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coriihanniee · 3 months ago

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WE WOULD'VE BEEN TIMELESS — ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓂃۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor reimagined through countless worlds and eras

𓂃۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ GENRE(S) : alternate universe (au), romance, fluff, angst, fantasy, historical, supernatural

𓂃۶ৎ WARNING(S) : violence, mature themes, angst, mental health issues, a bit of profanities in Taesan's, major character death(s) in Sungho's, Taesan's and Leehan's, author loves angst lol

𓂃۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.3k - 1.7k words / member

𓂃۶ৎ A/N : this has been sitting in drafts for SO long bcs I thought it wasn't well-written out but you guys seem interested in reading it so here it is!

recommended to read after :

WE'RE GONNA BE TIMELESS (part 2)

SUNGHO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : world war II (1939 - 1945)

˖➴ PAIRING : soldier!sungho x nurse!reader

The sound of distant gunfire never seemed to fade, lingering in the thick, smoky air like a constant reminder of the chaos outside the hospital walls. The battlefield was never far from your thoughts, even here—where bloodied soldiers came and went, and where you worked tirelessly to heal their wounds.

But then there was him.

Sungho. A young soldier who looked as though the war had aged him years beyond his actual age, though he still carried himself with a quiet dignity. His sharp jawline, the dark circles under his eyes—everything about him screamed of someone who had seen too much, endured too much. Yet when his eyes met yours for the first time, there was something soft in them, an unspoken plea for something other than survival.

He was brought to you after a raid, his shoulder bleeding and his face pale with pain. Despite the chaos around you, your focus zeroed in on him, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. You worked quickly, cleaning the blood from his injury and applying a bandage, but his gaze never left you.

His lips parted in a faint, strained smile. “I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get a nurse like you.”

You chuckled, a soft breath escaping your lips as you kept your eyes on the task at hand. “You’re the lucky one. There are many others waiting for help.”

As you finished, you allowed your eyes to meet his again, taking in the quiet strength in his features. He didn’t flinch or protest, even as pain lanced through him. There was a certain calmness in his presence, a kind of bravery that resonated with you more than any heroic story ever could.

“You’ll be alright,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his skin as you reassured him, though the words felt almost empty in such a place of endless war.

“I’ll be fine,” Sungho said with a gentle smile. “As long as I don’t have to fight another battle with you.”

You smiled back, a flicker of warmth spreading through you despite the cold, sterile surroundings.

As days passed, Sungho began to recover. Slowly but surely, he moved from the bed where you had patched him up, to standing beside other soldiers, offering them words of encouragement. It was in these small moments that you saw who he truly was—a man who didn’t give up, no matter how bleak things seemed.

But the more you saw him, the more you realized how deeply you had started to care. The way he spoke to you in quiet moments, his eyes always holding something unspoken, something tender. He would often appear at the makeshift hospital when the night grew quiet, bringing you a cup of warm tea or just standing by your side when you needed a moment to breathe.

“You should rest,” you would tell him, but he’d just shake his head, that faint smile never leaving his lips.

“I can’t rest while you’re still working so hard,” he would say, his voice soft with genuine concern.

There was a lightness in the way he moved, an effortless grace that made your heart flutter. It was a quiet kind of charm, not loud or brash, but steady and comforting. Sungho didn’t need grand gestures to make you feel seen. Just being near him was enough. He was the calm in the storm of war, a beacon of hope in a place where hope was scarce.

But then, just as you began to settle into the strange rhythm of life at the hospital, everything shifted again.

The night came quickly, swallowing the light of the day, and with it came the sounds of distant artillery. The hospital, once a refuge from the war, began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a ticking time bomb. The quiet hum of the infirmary was punctuated by the sounds of soldiers in pain and the occasional scream as a patient was brought in, bloodied and broken.

That night, the sounds outside grew louder—closer.

You were stitching a deep wound on a young soldier’s thigh when the door burst open, a medic rushing in with urgent news. “The front lines are advancing faster than expected! We need more hands!”

The panic was palpable, and you didn’t have time to think. You grabbed a fresh set of bandages, ready to do what you did best—patch them up and send them back to the fight.

Sungho, who had been standing by the window, turned to look at you with a furrowed brow. “Be careful,” he said softly, though you knew he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“I always am,” you replied, offering a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was anything but calm. The reality of this place—the war—had a way of stealing all sense of control, of taking away any semblance of safety.

