#{ And he carries all this bitterness with him because of everything he's gone through. } | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devdozes · 3 months ago

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FOR YOU, I'd retrace our footsteps together. For you, I would suspend time regardless of the sin you have done.

CONTAINS SPOILERS ON AMPHOREUS QUEST!! FLAMEREAVER PHAINON!! AND NO TB/ASTRAL EXPRESS.

Time was a cruel thing. It twisted and turned, never allowing him to escape its suffocating grasp. Phainon had grown accustomed to this endless loop, each cycle a repetition of the last. He had been the Flame Reaver for what felt like an eternity, his soul bound to the constant churn of time, his heart forever yearning for something he could never touch.

Once, he had been a warrior of honor, a man driven by a purpose greater than himself. The Titans' Coreflame had once been something he fought to protect, a power meant for good. He remembered the fleeting joy of watching the flames ignite, watching them burn brightly, but those days were long gone now.

Now, Phainon was a mere shadow of that man. The loop had done something to him, stripped him of his ideals, leaving only the embers of hatred and pain. He was no longer a protector, nor a servant of justice. He was a destroyer.

The Cycle, over and over again, had been the same. He had lived it countless times, and each time he had fallen into the same traps. He'd watched the deaths of the Coreflame’s heirs, those young souls who carried the promise of a new dawn, only for him to snuff it out like a mere flicker of a flame. He became the villain each time, cold and calculated, a heart hardened by too many cycles of death.

Each life he had taken, every flame he had claimed, had brought him closer to something darker. His mind had become twisted, his thoughts only focused on eradicating what he once held dear. He hunted the heirs of the Chrysos bloodline, taking their Coreflames, feeling the heat of their power surge through him with every kill. He had long since shed any pretense of righteousness.

But even in this madness, there was a flicker of something softer, a memory that lingered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Her.

The nameless swordmaster who had appeared with the black tide. Her presence was a constant in the loops, a reminder of what he had lost—and what he could never have again.

It was funny, really, how he could fall in love with her over and over, only for time to erase her memory each time. Every iteration of the loop, every repetition, led to the same tragic end: she was taken from him, her name slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers. And yet, with every reset, he would remember her. He would fall for her again, only for time to tear them apart once more.

The Grove of Epiphany had been one of the first casualties of his downward spiral. He remembered the bloodshed, the carnage, and how, at one point, he had believed that every life he took, every flame he consumed, was for some greater purpose. Now, all that remained was a hollow emptiness. And through it, through all the chaos, one thing was certain: the Coreflames were his now.

And with each Coreflame he took, the bitterness in his chest grew, as did the hatred for the world that had betrayed him. The Titans had failed him. The Chrysos heirs were nothing but pawns, sacrifices in his endless quest for meaning in a world that had none. He no longer cared for anything or anyone.

But her… she was different. She had always been different. Even in this new, twisted form of himself, he felt something for her that he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was her strength, the same cold determination he saw in himself before the time loops had stripped him of everything. Or perhaps it was because, in a world of endless repetition, she was the only thing he couldn’t control.

There was no escaping it—he was a villain now, a fallen hero. He was the Flame Reaver, and he would burn the world down if it meant he could find an end to this torturous cycle. But in the deepest parts of his soul, there was a quiet, soft whisper that still cared for her, even if he knew he could never have her.

He had given up on redemption, on saving the world or saving himself. But there was something inside him, buried deep beneath the weight of all his hatred, that refused to let her go.

In a world untouched by the cruelty of time’s endless loops, there was peace. There was happiness, something you could hardly remember. For you, life had become a delicate balance of duty and love, of learning your place in the world as one of the Chrysos heirs, the rightful bearers of the Titans' Coreflames. Among your family, you were revered, your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, a symbol of eternal strength and balance.

In this life, there were no endless resets, no cycles that forced you to watch loved ones die over and over again. There was only the now—the soft whisper of the winds as they carried you through the vibrant meadows of your home, the laughter of your family echoing through the halls of the Chrysos estate.

And then there was Phainon, the Cheerful Chrysos heir. In this timeline, he was nothing like the broken soul you had glimpsed in the darker corners of your memories. His smile was warm, his laughter infectious, and in his presence, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

You had met when you were young, both heirs of the ancient Titans, bound by destiny yet free to forge your paths. Phainon had always been your companion, a figure of unwavering strength and kindness, someone who stood by you through every trial and tribulation. Your connection was undeniable—your Coreflame resonated with his, both burning brightly in the world you had chosen to protect.

The world was kind to you. You had no inkling of the silent shadow that followed you—Flame Reaver Phainon, the one trapped in a timeless cycle of death and destruction. You didn’t know that he, the man you loved in this timeline, was also the same villainous figure who had once hunted you down, the one who had wiped out the Coreflames and caused so much destruction.

You only knew the happy, carefree version of him—the one who danced with you under the moonlight, who whispered words of encouragement as you trained with your sword. The one who smiled and held your hand, promising to protect you, no matter what.

But somewhere in the periphery, Flame Reaver Phainon watched silently, his presence felt only as a shadow. He never made himself known, never revealed the truth of his existence to anyone. He could not. The loops had twisted him into something that would never be recognized by you. He could not bear to break the world that you had built, the world you believed in.

Time was cruel, but it was cruelest to him. He had watched you live this life, free from the burden of the past, and though he hated himself for it, he could not bring himself to destroy it. To destroy you.

Flame Reaver Phainon stood far away, hidden in the shadows. He kept to the outskirts of your life, a distant observer, never crossing into your path. He didn’t want to disrupt your peace. You deserved happiness, and in this life, you would have it—even if he could never be the one to give it to you.

You had never noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the dark thoughts that occasionally clouded his once bright eyes. He had mastered the art of wearing a mask, of being the cheerful, carefree Flame Reaver you knew and loved, while the real Phainon remained trapped in a world of despair. The Phainon who had lost himself to time, who had become a villain to secure the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him: you.

But the irony was cruel. Here, in this timeline, you were happy—unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your reach, unaware that the same man who promised to protect you was the same one who had burned the world down in another life. And what could he do? How could he ever tell you the truth? That the happy, loving man you held dear was nothing but a shadow of the monster he had once become?

Your love for him was real, pure, untainted by the past. You had no reason to suspect the darkness that was still buried inside of him. No reason to believe that the man who cared for you so deeply was also the man who had taken so much from others, who had razed the Grove of Epiphany, who had killed those who carried the Coreflames.

But he could never leave you. He could never walk away.

Even if his love for you was doomed—even if he had to stay in the shadows for the rest of his days, watching you live this perfect life without him—he would never stop loving you.

And in the quiet, as you laughed with your family, as you trained with your sword, as you lived a life untouched by the chaos of his existence, Flame Reaver Phainon knew that his heart would forever ache for what he could never have.

This—this happiness, this peace—was the only thing he could never take from you. Yet, He would be forced to.

You had never truly understood the weight of the Coreflame within you, the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. It was said that the Titan’s flame granted eternal strength, the ability to manipulate time itself, and yet it never felt like something so monumental to you. It was simply a part of who you were—like breathing, like existing. You trained with it, honed it, but you had never been burdened by it. Not in this life.

Instead, you found joy in the little things: in your family, in your home, and most of all—in Phainon.

He was always by your side, always smiling, always the light to your darkness. When you sparred with your sword, he was there to cheer you on. When you sat in the courtyard, your mind swirling with doubts about your duty, he was the one who would sit beside you, offering his comforting presence. His laughter, carefree and genuine, was a balm to your soul.

It was hard to imagine a life without him. He was the one who had been with you through it all—the good and the bad. You often found yourself leaning on him, finding solace in his strength and kindness.

He was, after all, your closest friend.

Your companion.

Your confidant.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments when he would look at you with an intensity that made your heart race, you wondered if it was more than friendship. But then he would smile, that soft, radiant smile of his, and you would think better of it. No, Phainon was your friend. Your ally. Your protector.

But there was a part of you that couldn’t help but hope that maybe—just maybe—there was something more. Or maybe, you had known

You had never been one to fear dreams. They were just that—fleeting, intangible fragments of your mind's wanderings. But lately, something had begun to shift in your sleep. The nights were becoming… unsettling.

It started small. A whisper in the back of your mind as you drifted off to sleep, something that gnawed at your thoughts. Then, the dreams became more vivid—more real. You could feel the weight of them, the weight of something else—something ancient, something twisted. Your dreams were filled with time, with moments that seemed so… wrong. Memories that weren't yours.

You didn’t understand it at first. It felt as though you were looking through the eyes of someone else. Someone far away. Someone distant. And each time, as you ran through the distorted visions, you saw a shadow. A man cloaked in darkness. His features always blurred, his face just beyond your reach. His presence was terrifying, yet strangely familiar.

You'd find yourself standing in the middle of a desolate battlefield, flames licking the horizon, the scent of ash heavy in the air. There was pain in the air, a destruction so profound it shook you to your core. But what terrified you the most was how familiar it all felt. The emptiness, the coldness in the very air… and his presence. The one who stood at the center of it all.

The dreams would always start the same. A flash of his silhouette, his figure towering over the flames, as though he were one with them. He was wielding a blade, the darkness around him seeming to twist and bend to his will.

And then… you'd feel it. His gaze. It was almost like you could sense his eyes on you, even though you never saw them directly. The weight of them, cold and sharp like a knife. But you could never see his face. It was always obscured by the smoke, the shadows, the fire.

Each time the dreams played out, you grew more desperate, more frantic to see his face—to understand who he was. The moment you were just on the edge of recognizing him, of seeing his features, the dream would shatter. You’d wake up with a start, gasping for air, heart pounding in your chest. The cold sweat clung to your skin, the room around you far too still, too quiet.

And yet, despite the unease these dreams brought you, you couldn’t shake the sense that there was something important—something deeply tied to you—in these visions.

Tonight, however, the dream was different. The feeling of time—your Coreflame’s power—roared to life within you, and the images began to spiral faster, like a kaleidoscope of fractured moments. You saw yourself standing in a place you didn’t recognize, a strange landscape, distant and unfamiliar.

Then, there he was.

A silhouette, cloaked in black. His figure towered over you, just like in the past dreams. But this time, the shadows didn’t obscure his face. You could almost see it. A flicker of recognition, something deep within you calling out, but as always, the vision faded before you could fully make out his features. You could feel his presence, his overwhelming aura of power and coldness.

Your heart raced, your breath hitched as you tried to reach out, to grasp the fleeting vision of his face, but it slipped away—just like the others. It was maddening.

Then, you heard it.

A whisper. A voice, distant and yet so familiar, it sent a chill running down your spine. The words were unintelligible at first, but as the voice grew louder, you realized it was speaking to you:

"Three slashes."

The dream fractured, shattering into a thousand pieces as you tried to make sense of it. A thousand thoughts clashed in your mind, a storm of confusion and fear, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your vision blurred, and you were ripped away from the nightmare, your eyes snapping open to the dimly lit room around you.

You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. The remnants of the dream clung to your consciousness, haunting you.

Sweat slicked your skin, your heart pounding as if it had just sprinted miles in terror. The air around you felt thick, suffocating. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

"What was that?" you muttered to yourself, your voice hoarse. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the lingering sensations of the dream. The fragments—those images of him, that presence—were too real. Too close. And yet, you couldn’t quite grasp them.

You stood up from your bed, shakily making your way to the window, trying to breathe in the cool night air. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, ethereal glow. But despite the calm outside, you couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong. That you were being watched—tracked—even now.

You had no idea who this shadowy figure was. You had no idea why you kept seeing him, or why it felt as though you had known him for a thousand lifetimes. But the strangest part was the feeling that the closer you got to uncovering the truth, the further away it slipped from your grasp.

And then, amidst the confusion and fear, there was a strange thought that crossed your mind—one that had no place in the current reality you were living:

What if this wasn't just a dream? What if these glimpses were real? What if this man was real?

But that thought left you with more questions than answers, and as you collapsed back into your bed, the exhaustion of the night, both mental and physical, finally took hold. But sleep… sleep didn’t come easy. The weight of those unanswered questions lingered, refusing to let go.

And somewhere, just outside the edge of your consciousness, a pair of cold, distant eyes watched.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ You found yourself walking towards Phainon as he sat near the edge of the campfire, the soft glow of the flames flickering across his face. His expression was always warm, kind, like the sun itself—so different from the shadowy figure that haunted your dreams. You hadn't told anyone about the dreams. They were too strange, too disorienting, and you had no idea what they meant.

But you had to know. There was something about this black-cloaked figure, a presence so powerful it felt like it was reaching out through time itself. You needed answers. And somehow, you had a strange, unsettling feeling that Phainon might be the key to it all. After all, his warmth and the way he always seemed to smile when he saw you made you feel safe, protected. But there was an undeniable curiosity, a nagging question you couldn't shake.

You approached him, trying to push aside the unsettling feeling in your gut. "Hey, Phainon," you began casually, trying to mask the tension you felt. "I was just curious about something." He looked up at you, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Curious? About what?" he asked, his voice light and reassuring.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether you should bring up your dreams or not. Instead, you opted for something safer. "Well, I’ve been hearing rumors about a black-cloaked figure. You know, one who’s supposed to be really powerful and dangerous. Do you know anything about them?"

Phainon's smile faltered, just for a moment, before he chuckled softly. "Ah, that old ghost story. It’s not really a story, though," he said, his tone almost too casual. "I know about him. It’s part of my history, actually."

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t what you were expecting. "What do you mean?"

Phainon shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands as he stared into the fire, his gaze distant for a moment. The warmth in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced with something heavier. "That black-cloaked figure, Uhm Flamereaver- ..He was the one who destroyed my village—Aedes Elysiae. The one who left us in ruins. The one who brought us to our knees."

Your pulse quickened, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "Destroyed your village? That’s…" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase your thoughts without revealing too much of what you were feeling. You couldn’t tell him about your dreams, not yet.

Phainon nodded solemnly, his voice quieter now. "Yeah. It’s not a memory I like to revisit. That black-cloaked figure, the one who towered over everything, wielding power that seemed to bend the very world around him. He destroyed everything I held dear. And after that, it was just… chaos."

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to grow still. The fire crackled, but it felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the heavy realization settling in your chest.

Aedes Elysiae. Phainon’s village. The place that had been ravaged by this monstrous figure. The same figure that had appeared in your dreams—his face just beyond your reach. The connection between your dreams and Phainon’s past suddenly hit you like a bolt of lightning.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth was sinking in, sinking into your bones. The man you had seen—this terrifying, shadowed figure in your dreams—was the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the very place that had shaped Phainon’s life. This man, this figure, had destroyed everything Phainon had ever known.

The weight of it nearly crushed you, the realization that your dreams were linked to his trauma, to his pain.

You took a breath, trying to keep your composure. "So, you’ve met him, then? Flamereaver?"

Phainon’s gaze darkened, his smile gone completely now. "No. I never did. No one did. He came, destroyed everything, and vanished. No trace of him ever remained, except for the ruins he left behind."

You felt a strange chill, as though the very air around you had thickened. You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something unsettling about the way Phainon spoke. His voice was so steady, but there was a palpable sorrow, a longing that echoed through his words.

"I never found out why he did it," Phainon continued softly, more to himself than to you. "We were just… collateral damage in whatever war he was fighting. And we paid the price."

A lump formed in your throat. "I'm sorry," you said softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

Phainon turned to look at you, his eyes softening slightly. "It’s not your fault. And don’t worry about it. It’s just something that happened a long time ago. I’ve moved on."

But as he said those words, you could see the cracks in his facade—the sadness that he’d buried so deeply. It was clear that this event, this destruction, was something that had changed him. And perhaps, despite his smiles and his warmth, he was still broken by it.

You nodded, feeling a strange weight pressing against your chest. You hadn’t expected Phainon’s story to echo so deeply with the images from your dreams, nor had you expected it to hurt as much as it did. You couldn’t tell him what you had seen—about the figure’s eyes, the way he’d felt so connected to you, the haunting whisper you’d heard in the darkness.

But you couldn’t ignore the terrifying realization either. The man you had seen in your dreams—the figure of destruction—wasn’t just a figure of myth or nightmare. He had been real. And somehow, somewhere, he was still connected to you.

You blinked, snapping yourself back to the present. "Well, thanks for telling me," you said, forcing a smile. "I wasn’t expecting that."

Phainon gave you a small, warm smile. "No problem. If you ever want to talk about it more, I’m here."

You nodded, stepping back, though the weight of his words lingered. There was so much more you didn’t understand, so many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. But one thing was certain: The man in your dreams—the one who haunted your nights—was tied to Phainon’s past.

And somehow, that connection felt deeper than anything you could’ve imagined.

The night had come swiftly, blanketing the world in an inky blackness. But sleep, when it finally came, wasn’t peaceful.

Your body tossed and turned as unsettling dreams clawed at your subconscious, dragging you through a nightmare that felt far too real. In the darkness of your mind, you were pulled into the void, and the figure you had been seeing in fragments now stood clear as day in front of you.

Flamereaver.

His presence was suffocating, a looming shadow that seemed to swallow the very air around you. His figure was clad in a flowing black cloak, the same cloak you had seen, but now, it was different. Now, his face was obscured by a black and gold metal mask, sharp and cruel, with angles that made his expression unreadable but no less terrifying. The golden sword in his hand gleamed ominously, its edge stained in a crimson hue, a dark reflection of something far more sinister than just a weapon.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t scream. But the vision played before you as if you were a spectator, unable to escape the horror.

Flamereaver's sword—a golden monstrosity—was pointed directly at you, its sharp tip glinting as if it had been forged in the very fires of torment. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, even though it didn’t pierce you. The cold, hollow sensation was enough to make your heart race, the fear that gripped you was as tangible as the blade that hovered inches from your skin.

Then, the vision shifted—abruptly and painfully.

A figure—someone familiar—stood before you in the flames. It was Mydei, his body lit by the firelight, and yet there was something horribly wrong. The sword you had seen moments before was buried deep in his back- his 10th vertebrae. Blood pooling around him as his once proud form crumpled to the ground. His eyes were wide with pain, his golden gaze fading as he collapsed.

You couldn’t move, but the weight of the tragedy hit you like a tidal wave.

And then, the scene shifted again, and you were standing before a pile of ash and golden threads, Aglaea's body lifeless on the cold stone floor. The threads that once had wrapped around her form now lay scattered around her, their beauty twisted in the face of death. The golden strands still clung to Flamereaver, wrapping around him like a pathetic attempt to bind him, to pull him back from his path of destruction, but it was useless. She was dead. A hole through her chest, the final sign of her futile resistance.

Your breath caught in your throat as the image of her body, still draped in those golden threads, haunted you. You had seen her, so graceful and so powerful in the waking world, but here she was, a lifeless body, a casualty of Flamereaver's wrath.

Aglaea, the weaver of fates, had fallen before him.

The words from the prophecy rang through your mind as if they had been spoken to you in a thousand voices at once:

"The undying Mydeimos is, the lion apart from the rest. Chrysos Heir who seeks the Coreflame of Strife, must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone."

The images blended into one final, crushing vision: Flamereaver standing over you, his sword raised high. The echo of his voice, cold and detached, filled the air, though you couldn’t make out the words. The bloodstained sword gleamed, and you knew, you just knew, that this wasn’t just a dream. This was something more.

And yet, despite all the horror, there was something strangely familiar about him. The mask. The presence. Flamereaver wasn’t a stranger. It was as if you had seen him before—felt him before—but from where? Why did he feel so... intertwined with your fate?

The vision ended abruptly, your body snapping awake, drenched in cold sweat, your heart racing as if it had been through the flames itself. You sat up, gasping for air, as the lingering images of Flamereaver, Aglaea, and Mydei haunted your every thought.

You couldn’t understand. Why had you seen that? Why had it felt so real?

You pressed your fingers against your temples, trying to stave off the overwhelming dizziness. The confusion. The connection that tied you to them, to Flamereaver. His name hadn’t been spoken aloud, but you knew—deep in the pit of your gut—that this was no simple nightmare.

The visions were more than just fragments of your subconscious. They were memories, perhaps not your own, but they were real. Flamereaver, the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the end of Aglaea, and the death of Mydei... it was all intertwined with you.

Your blood ran cold as the fragments began to piece together: Flamereaver, the man who destroyed everything, was somehow connected to you, just as Phainon had said. The connection was deeper than anything you could have imagined.

And yet, you still didn’t know how. Why. How could your fate be so entangled with the one who destroyed Aedes Elysiae? How could he have been the one to bring about such tragedy?

You had the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. And yet, it seemed that the time you lived in wasn’t the only timeline you were a part of. The glimpses, the memories that never happened, the visions—they were all a part of a story that was still unfolding.

And as much as you hated it, as much as you fought against it, the answer seemed to lie in Flamereaver—the villain who had become a shadow of what Phainon used to be.

You laid back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as the storm outside began to pick up, the wind howling like the fury of forgotten gods.

In the quiet, you whispered to yourself, uncertain but desperate, "What is it about him?"

The answer was hidden, buried deep within your Coreflame, but you couldn’t touch it. Not yet.

You closed your eyes, but even as you tried to sleep again, the shadows of Flamereaver and the bloodstained sword haunted your thoughts.

You awoke with a sudden start, the remnants of the haunting visions still clinging to your mind like an insistent fog. But they quickly dissipated as panic shot through your veins. The dream’s weight faded, replaced by the reality of the chaos unfolding around you.

The room was in disarray. The walls, normally quiet, seemed to hum with tension. The air itself felt thicker, heavier. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the corridors outside. You could hear voices shouting, calls of alarm, the sense of urgency thick in the air.

Tribbie. Trianne. Trinnon.

They were gone. Missing.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. You leapt from your bed, your legs unsteady from sleep but propelled forward by the pounding sense of dread. You didn’t need to hear the specifics to understand—your companions, your friends, the remaining parts of Tribios, the ones who bore the Coreflame of Passage, had vanished.

Their absence wasn’t just a loss. It was a void. They were the heart of the Chrysos Heirs, the key to a future you hadn’t fully comprehended yet. Without them, something would break. Something crucial. You couldn't lose them.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your weapon—a gleaming sword that reflected the dim, flickering light in your room—and sprinted out the door. Your breath hitched as you charged through the corridors, the air thick with panic and confusion.

The moment you heard the cries for them, it was like everything clicked. You had to get to Janusopolis. You didn’t know how, or why, but you felt the pull deep within you—the place where Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon always went when they needed to calm their minds.

Janusopolis.

The holy land blessed by the tripartite prophecy. The very ground where Tribios, the Holy Maiden, had once tread. The land that held the secrets you hadn’t fully understood yet. You could feel the prophecy stirring in the depths of your soul.

Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—the remaining fragments of Tribios—needed you. They were not just missing. They were calling to you, urging you to find them before something terrible happened. The fragments of the prophecy you’d heard before rang in your ears, but now, it made sense.

"Seek the children of humanity with golden blood in their veins, shatter the dimmest dark in this world, and walk toward the tomorrow where the stars gleam."

The words were clear now. You had to find them.

The cold night air bit at your skin as you raced toward the gates, not stopping to think about the danger you might be in. You had no time for that. Every part of you screamed for urgency, every breath felt like it could be your last if you didn’t find them.

As you ran, your mind raced. Why? Why were they gone? Was it connected to the visions you’d been seeing? The presence of Flamereaver? Could he be the one who had taken them? The thought made your blood run cold, but you couldn’t afford to think like that—not now.

Your feet carried you faster and faster until the silhouette of Janusopolis came into view—a holy city blessed by the stars, kissed by the dawn, a place of serenity and power. But tonight, it felt anything but peaceful. The quiet, peaceful aura that usually hung over the place seemed to be suffocating. The city that once whispered of hope and deliverance now felt hollow.

You skidded to a halt at the gates of Janusopolis, breathless and trembling with adrenaline. You pushed through the crowd of panicked Chrysos heirs and soldiers, no longer caring about the chaos that surrounded you. Your eyes were locked on the entrance to the holy land—the same entrance you and the others had walked through countless times before, when you sought peace and guidance. But now, it seemed to be leading you to something else entirely.

You entered the city, your heart pounding in your chest. The holy streets were empty, the usual hum of life and light eerily absent. It was silent, too silent, save for the soft echo of your footsteps as you moved deeper into the city.

There, at the center of the city, in front of the great temple that once stood as a beacon of hope, you found it—the source of your fear.

Tribbie.

She was standing there, her small frame illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby lantern, her wings drooping. Her purple eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, but there was something else in them too. Recognition. Pain.

“Tribbie?” you called, your voice hoarse with panic. “What happened? Where’s Trianne? Where’s Trinnon?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze distant, as though she were lost in some sort of trance. The golden threads, the ones that connected the Coreflame of Passage to her very soul, glowed faintly, almost as if they were guiding her toward something.

Slowly, she turned to face you, her expression softening slightly at the sight of you. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper.

“They’re gone,” she said, her voice trembling. “All of them... taken.”

You blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘taken’? Who did this?”

Her eyes flickered toward the shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally in the dim light. There, at the edge of her vision, you could almost make out a figure—a figure cloaked in darkness.

The figure who had been haunting your dreams.

You clenched your sword tighter, adrenaline pumping in your veins. You knew it was him.

“Flamereaver,” you murmured, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Tribbie didn’t answer, but her silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“We need to stop him,” you said, determination hardening in your voice. "We have to find Trianne and Trinnon, and we’ll stop this madness together."

But as you took a step forward, the city around you began to tremble, the ground vibrating beneath your feet. . . . . .

Time seemed to slow as you, Tribbie, and Trinnon continued your search through the darkened streets of Janusopolis. The golden threads of the city flickered faintly in the distance, and the air, thick with tension, pulsed around you. Every footstep, every breath felt like it echoed louder than before. Despite everything, there was a flicker of hope inside you—hope that Trinnon and Trianne were still alive, hidden somewhere within the city, waiting to be found.

You turned a corner, your heart skipping a beat when you saw them standing ahead, safe but clearly weary. Trinnon was leaning against a column, her expression tense and filled with concern. Beside her, Trianne stood tall, but her posture was fragile, almost as if the weight of everything was slowly crushing her spirit.

“Trinnon! Trianne!” you called out, rushing toward them. Tribbie, who had been close by, ran ahead, her little wings fluttering with excitement.

“We found you!” Tribbie exclaimed, her voice barely above a breathless whisper, but the relief in her tone was unmistakable.

Trinnon gave a weak smile, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled you. Shee wasn’t quite himself. Neither of them were. “It’s been too long,” she muttered, looking between you and Tribbie. “We’ve been trying to keep them at bay, but I don’t think we can hold out much longer.”

You frowned. “Hold out? From who?”

Before anyone could answer, a shadow fell over you all. It was cold and suffocating, a darkness that swallowed the light, even the very essence of Janusopolis itself. You turned slowly, dread clawing at your chest.

Behind you, emerging from the murky shadows, stood Flamereaver. His towering form, cloaked in black, rippling with an unsettling aura, made your blood run cold. The metal mask covering his face gleamed like a twisted version of the moon, reflecting a darkness that seemed endless.

“Flamereaver!” Tribbie cried, her voice high with fear. But there was no surprise, no uncertainty. This was the force you had feared, the figure from your dreams, the one you had known was bound to come for you all.

Flamereaver’s golden sword, shaped like a crescent moo,n gleamed in his hands, stained with a sickening red that made your stomach churn. His stance was relaxed, but you could feel the weight of the death and destruction he carried in every movement. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, were a cold abyss of madness.

The silence that followed was unbearable, suffocating. Finally, Flamereaver spoke, his voice distorted by the mask. “So, we meet again.”

Before anyone could react, Trianne stepped forward, her posture regal and strong despite the way her hands trembled. “You won’t have them, Flamereaver.” Her high pitched yet weak voice rang out, resolute.

Suddenly, the air around Trianne shimmered. She raised her arms, and before any of you could move, a massive holy gate began to form behind her, glowing with ethereal light. It looked like an impossible barrier, a final line of defense. But Flamereaver was not a force that could be stopped easily.

“Trianne, no!” you shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, Flamereaver lunged toward her, but the holy gate expanded rapidly, forcing him back. The Gate of Passage, as it was known, was a last-resort barrier designed to seal away any being of immense power. But Flamereaver was no ordinary foe. The gate trembled as if it were alive, and with a screeching sound, the atmosphere crackled with raw energy.

Flamereaver didn’t hesitate. He plunged his golden sword toward the gate, and for a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The holy gate’s light flickered, but Flamereaver’s strength, bolstered by the sheer force of madness, proved too much.

Trianne’s face twisted in pain as the gate flickered one final time. “You have to go!” she gasped, her voice strained and fragile. She turned toward you, her eyes filled with regret.

“No, Trianne!” Tribbie cried, reaching out to her. But it was too late.

Before you could react, a force from the gate swept over you and Tribbie, throwing you backward. Trinnon, too, was knocked off his feet. You could barely hold onto your weapon as the force pulled you, the world spinning in disorienting chaos.

“Trianne!” you shouted one last time, desperate, your heart shattering with each passing moment.

And then, in a heart-wrenching instant, the gate slammed shut. The light dimmed, the air grew still, and you were thrown into the distance, far from the destruction. The three of you landed hard on the ground, dazed and disoriented, your mind still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

You forced yourself to stand, gasping for air, but the world felt heavy. You turned back toward the gate, your chest tightening as you realized what had happened.

Flamereaver had...gotten Trianne.

You didn’t need to see him strike—because the weight of his power, the flickering glow from the gate, told you everything you needed to know.

Through the shimmering walls of the closed gate, you could see Flamereaver standing before Trianne, his mask cold and unfeeling. The last thing you saw was his sword raised high, and then, in a moment that felt like eternity, the light of the gate went out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The journey back to Okhema felt like an eternity. Every step you took seemed to drag you deeper into a world that had already begun to crumble. Trinnon, her usually calm eyes now dim with sorrow, walked beside you, her face pale and tight with grief. Tribbie flitted nervously around, the usual playful energy replaced with a quiet sadness, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto her small shoulders.

As you reached the entrance to Okhema, the ancient gates groaned open, revealing the familiar yet ominous surroundings. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy above, casting long shadows on the stone path ahead. You felt a growing sense of dread, something gnawing at your insides, the remnants of the painful memory still fresh in your mind.

Then, you saw them.

Phainon, Anaxa, Aglaea, and Mydei were gathered in the center of the village, standing together as if in solemn unity. They were all here. Phainon, with his usual carefree demeanor, was in stark contrast to the turmoil within you. His hair, the color of pearls, fluttered gently in the breeze, his posture relaxed as he chatted with Anaxa, the strategic genius with a calm and composed aura. His sharp features, marked by the cold wisdom he held, were unmistakable.

Aglaea stood near the group, her golden attire gleaming softly even in the dim light. She was the picture of elegance, but there was a distant sorrow in her eyes—a far-off look that made her seem out of place in this gathering, as if her mind was elsewhere.

And then, there was Mydei. The calm, calculating nature of his gaze was gone, replaced by something more unsettling. His golden eyes, always so sharp and perceptive, now held a layer of sorrow and desperation that was deeply unsettling. You could see it in the way he stood, slightly apart from the others, as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

“You’re back.” Phainon’s voice broke through the silence, his tone warm but somewhat distant. He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How did things go?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Trianne’s last moments, Flamereaver’s cold, unfeeling mask, his sword raised above her—everything was a blur now, the weight of the loss pressing heavily against your chest. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you glanced at the others, waiting for them to notice that something was wrong.

But no one seemed to.

Anaxa tilted hiss head, sensing something amiss but not pressing for details. "You look... tired," he said, his voice laced with his usual sharpness. "Did something happen?"

Tribbie shuffled uneasily, her wings fluttering nervously. "We... we couldn’t save her," she whispered, barely audible.

Mydei shifted, his gaze narrowing. “Who? What happened?” His voice carried the weight of someone used to having the answers, always in control, but this time there was a hint of vulnerability in it.

You couldn’t bear it anymore. The emotions roiled inside you, the memories of Flamereaver and Trianne’s sacrifice pressing against your ribcage like a thousand pounds. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. "Trianne... she’s—" You couldn't say it. The words didn’t feel real.

Before you could finish, Phainon stepped forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "What happened?" His voice, despite its usual playful tone, now held an edge of genuine worry. "Where's Trianne?"

You felt a wave of frustration rise within you, mixing with the sorrow, the confusion. Why was he acting like everything was fine? Why wasn’t he seeing it? Flamereaver had already destroyed everything. Everything you had fought for. You could feel the anger bubbling in your chest, but it was quickly swallowed by the guilt that followed.

Anaxa, ever perceptive, observed your reaction. He stepped forward and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, offering silent support. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Flamereaver came... he took her.” Your voice cracked. “Trianne’s gone...”

There was a long, painful silence. Then, it was Mydei who spoke first. “So he’s still out there,” he muttered, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. His eyes were fixed on you, then on the others, calculating. "I’ll find him."

Aglaea, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "We need to be careful. Flamereaver is not just any enemy. He’s far more dangerous than we could have imagined."

Phainon finally spoke again, but this time, his voice had a dark edge. "If Flamereaver is out there, then everything’s changed. But there’s something else… something about him that doesn’t make sense."

You stared at him, confusion flickering in your mind. "What do you mean?"

Phainon turned his gaze toward you, his usually bright eyes now clouded with something more... haunted. “I’ve faced him before. In a different world. He’s not the same anymore. But he’s... so familiar."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. There was something about the way he said that that made you uneasy. His expression was too distant, too removed, as if something far darker was lurking beneath the surface.

