#{romance mentions in the tags ----------------------->}

[lovscb97]

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy! 

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd? 

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you. 

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your jeans, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room. 

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift. 

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid. 

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“ 

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you. 

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself. 

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin. 

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax. 

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration. 

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them. 

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night. 

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then. 

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could. 

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now. 

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter. 

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting. 

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too. 

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires. 

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you. 

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said. 

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?” 

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions. 

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction. 

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief. 

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips. 

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

© all rights reserved to @/lovscb97, do not plagiarise, translate, re-upload, etc 

[hotteokyu]

wooyoung's sister (coming soon)

Synopsis ~ Your brother's career would be over if not for his pretty substitute. You can sing, dance, and do a prefect impression of Wooyoung, so you accept his plea. You have your own reasons, of course. It's about time you meet the man thirsting after your innocent brother and put him in his place. You hate people like him. Choi San.

So you become Wooyoung for a while.

Pairing ~ san x reader (wooyoung's twin sister)

Word count ~ over 10k

Genre / warnings ~ romance, enemies to lovers, smut, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MDNI, gender-swap, reader has anger issues (plot point), mention of cult, binder, reader is protective of brother, hates skinship, hates affection, hates everything, san is made fun of a lot, pls dont take it to heart i love him, many thoughts of violence, cursing, trust issues, passing out, some angst, clingy san, lego live ft. Hwa, Hwa is done with their cat fights, slumber party, strawberry cake drama, description of period cramps

a/n ~ Interact to be tagged! I still have a bit to write, so I'll add more tags as I finish it up (including smut). For the sake of the plot, the reader looks like Wooyoung for the most part. Also... let me know if you have an opinion, but should seonghwa be added to their little thing when they get together? Or should it just be san and reader?

[jhyoos]

Of Roses And Steel

chapter two: a wolf in sheep’s clothing

mentions : royalty au, medieval au, romance, strong reader, silco is king, heartbreak, ruined friendships, light smut (im working on it 😔), hate kissing, mel having the audacity, cute pet surprise!, another long ass chapter.

notes: if I didn’t tag you in the taglist I apologize just comment again and I will next time

↲ previous chapter | next chapter ↳

Ever since that fateful night when you poured your heart out to Sevika and were met with her cold, brutal rejection, things between you had been strained to the point of breaking. The once-familiar dynamic, filled with tension and unspoken affection, had disintegrated into a void of silence and avoidance.

Sevika had withdrawn completely, excusing herself from her role as your combat instructor. She told your father that she needed to focus on training rookies, and though he accepted her reasoning without question, you knew better. It wasn’t about the rookies. It was about you. He hired someone else in her place—a knight far less intimidating, far less skilled. But they weren’t her. They could never be her.

Dinner was no better. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look in her direction. She sat at her usual spot, stoic and silent, picking at her meal with none of the sharp wit or dry commentary that used to fill the silence. You kept your focus on Mel and your father, forcing yourself to laugh at Mel’s jokes and respond to your father’s questions, even though you felt Sevika’s presence like a shadow, oppressive and inescapable. The air between you was suffocating, a palpable tension that no one dared to acknowledge.

But the uneasy peace shattered when your father cleared his throat, glancing between you and Sevika. “I won’t be able to walk you to your chambers tonight, daughter,” he said, his tone firm. “Sevika, see that she gets there safely.”

You froze, your fork hovering over your plate. Sevika’s gaze flicked up briefly, her face as unreadable as ever, but you could see the slight tightening of her jaw. She inclined her head, her voice cold and emotionless. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

You didn’t dare protest—not in front of your father—but the idea of walking alongside her, even for the brief journey to your chambers, made your chest tighten.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the halls. The hallway you entered was all too familiar, its flickering torchlight casting shadows against the stone walls. This was the hallway where you’d confessed everything, where you’d been so cruelly turned away.

When you couldn’t bear the silence any longer, you stopped in your tracks, turning to face her. “I can walk myself. You don’t have to babysit me,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Sevika’s expression didn’t shift; she remained cold, detached. “It’s an order from the king. I have to.” Her tone left no room for argument. “We can just walk in silence.”

“Fine,” you muttered, turning away before she could see the frustration written on your face.

You walked ahead of her, putting as much distance between you as the narrow hallway allowed. The tension in the air was stifling, and the echoes of your footsteps only served to remind you of her presence, of the chasm that now separated you.

When you reached the door to your chambers, you didn’t give her a chance to speak. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you opened the door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind you.

Your servants were already waiting, their arms full of towels and soaps. They greeted you warmly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. They helped you undress, their chatter filling the quiet as you climbed into the waiting bath.

The hot water enveloped you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to sink into its warmth, closing your eyes as the tension in your body began to ease. The night’s awkwardness, the ache of rejection that still lingered, the suffocating presence of Sevika—it all seemed to dissolve, if only for a little while.

After your bath, you let the warmth of the water soak into your skin a little longer before stepping out and letting the servants wrap you in a soft robe. They helped you into your nightgown, the fabric flowing like water against your body as they carefully pinned and curled your hair for the following day. Their chatter filled the air, light and pleasant, but your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

When they finished, you dismissed them with a soft “Thank you” and climbed into bed, the familiar coolness of the sheets wrapping around you. It was only as you settled into the quiet of the room that the emptiness of it struck you. This was the first night in quite some time that you’d slept alone, without your best friend by your side. A pang of loneliness rippled through you, but you sighed softly, resigning yourself to the solitude. At least tonight, there was no forced conversation, no awkward silences. You let your body sink into the mattress, rolling onto your side as your eyelids grew heavy, and soon, you drifted into sleep.

But your rest was short-lived.

A wet, rhythmic tap against your forehead pulled you from your slumber. At first, you tried to ignore it, twisting and turning beneath the blankets in irritation, but the sensation didn’t stop. Cold and unsettling, the droplets clung to your skin.

Groaning softly, you reached up to touch your damp forehead, your fingers brushing against the moisture. You slowly opened your eyes, still groggy, but the moment your gaze fell on your hand, your heart dropped.

Blood.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you froze, staring at the crimson smear on your fingers. Trembling, you forced yourself to look up, your eyes widening in horror at the grotesque sight before you. Hanging from the beams above your bed was the severed head of a bear, its lifeless eyes staring straight down at you, its blood dripping onto your pillow.