As the hours wore on, you worked tirelessly, your hands growing numb from the constant stitching and bandaging. You barely noticed the clock ticking, the minutes slipping by unnoticed until you felt a sudden shift in the air—something was off.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the light dimming as the distant sounds grew louder, too loud to ignore. The familiar hum of the hospital was interrupted by a series of explosions, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. The lights flickered once, twice—before going out completely.

And then came the sound that would haunt you forever: the deafening roar of artillery shells, followed by the shriek of metal tearing through the air.

“Get down!” Sungho shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to the floor instinctively, covering your head as debris rained down around you. The walls seemed to tremble, the ground beneath you shaking as though the earth itself was being torn apart. The sounds of the explosion echoed in your ears, followed by the blaring of alarms, the shouts of soldiers, and the frantic cries of the wounded.

Sungho was by your side, pulling you into his arms as the building groaned and shifted around you. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice desperate, the urgency in his tone more than you had ever heard before.

You clung to him, heart pounding in your chest, a surge of fear rushing through you. This was it. This was the moment you had both feared and tried to push out of your mind. The war was here, and it was claiming everything.

A second explosion rattled the walls, sending dust and debris scattering through the air. Sungho's grip tightened around you, his body pressed protectively against yours, as if somehow he could shield you from the devastation tearing through the building. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke.

"I won't let you go," he said, his words heavy with fear and determination. "Not like this."

You tried to nod, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. The hospital, your last semblance of safety, was crumbling around you, and you were trapped in the middle of it. A deep crack sounded from the ceiling above, and the world seemed to tilt violently. You could hear the anguished cries of the other soldiers—people you had cared for, patched up, sent back out into the madness. But now, the madness was here, inside these walls. And you, Sungho, and everyone else were caught in it.

"Sungho..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if—what if we don't make it?"

He didn’t answer at first. He only tightened his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the horror that had already begun to unravel. But there was no protection from this, no way to stop the inevitable. The explosion had already torn through the building. The foundation was weakening.

"I don’t care," he said, his voice breaking, raw. "I just want you to be okay. I’ll take the fall, if it means you’re safe."

Your heart cracked at his words, because in that moment, you both knew. This wasn’t a fight you could win. The war outside had finally breached the hospital’s fragile defenses, and there was no way to escape it. Even if you ran, even if you tried to make it to the door, you both knew it was too late.

"Stay with me, Y/N," Sungho breathed, his forehead resting against yours. His face was pale, his hands shaking, but his eyes—those eyes that had seen too much—still held that quiet strength. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

But you knew—there was no leaving this place. No running. No escaping.

The building groaned once more, and then came the deafening crash of falling debris. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The walls around you buckled, and the floor cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the air growing thick, the dust filling your lungs, and the heat from the fires that had started in the chaos. Sungho’s arms were still around you, holding you close, but you could feel the tremor in his body. He knew, too. There was no saving you now.

RIWOO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : victorian era (1837 - 1901)

˖➴ PAIRING : nobleman!riwoo x servant!reader

The estate was a world of rules and expectations, where lines were drawn and crossed by those who had the privilege of wealth and status. You had spent years in the shadows of that world, bound to your position as a servant in the grand estate of the Lee family. The aristocratic family had long been known for their lineage, wealth, and impeccable reputation, and you—born into a life of service—had always been the quiet observer, playing your part without complaint.

But then there was Riwoo.

He was different. Though born to privilege, he had always treated you with a warmth and kindness that set him apart from the others. While his family considered you a mere servant, Riwoo never saw you as beneath him. His smile, the glint of humor in his eyes, the moments of quiet conversation—those were the things that made you question everything you thought you knew about love, about yourself, about your place in the world.

And so, it began—unspoken but undeniable—a feeling that crept in slowly, quietly, until it was all-consuming. You were drawn to him, though you dared not say it aloud. It wasn’t just the way he treated you, as though you were something more than a servant. It was the way he saw you. In his eyes, you weren’t invisible. You were worthy of his attention, his affection.

But you knew better than to entertain the thought. He was a nobleman, his life already mapped out for him in a way you could never hope to achieve. Riwoo was promised to another—someone of his own status, a woman whose family was as high-born as his own, whose name carried the weight of society’s expectations. You, on the other hand, were a servant. A woman who knew her place and never dared to dream of crossing the line that separated you.

