… aware, as if the shadows themselves are watching. Faces ripple in the bark above you—eyes and mouths that vanish the instant you blink. You know it's just because of the low light. It can't be that serious. You watch for a moment until the plastic shrivels and the leaves turn to black ash.
The sound of distant male voices and steps reaches your ears again. The police are closer now. One last glance at the small mound of glowing embers, then you turn and run.
You breathe heavily, but each breath feels caught halfway tight in your throat. The air burns your lungs. You tell yourself to keep running until your legs fail. Your heartbeat pounds against your skull so loud it drowns everything else—until there is nothing. No sound or anything except the thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You slow to a halt and the silence presses in even more. You glance ahead. A narrow, rocky path lies before you, carpeted with fallen leaves that rustle faintly underfoot, and bare trees rise on either side. A thick fog drapes itself over the ground, hanging low and swallowing the end of the path from view. Everything is still—completely still.
You come back to your right senses in the worst way imaginable. The world stops around you, and you realize—you are lost. Alone. Somewhere in this endless stretch of forest where even the air feels unfamiliar. There is not a single sound. Not a bird, not a rustle, not even the hum of life. Only your own breathing is scraping against the stillness. You never thought silence could sound this painful.
A part of you wants to scream to call for help and be found by someone or the police even if it means being dragged into jail or facing an execution. Anything would be better than this. But the thought splinters when a strong gust of wind crashes through the trees, knocking you onto the damp ground. You sit there, stunned, staring into the dark, trying to make sense of what just happened. The air settles again motionless as if nothing had happened just now at all.
Your chest tightens until you can barely breathe as tears blur your sight. You turn your head slowly toward the faint sound of something crumbling through the brush. And then you see them. Eyes, or what your frantic mind decides must be eyes, watching you from the blackness between the trees. Or are they actually eyes? The shadows squirm and the shapes form something that looks like a face, then disappear the instant you blink.
You scream high and desperate—and run. The ground catches at your feet, and the branches whip against your arms, tearing at your bare skin. You keep glancing back trying to see if something follows, but the forest is a blur of shadow and nothingness. Still, you can’t stop.
Something catches you, unseen, pulling you down. Your body hits the earth hard. You thrash, claw, kick at the ground, but whatever has you pinned is invisible and unyielding. Panic floods your throat which chokes your screams until they come out broken. You cry, beg, but the forest gives nothing back.
And then—release.
The weight lifts, and you lie there too afraid to move while your whole body trembles. The night seems to watch you breathe. You turn your head in hopes to search the dark for any sign of life, but there is only blackness. You can’t even bring yourself to scream again. The silence feels like something is waiting.
A low noise of rustling comes from behind. Your body freezes and refuses to move.
“Who are you?” The voice is too close for comfort.
You turn slowly, hoping that it might be the police, or a lost traveler, or someone. But there’s no one there. The space behind you is empty.
Terror claws up your spine. Your throat burns as you start to shout anything and everything in desperate hope that someone far away might hear you. “I’m here! Can you hear me? HERE! Please!”
The sound of your own scream turns foreign in your ears, and the forest devours it whole, letting the words die midair before they can reach anywhere. The stillness that follows is worse than any scream could be. You stay where you are and press your knees into the cold mud. You don’t dare stand. Every instinct in you says not to.
The trees seem to lean closer and the darkness starts to ripple between their trunks, almost like it's alive. You don't know what's happening but from your peripheral vision, it looks like faces appear in the bark and they blink when you aren’t looking directly. A twisted semblance of movement shivers in the shadows. But it's not your direct vision. You're 99% sure it's your mind playing tricks on you again. It can't be real no matter how odd this situation is.
“I’m here…”
The words drift faintly from somewhere not too far away. It takes you a heartbeat too long to realize that they are your own. Your own voice. You freeze and your blood turns to ice as the sound rolls back toward you. You whisper something again, and the voice repeats it back, making your stomach drop. The air feels colder as you can’t tell where it’s coming from: behind, beside, above. You shut your eyes and grip the hem of your gown, and force yourself to breathe. It's nothing, it's nothing. Just a trick of mind.
You lift your head back up without realizing it, and for a fleeting instant you catch the outline of something beyond the tree line in front of you. It's there and not there, dissolving whenever you try to focus on it. You don't question your eyes anymore. Too much has already happened for you to trust anything.