Before you could probe further, Tribbie looked up at you, her large eyes wide with worry. "I don’t like this... I don’t like how we’re all acting like nothing’s happened. We need to stop him. We have to save everyone."

Mydei moved to stand closer to Phainon, a grim expression overtaking his usual calm demeanor. "We will. But we have to be prepared. We need to find Flamereaver before he finds us again."

The weight of the situation finally hit you in full force. Flamereaver wasn’t just a villain. He was something far worse—a reflection of someone you knew, someone you cared about. Someone who had loved you.

And now, in a twisted, painful way, that love had become the very thing that could destroy everything. . . . .

As the words of the Chrysos heirs echoed in the darkness, the weight of it all became too much to bear. The grief, the uncertainty, the loss—it all collided inside your chest like a tidal wave. Your heart raced, pounding with a rhythmic intensity that you couldn’t escape, as if something was trying to break free. Your vision blurred, and the world around you started to spin.

Before you could stop yourself, your knees buckled, and everything went black.

You woke with a sharp gasp, the coldness of sweat against your skin making you shiver uncontrollably. But what truly caught your attention was the sheer clarity of the vision that flooded your mind—a vision that felt too real, too vivid to be a mere dream.

You were standing in a desolate place. There was no sound, no movement, just an eerie silence. The air felt heavy, thick with tension and despair. A figure stood before you—Flamereaver—but the figure before you was different. His mask was gone, revealing a face that was both familiar and foreign. Phainon.

But something was terribly wrong.

His eyes... those cold, piercing blue eyes—his eyes—were filled with anguish, a depth of sorrow that seemed to crush everything around him. Tears streamed down his face, each drop carving through the hardness of his expression, making him seem like a shattered version of the man you knew. He looked at you, not with the warmth that used to define him, but with an unbearable emptiness, as if he had lost everything and was now nothing more than a shell of his former self.

And yet, despite everything, he still reached out to you. His hand trembling as it extended toward you, like a broken plea.

Without thinking, you smiled at him. Not the gentle smile you gave him before, the one full of affection and warmth—but a soft, sorrowful smile. A smile that spoke of a connection beyond what you could understand, beyond what you had ever experienced. You didn’t remember this, you couldn’t. This never happened in your current timeline. But it didn’t matter.

It was another timeline. Another place, another time. The fragments of him—the real Phainon—tugged at your heart, and you could feel a deep sadness in the pit of your stomach. The same sadness you saw reflected in his eyes.

And then, the vision fractured.

Your mind was suddenly overwhelmed with images, flashes—shards of memories from alternate timelines. Each vision more vivid than the last. The pain, the loss, the unspoken love between you and Phainon, the never-ending cycle of worlds where he was Flamereaver, a villain, a destroyer—yet always, somehow, still tied to you.

In one, he was standing beside you in a field, the two of you laughing, your fingers brushing, everything so perfect. But as quickly as it came, that image cracked and splintered.

In another, you saw him, his golden sword raised high, drenched in blood. His eyes were wide with madness and fury as he stood over a body. The vision distorted as a scream echoed, a sound so agonizing it made your heart stop. It was your scream. Your voice, distorted and broken, reaching out to him as his cold gaze met yours, unwilling to stop.

And then there was another. You saw yourself, bound and broken, trapped in a cage of golden light, as Flamereaver—Phainon—stood outside, watching you, the expression in his eyes unreadable, cold, lifeless. There was no sign of the man who once loved you, no trace of that warmth. Only a villain. Only the cold steel of a mask.

The pain in your head intensified. The memories came faster, harder, bleeding into your mind, each one crashing against your senses like waves. You groaned in pain, clutching your head, trying desperately to hold onto yourself as the visions tore through your thoughts. They didn’t make sense. They were too much. It felt like your mind was splitting apart, each fragmented memory pulling you deeper into the abyss.

"No." You whispered the word, unable to stop yourself. It felt like you were losing yourself to these alternate timelines. These lives you hadn’t lived but could feel so intimately, as if you had been there—had been with him—in all of them.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shut out the images, but they persisted. Phainon, Flamereaver, Phainon again. All different, all the same. Always him, always torn between the love and madness.

Finally, your vision cleared. But the pain didn’t subside. It remained, a gnawing ache at the back of your mind, as if something was trying to break free, something that didn’t belong in this timeline. Something wrong.

You took a deep breath, still shaking from the flood of images that had nearly drowned you. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, pressing against the thumping of your heart. The Coreflame of Orynyx pulsed softly, almost as if it were echoing the pain you felt, resonating with the memories you had just seen.

The timelines. The memories of love, betrayal, and death. You couldn’t make sense of them. But one thing was certain. Phainon, or Flamereaver, was a part of all of them. No matter the timeline, no matter the world—he was there.

And you were bound to him. Always. And forever will be.

With trembling hands, you slowly rose to your feet. The world around you still seemed distant, like you were standing outside of it all. Your head pounded, but your resolve was hardening. You couldn't ignore this any longer. The alternate timelines, the visions—they were leading you somewhere. To him.

To Phainon.

And you weren’t sure if you could save him from the madness, or if he was already too far gone.

One week later, everything felt heavier. The visions hadn't stopped, but they had become quieter, more subtle. The ache in your chest, the strange pull between worlds, lingered but was manageable—at least for now. It didn’t stop you from constantly being on edge, though, as if you were always on the verge of a breakdown.

You hadn’t spoken to anyone about the visions. Not about Flamereaver or about what had happened when you passed out. They were too real, too overwhelming. You didn’t know if they were a warning or simply your mind unraveling from the burden of the Coreflame. But the truth lingered in your heart, and you couldn’t escape it.

You couldn’t escape him.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself standing at the edge of the bustling Okhema, the city’s skyline stretching out before you like a shimmering maze of lights and shadows. The week had passed in a blur of activity and chaos—just the usual for someone with your position as one of the Chrysos Heirs. The loss of Trianne and the uncertainty of your friends weighed heavily on you, but today, today was different.

Today, the gnawing sense that something was wrong kept you from being at peace. The dark thoughts, the phantom memories, all pointed to the one thing you had tried to ignore: Flamereaver, Phainon.

You knew he was close.

Your intuition had never steered you wrong, and the Coreflame within you pulsed softly, almost as if it were calling to you, beckoning you towards something you couldn’t yet understand. The lingering echoes of the visions haunted your every waking moment, especially the one where you saw Phainon, his face covered in sorrow, tears staining his cheeks as he reached for you.

The feeling of helplessness swelled within you.

"Hey," Trinnon’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. She was standing next to you, her usual mischievous smile softened with concern. Her deep blue eyes studied you with a gentleness that, on a normal day, might have comforted you. "You’ve been staring at the skyline for what, an hour? What’s going on?"

You didn’t know how to explain it. The memories. The pull. The relentless images of Phainon and Flamereaver tormenting your thoughts. How could you tell her that you were seeing multiple versions of the same man, each more broken and distant than the last? How could you explain the confusion, the fear of seeing him as both a lover and a villain, as both someone you trusted and someone you feared?

"I’m fine," you said, the words slipping out more easily than you’d expected. You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Just thinking."

Trinnon raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, she placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm, reassuring. "Well, whatever it is, don’t bottle it up. We’re all in this together, you know?"

You nodded, appreciating her words, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was lurking in the distance, waiting for you.

It came suddenly, like a storm.

The world around you had been eerily quiet, peaceful even. A brief moment of respite, one you hadn’t truly had in a long time. You stood outside, near the base of the Chrysos estate, when a dark figure appeared in the distance. The air thickened, crackling with tension, and you could feel your heart race before you even saw who it was.

There he stood, Flamereaver—his presence like a shadow that consumed everything around him. He wore the same black and gold armor, his mask now covering his face once more, though the haunting blue eyes of the man you knew still seemed to pierce through the metal.

His arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Mydei, the cheerful and unburdened version of Phainon you knew from this timeline, immediately appeared by your side. His face was calm but alert, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Flamereaver.

"Stay back, you," Mydei said with a forced calmness, but there was a flicker of something else—something that you could feel—but it wasn’t the warmth you were used to. Instead, it was an edge of something deeper, something darker. Maybe it was fear.

The air seemed to vibrate with the tension, the ground beneath your feet shaking as the power of the two forces gathered. It was as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

Then, like the snap of a thread, the battle began.

Flamereaver swung his golden sword, sharp and relentless, his movements precise and calculated. Mydei, without hesitation, leaped into action, summoning his own weapon—a brilliant sword made of shimmering light—and met Flamereaver's blow with equal ferocity. Sparks flew as the two clashed, their swords ringing with the intensity of their strikes.

Behind you, Tribbie and Trinnon were watching from a distance, unsure of what to do. You could see their fear and confusion, but you couldn't afford to pay attention to them now. The sight of the two polar opposites Phainons fighting each other sent a shock through your chest.

You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones. You knew they didn't understand what this was, what was happening between them. Neither of them knew that the man they were fighting—the man they saw before them—was a version of Phainon, twisted by the realities of alternate timelines.

But there was no time to explain.

The battle raged on, their swords clashing over and over, each strike shaking the ground beneath your feet. Mydei fought with all his strength, every movement elegant and full of purpose, but there was something different in the way he moved. Something almost... hesitant.

Flamereaver was relentless. His strikes were brutal and precise, as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes of pain, of loss, and now, he was taking it out on the world. His rage was palpable, swirling around him like a storm.

It was almost as if he wasn’t fighting for something, but rather, against everything.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the fight on your shoulders. Something in you ached, a deep, visceral need to end this. But you didn’t know how. How could you end something that you didn’t understand? How could you stop this man—Phainon—who was so broken, so shattered by everything he had gone through?

As the battle continued, you felt the shift in the air. Something was about to change. You could sense the power building around them, the two Phainons locked in an almost tragic dance of strength and fury.

Suddenly, Flamereaver let out a loud roar, his sword raised high above his head, glowing with an eerie golden light. His power surged, the earth beneath your feet cracking and breaking as if the very world were reacting to his fury.

"You don't understand," Flamereaver growled, his voice cold and full of malice. "I don't want to fight you. But I have to. I have no choice."

Mydei’s expression faltered, the weight of those words striking him harder than any blow. His sword faltered, just for a moment, and that moment was all Flamereaver needed.

With a brutal strike, Flamereaver knocked Mydei back, sending him crashing to the ground. The impact sent a wave of pain through your chest, and you gasped, your heart racing. Mydei was down—your Phainon was down.

But before Flamereaver could take another step, you found yourself moving, the Coreflame within you pulsing as you reached for your weapon. It was instinct. You couldn't let this continue, couldn't let Phainon destroy himself, no matter which version of him it was.

"Phainon!" you shouted, but your voice caught in your throat as you stepped forward, eyes locked on his face through the mask.

For a brief second, the world stopped.

Flamereaver's gaze flicked to you, and there it was again—the flicker of recognition. Those eyes, so cold yet full of something deeper, something that made you feel the weight of his suffering.

But then he turned away, pushing the moment aside.

"You don't understand," he said again, his voice breaking. "This... this is the only way."

But you refused to back down.

You couldn’t let him destroy himself. You couldn't let him fall further into the darkness. . . . .

The world around you seemed to still, a sudden heaviness pressing down on your chest as your mind raced. You felt the surge of power from your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, deep within you, pulsing like a heartbeat. You could feel its raw potential—an energy that was both ancient and infinite. It was a power to manipulate time itself. You had tried to avoid using it, knowing how dangerous it could be. But now, there was no other choice.

Your breath hitched as you raised your weapon, and with a single, strained command, the air around you distorted. Time itself seemed to ripple, warping into a protective barrier that expanded, consuming you and Flamereaver, trapping both of you in an isolated bubble, a prison where only the two of you existed. No one could come through. No one could escape.

It was a barrier that bent the laws of reality. The world outside would continue, but inside, time would stagnate—like the eye of a storm, everything would be frozen except for you two. No reinforcements. No interruptions. The battlefield was set, and now, it was only a matter of survival.

Flamereaver paused, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His golden sword lowered slightly, his cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

"What... are you doing?" he asked, his voice sharp and tinged with confusion. His eyes searched your face, the mask still covering the rest of his expression, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty hidden within him.

"This ends here," you said, your voice steady but filled with determination. "I won’t let you destroy yourself. Not like this."

The words seemed to hang in the air between you two, but they were as much for yourself as they were for him. You couldn’t let him destroy everything. Even if it was Phainon—your Phainon, the one you knew in this timeline—he was still the same man who had once brought warmth to your world. The man who had laughed beside you, fought beside you, and cared for you.

But now, he was a shadow of himself—Flamereaver, consumed by pain, by rage, and by the haunting memories of those alternate timelines. He was the same, yet so different. You knew this fight was inevitable, but it didn't make the weight of it any easier to bear.

"Phainon," you breathed, but it came out more as a whisper than a plea. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the cold, determined rage of the Flamereaver you had seen in your visions.

His grip tightened around his sword, and in an instant, he lunged at you, faster than you could react. His strike was brutal, a slash that could cleave mountains, and you barely managed to raise your weapon in time to block it. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through your body, but you stood your ground.

You were not going to lose. Not now.

You summoned the full power of your Coreflame, letting time bend and distort at your will. With a flick of your wrist, the air around you froze—time itself locked in place for just a moment. The world around you blurred, but you could still feel Flamereaver’s presence. He had slowed, momentarily caught within the barrier you had created. The trick was simple: time had stopped for him, but not for you.

With speed borne of necessity, you launched yourself at him, your sword glowing with the intensity of your Coreflame. But just as quickly as the pause in time had come, it was gone, and Flamereaver was moving again, the collision of your swords creating a shockwave that shattered the air around you.

"Is this really what you want, Flamereaver?" you shouted as you pushed back against his strength. "This... hatred? This destruction? You’re killing yourself, piece by piece! I can’t let you do this!"

Flamereaver’s face twisted, the sharp edges of his mask catching the light, and for a brief moment, you could see the faintest hint of conflict in his eyes.

"You think this is a choice?" he spat, his voice rough with pain and anger. "There’s no choice, not for me. Not anymore. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it all. The timelines, the futures, the deaths… I’ve had to do this. It’s the only way. And you... you don’t understand."

The energy between you two was electric—shaking the very air with every blow, every clash of swords. But deep down, you felt the pull of his words. He wasn’t wrong. The weight of countless timelines had driven him to this madness. The suffering of one too many lifetimes had made him into Flamereaver, a weapon of destruction, not the man you had known. The man you loved.

But that didn’t matter now.

You raised your sword again, pouring more energy into it, time swirling in chaotic, twisting loops around you. A flash of light, and the barrier around you intensified. The air itself began to crack with the pressure of the fight.

“I do understand, Phainon,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to call him Flamereaver anymore. “I understand more than you know. I see everything. The pain, the loss, the futility. But I won’t let you destroy everything for the sake of a timeline that doesn’t matter anymore!”

The air hummed with power as the final blow approached, and everything seemed to slow down, the world bending and shifting with the force of your Coreflame.

But as you charged, your heart heavy with the truth of what was at stake, you could feel the clash of wills—his against yours.

The air crackled with energy, the space around you a vortex of swirling time, the very fabric of reality trembling with the intensity of your battle. You pushed yourself harder, your sword clashing violently against Flamereaver’s golden blade, the force of each strike reverberating through your body. The power of your Coreflame surged through you, yet the toll it took was unbearable.

Your vision blurred as pain sliced through your chest, the blood rising in your throat. You coughed, red staining your lips, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. But you couldn’t stop—not now. Not when everything was on the line.

You gritted your teeth, forcing your body to move despite the agony. With a harsh shout, you released another wave of energy, bending time and space around you, creating a domain where only you and Flamereaver existed. The ground trembled beneath you, and time itself seemed to freeze around you in a swirling, distorted cocoon.

"Phainon!" you screamed, your voice raw and desperate, but still fierce. "You have to fight for what’s beautiful in this world! You have to fight for life, for love, for all that’s worth living for!"

Each word felt like it tore through your very soul, as if you were speaking not just to him, but to all the futures that had led you here, to this moment, to this endless loop of pain and loss. You didn’t want to fight him. You wanted to save him. You had to save him.

But as you said those words, your body betrayed you. Blood poured from your lips, staining your hands as you continued to focus on the barrier, continuing to manipulate time, even as the pressure on you became unbearable.

The world around you shook with the sheer power of your Coreflame, the barrier you’d created nearly cracking under the weight of your will. You could feel it slipping, the exhaustion pulling at you. It hurt to breathe. But there was no way you could stop. Not now.

Flamereaver’s sword moved again, but this time it paused, his blade hovering in mid-air. His cold, blue eyes flickered with something faint—something that might have been concern—but he quickly masked it, his stance hardening, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the barrier you were weaving, his voice low but heavy with something unspoken.

"Why… why do you keep fighting like this?" Flamereaver’s voice was almost a whisper, the icy edge of his words betraying the flicker of doubt within him. "Why do you continue to believe in something like this world? There’s nothing left to fight for. There’s only… endless destruction."

But you were undeterred. Even as your body screamed in pain, even as your strength waned, you stood tall, refusing to give up.

"I remember," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a broken breath, the truth slamming into you like a tidal wave. "I remember every timeline, Phainon. All of them. Every time we fought, every time I tried to save you... I remember it all."

The words seemed to hang in the air, like the echo of a thousand lives lived in vain. Your hand trembled as you pointed your sword at him, and you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes—recognition, maybe even regret.

"You were my Phainon, and I was your anchor," you continued, forcing yourself to speak even as your voice cracked. "In every timeline, we fought, we lost, and we loved… But I still remember. I remember you, Phainon, and I won’t let this timeline be another where we’re torn apart by fate."

His blue eyes hardened again, his grip tightening on his sword as he stepped forward, a twisted smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "And what will you do, huh? Keep fighting? Keep trying to change the past? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore."

But you weren’t listening to him anymore. You were listening to the truth in your heart. The truth that had been born from countless lifetimes of love, pain, and regret. You knew what you had to do, and you would do it, no matter the cost.

You gritted your teeth, one final wave of power pouring through you. You could feel the strain in your body, every fiber of your being crying out as you pushed your Coreflame to its absolute limit, warping time itself to bind Flamereaver within your domain.

"I won’t let you destroy everything, Phainon," you whispered, barely able to stand as the weight of it all bore down on you. "I will fight for this world. For what’s good. For you. Even if you can’t see it."

But even as you said those words, the pain overtook you. Your vision blurred again, a red haze clouding your sight as the blood kept flowing. You were so tired. So very tired. The barrier you’d created flickered, cracking under the strain of your power. But you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Phainon, or Flamereaver, or whoever he was now, was silent for a moment. His cold eyes never left yours, the mask of indifference slipping just for an instant. For a brief moment, you saw it—the faintest glimmer of the man you once knew, the man who had loved you, the man who had laughed with you, the man who had once been whole.

But it was fleeting. Too fleeting.

"You don’t understand," Flamereaver muttered, his voice cracking with emotion, though he quickly masked it again. "I’ve lost everything. I’ve seen all the futures, all the deaths, and there’s nothing left for me anymore. Nothing left but this path."

You smiled through your pain, the tears blurring your vision as you whispered back, "Then fight for something new. Fight for the future, Phainon. Fight for a new opening."

And just as you spoke those final words, everything went dark.

The last thing you heard was his voice, soft and distant, but almost filled with something... something you couldn’t quite place.

The world around you shattered as the full force of your Coreflame surged through you, sending a wave of excruciating power pulsing outward. Time itself bent, twisted, and unraveled in an unstoppable cascade, and all the memories—the infinite timelines, the endless iterations of you and Phainon—flooded the space between you and him.

You saw the glimmers of the past—the laughs shared in quiet moments, the times you had fought side by side, the love that had once blossomed, only to be torn away by the cruel hands of fate. All of it surged through you with such overwhelming force that it felt as though your very soul was being ripped apart.

But you kept going. The memories of every single life, every battle fought, every whispered word of love, every sacrifice—it all came rushing back. They were never forgotten. They never would be. You couldn’t let them fade, not now. Not when this was the last chance you had.

With a desperate scream, you lunged forward, charging straight at Flamereaver, your heart wild with emotion, your body burning with the raw power of your Coreflame.

“Phainon!” you cried out, your voice raw and filled with anguish. “This world might not be all sunshine and rainbows, but if you want to kill me and get away from me again, I would go to hell and back to stop that from happening!”

Tears streamed down your face as you threw yourself at him, your sword raised high, your heart an inferno of defiance. The memories blurred in your mind, flashing like streaks of lightning. Every version of you, every timeline, every instance where you fought for him, fought alongside him, died for him—it all flooded back in a painful torrent.

But as you reached him, something changed. The air around you grew thick with the weight of your memories, and Flamereaver—no, Phainon—stood still, frozen in place, watching you with cold eyes, yet there was something more behind them. Something that flickered faintly with hesitation, but it was quickly buried beneath the icy mask of indifference.

And then, with one final push, you reached him. The strain was too much. The blood you’d been coughing up stained your lips, a thick, red reminder of the toll this fight was taking. Your vision blurred, and as you took a step closer to him, your body betrayed you. You staggered, your legs buckling beneath you, and you collapsed to your knees before him, your strength finally giving out.

Blood pooled around you, your heart pounding erratically in your chest as you struggled to breathe. The world spun around you, the edge of consciousness pulling at you, but you fought to stay awake. You couldn’t let go now. Not when you were this close. Not when you could finally reach him.

Despite the pain, despite the overwhelming exhaustion and the blood that continued to pour from your body, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him. You smiled, even as the darkness threatened to overtake you, the memories flashing around you like stars in the night sky.

“I remember, Phainon,” you whispered softly, barely audible as your vision blurred. “I remember it all. All of our timelines. All the lives we lived... I won't let you go again. I refuse."

The memories of your past lives, the love you had for him, the pain you had shared—all of it came rushing in, flooding the domain you had created between the two of you. Your soul reached out, pulling his with it, drawing him into the same space of memories you had built together. You weren’t just fighting him now. You were pulling him with you, into the places where you had loved and fought and dreamed of a different world.

Flamereaver—Phainon—didn’t move. His face remained frozen in that cold expression, but there was something in his eyes now. Something different. Something like recognition, but also resignation.

The memories of every life, every timeline where you had fought, bled, and died together, were now swirling around you, enveloping you both. He was trapped in them as much as you were, unable to escape the flood of emotions, the weight of all the pain and love and loss.

In the quiet, in the storm of your memories, you finally reached out, your fingers trembling as you touched his arm, the touch gentle despite the violence of the battle.

You didn’t want to fight him anymore. You just wanted him to understand. You wanted him to remember. You wanted him to see you—see both of you, in every timeline, in every reality, in every life.

“You’re not alone, Phainon,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the last remnants of your strength. “You never were... We were always together, no matter what. And we can still be...”

But before you could finish, everything blurred, and your world tilted. The power of your Coreflame, the memories, the barrier that had separated you both from the rest of the world—it all crumbled.

And with that, you collapsed completely, your body no longer able to sustain you.

But your soul... your soul reached for him, even as everything around you faded to black.

The last thing you felt was his hand, cold against yours, pulling you deeper into the memories you shared.

The world slowly came back to you, warmth and light filtering through the haze that clouded your mind. You blinked, eyes fluttering open as you felt an unfamiliar sensation—softness beneath you, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing around you. Your body felt heavy, almost too heavy to move, but it was a comforting weight, one that seemed to be wrapped in warmth.

It took a moment for your vision to clear, but when it did, you found yourself staring up into the sky, the remnants of your Coreflame’s power still crackling faintly in the air. But what stood out the most—what truly jolted you—was the feeling of someone’s hand gently resting on your head, a steady, reassuring presence.

You shifted, only to realize that you were lying on something. Or rather, someone. The shape beneath you was warm, solid, and unmistakably familiar.

Your gaze slowly drifted upward, meeting the eyes of the person whose lap you had ended up on.

Phainon. Flamereaver. The one who had stood as your enemy, your tormentor, and your love across timelines. The one whose cold eyes had been an unyielding wall of ice.

But now—now, as you gazed up at him, you saw something different. His eyes, once so full of indifference and hatred, now held an undeniable warmth. A warmth that you hadn’t seen in him before.

Tears streamed down his face, staining his usually stoic features. His expression was a mixture of disbelief, sorrow, and something else—something more fragile, like a shattered version of the man you had known.

“You’re awake…” His voice was hoarse, cracking as if he hadn’t spoken in centuries. It was softer than you remembered, almost as if he was afraid to disturb the fragile moment.

You blinked, confused. "Phainon?" Your voice came out weak, and you had to swallow to clear the rasp in your throat. The events of earlier—the battle, the memories, the fierce fight between you—felt like a blur, like it all belonged to a distant world.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he carefully brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. "I thought… I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice breaking.

It hit you all at once—the realization of what had happened. How close you had come to losing him. How close he had come to losing you. Everything that had led up to this moment, all the pain and the fighting, had led you both to this point. A moment where you were here, lying in his lap, alive, and for the first time in so long, together.

You reached up with trembling hands, touching his face, feeling the wetness of his tears on your fingertips. "You didn’t lose me, Phainon," you said softly, your voice full of quiet sincerity. "Not this time. I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes—those cold, distant eyes—flickered for a moment, the warmth that had bloomed there growing, flickering into something more. His hands, which had been so stiff and unyielding in the past, now cradled your face with an almost reverential gentleness.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions. "I didn’t mean to hurt you… I didn’t want any of this. But I… I couldn’t stop myself. I—"

You interrupted him, shaking your head weakly. "You don’t have to apologize. Not anymore. I understand now… why you were the way you were. It’s not your fault." Your words were soft, but they carried the weight of all the pain you had shared, all the regrets that had been building between the two of you.

Phainon’s gaze softened, and he let out a ragged sigh, one that seemed to release all the tension in his body. His shoulders slumped, as if he had been holding up the weight of the world for too long.

"I don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice low and thick with emotion. "I don’t deserve you."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a quiet determination. "No. You don’t get to decide that," you replied, your voice steady, though still tinged with exhaustion. "I choose to forgive you. I choose to be here with you. And I choose to fight for us, even if this world isn’t perfect."

He stared at you, as though trying to understand, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth. But his heart—his heart, so broken and battered, was slowly beginning to heal with every word you spoke.

"I don’t know if I can fix all of this," he whispered, his hand gently cupping yours. "I don’t know if I can ever make up for everything… for everything I’ve done."

You smiled faintly, despite the ache in your chest, despite the exhaustion and pain that still lingered in your body. "Maybe you don’t need to fix everything," you said softly. "Phainon, when you think this story is simply the end, it is a new beginning. A beginning for you, and— For us." And then he leans in—his lips against the soft inside of his palm and smiles at you softly. "Enough of this emotional bullshit now come idiot," You say as you grab his hand and the barrier around you all shatters to pieces, running off with his hand in yours, smiling.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Never can we suspend the time, Having to leave the tracks behind. - da capo.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT :DDD I PRSNALI LOVE THIS EGIUREJKF OH MY GODDD IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS NON STOP SINCE 7 HOURS

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z0mi3 · 10 days ago

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Simon’s been missing for months.

At first, it was panic. Sleepless nights. Missed calls. You paced the kitchen floor like a ghost, heart hammering with every unknown number that lit up your phone. Maybe something happened. Maybe he was hurt. Or worse.

But that was before you called the base.

Before some stone-cold voice on the other end told you your husband hadn’t gone missing he’d been deployed. Four months ago. Without a word. No note. No goodbye. No explanation. He left like a shadow and didn’t look back.

And now you’re just angry.

Livid.

Because the man you trusted with your life didn’t even have the decency to tell you he was leaving.

It’s a little after 1 a.m. when you hear it, the dull slam of a car door. Then boots. Heavy and familiar on the pavement outside. You don’t rush to greet him. You don’t cry. You don’t even blink.

You stay in the kitchen, elbow-deep in last night’s dishes because sleep doesn’t visit your side of the bed anymore.

And why would it? That bed hasn’t felt like home since he left it.

You hear the lock click. Then the door creaks open.

Then—silence.

You don’t turn around.

“This how you greet me now?” His voice cuts through the quiet.

You don’t answer.

“Seriously?” he says, sharper. “I come back from hell, and I get a cold shoulder?”

That makes you laugh but it’s hollow. Bitter. You set a dish down with too much force. “Hell? You think you’re the only one who’s been through it?”

Simon stiffens in the doorway.

You turn, eyes sharp. “You left, Simon. You vanished. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead.”

“I couldn’t tell you—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” you cut him off. “You didn’t even try. You let some random operator be the one to break the news. You didn’t have the balls to tell your own wife that you were leaving.”

He steps forward, jaw tight. “You think it was easy for me? You think I wanted to go?”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“I was protecting you—”

“Don’t.” You hold up a hand, shaking your head. “Don’t feed me that line. You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me.”

Silence floods the room again, thick and bitter.

He exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Why not?”

You look away, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because talking leads to arguing. Arguing leads to nowhere. And I’m just… I’m tired, Simon. I’m so tired.”

He watches you quietly. “Okay. Let’s go to sleep then.”

You let out a soft scoff. “Not like that you aren’t.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

You look at him for the first time in full really look. His face is tired. Eyes dull. Shoulders weighed down like he’s carrying something he can’t put down. But it’s not enough. Not after everything.

“Like a soldier.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

Something in his expression falters.

“I want to sleep with my husband,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not some stranger in a uniform. Not someone who shuts me out, who leaves without a word, who walks back in like I should be grateful.”

The pain is all over your face in the tight press of your lips, the furrow in your brow, the shine in your eyes you refuse to let fall.

“Is that too much to ask?”

You don’t wait for an answer. You turn your back and walk toward the bedroom, the weight of your words dragging behind you like chains.

Simon stays in the kitchen, frozen. Still in his boots. Still not the man you married.

And the silence swallows him whole.

dividers by @thecutestgrotto | i wrote this while listening to Not You Too by Drake at 4 am !! o(≧∇≦o)

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nekonaps0 · 14 days ago

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Crown & Claw

Chapter 2: Storms Beneath the Surface

✦chapter 1 / chapter 3

✦fem!reader

✦pirateAU / pirate Leona / prince Malleus / princess reader / Leoan x reader x Malleus / kidnapping /

Malleus Draconia pov:

The wind howled through the shattered windows of Briar Valley’s great hall. Smoke coiled through the air like mourning veils, and the scent of blood… metallic and bitter… clung to the stones like a curse.

He stood amidst the wreckage, the hem of his ceremonial cloak scorched and torn. Around him, the remnants of what should have been a wedding, crushed petals, shattered crystal, ribbons burned black. A throne overturned.

And you…gone.

Malleus clenched his fists.

He still hear your voice, the way you'd screamed his name as that damned pirate carried you off like some prize. He could still see your outstretched hand, reaching for him… so close, so close…

And then, gone.

It had taken all of Lilia and Silver’s strength to hold him back when he tried to hurl himself after the disappearing ship.

"She’s not gone forever,” Lilia had said, voice steady and armor covered with blood. “We will find her.”

But Malleus… he had felt it the moment you vanished.

That yawning, cavernous emptiness.

Because you… you had become the first warmth he’d known in centuries. The only voice that didn’t tremble when you spoke his name. The only person who looked at him not as a dragon, not as a prince, not as a threat but as a man.

And now…

Now, he felt hollow. No, worse… he felt furious.

Leona Kingscholar.

The name scorched like venom across his tongue.

Malleus had known him once in passing. A second son. A beast who despised crowns and expectations, who vanished from royal records and turned to piracy. There had been rumors. Raids. Deserts plundered. Kingdoms threatened. But he had never expected Leona to be this bold.

To take you from him.

“You will pay,” Malleus whispered, staring into the horizon where your ship had vanished into mist and magic.

A flare of emerald fire snapped through the sky. The trees of the Valley flinched, recognizing the old, buried fury that had not stirred in generations.

“I will bring her home,” he vowed.

Not as a prince. Not as a dragon. But as a man who had finally known love and would burn the sea itself to get it back.

Y/N pov:

The ship rocked violently as it tore through enchanted mist and storm.

You clung to the railing, soaked to the bone, heart thundering in your chest. You didn’t know where you were, somewhere over the horizon, far from the palace, far from everything you knew.

And he was there.

The pirate.

Leona Kingscholar.

“Oi,” his voice cut through the crash of waves. “Quit gawkin’. You’re not gonna find a rescue in the sea.”

You spun to face him, your soaked wedding dress skirts heavy around your legs, hands clenched into fists. “Where are you taking me? What is this?!”

Leona stood against the mast, arms crossed, emerald eyes glinting in the dim light. His coat fluttered behind him, salt-slicked and weatherworn. Around you, his crew men you vaguely recognized from diplomatic scrolls on the Savannaclaw region moved like shadows. Jack hauled rope. Ruggie barked orders. The rest jeered and laughed like wolves in the dark.

You turned your fury back to Leona. “Answer me! You kidnapped me in the middle of my wedding! My wedding to Prince Malleus! Do you have any idea what you’ve done!?”

Leona arched an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a tragedy. You weren’t exactly walkin’ down the aisle grinnin’, princess.”

Your blood boiled. “You think that gives you the right to abduct me?!”

“I’m not interested in your approval,” he said lazily. “But I’d calm down if I were you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you on this ship. That’s not my style.”

You glared at him, drenched and shivering. “I don’t believe you.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Figures. Royal types never do.”