The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, a raw, primal sound of fear that echoed off the walls. Within moments, the door burst open, and a handful of soldiers and servants rushed in.

“Your Highness!” a maid cried out, her voice trembling with panic as she rushed to your side. She pulled you from the bed, her arms wrapping around you tightly, trying to shield you from the gruesome sight. You buried your face against her shoulder, your body trembling as she whispered soothing words you barely registered.

The guards moved quickly, drawing their swords as they approached the ghastly display. One of them reached up cautiously, cutting the head down and lowering it carefully to examine it. The room buzzed with frantic energy, the soldiers barking questions at one another.

“There were no guards posted at her door. Why not?” a servant demanded, her voice sharp with fear and anger.

“There were supposed to be two guards stationed here as usual,” another soldier muttered, his expression grim as he examined the scene. “Whoever did this clearly planned it out. This was no coincidence.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, even as the maid continued to comfort you. Your mind raced, replaying the image of the blood, the bear’s lifeless gaze, and the chilling realization that someone had gone to great lengths to send a message—a message meant for you.

“Come, let’s take you to the washroom so we can clean you up,” Eliza said gently, her arm still wrapped protectively around you as she led you out of your chambers. Her warmth and steadiness were a lifeline in the chaos that had shattered your night.

“Thank you, Eliza,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No need for thanks,” she replied softly. “It’s my duty, my dear.”

The hallway was eerily silent, the early morning hours casting long shadows across the walls. The rest of the castle was still asleep, oblivious to the terror you had just endured. The quiet felt heavy, oppressive, and you clung to Eliza’s calm presence as she guided you down the halls.

Once in the washroom, she helped you sit on a cushioned chair near the basin. She dipped a towel into warm water, wringing it out before kneeling in front of you. The gentle press of the damp cloth against your skin made you flinch at first, but her touch was careful, soothing as she began to clean the blood from your trembling hands and face.

“You must be so frightened,” she said softly, her brows furrowed with concern as she wiped away the last remnants of crimson from your fingers. “My poor child.”

Her words, so tender and maternal, caused a lump to form in your throat. You could only nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you—fear, confusion, anger.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the quiet, and you looked up to see your father entering the room, his face pale with worry. He wasn’t dressed in his usual royal attire but rather in his sleepwear, his hair slightly disheveled from being woken so abruptly. Behind him stood Sevika, her broad frame filling the doorway. She, too, was dressed casually in a simple shirt and trousers, her expression unreadable, but her sharp eyes flickered with tension as they briefly met yours.

“Are you alright?” your father asked, his voice laced with worry as he knelt down in front of you. His hands, warm and steady, enveloped your trembling ones, grounding you.

“I-I’m fine… I think,” you stammered, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.

He let out a heavy sigh of relief, though his shoulders remained taut. Without a word, he pulled you into a firm embrace, his arms wrapping around you protectively. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady beat of his heart a temporary balm for your frayed nerves.

“Come,” he said softly, pulling back to look at you. “You can sleep in my chambers tonight. I’ll take the couch.”

You nodded, unable to argue. The idea of returning to your bed—of being alone—was unbearable.

As your father helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but glance at Sevika again. She remained silent, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression as cold and distant as ever. Her presence, once a source of comfort, now only reminded you of the growing rift between you. Whatever concern she might have felt, she hid it well, her face a mask of indifference as she watched you leave with your father.

You looked away, the ache in your chest deepening as you walked out of the washroom, leaning on your father for support.

Throughout the rest of the night, your father stayed beside you, holding your trembling hand in his much steadier one. His touch was a constant reassurance, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles to calm you. He didn’t even try to sleep, his piercing gaze fixed on the ceiling as he kept his silent vigil over you.

“I won’t sleep,” he had promised softly when you hesitated to close your eyes. “I’ll stay right here until you do.”

The conviction in his voice gave you just enough courage to let yourself relax. The soft rise and fall of his breathing beside you and the warmth of his presence slowly lulled you into a fitful slumber.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was that the hand holding yours wasn’t his anymore. Instead, a more delicate hand rested in yours, fingers loosely intertwined with your own. Turning your head, you saw Mel curled up next to you, still fast asleep. Her dark curls fell over her face, and her lips were slightly parted as she breathed evenly. She must have come in at some point during the night, taking over your father’s place when he had other matters to attend to.

Your gaze shifted to the curtains, sunlight seeping through the heavy fabric and filling the room with a soft golden glow. The warmth of the morning felt out of place after the horrors of the night before.

As if on cue, the maids quietly entered the room, their soft footsteps startling you from your thoughts. The sound woke Mel as well, her lashes fluttering as she groggily sat up, looking around in confusion before realizing where she was.

The maids moved with precision, their expressions solemn as they began their work. Usually, their chatter would fill the room—bright greetings of "Good morning, Your Highness!" or playful remarks about how radiant you looked—but today was different. The lively banter you were so accustomed to was replaced with an uncharacteristic silence.

They dressed you in measured, methodical movements, their hands careful and efficient as they helped you into your gown. They avoided your gaze, their usually cheerful faces shadowed with worry and sadness. It was as though they were afraid to say the wrong thing or disturb your fragile state.

The absence of their lighthearted words left a hollow ache in your chest. The cheerful normalcy they usually brought had always been a small comfort, a sign that things were predictable and safe. But today, it felt like even they didn’t believe things could go back to the way they were.

The sound of a knock at the door interrupted the moment, and all heads turned as it opened to reveal your father. He was fully dressed now, his expression composed but tired, his usual regal demeanor strained under the weight of the situation. Behind him stood Sevika, her armor back in place, her face as cold and unreadable as ever.

Your father stepped forward, dismissing the maids with a wave of his hand. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked gently, his tone softer than usual.

“I’m... better,” you replied, though the faint tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He nodded, his sharp eyes scanning you as though to assess whether you were telling the truth. “Good,” he said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll discuss what happened later today. For now, I’ve instructed extra guards to remain at your chamber doors at all times. This will not happen again.”

You nodded, unable to find words to respond. Your gaze drifted to Sevika, who stood silently by the door, her expression cold and detached. She didn’t look at you, her gaze fixed somewhere above your head.

Your father followed your line of sight and seemed to consider something before addressing her. “Sevika, I trust you’ll be personally overseeing the guard rotations from now on.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied curtly, her voice low and devoid of emotion.