You force yourself upright, the feeling of being watched gnaws at the back of your neck. You slowly take one step backward, keeping your gaze locked on that whatever thing between the trees, then you turn and start running again. The forest seems endless, and you have no idea where you are anymore, but still you run. Staying still feels worse than getting lost. Every pause makes you scared that something will finally step out from behind the trees and end this nightmare.
You remind yourself that you know this forest… or at least you think you do. Somewhere beyond all this there should be a road. There has to be a road. You tell yourself you only need to keep walking straight and that everything will make sense again once you find it. You even laugh a little under your breath. It's just the wind, telling yourself that you’re fine, that all of this is in your head. Just an animal. Enough already. Get it together.
But your heart refuses to listen. It hammers against your ribs, making your breath catch and stutter. The silence presses in again for the nth time until you can hear your pulse echoing in your skull. You realize again just how far you are from civilization. The thought sinks in more than it did before, making you feel nauseous now.
The lighter. You feel like an idiot for forgetting it. The memory slices through the panic, and you dig through your pocket until you find it. You grab a thick branch, wrap the end with a strip of your torn gown, and pour a few drops of lighter fluid over it and the spark catches. Flame blooms at the tip, casting a trembling orange light around you.
You hold the torch high, and the forest finally takes shape again of gnarled trees, twisting roots, and whatnot. But relief barely has time to form before something changes within the light.
The shadows rearrange themselves. Faces appear where there should be none. You can't believe your eyes and you definitely don't when you see clusters of them half-formed and swaying, the glow of the flame carving eyes into the wood, mouths into the folds of bark. They stare at you, or perhaps through you. You tell yourself it’s just your imagination. It's nothing, that your mind is inventing them, that it’s the smoke distorting your sight… But one of the faces moves.
You stumble backward, and clutch the torch so tightly that the wood digs into your palm. A shape emerges from the trees ahead, its gait disjointed and looks very wrong. The figure looks almost human, or maybe it used to be. Its head tilts too far to one side, and for a brief, horrifying moment, you still think it’s a deer standing upright, but then it moves again, and no part of it resembles an animal anymore.
You run. You don’t think, don’t breathe, just run. The thing that follows… Its footsteps are soft, but they are there, and they are in fact very fast. You can hear the thud of hooves and the crack of twigs that refuses to fade. Your torchlight shakes wildly, and you're scared that it might go out because of you running.
You crash through the undergrowth, gasping, tears blurring your vision. Just as your legs begin to give out, you see what's in front of you. A set of stone steps rises before you, and you're well aware that it's impossibly out of place in the middle of the forest. You don’t question it. You sprint upward because your body is screaming in exhaustion and you want to hide there. But behind you, the sound of pursuit stops…
The forest falls silent again.
You climb to the top of the staircase that's rising out of the forest floor, and abruptly stop at the top. The concrete is fractured and uneven beneath your feet and covered in damp leaves and old pine needles. You raise your torch, and its trembling light shows you that the surface is cracked and furred with moss and pale green lichen that has devoured the edges over time. The air is way colder here. The surrounding trees look to be mostly birch and conifers, though you can't be entirely sure—and you can hardly bring yourself to care, apart from the fact that this entire place feels strangely somber.
You sink onto one of the steps to catch your breath. It feels safer up here than on the forest floor, though you don't know why. The silence presses against your ears again, and you realize with a tightening in your chest that the woods have gone completely still. You take in a deep breath, and keep your torch close to your side. The flame gutters slightly, and you shield it with your palm before standing again. You turn your light in slow arcs, studying your surroundings. The staircase seems to rise in the middle of the forest and lead to nothing as it stops abruptly. You peer down to the ground below and realize you are at least half a floor above it, yet it feels higher than it probably should, as if the forest itself has sunk away from you.
You are surprised by how good the structure remains despite its age. It should not be standing, and yet it does. You step back from the edge when a soft thud echoes through the trees. You freeze. The sound comes again but it's neither close nor far. You hold your breath and tilt your head, listening. Then something calls your name.
Your torchlight trembles in your grasp. “Hello?” slipped out of you before you could process it. The word falls into the dark and doesn't return. You glance behind you to see the forest remaining empty. You look to your sides, to the front again, but the silence has changed. It is no longer still; it waits. You can feel it. Your skin prickles, and something gathers in your chest that refuses to name itself.
You look back one more time, and your light catches movement—limbs bending the wrong way, eyes too bright in the dark. The deer is there again, only it isn’t. It stands at the base of the staircase, motionless for a single heartbeat before it surges upward toward you.
You clutch the torch so tightly your knuckles have probably gone white and without thinking, you jumped from the top of the staircase.