But as time passed, the bond between you two deepened. The stolen glances, the shared moments of laughter in the garden, the way he would find excuses to speak to you alone in the quiet of the estate. It was intoxicating, that quiet affection, and it was impossible to ignore. There were moments when his gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should, when his hand brushed yours as he passed you something, when the air between you thickened with the weight of something unspoken.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the estate was quiet, the gardens bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. You were carrying a tray of tea to the family’s private sitting room when you ran into Riwoo. He was standing near the windows, gazing out at the landscape, his back to you. The sunlight caught his hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. You hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Is something troubling you, sir?” you asked, using the polite form of address you always did.

He turned to face you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I was just thinking,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “About how beautiful the world can seem when you stop and actually look at it.”

You set the tray down on the nearby table, your gaze lingering on him. His words struck a chord within you, as though they held a deeper meaning. But you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in them. You couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of him beyond what was proper.

“You should focus on your duties,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral, though your heart felt heavy.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something that would change everything. But instead, he simply reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I always forget how much I’m supposed to focus on the family’s expectations. Sometimes, I wish I could just leave it all behind.”

You swallowed, fighting the sudden surge of emotion. "It’s not something you can just walk away from. You have your future planned out, Riwoo. You have responsibilities."

His eyes locked with yours, and you saw something there—a quiet defiance, an unwillingness to accept the fate that had been mapped out for him. “Maybe," he said quietly, "but what if I don’t want that future? What if I want something more?”

Your breath caught, and you pulled away, not trusting yourself to look at him any longer. "You can't have what you want, Riwoo. It’s not possible."

Days passed, and the weight of those words lingered like a shadow. You tried to bury your feelings, focusing on your tasks, your duties. But every time Riwoo came near, it felt as if the world tilted slightly, pulling you toward him in a way you couldn’t explain.

It was on one of those nights, as you worked late in the drawing room, dusting the shelves of books that lined the walls, that Riwoo found you. The soft light of the candle flickered as he stepped into the room, the faint sound of his footsteps on the stone floor making your heart flutter.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Riwoo said, his voice low and warm.

You turned, startled, but the moment you saw him standing in the doorway, you felt an ache deep inside. You knew what this was—the weight of what you could never have.

“Riwoo, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and your breath hitched. “Why do you always run from me?” he asked, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing.

“I’m not running from you,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “But you’re promised to someone else. We both know it.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

Your breath caught. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let yourself believe that this was real—that his words weren’t just fleeting, a momentary lapse in judgment. But you knew better. You were nothing more than a servant, and he was a man of noble birth. It was a love that had no future, no place in the world that had been built for him.

“But you don’t get to care about me,” you whispered, stepping back, your voice breaking. “You have responsibilities. You have duties. You’ll marry someone else, someone with a name, someone who fits into your world. I don’t belong there.”

Riwoo’s expression softened, a deep sadness in his eyes. He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “Then why is it that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m finally where I belong? Why does everything else feel so empty?”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him to forget about you, to move on and marry the woman he was supposed to. But the way his hand held yours, the way his thumb brushed gently against your skin, made it impossible to resist.

“Riwoo, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you murmured, tears welling in your eyes. “You’ll regret it. This can’t happen.”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I won’t regret this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Not if it means being with you.”

For a moment, the world outside the estate faded away, and there was only the two of you. The weight of your worlds, of your stations, felt far away, as though in this moment, nothing else mattered. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel the electric tension between you both. But just as the distance closed, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and reality crashed back in.

Riwoo pulled away, his expression conflicted. He knew the consequences of what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, his voice fierce, though his eyes were filled with regret. “And I will find a way to make this work. I’ll make it work, I swear.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You can’t. You’re bound by duty.”

“I’ll find a way to break those chains,” he replied, his voice filled with determination. “Just wait for me.”

JAEHYUN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 1920s hollywood

˖➴ PAIRING : hollywood star!jaehyun x screenwriter!reader

The air was thick with anticipation as you walked through the sprawling Paramount Studios lot, the golden California sun casting long, languid shadows. The sound of the filmmakers' hushed whispers, the clatter of crew members adjusting lights, and the hum of the cameras rolling all seemed to blend into the same seductive hum of Hollywood’s eternal glamour. It was here, in this world of bright lights and silent whispers, that your dreams were beginning to take shape.

You were a screenwriter—an uncredited one for now, but that was about to change. Your latest script had caught the attention of a powerful producer, and it had found its way into the hands of Hollywood’s rising star. Myung Jaehyun. The name rolled off the tongues of everyone in Tinseltown, synonymous with talent, allure, and an effortless charm that had made him one of the most sought-after men in Hollywood.