“Good.” Your father’s tone softened as he turned back to you. “I’ll leave you in Mel’s care for now. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening and leaving the room.

For a moment, it was just you, Mel, and Sevika in the suffocating silence. The tension in the room was palpable as you avoided looking in her direction.

Mel stood, brushing her hands down her dress. “I think some fresh air might help,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens later?”

You nodded absently, your gaze still fixed on the ground. Sevika lingered for a moment longer before finally turning to leave without a word. Her heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and the sound of the door closing behind her left you feeling both relieved and hollow.

The garden was calm and serene, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a golden glow over the vibrant flowers and the butterflies flitting between them. The air smelled of roses and lavender, their sweet scent doing little to ease the unease that still clung to you.

Mel led you through the winding paths, her hand resting lightly on your arm as though she could shield you from whatever dark force had left its mark in your chambers. Despite the beauty around you, your thoughts remained clouded.

When you reached the patio at the garden's center, you sat on the stone bench, staring at the fountain that bubbled softly nearby. Mel sat down beside you, her presence comforting even in silence.

“I don’t understand…” you finally said, your voice quiet but filled with frustration. “Who would leave such a thing in my bedroom? And why didn’t they just go ahead and kill me in the process?”

Mel frowned, her brows knitting together as she looked at you. “Maybe it’s some type of warning,” she offered carefully.

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, sighing as you leaned back against the bench. “But a warning for what? And why me? I haven’t done anything to anyone. At least… not that I know of.”

Mel placed a reassuring hand on your knee. “There’s always a reason, even if it’s not one we can see yet. We’ll figure it out. And whoever did this… they won’t get away with it. Your father will make sure of that.”

You nodded, though her words did little to ease the tightness in your chest. Your gaze drifted to the fountain, watching the water ripple and sparkle in the sunlight. “It’s just… I thought I was safe. In my chambers, in this castle. But now…” You hesitated, swallowing hard as the memory of the blood dripping on your forehead resurfaced.

Mel’s grip on your knee tightened slightly. “You are safe,” she said firmly. “Your father will ensure it. And you have me, too. You’ll never be alone in this.”

Her words brought a small sense of comfort, and you managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Mel. Truly.”

She smiled back, her warmth cutting through the lingering chill of your fear. “Always.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the fountain and the soft chirping of birds filling the air. Despite the beauty around you, the unease lingered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far darker.

Later that evening, you prepared yourself for training with your new instructor. After your request, one of the servants promptly informed him, and the two of you agreed to meet at the usual training grounds. Determined not to repeat the awkwardness of last time, you decided to dress yourself. Pulling on a fitted black ensemble, cinched at the waist with buckles and straps, you felt prepared for the rigorous session ahead.

Your instructor was already waiting for you when you arrived, sword in hand. Though he was a man—a fact you found slightly disappointing—there was no denying his skill. He was strict, unrelenting, and brutally honest, pushing you to your limits with biting remarks and challenges designed to stoke your determination. It was exactly what you needed.

An hour into training, his tone shifted, signaling a new level of intensity. “Enough warm-ups. Let’s see if you can hold your own in a fight,” he said, his voice tinged with a smirk. He handed you a sword, warning, “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

The moment he had his weapon in hand, he lunged toward you without hesitation. The suddenness of his attack caught you off guard, but you managed to block his strike just in time. The sharp clang of clashing steel echoed through the training grounds. His movements were quick, calculated, but you matched him blow for blow, your instincts and reflexes sharper than even you anticipated.

Still, he found an opening. With a swift maneuver, he swept your leg from beneath you, sending you sprawling to the ground. Your sword clattered out of reach as he stood over you, the tip of his blade resting just above your neck.

You glared up at him, expecting a triumphant remark or smug insult, but instead, his expression darkened. Something about his gaze unsettled you. “Fuck it,” he muttered, letting his sword fall to the ground.

Before you could react, he dropped to his knees, pinning you down as his hands roamed over your body. His lips crushed against yours in a kiss that made your stomach churn with disgust. You struggled beneath him, shoving him away with all your strength.

“Sir! I’m not interested in you in that way,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger.

He sneered, his confidence unshaken. “Oh, come on! I’ve seen the way you look at me. You wanted this.”

“No, I don’t!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

He followed, his hand lashing out to grip your face tightly. With a sneer, he pushed you against the wall. “You’re so soft… so beautiful. I’m surprised whoever left that little gift in your chambers didn’t take advantage of you. I know I would have.”

His words sent a wave of nausea through you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The memory of the night before, combined with his vile insinuations, made your blood boil. Fueled by rage, you bit down hard on his hand, the metallic taste of his blood filling your mouth as he screamed in pain.

“You’re done,” you hissed, spitting on him as you stepped back.

Without another word, you stormed out of the training grounds, your breathing ragged and your heart racing. The guards stationed outside stared at you, their concern evident.

“Arrest him,” you commanded, your voice firm despite the tremor in it. “He tried to hurt me.”

They didn’t hesitate, rushing into the training grounds. The last thing you saw before turning away was the instructor clutching his injured hand, his expression twisted in pain and fear.

Your composure began to crumble as you walked away. Each breath felt harder to take, and tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. You needed to find Mel. She was the only one who could make sense of this, the only one who could comfort you.

You passed a few of your ladies-in-waiting on the way to her chambers. They paused, concern etched on their faces as they noticed your state. “Are you alright?” one of them asked.

“I’m fine,” you choked out, unwilling to stop.

When you reached Mel’s chambers, you didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open in your desperation. “Mel—”

Your voice faltered as the scene before you registered. Sevika was there, her broad shoulders hunched over Mel, her head buried between her legs. The two froze at the sound of your voice, their expressions shifting from shock to guilt as they turned to face you.

Something inside you cracked. You weren’t sure if it was anger, sadness, or something else entirely, but the sight of them together left you feeling hollow. Without another word, you closed the door and ran, ignoring their calls after you.

The tears came harder now, blurring your vision as you bumped into nobles and ladies in the halls. Each apology was a faint whisper compared to the storm raging inside you. By the time you reached your chambers, you could barely breathe, collapsing onto your bed as the weight of everything crashed down around you.