The fall knocks the air from your lungs. You brace for the crack of earth, and the sting of branches and dirt, but instead your body hits solid ground that feels smooth, and cold, and hurts hard. Concrete.
You groan and push yourself up, blinking through the shock. The forest is gone.
It takes a second for your mind to register what just happened before the scream bursts out of you as you stumble backward on your hands. The cold surface presses against you, which now feels both calming from the forest and disorienting all at once. Your breathing quickens until it breaks into sobs. The sound tears out of your throat before you can stop it, and soon you’re crying in loud ugly gasps. The taste of salt mixes with the dryness of your mouth, and you clutch your face in both hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if that could block out whatever prank that was happening.
Your mouth hangs open in a soundless wail before another wave of tears takes over. You dig your fingers into your hair and grip it tightly until your scalp stings and you cry even more. Your chest aches from how hard you’re trying to breathe, and you force yourself to whisper a half-choked, Calm down. Calm down. The words tremble out of you, but they do nothing. You’re completely lost in this joke. You can’t tell what’s real anymore.
The air is colder than you remember, but at least it's clean and crisp in your lungs. The chill reminds you to look down and see your gown filthy with streaks of mud and blood. The sight hits you harder than the cold, and so your vision blurs in tears and clears again as you rub your eyes with your sleeves brushing clumsily against your skin. You look up to see you’ve been crying, hysterically… in public, in a blood-stained dress.
Your stomach lurches. You feel every eye on you. A few people stand nearby, probably confused, watching. The realisation burns through you and you immediately raise your hands to your face, trying to hide yourself. You try to stand up and leave. But as you begin to push yourself off the ground, someone crouches down in front of you.
He’s a man— looks quiet, calm, and his expression looks soft in the low light. He holds out a tissue to you which feels painfully human in this moment of collapse. His smile is oddly reassuring, and for the smallest second you want to believe you’re safe. But you can’t.
You don’t take the tissue; you don’t have time to waste right now. You need to hide before someone calls the police—and who are you kidding? Someone’s probably already called, and they’re on their way. It'll all be over for you. You jerk to your feet and start to move, but before you can take a full step, a hand catches your wrist.
You turn sharply to meet his eyes. He looks concerned rather than threatening, but your nerves are too frayed to give a fuck. You pull your arm back to free yourself, but he doesn’t let go immediately. “Miss, are you okay?” he asks, and it really seems like he's concerned.
You yank your hand away and run again, your gown dragging across the ground as your shoes hit the pavement. You don’t look back. The world around you is lit in streetlamps glowing through a light mist, and faded posters flapping against metal poles.
When you finally slow down, you realise where you are. The smell of burnt sugar and popcorn drifts faintly in the air. Strings of coloured lights dangle loosely between poles, many of them flickering. The faint music of a carousel reaches you from somewhere inside. You turn in a slow circle and notice the shapes of game booths and shuttered stalls ahead inside of these netted walls in front of you.
You’re standing at the far edge of what seems to be a carnival. A place meant for joy and laughter—but here, on its outer rim, it feels kind of abandoned.
This time, a woman approaches you. “Excuse me, are you a bride?” You flinch, and instinctively step back, but before you can escape, she speaks again. “Oh, I’m so sorry for scaring you. Do you need any help?” Her expression is kind, but for a moment, you’re just confused. Why are people still approaching you? Shouldn’t they be keeping their distance? Shouldn’t someone be holding you down until the police arrive? You’re a walking danger sign in red, and yet she’s standing there speaking to you as if you’re lost rather than dangerous.
You decide to answer this time. “I’m fine.”
The woman looks at you with sympathy, clearly unconvinced. “It must be hard for you,” she says, “but you shouldn’t be walking around in the cold in your pretty dress like this. Do you have a ride?”
Pretty dress. The words sound very absurd to you. You look down at the kinda torn, dirty, muddy, blood-streaked gown clinging to your skin and wonder if she’s out of her mind—or just stalling until the police come to arrest you. You let out a dry laugh. “If this is what you call pretty, you must be really blind,” you say oddly detached. Without waiting for her response, you turn away, still laughing under your breath.
You walk toward the carnival gates. There’s no guard in sight, so you slip through. The ground beneath your feet is cobbled and slick, which catches the reflection of thousands of tiny glowing lights strung between tall, ornate buildings. The amber glow of the swaying lanterns from every stall cuts through the twilight. You find yourself standing on a broad street that appears to be the heart of the carnival. To either side, vendors in bright stalls call out to the passing crowd. But the architecture around you is low-key strange: part gothic, part whimsical with sharp spires and rounded domes stretching into a misty midnight-blue sky.