Jaehyun wasn’t just another actor. He was a phenomenon—a man with a smile that could stop traffic, a voice smooth as velvet, and eyes that carried the kind of depth that turned heads both on and off the screen. You had seen him in countless movies, his face always illuminated in black and white, always perfect, always untouchable. But now, in the midst of this chaotic world you both inhabited, he was more than just an actor to you.

He was about to be your leading man.

When the production began, you found yourself constantly at odds with your own nervous energy. Jaehyun’s presence on set was nothing short of commanding. He moved through the scenes with an effortless grace, making it seem like the world was his stage. His performances were impeccable—his boyish smile, his quiet confidence, his ability to draw the audience in with the flicker of his eyes. But the more you saw him perform, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something hidden beneath his perfect exterior.

In truth, you weren’t sure what to expect when you first met him on set. He had been cast for your script, after all, and there he was, bringing the very words you had written to life.

But the first time you locked eyes with him in person, you realized that he was more than just the face you had imagined in your head while writing. Jaehyun was a man of contradictions. Behind the laughter and the charming persona, you could see the weight of something darker—something far more complex.

One late evening, after a long day of shooting, the set was nearly empty. The crew had gone home, and you were alone in your thoughts, reviewing the script one last time. You felt the faint hum of the projector still running in the background, but it was Jaehyun’s voice that made you pause.

“You’re still here?”

You looked up, surprised to find him standing near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His tousled hair and the loosened tie around his neck only added to the rugged allure he wore so effortlessly. His smile was warm, but there was something softer in it that caught your attention.

“Yeah, just... trying to get this right,” you said, your voice betraying the weariness that had settled deep into your bones.

“You’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you?” Jaehyun asked, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t look at the script in your hands; instead, he focused on you, his gaze lingering like he was trying to see past the professional façade you both wore. "You should take a break. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not when I’m this close,” you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. “I can’t afford to fail. This script—it’s everything.”

Jaehyun’s eyes softened. He didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence hang in the air between you two. He took a step closer, his tone light but full of sincerity. “I get it. The pressure’s... a lot. But you’re doing something incredible here. Don’t lose sight of that.” He leaned in, his voice lowering as he added, “We’re all counting on you, you know? I’m counting on you.”

His words were quiet, but they made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nerves or exhaustion. The way he spoke, the intensity behind it—there was something in his gaze that made you feel as though you weren’t just another person in Hollywood trying to make a name for herself.

You shifted slightly in your chair, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. “I don’t know if I can live up to this,” you admitted quietly, your eyes now focused on your hands, gripping the edge of the desk.

Jaehyun stepped closer still, his presence calming, and gently placed his hand over yours. The weight of his touch sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin with his fingers so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, yet tender, as though he was seeing all the parts of you that you were too afraid to show the world. “You will live up to it. I have no doubt. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

There was a softness in the way he spoke, and it made your chest tighten. The quiet sincerity in his voice was so different from the public persona he wore. For a moment, Jaehyun wasn’t the glitzy movie star—he was just a man who understood what it felt like to be on the edge, caught between expectations and the overwhelming weight of living up to them.

You swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you tried to break the sudden tension that had settled between you. “You’re the one who’s going to make my script a success, Jaehyun. I’m just a writer. All I do is type words.”

But Jaehyun shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re more than that. You’re the one who gave me the words to speak. Without you, I’d just be another pretty face.”

The way he said it—so simply, but with such conviction—made your heart skip. There was a sincerity in his eyes that sent a flutter through you. It was just the two of you in the dimly lit room, where the outside world couldn’t touch you.

“You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?” you said, your voice a little quieter now, the flirtation in your tone impossible to ignore.

Jaehyun’s smile deepened, and he took another step closer until he was standing just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. His hand remained on yours, gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he replied softly. “But if you want me to say something else—something different—just say the word.”

Before you could respond, Jaehyun grinned mischievously, his fingers lightly grazing the back of your hand. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before flicking back to your eyes with a spark of teasing intent.

“Well, if you really want me to say something else…” he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear, “I could tell you that I’m more than just a pretty face.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, and for a moment, you swore he was closer than he’d ever been. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening in the most unexpected way.

And just as quickly as it started, Jaehyun stepped back, flashing you a playful grin. “But, of course, that’s for you to decide.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you standing there, wide-eyed and flustered, the lingering warmth of his presence making it impossible to focus on anything but the playful tension that now hung in the air.

TAESAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : zombie apocalpyse

°˖➴ PAIRING : protector!taesan x survivor!reader

The world, once full of laughter, bustling cities, and endless possibilities, had collapsed into nothing. It started slowly at first—a virus that seemed like any other flu strain, a quick outbreak that was initially contained. But it spread with terrifying speed, mutating faster than anyone could comprehend. Cities fell. Governments tried to maintain order, but there was nothing they could do. What had started as a series of isolated incidents exploded into full-blown panic as the virus turned the infected into the ravenous undead, driven only by hunger. Soon, civilization as you knew it was gone.

You had been running from the horrors of your home colony, the last of its inhabitants trying to hold onto what little hope remained. The colony was overrun, and you barely made it out alive, clutching a few meager supplies and running on nothing but adrenaline. Your legs burned from the effort, your lungs seared with the cold air as you ran through the overgrown streets of the abandoned city. You had no direction, no destination, but you kept going. Because stopping meant dying.

It was on that fateful night that you stumbled upon a small, fortified group of survivors—Taesan’s group. At first, they were wary, watching you from behind the makeshift barricades they’d built. You knew what they were thinking: Another stranger. Another liability.

But when Taesan looked at you—his piercing eyes scanning you with a mix of caution and something softer—you knew you were not just a stranger to him. You were another soul lost in the world, just trying to survive. And somehow, amidst the chaos of the world crumbling around you, you both found something in each other that you weren’t sure existed anymore: a chance.

Days turned into weeks. You and Taesan barely spoke at first. He was a man of few words, hardened by loss, his hands stained with the blood of the countless zombies he’d fought off to protect the group. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart ache in the best way. It wasn’t pity or obligation; it was a quiet understanding that you both had seen the same horrors, that you both carried the weight of the apocalypse on your shoulders.

One night, as you both stood watch on the outskirts of the small camp, the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words. The wind howled through the broken city, and you could hear the distant groans of the undead, far too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the cold night, barely louder than the rustling leaves. “I don’t know why I’m here. I should’ve stayed back, tried harder to save them… to save my people.”

Taesan shifted beside you, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “There was nothing you could do. They were gone before you could make a choice.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “But they were my responsibility.”

“You’re still here, though,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “That means you didn’t give up. And that’s what matters.”

The words felt like a balm to your raw soul, soothing the ache of loss that had consumed you for so long. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared about your well-being in this world that was nothing but a relentless cycle of survival.

“You don’t have to carry all that weight alone,” Taesan continued, his eyes briefly flicking to you before returning to the night ahead. “We’re in this together.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated. It wasn’t the survival that was the hardest part of this world. It was the loneliness. The isolation. The fear that no matter how many people you met, no matter how many battles you fought, you would never find someone who truly understood what you were going through.

But here was Taesan, standing beside you, offering something you never thought you’d have again—a connection. A lifeline.

The next few days passed with more quiet moments between you and Taesan. You still didn’t speak much, but there was an unspoken understanding. He would protect you, and you would do everything in your power to help him protect the group. The world had become nothing but survival, but in the small moments, in the silent exchanges, you both began to heal.

One evening, as you worked on fortifying the camp’s entrance, Taesan came over, his footsteps light against the rubble. He stood a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke.

“If you ever need to talk about… well, any of this,” he began, his voice gruff but sincere, “I’m here.”

You met his gaze, seeing something there—something that wasn’t just about survival, but about trust. “I’m… I’m not used to this,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Not having to do everything alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to truly feel the relief that his presence brought. He wasn’t a savior, and you weren’t some helpless soul. You were two survivors, two people who had witnessed the end of everything and still found a reason to live.

Taesan nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I get it,” he said simply, and you felt the sincerity in those words more than anything else.

There was no grand declaration. No sweeping gesture. But as the days passed and the two of you navigated the horrors of the new world together, you realized that what you had with Taesan wasn’t just about survival.

It was a promise.

A promise to protect, to fight for something more than the end of the world—to fight for each other.

The night had fallen again, and the world outside the makeshift barricades was silent. Too silent. You knew it was coming. The warning signs had been there—the sudden surge of zombies near the perimeter, the strange movements in the shadows. Your heart raced in your chest, the air thick with the stench of fear and the eerie quiet that only preceded a storm.

"Stay close," Taesan's voice was low and steady, a sharp contrast to the pounding in your chest. His hand gripped his weapon tightly, ready for whatever came next. The once-confident leader, the protector of this ragtag group, was now standing right beside you, offering a calm you wished you could match.

"I’m not leaving you behind," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You'd grown too close to him. Taesan wasn’t just the man who protected you anymore. He was someone you trusted, someone you relied on in a world that had stolen everything from both of you.