Your head was buried deep in a pillow, muffling the sound of your broken sobs. Each breath was jagged, each tear relentless. You couldn’t stop crying, and you didn’t even know what it was for anymore. Was it for the betrayal of someone you trusted so deeply? For the horrifying assault you’d just endured? Or was it the ache of seeing Sevika—your Sevika—with someone else, someone who wasn’t you? The feelings tangled inside you, a chaotic mess of grief, rage, and heartbreak that left you paralyzed.

You didn’t notice the soft creak of your chamber door opening. Nor did you hear the footsteps until a hand rested gently on your shoulder. The touch sent a jolt through you, and you flinched violently, rolling onto your back to see who it was.

Mel stood there, her face painted with guilt and regret.

“Get out,” you spat, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Please, let me explain,” she said softly, stepping closer.

“GET OUT!” you shouted, springing to your feet. Your entire body trembled as you faced her, your tears now hot with anger. “I don’t want to see you ever again. You’re horrible. You knew I loved her! And yet you do that?”

Mel flinched as your words hit her, but she didn’t back away. “I won’t leave, (Y/N). We’re friends. I care for you. I’m so sorry.”

“How long?” you demanded, your voice quivering.

“What?” she asked, her tone uncertain.

“Don’t play dumb, Mel,” you hissed. “How long has this been going on?”

She hesitated, guilt flickering across her face before she finally whispered, “A few months.”

A bitter scoff escaped you as you turned your back to her, unable to bear the sight of her any longer. “You’ve known I’ve loved her for years,” you said, your voice breaking. “Why would you do this to me? I thought you cared about me… I thought you loved me.”

Mel moved closer, her hand gripping your shoulder firmly as she spun you around and pulled you into a tight embrace. You stiffened against her, your anger bubbling beneath the surface as her arms enveloped you. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” she whispered into your ear.

But then you smelled it—her. Sevika’s distinct scent lingered on Mel like a mark of betrayal, seeping into your senses. The realization sickened you. You hated it. You hated Mel. You hated her. You hated both of them.

Your hands shot up to Mel’s shoulders, shoving her back with enough force to break her grip. “You can still be my lady,” you said, your voice cold and detached, “but I don’t want you sitting beside me at dinner anymore. I can’t bear to look at you… not even with a smile.”

Mel’s face crumpled at your words, but she nodded, accepting your decree. “I understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “Just know, if you ever need me… I’ll always be here.”

You shook your head, glaring at her. “I don’t need you. If anything, you need me,” you said sharply before brushing past her and walking toward the door.

Sevika stood just outside, leaning against the frame as if she had been waiting. Her piercing gaze bore into you, but you refused to meet her eyes, staring straight ahead instead.

You pushed past her without a word, your head held high even though your heart felt like it was splintering apart. Behind you, you could hear them speaking in hushed voices, but you didn’t dare turn back. Not this time. Not ever.

The throne room was bustling with more people than usual. Advisors, guards, and courtiers moved about, their voices echoing off the high ceilings in a chaotic symphony of duty and intrigue. You hesitated at the entrance, your eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on your father, King Silco, seated in his ornate throne. The moment he saw you, he rose to his feet, his gaze sharp and focused as he dismissed those around him with a wave of his hand.

“There you are,” Silco said, his voice cutting through the noise. His long strides carried him toward you. “I had my guards searching for you everywhere when they told me about that instructor and what he did to you.”

His words stirred a storm of emotions within you, but you met his concerned gaze with unwavering resolve. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it tightly in reassurance. “I’m fine… as long as I see him hang,” you said coldly, your voice steady and unflinching.

The words seemed to stun him. Silco’s sharp features softened for a moment, replaced by an expression of disbelief and concern. He studied you, as if searching for the daughter he once knew beneath the hardened exterior you now wore. Gently, he pulled you close, his gloved hand cradling your head in a rare display of paternal affection.

“My child,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender. His fingers brushed through your hair before he stepped back, his calculating eyes assessing you once more. “I heard there’s a tournament tomorrow. Sevika and another lad from Piltover will be competing. Would you like to attend with me?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Seeing Sevika again—watching her fight, perhaps even get hurt—after everything she’d said, after everything she’d done to you, felt like it would reopen a wound that hadn’t yet begun to heal. And yet…

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Sure,” you replied. Your voice betrayed no emotion, but deep down, you knew the sight of her would ignite a storm you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

The next day, the castle buzzed with anticipation. Servants dashed through the halls carrying banners and refreshments, the sound of clattering hooves echoed from the courtyards, and the court hummed with excitement for the jousting tournament. In your chambers, your ladies-in-waiting fluttered about, ensuring every detail of your appearance was perfect. They adjusted the folds of your gown, smoothed your hair, and added the final touches to your jewelry.

You sat silently, your hands resting in your lap as they worked. The weight in your chest hadn’t lifted since yesterday, but you masked it well. As one of the ladies pinned a small brooch to your dress, the door swung open, startling everyone in the room.

It was Sevika.

She stepped in with her usual commanding presence, her armor gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. Her broad shoulders bore the kingdom’s symbol proudly on her cape, the fabric trailing behind her like a second shadow. Her sharp gaze found yours immediately, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Leave us,” Sevika said to the ladies, her tone firm but not unkind. They exchanged hesitant glances before bowing and quickly leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and the two of you were alone. She approached you slowly, her boots heavy against the floor, until she stood directly in front of you, towering over you like a fortress. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

“I wish that you’d bless me with good luck before I go,” Sevika said, her deep voice softer than usual.

She was breathtaking, her strong features framed perfectly by the sleek cut of her hair, her confidence radiating like a flame. Once, you would’ve melted under that gaze. Once, you would’ve given her everything you had without hesitation—your love, your trust, your most cherished possessions—all to see her return safely to you.

But not now.

Your expression remained cool, indifferent. You rose from your seat and walked to the edge of the bed, picking up a scarf. It wasn’t special, just a simple piece of fabric that had been carelessly discarded earlier. You held it out to her, your face betraying none of the turmoil inside you.

“Best of luck, Sevika,” you said flatly, your voice devoid of the warmth you used to offer her so freely.

Sevika stared at the scarf in your hand, her jaw tightening slightly as she took it from you. She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes lingered on you, searching for something—perhaps the affection you once gave so easily, perhaps the part of you she feared she’d lost.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice low and almost hesitant. She folded the scarf carefully, tucking it into the folds of her cape.