Ahead, the street thrums with people dressed in long coats, flowing gowns, and top hats. Their faces are lit by the warm glow of the lights, and you can’t help but think why anyone would dress like this for a carnival at such an hour. You don’t even know what time it is.
You move forward cautiously, hoping to blend into the crowd… or at least find a place to hide until you can think properly of a plan. You need to get out of this filthy gown if you want any chance of making it home safely. But you don’t even know where ‘home’ is anymore, or where this carnival is located as it seems like you just popped here. To find out, you’ll have to look presentable. And right now, you look anything but that.
You pull yourself together because you really can’t afford to fall apart right now. You need to face the consequences or at least test the situation before you even think of running away again. For the moment, it appears that people aren’t paying much attention to what you’re wearing. Do they think it’s a costume? Yet someone did call you a runaway bride, which is technically not wrong.
You walk toward one of the beautifully decorated vendor stalls to test the waters and see how people take your presence. You carefully step ahead, posture guarded as your fingers clutch the fabric of the gown on its own so it doesn’t drag more than it already has. When you reach the stall, the vendor looks at you for a second and steps aside, giving you space as if you being here is perfectly normal.
You attempt a wary smile before smoothing your expression into something more neutral. You want to look composed. Harmless.
A small tug at the hem of your gown pulls your attention downward. A child stands there, staring up at you with a sparkle of unfiltered wonder in her eyes. Confusion flows through you. Why would any parent let their child come up to someone who looks this suspicious?
You bury that concern and force a faint low-key smile. You tilt your head slightly and raise an eyebrow to signal that the child may speak.
“You look so pretty,” her voice is filled with admiration. Admiration that she shouldn’t have. Her eyes hold that same glint that’s earnest and unsettling at the same time, because you can’t fathom what she could possibly find pretty about you right now.
You look back up and see two people who you assume are the little girl's parents smiling at you. It confuses you, and you reluctantly murmur, “thank you?” with a questioning lilt to your voice. The mother pats your back gently and says, “your gown is really beautiful,” and you are momentarily speechless, unsure how to respond. Seeing your hesitation, she adds apologetically, “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.”
Frustration bubbles over, and you can no longer take it anymore, “what is beautiful about my blood-stained gown?” you ask.
For the first time since she began speaking, a crease forms on her brow. “What do you mean?” she replies, genuinely looking confused.
You point out that your dress is dirty, ripped, and soaked in blood and you can't understand what is wrong with everyone who insists it's beautiful. “What is wrong with everyone that they think my dress is pretty or beautiful or whatever?” you demand as your voice rises in agitation. The little girl moves behind her father’s leg, and you realize you have taken it too far. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” you trail off, your anger fading into awkward embarrassment.
The mother’s eyes remain sympathetic and concerned. She coos gently at you, “ah, your gown is a bit dirty and ripped, but that happens when you run away from your wedding.” She pauses and then continues with careful consideration, “but what did you mean about blood? Your dress is just dirty and ripped, nothing more. Is it the stress? Are you okay?”
You frown. “What do you mean?” you ask.
She tilts her head and responds, “what do you mean by what I mean?”
Frustration flares again. “If you are not seeing the blood completely splattered on my gown, then what are you talking about?” you demand once again.
She blinks at you seemingly confused, “I don't see any blood.”
You glance at the father, who shakes his head in agreement, and then at the vendor, who also gestures that he sees nothing. “You all are insane…” you mutter under your breath.
The mother is now more concerned, and she asks again, “Are you hallucinating? Do you wanna drink some water? Do you want to go to the hospital?”
You stagger back a step, and glance down at your gown once more. Every dried bloodstain, every smear of mud is glaringly real to you, yet you realise it’s completely invisible to everyone else. The child watches you curiously, while the mother’s expression remains concerned, as if nothing you see is of any consequence. A chill creeps up your spine, and your heartbeat hammers so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Am I losing my mind? you wonder, but you know what you’re seeing is still real.
You press your palms to your face, rubbing furiously, and then throw your arms out in frustration, almost begging the world to acknowledge what’s happening. “Do you all really not see this?”
“She what? You look fine.” Her words wrap around you, and it feels like your stomach dropped.
“I—I need to get out of here,” you stammer aloud.
“Are you sure? You seem… distressed.”