He didn’t reply, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Something raw. Something real.

A loud crash echoed from the east side of the camp—zombies had breached the barricades. The horde surged forward like an unstoppable force. You and Taesan were both already moving, adrenaline taking over as you fought your way through the chaos. But something felt different this time. The air was too heavy. The weight of something… terrible.

In the frenzy of the battle, the world seemed to slow down. Your heart pounded as you watched Taesan, his movements swift and precise, cutting down zombie after zombie. You followed, staying close, making sure no one got left behind.

And then it happened.

A sudden sharp pain shot through Taesan’s side. You didn’t see the zombie approach, didn’t hear the crack of its teeth sinking into his flesh. But you saw the blood—the crimson stain spreading on his shirt.

"Taesan!" you shouted, rushing to his side.

His face was pale, the color draining from him rapidly. His grip on his weapon faltered. "It’s nothing," he tried to assure you, but his voice was strained, ragged.

"Don’t lie to me!" you snapped, your hands frantic as you pressed against the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood flow. "Shit, we need to get you inside. Now."

But Taesan shook his head, his eyes dark with something that made your heart seize. "It’s too late. You know it is."

"No!" you cried, shaking him. The panic surged through you. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

He chuckled weakly, but it was bitter. "You should have stayed away from me," he said, his voice rough but filled with the kind of regret that sliced through you. "I’m not the man you think I am."

"Don’t fucking say that!" You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. "Please, just hold on."

But he didn't listen. His hand reached for your cheek, his fingers cold, trembling. His gaze softened as he traced the outline of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I tried to protect you," he whispered, so softly you almost missed it. "But it was always you who was protecting me."

Your heart stopped. You shook your head, unable to process the depth of his words, the weight of his confession.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don’t—"

"I need you to know," he rasped, his breathing labored. "I—"

His words were cut off by a groan of pain as he collapsed to his knees. You scrambled to catch him, but his weight was too much, and he slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder.

"I… I love you," he gasped, his eyes half-lidded with pain. "I never… I never said it, but I do. Always."

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over, soaking his shirt. He was confessing. He was confessing now, at the end, when it was too late.

You felt his body growing cold in your arms, the transformation already beginning as his grip loosened, his body twitching.

"No," you breathed, trying to hold him up. But his body was already changing, his eyes flickering to that dark, vacant stare of the infected.

Your heart shattered. You couldn’t let him suffer. You couldn’t let him become one of them.

Without thinking, you pulled out your gun—the one you had hoped you'd never need to use. With shaking hands, you raised it to his head.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The last flicker of recognition in his eyes lingered for a moment, just long enough to know that he understood. And then, with one final tear, you pulled the trigger.

LEEHAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 18th century, coastal village

˖➴ PAIRING : fisherman!leehan x mermaid!reader

Leehan had grown up hearing the stories.

Old fishermen, with their weathered hands and salt-stained voices, spoke of mermaids—creatures of the deep, neither fully human nor beast. Some swore they were monsters, dragging sailors into the abyss with their haunting songs. Others claimed they were omens, appearing before a storm to warn those wise enough to listen.

But there was one tale that had always stuck with him.

"A mermaid’s love is a curse."

"Once a mermaid chooses a human, they are bound forever. But the sea is jealous—it never lets them keep what they love for long."

Leehan never believed in fairy tales.

Until the day he met you.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. The sky was clear, the waves calm, and Leehan was focused on his fishing net when he saw something unusual—a shimmer just beneath the surface.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. The sun reflected off your iridescent scales, casting flecks of light over your skin. Your hair clung to your face, eyes wide as you stared at him, both of you frozen in shock.

Then, you smiled.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you teased, tilting your head.

Leehan swallowed hard. "You're real."

You floated closer, resting your arms on the edge of his boat. "I could say the same about you. Most humans never get this close."

"Most humans don't believe in you," he admitted, though he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"You do."

Leehan hesitated. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t. But something deep inside him—the same part that used to listen wide-eyed to old sailors' stories—whispered that he always had.

So, he nodded.

And you smiled, like you had been waiting for that answer all along.

Days turned into weeks. Every morning, Leehan would take his boat out a little farther than usual, knowing you’d be waiting. And every time, you’d greet him with that teasing smile.

“You should be careful,” he warned one day as you played with the ropes on his boat. “If anyone sees you—”

“They’ll try to kill me?” you finished, unfazed. “I know. Humans are predictable.”

Leehan frowned. “Not all of them.”