You stepped back, your arms crossed, and watched as she turned to leave. When she reached the door, she hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, it seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead, she simply glanced back at you, her expression unreadable.

And then she was gone, leaving you alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

When you arrived at the tournament grounds, you were escorted to your seats alongside your father. Silco, ever the commanding presence, took his place at the center of your party, his expression stoic as usual. A select few nobles and your chosen ladies-in-waiting flanked you, their dresses glittering in the sunlight. You settled into your seat, the soft folds of your gown cascading gracefully over the edge of the chair.

Across the arena sat the delegation from Piltover—King Vander and his children: Princess Powder, Prince Claggor, and Prince Mylo. Their family was one of the few allied with your kingdom, a relationship carefully maintained through diplomacy and trade. It had been years since you last saw them, as your visits to Piltover ended the day your mother passed away. Despite the distance, there was an air of familiarity as you observed them from afar. Powder waved enthusiastically in your direction, and you gave her a polite smile in return.

Yet, amidst the pleasantries, a single absence tugged at your thoughts. Princess Violet. Her name alone stirred something within you—a bittersweet nostalgia. She had been your first kiss, a fleeting but electrifying moment shared in the innocence of youth. It was nothing serious, of course, but even now, the memory lingered, a reminder of a time when life was simpler, untouched by grief or betrayal.

The tournament began with the usual fanfare. Trumpets blared, the crowd roared, and the first competitors charged into the arena. It was an impressive display of skill, but your attention waned quickly. The matches were predictable—Sevika dominated every opponent she faced. Whether by sheer strength or impeccable technique, she unseated them with ease, leaving them either unconscious or sprawled helplessly on the ground.

When Sevika removed her helmet after yet another victory, the crowd erupted in cheers. On your side of the arena, nobles and commoners alike stood to applaud her. Even your father joined in, nodding approvingly. You, however, offered only a polite clap and a practiced smile. There was no joy in it, no pride.

Then Sevika turned her horse toward you.

Her piercing gaze locked onto yours as she rode closer, her expression unreadable. You knew her well enough to recognize the determination in her movements, and you subtly shook your head, silently pleading with her to stop whatever she was planning. She ignored you, halting her horse directly in front of your seat.

Her gloved hand extended toward you. For a moment, you hesitated. The weight of everyone’s eyes on you felt suffocating, but you eventually placed your hand in hers. Sevika raised your hand to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

Confusion flickered across your face as you stared at her, unsure of her intentions. She released your hand and offered you a faint, almost wistful smile before turning her horse and galloping away, leaving you reeling.

“Excuse me, Father,” you said abruptly, rising from your seat. You didn’t wait for Silco’s response as you descended the stairs, your heels clicking sharply against the stone.

You followed Sevika’s trail, your chest tight with anger and confusion. When you found her unmounting her horse behind the stables, you didn’t hesitate.

“What was that?” you demanded, your voice sharp as a blade.

Sevika turned to face you, her brow furrowing. “I did what I always do,” she replied, her tone calm but defensive.

“Nonsense,” you snapped. “It’s usually one of my ladies’ hands you kiss—not mine. And clearly, you enjoy kissing more than just hands.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, a gesture that only fueled your anger. “Everything always has to be about you, doesn’t it? I didn’t even know you loved me until a few days ago,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I’ve been with Mel for months. She’s good company, and I have feelings for her.”

Her words hit you like a blow. “Why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why did it have to be one of my ladies? One of my most trusted companions? She’s practically my sister, Sevika.”

“She came onto me when we first met,” Sevika said bluntly.

The admission left you speechless. The betrayal cut deeper than you thought possible, leaving you hollow and numb.

You straightened your posture, forcing yourself to appear composed despite the storm raging inside you. “I’m sending her back to Noxus next week,” you said coldly. “Either go with her or stay loyal to Zaun. It won’t change anything for me. I don’t want to see either of you again.”

Without waiting for her response, you turned and walked away, your steps deliberate and unyielding. Sevika didn’t call after you, and you didn’t look back.

That night, the oppressive silence of your chambers only seemed to magnify your thoughts. The flickering candlelight cast long, restless shadows across the walls, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. You sat on the edge of your bed, your fingers twisting the soft fabric of your nightgown, your mind replaying the harsh words Sevika had spoken earlier.

The image of Mel, your trusted companion, holding those letters you had so carefully written, tore at you. You had poured your heart into those words, each one a confession of the love you were too afraid to voice aloud. And to think that Mel, someone who knew your heart better than most, had read them, only to use that knowledge to worm her way into Sevika’s affections—it was unbearable.

You pressed your hand against your mouth, as if that could somehow stop the sob that threatened to escape. Tears welled up, blurring your vision until they spilled freely down your cheeks. The betrayal stung more deeply than you could have anticipated. How could Mel have done this to you? How could Sevika have allowed it?

The more you thought about it, the heavier your chest felt, as though the weight of your sorrow was dragging you down. The quiet moments you had shared with Sevika, the stolen glances and fleeting touches, now felt tainted. Were they ever truly real, or had you simply imagined the meaning behind them?

You lay back against the plush pillows, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, though the tears continued to flow unchecked. The pain in your heart was raw, and no matter how hard you tried to push the thoughts away, they kept returning, relentless and cruel.

Eventually, exhaustion began to take hold. Your sobs quieted into soft sniffles, your body trembling with the remnants of your grief. You clutched the blanket tightly against you, as though it could offer some semblance of comfort.

And as your eyes finally drifted shut, the heartbreak followed you into your dreams, leaving you with the bitter taste of betrayal and the lingering ache of unspoken love.

When you woke, the maids were already bustling about your chambers, readying you for the day. Their voices filled the air with idle chatter about the morning’s duties and the preparations for court, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join in. The weight on your chest made words feel impossible, and you sat in silence as they worked around you.

You couldn’t quite name what you were feeling—was it depression, heartbreak, or simply emptiness? It was as if the vibrancy of your emotions had been drained overnight, leaving you a hollow shell. Even as the maids carefully brushed through your hair, their hands light and practiced, you stared blankly at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person looking back at you.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned slightly to see your father enter the room. Silco’s presence was commanding as always, but today there was a gentleness in his gaze. Without a word, he approached and motioned for the maid to step aside. He took the brush from her hand, his touch replacing hers as he began to brush your hair himself, just as he had done when you were a little girl.