You took a step toward him, chest heaving. “If you’re not going to hurt me, then why did you take me? What’s your plan, pirate? Ransom? Revenge? Or are you just a bored little beast with a god complex?”

That got his attention.

In a blink, he was in front of you, towering, tense. Not touching you but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of leather and spice and smoke.

His voice dropped low. “Don’t talk like you know anything, princess. You think I did this for fun?”

You bared your teeth. “I don’t care why you did it. I want to go back. Now! I ordered it!”

He scoffed, pacing away. “Yeah, not happening.”

“How dare you!? I hate you and your attitude!”

“I’m not exactly throwing myself at your feet either, sweetheart.”

You gasped, insulted and furious. “Don’t call me that!”

He grinned, sharp and infuriating. “You got a name, don’t you?”

“My name is Y/N, and you will address me properly to my title.”

He turned, eyes gleaming with mockery and something else, something dangerous. “See, that’s your problem. You think titles matter out here.” He swept his arm out toward the sea. “This? This is my kingdom. Out here, I am the king. I make the rules.”

“Then you’re a tyrant.”

“Better than a puppet,” he shot back, voice like a snarl.

You stepped up again, refusing to back down. “You think I’m a puppet? That I had no choice in marrying Malleus!?”

Leona’s jaw ticked, just barely and he raised his eyebrows while his gaze sinking into you just like a knife. “Did you?”

Silence. The storm groaned overhead, the waves splashed against the ship and the whole crew watching.

“I…” Your voice faltered, just a fraction.

And he caught it.

“Thought so,” he said, quieter now. “You were gonna be locked in a tower your whole life. Crowned in thorns. Sitting next to your sweet prince like a porcelain decoration on the shelf. I did you a favor.”

You stared at him, stunned and offended, your chest felt tighter after every word that left his mouth. “A favor? You ruined everything! And that’s all nonsense! You know nothing!”

“No, you don’t know anything” he said, suddenly serious. “I gave you a way out. You should feel lucky.”

A gust of wind shoved at the sails. Rain fell harder. The deck groaned beneath you both.

You turned away, breath ragged. You hated him. You did. You hated his arrogance, his sarcasm, his lazy eyes and quick mouth. You hated that he had taken you without asking. That he had dared to make decisions for you.

And most of all…you hated that a small, treacherous part of you had hesitated. Just for a moment. When he asked if you had a choice. He was right about that. Being Malleus soon becoming wife wasn’t your decision but you become liking your life there! And Malleus would never treat you like a some pretty decoration! He would… never treat you like a prisoner…

Below Deck, your "quarters" were barely more than a glorified cell.

Leona had insisted that your room must be the one was close to his. Technically it was nicer then w cell or the rest of the rooms… but it still smelled of salt and musk and oil. The bed was firm. The walls creaked with every wave.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he’d said when he dropped you off. “But try to jump overboard, and we’ll see how long you last in siren territory.”

You glared at him as he leaned in the doorway. “You’re vile.”

He smirked. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I won’t.”

He shrugged looking at you up and down. “We’ll see.”

And then he was gone.

You waited some minutes after he left then you rushed to the door to escape from this nightmare. But when your hands tried to open the door it didn’t budge. You tried multiple times but nothing, in your frustration you slammed the door.

“Not a prisoner my ass…”

Days passed. The ship sailed through territory no court map had ever charted. You refused food at first. Leona didn’t care. “Starve if you want. Not my problem.”

Ruggie eventually bribed you with bread that didn’t taste like seaweed. Jack offered you clean water without a word. Slowly, reluctantly, you gave in to basic needs, but never to Leona.

You avoided him. Snapped at him. Insulted his intelligence, his morals, his hygiene… anything to keep the distance.

But he never lost his temper. Never raised a hand. He was rough. Infuriating. Teasing in the most condescending ways.

But not cruel.

And that made you hate him more.

Because cruelty you could fight.

Kindness? That was dangerous.

One Night you woke to a storm.

The ship groaned, the walls shook. Lanterns flickered, you knew something was not right. You tried open the but it was closed as usual. You heard a lot yelling from upstairs and you didn’t plan to sit there waiting for the worst to come, you take a few steps back before you run against the door and slam your shoulder against the old wooden door what’s finally broke open. You stumbled into the hallway, barefoot and breathless.

And there he was at the wheel, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to his cheeks, voice barking orders.

You stared.

He was… commanding. Brilliant, even. Every move measured. Every shout obeyed. This wasn’t the lazy, sarcastic pirate you thought you knew.

This was a man with control. Power. Presence.

You hated that you noticed.

He caught your stare. Shouted something over his shoulder. Then, to you “Go back to your room now, princess!”

You braced yourself against the doorframe. “Not until you tell me where we’re going!”

He laughed, sharp and wild. “Seems like someone found us.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What… who?”

Leona’s smile curved like a blade.

“You sweet prince.”

………………………………………………………………………………

To be continued...

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shizuturnspages · 1 month ago

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Hiii in honour of his birthday i wanted to ask how do you think Diluc shows his devotion for his partner? like I have always saw him as very protective because of how the other important relationships in his life went but how would he show them he loved them before and during the relationship? get to this when you can much love! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

Hi hi! What a lovely ask in honour of his birthday (ik I'm late)🥺🎂 I absolutely agree with your read on Diluc. His love is steeped in quiet, steadfast devotion, sharpened by a life of loss. Here's how I think he shows it — both before and during the relationship — with that signature broody warmth he does so well:

How He Shows Devotion

“You are the only part of my life I’ve never considered a duty.”

✦ Before the Relationship: Watching From the Shadows

Before love becomes tangible, Diluc protects from afar. He doesn’t believe he deserves love easily — not after failing to protect his father, or losing Kaeya to secrets and distance. So his devotion begins in secret.

❥ He notices the small things. Your favourite tea blend, how you always wear gloves even in summer, the way you hum when you’re nervous. These details become part of his routine without you realising — a spare glove placed beside your seat at the tavern, a delivery of your favourite blend “accidentally misdelivered” to you.

❥ He shows up without asking. You’re walking home late at night? He happens to be patrolling that exact route. Trouble on a commission? A shadow crosses your path and the fight ends before you can even raise your blade. He never asks for thanks. He doesn't want praise — just to make sure you’re okay.

❥ He pushes you away when his feelings get too real. He’s terrified that loving you might put you in danger. So he grows colder. Distant. You might even think he dislikes you for a time. But it’s not hate. It’s fear. Fear of ruining the one good thing he hasn’t already lost.

✦ During the Relationship: Steadfast and Protective

Once you’re together — once you choose him — that’s when the floodgates open.

❥ You become his priority. Every decision he makes — in business, in battle, even in his private time — is filtered through the thought: “Will this keep them safe? Will this help them smile?” You never have to ask for protection. He’s already planning ten steps ahead to ensure you never have to lift a finger.

❥ He shows love through action, not words. Breakfast on the table before you wake. A cloak draped over your shoulders the second the temperature drops. Freshly oiled weapons, repaired gear. He may not say “I love you” often, but every gesture says it in a hundred different ways.

❥ He worries. Constantly. He’s lost too much. So when you’re gone too long, or injured, or emotionally distant, he spirals a bit. He won’t say it, but you’ll find him staring at the fire with white knuckles, or cleaning his claymore long past midnight to keep his hands busy.

❥ He softens only for you. With others, he’s all quiet command and sharpened edges. But you? You get the real Diluc. The one who listens intently to your dreams. Who holds your hand in silence after a long day. Who closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours like it’s the only place in Teyvat that feels like home.

❥ He lets you in. Slowly. Carefully. But eventually, you’re the only one he shares everything with — the truth about his father, his bitterness toward the Knights, the weight he’s carried all these years. You become his anchor. His equal. His safe place.

Diluc doesn’t love recklessly. He loves with intention — with the kind of loyalty that doesn't falter even when you fight, when things get hard, when he feels unworthy.

Because when Diluc chooses to love you, it means forever.

#shizuwrites #writers on tumblr #fyppage #fypシ #fyp #yandere #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact diluc #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #yandere diluc

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minkieater · 3 months ago

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EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

008 》 JEONG YUNHO

after a long awaited talk, yunho wants only one thing from you. do you accept or deny the one thing that will change the trajectory of both your lives forever?

~14k | gut wrenching fluff

today is the day. you don’t want to open your eyes.

so you don’t. instead, you let your mind drift in your half-asleep state, wondering how the fuck everything has gotten so twisted. it still feels unreal, the idea of yunho loving you, but it’s real– and you still can’t seem to feel optimistic. you scrunch your eyebrows together as reality slams down onto you in the form of a weight on your chest, sitting heavy, pushing you further into your mattress.

yunho loves you, and you have openly gone on several dates he knows about, even more that he doesn’t know about. yunho loves you, and you’ve openly been talking about many men to him. yunho loves you, and you hooked up with someone at the same place he was at, while ignoring your feelings, ignoring his.

right, this was your fault. you were the common denominator here, the moment you lied to your cousins everything had gotten messy, or maybe it was when you downloaded tinder. poor decisions, one after another, your brain has been fogged over since the beginning of october. if you’d just opened your eyes, seen things for how they were, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

for the first time in two months, you think you might be thinking clearly, and the realization slices through you like a blade to your flesh. ace was right, you had been acting selfishly, saturday could have gone so differently if you had trusted your gut, if you allowed yourself to believe what your feelings were telling you. because they were telling you– you think they had been telling you for a long time, hell, even yunho had been telling you himself for a long time. when he dropped you off for that first date with hyunjin there was something in the air between you, and you’re not blind, you’re not stupid. could you blame all of this on fear?

and the worst part, yunho doesn’t even seem angry at you. you ignored him for five days after he told you he loved you, and you still ignored him like he was nothing to you. he’d be silly to have any sort of feelings lingering for you at this point.

when your comforter starts to feel heavier than your chest you drag yourself out of bed without your phone, not even checking the time before you’re carrying yourself and this weight down your staircase, eyes still swollen and hooded with sleep. the smell of coffee brings you to your kitchen, where out of all people, matt is standing at the island.

thin reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a long, silk navy blue robe hanging off his body, slippers on his feet. you would groan if you had the energy, but you don’t.

“tiny?” he questions when he hears your footsteps, staring at you in disbelief as you round the corner of the island. “you’re up early.”

you grumble, not any words but just a muffled sound as you walk to the coffee maker, pouring what’s left into a mug. you bring it to your lips, the bitter taste feeling deserved as the scalding temperature hits your tongue, you’d do without the oat milk for today. you take a step back, letting your body hit the island, head hanging low, nearly below your shoulders.

“you okay?” matt asks from behind you, concern clear in his voice, the inflection of his words. you didn’t want to answer, but at this point you don’t think you have a choice. there’s no one else down here to interrupt, to save you from the interaction.

“fine,” a short answer, your tone leaves no opening for him to ask any further questions— but matt is matt, so he does. eight years of being your stepdad, of you not giving an inch, of him still expecting a mile.

“did something happen?” he asks, rounding the corner so he comes into view. he pushes his glasses up into his hair, black and straight yet messy from sleep, you wonder what time it is. you had two options: you could lie and say no, blame it on exhaustion and kill the conversation where it was. or, you could talk to him— and for some reason, whether it be the time or purely circumstantial, something is tugging at you to opt for the latter.

seonghwa crosses your mind. you’re lucky to have another father figure, and it sounds like he’s still trying to be one after almost ten years of you pushing him away. take it from someone who’s dad never gave a fuck about him, if he wants to be in your life, you should let him.

“what do you think about yunho?” you ask, raising your head to actually look at him when you ask the question. he blinks for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish, clearly taken aback by your question. you raise your eyebrows in expectation, waiting for an answer, impatiently at that.

“i—” he starts, then closes his mouth again. he smiles, “i think yunho’s a great kid. smart, good head on his shoulders, comes from a great family.”

you purse your lips, stretching your mouth to scrunch at the left side of your face. that wasn’t the answer you were looking for, maybe you should try a different question. you look down at your mug, eyebrows furrowing as you stare at the black liquid swirling against the cream colored ceramic. “what do you think about yunho… for me?”

you look up at him again slowly, feeling shy, of all things. matt looks flabbergasted, like that’s the last question he’d ever expect from you, but he quickly covers it with another smile. this one feels warmer, not performative, but genuine.

“i think he’s perfect for you,” he says it so simply, like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. “you’ve been close for so long, he understands you, knows how to treat you.”

you give him a slow nod, then bring your attention back to your mug, thinking. he could have stopped there, but because matt is matt, he kept going instead, “you have a stronger personality than he does, and he’d encourage you to shine brighter than you ever would on your own, but his will is strong enough to keep you grounded. he’s always been gentler with you than the others, always kept his eye on you when your brother didn’t, always defended you when you aren’t there to do it yourself. you know how the moms are.”

you let a sound of amusement out through your nose, you know how the moms are all too well. matt chuckles too because he’s been the victim more than once, especially after your dad passed, the comments that the moms made about him were brutal— those insults you could get behind, though. you fall into silence for a moment, his fingers hitting the island, and you hear his lips part to speak again. part of you wishes you never opened your mouth.

“did something happen between you two?”

you pause for a moment. yunho had replied to your texts within minutes, yes of course we can, what time? and i’ll be over as soon as i wake up. so willing to make up with you, so selfless, you didn’t deserve any of it. yes, something happened, and it was all your fault. the room started to feel smaller.

the weight in your chest that you carried from your bedroom, the self deprecating thoughts, the tightness in every one of your muscles, everything seemed to let loose. tears hit your hands before you realized you were crying, verbal choked noises coming from your lips, you released a sob that was trapped so deep in your throat it was loud.

matt didn’t seem to know what to do. he took the coffee mug from your hands, setting it down on the island, and your hands came up to cover your face, sobs racking through your body. matt’s hands were raised, hovering over you as if you were emitting a force, a barrier he couldn’t push through.

his hand finally hit your shoulder after a few more sobs, giving it a few awkward pats before he felt comfortable rubbing your back, his hand moving in languid circles. it felt weird, yet comforting— seok matthew, your stepdad of eight years who you had never even hugged, was now comforting you as you cried, without giving him any context. you’ve never let him in, not once, what made this time different?

he didn’t ask any questions, didn’t say anything, but instead let you release. he stood next to you, awkwardly rubbing your back, supporting you by being present, and it’s exactly what you needed. support, stability, company.

when your cries died down to sniffles and your eyes were damn near swollen shut, you spoke first. your voice came out rough, voice high pitched and strained, “i think i fucked up with yunho, really bad.”

“it can’t be that bad,” matt tries to make you feel better, his voice encouraging and light. you weren’t sure if you’ve ever been this close to him before. “you’ve been friends since you were in diapers, teens.”

“he told me he loved me.” you finally pull your hands from your face, needing his reaction, the truth behind whatever he’d say to make you feel better.

his eyes widened, his mouth parting to an o shape. he mutters oh shit under his breath, and you nod. oh shit is right.

“i didn’t think he had it in him,” he puts his hand on his hip, “he’s been looking at you with those sad, puppy dog eyes since you were what? eighteen? seventeen?”

he mimics the face and you choke out a laugh, which sounds more like another sob than a laugh. you frown, “did everyone really see it except for me?”

“you had more important things on your mind,” he shrugs as if it was nothing. “school, becoming a teacher, your future. you’re a busy girl, and he knows that just as well as we do.”

“but— all the dates i’ve been going on,” your bottom lip quivers again, “he’s heard every single detail. how can he still love me after all of that?”

“it probably made him love you more,” all you can hear is honesty from him, and it threatens to freak you out more. how can you accept that yunho sees you for exactly who you are, all your mistakes, all your weaknesses, and still loves you anyway? “men are stupid, tiny, they see a potential threat and start to think they’re running out of time. your interest in other men probably just made him confess sooner.”

“you think so?” you ask, silent tears falling down your cheeks, hot against your skin, much like your coffee against your tongue just minutes earlier.

he nods with his eyes closed, like this was the only truth. the only answer. you shake your head, disbelief shooting through you, but matt had no reason to lie, and you knew he wouldn’t hold anything back. he never has before.

his eyes are kind as he looks down at you, “whether you want him back or not, you’ll make it out the other end, you’ve known each other too long to let something like this destroy your friendship.” you nod, still only half believing him, so he adds, “who knows, he might end up being the one you bring to thanksgiving.”

you smile, his words hitting exactly where they needed to, “karina and sakura are gonna be sick when they see him.”

matt smiles wide, success written all over his face, a feeling you shared with him because this exchange undoubtedly felt like progress. something you never experienced or expected, didn’t think you needed, something you never wanted— you should really shoot seonghwa a text sometime.

when your eyes finally glaze over the clock on the stove you realize it’s six thirty in the fucking morning. no wonder matt was so confused, why no one else was awake, not even your mother. she was always up at the ass crack of dawn, too.

she woke up shortly after your conversation with matt in the kitchen, hair and makeup already done by the time she reached the living room, body still clad in silk pajamas. you were sitting on the couch, matt on the recliner, the news channel playing on the tv— not that you were paying attention. your mother sat next to you without a word, pulling out her phone after putting her reading glasses on, tuning out the sound of the tv entirely.

even if your conversation with matt made you feel better about your relationship with yunho, the stress of having the conversation with him still hung over your head. you tried to dissociate, let your mind run blank as you stared at the tv, and it was truly working until it wasn’t. you hadn’t even fully figured out your own feelings yet, but maybe you didn’t have to, maybe that’s what this conversation was for. fuck around and find out, right?

────── ꨄ︎

“i think you should wake her up.”

“but she looks so peaceful.”

“peaceful? she’s fighting demons in her dreams, nothing about her is at peace right now.”

you crack one eye open. with confusion sweeping through you, you take in your surroundings, you don’t even know when your eyes closed for you to be waking up on your couch right now. your three best friends and your twin stood two feet away from you, huddled together talking about you like they did when you were little, the sight brings a small smile to your face. they were talking too loudly for you to sleep through it, which they always have, you’d think a decade later they would have learned by now. when your gaze cracks down on yunho, both eyes shoot open– in gray sweatpants and a deep brown hoodie, the pair was much too baggy to show his strong thighs or his muscled torso, your stomach drops.

he’s here. you haven’t seen him in days.

the first thought that crosses your mind– what the hell do i look like right now?! your body is curled up on the couch, legs bent beneath you, one arm under your head, you were probably drooling onto the velvety surface by now, and he’s here?!

you sit up straight in surprise and slight embarrassment, rubbing the back of your hand across your mouth, uncurling your legs from your body, eyes wide and body rigid. you try to smooth out your bedhead as your movement catches in their peripherals, and yeosang is the first to speak, a wide smile on his face. “oh, look at that! sleeping beauty!”

“let down your hair,” san adds theatrically, as if he was finishing yeosang’s sentence.

“that’s rapunzel, dumbass,” yeosang grumbles, smacking san’s arm.

you wish you could hear them, because you probably would have laughed, but your eyes have been trained on yunho since you opened them, and he’s finally meeting your gaze. comfort is always swimming around in his big brown eyes, they usually help to soothe your nerves, to calm your heart rate– this time they did no such thing. you look away too fast, finding your tv stand, the deep oak suddenly much more interesting.

“okay… i guess we’ll… leave you to it?” yeosang finally catches your ear, you watch him grab both san and ace’s arms, pulling them in the direction of your basement– it was clear they were talking to the two of you, and you were too locked into your staring match to realize. when your eyes meet yunho’s again, you can feel the tension in the air, the awkwardness, it’s painful. this might be the first time you’ve ever felt awkward around him in your life.

yunho scrunches his lips, looking down to the ground– he doesn’t know what to do either. you let out a shaky breath when you hear three pairs of footsteps walking down your basement steps, pissed at yourself for napping when you could have planned for this. first and foremost, you need to see what you look like.

“wanna go upstairs?” you ask, meeting his eyes again, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“you mean like, up to your room?” he asks, clarifying, as if going up to your room was a big deal. you supposed everything was different now.

you tilt your head, uneasy in your own answer, “yes? unless you want to risk my mom and matt hearing the whole thing.”

he nods, “no, yeah. your room, okay, that’s fine.”

you stand on weak legs, fuck, maybe you were more nervous than you thought. this was unknown territory for both of you, there has never been this much weirdness between you, ever. it was clear you were both feeling it.

he follows you upstairs, and when you get to your room, you make him wait in the doorway so you can quickly make your bed. after making sure your comforter is spread evenly and your pillows are placed where they’re supposed to, you turn to him, “i’m gonna go wash my face and brush my teeth really quick, i’ll be right back.”

he nods silently, sitting down at the foot of your bed, stiff and uncomfortable and weird. you try to shake off the feeling as you reach your bathroom, finally getting a glimpse of yourself. you gasp at the mirror, if you ignoring him for five days didn’t make him lose feelings for you, your appearance definitely did. skin dry and dull from lack of skincare, eyes swollen from your meltdown this morning, a line of crusted drool on your chin from your nap. you sigh, this was already worse than you could have imagined.

you tried to come up with something as you washed your face and brushed your teeth, a game plan to distract you from the anxiety about the conversation waiting for you in the other room. there were no excuses to be made, no rebuttals to be had, you fucked up and made this so much messier than it needed to be. you need to apologize, everything else can come after.

everything else… everything else was the unknown– how long has yunho had feelings for you? when he said he loved you, what exactly did he mean? what did he want? you wish you had all the answers so you could sort out your thoughts, but you supposed there was no preparing for a conversation like this. every reaction yunho would receive from you would be the honest truth, no more hiding. no more ignoring.

it was weird seeing yunho sitting so stiff in your bed instead of lounging out like he usually did– long, lanky body sprawled out across your comforter, feet hanging off the edges. seeing him sit straight up with his legs hung over the edge felt so wrong. he made a dip in your perfectly laid white comforter, the fuzzy throw blanket laid on top sat crumpled beneath him. baby pink sheets lived under it all, too many pillows, your bed was your haven, your safe space, your entire room was. it’s a space that you keep clean and tidy because you respect it, how it helps you, the peace it gives you.

you really needed the peace as you crawl over the bed, sitting with your legs criss-crossed at the top, back leaning into your pillows. you grab your favorite throw pillow, holding it on your lap, letting your fingers mindlessly play with the frayed seams as you glance at yunho who was still wearing the same uneasy look as he had when you left him.

both of you in sweats, wearing uneasy faces and hearts beating a mile a minute, both sitting in the weird, uncomfortable silence. you’re sitting farther apart than usual, the space between you feeling heavy, charged with the words you need to say. he stared at his lap, letting his fingers twist together, picking at his cuticles. you assumed he would have started first, needing to get everything off his chest, but he seemed just as unsure as you did. like he didn’t know where to begin.

yunho was internally panicking, and he knows it’s obvious. his heart is thumping against his chest, he could feel his throat jumping, he didn’t know where to start– he had so much to say, but he didn’t want to scare you, he didn’t want to push you away any more than he already has. he’s had days to figure out verbiage, to plan a script in his head, but now that he was sitting across from you with your bare face and cozy attire? oh, every word he had planned was gone. his brain was empty. he had half a mind to look at you and simply say i’ve loved you for years now, please give me a chance?

ah, fuck it. if that’s what he says to get the ball rolling, to get the conversation flowing, then so be it.

you both look up at the same time, both saying, “i–”

then you both pause. you crack a smile, saying, “you go first.”

yunho shakes his head, “no, you.”

you let out a shaky breath from deep in your gut, “okay.”

you needed to apologize first. for not answering him for days, for falling off the face of the earth, for taking so fucking long to make a decision. you swallow, clearing your throat, staring at the pillow in your lap. “i’m sorry.”

yunho’s head snaps up to you, eyebrows twisted in confusion. your lips purse, but you don’t give him a second to interject. “this week has been… rough. i’m sorry for not answering, for icing you out, for making you feel like shit. you didn’t deserve that at all.”

“tiny, i-”

you look up, and he stops himself mid-sentence. “i was blindsided last saturday, the last thing i was expecting to hear you say was that you love me. i’ve been going on all these dates and rubbing everything in your face for weeks, months now, that is so fucking unfair to you, even if i didn’t know.”

“don’t apologize for that,” his voice was as shaky as yours, breathy and light, like he couldn’t control what he was saying, let alone what he sounded like. he couldn’t.

“you deserve better than me,” your voice is even smaller now, “i couldn’t even answer you, yunho. i couldn’t be honest with you, i couldn’t even figure out my own feelings until someone else spelled them out for me. it’s not fair to you.”

yunho was looking at you like that same puppy matt mentioned. lost in his own mind, his own feelings, like he couldn’t believe he was sitting across from you talking about this. quickly, he says, “obviously i forgive you, tiny, i wish you wouldn’t say that. i don’t need you to apologize at all.”

“did you know you sent me thirty nine texts?” you ask, your voice slightly cracking at nine. you tried to fight the tightness in your throat that was inevitable, the tears crawling their way up their ducts, “over the course of five days, i let you send thirty nine texts and i didn’t answer a single one.”

“but you did answer eventually,” he countered, the pit in his stomach heavy– he hates seeing you cry more than anything, and the fact that you’re crying because you think you hurt him? because you think you don’t deserve him? yunho thinks he might throw up. “i put a lot on you that night, i’ve been hiding this from you for five years.”

“five?” you ask, eyebrows raising, your voice fully cracking at the word. you tip your head back, eyes on your ceiling, trying to cut a deal with gravity so your tears wouldn’t fall. you face him again, your jaw tight and your voice barely above a whisper, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because we’re best friends,” he gives you a small smile, his lips pressed together, ever so slightly lifting at the edges, the kind of smile that hurts. it wasn’t a smile of happiness, it was one of disappointment, laced with fear. ��i didn’t want to ruin our relationship.”

you shake your head, racking your brain for the right words to say. you sniff, eyes glancing to your lap again, “yunho, i don’t think we have the kind of relationship that can be ruined.”

he says your name. not tiny, the nickname your entire family called you your entire life– he says your name. it’s strained but it’s serious, he says it like a prayer, like it’s special. like you’re special.

you’re special, teens, you can’t go around giving yourself to just anybody. you deserve someone who’s gonna appreciate you, cherish you, all the little parts about you.

“i love you,” he says with his chest, the most steady you’ve heard his voice so far. yunho told himself fuck it, and he meant it. “i love you when you’re happy, when you’re smiling, when you’re sad, crying about some douchebag in the backseat of my car. i love you when you’re making your coffee in the morning, dancing around your kitchen, and when you’re frustrated trying to play a video game. i love you when you’re focused, doing your homework, when you’re asleep next to me, when you’re mad because one of the guys pissed you off. i love you all the fucking time.”

your mascara-less eyes widen, dry lips parting, yet you have nothing to say in return. you love him, too, but do you love him like he loves you? as if he can read your mind, his voice is strained as he says, “don’t say anything. please.”

“i love you when you don’t answer me for five days, i love you when you’re glued to my side. i love you when you’re mad at me, i love you when you’re over my back, about to throw up if i don’t put you down.” you cringe, your entire face scrunching up— he smiles.

“i love you when i’m dropping you off on a date with someone else, when i’m picking you up from a different one. there’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you, there’s no reality where i don’t love you,” he takes a breath, “these feelings, they’ve been one-sided for five years, i don’t expect a response from you, i don’t want one. not yet. i want only one thing from you.”

you wipe the tears that slipped past your lashes, cutting your deal with gravity short. “one thing?”

“go on a date with me,” he takes a breath, chestnut brown hair laid over his forehead, over the matching eyebrows that you’re sure are twisted beneath his bangs. yunho can’t believe he just said all of that, but he can’t stop while he’s ahead, he has to keep going, for himself, for the future he wants with you. “just one date, and i’ll prove it to you. you won’t show up to thanksgiving alone, you’ll show up happy.”

you look at him, really look at him. there’s determination in his eyes, a glint of hope in the sea of chocolate, like he’s put so much thought into this, that he’s sure about you. you believe him, because aside from that determination, there’s love paired with it— warmth in the haze of brown, eyes you could get lost in, because they look at you like you’re all that’s ever mattered. you’re his already, and you weren’t sure you ever had a choice.

you’re nodding before your brain could signal your muscles. your voice is shy when you say okay, you have nothing else to say to his confession– yet you weren’t put off by it, you weren’t scared. you weren’t uncomfortable anymore. this was yunho, after all.

yunho, for some reason, is shocked you agreed. he didn’t think he’d have to convince you, but he didn’t think it’d be so easy. he wonders if he should have asked more questions about your feelings, if you should have talked more– if this conversation was enough to fill in the space he created just last saturday. he brushes it off as the two of you walk downstairs, and when he heard you laugh just seconds later at something san said, he feels at ease again. you’re gonna be okay.

────── ꨄ︎

november twenty third.

less than a week before thanksgiving, you’ve devoted your last saturday, your last possible chance at obtaining a date to your family’s thanksgiving to jeong yunho. it still feels ridiculous to say out loud, to even put into perspective.

yet you’ve never taken longer to get ready in your whole life.

even if you were instructed on how to dress, after your breakfast was dropped off to you in your room by your twin.

“this is so corny, i can’t believe i’m doing this,” ace’s voice rips you out of your thoughts as he kicks your bedroom door open, oversized sleep clothes on his body, his face looking tired and irritated, yet you could see appreciation slipping through the cracks. he speaks with a hollow tone of sarcasm, “breakfast for the queen, hand delivered, at your fuckin’ service.”

you sit up in your bed straighter, eyes furrowed in confusion. “breakfast?”

he places two containers on top of a tray on your comforter, all tied with a thick pink ribbon, an envelope tucked under the bow. your heart rate picks up as your eyes widen– is this from who you think it's from?

“hopefully i’m discharged from my services after this,” ace says, teasing, his irritation still hollow. his lips curl upward ever so slightly, “have a good time today, teens. for what it’s worth, he’s who i wanted you with from the start.”

you smile, “wish i knew from the start.”

“everything happens for a reason,” he shrugs, “eat before it gets cold.”

he’s out of your room in a second, leaving you with your meticulously wrapped breakfast. you untie the ribbon, laying out each container on top of the tray, then pick up the envelope. it says your name on the front in yunho’s handwriting– you pout, wishing he came inside when he dropped it off. the pout doesn’t stay long, your fingers are ripping over the envelope immediately, pulling out the white index card that lived inside.

‘since you can’t flip a pancake on your own nor would you eat breakfast if it wasn’t made for you, here’s a gift from my own kitchen (and my cooking that i know you love. don’t lie to yourself)

dress warm and cozy, i’ll pick you up at two.

— with all my love, jyh’

inside the first containers was two pancakes, a glass container of fruits and another of syrup, then another with eggs, toast, and a small container of dairy free butter. he packed a fork and a knife too, and a closed mason jar of orange juice and two airplane bottles of champagne– you didn’t even know they made shooters of champagne. your breath catches in your throat, your heart twisting in your chest.

it was your first insight into what yunho was like as a lover, the bar was set for the rest of the day just after nine in the morning.

he was right– you did love his cooking.

the past week has gone just like this. yunho has been complimenting you nonstop, texting you goodmorning and goodnight, even doing little things for you like paying for your dinners when the five of you ate together, getting you drinks before you had the chance to mention you were thirsty, openly sitting closer to you on the couch in the living room, the basement, the kitchen island. everything went back to normalcy after your talk, the five of you were back to a team, yunho just didn’t have to hide anymore— it all weirdly felt good. like nothing had changed, yunho was always supposed to sit next to you, the compliments that left his lips felt genuine, the small favors felt special.

today was just a completion to a maze, one that’s lasted far too long, too winding with too many dead ends that set you both back to zero. today was a path, a walkway— and the light at the end was yunho, who it was always supposed to be.

by one forty five, you were finishing up getting ready in your room, and you hear your front door open, and the loud chatting of your family following soon after. he’s here.

he said to dress warm and cozy, so you opted for wide-legged jeans, an off the shoulder sweater and a huge scarf to wrap around you, a pair of faux sheepskin boots on your feet. it seemed warm and cozy enough, while still being cute— you didn’t want to overdo it in fear of what exactly he had planned, you had ripped apart the majority of your closet before settling on something so simple— not having a concrete plan both stressed you out and excited you at the same time.

after adding the finishing touches on your makeup, you took a deep breath at the top of your stairs, eyelashes brushing against another when your eyes flutter closed.

today would change the entire trajectory of your friendship. even if the past week felt natural, today was the deciding factor, and it’d change everything. you thought of hyunjin, of chan, of mingyu, jisung, seonghwa, heeseung and hoshi— seven men that had completely different lifestyles, backgrounds and personalities, you think every single one served a purpose, each one taught you something, nudged you a little farther in the direction you were always meant to go in. his direction.

you deserve to be loved. you deserve to be treated well, to be cherished, to be known, to be appreciated, every little detail about you. you ache to reciprocate the feelings, outside of needing a boyfriend for thanksgiving, you want someone by your side, to know all your weaknesses and bad habits and love you through every revelation. someone to share secrets with, to kiss, to hold, to nurture.

a smile washes over your face, your heart jumping beneath your skin with the possibility— no, confirmation that someone is yunho.

sitting around your kitchen island was the man of the hour— but also your mom, matt, ace and vivi, all gathered around in the middle of a conversation you weren’t sure you wanted to butt into.