You looked at him then, and for the first time, your teasing expression softened. “No. Not all of them.”

It wasn’t long before you started waiting for him, not just to talk, but to listen. You wanted to know everything—what it was like to live on land, to see the stars without the water blurring them.

And in return, you told him about the ocean. The parts of the world he would never see. The beauty of the deep, the dangers lurking where light couldn’t reach.

“You love it, don’t you?” he asked one evening, watching the way your face softened as you spoke.

“The sea is my home,” you admitted. “But lately… I wonder what it would be like to stay here instead.”

Leehan’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, you laughed.

“Relax, fisherman. I wouldn’t last a day on land.”

But you both knew it was too late.

You were falling. And so was he.

The village had always feared the sea. It was in their blood—their fathers and grandfathers had warned them of the creatures lurking below, waiting to drag them under.

And now, they had proof.

You never saw them coming. One moment, you were waiting in the shallows for Leehan, the next, hands were on you—nets tangling around your limbs, rough voices shouting.

“Look at the size of it!”

“It’s real!”

“A monster—”

You fought, but the more you struggled, the tighter the ropes became. The air burned in your lungs. The sun was too bright. And then—

“STOP!”

Leehan’s voice cut through the chaos. He shoved through the crowd, panting, eyes wide in horror as he took in the sight of you—trapped, helpless, terrified.

"Let her go," he demanded.

One of the older men turned to him, scoffing. "You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been hiding this thing?"

"She's not a thing,” Leehan shot back. “They’re—” He stopped himself. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? That you weren’t dangerous? That you weren’t a threat?

No one would listen.

The village had already made up their mind.

The sky was painted in the colors of dusk when they decided your fate.

A harpoon. A single strike to the heart. It would be quick, they said. A mercy.

You had stopped struggling by then. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the realization that there was no escaping this.

Leehan tried to run to you, but strong arms held him back.

“No—” Leehan thrashed against their hold, but the villagers’ grip was unyielding, rough hands digging into his arms, keeping him in place. He struggled anyway, desperation surging through him like a raging tide. “Let me go! Please—”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and broken, but no one listened. No one cared.

You turned your head slightly, eyes finding his through the chaos. And then—despite everything—you smiled. A soft, tired thing.

“…Leehan,” you murmured, voice gentle, as if you were comforting him.

Leehan’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “Don’t—” His voice wavered, thick with grief. “Don’t act like this is okay.”

Your gaze softened. There was no fear in your eyes, no anger. Just a quiet acceptance. “It was always going to end like this, Leehan.”

“No.” His struggles weakened, exhaustion creeping in, but he still fought against the hands that held him back. “No, it wasn’t.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with unshed tears. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You inhaled slowly, as if savoring the air one last time, then exhaled, your expression turning wistful. “You were the best thing I ever found on the surface.”

A sharp inhale. His jaw clenched. His whole body shook with the weight of words he couldn’t force out.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked again, barely above a whisper.

Your fingers twitched slightly, as if reaching for him, but the ropes were too tight. “Leehan,” you breathed, softer now, like the final note of a fading song. “If things were different... if I could stay...”

He shook his head violently, chest heaving. He still fought, still tried, but the hands on him only tightened. It was useless.

So you did it for him.

“I would have chosen you.”

And then—

The harpoon struck.

A gasp. A shudder.

And then, silence.

The water, which had always been so full of life, was still.

Leehan's hands trembled at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he could still reach you—still pull you back from your predicament.

But nothing could.

Not even love.

The village cheered. The monster was dead.

But Leehan didn’t move. He stayed there, frozen, his body trembling as he stared at you. The villagers slowly loosened their grip, but he didn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left to fight for.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

And for the first time in his life, he hated the sea.

WOONHAK 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : present day, with a twist of supernatural

˖➴ PAIRING : hunter!woonhak x human!reader

The first time you met Woonhak, you had no idea just how much your life was about to change. It was late at night, and you were walking home from a late study session, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. That’s when you saw it—a figure in the distance, a dark, twisted shape moving toward you in the alley.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. The gleam of fangs in the darkness made your blood run cold, and before you could react, the vampire lunged at you. The world seemed to slow down as the creature closed in, its eyes glowing with malice.

But then, everything went quiet. A sharp crack echoed through the alley, and the vampire stumbled back with a horrible, gurgling sound. Your heart raced, your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see him—Woonhak. Standing tall, his gaze focused and intense, a silver blade in hand, glinting in the moonlight.