“Yes,” you insist as you turn around.
A shiver runs down your spine when the child tugs gently at your gown again. “Do you want to see the show?” she asks innocently. Your eyes snap to her, and for the first time since the blood appeared invisible, a shiver of clarity hits you. The child sees nothing unusual. No one does. The world has changed, or you have, and you’re alone in this perception.
You walk away knowing you’ve been rude, yet you tell yourself that surviving the moment matters far more than politeness. You need to blend into the crowd to see how well you can disappear among them before you decide your next move.
Very quickly, you realise that you’re not blending in at all. It’s not for the reason you initially were scared of. The blood is invisible to them. What they see instead is a crazy woman wandering in a wedding dress, messed up and clearly overwhelmed. That alone is reason enough for many eyes to stay on you. A kind old man offered you a shawl to wrap around your shoulders, and you accepted it with gratitude. The warmth was a relief, especially when the air must be at least close to five degrees Celsius.
You roam through the carnival to understand your surroundings before forcing yourself to make any drastic decisions. It seems less risky to stay here until morning or at least until the festivities come to an end. Food and drink stalls line the streets and, surprisingly, several vendors hand you small snacks and drinks without asking for anything in return. There’s even a petting zoo tucked into a corner of the grounds. You spend several minutes there, kneeling to feed a few rabbits, and for some moment, you were really happy. But it didn't last long as reality hit you soon enough.
The carnival is large and carefully designed. The centerpiece is a colossal Ferris wheel on the left and it's lit up with golden and purple lights that give a warm glow to the chilly midnight sky. All around, almost everything in the carnival is mostly adorned with strings of bright lights. If the night were ordinary, you would ride that Ferris wheel without hesitation just like the crowds around you.
You stand before it for a while, just watching it turn, then slowly move onward. Soon you find yourself before a breathtaking carousel. It’s a classic construction and the canopy is lined with what must be hundreds of golden bulbs, each one a tiny star creating a halo effect. The carousel itself has a grandeur to it with its painted horses appearing ready to gallop, and the ornate details catch the light just right. The reflection on the wet cobblestones beneath is the most breathtaking part; it doubles the light and gives the whole scene a shimmering, dreamlike vine. It should be peaceful. It should be magical.
Yet nothing about tonight feels peaceful. No amount of shimmering light pulls you away from what’s settling in your chest or the dread that continues to coil around your thoughts.
-
Roaming around has led you to a purple tent. It looks like a fortune teller’s tent judging by the sign that reads, ‘seek your fate, if you dare’. You have already watched the acrobats, the sword swallower, the fire-eaters, the clowns, and almost every other performance you came across tonight to pass time, so you figure there’s no reason not to stop by here too.
You push aside the curtain and step inside. A fast burst of something cold rushes past you in and out in less than a second. The sensation is so sudden that it sends a shiver up your spine. You were starting to forget all the oddness of this place, but that feeling comes creeping right back.
The interior of the tent is beautiful, just like everywhere else you have visited tonight. You take in the shelves and tables decorated with tarot cards, pendulums, dice, and even a chessboard that makes you pause because you aren't sure what a fortune teller would do with that. What draws you in most is the crystal ball on a gold stand atop a deep purple velvet cloth. Inside the glass, a swirling mix of purple and blue creates a cosmic scene that looks probably like a nebula. It catches your attention from the moment you see it.
You move closer as curiosity urges you forward. When your fingers make contact with the smooth surface against your better judgement, that same strange force rushes through you again. It’s quick, too quick to understand, but it feels stronger this time. Your head spins for a moment, and you brace yourself to recover.
Footsteps interrupt the dizziness. A man enters from the behind of the tent. You look up at him and instinctively step back from the crystal ball. He has light brown hair with a soft part, a few strands falling over his forehead. His jawline is sharp, his eyes partially hidden behind thin wire-rimmed glasses, and a few simple rings on his fingers. His appearance is clean and really put together.
He steps forward without a word and takes the chair behind the table. He then looks at you and gestures calmly for you to sit across from him.
You take a seat across from him, trying to gather yourself before speaking. “Hello… I'm y/n,” you say, introducing yourself with a nervous smile.
He nods once and replies, “My name is Lee Chan.” Silence settles between you a bit, and you press your lips together in a tight smile to acknowledge the introduction. He speaks again. “So, you didn't find any clothes outside to change into?” he asks.
You stare at him confused. “Huh? Oh… right. No, I did not,” you answer, unsure where this is going.