“tiny!” your mom catches your eye first, her arms slinging outward so you notice the arrangement of things on the marble counter. your breath catches in your throat at the sight.

a bottle of aged whiskey, one you learned was matt’s favorite the night he educated you on whiskey for mingyu. two bouquets of flowers, one an assortment of lilies and angel’s breath, the other an assortment of roses— red, orange and yellow, an ode to her first name, jangmi. your mom’s hand lays over her heart, eyebrows twisted upward in appreciation, “if you two don’t get married, i swear…”

“mom,” you hiss through gritted teeth, heat reaching your ears. you catch vivi’s eye over her shoulder, the blue haired sixteen year old silently mouthing don’t fuck up this time– you scowl at her for just a second before you finally meet yunho’s gaze, he looks you up and down with a soft smile, a fondness in his eyes that has a shiver racking through you.

he stands up, grabbing the bouquet of lilies, muttering a small hi as he steps toward you— fuck, he knows you so well. lilies have been your favorite flower ever since your dad passed, as morbid as it is, there was the most beautiful arrangement of pink lilies and angel’s breath at his funeral that has stuck with you throughout the years— something you’ve only mentioned once or twice since the funeral. of course yunho would remember.

you feel yourself overflowing with warmth and gratitude as he holds the bouquet out for you to take, “beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.”

a shaky breath leaves your lips before your grin stretches across your face, “thank you, for breakfast this morning too,” you look down at the bouquet again, “i can’t believe you remembered.”

“how could i forget?” he’s beaming. excitement is exuding off his skin, filling you up as if you were an empty glass, your nerves were easing by the second.

you finally look him up and down— he looks delicious. wide leg light denim jeans, a blue button up beneath a cream cardigan, where the deep blue of his shirt matched the embroidered decal on his cardigan. his hair was clean cut as if he got it trimmed for the occasion, brand new brown converse on his feet… you were matching. not fully, it was more subtle than anything, but your cream scarf matched his cardigan, your brown sweater matched his sneakers, the light wash of your jeans was almost identical. completely by accident, yet the realization only encourages the idea that this was meant to happen.

“you two look so cute,” your mom coos as if she realized at the same time as you. “come on, let me take a picture!”

vivi snorted from beside her, even ace wore a lopsided grin as the words left her mouth. your jaw dropped at her proposition, eyebrows hanging low over your eyes as you glanced up to yunho who just shrugged. his nonchalance would really be the death of you.

“come on, honey,” said matt from beside her, finally ripping his star-filled eyes away from his new bottle of his favorite whiskey, “let them go.”

she smacked her lips together, a scowl on her face as she turned to him, “she asked me to take pictures!”

you knew she was yunho’s mom, which had you laying the flowers on the island and tugging on his arm towards your front door before your mom noticed. “let’s go, stealth mode.”

yunho cracked a snort from behind you, “you haven’t said stealth mode in years.”

stealth mode was a saying the five of you adopted whenever you were doing something sneaky growing up. sneaking out of the house, stealing food from the pantry, vodka from the bar just off the side of the kitchen. “i haven’t had a reason to!”

you’re both still giggling when you make it outside, smiling like idiots when you come to a stop just before his old, dark green bmw. he let out a tch noise when your hand reached for the handle, playing annoyed as he said, “let me open it, this is a date.”

“i’ve been opening your car door by myself for years,” you roll your eyes as he steps in front of you, opening the car door, the smell of his air freshener already greeting you from a foot away. smokey and leather and man.

“i know, but this is different,” he says as you walk forward, a hand resting on top of the car door, “i wanna do things right.”

you pause before you get in, one leg bent up on the frame as you meet his eyes, “you know, i’m really excited for today. to be with you like this.”

you watch his smile grow, that warmth in the chocolate of his eyes shining under the sunlight, matching the chestnut of his hair that hangs over his forehead. he motions his chin in the direction of the seat of his car, “then get in so we can go.”

you laugh as you finally get in, the leather seats warm beneath you from sitting under the fall sun, the seat at the perfect setting– something you usually have to change when you’re in his car. the first thing he does after he turns the car on is plug in his phone, connecting the aux so he can play one of his perfectly articulated playlists.

instead of soft rock playing through the speakers, which is what you expected, jungle starts playing through the car. you gasp knowingly, eyes widening ever so slightly, “shut up.”

“what?” he asks through a smile as if he has no idea what you’re talking about– you know him better than that.

“give me your phone,” you face him as he puts the car in reverse, pulling out of your driveway, “you did not make a playlist for today.”

“of course i made a playlist for today,” he eyes you from the driver's seat, right hand on the wheel, left hand on his thigh. “i will not be giving you my phone, you can have the playlist after. i want each song to be like a little surprise.”

“you’re so corny,” you tease, shaking your head in disbelief, grin still wide and genuine, because who wouldn’t want a playlist specifically curated for their ears?

“where are we going, anyways?”

“another surprise,” he nods, “they’re all surprises.”

“all surprises?” you whip your head over to look at him again, eyebrows high, “as in there’s more than one place?!”

“okay fine, i’ll give you a spoiler,” he holds up three fingers, “we’re going to three places.”

“can i guess where?”

“no.”

“ugh, fine.”

you sit in silence for a moment, your brain still going a mile a minute about where he could possibly be taking you. “but what about my dress code? warm and cozy? we aren’t going anywhere fancy, right?”

he gives you a look through lowered brows, “do you really think i’d give you a dress code that didn’t match the vibe?”

something you tend to forget— he knows you better than that, too.

“fair,” you nod, your lips pursed. you settle in your seat as he pulls onto a highway, shifting around to get comfortable. tv girl starts playing through his speakers, lover’s rock, and you can’t help but sing along– to your surprise, yunho does too.

it doesn’t take long before you’re both singing louder, your head rolled towards him, smiles on your faces. it seems like neither of you can wipe the smile off your face– this kind of comfort doesn’t come easily, no shame in your terrible singing, no panic about being off key… even if the man beside you had the voice of an angel. he’d kill you if you said that to him, though.

a few more terribly sang (by you) songs until you were pulling into the parking lot of a record store. it wasn’t far from your house, a quick fifteen minutes into the city, just off of the highway. you’ve never been here before, but you know yunho has, he’s always been deeper into music than you.

“a record store?” you ask as he turns the wheel to back into a parking spot, you twist your head to watch him as his right arm stretches behind your headrest, his left hand turning the steering wheel. you make a face– lips scrunched together, eyebrows knitted, trying so hard to pretend you weren’t affected by how good he looked– it still felt strange to think of him like that.

a smirk grew on his lips as if he could see through you, he put the car in park as he answered, “yes, a record store.” he reached in his backseat, grabbing his camera, one he only brought out on special occasions— you let out a groan that he swiftly ignored. “don’t get out yet.”

he was out of the car and beside your door in a moment, a huff of amusement left your lips as you watched his little jog as he made his way over, slinging the camera around his neck by the strap. when he opened your door, you gave him barely a second of reprieve, “thank you, gentleman. why the camera? and why a record store?”

“you’re so nosy,” he teased as he held his hand out, pulling you up out of your seat. “excuse a man for wanting to document the day he’s been waiting five years for. do you remember when your cousin got married?”

you pop an eyebrow as he closes the door behind you, your hand still in his, “which one?”

“karina, that’s the only family wedding we all went to,” yunho says as if you should know this already.

“oh, duh, yeah i remember,” you mindlessly answer as he tugs you across the parking lot and toward the entrance, your hand still swallowed by his– your eyes couldn’t look anywhere else other than where you were linked, your palms growing sweaty at the feeling of your hand enveloped by his.

he opens the door for you, letting your hand go so you can walk through the glass doors, “at the reception, it was one of the first times i thought i might like you.”

you snap your neck to look at him, “yunho, that was years ago.”

“yeah, five,” he says obviously, “you were seventeen, i was eighteen, you wore that long, pink, barbie looking dress. you don’t wear pink a lot, but it suits you.”

he follows you inside, the walls covered in framed pictures of artists, singers, bands, guitar players, aisles upon aisles of records, different sections for CDs and albums. it smelled of dust and incense, the low hum of rock music playing through the speakers, you wondered if the building had been here for a long time– it seemed like it had.

you start down one of the aisles, eyes racking the different crates of records laid in alphabetical order, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks. yunho was hot on your tail, “anyways, we were in the middle of the reception, you had too many glasses of white wine and i was throwing back beers like any eighteen year old would at an open bar. we were all on the dance floor the entire night, all five of us.”

“oh my god, i remember that! san took the microphone from the dj at one point,” you turn to him, throwing a hand over your mouth in remembrance, “he was so fucking drunk.”

yunho laughs, “all of us were hammered.”

“that was a good wedding,” you walk further down the aisle as you think back on it– as much as karina’s husband sucks, that wedding was incredible. lavish, expensive, the decor was just a display of wealth, no actual decorum. the open bar and lack of checking for IDs made the wedding enjoyable. you glance back at him, “back to realizing that you liked me?”

he rolls his eyes, amused. “right, how could i forget?”

“we were in the middle of the reception, hammered as hell, screaming the words to can’t take my eyes off you by frankie valli. it felt like it was just me and you in that room, you looked so pretty, and i could’ve sworn you felt it, too.”

you did remember that– as much white wine as you ingested that night, you still remembered that moment. you had styrofoam microphones and silly sunglasses on, singing the words to one another in the middle of the tiled floor, surrounded by family and karina’s friends, your bodies inches apart. back then, you didn’t think anything of it, you just thought you were singing a song in a funny way with your funny friend– purely innocent. the idea that yunho was feeling these things while you were ignorant to all of it made your heart skip a beat.

yunho smiles, “i want to buy you the album, i think it’s on one of those compilation albums, frankie valli and the four seasons best hits or something like that…”

you curse, your cheeks heating up, a pout on your lips, “yunho, that’s so fucking sweet.”

“for a sweet girl,” he smiles, then grabs your hand again, pulling it up to his lips to kiss just above your knuckles– you just about died, looking away in embarrassment that you might squeal out of the sheer emotion coursing through your body.

you didn’t know yunho was so… nostalgic. he has never shown so much passion for anything, so much emotion, this was a completely new side of him and you were obsessed with learning about every new detail. to think five years ago he was already looking at you this way… and it took you this long to realize? he was either really good at hiding it or you really are blind.

you heard the camera click, the shutter sound ripping you from your thoughts. you look up from the records you’d started sorting through again to scowl at yunho, who lowered the camera from his eye with a smile. he pulled up the picture on the screen, leaning the camera over to show you.

you couldn’t believe you didn’t notice it earlier, maybe the air freshner in his car was too overpowering to allow you to smell him— citrus, woody, notes of sandalwood, you devoured the scent as he stood closer, your body involuntarily leaning in, your side pressing into his as you stared at the screen of the camera. surprisingly you liked how it came out, your hair laying over your face as you sorted through records, fingers sifting between the vinyls, it was cute enough to post, even.

“that’s actually cute,” you comment, surprise clear in your voice.

“of course it is,” he responds, “it’s a picture of you, and i took it. you know what they say…”

“i do not know what they say,” you flatten your lips as you give him a dumbfounded look, feeling like this is something you’re supposed to know.

yunho opens his mouth, and then closes it, lips pursing before he looks like he’s fighting the sheepish smile that grows on his cheeks. his voice comes out lower, coated in embarrassment, “i forgot what they say.”

you can’t stop the loud cackle that rips through your lips, a hand flying over your mouth when you realize your volume in the near-empty store. yunho says through his laughter, “it’s not funny! it’s a good saying, it’s something like your pictures come out better when you’re taking pictures of someone you love.”

you groan, leaning into him, teasingly nudging him with your elbow. “who knew you were such a lover?”

“me,” he answers plainly, “i knew— for five years, mind you.”

“okay!” you start off again, looking through another bin of albums across the aisle. “enough with the five years thing, you’re making me feel guilty now.”

“every time i say it you get all shy and embarrassed,” he follows you across the aisle, “it’s cute, but i’ll stop. i’m sorry.”

you playfully glare at him— but the expression leaves as soon as he lifts the camera again.

you spent at least half an hour in front of his camera lens while sorting through albums, picking up different ones, talking mindlessly about artists to debating who’s music is better– which songs off of albums are the best, which ones you love, which ones you hate.

“no no no, entombed is the best off of koi no yokan,” you stand your ground, holding up the deftones record, shaking your head at yunho.

“okay, fine, but swerve city is a close second,” yunho points at the record in your hands, “for the first time in your twenty two years of life, i agree with you.”

“how about this one?” you hold up speak and spell by depeche mode, “favorite on three.”

you count to three while facing him, and you both answer simultaneously, “just can’t get enough.”

you cheer and then high-five him, saying, “we’re so good,” as you put the record back in its spot. you skip a letter, gravitating towards the F section to find the album that you came here for.

yunho stands just behind you, the back of your shoulder touching his bicep, and the reoccurring thought that he’s huge plagues you all over again. he’s peering over your body as you sort through the vinyls and you can’t help but bask in the feeling of comfort. he isn’t overly flirting, he isn’t making it unbearably clear that this is a date— you don’t feel any pressure to act any sort of way. it feels natural to be out with him alone, to feel him pressed against you, to know there’s this feeling of romance shared between you even if it isn't obvious.

when you finally pulled out the square blue record named the very best of frankie valli and the four seasons, you looked up to yunho, “you were pretty spot on with the name.”

yunho shrugs, “i had a feeling.”

“now, the only issue is,” you turn to him, holding the record to your chest, “i don’t have a record player.”

yunho squints as he looks far ahead of you towards the cash register where plenty of record players stood on the wall just behind the store clerk. like it’s a no-brainer, he says, “they have plenty up there, i’ll just buy you one.”

“yunho,” it sounds more like a whine than anything, “the record is enough. i’ll buy it.”

he gives you a twisted look, “you’re choosing now to fuss over me buying you shit?”

you smile, because that rebuttal is more than fair. “at least let me pretend i’m not gonna let you. independent woman and all that.”

yunho rolls his eyes as he takes a step in the direction of the clerk, a smile playing on his lips as he reaches for your hand. you peel your fingers from the album to slip your palm in his, your fingers linking together, heat consuming you from head to toe. as if on command, you can feel the sweat forming in your palms, you just hope yunho didn’t notice as he leads you to the register.

you leave the record store nearly skipping across the parking lot, a bright smile on your face under the strangely warm autumn sun, the weather must have known what you were getting up to today. yunho opens the car door for you another time, you wonder if you’ll ever open a car door for yourself again, but if you didn’t, you wouldn’t mind one bit.

after yunho turns the car on and connects his phone, he says, “okay, we’re off to stop number two.”

you sink into the car seat, slipping off your boots to put your sock covered feet on the dash. he points his eyes at you, “if you were anyone else i’d be cursing you out for that.”

you smirk, “but i’m me, so i get a pass,” you put on a funny, teasing voice, “‘97 e36 m3 ain’t got nothing on me.”

“wow,” his eyebrows raise, shooting you a surprised glance as he pulls out of the parking space, “impressive.”

“hey, i remember things,” you hold up a finger in rebuttal, “you talked about this car for months before you bought it. let’s race someone.”

“what am i? nineteen?” he objected as he reached forward, turning up the volume dial so you could hear the music he put on, “remember this one?”

you take a second to hear the familiar strum of the guitar, a loud gasp leaves your chest, your entire face warping into shock. “oh shut the fuck up, jeong yunho– you did not!”

yunho laughs as he pulls out of the parking lot, his head tipping back into the headrest, a deep chuckle. anyone else but you specifically the version by michael cera and elliot page played through his speakers, and he reached forward to turn it up louder. he glances at you with a smile, “i was hoping this would play, it brings back memories, right?”

“god, too many, and they’re all mortifying,” you shake your head, cheeks flushed, a smile still playing on your lips. you must have been eleven or twelve when you discovered the movie juno– you asked your mom to watch it and she flat out told you no, you’re too young.

butthurt, you threw a tantrum, but when she was firm on her answer you eventually forgot all about it. until one night months later when all the boys were having a sleepover in your basement, back when you still made forts out of couch cushions and thought drinking soda past ten pm was scandalous, you and yunho found yourselves the last ones awake. eyes wide with sleep fighting through at the edges, you found juno on a streaming service and rented it without your mom’s permission. you and yunho watched the movie from start to finish, and became obsessed with anyone else but you, a song on the soundtrack.

a month later the two of you had all the words memorized, young enough for giggles to leave your lips every single time you sang ‘squinched up your face and did a dance, you shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants’. your parents were pissed when they found out you watched juno– but the anger didn’t last long when they made you and yunho put on the performance of a lifetime.

“come on, don’t tell me you forgot the words,” yunho teases from beside you and all the memories rush back, the matching outfits, the tv remotes used as microphones. “your part is about to start!”

“you’re a part time lover and a full time friend…” you start singing along and yunho cheers, your cheeks flushing immediately.

“there we go!” he encourages while you sing along, his fist pumping in the air, his grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. your embarrassment dies quick, your voice growing louder and steadier as the first verse finishes, yunho’s part coming right after yours.

“i kiss you on the brain in the shadow of the train, i kiss you all starry eyed, my body's swinging from side to side,” he sings enthusiastically, his head swaying back and forth, “i don't see what anyone can see in anyone else, but you.”

neither of you miss a beat for the entirety of the song, and not a word was stuttered– even if you haven’t sung the song together in nearly a decade. you both still giggled at that one line like you did when you were twelve, like no time has passed at all, your cheeks even started to ache from smiling.

the high from the song lasted you all the way until he pulled into the parking lot of a mall. you raised an eyebrow when he pulled into a parking space, “are you taking me on a shopping spree?”

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he teased, unplugging his phone and grabbing his camera from the backseat again, “we are going to one store and one store only, the shopping spree we can do another time.”

“interesting how you didn’t say no to the shopping spree,” your smile is devious, and he lets out a sound of amusement as he opens his car door, stretching his lanky limbs out of the small car.

he slings the camera around his neck and does his little jog around the vehicle again, opening your door for you, opening his mouth before you even had the chance, “i’m surprised i didn’t have to tell you to wait again.”

“i’m a quick learner,” you say after taking his outstretched arm to get out of his car, “and i’m kind of enjoying the princess treatment.”

“i knew you would,” he keeps your hand in his as you walk through the parking lot which was flooded with cars, the mall on a saturday afternoon was risky– it’s always busy on the weekends.

“do i get a hint for which store we’re going to?” you ask as you step through the entrance, automatic sliding glass doors that brushed you with a wave of hot air as you walked through the threshold.

“so nosy,” he wrinkles his nose, “we’re going to be there in literally two seconds.”

“yeah, but i know you have some kind of lore for this store, too,” you counter, and yunho blushes. the rosy pink hue to his cheeks only made you press further, a pout on your lips, “tell me, please?”

he shakes his head with a smile as he guides you down the main aisle of the mall, different stores and scents on either side of you begging for your attention, but you couldn’t rip your gaze away from the man beside you. he finally says, “fine, but you are not allowed to make fun of it.”

you come to a stop at the end of the main section of stores and you finally rip your attention away from yunho to look at the store before you. your jaw drops, your head slowly turning to look up at yunho again, “we’re at a build-a-bear?!”

“hear me out! there’s a reason,” he lets go of your hand and it feels cold without his skin against yours, “this is one of my core memories.”

your amused smile is nowhere close to leaving your face– you nod, telling him to continue. he swallows, “damn, this was so long ago. i think you were fifteen, vivi was maybe nine?”

“oh no,” you groan, your head tipping back– you already know where this is headed, and yunho giggles at your realization.

“you had this stuffed bear, he was brown, his name was jacob, you slept with him every single night. you had him since you were probably around vivi’s age back then? anyways, we were all over, and vivi somehow had brought jacob downstairs and you flipped shit that she had him– the two of you back then were like animals.”

“my poor little man jacob.”

“exactly– you both started fighting over jacob, vivi wanted to keep him, but he was yours. so you started playing a game of fucking tug-of-war.”

you slap a hand to your forehead, a smile still on your lips, “she was such a fucking asshole back then.”

“back then?” he raises his eyebrows.

“still is,” you agree with your lips pursed.

“you guys fought so badly you ripped poor jacob’s arms off, so i figured we could make a new jacob today.”

you’re shaking your head in disbelief when he finishes, “yunho, i can’t believe you remembered that.”

“i told you it’s one of my core memories,” his smile turns into a devilish smirk, “i’ve never seen you fight like that, and you were a whole fifteen year old fighting a nine year old.”

“she killed my fucking bear!” you defend yourself, arms swinging just like they did back then, seven years ago.

“hey, i’m on your side,” he throws his hands up in defense, “that’s why we're here, we’re reviving jacob.”

“i fucking love you,” slips right out of your mouth without any thought, and your body tenses. you’ve told yunho you love him a thousand times, for over a decade– but now it’s different, he loves you in a different way, and you still weren’t saying it like he says it to you. you weren’t sure if it was okay to say to him anymore– especially on a date, your first date.

“i know you do,” he says smugly, grabbing onto your hand and leading you inside, as if that was no big deal. maybe it wasn’t– yunho knows how you feel about him, you know how he feels about you, you’re on the same page. you don’t have to stress with him.

you and yunho decide on a bear that looks the most like jacob– brown, fuzzy, wearing the warmest smile. it was nostalgic, thinking back to when you slept next to the stuffed animal every night, he was your lifeline for years.

yunho brought out the camera again when you were stuffing the bear, pressing your foot on the small pedal that brought life into the stuffed animal. you both kissed his heart before it got stitched into his body, you made yunho pick out the red heart from the bin beside the stuffing machine– he took another picture of you kissing the heart again before giving it to the employee.

the two of you decided on the cutest little outfit for jacob. a pair of baby blue overalls, a yellow shirt underneath, and a pair of sneakers on his feet that looked close to converse. while they boxed jacob up you filled out his birth certificate, a list of information like his name, his height, weight, eye color, fur color, his date of birth, his parents.

“you’d think we were adopting a kid with this amount of information,” you mumble, staring at the screen with squinted eyes. you glance at yunho, “how tall do you think jacob junior is?”

“at least two apples tall,” yunho says simply while holding up two fingers, making you smile. you type in three apples tall on the screen, and yunho laughs from behind you. “you really wrote it?”

“duh,” you say over your shoulder. where it says belongs to, you type in your name and yunho’s name, grabbing yunho’s attention again.

“oh my god, we’re parents?” he asks, coming closer and bending down beside you, shorter than you from where you were sitting on the chair.

“he’s our son,” you nod without sparing him a glance, “having a kid before we’ve even kissed… we’re like mary and joseph.”

yunho’s head tips back at that, a loud rip of laughter leaving his chest, making you laugh, too. you whisper through your giggles, “shut up, people are looking.”

“that might be the funniest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” yunho’s head is tipped down, exhales of laughter still leaving him, and his laughter only encourages you to laugh more.

two twenty-something year olds non stop, out of control laughing in the corner of a build-a-bear was definitely a sight to behold, especially when the store was filled with children, not one over the age of ten. you finally finished the birth certificate, humor still charging the air between you two, yunho still fighting his laughter all the way up to the register.

yunho paid again, and this time without a peep from you, except for the thanks of gratitude after he swiped his card. he carried jacob all the way out of the store, pulling your hand in his again by the time you made it to the main aisle of the mall again.

“that was so fun,” you say, holding yunho’s hand a little tighter, your right hand reaching across your body to hold onto his cardigan. you lean into him, your head falling onto his arm, a dazed smile on your face– likely the aftermath of your case of the giggles.

yunho stands tall even with you leaning against him, your legs walking in stride now, yunho walking a little slower so you could keep up with his steps. yunho looks down at you with a warm smile, “that was really fun. you ready for the last stop?”

you look up at him, your smile brightening even more, “yes!”

when you get back to the car, jacob junior takes his spot right next to your record player, yunho places his camera in its case on top of the rectangular box, and he opens his car door for you a third time. at this point you’re in dreamland again, so consumed with warmth and appreciation for yunho, by the time he gets in the driver’s seat your entire body is turned toward him. when his palm hits your thigh after he puts the car in drive, you don’t think anything of it, you just lay your hand on top of his.

you don’t even ask him where you’re going– you let your mind run blank as you sing along to the songs playing through his speakers, humming along to the songs you don’t know the words to. when yunho has to take his hand off your leg to make a turn, he puts it right back afterwards, as if that’s its place, where it’s supposed to be.

the drive is long. you watch the road as you make it out of the city, but pretty soon after that your mind runs blank entirely. watching the road but not seeing, you aren’t even thinking, just enjoying the music filling the space between you, enjoying his presence beside you– this might be the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even over yet.

when you pull up on the coastline, a very specific drive you were making all last week, your attention is piqued. no, you think to yourself, he can’t know this, this is too specific. it has to be a coincidence.

but when he makes a turn into a clearing of sand that’s been driven over so many times it’s begun to turn into something similar to gravel, you sit up a little straighter in your seat. you still don’t say anything, nor do you look at yunho, your peripherals don’t even catch the knowing smile growing on his cheeks.

there’s one more turn he has to make– this clearing was already out of the way, but there was one more turn that took you to–

your jaw drops again, your head slowly turning to face yunho as he makes the turn. “how the hell did you–”

“you have to stop being surprised that i know everything about you,” he says casually, pulling his car next to a bronco that was pulled right up to the end of the gravel, the beach just beyond the makeshift parking area.

you tilt your head to the side, eyeing up the deep blue bronco, “that looks like ace’s car.”

“it is ace’s car,” yunho points ahead of you, and the three idiots you call your twin and best friends are jogging up from the cove, wind pulling at their hoods they were holding close to their heads, teeth bared and chattering with cold.

when they spot you they all pause, eyes wide as if they were caught– your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and your hand reached for the door handle, pushing it open. you step outside, one foot still on the ledge, yelling towards your friends, “what the hell are you doing here?”

yunho gets out of the car, too, but he doesn’t say anything– the three barely spare the two of you a look as they hurry towards ace’s suv. san yells over his shoulder as he gets into the car, “we aren’t here!”

yeosang is smiling wide as he shuffles into the backseat, calling to you from the open door, “have fun, lovebirds!”

ace waves at you from across san in the passenger seat, through the window. you stare with furrowed brows as your twin starts the car, barely a moment passing before they drive away abruptly, sand stirring up in its wake. you turn to yunho, your eyebrows still knitted together, and he shrugs. “you ready?”

you close the car door and take a step back, confusion still clouding your ability to think, the wind from the beach under the setting sun smacking you across the face and clawing at your exposed shoulder, shooting a physical chill throughout your body.

“i have coats in the trunk, hold on,” yunho holds up a finger, with his camera slung around his neck again he grabs two coats from his trunk, walking over to your side to hold it up for you while you slip your arms inside. he even planned for this?

“what’s going on?” you ask as you zip up the coat, the inside warm and comforting, clarity finally washing over you, “why are we at my dad’s beach spot?”

yunho grabs your hand again after putting his own coat on, leading you towards the beach. “we came with you guys to this spot a few times growing up.”

when he takes you to the tip of the dune, you can finally see what’s beneath, and your breath gets caught in your lungs, your hand flying over your mouth. a bonfire was lit next to a large blanket laid across the sand, two cushions and more blankets placed next to each other on top. next to the cushions were two different boards of foods– what was on them you couldn’t see from where you stood, maybe charcuterie or meats. a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed against one of the baskets, from its pink color you knew it was sickeningly sweet, the only wine you could actually enjoy– you could barely call it wine.

muffled by your palm, you whisper yunho’s name, squeezing his hand tighter.

“i know this is where you’ve been coming all week,” his voice is quiet, almost shy, “i wasn’t sure if i should do this.”

he turns to face you, and you turn your head before moving your body. “i knew your dad, and i know i was young, but… i figured we could hang out with him for a little bit so he can be… relieved up there, i guess, knowing you’re down here with me.”

your throat tightened, chest burdened with the weight of this. your eyes filled with tears too fast, falling hot down your cheeks, and yunho’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. he lets go of your hand, reaching forward to wipe your tears from beneath your cheeks, palms holding your cheeks as he starts sputtering out his words, “tiny– i’m so sorry, we can leave. oh my god, i knew i shouldn’t have done this.”

your hands come up to wrap your fingers around his forearms that were still holding your cheeks, pausing him, silencing him. “this is perfect.”

his eyebrows push together ever so slightly, a tremble in his words, “a-are you sure?”

a picnic date on the beach– a place where you feel connected to your late father, with someone who he knew and loved, to plan people coming here and setting this up for you… all of this, for you. staring up at yunho, that warm, comforting chocolate swimming around in his eyes, with your heart pounding against your chest, you could feel something inside you fully cracking open.

you didn’t recognize this feeling, you felt like you were exploding with appreciation, with gratitude, adoration, passion… you’ve never felt anything like this before. it was more than infatuation with the man in front of you.

you nod with your head still in his hands, your voice barely above a whisper, “i promise.”

he smiles– taking over his entire face, his smile was contagious, he might as well have copied and pasted it onto your own cheeks. you stand there for a moment, staring at each other, his warm hands never leaving your face, but you don’t mind. you think you could stand here forever as long as he was your view.

his eyes drop to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and your breath hitches in your throat.

please do it, please do it, please do it.

“can i–”

“please.”

he leans down after a huff of amusement leaves his nose, catching your lips between his, and fuck it if you’ve ever felt emotion with any man prior to this– this was everything. your lips molded together as if your bodies were waiting for this, your body leaning forward into his, melting into his touch like no one’s skin has ever been on your own. the sand was no longer beneath your feet, the wind was no longer biting your skin, all you could feel was the heat of yunho all over you. on your cheeks, your lips, your torso, your legs– yunho was everywhere, all at once.

you didn’t think a first kiss could be so devastating. rewiring everything you thought you knew, about love, about bonds, about the fucking fireworks that appeared when it was right. this was raw, an exchanging of emotion, an act of pouring passion into one another as if the other wasn’t overflowing to begin with. everything you’re feeling must have been laying dormant somewhere inside you, buried beneath fear and decades of hiding behind the facade of a platonic friendship– this couldn’t be something that just surfaced because you’re swapping spit. not something this heavy.

when you finally broke away from each other, your face still between his palms as you stared into each other like you were the only thing visible, the only thing you could muster was a breathy, “holy shit.”

yunho laughed, which made you laugh, and he pressed his forehead against yours. his voice was ragged yet filled with relief as he said, “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that.”

“five years, i’d assume,” you tease, and you both fall into laughter again.

by the time you made it down to the picnic, you’d taken a slew of pictures already, sorting through all the foods, pouring the fruity wine, you were deep into conversation again. yunho gave you the walk-through, starting from five years ago up until now, filling you in on all of his one-sided yearning. you sat dumbfounded that you didn’t notice anything.

you talked about the night at the party, apologizing all over again, but you came to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be here right now if that didn’t happen, that was the push– you scrunched your nose when you realized matt was right.

you even went as far back as talking about his bad mood the night mingyu came over– which you chopped up to nothing but a bad mood at the time, but found out yunho had an agenda against mingyu the entire time. he was threatened because mingyu was a keeper, a sentiment you still agreed with, but you couldn’t be mad when this turn out is so much better. his open admittance of his jealousy surprised you but impressed you at the same time, not only that he could admit it, but that he could overcome it– also the fact that he knew if he complained enough you’d comply. slightly toxic? maybe, but it seemed to be in good faith, a man at a crossroads– he proved his innocence the day he told you to call him anyways, after coming to terms with your decision instead of holding you back for himself.

you talked about the future, yunho had immediately said there was no pressure on something coming out of today, which had you promptly laughing in his face. there was no way you were letting him out of your sight after today– he was yours. by the end of the discussion you weren’t necessarily official, but you were exclusively seeing each other, and when the time was right you’d take it further. this was your first date, after all.

you sat in constant conversation until the sun had far past set and the only light was from the burning fire beside you. when the chill became too much and your blanket was wrapped around your entire body, even laying over your head like a hood, you decided to call it a night, cleaning up your picnic and packing everything into his trunk.

when you were back in his car with the heat blasting, you could finally relax beside him with his hand on your leg once more, your limbs defrosting, exhaustion from the day laying over you like your blanket was just moments ago. you fell asleep against your will as soon as your eyes fluttered closed, as if you blinked and forgot the second half, the soft song playing through the speakers of his car lulling you to sleep.

he woke you up by pressing a kiss to your forehead, his car parked in your driveway, moving pieces of your hair out of your face. his voice was too awake as he said, “wake up, sleepy girl.”

not fully conscious, you looked around, the night pitch black around you, you missed when yunho left the car. you didn’t have it in you to get up– or unbuckle your seatbelt, riddled in confusion. yunho opened the door for you just as you were rubbing your eyes, still confused and not all the way conscious. he laughed at the sight, leaning into the car to unbuckle your seatbelt, helping you out of the passenger seat with his hand linked with yours.

he grabbed your record player and jacob junior from his backseat and led you up to your front door, surprisingly to an empty house– then up to your bedroom, where you slumped over your mattress, eyes closing the moment your body came in contact with the cushion.

“no sleeping yet,” he said from behind you, unboxing jacob junior and throwing him onto your bed, placing your record player on your desk. “you need to change still.”

you, with a little more consciousness, mumbled, “i don’t wanna. the cold made me sleepy.”

“i know,” he stood behind you, his hands on his hips– not that you could see him. “but you’re in your outside clothes on your bed right now.”

you groaned, pushing your body up with your arms, standing up straight so you could stretch. you turn to face yunho, still mid-stretch, “are you staying over?”

“i can stay here, yeah.”