He moved with a precision you couldn’t even fathom. The vampire didn’t stand a chance as Woonhak sliced through the air with swift, calculated strikes. Every movement was practiced, sharp—like he’d been doing this for centuries. In moments, the vampire crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a dark puddle forming beneath it.

You stood frozen, your legs barely holding you up as you watched him wipe his blade clean. The silence that followed felt deafening.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice shaking with the remnants of adrenaline. “Who—who are you?”

Woonhak turned to you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Just someone who takes out the trash,” he said with a lightness that didn’t quite match the intensity of the situation. Then, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving you. “Are you okay?”

You backed away slightly, still in shock, trying to process the scene you had just witnessed. “That was... real, wasn’t it? You... you killed it.” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, your brain struggling to make sense of the new reality you’d just been thrust into.

Woonhak nodded, wiping his blade with a practiced hand. “Yeah. Vampires, demons... they’re real. You’re not safe here anymore,” he said, his tone growing serious. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his gaze never faltering. “I’ll protect you. But I need you to trust me.”

Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the chaos of the situation. “Why should I trust you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “You’re just... a stranger. Why me?”

His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—passing through his eyes. “Because I’m your only chance at survival,” he said, his voice steady but with an underlying edge. “And because this isn’t the first time the supernatural world has taken an interest in you.”

As the days passed, Woonhak stayed close, always keeping an eye on you but never making you feel suffocated. His playful banter filled the quiet moments between your training sessions, making the tension of your new life seem almost manageable. He trained you, not in the usual way, but in self-defense. His hands were firm as they guided yours through each motion, his voice confident and lighthearted, always adding a bit of humor to keep the mood from getting too heavy.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said one evening as you practiced a defensive maneuver. “But trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you’re knocking out vampires with one punch. You’ll look so cool doing it.”

You shot him a playful, frustrated look, unsure of how to process everything he was telling you. “And you’re just... some supernatural hunter? Why me? What’s so special about me?”

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before flashing you a grin. “It’s not just that. You’ve got this... energy, this connection to things that are way bigger than you or me. And hey, I’m just here to make sure you don’t get eaten alive in the process.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “What do you mean? Am I... am I a target?” The thought made your stomach churn.

Woonhak’s grin softened, and he gave you a reassuring nudge. “Yep, you are. But, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Always.” His smile was wide, full of the confidence that made you believe, for a moment, that everything was going to be okay.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments of laughter and small, meaningful conversations between your patrols and training sessions. Even with the tension building around you, Woonhak’s humour kept things light. It was hard to stay too overwhelmed when he made it seem like every supernatural creature was just another silly challenge to face. You even started looking forward to his jokes, his smiles, and the way he made you forget just how crazy everything around you really was.

Then, one night, after barely escaping an ambush by a pack of rogue werewolves, you found yourselves standing side by side, breathless and covered in dirt. The tension in the air was thick, both of you still riding the adrenaline, but there was something else there, too. Woonhak turned to you, his face lit up by the soft glow of the streetlights. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the playful edge in his expression was replaced with something more genuine. He took a step closer, his gaze softening.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice low but reassuring, as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered there for a moment, gentle and warm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what exactly was happening between you two, but when his eyes stayed on yours like that, all you could think about was the way his warmth felt, the way he was so close and yet so careful.

“But... why?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Why do you care so much? I’m just... a normal person.”

Woonhak’s playful grin faltered for a moment, and his hand stayed close to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw softly. His voice was quieter this time, more honest, and without his usual cheerful tone. “Because... I don’t want to lose you.” His words were raw, sincere, and they made your chest tighten. “I don’t know when it happened, or why... but I think I’m falling for you.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. “Woonhak...” you whispered, barely able to process what you were hearing. The world seemed to slow down as his gaze deepened, and you saw something in him you hadn’t realized before—vulnerability, a hint of fear, but something else, too. Something real.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your face as he leaned in just a little closer. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and his smile returned, though this time it was softer, warmer. “Sorry if I’m getting too close,” he murmured, his voice a little teasing but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “But I just... can’t help it.”

You felt the warmth of his body, the pull of his presence, and in that moment, you knew. You knew that, despite all the danger surrounding you, you were willing to take the leap with him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted softly, your heart racing. But deep down, you could already feel what your heart was telling you. “But... I don’t want to lose you either.”

Woonhak’s smile softened into something genuine, the lightness of his usual demeanour blending with a quiet intensity. “Then we’ll fight together,” he said, his voice filled with determination and warmth. “We’ll face everything, you and me. Together.”

@coriihanniee 💌

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