“You’ve been sad lately,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “What’s wrong, my child?”

You hesitated, your eyes meeting his through the mirror. His expression was one of quiet concern, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open up entirely. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco continued brushing your hair, his movements slow and deliberate. “You know,” he said after a moment, “what’s in the dark will always come to light.” His words carried the wisdom of your mother, a phrase she used to say whenever she sensed you were hiding something.

You drew in a deep breath, the familiarity of the saying softening some of your defenses. “There’s someone in court I’ve taken a liking to,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap. “I have for years now, but… one of my ladies-in-waiting has already taken them. I… saw them together.”

Silco paused for a moment, the brush stilling in his hand. Through the mirror, you saw his single eye darken with concern as he studied you. “We can send her back where she came from if that’s what you want,” he offered, his voice even but firm, like he was ready to act if you so desired.

You shook your head, your voice thick with the emotions you’d tried to suppress. “That’s not going to help. They still love her. I think it’s better for me to just… move on. Cry and move on. Maybe forgive her, because she’s all I have besides you.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes, and you lowered your head to hide them. “I just… I thought I was perfect. A perfect wife for her. I’ve shown her so much subtle affection, and I thought she would love me back.”

The weight of your own words struck you when you repeated that final word: “her.”

Silco’s hand paused, his eye narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re attracted to women?” he asked, his tone curious but not unkind.

Biting your lip, you nodded hesitantly. “I like men too,” you added, your voice trembling. “But I’ve never found the right one. And clearly, I can’t find the right girl either.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Silco set the brush down and rested a firm but comforting hand on your shoulder. “I love you either way, my rose,” he said, his voice resolute. “Choose what you think is best for you, and never let anyone make you feel less than you are.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your head before straightening and walking out of the room. His words lingered, echoing in the quiet chamber, a small balm for the ache in your heart.

The day passed slowly in the quiet sanctuary of the library. Your teacher’s voice filled the room, guiding you through the intricacies of speaking and writing in foreign languages. Your focus remained on the elegant strokes of your quill, translating phrases with precision, yet your mind wandered, heavy with thoughts you dared not speak aloud.

In the middle of your lesson, the sound of the library door creaking open caught your attention. You looked up to see Mel slipping inside, carefully closing the door behind her. For a moment, you locked eyes with her, the tension between you palpable. You quickly dropped your gaze back to your work, willing yourself to ignore her presence. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she stood there, waiting, her hesitation filling the air.

You sighed, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface breaking through. Closing your book, you turned to your teacher. “Please leave us,” you said curtly. “My servant will pay you for your work as soon as you leave.”

The instructor hesitated, but after a bow, he gathered his things and quietly exited the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone with Mel.

You turned to her, still seated, your expression hard as you looked up at her. She fidgeted slightly before sitting down beside you, her voice quiet but urgent. “I broke it off with Sevika. You can have her… just please don’t send me back,” she said, her words spilling out like a plea.

You studied her for a moment, your emotions warring within you. Finally, you exhaled and rubbed your face with one hand, exhaustion creeping into your voice. “Even though I have many reasons to send you back, I won’t,” you said. “Stay with Sevika if you wish. I’m not going to stop it. I have no place to. She doesn’t love me… she loves you.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pressed on. “And… I forgive you. Turns out I do need you—your advice is… useful. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends again. We can lean into that.”

Mel’s lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile as she leaned in to hug you. You immediately recoiled, pushing her away. “No, thank you,” you said sharply, gathering your books. Without waiting for her response, you rose from your seat and walked briskly toward the door.

As you stepped out, your breath caught when you saw Sevika standing just outside. Her posture was tense, her gaze snapping to you as the door opened. You stopped for a moment, squaring your shoulders before speaking, your tone cold and detached. “I’m not banishing her, so… yeah. I’ll learn to stop loving you. So don’t show me affection anymore. Don’t even glance at me.”

Your grip tightened on your books as you continued, bitterness laced in your voice. “Ask Mel for your tokens before the jousting tournaments. As of today, they have no use to me because I don’t love you anymore. You two seem to have something in common—don’t mess that up. I’ll try to be happy for the both of you.”

The words burned as they left your mouth, but you didn’t let yourself falter. Mel emerged from the library behind you, her eyes flicking between you and Sevika. You turned sharply, shoving the books in your hands into hers.

“Put these away in my chambers,” you commanded. “And don’t mess with anything in there—I still don’t trust you. Either of you.”

Without waiting for a response, you brushed past Sevika, your shoulder barely grazing hers as you walked away. You didn’t look back, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the quiet halls as you disappeared from sight.

The throne room was bustling with activity when you arrived, the soft hum of conversation echoing against the high ceilings. As you stepped inside, your father’s eyes lit up at the sight of you. His warm smile stretched wide as he stood from his throne, arms open in welcome.

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” he said, pulling you into a tight embrace. You melted into his arms, feeling a flicker of the comfort you hadn’t felt in weeks. He held you for a moment longer before pulling back, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he added, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Curiosity danced across your face as you watched him gesture to the servants standing at the far end of the room. At his signal, they disappeared behind a grand door, only to return moments later carrying a small, white bundle. As they approached, you noticed movement within the bundle, and your breath hitched when you saw the tiny white leopard nestled in their arms.

Your eyes widened, and a gasp escaped your lips as tears immediately pricked at the corners of your eyes. The little creature looked so delicate, its soft fur as white as snow with faint gray rosettes dotting its coat. It blinked up at you with curious blue eyes, its tiny ears twitching as it looked around the room.

The servants stepped closer, carefully placing the cub into your outstretched arms. The moment its soft, warm body settled against yours, it let out a quiet purr and nuzzled against your cheek.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, Father!” you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion. You held the baby leopard close, cradling it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Tears began to spill from your eyes, one sliding down your cheek as you leaned into the tiny creature’s warmth.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the overwhelming joy filled your chest.

Your father reached out, gently brushing the tear away with his thumb. “Anything for my baby girl,” he said softly, his expression full of love and pride.

The court erupted into applause, their hands coming together in celebration. It wasn’t just for the new addition to the court, but for the sight of your happiness—the first true smile they had seen from you in weeks. You looked up, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears as the weight on your heart seemed to lighten just a little.