“no,” you pointed your eyes, knowing he means he can sleep in the guest room, “are you staying in here with me?”

yunho purses his lips, “come on teens, i said i wanna do this the right way.”

this makes a devious smile crawl onto your face, your hands reaching your hips, “you’ve slept in here before, it’s the same thing. what are you afraid of? a little kissing?”

“it’s not kissing i’m afraid of,” he says under his breath, turning away from you and your wiggling eyebrows.

“come on,” you whine out, grabbing onto his back from behind him, “please? you’re warm and i’m still cold.”

he turns his head to look at you from over his shoulder, “fine, but no funny business.”

“yes sir,” you salute from behind him, a smile on your cheeks, and he shakes his head.

within twenty minutes the two of you are showered and changed into sleep clothes, you laid with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, your tv on and playing your favorite show– the intimacy of it all, the comfort, how you fell headfirst into routine, you haven’t stopped relishing in the feeling since he picked you up this afternoon.

it might have been less than a week before thanksgiving, but at least you secured a date, and with time, a boyfriend. better late than never, you supposed.

my baby is finished!!! the first story i have ever written and actually completed, i feel so accomplished right now. i hope you love yunho just as much as i do, this story is my heart n soul

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

taglist :p @chimivx @emmxxsworld @alisonyus @livixcore @skzswife @dawn-iscozy @yusalterego @velvetring00 @minvxq @moonlightgrleric @unicornwhisperer666 @sunnysidesins @hwashua-luv @hh0320 @moonl1ghtmuse

#8fd #8 first dates #jeong yunho x y/n #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #yunho x y/n #yunho x you #yunho fluff #jeong yunho fluff #yunho angst #jeong yunho angst #ateez #ateez x female reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez fluff

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darlingdaisyfarm · 5 months ago

Note

This honestly might be a downer or stupid, but I just got fired and I am having a really hard time. I just want to bury my head in Stan's chest and sob. I was wondering if you could write how the Stan and Ford might react to the reader being suddenly fired and maybe how they'd comfort them? I'm also really excited for the next chapter of your fic!

✧˚⋆ Stan & Ford supporting you when you need it most ⋆｡♡˚

oh sweetheart, im so sorry ur going through this, holy shit. just the moment i received this ask, i knew i had to write smth when ill get free time today, because i feel so sorry for you. i hope these two old men gave u even a tiny bit of comfort, please be kind to urself right now, youre gonna get through this, i promise. sending u all my love !! stay strong please 🫂🫂

STANLEY

the thing about Stan is that he gets it. he gets the feeling of being chewed up and spat out, of having doors slam in your face, of working your ass off and still being told you’re not enough. he gets the quiet humiliation, the bitterness in the back of your throat, the way your hands shake when you try to act like it doesn’t matterm

you don’t even remember how you got here. your feet must’ve carried you through the streets, past strangers whose lives weren’t just ruined, past cars honking, past buildings that still stood while the whole world inside you had collapsed.

“hey, hey. what the hell, sweetheart, breathe, alright? you’re okay, you’re right here.” his rough but worried voice reaches you when you slam mystery shack's door open, standing in the doorway with shaking hands, red-eyed.

“i got fired, Stan. j-just gone, outta nowhere. i don’t know what to do, Stan, im so lost.” your throat burns

before you can say anything else, he's opening his arms. “c'mere.” and you don't even hesitate as you crash into him like a wave, burying your face in his chest. and he holds you, one big arm wrapping around your back, the other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head

“there we go. you don’t gotta keep it all in, sweetheart.” the words hit you harder than you expect. you're so used to holding it together, to swallowing everything down, to being strong. and Stan, who’s built himself up from nothing, who’s taken every punch life threw at him and still kept standing, he’s telling you it’s okay to break.

so you do. you bury your face in his chest and cry until you’re dizzy, until your breath stutters and shakes, until all the anger and hurt and fear bleed out of you. Stanley doesn’t rush you or tell you to stop. “let it out, sweetie, s’gonna be okay.” he holds you close tightly because he’s spent his whole life holding people who needed it more than he did.

“it’s not fair,” you gasp, clutching on his clothes.

“no, it ain’t.”

“i worked so hard.”

“i know.”

“i feel like—like nothing i do is enough—”

Stan tightens his hold, pressing his chin to the top of your head. “hey. you listen to me.” his voice turns serious. “some suit in an office makin’ a crap decision got nothing to do with who you are. they're dumb. absolute morons for lettin’ you go. betcha the whole place is gonna fall apart without you because you were the best thing about that shithole. if they couldn’t see that, then screw ‘em. they lost you. not the other way around.”

you shake your head, clenching your fists. “but—“

“no buts,” he growls and then, softer: “you're not trash just ‘cause some idiots don’t know how to treat their workers. you're not worthless just ‘cause some suits decided you were expendable. you are not nothing.”

Stan pulls back to tip your chin up, making sure you’re listening. his thumb wipes a tear off your cheek. “i mean, you still got me, sweetheart. ain’t no job in the world that could change that.” he smiles genuinely at you.

you close your eyes, giving him a tiny sad smile back. you let yourself breathe, let yourself believe it, hiding your face in his chest again. Stan's grip stays strong and unshaking, shielding you from the whole world as you cry until you’re too tired, so all what you do is sob into his chest. you’re just leaning into him, exhausted, letting him hold you up.

Stan sighs, resting his cheek against your hair. “ya ever heard the story of the biggest screw-up in New Jersey?”

you sniffle. “what?”

”lemme tell ya, kid grows up in a house that don’t want him. gets kicked out. loses every job he ever had. ends up in a broken-down shack in the middle of nowhere. total loser.”

you shift against him. “Stan—“

“but he keeps goin’. and somehow, somehow, that dumbass loser ends up with people who love him. ends up holdin’ someone who needs it. ends up tellin’ the best damn person he’s ever met that they’re gonna be okay.”

he lets you lean into him again, lets you breathe him in, lets you stay as long as you need. tells you stories about all the bosses he’s scammed just to make you laugh.

at some point, when the tears have slowed and the weight in your chest isn’t crushing anymore, Stan ruffles your hair and leans back, arms crossed.

“y’know, i could use an extra set of hands around the shack.“

you blink up at him, sniffing. “what? you. . .you want me to work here?”

“yeah, id rather have someone i actually like workin’ here instead of hiring some random kid who’s just gonna rob me blind.” his usual gruff tone is back, but his gaze is what speaks louder, soft and certain, making it obvious that you belong here.

you open your mouth, but he cuts in, pointing a finger at you. “and before ya say some crap about not bein’ good enough or whatever, shut up. i’m the boss, i decide who’s good enough, and i say it’s you.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your nose. “wow, such a heartfelt offer.”

he smirks. “hey, that’s as heartfelt as it gets, sweetheart. but seriously. think about it, okay? i got a spot for ya.” Stanley is not just offering a job for you, he’s offering a place, a place where you’re wanted, where you’re needed, where you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.

you take a deep breath, feeling lighter for the first time all day. “yeah. yeah, i’ll think about it.”

“good,” Stan smiles and ruffles your hair again. “now, wanna eat somethin’? watch a dumb movie? beat me at cards? or you want me to egg their car?” about the last thing, he's joking, probably. but if you say yes, you know he’ll do it.

STANFORD

Ford finds you sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed on the surface, face buried in them. you haven’t moved and spoken in a while, just sat there, motionless, like a puppet with the strings cut.

he clears his throat, stepping closer. “i, ah. noticed you didn’t come in for dinner.”

you don’t respond. his brows knit together, concern creasing his forehead. he takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table. “would you like to talk about it?”

for a moment, nothing. then, muffled: “i got fired.” slips from your mouth. so that's what happened. Ford doesn’t say oh. doesn’t say im sorry. doesn’t say what happened? he understands you because Ford Pines knows what it is to be discarded. he knows what it is to dedicate yourself to something, only to be told you are wrong. to be shoved out, unmoored, drifting in the space between who you thought you were and who they’ve decided you are now.

he knows what it is to look down at his hands and wonder if they are still meant to build something. after being betrayed.

he frowns thoughtfully. “that was. . . rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

you nod weakly. Ford exhales through his nose, gaze sharpening, analyzing. you. your sadness. the whole situation.

“it must feel unfair.“ he doesn’t just acknowledge the loss, but the injustice of it. and it makes your throat close up.

you lift your head slightly, looking at his face. “it- it is. i tried so hard. i put so much effort into that stupid job, and now it’s just—just gone.”

Ford hums. “tell me something.” he leans forward, putting elbows on the table. “do you think your value was in the work you did?”

you blink at him, but he doesn't even let you answer. “because if that were the case, then the moment you lost that job, you would have lost all worth as a person. but that’s not true, is it?” his voice is always so calm, full of absolute certainty.

you shake your head slowly, unsurely and Ford nods, satisfied. then, after a brief pause, he stands. “wait here” you don’t have the energy to question him. you just sit, staring blankly at the tabletop, until he returns a moment later with a notebook and pen.

he places them in front of you.

you glance up, confused. “what’s this for?”

Ford takes his seat again, tapping a finger against the cover. “do me a favor, darling. write down five things about yourself that have nothing to do with your job.”

your face looks tired and skeptical. you stare at the paper. “Ford, i—“

“anything,” he says softly, smiling at you. “everything. what you love. what you’re good at. what excites you, what makes you feel something. what matters to you.”

your fingers tighten around the pen. at first, you don’t know where to start. but Ford doesn’t rush you, just patiently sits beside you.

so you write. you write about the things that make you you. and at first, it feels stupid and awkward. it starts small, your favorite books, your favorite songs, the way you love thunderstorms, the way you always make extra coffee just in case someone else wants some.

but then it gets bigger. the things you’ve created. the things you’ve learned. the times you were kind when no one was looking. the people who love you, who see you. the way you keep going, even when it’s hard

Ford watches as you write, nodding approvingly at each entry.

“now tell me: did losing your job take any of that away?”

you stare at the words. the little pieces of yourself you hadn’t even thought about in the wake of everything. softly, you shake your head

Ford’s expression gentles. “then you’re still you. and you’re still worth just as much as you were yesterday. because no job, no institution, no single event defines you.” you swallow hard. Fords voice drops lower. “you are more than what you do, more than what you produce, more than what some company decides you’re worth. you are your thoughts. your curiosity. your kindness.” he gestures to the list. “you are all of this and nothing can take that from you.”

your breath wobbles. Ford’s gaze softens further. “come here, sweetheart.“ you hesitate but only for a second, then stand and he meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you. and Ford isn’t Stanley, isn’t someone used to giving big, open, thoughtless affection. but what he lacks in ease, he makes up for in intent.

because he means this. his big hand moves up and down your back slowly. “you’re not alone in this,” he murmurs into your hair. “we’ll figure something out. and until then. . . you are still extraordinary.“ his voice is so certain, and suddenly you don’t feel quite as lost.

“th-thank you” you bury your face in his sweater, hands gripping his sleeves

“and don’t let anyone ever tell you you aren’t smart or brave or worthy enough.”

you stay there a while. until Ford gives your shoulder one last squeeze and pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “now. i assume you haven’t eaten?”

you smile at him, shaking your head. “no, wasn't in the mood.“

“come, sweetheart, let’s fix that.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #stan pines smut #ford pines smut #stanley pines #stanford pines headcanons #gravity falls fanfiction #stan pines x you #ford pines x you

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white-poppie · 4 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ⎯⎯⎯ s.gojo x fem!reader (part 3/3)

SYNOPSIS — Your life was a mausoleum of sickening memories until light found you again at the end of the bleak tunnel, peering through his big cerulean eyes. Spitfires vanishing till you found your everlasting effervescent flame. And that's how it ends, because you still have your youth.

💿 — Mia and Sebastian's theme from La-la land

TW —breastfeeding, pregnancy, post-partum, grief, loss, crying (obv), jealousy.

WC — 5k

Series masterlist Moon Child ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Now playing: Part 3

“Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.” He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remain.

The next few minutes go by Satoru holding you to his chest, silently as you sob. Now he’s sitting in the front seat of his car, the tinted windows drawn up as he regardless looks outside cautiously while you feed a hungry Tsukiko.

Satoru’s gaze falls to rear mirror, his eyes briefly catching your tender expression when you look at Tsuki as she stays latched to you and an inexplicable warmth erupts in his chest. He cranks up the AC silently, noticing you’re sweating a bit while feeding her.

You can’t help but smile as he turns up the AC, he notices these little things, the things Suguru should have been here for.

You sigh and lean on the headrest of the car, the smell of the faux leather making your head pound harder after crying. Tsuki suckles with soft whimpers, her face covered by your t-shirt. "It’s strange isn't it?" You murmur. "You are doing few of things Suguru was supposed to be doing for his daughter..."

He’s quiet for a long moment before he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s his loss. He missed out.”

You look out of the window, tears pricking in your eyes yet again. Your eyes burn from crying, yet it seems as though gotten used to it, gotten yused to the uncomfortable warmth of excessive tears burning down your eyes.

You tell yourself you’ve gotten immune to heartbreak but image of Suguru tenderly holding Tsuki. His eyes filled with so much regret and pain like he would turn around everything if he could. It’s burned in your head. “I’m so tired, Satoru…” you whisper.

He’s quiet as he listens to you speak, his heart breaking as he hears the way your voice cracks again and how your words carry such a sense of exhaustion and pain, like you’ve been carrying burden that no one could understand. You’re not the same person that you were when you were just shy of seventeen. You’re not the same girl that he used to know at sixteen and he knows that better than anyone else..

"I feel so lost- I no longer know what I am working for. There is this anger that bubbles in me, This vile feeling of resentment towards everyone, everything...hell sometimes even towards Tsuki." You choke, "I feel so selfish for thinking all this when I have a sweet daughter. I hate myself that sometimes my mind conjures up this feeling of anger and blames this little girl who has no fault. I love her so much, but I can't help these sudden feelings."

His heart aches at the way you blame yourself, it all just feels so unfair. It feels…cruel. He can do nothing but sit here and listen to you talk it all out because you so clearly feel suffocated like you’re drowning.

"When he told me he was leaving the Jujutsu society. It felt as though my heart was being ripped apart, like I would stop breathing without him. I dug my nails into him. Clung to him that entire night. I got a call from Shoko in the morning when he had gone rogue and filled so many people. I wanted to rip my skin apart yet not wash the flesh he had touched" You sob viscerally, lowering your head in shame.

At times, it felt like you were living a bitter love song. Penelope unthreading the tapestry, grieving, loyal to gone Odysseus. Yet, ambivalent. Somedays, you unthread the tapestry, other days you beg Artemis to end it instead.

He can’t stop the feeling of pure agony bubbling in his chest, his throat dry. Your grief feels so real. So tangible. You’ve lost yourself to him. A part of you must have still been hoping he would come back, as foolish as that hope was. He reaches out to gently take your hand in his. “It’s okay…it’s not your fault.”

You gulp, wiping your tears with your trembling hands upon realising Tsukuba is done feeding, you fix your shirt, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. Her litttle features relaxed into a blissful expression after having her fill, her pouty pink lips making you smile despite your sorrows.

“Can I hold her?” Satoru asks suddenly hesitantly. The corners of his eyebrows upturned and furrowed almost adorably.

"You are asking as if you weren't the first one to hold her in the hospital." You croak out humourlessly and hand her to him and shift in the front seat beside him.

His face softens as a small smile spreads across his lips and he gives off a quiet breathy chuckle as he sees the way your shoulders soften and the small, weary smile that spreads across your face as you hand him the baby. His eyes are so gentle and loving as he carefully takes Tsuki and cradles her against his chest. The way he’s holding her, it’s so natural - as if he was born to be a father.

Your heart feels so heavy at the scene. Its supposed to be Suguru...Its supposed to be Suguru holding Tsukiko, not Satoru. But there's this swell of affection when you look at him cradle her. She's so loved...

"She looks so tiny against you." You whisper, The way they look like yin and yang makes your breath hitch. Tsuki with her black her and eyes and Satoru with his white hair and blue eyes. Suguru and Satoru—Yin and Yang—the strongest sorcerers.

His lips quirk up in a soft smile as he gently pulls Tsuki just a bit closer to his chest, his hand gently wrapping around the back of her head in a tender hold. “She really is a tiny little thing, isn’t she?” he whispers right back as he continues to softly stroke his hand across her back. “She’s so precious and fragile, like a baby bird.”

“”It’s both a blessing and a curse that she looks exactly like him.” You whisper looking at his strong arms hold the baby.

Satoru looks at you, her eyes softening with a mix of pity and affection for the child in his arms. “She really is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

Your shoulders relax you take in a shaky breath, your head pounding like a those drums from from Physical education classes that banged rhythmically. Sighing you raise your legs up to your chest and lean the seat back.

The sight of you curled up in the passenger seat of his car, the car which, you’ve just about proclaimed as your property is so domestic to him that it hurts a little bit. “You’re tired,” he says softly as he continues to cradle Tsuki against his chest.

"Mhm." You nod as you look at him, eyes fluttering. "You should give her here or you won't be able to drive."

He lets out a sigh as he reaches over to gently buckle her into her baby carrier against you. His breath stutters as his fingers brush against your arms and he finds himself gazing into your eyes before gulping and drawing back.“She’s just so tiny and cute and precious, I just don’t want to let her go.” He mutters, his voice slightly deeper than intended.

You chuckle and carefully cradle her neck so she’s leaning against your chest "She's a very charming little girl." You press a kiss to her forehead.

He watches silently as your breaths even out in a semi- lucid state before he whisper to himself in response. “Just like her pretty mama.” He utters and starts to drive to your house.

The smell in the car is saccharine, your vanilla perfume, and the oddly sweet smell that comes from babies; combined with a heady mix of breast milk and baby products.

Tsukiko and you are settled and curled into his front seat as if you belong here. It's so natural. To think Satoru is being the haven Suguru could never be, he's picking up cracks of you shattered, broken heart; you don't know what to call it, but it feels right. Unclear, whether it’s pity or friendship that makes him care so much for the girl and the kid his best friend abandoned.

You arrive back at you place as he helps you out of the car. You look at Satoru with heavy eyes, "Come in, I'll make tea." you say with a tired smile.

Initially, he thinks of rejecting, yet seeing your swollen red eyes and that weary slouch of your shoulder blades; he surrenders.

The little apartment that's less of a home but a sanctuary, its a cute tapestry of memories. Baby products are neatly kept, such as cribs, baby toys, polaroids of the baby, plants, and, in progress, a crochet baby hat on the couch and adorable little trinkets around.

But to you, as night comes it becomes a glum, cold sanctuary for the most part-- filled with reminders of Suguru. Everywhere. His large shoes were on the front door, his coat was on the rack, his picture with me was on the fridge, and his cologne was on the dresser. Almost everything of his is untouched the way it was, despite everything, you don't have the strength to throw out his things the same way he threw you out of his life.

The more his gaze lingers, his mind immediately drifts to the last time he came here; when Suguru was in your life. The house reeks of his memories. The place doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a museum that’s dedicated to the relationship you had with Suguru, almost like a shrine. The longer he looks at it, the more his chest aches. When he speaks, it comes out as a barely audible whisper. “Y/N...”

"Hmm?" You mutter slowly, tucking Tsuki in her crib. You walk back into the kitchen, your house sandals dragging across the marble flooring.

“Can I just…hug you for a second?” he whispers.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, pausing midway while putting the pan on the stove. "Where did that come from?" You ask confused, but your voice softens immediately, turning into a whisper by the end of the sentence.

"I just…want to hug you right now.” he says in a tender, whispery voice. “You look like you need it.”

You gulp, keeping the pan down and wrapping your arms around him he leans down, his arms wrapping around your waist. A shaky breath leaves your throat at how warm he feels, your throat constricting and nose and cheeks feeling warmer. You close your eyes, a silent tear rolling down your cheek.

His arms slowly snake around your waist as he wraps you in, pulling you to his chest, cradling your soft, exhausted body and holding you against his larger, firm form. His eyes close as he feels you shaking in his arms, his embrace so tender that it hurts. “It’s okay,” he whispers softly to you. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Your chest aches at how comforting his embrace feels. You are suddenly reminded of the way Suguru used to hug you- but for the first time, I push the thought of Suguru away quickly. It’s Satoru in front of you, not Suguru.

"I’ve got you,” he murmurs right up against your ear. “I’ve got you.” He lifts his hand to brush his fingers across your hair, his fingers running across your scalp.

You feel my heart beat faster inexplicably as you raise your head up to look at him. “Satoru, I need your help.” You whisper out as you gulp, briefly closing your eyes.

“Help me…help throw his things away please, I don’t have the strength to do it alone. it’s so haunting." You choke, "I want to move on, I want get better, in a more stable mental place for Tsuki, and I can’t do that with these reminders of him everywhere…” You vent out in one breath.

“You really…want to throw away all of his things?” He asks, his voice a mix of hurt, and relief.

“No.” You reply immediately, “but what other way is there? I don’t want Tsuki to grow up with me being an emotional wreck over a man who abandoned us."

Your eyes fall over to the tiny toddler in the crib, unable to peel your eyes from the beautiful girl.

"I want to keep everything of his, to look at them and grieve for a man who’s alive. I want to keep that damn scarf of his, I don't have the strength to remove his picture from my wallpaper, and his pillow that I sprayed with his perfume and hugged to sleep during pregnancy because his smell calmed me during morning sickness. It’s pathetic I know…but how long am I going to hold on?” You choke up, tears rolling down my eyes.

He feels his breath hitch at your words. He slowly lowers his head to rest his forehead gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in slowly and trembles slightly as he gently pulls you into him, his breath trembling and catching in his throat again. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispers in a voice broken with emotion. “Oh sweetheart…”

For a second he wants to gather all of Suguru's things and keep them for himself on the other hand he wants to shatter everything. He's been like the same paradoxical situation as you, day in and day out. He's been a hypocrite. Telling you to move on when he could not get over his best friend. The only person he could ever confide in without being superficial, the only one who cared.

He's aching, just as much as you are. And he aches even more to see his first love so terribly broken apart by his best friend.

"I want us to heal, 'Toru." You mutter. "All of us: Me, you and Shoko. Of course the pain can never truly be gone, but we can't let our lives stagnant like this." You whisper, cupping his face in your palms, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare into his cerulean eyes.

He feels his heart skip several beats in his chest as he feels your soft, warm palms gently cupping his face, your eyes peering into his. He takes in a slow, shuddery breath and swallows again in an attempt to get rid of the aching feeling in his chest - the aching he feels for you.

His eyes glance over towards the crib, seeing the small infant that ties you to his best friend in the most undeniable way that he could never possibly compete, yet she draws him and you closer than ever. From the day he laid his eyes on her, he loved her.

He raises his hand slowly and gently rests it over one of the ones that are cupping his face, his fingers intertwining with yours. He holds your gaze for a long moment in silence, just trying to calm the thundering of his heart in his chest. He let his feelings sit in the backseat when you and Suguru started dating. It hurt, but the ache soon simmered and he accepted reality, he knew his feelings had never left and yet it didn't feel hard to think otherwise. Hell, he was ready to be Suguru's best man. He's finally letting himself be selfish.

"Toru," You breathe out shakily, unsure why you uttered his name like so. This feels like the precipice, the intermission of the movie of your life, right at the climax. These inexplicable feelings brewing in your heart are so heavy. You feel guilty, for letting yourself feel this way, for letting yourself move on-- to develop an affection beyond friendship for Suguru's best friend and your friend.

His heart skips a beat at the way you breathed out his name like so. It almost sounds like a plea, almost like a desperate beg. Toru. It never felt this good, never felt this right, for you to say his name like that. It's so good to hear the way his name sounds when it leaves your lips, your lips that he has never once touched.

His throat aches as he leans down and captures your lips against his own he's wanted this for so long. For so so long he's ached for you. Satoru knows its wrong, you're both vulnerable, but he feels like he would break and sob like a child if he doesn't embrace you. If he can't love you. Its physically impossible for him to control his affection anymore. His nose is red, eyes burning.

A gasp leaves you as you freeze, your fingers clenching into fists. You stand unable to react, frozen still. Your heart beats in a sickly rhythm at the confusion swirling in your chest.

He swallows thickly and instantly pulls back, his eyes wide as he looks into your shocked expression. He takes in a shuddery, shaky breath. He's a idiot, he's an absolute idiot. He knows you don't feel that way about him, knows you're still broken over Suguru, and yet he still kissed you.

"I-" You stutter, your heart shattering at his slightly red eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry..." You breathe out, unable to utter anything else. You want to pull him in again, to kiss him with the same tenderness. His glassy eyes make you sick, but you are not sure you can do this to him, not when you are so conflicted about your feelings...he deserves better than that.

He shakes his head adamantly, his hands trembling slightly as he gently reaches up to place them on your shoulders to keep you at a distance. He doesn’t want your pity. He can’t take your pity.

"You don’t—" Satoru whispers shakily, his eyes still burning. "You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Please, don’t pity me because I feel this way for you."

"I don't-- I don't pity you 'Toru, not a bit. But you are not a replacement, I never want you to feel like that. I am- there is so much to heal in my heart, I don't think I can love anymore. I am so damn scared after all that I went through." You breathe out reaching to him hesitantly. "You deserve better than whatever mess I am right now."

His heart shatters even more as he feels the way that you demean yourself so harshly - you have no idea how much you're worth. You have no idea how many times he's had to restrain himself from kissing you, holding you, loving you - so many times he's had to tell himself that he has no right to try and love someone that's not his. But his heart is a fragile, weak thing in the face of your sorrow.

"Your daughter needs you," he whispers, his voice cracking a bit. "You're amazing.

“Would you give me time to heal Toru? For myself? For Tsuki? Maybe even for us.” You whisper with a soft voice. “I want to reclaim myself, I’ve lost that ambitious girl somewhere, I want to get her back before I can ever try to find love again.”

6 months pass by in a blink of an eye, wasn't she born yesterday? Tsuki's already 8 months old, its a bittersweet feeling. Yet somehow when you think of the times your blood used to run cold when someone mentioned Suguru when you trying to heal; it reminds you how long the year really was.

Those six months were a lifetime for you and Satoru too. He was there all along, for you and Tsuki. He watched you grow and change - every day, every moment, he witnessed the way you healed and slowly came back to yourself. And with each day that passed, the more that he found himself completely and hopelessly in love with you.

You smile, wrapping the scarf around Tsuki as she sits in her stroller, wide-eyed, observing her mama dressed up differently. A red, velvet a line dress. It feel so weird to wear old clothes again, like watching yourself in your middle school yearbook pictures, cringing at how you looked, but feeling warm as you remember how truly happy you were.

You gulp, fixing your hair for the nth time, waiting for Satoru to pick you. You roam nervously in the apartment, wound like a spinning top and you jump when the bell rings.

You quickly walk up to the door, there he stands in his glory, in a tailored Italian suit, an Armani watch, his fluffy white hair parted at the side with a bouquet of peonies in his nimble hands.

And he freezes just as you do, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down trying ti muster, suave words of praise, but nothing leaves his starstruck self.

“You look so handsome, Toru.” You say fondly.

He slowly holds out the bouquet of peonies for you as his eyes scan over you again. His voice feels weak, barely a whisper as he speaks to you. "Look who's talking."

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” You say taking a sniff of the fragrant flowers. Your heart feels warm, despite the chill in the air; warm toasted bread with sweet milk tea in the sheets, an odd sense of euphoric comforting.

"Just beautiful things for a beautiful woman." He says, finally with his flirtatious grin which causes you to roll your eyes.

You chuckle and look over at Tsuki. “Let’s wait for Shoko” It’s the first time she’d be away from you, she’s too small, too tiny, it makes you anxious for her to be anywhere except in front of your eyes. This is the first time you've ever been apart from the infant who's been attached to your hip since she was born.

"Shoko's a doctor, she'll take good care of her. It's just for a few hours, sweetheart." He says, interrupting your thoughts.

Soon enough, the bell rings, and the tired woman makes her way in. You go over the same things, same scenarios multiple times until you feel relieved and Shoko on the other hand, exasperated.

"And for the love of god don't smoke around her," you say and finally hug her. "Thank you for doing this Shoko."

Shoko freezes as you suddenly hug her; for a moment, she feels as though her eyes are getting bleary after seeing you smile so brightly after so long. "All good..." She murmurs, unknowingly tightening her grip around you.

"Let's go," you whisper to Satoru, holding out your hand. For a few seconds, he just stands still, unable to form a coherent emotion at the sight of your hand extended to reach his. Gulping he intertwines his large fingers into your palm. the path to his car feels sacred, intimate; he feels as though he's holding you as you walk down the aisle to him. It's an exaggerated, delusional reverie that makes his chest all tight.

The ride towards the restaurant is mostly silent, with you looking out the window and watching as the world passes by like a blur. Satoru steals a few quick glances at you every now and then as he drives, feeling the familiar ache in his chest everytime he looks at you in your beautiful, beautiful red dress.

"You look beautiful, you know that?" He whispers, his voice hushed almost as if he's afraid if he speaks too loudly, the moment will be shattered.

Your eyes soften at his reverential tone, you tilt my head, staring at him. "You've told," you answer. "But I like hearing you say it."

"I'll say it till you get sick of it," he says with a soft chuckle, his bright cerulean eyes undoing all defenses, all inhibitions. They shine so bright, like stars.

"I don't think I can ever get sick of it," You whisper. It's peaceful, you realise. Not the wild, passionate sort of love you experienced with Suguru, where the flame was brightest before it blew. But this feels like a soft light, whispering in the dark, ebbing the strongest shadows away. It draws you in like a moth to flame. This tender light ignites my very being from the dull, colourless life you were trapped in. You never realised that what you wanted was warmth; you hunted it in a spitfire, but found it in an everlasting flame.

His heart skips a beat at your soft, but honest words. The car slows down as the light turns red, and he takes the opportunity to take a good a long look at you. You are sirenesque, it takes his breath away. He finds himself leaning closer, red lights of the signal reflecting off his face. The soft jazz he put to sound fancy is all static under your gaze. He is all static under your gaze.

Both of you flinch as a car behind you honks, pulling the two of you out of your reverie. You realise the light has already turned green and clear you throat.

He lets out a soft sound before he starts driving again, looking ahead at the road to distract himself from the way his heart still pounds in his chest.

The restaurant comes into view as he parks the car with a sigh.

You smile as he helps you out of the car. It's a fancy restaurant, the kind you'd see in old Hollywood movies where the main characters take the heroine and a cute song starts playing. You wait for your orders, and there's an awkward silence; neither of you speak for a while. A mix of embarrassment and nervousness blended in with being clueless about what to talk about.

"So...I was thinking," he begins, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as he fiddles with his fingers. There is a moment of hesitation as he looks up at you for a second, his heart skipping a beat at your calm expression. He gulps and decides to say it, his words leaving him in a low murmur - barely above a whisper. "Wanna dance?"

"Dance?" You question your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look around and then back at him as if to question, 'here?'

He nods as his nervousness melts away into a small, genuine, bashful smile as he stands up and gently extends his hand towards you from across the table. "Yeah...dance." He mutter, his heart feeling a bit lighter at your innocent question.

He looks at the small dance floor in the restaurant, not even a whole dozen couples dancing on it. "Just one song."

"Alright, until the food comes in." You smile tenderly and take his hand as the two of you walk to the small wooden flooring. You look up at him as he wraps his hand on your waist, another interlacing with yours. And the song plays, ironically enough, Mia and Sebastian's theme from Lalaland, and you roll your eyes. it's a fancy restaurant; they should at least play jazz or something. Nonetheless, you sigh and just look into his cerulean eyes, and your heart pounds in your ribcage.

He can't stop the way that a small chuckle leaves him at your eye roll. He is in utter bliss in this moment, being so much closer, so much more intimate than he'd been with you in ages: everything around them feels so surreal.

You two dance at first, for a few minutes, a sophisticated pair dance before the two of you just sway, eyes peering intently into each other. The light is dull, dim, centered just at the floor, but nothing shines brighter than his hopeful, loving eyes, and you can't help but feel like you are melting as he holds you in, swaying to the music.

He holds onto you as tightly as he can, his eyes never leaving yours, his breaths growing more labored with each passing second. He can't help but be utterly enamored by you. He can just barely hear his own voice over the sound of his own rapidly beating heart. "I love you."

Your eyebrows furrow at his admission again, and you can't help but huff out a fond chuckle. He's so sincere, despite all, despite how torn you were, despite how you had hurt everyone, including yourself. He's been there. He's been there and made you realise you don't have to beg for someone's love. It's not transactional as it was with Suguru. "I've made you wait for so long, haven't I?" You whisper, your eyes a little bleary looking at him.

The corners of his eyes crinkle with your huffed chuckle. He smiles softly as you speak, his hand on your waist gently caressing your body lovingly. He smiles and reaches his hand up to caress your soft cheek, gently stroking your skin with the rough pads of his fingers.

"Forever." He mutters, his own eyes slightly glossing over as he looks at you. "You could've made me wait forever, and I still would've waited."

You wrap your arms tighter around him and lean up to kiss him, eyes fluttering close. He tastes like mint; its sweet, and it soothes you so. You let out a shaky breath, and he leans in and kisses you tenderly at first, but then with an adolescent vigour that has you dipping in his arms.

You can't help but giggle at his excitement, somehow, the sound gets him to tone it down, tender and soft, his fingers shaky. You part away to breathe and chuckle fondly. "You've got lipstick on your lips." You shake your head and wipe his lips clean.