“If you'd like to change, I have spare clothes here that you can take,” he offers in a calm voice.
“Thats a very weird way to start a conversation,” you say, a little amused but mostly thrown off.
“It won’t be easy for you to leave this carnival and walk home without people noticing your bloody dress,” he says.
A cold shiver runs through your spine. “What do you mean?” Your voice drops without you meaning it to.
He leans forward crossing his arms on the table, and a small smirk appears on his face. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”
You refuse to look away and lock your eyes with his. “I really have no idea what you're talking about,” you reply firmly.
He gives a light chuckle. “Oh, you do know. You're just trying to look confident so you don't have to face the reality of it all. You're pretending you can control the situation.”
“Im not pretending anything. Just do your job so I can leave,” you say, your voice sounds not intimidated despite the fear tightening inside your chest.
“Sure, I can do that,” he answers. “But you'll not be able to leave safely with that dress on. People inside the carnival might not notice anything, but the moment you step away from this radius, those people will definitely see what's on the dress. Especially the police.”
You stare at him stunned. “I beg your fucking pardon?” He only shrugs and extends a hand toward you. Without thinking, you place your hand on the table for him, still clutching onto some sense of sanity as your voice rises. “Whats wrong with you?”
Your mind spirals. You're afraid, but you're trying not to let a single sign show. He could see it? The thought scrapes across your mind now. Your eyes wander desperate for anything to distract you, and you find a mirror behind him. For a second, the reflection ripples like water. You blink and it's gone. You already know this place is strange, and your heart keeps insisting it's an illusion, but your brain refuses to agree.
He responds to you with an unreadable expression, “I know what you did, and I know what you'll do. Tomorrow, you'll kill again.”
You laugh then, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “You are insane,” you say.
He lifts his chin. “Is it not true that you killed your now dead ex-boyfriend today?”
You push back from the table and rise to your feet so quickly your chair scrapes the floor. “Don’t even try to accuse me,” you snap. “Who are you to sit there and claim you know anything about me?”
He doesn't flinch. “I’m the man who reads what others refuse to admit,” he replies calmly, folding his hands on the table and inclining his head with the air of someone stating a fact.
You jab a finger toward him. “How the fuck would you know that?”
He smiles in an almost indulgent way. “I’m a fortune teller for a reason. I see threads others can’t see. You can't hide from me.”
You roll your eyes. “Cliché,” the single word dripping with irony.
He smiles, and it's neither warm nor cruel. “I can read your mind better than you can,” he says plainly.
You snort. “There are about seven thousand languages in the world according to Google, and you chose to speak nonsense.”
He leans forward and taps the side of his own temple with a ringed finger, amused. “Words are a poor measure. I don't need them when your thoughts betray you so well.”
You narrow your eyes. “So you're admitting you're some sort of telepath?” You pace a small circle as you tug at the ruined fabric of your gown. “You’re talking in riddles. Speak clearly.”
He spreads his hands in a placating motion. “Clearlu enough. A great many things have already happened tonight.”
“Name them then,” your jaw clenched. “Name what you claim to know about me.”
He meets your stare without wavering. “You have blood on your dress. You are running. The air has followed you. You're afraid but you won't let it show.”
You laugh brittle and incredulous. “I would slap you, but I don't do animal abuse,” and then wince at how weird it sounds even as the words leave your mouth.
He raises an eyebrow and, without warning, places a hand lightly but deliberately on your wrist. The touch is inexplicably intimate as if he controls the conversation with the contact. “Be careful with threats,” he murmurs. “A night can change a great deal.”
You jerk your arm away. “Take your hand off me or I'll break it right now,” you hiss, leaning in until your face is close to his. Your breath clouds in the cool air.
He doesn't recoil. Instead he watches you with a calm that unsettles more than the hand ever did. “You may try,” voice level, “but you'll find that force isn't the only language I understand.”
You feel a hot flare of anger and humiliation and step back and curl your fingers at the torn lace of your sleeve. “What’s this place?” you demand but also ask. “How did I wind up inside this carnival when I jumped off those stairs in the woods? I should've landed in mud, not here. How do I leave?”
He studies you for a long moment and then, finally, answers in a voice that has no hurry. “You left one dimension and entered another. The ways out aren't the same as the ways in. So to leave you must walk the routes that lead back to your regular place.” He remainsquiet to see your reaction, “There are doors here that open both ways, but they aren't marked the way you want them to be. You can go. You may even find your streets again and the people who know your name.”
“Another dimension? Do you always speak bullshit?”