You glanced back down at the cub in your arms as it let out a small squeak, its tiny nose pressing into your hand. “You’re perfect,” you murmured to it, stroking its soft fur. The baby leopard was more than a gift; it was a symbol of your father’s unyielding love, a reminder that even in your darkest moments, he would always do whatever he could to bring light back into your life.

The rest of the day passed in pure bliss as you devoted every moment to the small leopard cub. He was full of energy, gnawing playfully at the ends of your flowing sleeves and pouncing on your hands when you wiggled your fingers in front of him. The other ladies-in-waiting laughed at his antics as they joined you in the courtyard, where you allowed the cub to run and tumble in the grass. For the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of lightness. You had found something new to live for—a bond, however small, that reminded you there was still joy in life.

As the sky deepened into twilight and the castle lights began to glow, you carried the sleepy cub back to your chambers, a few guards trailing behind to ensure your safe passage. The leopard stirred slightly in your arms, letting out a soft purr as it nuzzled into the crook of your elbow. But the serene mood was shattered the moment you opened the doors to your chambers and saw Mel sitting comfortably at your vanity, her reflection staring back at you in the mirror.

You froze in place, your hand tightening instinctively around the cub. Gently, you set him down, allowing him to wander and explore the room. Your attention, however, remained fixed on Mel.

“Why are you here?” you demanded, your tone sharp with irritation.

Mel turned toward you, her hands folded primly in her lap. “Me and Sevika are just... people who sleep together from time to time,” she began, her tone unusually measured. “We’re not in a relationship. I don’t love her, and I made that clear to her today.”

You let out a harsh laugh, the bitterness in it cutting through the air. “Congratulations! Or should I say condolences?” you replied mockingly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Mel scoffed, standing from the vanity chair and stepping toward you. “Why are you letting this ruin our friendship?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

You felt your anger flare, and your body tensed as you stepped closer. “I’m ruining it? I’m the problem? Let me remind you—you’re the one who repeatedly slept with the woman I love. You knew how I felt about her, and you still went behind my back. Sevika told me you were the one who approached her first!”

Mel’s face twisted with defiance. “And so what? You’ve never even had a real conversation with her, much less a chance. You never stood a chance,” she spat, her words like daggers plunging into your chest.

Her words left you stunned, your hands trembling slightly as the weight of her betrayal sank deeper. But the anger came swiftly after, rising in a fiery wave. “You’re going back,” you said coldly, your voice trembling with rage. “And I’ll be sending a letter to your mother to let her know exactly what kind of whore her daughter has become!”

Mel gasped, her expression darkening as the insult registered. Before she could respond, you lashed out, your hand striking her across the face with enough force to send her stumbling. She cried out, holding her cheek as she looked at you in disbelief.

“You hit me!?” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of outrage and shock.

“How dare you speak to me that way after everything we’ve been through?” she continued, but her voice cracked, betraying the anger she tried to project.

You stepped closer, your face inches from hers as your voice dropped to a cold whisper. “What exactly have you been through? Besides milking my status for the past few years to make yourself into someone important?”

Mel’s jaw clenched as she straightened herself, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve done no such thing,” she shot back. “The king chose me to be part of his court. I’ve worked my way up!”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Nonsense. I made you what you are,” you said, your voice filled with venom. “You’re nothing but a poor noblewoman who got lucky. Without me, you’d be nothing.”

Mel’s lips parted in disbelief, her expression shifting into something unreadable before she finally replied, “Yes, you made me,” she said, her tone soft but filled with an undercurrent of triumph. “And look what I’ve become—the woman Sevika loves. Funny, isn’t it? Despite all you’ve done, I got her first.”

Her words hit you like a physical blow, but you refused to show any sign of weakness. Instead, you smiled coldly. “And I can break you down, piece by piece, until you’re nothing more than what you were when I found you.”

The room went silent as your words lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of your fury. Mel looked at you, her composure cracking ever so slightly, but she quickly turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there, chest heaving as the tension in the room began to dissipate. The cub let out a small whimper, brushing against your leg as if sensing your distress. Scooping him up, you held him close, his soft purrs offering a small semblance of comfort as you vowed to never let Mel or anyone else hurt you like this again.

The soft glow of candlelight bathed your chambers in warmth as you sat at your vanity, brushing your hair and braiding it back for the night. The gentle rhythm of your movements was soothing, and the faint sound of your cub's breathing as it slept peacefully on his bed filled the room with a sense of calm. That peace was short-lived, though, as the doors to your chambers suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

You turned quickly, startled, to find Sevika standing in the doorway, her broad shoulders tense, her face etched with anger.

“You hit her?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

You rose from your seat, your heart pounding. “She disrespected me,” you replied coolly, meeting her gaze.

Sevika stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her with a forceful shove. “Violence isn’t always the answer, princess. You slapped her hard enough to leave a mark.”

“And?” you said, crossing your arms. “She had the audacity to invite herself into my chambers, in my palace, and speak to me as if we were equals. She should be thankful I didn’t have her dragged out by the guards. A mark is nothing compared to what she deserved.”

Sevika’s jaw clenched, her fists tightening at her sides. “You’re so selfish,” she said, her voice low but dripping with frustration.

“Me? I’m selfish?” you shot back, stepping closer to her. “I have done nothing but care about you—about how you would feel. Mel told me you loved her. You said it to her! So tell me, Sevika, why am I the bad person here?”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of anger and pain. “Because you have power, princess. You can do whatever you want, and the rest of us have to live with the consequences. I… I basically belong to you. We all do.”

You stared at her, your heart aching at the weight of her words. “I never asked for that,” you said softly, your tone trembling. “And I’ve never once taken advantage of it.”

Her expression wavered, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“I confessed to you,” you continued, your voice rising with desperation. “I told you I loved you, and you pushed me away. Mel doesn’t love you the way I do—she doesn’t even love you at all. She said so herself! So why are you holding back?”

“Stop,” Sevika said, her tone firm but lacking the force it had before.

You stepped closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Why not me, Sevika? Why not touch me? I would give you everything—my heart, my love, my body. I would love you back with everything I have.”

You reached for her, and this time, she didn’t stop you. Your hands brushed against her chest, and you felt her muscles tense beneath your touch. Her eyes softened, and for a moment, the anger in them was replaced by something else—something raw and unspoken.