"We still have a dance to finish," You say as I keep your hand back on his shoulder, and start to sway, laughing as he spins you around

Outside the restaurant after a late night tussle of the girls begging for icecream and him giving in, Suguru walks with Nanako and Mimiko. Their little hands holding the ice cream he brought, trying to not make it drip.

"Geto-sama, isn't she the woman in the photo frame?" Mimiko points out cluelessly to through the glass to you and Satoru dancing. A woman she's only ever seen through the photo frame he keeps close to him, fondly smiling at the,mystery woman that the twins love to inquire about.

"Hmm...?"

Suguru looks towards the glass, and it takes a few seconds for him to process what he sees. He sighs. It's hard to breathe, but you look so radiant it's like life is back in you. It's so different from when he last saw you six months ago in the grocery store. You looked like your world was crumbling down; you were tired, depressed and alone with his daughter you gave birth to. "Yeah." He says with a smile, his voice heavy.

"That's her."

He keeps looking at you, his smile still on his face as he stares at the sight of the two of you on the dance floor. He can't explain the feeling he has in his heart: hollow and heavy, a feeling of losing something he had and messed up so terribly. The feeling of watching you fall in love with someone else, while he still is in love with you.

But this is different. He looks at your smiling face now, and all he can feel is a strange sense of peace. His chest feels tight, an inexplicable pang of nostalgia and loss as he watches you dance with his best friend, but the pain he feels in his chest is replaced with a strange sense of acceptance.

It feels nostalgic, you're dancing with Satoru the way you used to with him, old jazz music playing as you stood on his feet and he swayed you around, sneaking kisses on your soft lips, your arms wrapped around him. But just as he remembers these memories, he is reminded of what become of your relationship.

It hurts like crazy but still doesn't compare to the soul-crushing guilt he felt when he saw your in the grocery store with Tsukiko, the baby of his love that he left unknowingly and despite knowing her existence, he was far too gone to step up. All he can remember is the utter agony you held in your eyes when you stood with that little infant so tired, so terrified. He made you go through hell.

The two of you finally stop with the dance. You glance away for a second and freeze as your eyes fall onto Suguru. Your lips part, feeling these conflicting, wretched emotions of anger and bitterness.

He is stoic before he breaks into a smile, a content, tired smile. The smile you give to someone, a goodbye, a good-luck, a smile of nostalgia and well-wish.

You breathe out as if you feel a burden off you existence, your lips twitching up to a smile too.

He looks at you and then glances at the girls, and something in him just wants to approach and hug you so tightly, ask for forgiveness and stay like this, all of you together again.

And yet, when your lips twitch into a smile at him, he smiles back, lifting up his hand to wave softly before walking away.

Life didn't end when he left, though it seemed like it would. Sometimes, we find escapes closest to us, but grief makes us blind. Satoru and Shoko were there to help, but drowning in the agony of loss you didn't find the strength to reach. The point is, no one can help you, unless you want to help yourself.

And once its over, one day you'll find yourself at crossroads with your past again. And its then you'll have courage to look it in the eye and smile, because that's how it goes:

Aches of present become memories of past:

a testament of Our Youth.

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mofongomuncher · 6 months ago

Text

𝙃𝙚𝙧 (PT 2)

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and Reader ¡

The days following their argument were long, stretching into what felt like an eternity. Y/N tried to keep her distance, give him time to breathe, but every moment apart only deepened the chasm between them. It wasn’t just Ekko anymore—it was.

It was jinx

Every time she thought about her, Y/N could feel her blood boil, could feel the growing resentment bubbling beneath her skin. It wasn't rational, she knew that. Ekko had said it himself—Jinx wasn't the same person she once was, that she wasn't even the same person anymore.

But it didn't matter. The truth was, Y/N was starting to hate her. She hated the way Jinx still haunted Ekko, the way she lingered in his every thought, in every word he spoke.

She wasn't stupid. She had seen the way Ekko's face softened whenever Jinx was mentioned, the way his voice trembled with guilt and regret. She could feel it—a constant reminder that he wasn't fully hers. Not while Jinx was still there, buried deep inside his heart.

Y/N didn't even want to think about what they had gone through. The loss, the violence, the twisted game Jinx had played on that ship. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory of the Firelights' death toll flashed before her—the way Jinx had obliterated their lives, the way Ekko had carried the weight of that destruction like a curse.

And he had the nerve to say those things to her.

To attack her and not Jinx.

The resentment festered, a dark seed growing in her chest. It twisted the memories of Ekko's smile, his touch, and his promises, turning them into something bitter. Y/N had given so much of herself to him, only to feel like she was always going to be second place. Everything was a lie.

All of it.

The voices that once whispered assurances now screamed in fury.

Why wasn't she enough?

Y/N walked the streets of Zaun, the lights from the neon signs flickering and buzzing around her. The night air felt cold against her skin, her steps were heavy, like each movement took more energy than the last.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something, anything, just to feel something other than the ache that seemed to consume her. But all she could do was walk, lost in her own thoughts, drifting through the world without really being a part of it.

The Last Drop was always there when she needed it. The familiar clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation, the smoky air—it all felt like a distant memory of better times, of times when she could forget about the weight of her world.

She wasn't there for fun. She wasn't there to be social. She was there because she needed to disappear, even for just a little while.

She pushed through the door, the warmth of the bar greeting her, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The usual faces were scattered around the dimly lit room...But.

Her eyes immediately landed on the corner booth. There was a man sitting there, Sipping a drink, his posture stiff, his face drawn in frustration. He didn't belong to the usual crowd of drunks and gamblers that populated the bar. There was something different about him—something that made her pause for a second.

She could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped his glass as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. She didn't know why, but she felt...drawn to him.

With a deep breath, Y/N made her way to the bar, ordering something strong to quiet the storm inside her. But she couldn't stop glancing toward the man in the corner. His energy was familiar in some way, she wasn't sure what possessed her, but she found herself walking over to his booth—taking the seat across from him without asking.

He didn't even look up when she sat down, his gaze fixated on the swirling liquid in his glass.

"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world huh..." Y/N said, her eyes studying him carefully.

The man's eyes flickered briefly toward her before he sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand. "Maybe I am.." he muttered, his voice. "Isn't that how it goes though? You give everything, and it's just...still not enough."

Y/N tilted her head, her heart skipping a beat all of sudden. She had never met this man, but those words hit her like a punch to the gut.

She swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to overtake her. "Ye—yeah..." she replied softly. "You do everything you can for someone, and you still end up feeling like you were never really part of their life. Like they were just passing time until something better came along."

The man turned his gaze toward her then, studying her face with a strange mix of curiosity and recognition. "Sounds like you know exactly what I'm talking about, huh..." he said, his voice softer now, the walls around him crumbling just a little bit.

Y/N forced a small, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well... I guess I know the feeling all too well. Thought I was helping someone, thought I was worth something to them. Turns out, I was just the backup. The second choice."

The man's eyes softened, and for a moment, Y/N could see the pain in them, the weariness that matched her own. He leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, lost in thought.

"You ever wonder if you're the one who's wrong? Like...maybe you're the one who's been selfish this whole time, thinking you were the one who should be chosen?"

Y/N stiffened at the question. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean...." he continued, his gaze steady on her, "....maybe they had their reasons. Maybe you weren't the one they were supposed to be with. Maybe they had their own battles, their own reasons for making the choices they did."

Y/N clenched her jaw, the anger rising again.

"It doesn't matter. They chose someone else, and that's all that matters. I gave everything to them, and that still wasn't enough."

The man studied her carefully, his brow furrowed. "You're angry because you didn't get what you wanted....But sometimes, what you want isn't the best thing for you. Sometimes, letting go...is the only thing that can set you free."

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There was a truth in them—one that was hard to face, but so impossible to ignore. She had been so consumed with wanting Ekko, with trying to prove that she was the one who mattered, that she hadn't stopped to think about what was best for her.

"Maybe..." she muttered, her voice distant now, lost in the realization. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to let go."

The man offered her a small, understanding smile. "I know It's never easy, but sometimes...holding on to something that's already gone only makes it harder to move forward. You can't keep fighting for someone who's not fighting for you."

Y/N looked down at her drink, the truth settling heavily in her chest. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew.

he was right.

"Guess we're both just in the same boat right now huh?" she said, her voice softer now.

He chuckled, a quiet, dry laugh."Yeah. I guess we are."

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. A shared pain, a shared loss, and perhaps, a glimmer of hope that they might both find a way to heal. The quiet was heavy, yet somehow comfortable, as though their presence alone was enough to ease the weight of the world for just a while.

The man sitting across from her had a quiet kind of beauty, the kind that spoke of sadness but also strength. His face was striking, with chiseled features that seemed sculpted by time and hardship. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and full lips that had a softness to them, as if the weight of the world hadn't completely hardened him. His dark brown eyes held so much depth, a sadness that she could relate to, yet there was a quiet warmth in them, as though he carried his own story and understood hers without needing to ask.

His skin, a rich hue of warm caramel, seemed to glow faintly under the dim light of the room, and his hair was dark and unruly, falling just above his eyebrows in waves. There was something about him—something raw and real—that made it impossible to look away.

"You know." he said quietly, looking at her with those intense eyes. "Healing... healing is possible." His voice was steady, a gentle reassurance that seemed to cut through the fog of her own doubts.

"You're stronger than you think. You've been through more than most people ever will, and you're still here. That means something."

Y/N swallowed, feeling a weight lift in her chest at his words. There was something about the way he looked at her, as if he truly saw her, not just the surface but the person beneath the layers of hurt. It made her feel... lighter, in a way. It made her feel like she wasn't as alone as she had thought.

But as quickly as it had begun, the moment seemed to come to an end. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate but soft, like he was giving her space to breathe. "I should head out now...it's getting late." he said, his voice gentle. "I'm Levi, by the way. It was really good talking to you...I hope... I hope you find peace."

Y/N nodded, her heart stirring with sadness.

"I'm Y/N." she whispered, her voice a little stronger than she had expected. "Thank you, Levi. For everything...really."

Levi offered her one last smile, a sad but sincere one, before turning to leave.

Y/N was left sitting there, the weight of the moment settling on her chest. She didn't know what it was about Levi or why their brief exchange had felt so significant. But as she sat there, she realized something—something small but important.

Healing.

Y/N stormed out of the Last Drop, her mind now a whirlwind of frustration, confusion, and anger. The conversation with Levi, though brief, had rattled her in ways she wasn't prepared for. His words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the things she wasn't ready to hear. Things about moving on, about not letting the past define her.

But how could she let go when every step forward felt like a push to forget everything she'd ever cared about?

She needed to release the pressure building in her chest—the tightness in her throat, the weight pressing down on her heart. She needed to stop pretending that everything was okay.

As she walked, her steps quickening with each passing second, her thoughts turned darker. She wasn't just angry at the world, at the people who kept letting her down.

No, the anger had a target, a name.

Ekko.

It was his fault she felt so torn. He had pulled her in, made her believe that there was something more between them, something worth fighting for.

But then there was Jinx—always in the back of his mind, always there, even when she wasn't.

"Why am I always second place?" she muttered to herself, the irritation simmering just below the surface. She walked faster, her fist clenching at her side.

Suddenly, a group of men appeared ahead of her, their figures blurry from the haze of anger and alcohol clouding her mind. They eyed her with a mix of amusement and mockery, clearly seeing her as an easy target.

One of them stepped forward, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

"What's a girl like you doing out here alone, huh?" one of them sneered. "You look like you could use a little help... or maybe some company?"

Y/N gritted her teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. "Don't touch me..." she mumbled.

She wasn't in the mood for their games, not after everything she had been through.

The man chuckled, clearly unfazed. "What's wrong? Scared?" He took a step closer, reaching out as if to grab her, but she swatted his hand away.

"Don't.." she said again, her voice firmer now, though the slight tremble in her tone betrayed her.

Another man laughed, stepping forward as well. The situation shifted in an instant. The first man lunged toward her, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her forward, trying to pin her against the wall. The others crowded in, grinning and jeering, as they made a move to steal whatever coins she had on her.

"Let go!" Y/N snarled, swinging her free arm at one of the men, landing a punch across his cheek. The other men stepped back, laughing at her resistance as if it was all some kind of joke.

But her blows weren't enough to stop them. One of the men twisted her arm behind her back, the pain shooting through her body as she struggled against his grip.

Panic surged in her chest, her mind spiraling. She tried to kick out, but another man knocked her to the ground, pinning her there.

The weight of it all came crashing down. Her anger, her sorrow, her fear, her confusion—it all hit her at once, and in that moment, all the walls she had built around herself shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air, her body shaking. She had fought so hard to hold herself together, but here she was now, on the dirty ground with these men looming over her, she felt like nothing.

Like everything she had ever done had led to this. To this moment right here.

"Get off me." she sobbed, voice breaking as she cried out for help, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Just as one of the men raised his fist to hit her, the air around her shifted. She felt a shift in the chaos. In an instant, the man was knocked to the side with a force that made her blink.

She didn't know what was happening at first, too disoriented by the rush of adrenaline. But the sound of the hoverboard—the unmistakable hum she had come to associate with reached her ears before she could register anything else.

In a flash, Ekko appeared, taking out the men one by one with ease. His movements were fluid,

calculated—each strike swift and precise. He didn't hesitate, didn't give them a chance to fight back.

The men were on the ground in a matter of seconds, groaning in pain, unable to get up.

Y/N's heart raced, a surge of relief washing over her for just a second. But then, as Ekko slid to a stop in front of her, his boots barely scraping against the pavement, her stomach sank.

He was standing there, breathing heavily, looking at her with that familiar, protective look she had seen so many times before.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice softer than usual, eyes scanning her body for any visible harm.

But before he could even take a step toward her, she shoved him away, her hands pressing against his chest with more force than she intended.

"D-Don't!" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. She couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eyes. "Don't you dare say it..."

Ekko stumbled back, confusion flashing across his face. "What? I'm just trying to—"

"Trying to what?" she cut him off, her eyes blazing with fury. "Trying to tell me how reckless I am? How I always mess everything up? Just like you did before? You think you're the only one who can handle things? You think I need you to save me every damn time?" Her voice cracked at the end, her anger suddenly giving way to the overwhelming emotions she had been holding back for so long.

Ekko's eyes widened as her words hit him, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. His chest tightened, a heavy weight pressing down on him. He had seen her angry before, but this... this was different. This wasn't just about the fight.

It was everything that had been building up for weeks, everything he had said to her—everything he hadn't said. He'd hurt her more than he realized.

He stepped back, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I didn't mean to—" His voice faltered, thick with guilt. "Y/N, I—"

"No Ekko.." she snapped, tears welling in her eyes despite the fierce expression on her face. "You don't get how it feels to be the one who's always fucking second. To be the one who's constantly told that I'm not good enough, that I'm a liability....You think I don't know what you really think of me? How you'd rather save her than me." She wiped at her eyes angrily.

Ekko's heart dropped. He knew who she was talking about.

The realization hit him like a wave. All this time, he had been so focused on protecting her, on trying to keep her safe, that he had completely ignored what she needed from him. She didn't need saving. She didn't need his constant worry, his control. She needed him to understand her, to be there for her in the way that mattered, not just when things got bad.

And he had failed her.

His voice was quiet now. "Y/N, I...I never wanted to make you feel like that. I never wanted you to think I cared more about her. It's just—"

"No..." she interrupted, shaking her head violently. "You're so damn obsessed with her, and you can't even see what's right in front of you." Her voice cracked again, but this time, she didn't try to hide it. "I'm right here, Ekko. I'm always here. I always have been."

Ekko stood there, completely frozen, as her words slammed into him. The truth of what he had done to her finally settled in, heavy and suffocating.

The anger, the hurt in her eyes—it all became clear.

He hadn't just been protecting her...he had been holding her back. He had been so caught up in his own fears, in his past, that he had completely disregarded what she truly needed from him.

that realization crushed him more than anything else.

"Y/N...please.." he said, his voice breaking as he took a hesitant step forward. "I... I didn't know. I didn't know how much I was pushing you away. I never meant to make you feel like you were second. You're not. You're never second."

Y/N didn't answer at first. She just stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was so frustrated and heartbroken, but underneath it all, there was something softer—a part of her that was just as desperate, desperate for him to understand.

I don't want to be a shadow anymore Ekko" she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "I just want to be enough."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, before he could even process them, she collapsed—her knees giving out beneath her as she crumpled to the ground.

Her body trembled with each sob, her face hidden in her hands as the alcohol and the weight of everything she had been carrying overwhelmed her all at once.

Ekko stood frozen for a moment, his heart in his throat. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this, how to make things right. But as he watched her fall apart in front of him, everything he had been holding back came crashing down. This wasn't just about Jinx anymore. This wasn't about him trying to protect her or save her from herself.

This was about him failing her when she needed him the most.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees beside her, his arms reaching out instinctively. He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest as she cried. She wasn't saying anything now, just letting the tears flow, the weight of everything she had been carrying threatening to crush her completely.

Ekko didn't speak. He didn't say anything at all. He just held her. In complete silence.

His hand brushed over her hair, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. "I'm sorry.." he whispered after a while, his voice thick with emotion. "...I'm so sorry Y/N."

Her sobs began to go quiet. She didn't answer at first, still struggling to regain control of her breath, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The weight of everything—the alcohol, the anger, the broken trust—was starting to lift just a little, but the pain was still there.

Deep, raw, and unrelenting.

Ekko held her tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to let her face this alone anymore. He knew his words could never fix what had happened. He had failed her, hurt her, and he was going to have to work harder than he ever had before to earn her trust again.

"I never meant to hurt you baby.." he continued, his voice soft but full of regret. "I should've seen it. I should've understood how you felt. I... I don't know what I was thinking. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only pushing you away. And—And I'm so sorry."

There was a slight shift in her posture. She wasn't pulling away, but she wasn't completely letting herself fall into him either. The hurt was still there, and it wasn't going to disappear overnight. It couldn't.

After a long moment of silence, she spoke. "I don't know if I can trust you again" she whispered, the vulnerability in her words cutting through him like a blade. "I just...can't keep doing this."

Ekko's heart sank at the raw honesty in her voice. He knew she was right.

"I know.." he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've made you feel like that, and I hate myself for it...So fucking much. But you are enough Y/N. More than enough. And I'll spend every day proving that to you if I have to."

The words hung in the air, but for Y/N, they felt so distant. Something shifted inside her as the weight of Levi's words settled like an anchor in her chest.

You deserve someone who makes you feel like you're the only one.

The sharp clarity of that truth hit her hard, the bitter realization that no matter how hard Ekko tried, no matter how much he cared for her, she was always going to be second place in his heart.

Her gaze flickered away from his, her throat tightening as she struggled to find the right words. She could hear Ekko's voice, soft and sincere, but it couldn't drown out the inner voice that had been growing louder in her mind. The truth she had been avoiding for so long...

Ekko will always have one foot in the past.

She knew, deep down, that he was still tethered to Jinx. No matter how much he tried to prove otherwise, no matter how many promises he made, he could never fully release her. She would always be the first choice in his heart.

That lingering ghost that casted a shadow over everything Y/N dreamed to build with him.

Y/N took a slow, shaky breath. "I—I don't know what to say Ekko."

Ekko's face tightened with concern, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shook her head, the tears that had threatened to fall now blurring her vision. "I...I want to believe you. I really fucking do..." she whispered. "I want to believe that you can love me the way I deserve. But I... I can't keep fighting for a place in your heart."

The words felt like a punch to her own chest, but they were the truth.

She had to say them.

Ekko's expression faltered, the guilt and regret washing over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, wanted to say that Jinx didn't matter to him anymore, that Y/N was his choice. But he couldn't.

Y/N took a step back, her chest tightening as she wiped away a tear. "I can't keep pretending that it doesn't matter Ekko. I can't keep pretending that I'm enough when you're always looking back at her."

"I'm not—" he started, but Y/N cut him off.

"No.." she said, her voice a little stronger now, though it still trembled. "You can't choose me the way I need you to. And...I—I deserve someone who chooses me, not someone who's always going to have a piece of their heart somewhere else."

Ekko stood there, speechless. He wanted to say something, to make her understand that he never meant to hurt her, that he loved her so much, but the truth was..

she was right.

Y/N could see the pain in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. Not anymore. "I think it's time for me to move on..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her words hung heavy in the air, like an unspeakable truth, and Ekko's chest tightening with each syllable she uttered. His mouth opened, but no words came out. It made it impossible for him to respond.

Y/N took a shaky breath, "I've given everything I can to this... to us" she continued, her voice a little steadier now. "But I can't keep sacrificing myself.."

Ekko's heart cracked at the finality in her words. She did deserve better than the half-hearted love he was giving her.

"I'm so sorry Y/N." he murmured, the words feeling empty as they left his mouth, too late, too little.

But Y/N couldn't let herself be swayed by his sorrowful tone anymore. The trust she had placed in him had been shattered over time, and now all that remained was the stark truth of what was.

She took another step back, her shoulders squared, her chin raised high. She wouldn't let him break her again.

"I know.." she whispered, her voice quieter now, the words more for herself than for him. "But knowing doesn't change anything." She paused, taking a deep breath before the words she knew she had to say. "I'm sorry too Ekko. But this is goodbye."

The finality in her voice struck him right then and there. For a moment, he just stared at her, his mind racing, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He didn't know how to make her stay now, everything he had done had already pushed her too far.

Ekko's sudden frustration grew. He moved toward her quickly, grabbing onto her arm with a fierce grip. "No Y/N" he growled, his voice rough. "You can't just—"

But before he could finish, he saw it. The way she stiffened at his touch, not even glancing at him. The realization hit him like a cold wave. She was done. Completely done. She wasn't going to let him hurt her anymore.

His fingers tightened around her arm, almost instinctively, but her cold silence forced him to slowly let go. Every ounce of frustration, and heartbreak he had been holding onto drained out of him in that one moment.

"Please baby..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as the weight of what he had done sank in. "Please...not like this.."

Y/N didn't respond. She just pulled her arm free and took another step back, distancing herself from him.

Ekko stood there, stuck—feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

it was too late.

Y/N had already made up her mind.

"Goodbye...Ekko..."

With one final look, she turned and walked away from him, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty street. And as he watched her leave, he finally understood. This time, he couldn't fix it.

And this time, he wasn't sure if he even deserved to.

She was gone. And it was his fault.

The night air felt cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat building in his chest. Every emotion that had once fueled him had been extinguished, replaced by a hollow emptiness that felt like a slow suffocation.

He had pushed her away. He had let his insecurities, his fears about Jinx, and his own selfishness dictate his actions. And now, he was left with nothing but the echo of her words, ringing in his ears.

"I think it's time for me to move on..."

He thought back to everything he had said. He had never given her what she needed, and now, she was gone.

He didn't know how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts, but eventually, the reality of the situation settled in. She wasn't coming back.

He had lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Ekko finally turned away from the spot where she had stood, walking slowly through the streets. The city was as chaotic as ever, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nothing mattered anymore.

He didn't know what to do next, or how to fix what he had broken. But one thing was clear.

he would never forget her.

He would never forget Y/N.

Y/N found herself lying on the cold ground. She didn't know how she had gotten there, didn't even bother to care anymore. Her body felt numb, her mind in a haze from the alcohol and the emotional wreck that had occurred. She stared up at the sky, trying to steady her breathing, but the weight of everything, the loneliness—pressed down on her chest.

For a moment, she thought she might suffocate under it all.

But then, something shifted next to her. The air around her seemed to change, as if the world was still holding its breath. She turned her head to the side.

And there he was again.

Levi's familiar face appeared beside her, his features soft in the dim green light, his eyes blinking as if he'd just woken up. He was lying next to her, his arm stretched out across the cold ground, looking every bit as confused as she was right now. His dark hair fell messily around his face.

and for a brief second, Y/N felt a strange sense of peace.

Levi blinked a few more times, his confusion slowly giving way to a soft smile as he realized it was her. "Y/N?" he muttered, his voice low and slightly groggy. "What the hell are you doing out here? Did you follow me here?"

Y/N didn't respond immediately. She just kept staring at him, taking in the sight of him as if he were a lifeline thrown her way in the midst of drowning. His presence was a stark contrast to everything she'd just gone through.

Without even thinking, she threw her arms around him. The hug came out of nowhere, and for a moment, Levi froze in place, his breath catching in surprise. But then, slowly, his big strong arms circled around her too. She buried her face in his chest, holding on tightly, as if afraid he might disappear the moment she let go.

Levi, still shocked but now fully awake, whispered into her hair. "Y/N what's going on? Are you okay?"

She shook her head, her voice muffled by his shirt as the tears she hadn't let fall earlier started to come. She couldn't find the words to explain the storm swirling inside her, but the hug was enough to make her feel like she wasn't entirely alone. Not for now. Not in this moment.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I don't know anymore."

Levi didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he just held her tighter, letting her cry into his chest. The city of Zaun seemed distant, as if the noise of it all had faded away. For now, in his arms, she found something she hadn't realized she needed—comfort. Understanding. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was falling apart completely.

As her tears slowed, she pulled back away from him to meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something so kind. He was there. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N didn't feel like she was carrying the weight of the world alone.

"I'm so sorry" she whispered again, her voice quieter this time, her eyes searching his face.

Levi gave her a small, almost sad smile. "Don't apologize...We all have our moments. I'm just glad you found me, even if it's in the middle of the damn street."

Y/N chuckled softly, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, well... wasn't exactly the plan."

Levi tilted his head, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "The best things never are I guess..."

She smiled faintly, the weight on her chest lifting just a little. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel completely alone. They sat there in comfortable silence, the distant hum of Zaun's chaos fading into the background.

As the minutes stretched, the exhaustion of the day began to settle in. Y/N leaned back against the cold ground, staring up at the patch of stars visible through the smoke-filled air. Levi followed, his arms folding beneath his head as he lay beside her.

"You know..." he said after a moment, "this is probably the strangest way I've ever made a friend."

Y/N turned her head to look at him, a faint laugh escaping her lips. "Friend, huh? Is that what we are now?"

"Would you prefer being enemies now?" Levi replied, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her expression. "Nah, I could use a friend right now."

"Good." he said, his tone light. "Because I could use one too."

They stayed like that, lying side by side under Zaun's polluted sky. Y/N's eyes grew heavy, the day's events finally catching up to her.

"Levi?" she murmured sleepily.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for... being here. Even though we just met today.." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Anytime" he replied softly.

"Get some rest, Y/N. You're safe."

And she really did believe him.

They both drifted off there on the cold ground of Zaun, two broken souls finding solace in each other's company.

It wasn't perfect, and it didn't fix everything, but it was a start.

I will be posting a happy for the Reader and Ekko ending soon <3.

Just had to let this one sink in fr.

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

179 notes · View notes

novaursa · 8 months ago

Text

Legacy (sun over the capital)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events and timeline of the story don't match the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: bloodlines

- Next part: the night is long

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heavy wooden doors to Tywin’s private chambers in the Tower of the Hand were flung open with a force that made the guards stationed outside exchange wary glances. Cersei stormed in, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury, her voice sharp as she addressed her father.

“Father,” she spat, her tone filled with venom. “Is it true?”

Tywin didn’t bother looking up from the stack of documents on his desk, his face calm and collected, though his eyes flickered with a subtle hint of irritation. He set his quill down, folding his hands together as he finally regarded her.

“And what truth are you seeking, Cersei?” he asked, his voice even, though a trace of coldness lurked beneath the words.

Cersei’s nostrils flared as she glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Pycelle has informed me that she—” Cersei’s voice dripped with contempt as she referred to you—“is with child. Your child. And yet, you saw fit not to tell any of us?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and a faint, dangerous glint sparked in his eyes at the mention of Pycelle. “I see I’ll need to have a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle about the limits of his discretion,” he said icily, his voice carrying a warning that made even Cersei falter for a moment.

But Cersei’s fury was unrestrained, her temper flaring once more. “So it’s true, then? You’ve brought another child into this world, and you’ve kept it hidden from your own family! You think of nothing and no one but yourself, Father!”

Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his towering presence casting a long shadow in the low lit chamber. His expression was calm, controlled, but there was an unyielding authority in his gaze as he regarded his daughter.

“This child,” he said, his voice steady and sharp, “will be the future of House Lannister. Whether you approve or not, Cersei, this is a fact that will not change. I made this decision for the good of our family. You would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

Cersei’s face twisted with anger, her voice rising as she took a step toward him. “Our family? You mean your ambitions. This is all about your endless schemes, about the name Tywin Lannister—nothing more. And if it’s a boy, you’ll simply hand Casterly Rock to him, disregarding your own children?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “If this child is born a son, he will indeed inherit Casterly Rock,” he replied with a note of finality. “He will carry the name of Lannister, a name that will live on long after I am gone. This child—my child—will be raised with the discipline and values that our house represents. And should he prove worthy, he will take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with fury, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So you’ll set him above Jaime, above Tyrion, above me? Just because he’s the result of this… this alliance of yours?” Her voice dripped with scorn. “You’ll disregard your own blood—your true heirs—for a child born of convenience?”

Tywin’s voice remained firm, cutting through her tirade like steel. “This child is my blood, and I will not allow my legacy to falter because of your jealousy or pettiness, Cersei.” His eyes bore into hers, a silent warning in their depths. “You will treat this child with the respect befitting his place in this family. And you will not let your bitterness poison what I have built.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her eyes blazing as she struggled to contain her outrage. “And what of your daughter, then? What of your own children who have done everything for you, sacrificed everything for this family, only to be discarded when it suits you?”

Tywin’s expression did not soften, but there was a hint of impatience in his gaze, as though he were weary of her complaints. “This is not a matter of sentiment, Cersei. It is a matter of legacy. Every decision I make is for the strength of House Lannister, and I will not be questioned on this.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering but growing even more intense. “You would do well to remember your place, daughter, and to trust my judgment. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

Cersei’s face twisted with frustration, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this child will be some savior for our family? That he’ll be the one to carry your legacy?”

Tywin met her gaze with an unwavering stare. “If he is a son, he will have all that I offer—an inheritance, a legacy, and the guidance to become what I expect. And if he is a daughter, she will be treated with the same dignity. But I will not tolerate anything less than respect from you or anyone else in this family, Cersei.”

Cersei let out a humorless laugh, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So, we are all simply tools for your ambition, are we?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice cold and resolute. “I do what I must to ensure our house remains strong. I make the sacrifices no one else will. Do not forget, Cersei, that your position, your power, all stem from the strength I have built. If you truly care for our family, you will accept this and uphold our legacy.”

Cersei clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger, but she said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, before she turned on her heel, storming out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tywin watched her leave, his face unreadable, his gaze sharp and unyielding. After a long moment, he returned to his desk, picking up his quill once more, his expression composed and resolute.

The soft murmur of voices filled the chamber as you sat comfortably among Lady Olenna, Margaery, and Sansa. Servants moved gracefully around the room, bringing refreshments and tending to every detail, creating an air of quiet luxury.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, observing you with her sharp, discerning eyes, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. She had a presence that seemed to command the room effortlessly, every line on her face hinting at a life spent maneuvering through the treacherous waters of court. Margaery sat beside her, her gaze warm and attentive as she listened, and Sansa, ever poised but still shy, stole glances between you and Margaery with a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity.

After a few minutes, Margaery turned to Sansa, her tone light but inviting. “Sansa, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens? I’ve been meaning to talk with you about some of the arrangements for the upcoming festivities. I could use your input.”

Sansa’s face lit up with a smile, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Lady Margaery. I’d love to help.”

With a graceful rise, Margaery took Sansa’s hand, guiding her toward the doors. She cast a warm smile back at you and her grandmother before stepping out, leaving you alone with Olenna. The older woman’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before settling back on you, her expression one of curious amusement.

“Well,” Olenna began, her voice dry and laced with humor, “I must say, Lady Y/N, the former princess turned Lady Lannister. Quite a title for one to carry in such interesting times.”

You returned her gaze with a steady smile, sensing the probing nature of her words but refusing to rise to any bait. “Times have indeed grown interesting, Lady Olenna,” you replied smoothly. “Titles change with the wind, as I’ve come to learn. One must adapt, after all.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, a glint of approval in her eyes as she observed you closely. “Adapt, yes,” she echoed. “But you have done more than adapt. I’ve seen how you’ve managed to earn favor with Lord Tywin himself, a man who’s hardly known for his warmth. That alone tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though the weight of her words hung between you. “Lady Olenna, when survival depends on forging unlikely alliances, one learns quickly. Tywin and I both understand that much.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s much more than survival. Don’t pretend otherwise. Tywin Lannister is many things, but sentimental is not one of them. He doesn’t hold people close unless there’s something worth keeping.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a more personal note. “And I daresay, it’s rare to see him so attentive to anyone.”

You felt the weight of her observation, her words cutting through the pleasantries and touching upon the truth you’d carefully guarded. Tywin’s attention had indeed been more than mere duty, and though he was hardly a man of outward affection, his loyalty and protective nature had shown in subtle ways.

“What Tywin values most,” you said slowly, carefully choosing your words, “is strength. I think he sees something of that in me, perhaps because we both know what it is to lose family, to survive by our wits.”

Olenna watched you intently, her gaze softened, though her sharpness remained. “Strength is one thing, but what you have is a gift for survival that goes beyond mere endurance. It’s an art form, the way you navigate this court.” She chuckled, a gleam of approval in her eyes. “A former princess of the blood, seated at Tywin’s side, holding his favor like a sword at her hip. It’s almost poetic.”