“Do you always talk like this?”
“With people like you? Yes.”
He smirks, “People…” and looks straight into in a very strange way that makes your stomach twist.
You narrow your eyes, unsure what he means and whether that means safety or another threat. “So I can just walk out? Go home?”
His gaze never wavers. “If you find the right threshold and cross it, yes. You'll breathe the same air you once did. You'll sleep in your own bed and think you have escaped,” his mouth curls into a smirk. “But every return carries a trigger. Once pulled, it leads back here.”
A chill drags down your spine. “Meaning what?”
“It means,” he says, “this place doesn't disappear when you stop looking at it. There is always a moment where the two worlds touch. A step too far from the light. A turn down a street you don't remember. A night where you do things you aren't supposed to. That’s when the thread grows tight again.”
“Huh, so you mean, kill someone? I wasn't supposed to kill him?” you scoff at him.
“I’m not here to judge your choices. And that’s not the only thing you did tonight that you weren’t supposed to, is it?”
“Explain that again in human language as everything you're saying is just confusing as hell.”
“You went where you shouldn't have gone and stepped into a place that was not meant for you.”
“That doesn't mean anything. You're just talking in riddles to sound deep,” you laugh.
“I’m telling you the truth. You opened a door for yourself to me.”
You ignore the, ‘to me’ part because you're sure of it just being nonsense. He really thinks he can scam you. “It was stairs in the woods, not a door.”
He huffs out a short laugh. “Are you stupid?”
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts your eyeballs. “Wow, great fortune teller behavior.”
“That’s what you are though. A fool who thinks she understands her situation.”
“Look, if you know so much, then tell me straight.”
“I know enough to see you're in denial when you absolutely went through things that's not normal.”
“Im not in denial. I'm just tired of your bullshit,” fingers gripping the edge of the table as you lean forward.
He jerks his chin toward you. “You fear what you saw because now it sees you.”
“Huh?” Your throat tightens and you swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. “Why me?”
For the first time, he smiles, but it isn’t comforting. “Like I said earlier, you ran toward something when everyone else would've run away. That's usually enough.”
Your mouth feels dry. “If I leave and go home and follow my normal address, will I be safe?”
“You’ll be home if you follow your usual direction,” he says softly. “Safety is a different question.”
“What does that even mean? Why can't you just talk normally?”
“Im talking normally. You're refusing to listen.”
“No, you're the one refusing to explain.”
He looks at the hem of your dress and taps the table. “Change your clothes. People will notice that. This place is different, and you can see that.”
“I know it's different, but I still don't get what you're saying. You're weird.”
He rests his elbows on the table and leans in closer, studying your face. “Weird is a matter of perspective.”
“You sound pleased with yourself,” you push to your feet and plant both hands on the table so your knuckles whiten. You lean in until your face is an inch from his. “Are you enjoying this? Playing with a vulnerable woman?”
He tilts his head. “Enjoying would imply I don't take it seriously. What I do is necessary.”
“You call this necessary?” you hiss. You pace a single slow step back and let the shawl that old man gave you, fall from your shoulders without thinking. “You say I opened a door, that I crossed into another… geometry, and then you smile and tell me to change my clothes. Do you have any idea how that sounds?”
He watches you with patience that makes you bristle. “It sounds like what it is: practical advice. If you wish to go unnoticed beyond this place, appearances help.”
You laugh a bitter sound, and turn away for a moment to gather whatever composure you can. When you look back he hasn't moved; his gaze follows you. You find that somewhat creepy but something else too. You don't want to even think about what it is. “So tell me as simply as possible,” you demand. “If I change and I walk out the right way, do I go home and nothing else happens?”
“Yes, you’ll go home.”
“Then… what does safety mean to you?” you take another step toward the flap of the tent as if you might leave this argument to fate.
He spreads his hands slightly and it looks like a practiced gesture. “Safety is a promise this place can't really keep. It can only offer you an illusion of it as long as I want.”
“So you can take that so-called illusion away whenever you please?” you ask, voice sharp.
“I can,” he replies, as calm as a bell.
“That’s cruel.” You reach out and catch the shawl in your hands, fingers tightening around the fabric.
“Cruelty is a misnomer; maintenance is more apt.”
“Maintenance? You mean you keep people captive for your amusement?” your voice climbs despite yourself.
“No.” He inclines his head making the light catch the edge of his glasses. “I bind and I trade. The circus operates in transactions, and you, unintentionally, entered one.” He taps the table once, as if punctuating a lesson.