You allowed yourself a small, knowing smile. “Poetry, perhaps, but with a touch of tragedy, wouldn’t you say? Every choice is calculated, every alliance a delicate balance.” You paused, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “For Tywin and me, it’s as much about understanding each other’s strengths as it is about surviving the expectations placed on us.”

Olenna nodded, her expression contemplative. “Indeed. And in a place like King’s Landing, a partnership of that kind is as close to power as one can get. There are few who can claim such influence over the likes of Tywin Lannister.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “Even fewer who can hold their own under his scrutiny.”

You laughed softly, a genuine sound that broke the formality of the moment. “Perhaps I should thank you for the compliment, Lady Olenna. But Tywin values loyalty and strength above all, and I value… survival, as we said.”

Olenna leaned back, studying you with a smile that hinted at admiration. “Oh, don’t mistake my words. I recognize a survivor when I see one, and you, my dear, are as skilled at the game as any queen who’s ever ruled from the shadows.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. “But do not be fooled—what you have with Tywin is more than just survival. He wouldn’t waste his time or his protection if he didn’t see something valuable in you.”

You held her gaze, her words sinking in, and you knew Olenna spoke with the wisdom of someone who understood power intimately. ��Perhaps he does,” you conceded softly. “But whatever he sees, it serves us both. And in a court like this one, such mutual interests are as precious as dragon’s gold.”

Olenna’s expression softened, her sharpness tempered by a rare warmth. “Well said, my dear. You’ve earned more than mere survival—you’ve earned a place of respect, even here, and that’s no small feat.” She paused, her voice lowering to a more personal tone. “But remember, in this game, allies are often as valuable as titles. And should you find yourself in need of friends… the Tyrells are not ones to turn away those with the strength to endure.”

You inclined your head, understanding the depth of her offer. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I will remember that.” There was a subtle acknowledgment between you, a recognition that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, allies could be the difference between survival and ruin.

Olenna’s gaze softened further, her voice holding a rare note of warmth. “Then let’s hope it’s a long-lasting friendship.” She lifted her cup in a small, quiet toast, her smile carrying a hint of respect, her eyes gleaming with something akin to approval.

The small, dimly lit room echoed with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter as Tyrion and Bronn sat together, sharing a rare moment of lighthearted drinking. The table before them was scattered with empty goblets, the dark red stains of Arbor wine smudged across the wood, a testament to the number of toasts they’d already raised.

As Bronn tipped his goblet back, the door opened with a quiet creak, and Varys entered, his footsteps light and his face calm but curious. Tyrion noticed him instantly, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his goblet in welcome.

“Ah, the Spider himself,” Tyrion greeted, gesturing grandly for Varys to join them. “Care to join us for a toast, Varys? It’s not often we have a cause for cheer in this dreary place.”

Varys inclined his head with a polite smile, stepping forward as Bronn slid over slightly, making room for him at the table. “A toast, is it? Now that does intrigue me,” Varys replied smoothly, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “And what, may I ask, are we celebrating?”

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Varys. I find it hard to believe that the master of whispers is unaware of any piece of news circulating within these walls.”

Varys’s lips curved in a mild smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “One could say I’m aware of… many things, my lord. But I do so enjoy hearing it from the source. It lends a certain charm to the information.”

Tyrion laughed, shaking his head before lifting his goblet to Varys. “Well then, let it be known that we are toasting to the newest addition to House Lannister… or at least, the one yet to be born.” He smirked, his voice laced with a hint of irony. “My dear stepmother is with child. And, as you can imagine, this has done wonders for my sister’s mood.”

Bronn snorted, raising his goblet to clink against Tyrion’s. “Aye, Cersei’s likely to drink the whole damn wine cellar dry by morning.”

Varys’s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained calm and calculating as he glanced between them. “How… delightful. A new addition to the family, and one with such a distinguished lineage. Lord Tywin must be very pleased indeed.”

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his wine, savoring it before setting the goblet down. “Oh, ‘pleased’ might be too soft a word. I’d wager he’s envisioning an heir that can finally inherit Casterly Rock, a son that he can shape in his image.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And wouldn’t that just be the thing to push Cersei over the edge?”

Bronn chuckled, raising his goblet again. “Here’s to that—no one drives her mad quite like her own family.”

Tyrion laughed, lifting his own goblet to join Bronn’s. “Indeed. Here’s to us, the fine architects of Cersei’s impending descent into madness.”

Varys, watching the exchange with amusement, finally accepted the offer of a goblet from a passing servant, though he held it delicately, not yet raising it to his lips. “My, my,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor. “A child born of both lion and dragon. The realm will certainly find that interesting, though not nearly as interesting as the politics it will spark within the family itself.”

Tyrion glanced at Varys, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by it yourself, Varys. An heir with Targaryen blood under Tywin’s roof—that’s enough to set even the most controlled noble spinning.”

Varys tilted his head, a glint of something almost approving in his eyes. “It does present… unique possibilities,” he agreed. “Tywin Lannister is not a man to make alliances lightly, especially one of such lasting consequence. And if this child should indeed prove to be a son, well… the implications for House Lannister would be substantial.”

Bronn gave a low chuckle, tipping his goblet back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. As long as the child doesn’t end up like Joffrey, Westeros should count itself lucky.”

Tyrion’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he raised his goblet to Varys. “Well said, Bronn. If this child inherits even an ounce of Tywin’s calculation and none of Joffrey’s malice, it might actually turn out to be the rare Lannister worth rooting for.”

Varys chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet thoughtfully. “Let us hope, then, that this future heir finds the best qualities of both parents. Though, knowing Lord Tywin, I suspect the child will have little choice in the matter.”

Tyrion leaned back, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. “Yes, Tywin will no doubt be a forceful hand in the child’s upbringing. But… perhaps there’s a bit of Targaryen fire that might resist even him. I daresay my stepmother has shown herself more than capable of holding her own against the likes of Tywin.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re actually rooting for her.”

Tyrion shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Perhaps I am. She’s proven herself a formidable woman, and not without a touch of compassion—something our family has always lacked. She might actually bring a bit of balance to the golden lion’s brood.” His gaze drifted to Varys, his tone turning thoughtful. “I’d say that makes her quite the wild card, wouldn’t you agree, Varys?”

Varys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. In a family as tightly controlled as the Lannisters, a touch of unpredictability can be… refreshing.” His gaze turned contemplative, as if he were already calculating the potential outcomes of this new addition.

Tyrion gave him a knowing smile, clinking his goblet with Varys’s. “Then let’s drink to unpredictability. To dragons in lion’s dens and the chaos they bring.”

Varys lifted his goblet with a faint chuckle, finally taking a small sip, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. “To dragons in lion’s dens,” he echoed softly.

And as they drank, a quiet understanding passed between them—of the game, of the players, and of the thrilling unpredictability that even the most careful plans could not account for.

The heavy drapes were drawn to shut out the glare of the midday sun in the Queen's chambers. Cersei sat by the hearth, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in her hand, her face a mask of bitterness. She was nursing her frustration in silence when Joffrey burst into the room, his face twisted with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“Mother,” he began, his voice urgent, “is it true? Is she… is she with child?”

Cersei didn’t look up immediately, her grip tightening on the goblet as she took a deep, steadying breath. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet her son’s, her eyes were sharp, her expression sour. “Yes, Joffrey,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with contempt. “Your dear grandfather’s new wife is with child. A Lannister-Targaryen child. Imagine that.”

Joffrey’s face paled, and he took a step closer, his eyes wide with a growing panic. “A child with Targaryen blood… and Lannister blood?” He swallowed, his voice a whisper as he processed the implications. “Doesn’t that mean… wouldn’t that mean it could have a better claim than me?”

Cersei’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile, though her eyes were cold. “Yes, that’s certainly what some might think, isn’t it?” She took a long sip from her goblet, the wine staining her lips a dark red. “A Targaryen child, born into the heart of House Lannister. Tywin’s pet project. A new legacy for him to fawn over. And you, my sweet boy, are expected to simply sit by and watch as it unfolds.”

Joffrey’s panic turned swiftly into anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “How can he do this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you let him do this? This… this child could take everything that’s mine! My throne, my power!”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “You think I don’t know that, Joffrey?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think I haven’t seen this coming from the moment he married her? This child is Tywin’s way of ensuring his legacy goes on, with or without us.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with fury, his eyes blazing. “He’ll be no better than Stannis, Renly, or Robb Stark,” he spat, pacing angrily. “Another usurper trying to take what belongs to me. And you—” he turned on Cersei, his voice accusatory—“you should be doing something about it!”

Cersei’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I am your mother, Joffrey. And I have done everything for you, to protect your throne, to protect your future. But Tywin… he doesn’t care about anything or anyone unless it serves his ambitions.”

“But you’re the Queen Regnant!” Joffrey snapped, his voice filled with a petulant fury. “You can stop him, you can make sure this child never sees the light of day!”

Cersei’s face twisted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface as she looked at her son. “And how would you suggest I do that, Joffrey? I am not the one who wields the power here. Tywin does, and he has made it very clear that this child will be the future of House Lannister.” Her voice softened, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “He is willing to cast aside all of us for the sake of this… this perfect heir he believes he’ll have.”

Joffrey’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his frustration. “So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch as he creates another contender for the throne?” His voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide with anger and fear. “I’m the king, Mother! I won’t have anyone challenge me—not my uncles, not some… some child!”

Cersei took a measured sip of her wine, her gaze cool as she watched Joffrey’s reaction. “Then you’d better start acting like a king, Joffrey,” she said sharply. “This isn’t about whining or stamping your feet. This is about understanding who holds the real power—and learning how to play the game as they do.”

Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Tywin thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just replace us whenever it suits him.”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Believe me, I know exactly how Tywin operates. But for now, we have to be careful. This child isn’t here yet. And if it is born… well, there are ways to ensure it never becomes a threat.”

Joffrey’s expression shifted, his anger tempered by a glint of satisfaction at the thought of removing a rival before it could grow strong. “Then you’d better make sure it stays that way, Mother,” he said coldly. “I will not be replaced. I am the king. And anyone who tries to take that from me… will pay the price.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes were filled with bitterness. “Oh, my sweet Joffrey. I’ll make sure nothing takes your throne from you. But remember… in this world, it’s not always the strongest who survive. It’s the ones who know how to strike when the time is right.”

With that, she drained her goblet, her expression hardening as she met her son’s gaze. They both understood what needed to be done. And as they sat there, silent but resolute, a dark determination settled over them both—a shared desire to ensure that nothing, not even Tywin’s ambitions, would take away what they saw as rightfully theirs.

You lounged comfortably on a cushioned settee, Tywin seated across from you, deep in a stack of documents and letters. He seemed as immersed in the minutiae of the realm’s business as ever, though he’d allowed you this rare shared afternoon, a quiet moment that felt both peaceful and oddly domestic.

But the calm was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and when Tywin inclined his head, a young servant stepped in, looking slightly flustered, his gaze shifting nervously between you and Tywin.

“Speak,” Tywin commanded, his tone cool and steady.

The servant cleared his throat, bowing his head respectfully before glancing quickly at you. “My lord, my lady… there is a visitor from Dorne in the city.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his brow barely lifting. “Go on.”

The servant shifted from foot to foot, visibly uneasy. “Prince Oberyn Martell, my lord. He arrived in King’s Landing earlier today and is… insistent on speaking with Lady Y/N.”

At the mention of Oberyn, a flicker of surprise danced across Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying your reaction.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting Tywin’s gaze before turning to the servant. “Prince Oberyn is here?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. “Where is he staying?”

The servant hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he wrung his hands together. “Prince Oberyn is… currently at one of the city’s brothels, my lady. He was… most insistent that you be informed.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Oberyn’s choice of accommodations was hardly surprising, but you sensed it wouldn’t sit well with Tywin. You glanced over at him, noting the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the table.

“Of course he is,” you murmured, a hint of amusement coloring your tone. “It seems Prince Oberyn hasn’t changed his ways.”

Tywin’s expression was as cold as winter steel, his gaze flicking to the servant with a dismissive nod. “You may leave,” he instructed, his voice low and controlled.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried from the room, leaving you alone with Tywin once more. He turned his gaze on you, his expression unreadable but his eyes reflecting a simmering irritation.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, his voice like granite. “Trust a Martell to make his entrance at a brothel, of all places. Did he give any indication why he so wishes to see you?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk lingering. “Oberyn has never been one for propriety. I suspect he has his reasons, though what they are, I can only imagine.” You paused, a playful glint in your eye. “And I imagine they are as intriguing as he is.”

Tywin’s gaze grew colder, his jaw set in a hard line. “Oberyn’s intrigue is of little consequence,” he replied sharply. “The man revels in scandal as if it were a sport. If he seeks your company, it’s likely only to fan the flames of discontent and stir up trouble.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a calm confidence. “Perhaps. But Oberyn has never been one to seek out someone without purpose. He may revel in scandal, but he is not a fool.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “He may be a prince, but Oberyn Martell is still a Martell—impulsive, driven by passions that often cloud his judgment. Do not mistake his presence here as a gesture of goodwill.”

You held his gaze, a hint of defiance in your expression. “I know Oberyn well enough to understand the complexities of his character, Tywin. And while he may be impulsive, he is also… refreshingly direct. I’d rather hear him out than speculate.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened further, though a glint of grudging respect flickered in his eyes. “You intend to meet with him, then?”

You nodded, your tone firm. “I do. Better to speak directly with Oberyn than leave questions unanswered. He’s come all this way, after all. It would be… impolite not to.”

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Tywin’s mouth, though he inclined his head slightly. “Very well,” he replied, though his tone remained clipped. “But I’ll not have him stirring up chaos in this city. And I trust you’ll remember where your loyalties lie.”

You offered him a calm smile, a touch of reassurance in your gaze. “My loyalties are clear, Tywin. But I cannot ignore a visitor from Dorne. I’ll meet with him, hear what he has to say… and return here.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of caution and an intensity that spoke of both his protectiveness and his mistrust of Oberyn. “See to it that Oberyn understands his place here. This city is not Dorne, and his actions will not go unobserved.”

You nodded, rising from the settee with a composed air. “I shall make that perfectly clear, my lord.” With a final glance at Tywin, you left the room, feeling his gaze follow you as you made your way down the corridors.

As you walked, thoughts of Oberyn filled your mind—his charm, his volatility, his relentless pursuit of justice. Whatever he wished to discuss, you had little doubt it would be laced with intrigue, perhaps even danger. But that was Oberyn’s way, and if there was one thing you knew about the Dornish prince, it was that he never did anything without purpose.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #fire and blood #asoiaf #house of the dragon #hotd #got/asoiaf #got tywin #got #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #legacy

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 months ago

Text

HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XVII/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, violence, blood

A/N: god knows I wasn't gonna post this shit tomorrow if I had let it sit in my drafts for another day, so here comes yet another chapter written at an unholy hour. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

'I don't owe you an answer.'

'People fuck, Joe.'

'Calm down.'

Her words bounced inside my head like fucking ricochet. Up, down, side to side, hitting every spot of my skull, driving me insane with her faux indifference coated by the thinnest layer of sympathy.

What was even worse is that she wasn't wrong, was she? People do fuck, and she did not owe me answers. But after an entire day of looping those three sentences over and over and over until they lost their meaning, who was wrong or right mattered little.

The snow cushioned my bootsteps as I stalked across the Bois Jacques, cold biting through every layer like it wanted to take me out too. Ahead, the boys sat in a loose circle around what passed for lunch lately; cold beans, stale bread and shit jokes.

Chuck had his profile to me. That stupid lazy laugh of his carrying in the air like everything was fine. His face pivoted to my frame when he caught the determined movement in the corner of his eyes. My expression must have been too unmoved for him to read the room correctly.

"I'm not givin' you my beans, Lieb." He started, soft amusement stringing his tone. "You go make that queue like all—"

The punch landed square against his jaw—a clean right hook. No hesitation, no warning. Just frostbitten knuckles to bone and the thump of Chuck hitting the ground beside the lodge he had taken as seat.

"Jesus Christ!" More, who was the closest to Chuck, jolted up.

"What the hell, Joe?" Popeye questioned, kneeling down to pull up Chuck.

"What a fuckin' friend you are." I hissed, zeroed in on the blonde man, still too stunned to understand what had just happened. He blinked the sharp pain away, his gloved hand shooting up to his bleeding nose. Confusion danced in his eyes, as if he didn't know what the fuck I was talking about.

That just made it worse.

Alley must have read it in the way my foot shifted forward as if I was planning to lunge at our friend again, because he was the first to grab me, pulling back hard by the arm. "Hey—hey, knock it off—"

"Let go." I growled, shoving him off.

"What's going on here?" Lieutenant Compton's voice cut in like a whipcrack as he approached, eyeing the blood on Chuck's face, then looking at me. "What's this about?"

My laugh scraped my throat on its way out, a pointer finger motioning at my friend. "Oh, he knows what this is about."

Chuck got up with Popeye's help, droplets of blood dripping past his lips and down to the snow. They bloomed red against the white like a goddamn warning flag.

His hand cradled his jaw, fingers checking for something broken with a wince. "Are you nuts?!"

"I don't know," I snapped, voice cracking with rage. "Am I?"

The men around us shared worried glances, some looking away, some staring too intently like I was a pinless grenade about to go off.

"Who told you?" He asked without shame or or any intention to pretend cluelessness, which only made the blow hit harder.

"Who the fuck else is gonna know, Grant?"

Silence. Heavy silence and a sorry glance from Chuck was what I needed to get the memo. The sarcasm hadn't landed because I had asked the wrong question. No one met my eyes when I vehemently searched for confirmation among the group of soldiers.

I was the last to find out.

Something in me buckled under the weight of it. The air turned heavier, bitter in my chest, burning down the little restraint I had when it came to fully take it out on Chuck.

"She told you." It wasn't a question, and it didn't need an answer. He sighed, wiping the blood off with his sleeve. "The hell'd she tell you for?"

I didn't even consider responding, choosing to throw another inquiry at him instead "You really weren't gonna tell me you fucked the—" I stopped myself, teeth grinding. "Her?"

"Somebody better explain to my what's going on." Buck command was clearly directed at me. I consciously chose to ignore it.

"You knew." I accused the bloodied man, guilt plastered all over his face in the same pathetic way heartbreak was plastered over mine. "You knew and you still fucked me over."

"I was gonna talk to you—"

"You're so full of shit."

"Liebgott." The officer's attempt to get my attention were useless. "You're out of line."

"I don't know what the fuck she told you," Chuck began, now obviously pissed. "but it was her idea."

"And you just—what? Rolled with it?!"

"So what if I did?!" Chuck yelled, losing whatever patience he thought he owed me. "Get your head outta your ass, Joe! She's a grown woman," his arm motioned at what seemed a general direction. Until I turned and saw her.

She stood right outside the scattered circle, trailing after Muck and Penkala with her recently poured portion of lunch, eyes slightly widened as if she was keeping herself on check in order not to give away too much.

"—and you're a big boy too, okay?" Chuck continued, taking a half step in my direction. He shouldn't have. "If you're so pissed maybe you should—"

An ugly crack echoed in the woods when my fist connected with Chuck's jaw again.

"LIEBGOTT!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

"GRAB HIM FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Everyone's panicked words meshed together, two pairs of hands grabbing me while my friends crowded around Chuck. The world blurred a little.

I didn't dare to look at her again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The iced ground crunched like broken glass beneath our boots—sharp and loud in the quiet of the night. We weren’t that far from the treeline, but with the moon half-choked behind clouds, it felt like we were walking through the ribs of something long dead.

They'd sent us out to patrol the edge of Easy's perimeter. Said it was routine. Said it was quiet. Didn't mention how convenient it was, how it did the trick to keep us both out of everyone else's hair.

We knew what they were doing—keep us busy, keep us separate from the rest of the company, keep us from getting someone killed. But putting us together? That wasn't exactly brilliant.

In their defense, Y/n had been a last minute addition to Winters' charity collection of broken minds. I wasn't told exactly why she was here, and I didn't ask. Sink's runner had spread the word that she had lost it after seeing Toye and Guarnere torn up during a bad barrage. Maybe it was true, or maybe not, but after all she had been put through —all I had put her through—, a bad crashout was long overdue.

I just wished it would have happened a couple of days earlier, when every edge between us had been smoothed by the cold and the exhaustion, and not when we could barely look at each other.

Y/n walked three paces ahead, but I could see the tension in her shoulders nonetheless; the way her rifle was clenched too tight in her hands, the way she hadn't looked me in the eye once since they handed us this bullshit detail.

We moved through the woods, past the shell holes and splintered roots, Foy still visible in the distance. Her steps quickened. Mine decelerated out of spite.

"Slow down, will ya?" I muttered.

She didn't turn around. "Try to keep up."

The nerve.

"You always gotta run your goddamn mouth?"

That stopped her.

She turned slow, face shadowed by her helmet, eyes meaner than the forest we were trapped in. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I took her halt as an opportunity to catch up until I was right beside her. "All night with that tone, like I'm the fucking problem here."

She took a half-step forward, close enough that her breath hit my collar when she spat out, "You are the fucking problem."

I couldn't help but scoff, looking past her to avoid aggravating myself even more. "You fuck Grant, out of everyone, and I'm the problem?"

"Who I fuck or don't fuck is none of your business." There was a twisted condescendance in her tone, tainted with smugness, as if she had me figured out and was done with it.

"It's none of my business?" I repeated, my voice jumping an octave out of indignation as I leaned forward just enough to be eye to eye with her. "You made it personal."

"I made it personal? Me?" She breathed out a humorless laugh, her index finger pointing at her chest.

"You went for my friend."

The sour smile twisting up the corner of her mouth vanished, his arm falling limply at her side. I could see the cogs in her head turning, crafting something that would hurt me. I spotted the exact instant in which she found it, and it was bad enough for her to hesitate.

She still said it.

"She looked like me."

With gritted teeth, my boots slid a little on the frost when I closed the space even more a bit too fast. "You gotta learn to shut up."

Her hand snapped out fast, gripping the collar of my jacket. "Do not get in my face, Liebgott." The side of her fist pressed against my chest, forcing a short distance between us; a false sense of safety. "I will fuck you up."

I didn't flinch. I didn't move. The question slipped out with bottled up resentment before I could think twice about it.

"More?" My lips twitched; not quite a smile. Not quite anything aside from a sign of me finding the moment fucking comical. "Maybe I should be the one fuckin' you up."

That hit something. Her hand clenched tighter in my coat, dragging me a little closer. We both swayed slightly at the sudden movement, boots slipping just an inch in the frozen mud.

"What?" she whispered. "You gonna try and break my jaw too?"

I stared at her, taking in the way her words landed like a punch to the ribs. "You think I'd hit you?"

She didn't blink. "Maybe."

"You don't fucking know me, then." I growled, tasting the way pain and anger mixed together in my tongue.

Her eyes narrowed like she was set on making me break beyond repair. "I know enough."

I grabbed the side of her jacket, mirroring her grip to yank her half an inch to me until we were toe-to-toe, our breaths fogging together in the frozen air.

"Let go of my damn uniform, Y/l/n."

"Fuck. You." she spat, venom coating the short sentence. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, inhaling sharply. Whatever she was about to say refused to reach my ears, so she swallowed and settled for something else. "Quit trying to mess me up."

"You first, sweetheart."

Our noses bumped when she angled her head with defiance and, for a second, what I felt wasn't rage. It wasn't betrayal. It wasn't the war or Chuck or the blood still stuck under my nails. It was just heat. Heat in the freezing dark and the fire burning her down behind glassy eyes.

I didn't know if I wanted to kiss her breathless or scream in her face until the knots twisting inside my throat loosened up. Maybe both.

I did neither.

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koyagifs · 1 month ago

Note

OUT OF LOVE IS AMAZING IT MADE ME SO MAD FOR Y/N PLEASE MAKE A PART TWO? ONE WHERE THE CONSEQUENCES OF JONGHOS ACTIONS CATCHES UP WITH HIM AND Y/N MOVES ON WITHOUT JONGHO AND LEARNS HOW TO BE HAPPY WITHOUT JONGHO (like alone because she doesn’t need a man to be happy, but maybe she meets someone at the end and jongho see??)

god is a women

pairing:: san x reader x jongho genre:: angst with comfort synopsis:: when all is said and done, you'll believe god is a women word count:: 1.2k warning(s):: open ending!

You hated how long it took you to get over Jongho.

You buried yourself in work, pulling long shifts, saying yes to every emergency call—anything to keep your mind off him. The only time you ever stopped was when your wonderful management forced you to.

It took six months. Six long, aching months to finally feel like you could breathe again. The wounds had started to close, and for the first time in a while, you felt ready.

Ready to slow down. Ready to be alone without feeling lonely. Ready to take time—for yourself.

Jongho, on the other hand, was miserable.

He couldn’t understand why. He got the girl he thought he wanted. She was sweet, attentive, always around—but the flutter in his chest he used to feel with you? It was gone.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, he started comparing her to you.

The way she laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny. The way she clung to his arm when they walked. The way she said his name.

You wouldn’t have done that.

And it drove him insane—because everything she was only reminded him of everything you weren’t. And how much he missed that.

It wasn’t just the little things. It was the way you used to listen—really listen. How you never made him feel like he had to be anyone other than himself.

Now, every moment with someone else felt like pretending.

He scrolled through old texts one night, the ones he hadn’t deleted yet. The ones he should’ve answered when you needed him most.

And all he could think was: I ruined it.

You had just gotten off a grueling 24-hour shift, exhaustion heavy in your bones as you stepped out of the hospital. The sky was soft with early morning light, and a yawn slipped past your lips before you even noticed the figure walking toward you.

“Hey, Yn.”

You blinked, the voice pulling you from your haze.

“San... Oh my God, hey,” you said, a genuine smile breaking across your tired face as you stepped into his hug. His arms wrapped around you with a kind of familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You look like you’ve been through it,” he chuckled gently, pulling back to study your face.

“I have,” you laughed softly, the exhaustion clear in your voice. “But it’s good to see you.”

He nodded, his eyes kind. “Wait—what brings you to the hospital?”

“Ah, I was dropping by to see Wooyoung. Wanted to know what he wanted for breakfast,” he said, glancing toward the entrance.

You let out a tired smile. “He just relieved me from my shift.”

San laughed. “Then why don’t we get breakfast instead? My treat.”

You glanced down at your watch, hesitating. The exhaustion was still lingering heavy in your bones—but the thought of sitting with someone who didn’t carry the weight of complicated memories felt… nice.

You shrugged, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, what the hell. I could eat. But—you’re dropping me off afterward. I’m running on caffeine and spite right now.”

He grinned. “Deal. One emergency nap drop-off coming right up.”

San sat across from you, carefully pouring you a cup of coffee while you giggled, still recovering from whatever ridiculous thing he had just said.

“Now tell me,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair, “is Wooyoung really that bad to work with?”

You sipped your coffee, only to grimace at the bitterness. A muffled sound of disgust escaped you, making San laugh.

“Please,” you said, setting the cup down. “I’m so done with dating at the moment.”

“Oh yeah?” San asked, one brow raised, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Sworn off romance for good, huh?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, resting your chin in your hand. “For now. I’ve hit my quota of emotionally unavailable men for the decade.”

San tilted his head slightly, his voice a little more careful this time. “Was Jongho really that bad?”

You nodded without hesitation. “God, he was awful. I mean… we had a honeymoon phase, sure. But it didn’t last long.”

Your fingers traced the rim of your mug absentmindedly, eyes distant now. “He just stopped showing up. Physically, emotionally. Like I was an obligation instead of someone he actually wanted to be with.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Had I known it was because he was seeing someone else, I would’ve just ended it myself.”

San hummed, his jaw tightening just slightly, though he didn’t interrupt. He just let you talk—something you didn’t realize you needed until now.

“I just hated how long he dragged me along,” you continued, voice quieter now. “Made me feel like I was asking for too much when all I wanted was time. Attention. Honesty.”

You looked up, eyes meeting his. “Thank God I said no to moving in with him.”

San let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “That might’ve been the best decision you ever made.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so too.”

A pause. Not empty—just full of unspoken understanding. Before San spoke again.

“Well, for what it’s worth… I think you’re doing a hell of a job picking up the pieces.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. His gaze didn’t waver, and it wasn’t just sympathy in his eyes—it was something steadier. Something warm.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I’m trying.”

San leaned back slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Trying’s enough. Especially when you’ve had to do it all on your own.”

You gave a quiet laugh, brushing a hand through your hair. “It feels like I’ve been holding my breath for months. And now I’m finally exhaling.”

San tilted his head. “And how does that feel?”

You paused, thoughtful. “Strange. But kind of... freeing, too.”

He nodded, then glanced down at his half-empty mug. “I’m glad I ran into you today.”

You smiled, the corners of your eyes softening. “Me too. You’re easy to talk to.”

He looked back up, eyes meeting yours again. “Good. Because I don’t want this to be the last time.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth. “I wish we did this sooner—hang out, just the two of us.”

San grinned, teasing. “Oh, don’t think it’ll stay just the two of us once Wooyoung finds out.”

You laughed, unaware that Jongho had just walked in. He froze in his tracks, eyes locking on the back of your head. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he was ready to make his way toward you—until his gaze shifted to San.

The look San gave him made Jongho’s skin crawl—sharp and unyielding. Then, just as quickly, San’s expression softened into a sweet, almost too-friendly smile.

Jongho swallowed hard, caught between unease and something else he couldn’t quite name. When he finally slid into his booth, he faced the door, silently hoping you might glance his way.

You rose from your seat, San following, the smile on your face unmistakable. Even from where Jongho sat, he could see it—how you were glowing, your smile lighting up the restaurant despite the exhaustion etched in your features.

When you were outside, Jongho stared. He hated how close San was to you, the easy way you handed him your phone, the smile you gave him—a smile so warm and open, the same one he used to see when he first flirted with you.

A tight knot formed in his chest as he watched you laugh softly with San, feeling like a stranger watching a past he could never reclaim.

Jongho swallowed hard, caught between unease and something else he couldn’t quite name.

For the first time in a long while, he realized he was standing on the outside looking in.

#jongho x reader #ateez x reader #san x reader #choi jongho #ateez angst #choi san #𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ koya requests

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angelsfat3 · 23 days ago

Text

꽃.ㅤㅤ( 𝓛𝖔𝔳𝑒 ) ／ㅤ𝔐𝓸𝑟𝖊ᆞᆞᆞ𝑃𝔩𝖊𝓪𝒔𝖊.

𝖣𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈... 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍. 𝖮𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍?ㅤ／ㅤ𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒!𝑎𝑢, 𝑏𝑓𝑓!𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒(?), 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐.ㅤ٭ㅤ危险──𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒋𝒆𝒓𝒌 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 (𝑱𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒆), 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈.

The sun barely slipped through the half-closed curtains. A soft breeze stirred the sheets, carrying with it the bitter scent of cigarettes, beer, and sweat-stained bodies. The morning chill felt sharper on just one side of the bed.

Heeseung frowned faintly, still half-asleep, but slowly waking up as seconds passed. His hand reached out blindly, instinctively, searching for something… someone. But there was nothing. Just wrinkled sheets. Cold linen.

He slowly pushed himself upright—and that’s when he noticed it. The silence. Not just any silence, but the kind that felt hollow. Cruel. There was no breathing beside him. No lingering scent of cologne in the air. The room was too clean. Too empty.

[...] was gone.

No note. No final touch. No last kiss. Not even the courage to look him in the eye.

Heeseung let himself fall back onto the mattress, lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Swallowing was hard, like something heavier than grief was lodged in his throat.

He didn’t know why it hurt this much. Or maybe he did… but couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“...Did he hear me talking to her? Did he… read the messages?” he wondered, trying to piece together the morning before sleep claimed him again.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his spiral. Chloe.

A missed call. A message that read: “Good morning, babe. Hungover? Lol”—as if she cared. As if her damn name hadn’t just shattered the only honest thing Heeseung had felt in months.

The truth was, he thought he’d moved on. Thought he could have both. That maybe, with a bit of luck, [...] would understand. That he could go back to Chloe without losing what he had that night.

But there was no going back now.

[...] was gone. And the emptiness in the bed was nothing compared to the one in his chest.

Then, the memories came crashing like a wave. The way his boy’s skin trembled under his touch, the soft sighs, the stuttered moans, the love bites marking every inch of him. That moment—that moment—when his eyes shut in bliss, trusting Heeseung with everything.

And now? Now he’d left him with the bitter taste of regret stuck to his tongue.

Heeseung covered his face with both hands. The room didn’t smell like him anymore. Didn’t smell like his skin. It just smelled like failure. And for the first time in a long time, Heeseung wished he could cry.

But he couldn’t. Not even that came.

Because deep down… he knew he deserved every second of this.

Heeseung couldn’t even remember how he got dressed, or how he made it down the stairs so fast. Every step away from that room felt like a sting against his skin. Minjeong’s house still echoed the remnants of the party—half-empty cups, bottles scattered on the floor, a playlist looping in the background, bodies asleep in every corner—but it all felt miles away from what he had felt the night before.

The faster he walked, the more reality hit him, and the laughter still ringing faintly from behind felt distant—too cheerful for what he carried inside.

He walked in silence, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head down, turning at every corner and picking up his pace. Every step seemed heavier than the last, and he didn’t even know where he was going anymore.

The morning dew still lingered on the streets, leaving distorted reflections in every puddle. He stopped in front of the bus stop—the last place he’d seen him, when they were still close... still laughing, still playfully nudging each other. That memory, so innocent, tore something open in his chest. Heeseung closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, like that might ease the crushing weight pressing against his ribs.

Minutes later, already on campus, something made him stop dead in his tracks.

There, across the garden, sitting on one of the benches, he saw them.

[...] was there, shoulders curled in on himself like the whole world was too much. And Jake was next to him, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and rubbing his back gently with the other.

His touch was protective. Warm. Far too intimate for someone who was “just a friend.”

Jealousy burned its way up Heeseung’s throat like poison, searing every inch it passed.

But he had no right to go near them. Not after what he did. Not now that even he was starting to believe the damage was real.

He clenched his fists when Jake leaned in and whispered something close to [...]’s ear—and he smiled, just a little. That smile hurt more than any broken bone ever could.

Heeseung wanted to run to them. He wanted to say everything—how sorry he was, how stupid he'd been, that he could fix this, that he could change.

But he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching from a distance, swallowing the lump in his throat as his eyes filled with rage, with grief... and guilt.

Jake noticed him. Their eyes met, just for a second. Cold.

A look that said everything: “Don’t come closer. You’ve done enough.”

Heeseung took a step back. Then another. And finally, he left.

Quietly. Without a word. Without starting another war.

Jake lowered his gaze as Heeseung disappeared between the trees on campus. He didn’t say a word, didn’t explain. He just turned to [...] and offered him a piece of muffin he’d bought at the cafeteria.

“Wanna bite?” he asked softly.

[...] only shook his head against Jake’s shoulder, sinking deeper into the sweater, clutching it tightly.

His eyes were still red, though no more tears came. He looked drained, numb. Silent. Like someone who’d run out of tears and was now left with memories too heavy to carry.

Jake scooted a little closer, letting the silence speak for them. Only the rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of students passing by broke the stillness.

“Can I… ask you.. again?” Jake finally said, voice low, careful.

“Why did it hurt so much…?” He paused, glancing sideways. “That call. The thing with Heeseung and his ex.”

[...] didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his hands like he was cold—though it was just the memory freezing him from the inside. Eventually, with a sigh, he looked up, eyes fixed on the bushes surrounding the garden.

“Because It wasn’t just the call.” His voice cracked slightly, but he kept going. “It was everything before it.”

Jake turned toward him more fully, setting the coffee cups aside, giving him his full attention.

“He...” [...] swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of his pants.

“He made me feel like I mattered. Like I was something more. He looked at me like I was art. He kissed me like he was handing me the universe. And I... I believed him. Or maybe... I fell.”

Jake lowered his eyes, lips pressed tightly, hands clasped to stop them from curling into fists.

“Last night… the party.” [...] continued, eyes shut, tilting his head back as if reliving it moment by moment—the touches, the moans, the way Heeseung held him like he’d never let go.

“We... went to a room. He said he wanted to talk... and yeah, we talked. But he also kissed me. He touched me like it hurt not to. Like he needed me. And I...” his voice broke again.

“God, I was such an idiot. I gave him everything. We had sex... and I thought it meant something. I thought—finally—someone chose me.”

Jake didn’t know what to say. Every word was a blade in the chest.

He didn’t know if he wanted to hold him, scream, or just collapse from the ache.

“And the next morning, while I could still feel him on my skin...” [...] whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears. “I heard him tell Chloe he loved her. That he missed her. That the only reason he even went to the party... was for her. Because he hoped she’d be there.”

A long silence followed.

Heavy. Raw. Devastating.

Jake swallowed, leaning in without a word, just enough to rest his hand over [...].

“I’ve never felt so filthy,” [...] confessed with a bitter laugh. “So invisible. So disposable. Like I was just a quick fuck to help him forget someone else... A way to fill the emptiness for one night.”

Jake didn’t let go. He looked at him with a gentleness, with a love that tried to understand. Tried to soothe. His voice came out in a breath.—“He didn’t deserve a damn thing you gave him.”—

[...] looked at him then—for the first time all day. His eyes still held pain, but something else too. Something deeper. The kind of emptiness that only exists when someone’s been shattered. But in Jake’s gaze, he found a glimmer of hope.

“Do you think... someday it’ll stop hurting?” he asked, voice small, like a child.

Jake gave him a sad smile, brushing his thumb over [...]’s knuckles.

“Oh, it will... trust me. But until it does, you won’t have to hurt alone.”

The sun slowly climbed between the buildings, like even it wanted to shine on someone who needed it most. [...] didn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze again, quietly feeling the warmth of Jake’s hand return a small piece of himself.

Like his skin, broken and marked by hollow affection, had finally found a place to heal.

The wind played with a few strands of his hair, and without thinking much, Jake gently tucked them back, brushing them aside with the tips of his fingers, as if he was afraid of hurting him even more. That simple, tender gesture made [...]’s throat tighten.

“Thank you...” he whispered, barely audible. “for not judging me.”

Jake slowly shook his head, his brows gently furrowed, his thumb softly stroking the back of [...]’s hand.

“I never could. Not after everything we’ve been through, and everything life has put you through.”

[...] let out a trembling sigh, his lips tightening as if he were trying to hold back the tears still hiding beneath his ribs, behind his lashes.

“You know... There are moments,” he said, “when I just want to erase everything. That night, for example—like it never even happened. But then I remember it all… I remember it like I’m still there. And it hurts. It hurts so much I feel like I can’t even breathe.”

Jake leaned in closer—not too much, just enough for his warmth to surround him, without needing to pull him into a hug.

“You don’t have to erase it. It’s normal that it still hurts. Everything’s still too fresh...” he said softly. “What you lived... what you felt... it was real to you. That’s valid. That matters. You matter.”

[...] felt something break inside his chest. A sob escaped his lips—dry, stifled, like he’d been holding it in for minutes. He covered his face with both hands, unable to hide the vulnerability that now poured through him. His tears were silent, but they were anything but invisible.

Jake didn’t hesitate for even a second. He wrapped his arms around him the moment he heard it, pulling him in tightly, pressing him against his chest like he could keep every one of his broken pieces from falling apart.

“It’s okay, my sun... I’m here,” he whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Not ever again.”

[...] buried himself in Jake’s neck, just like he had the first time—a secret refuge no one else knew about. A place only for him.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through this...” he confessed, his voice nearly drowned in tears. “I loved him so much, Jake... I loved him more than anything in the world, and even after I walked away, I still loved him. I still believed in him... and he broke me. He shattered me without even thinking about what it would do to me.”

Jake clenched his jaw, fighting back his own emotions—the sting in his chest that came from knowing he was the second choice in the heart of the person he loved most. But this moment wasn’t about him. Not yet.

“Then let me help you. Let me help rebuild you into someone even stronger than the man you were before,” he whispered tenderly. “Not so you can fall in love with someone else... but so you can fall in love with yourself again. So you can be your own priority.”

[...] looked at him with a trembling smile, his eyes red and glistening. He hugged Jake tightly, clinging to him as if his trembling body had finally found something solid to hold on to—something warm in the middle of all the cold darkness. Something that felt like light pulling him back home.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

As the days passed, [...] began to breathe with a little less difficulty. Sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he no longer saw the tearful eyes of every morning before. Instead, he saw a pair that—though still broken—were trying to find themselves. The wound Heeseung had left was still there, of course. It was still deep, still sharp... but something inside him had begun to harden, to protect itself. His heart and mind were starting to understand.

And Heeseung? Pff, he tried to reach out. Over and over again.

His first attempt came on an ordinary morning, right after class. His breathing quickened in the hallway as he searched frantically, his eyes scanning for him—searching for [...]’s eyes, like just one glance could say everything he never had the chance to explain.

And yes, he succeeded. He found [...] leaving the classroom, the last one out.

But before he could take even one more step, Jake appeared—he was becoming a habit by now. “Come on, we’ve got to get to the field. The principal said he’s giving a speech... or something like that.” His voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. He placed a hand on [...]’s back and guided him away from the stranger trying to catch up to him.

Heeseung didn’t give up. He tried again. And again.

He waited outside campus. He showed up at the café where he knew [...] liked to study. He even knocked on his dorm room door. But every single time, Jake was there. Not with open threats (not exactly), but with a presence so constant and protective that it was impossible to break through that shield.

Sometimes, when [...] saw Heeseung from a distance—laughing or looking around for him—his heart would tighten. There was still pain. Because forgetting wasn’t that easy.

But when Jake’s hand touched his, squeezing gently, or when he just looked at him while telling a random story to distract him, that tremble inside would ease, even just a little.

Thanks to Jake, the nights were no longer about tears—but they were still full of thoughts. [...] still remembered how it had felt. How, for a brief moment, he believed everything finally made sense, that things might go back to how they used to be. But he also remembered the sound of betrayal. The ache. He remembered the voice of the man who shattered his soul.

And that memory was enough to make him close the door again. Even to himself.

But I must say… every failed attempt from Heeseung only pushed him further away. Not because of what he did, but because of what he would never be able to fix. The words that never came, came too late. The attempts—hollow. Everything now felt like the same old pattern, like back when it was just a kiss, back when Heeseung was the lost drunk boy.

Jake didn’t ask about Heeseung anymore. He was just there. In the lows, in the timid laughs that were slowly returning, in the afternoon walks under the sun. In everything [...] needed, without ever having to ask or force anything.

In general.. everything stopped feeling forced. It all just… slipped by, almost unnoticed. Days turned into weeks, and now, a month had passed since what had felt like the end of the world.

But guilt and remorse still lingered—always there, hovering like a fly over trash. Never quite gone.

It was one afternoon, as the sun began to fade behind the buildings, that a soft but firm knock echoed at the dorm room door, the place where [...] spent most of his time with his moon. The hand behind the knock hesitated for a moment, then knocked again, more urgently, more nervously.

From inside, Jake opened the door without losing his composure. His gaze lifted slightly, hardening the second he saw who was on the other side being a pain in the ass.

“What do you want?” he asked calmly, though there was a faint growl in his tone.

Heeseung looked at him. A flicker of contempt and coldness crossed his face. He knew it wouldn’t be easy—but this was his moment, and it was already inevitable. He’d lost [...], yes, but he wasn’t ready to give up without a fight.

Jake didn’t look away for even a second. He wasn’t going to let Heeseung get close again—not without a proper hit. Verbal, at least. Jake was never the type to throw punches.

The air thickened quickly. It was uncomfortable—tense, packed with unsaid words passed between glances and heavy sighs.

“Let me talk to him,” Heeseung said firmly, his voice barely above a whisper, teetering on the edge of collapse.

“He’s not here.”

Jake stared him down without blinking and responded sharply. His hand remained firmly on the doorknob, not opening it any further, as if Heeseung’s presence alone dirtied the threshold.

“I just want to talk,” Heeseung growled with a furrowed brow, stepping closer. “Just for a few minutes. That’s all.”

Jake let out a bitter, low laugh.

“Ah... Now you want to talk, huh? How convenient.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. The knot in his throat wasn’t guilt—it was rage. Rage at seeing him there, standing in front of the dorm that should have been his, guarding the boy who… had once been his, in body and...

“Stay out of this, Jake,” he snapped. “You don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t I?” Jake crossed his arms and scoffed. “Want me to tell you what I do know? I know that morning, he came in here crying. He was lying on the floor, for god’s sake, arms wrapped around himself like he was dirty... And I know he didn’t tell me what happened at first because he didn’t want me to hate you more than I already did.”

It all made sense now, every piece finally fit. [...] had heard him that morning—when Heeseung was caressing his back while talking to Chloe.

That explained why he hadn’t been with him that morning. That explained why he never spoke to him again. That explained why Jake… was like this. Fuck.

“I didn’t…” Heeseung tried, but Jake cut him off.

“You know what’s the most fucked up part? He still defended you. Even with his heart torn to pieces, he told me maybe you didn’t mean it. That maybe you just... ‘didn’t know what you were saying.’ Ugh.”

Jake’s anger was climbing into his face, his eyes glassy from pure rage.

“And now? You, here, knocking like everything could be fixed with an ‘I just want to talk.’ Do you even realize what you did, asshole?”

“... I-I loved him! Okay?!” Heeseung suddenly shouted, losing control. “It—It wasn’t just sex!”

“Oh, right. And that’s why you went and talked to your fucking ex after sleeping with him?” Jake looked at him with disgust, eyes scanning him up and down. “That’s why you said you missed her while he was still aching from what you two.. did?”

The silence that followed was more unbearable than anything else.

“He… came to me. He.. he wanted it. He knew what would happen.”

Jake stepped forward, letting go of the door.

“Are you fucking sick? Did you really just say that? You’re gonna justify what you did by blaming him? Are you kidding me? You piece of shit.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw, his eyes sharpening as he let the rage take over—rage born from not knowing how to defend himself.

“You’re saying that because you don’t get it. You weren’t there. You don’t know what it felt like… what it was like to have him in my mouth, even if it was just for one night,” Heeseung whispered.

“Because you, Jake, no matter how much you take care of him, no matter how many of his tears you wipe away, or how hard you try to play the saint… you’re never going to have him the way I did. You’ll never know how his voice sounds when it breaks, when he’s begging you to stop. You’ll never see him cry from pleasure, trembling from the way I moved. You’ll always be the virgin little boy in love with the slut I fucked.”

Ouch. Disgusting. And low.

Of course Jake shoved him. Hard.

It was like an explosion that had been building since the first sentence. Heeseung stumbled back, almost losing balance, and for a moment everything went silent. Jake stared at him, eyes lit up—not with jealousy, but pure disgust.

“You’re a fucking... You think that’s love? Reducing him to the way he moaned when you touched him? Calling him a ‘slut’?”

Heeseung couldn’t say anything. He just stood there, small. Feeling exactly what he should’ve admitted all along—like a disgusting excuse for a human being. An immature man who only tried to fill a void, even if it meant destroying someone else’s heart in the process.

“You broke him. Left him shattered. And now you have the balls to show up here, pretending you came to apologize, only to go on about how he moaned for you? That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

Jake stepped in again, stabbing Heeseung’s chest with his finger, and this time his voice dropped—low, venomous.

“I’d rather be the ‘virgin little boy’ a thousand times than be like you. Because in the end, I won. I’m the one who gets to touch him whenever I want, and he doesn’t push me away.”

Each word was like a jab straight to the heart.

“Now leave. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”

Heeseung said nothing. He couldn’t. Because he knew every word was true.

The sharp bang of the door echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. Heeseung stood there, frozen, his breath unsteady, fists clenched, and eyes fixed on the wood separating him from a fight—or another humiliation.

On the other side of the door, Jake was breathing heavily. Not from fear. From helplessness. From what he'd just heard. From how much he held back from breaking Heeseung’s face. He closed his eyes, and only when he heard his own shaky breath did he force himself to calm down.

Was everything his now...? Or at least, that’s what Jake wanted to make Heeseung believe, though deep down, he knew [...] didn’t belong to anyone.

Heeseung stood there, replaying everything in his mind before his body even dared to move, as if his legs doubted their ability to carry him after that fight. He finally made his way down the stairs, head low, hands still trembling.

The anger no longer burned. All that remained was that bitter emptiness, that hollow echo of knowing there was no way to go back and change the words he had said.

When he turned toward the hallway leading out of the building, expecting to find a sunless sky, dim but still glowing, that’s when he saw him.

His prince.

Walking in the opposite direction, headphones in, still unaware of Heeseung’s presence, eyes on the steps. And if the world had a button to stop time, Heeseung would’ve pressed it right then.

The first thing he noticed was his hair. A new cut—shorter on the sides, with loose strands falling naturally across his forehead, as if the wind knew exactly how to caress him. Then his skin. Clearer, glowing even, as if the tears had been replaced with tenderness and gentle care. He wore a loose jacket and dark jeans—simple… but he looked fucking beautiful.

No… more than beautiful. He looked like a god. He looked happy. At peace.

As if he didn’t remember him at all.

Heeseung’s heart twisted violently. It felt like he was witnessing something he shouldn’t, like watching a film about someone nostalgia painted too clearly… And it hurt. It hurt so much.

[...] looked up quickly. And he saw him.

And for a moment, for one fucking second, their eyes met again.

Heeseung felt his heartbeat slow down, felt nerves, anxiety, fear. It was like that feeling of panic when you don’t know what to do, what to say, and the words just won’t come.

[...] didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Didn’t cry. He just looked at him. With a calmness that shattered every brick Heeseung had built into his temple.

As if he no longer hurt.

Heeseung stood still for a few seconds, looking him up and down, admiring him the same way he had that night.

He took a deep breath, trying to form words in his throat that refused to come. He took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of him.

“Baby… I-I mean, [...]...” his voice trembled, barely able to whisper. “C-Can we talk...? Just give me… give me a few minutes. Just a moment to explain...”

“No… Not now.” he replied, his voice cold, like a stranger’s. Like someone who had never known Hee. “I don’t want to.”

Heeseung saw the invisible wall [...] had built from the very first second. The distance shattered something inside him—his pride.

Without thinking, his hand reached out and brushed [...]’s arm, a fleeting, timid contact, trying to stop his stubborn steps.

“Please...” he insisted, voice cracking. “You don’t understand... how I feel. I need to explain… I need you to listen, just for a moment...”

[...] pulled his arm away with a sharp motion, as if disgusted by the touch.

“There’s nothing to explain,” he replied with a tired, steady voice. “What happened, happened. And I’m done looking for answers where there are none.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, feeling tears blur his vision. He knew he was running out of time—it was now or never to—excuse—explain himself, to try to get back the one thing that had ever felt real.

He stepped closer, just a bit more, as if that inch of distance was his last burning thread. His last hope.

“I know… I-I know I failed you. I hurt you. But...” he paused, searching for the right words. His chest rose and fell, struggling to keep the tears from falling. “I can’t let it end like this. Not without fighting for you… I need you… [...], I need you so much… I miss you...”

[...] didn’t look away—he only stared deeper, his expression that of someone who had finally learned that idealizing someone only brings pain, that it breaks you once you see who they truly are.

“I don’t need you to fight for me, Heeseung,” he said in a broken voice, gently shaking his head. “I need you to leave me alone.”

Heeseung felt the ground vanish beneath his feet with that sentence.

“I need you to leave me alone.”

Before he could rationalize, before he could realize how pathetic or prideful it might seem, he dropped to his knees in front of him. Truly. In that moment, he didn’t care if anyone saw them, didn’t care what was left of his dignity.

His shoulders trembled, and finally, the tears burst from his eyes with urgency, soaking his lashes, his cheeks—every corner those drops could reach.

“No… D-Don’t say that… please, don’t tell me that…” His voice was barely a gasp, breaking with every word. “You can’t ask me to do that… not you. Not after… how you made me feel…”

[...] took a step back, in shock. He pressed his lips together, took a deep breath, crossing his arms in front of his chest, trying not to collapse with him.

“Please. Get up, Heeseung. Just make it easier for both of us,” he murmured, hardening even more, though his eyes were already starting to shine with pain he could barely conceal.

But Heeseung shook his head. Clumsily wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, his red, tear-filled eyes already looked empty.

“No… I-I… I can’t. Not until… until I can tell you the truth…” He cut himself off, struggling to breathe. Drawing air into his lungs felt twice as hard now.

“Those seconds… you shouldn’t… have heard that. It wasn’t what it seemed, I swear it wasn’t. I didn’t want…” His voice cracked, and he rubbed his face in desperation, like he wanted to scrub off the guilt.

“And what do you expect to achieve by telling me this, Heeseung?” [...] snapped, starting to feel that constant stabbing sensation in his chest. The wound burned—it kept tearing open the longer he stayed. He could feel the blade twisting deep inside.

“N-Nothing! Just… It was a mistake. A fucking mistake. I was drunk, confused, exhausted. And you… you were sleeping so peacefully, and she sent me a couple of messages and… and I…” He inhaled deeply, burying his head in his hands.

“I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you that much. I thought nothing would happen… a-and… besides, I didn’t… I didn’t feel anything when I said all that. I was only thinking about you… b-but I said all that because…”

[...] clenched his jaw, feeling his breathing quicken. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to pity him. He didn’t want to believe him… but there Heeseung was. On his knees. Crying like his life depended on it. Like someone had a gun to his head.

“You used me, Heeseung,” he murmured, voice cracked.

“First you made me believe you really loved me. You made me feel like that moment meant something… And then you just forgot about me… for her?” He dropped his gaze, swallowing down the knot in his throat.

“How did you expect me to react? Happy knowing I gave myself to someone who doesn’t know how to be alone?”

Heeseung looked up, desperate, tears staining his cheeks with fresh drops retracing the path.

“I know… I know I fucked it up bad, I never should’ve used you… but I was just so… lost. S-Sad. But believe me… I can change, for you. Just let me be close… again. You don’t have to forgive me today, or tomorrow… but don’t shut me out. Please don’t. I swear I’ll change, a-and I’m already changing… Just… don’t hate me so much…”

[...] stayed silent, feeling something inside him drying out. He had buried it forcefully, ripped out a part of his life to avoid being consumed… but now, it took just one moment to feel how, slowly, it was all starting to… simply fade away.

He took a deep breath and shook his head softly.

“I don’t hate you, Heeseung. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to,” he said, eyes now glistening too—though he remained standing, firm.

“But I’m not going to let you keep hovering in my life anymore. I don’t need you, and you don’t need me. We’re not friends. We weren’t ever anything more… Live your life and just forget what happened. Move on.”

And with that, he turned around, taking a step forward. Then another. And another.

And Heeseung knew—this was the worst kind of goodbye. Not only had he humiliated himself, he had exposed a part of him so raw, all for something he already knew would end badly.

He wanted to beg again, to scream, to grab his hand, to tell him that life didn’t taste the same without him—that no skin, no voice, no other love could ever compare. But he didn’t.

He was tired too.

[…] he walked without looking back, his steps steady—though in truth, his legs were shaking more than ever. Heeseung’s voice still echoed in the back of his mind, and he could still feel the hot, trembling touch of Heeseung’s hand on his wrist.

The sound of his broken voice calling his name between sobs still rang inside him. The way his tears hit the floor—it was all still there. Still fresh. But he didn’t stop, no matter how tight the knot in his throat begged him to turn around, to answer, to scream back. He wasn’t going to give in.

His headphones hung around his neck, still playing something soft. He walked quickly, passing through the dorm hallways without lifting his gaze, as if afraid Heeseung might chase after him again.

He climbed the stairs with his breath short and uneven. And by the time he reached his door, he could barely recognize himself. His eyes burned, his chest, calves, and heels ached with heat. The corners of his lips trembled downward—but he wasn’t going to cry.

Not because he wanted to play strong, but because there was nothing left to cry about. It wasn’t the heartbreak that hurt—it was the anger. Because it all happened so fast. Because what Heeseung did was so low. Because he showed up just when everything was starting to feel normal again. When he was starting to feel normal again.

He opened the door.

Jake sat in front of his computer, glasses perched on his nose, a faint frown on his face as he worked through a couple of formulas that looked like a foreign language to 90% of his brain.

The room looked the same as always—clean, moderately tidy, with that warm light Jake always preferred over the harsh white from the ceiling. A soft lo-fi playlist played in the background. Jake turned his head slightly and smiled when he saw him.

“Heyyy, you got here right when I was about to text you,” he said in that soft voice that always felt like it reached every fragile corner of his soul.

[…] tried to smile back, but when he did, it came out forced—barely a twitch of his lips. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it for a second like he needed it to hold him up. Jake’s brows furrowed a little, and he slowly took off his glasses.

“You okay? What happened?” he asked, noticing how heavy he was breathing, his chest rising and falling hard. “Let me guess.. another dog chased you again?”

[…] shook his head, pulling off his jacket without meeting Jake’s eyes. His voice came out soft, barely catching air.

“What? Oh.. no... I just.. ran.”

Jake nodded gently, though his gaze lingered with quiet concern. He could tell something was off. But he didn’t push. He simply stood up, walked over, and without another word, wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his chin softly on his shoulder.

“Well… at least you’re here now,” he whispered. “How was your day?”

[...] stayed like that for a few seconds, arms hanging at his sides. He didn’t hug him back at first. But he didn’t pull away either. In fact, he didn’t say anything. His body just… allowed itself, for the first time in hours, to loosen up a little, exhaling deeply, shakily. His eyes closed and his face dropped, his forehead resting gently on Jake’s shoulder.

The warmth of their bodies, Jake’s voice, the familiarity of the dorm room, the soft music playing in the background, the faint scent of cologne.. it was everything he needed after the storm that had rattled him outside.

As if, for now, he could hide from everything that had just happened in the arms of someone who didn’t know the full story… but who he was sure could figure it out just from the way their eyes connected. And still, Jake never pushed him to speak.

“So… that bad, huh?” Jake whispered, trying to lighten the moment a bit.

Jake hugged him a little tighter, sliding one hand gently down his back, as if he could ease the thoughts racing through his… friend’s head. He didn’t need to know everything to feel something had broken. Again.

Finally, [...] took a deep breath. That’s when he wrapped his arms around Jake. Not tightly, but slowly, almost hesitantly.

Jake smiled a little against his neck after he buried his face in it.

“Do you want something for dinner?” he asked softly. “I can order pizza, or… whatever you want.”

[...] shook his head, not pulling away.

“No… Just… give me one more second like this,” he murmured.

Jake nodded quietly.

A couple of minutes later, when they finally pulled apart, Jake walked to his bed and sat down, taking off his glasses completely and setting them on his pillow.

He glanced over at [...].

There was something strange in his eyes. Like he was tired, but not physically. It was as if his spirit was completely drained. Jake could see it.

Because he wasn’t stupid.

Because he knew the details, the little gestures growing weaker, the pauses in his voice, now rough and worn.

[...] took off his sneakers quickly and lazily tossed his jacket over the back of the desk chair. Then he let himself fall back on his bed, lying flat, staring at the ceiling. Jake turned his head to keep watching him.

A comfortable silence settled in for a moment. Or at least, that’s what it tried to be.

Because Jake’s mind wouldn’t stop thinking about him. Something was wrong. Too wrong.

“...Nothing weird happened on campus today, did it?” he asked suddenly, not in an accusing tone. Just curious.

Jake tilted his head a little, like seeing him from another angle might help his brain connect dots he didn’t know existed.

“You didn’t run into anyone? Heeseung... maybe?”

[...] didn’t answer right away, but his body tensed. Slightly, but enough for Jake to notice. Just for a second. A hand twitch, a squeeze on the sheet.

“Hmm? No, it’s.. a miracle…” he lied, closing his eyes.

But the answer came too fast. No stuttering. And he didn’t look at him again.

Jake clenched his teeth. Not from jealousy, not because he didn’t get the answer he wanted. Just.. instinct.

He stood up, walked to his bed, and sat on the edge, looking down at him.

“Well, that’s… good. I’m glad he finally got it,” he began calmly, pretending to believe him. “But—seriously, why were you running?”

[...] opened his eyes slowly. Looking up at him, the warm light reflecting in his gaze, the shapes of the bulbs looked like little stars over a black sea. It was captivating.

“It’s nothing important, it’s just that… I don’t know, I had some coffee and suddenly felt like running,” he whispered.

The lie wasn’t direct, but it was the cruelest of all. Minimizing what he felt, what happened, everything that was said, everything he thought—when in reality, he had just stood frozen. Even though he knew that, somehow, he had every right to, and he didn’t want to give Jake another reason to be stressed.

He had been there through so many low points, yeah. Did he ask for it? Never. Did he refuse? Not once.

Jake had spent months suffering with him, holding him, comforting him, seeing him as more than just someone who had been used to forget another body. Jake was everything he had once dreamed of in Heeseung, everything his mind had convinced him of back when they were best friends.

“Sorry for making you worry,” [...] said, swallowing hard and letting go of the bedsheet.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry. Next time let’s race—last one back has to… buy ramen for the whole week!”

Jake didn’t want to make him feel worse. He didn’t deserve it—not after that little scene. Pfft, worthy of a drama novel.

He simply slid his hand toward his, giving it a soft squeeze while raising his eyebrows and offering a faint smile.

[...] just nodded, slowly closing his eyes again. And that night, when Jake turned off the light and returned to his desk after hearing him start to snore softly, the only brightness left in the room came from the flickering computer screen… and his own reflection, tear-streaked, threatening to fall across the keys.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The clock on the wall read 2:14 a.m.

Jake hadn’t said a word since he sat back down at the desk. The screen cast a bluish glow over his face, but his eyes weren’t really following any text, and his hands just rested on his cheeks. He was only pretending to be focused, while his ears, in the background, stayed alert to every breath from [...].

He was still lying down, one arm over his eyes. He wasn’t fully asleep. Jake knew that from the way he shifted now and then, not quite finding a comfortable position.

The silence stretched on for several more minutes, at least until the bed creaked softly, making Jake glance up from behind his laptop again.

This time, Jake let himself give in to his more instinctive side. More... protective? maybe. He just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Sometimes [...] did that when he cried.

Jake walked barefoot across the cold floor, stopping beside him. He stood still, looking down in silence.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since that happened...

He only knew he couldn’t take his eyes off him. [...] looked so sweet when he slept; his long lashes, the little sounds he made, the slight furrow of his brow... it was like the world had never touched him. He looked like an angel.

Jake slowly crouched down. Carefully, with a trembling pulse, he brought one hand to [...]’s cheek. He brushed his face lightly with his knuckles, just barely grazing him, feeling his skin, his warmth. Then he traced the line of his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips. The touch was gentle. Reverent.

Like he was handling something fragile—fresh porcelain.

Jake swallowed dryly.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest. His breath was so quiet, he could only hear the thudding in his own ribcage.

His eyes didn’t leave [...]’s lips, because they were right there. Right in front of him.

He didn’t even know when they had become so familiar, so addictive. He sketched them in so many... ways.

They had this soft curve that stayed etched in his memory. The perfect anatomy, not in an aesthetic sense, but in the most human way.

Light brown liner, pale pink inside, slightly parted. The way they pressed together when his expression shifted in a dream, or how he’d unconsciously wet them, giving them that soft, glistening look...

Jake watched them silently as he leaned in closer, holding his breath when he felt [...]’s breath brush against his face.

Did I mention they were soft? They were. So plush, he could already taste their sweetness just with the tips of his fingers.

Fuck.

He bit his lower lip—barely—his eyes darting between [...]’s closed eyelids and the way his lips parted a little more, letting out that sweet hum of soft breaths and low snores.

He wanted to kiss them. Yes.

He hesitated.

He leaned in... just a little closer. Closed his eyes as his forehead rested gently against [...]. And for a moment, his mouth hovered over his, without touching.

He was torn between desire and guilt, between everything he had kept quiet... And everything he might never be brave enough to say.

“You can’t do this, Jake... not like this,” he thought.

“But love doesn’t always ask for permission.” What a stupid phrase. It was easier to just say he was going to do it because [...] would never know. He was so exhausted that not even an alarm would wake him.

“Fuck it...” he whispered.

And then he kissed him.

His lips fell onto [...]’s with the delicacy of fine crystal. Not in a rush, but with a hunger for more—with anxiety. Just love, he wanted to believe that. It hurt, physically hurt, not being able to wrap his arms around him, not being able to bite his lips, to leave him breathless. It hurt that he could only kiss him in the most cowardly way.

In secret.

His hands stayed where they were. Still over the sheets, gripping the fabric. His brow was furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut to keep from imagining everything he could possibly do.

Jake wished his lips could say everything his voice never dared to, but... was that even possible?

Was one night kiss, enough?

Jake’s heart and mind quieted... a little. But for the first time in days—weeks, maybe years—he felt a sliver of peace.

He stayed there for what might have been minutes, memorizing the way [...]’s lips had softened against his, the faint aftertaste of coffee from earlier still lingering. Then he slowly pulled away, lifting one hand to touch [...]’s cheek.

“You don’t know how much it hurts not being able to tell you how much I love you…” Jake whispered it like a sorrow.

He stood up soon after, not noticing how [...]’s fingers twitched slightly, tightening around the edge of the blanket.

Jake turned with a restless heart and slipped back into his bed, lying flat on his chest, back facing the ceiling.

Silence returned to the room.

Until [...] finally opened his eyes.

Suddenly, as if jolted out of sleep paralysis.

His lips trembled. His eyes were wide open, fixed on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling faster now.

He didn’t know if he’d dreamed it. If his body had betrayed him. If the kiss had actually happened.

But the warmth was still there. On his mouth. On his cheek.

He slowly sat up in bed, careful not to make a sound, and brought his fingers to his lips. He touched them. Ran them side to side, top to bottom, pressed them, tugged softly at the lower one.

His eyes shimmered. He was confused. Dazed...

Deeply happy.

Though there was fear, too.

Because if that kiss had been real... Then maybe everything Jake had once said when he was drunk could be real too.

And what hurt the most... Was that it had been the most beautiful kiss he’d ever felt. And it had come from someone who was beginning to fill every corner of his thoughts.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

⸺ ⠀ 𝑐꯭𝑟꯭𝑒꯭𝑑𝑖꯭𝑡𝑠 @angelsfat3 .

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(ㅤ𝑓ollowㅤ ㅤ，ㅤㅤ #𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤! )

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#𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙨𝘧𝘢𝘵3ㅤ﹟ㅤ𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽.#kpop x male reader #x male reader #enhypen x male reader #enhypen scenarios #kpop scenarios #enhypen #x male oc #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #kpop x you #＃𝗘𝗡𝗛𝗬𝗣𝗘𝗡︐ 𝑠 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀.ㅤ／ㅤO1.#heeseung x male reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung

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