You scoff at him in disbelief, “I threw that at you without thinking about it, but apparently, you actually do way crazier things.”
“Yeah, you can say that.”
“You think you're so clever.”
“You know I think? I think you're still pretending none of this matters.”
You slam your palm against the table, anger flaring hot. “I told you to stop saying that. None of this is my problem.”
“It became your problem the moment you took a life.”
“You nosy little fucker, do you ever shut up?”
He lifts one brow, amused. “Truth hurts?”
“It’s not the truth. You're just obsessed with the sound of your own voice.”
“Youre obsessed with running from consequences. But at least it helped you come to me.”
You once again ignore the, ‘to me’ part. “Save it. If you want payment, take it from me now.”
He watches you for a long beat and then smiles, slow and unreadable. “Not now. I’ll take it in due time. Payment is seldom monetary.” He lets his fingertips rest on the table and, without reaching for you, taps the surface twice as if marking time. “You came to me. That says enough,” he adds, leaning forward so that the shadow from his glasses cuts across his face.
“I didn't come to you,” you snap, jerking the shawl closer around your shoulders though to be frank, that was more for show than warmth.
“Deep down, you wanted to escape; I offer paths,” he says, voice reaching softly to your ears.
“I don't need your paths.” You pace a small circle, then stop and set your palm on the cool wood of the table as if to collect yourself.
“Perhaps not. Yet you can't unring the bell.”
“You are a coward, aren’t you? Hiding behind riddles and half-truths.”
He raises a single brow, unperturbed. “Cowardice isn't my failing. That, it seems, is yours.”
“You really want that to be about courage? Fine.” You step back, scuffing your shoe against the worn mat beneath the table, and point a finger at him. “I’m leaving. This is a circus trick. I'll go home, change, and live my life. Your prophecy means nothing to me.” You shove the chair back with your leg and square your shoulders. “Fuck your prophecy. You're wrong, and if anyone accuses me, I'll see you in court.”
The audacity!
You don't wait for his reaction. You turn away as your breath shakes and skin burns from anger, ready to walk out of this tent and be done with all of it.
⌦ 🔮 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝
OT13 reacting to their s/o flinching during an argument
Request: Hello there! Can i please request a reaction post of them reacting to their s/o flinching during an argument?
(Love all your works btw)
A/N: i might've done something similar to this before but idk anything anymore. and thank you sweetheart
Contains: angst, hurt/comfort, insecurity, abuse
stops instantly — joshua, jun, dokyeom, minghao
the moment you flinch, his expression changes from anger replaced with shock and guilt. “hey… hey, no, no, no, i’d never hurt you.” his voice cracks a little and hands raised a lil before he takes a step back to give you space. he’s careful not to touch you until you nod making sure you give your consent here. then he just wraps you in a hug, “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he doesn’t stop apologizing for hours. he'll definitely ask later what this reaction came from and if it was natural or something else, so he'd definitely try his best to not scare you anymore.
blames himself for days — seungcheol, wonwoo, woozi, vernon
he goes quiet. doesn’t even breathe for a second. and then you can see the regret flood his face. “i—i didn’t mean to raise my voice.” his tone drops so low it almost makes you feel bad for scaring him but he doesn't care. he cares only about you rn. he tries to reach out but stops midway bc he's terrified of making it worse. for the next few days, he’s much more careful than ever and constantly checking if you’re okay, giving you space but leaving messages that say you never have to be afraid of him, and yo check if you need something, if you're ready talk etc.
panicked — hoshi, mingyu, seungkwan
he blurts your name immediately and the argument forgotten like it never existed. “wait, wait—did you just flinch?” his words tumble over each other. “i swear i wasn’t gonna—i’d never—” he’s close to tears before you can even explain. he grabs your hands, presses them to his chest so you can feel his heartbeat. “i love you. i’m sorry. please don’t be scared of me.” he's literally just so scared that he did something wrong to make you scared of him. he'll never want you to feel unsafe. he doesn't want this to be about him, so he tries to calm himself [still highkey fails] and sits you down to talk about what happened.
remorse [he can't forgive himself] — jeonghan, dino
he doesn’t say anything after seeing you flinch. just stares at you full of disbelief bc the idea of you fearing him feels like a nightmare to him. he steps back, “i’m sorry for whatever made you think i’d hurt you.” he doesn’t reach for you; he lets you choose whether to come to him. but once you do, he holds you tight, forehead pressed to yours, “never again. i promise.”