Her resolve broke. With a growl of frustration, she closed the distance between you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as much an argument as it was an admission. You gasped into her mouth, your hands tangling in her hair as she pulled you closer, her strong arms wrapping around your waist.

Sevika’s hands gripped your waist firmly, and in one swift motion, she lifted you off the ground. A surprised gasp escaped your lips as she carried you to the bed, her strength overwhelming, her touch firm yet careful.

She laid you down gently, her broad frame towering over you as her dark eyes searched yours, the anger now replaced by something far more intense.

“Sevika,” you whispered, reaching up to cup her face.

She leaned down, her lips capturing yours in a desperate, heated kiss. You moaned softly against her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair as she pressed her body against yours. Her lips trailed down to your jaw, then to your neck, where she bit gently before soothing the skin with her tongue, leaving you breathless.

Her hands roamed over your sides, her fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown as she pressed her hips against yours. You arched into her, grinding against her leg that she put in between your legs, in a desperate attempt to feel more of her, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as you pulled her into another kiss. “I’ll always love you.”

She kissed you harder this time, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. But just as the moment threatened to spiral out of control, Sevika suddenly stopped.

She pulled away, her breathing heavy, her face filled with regret as she looked down at you.

“Sevika?” you whispered, reaching out for her, confusion and desperation flooding your voice.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking as she pushed herself off the bed.

And then, without another word, she turned and left, the sound of the door closing behind her leaving you alone in the room, your heart breaking as the weight of her absence pressed down on you.

Your fingers lightly traced your lips, still tingling from the heat of her kiss. They moved to your neck, brushing over the tender skin where her mouth had lingered, leaving behind a trail of longing that burned deep into your soul. You shivered, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration coursing through you as you struggled to catch your breath.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, the memory of her weight against you, her touch, and her lips overwhelming your senses. The braid you had so carefully crafted earlier was completely unraveled now, your hair falling loosely over your shoulders in soft waves. It mirrored the disarray you felt inside—messy, untamed, yet exhilarating.

“She kissed me…” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling. “She wanted me… She was touching me.” The words felt surreal as they left your lips, almost as if saying them out loud would solidify the truth of what had just happened.

You pressed your hand against your chest, trying to steady the rapid rise and fall of your breath, but it was no use. The heat of her presence still clung to you, and you could feel her phantom touch lingering on your skin.

“Oh my gods…” you murmured to yourself, a mixture of disbelief and awe thick in your voice. You glanced over to the corner of the room, where your cub lay curled up in its soft bedding, sleeping peacefully as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

For a moment, you envied its calm, the way it could rest so easily while your mind raced. But then your lips curled into a small, private smile as you gazed at it, your heart still pounding.

“She kissed me,” you whispered again, the words becoming a quiet confession to yourself, your cub, and the night. You sank back onto the edge of your bed, your fingers trailing through your hair as your thoughts swirled, trying to make sense of everything. But no matter how much you tried, the memory of Sevika’s touch consumed you, igniting a fire within you that you couldn’t ignore.

— ran out of divider space 🤭

taglist (my shaylas ♡) : @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @abbysleftbicepp @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @imheadintothemountains @adora-moonshine @sevikasrightboob @80saturn @littlerainsprite @runawaybaby3 @rhian88 @athena-winters13

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 7

Source for pic

Trouble 7

Word Count: 4814

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I told you guys this was going to get worse... and believe me or not... it STILL gets worse. Also, mind the red tag, above, please.

Masterlist

The police. 

You need to tell someone, and the police are the obvious choice. You've been tossing and turning in your bed for over an hour, and this is the smartest, simplest answer. 

Zoro is unreachable for a week, so the next best option will have to do. 

You remember your ex, Ichiji, once had a problem with a girl who loved and followed the Vinsmoke siblings everywhere. She was obsessed with the whole family, but mostly Ichiji, since he's the eldest. She resorted to possessive letters and creepy calls, and you've been trying to rack your brain as to how he dealt with the problem. You're almost positive he went to the police. 

And they couldn't help. 

That was when he hired the bodyguards. 

Maybe they took care of the problem? 

A shudder that has nothing to do with the cold travels through your body. Anyway they dealt with it, you don't have the resources to do the same. And Ichiji's bodyguards were real beasts: massive, bulky, scary. They were elite, all-stars. 

You don't have anyone like that to look out for you. 

Lies. 

You have Zoro. But you'll have to be very careful about how you'll tell him once he gets back. And even though the police did nothing to help with your ex’s problem, that doesn't mean they won't help now. 

Oh! 

You still have the picture he sent you of Rob Lucci, that has to get them to act! 

You sit upright in your bed and grab your phone. It's been muted and silent since you retired to your bedroom after closing all the doors and windows, including the door to your room. 

You left the light in your bedroom on anyway, too scared of invisible shadows, too frightened of unseen ghosts.

Obviously, there are texts waiting for you. You knew that, and that's why the phone was silenced. The dread in your stomach seems like it has come to stay, but it still manages to increase as you read the texts. 

Unknown: How are you feeling, Kitten? You barely ate dinner. You need to eat.  Unknown: Tucking into bed already? Don't be scared. You're safe. No one will harm you.  Unknown: You're mine. 

You don't know who it is, but that doesn't mean your mind doesn't conjure up the scariest, raspiest voice to go with the possessive texts. With a heavy sigh, you swipe the texts aside and search for the picture. 

It's gone. 

Just like that. 

You know you deleted some texts when you first started to receive them, but you didn't delete the picture, no matter how ghastly it was. But it's gone. 

With a shaky inhale, you return the silenced phone, face down, to your bedside table and curl up on your bed, comforter tucked high against your chin. You'll still go to the police. You have to tell someone. 

A creak of the old house brings desperate tears to your eyes and you stifle a sob. You don't dare turn off the light and you know sleep will elude you tonight. 

God, you miss Zoro. 

And he's barely been gone a day. 

-*-

Sometime during the night, you must've fallen asleep from exhaustion because the sound of the rooster’s call jolts you awake with a surprised gasp. 

Daylight seeps through the closed curtains, and you will your heart to steady to a normal beat. Nothing bad happened, you're safe, you're alone in your room. You're fine. 

Everything's fine. 

You refrain from grabbing your phone, trying to prolong the moment you’ll have to face the creepy texts, perhaps even new texts waiting for you, and instead head to the bathroom to freshen up and get ready to face a new day.

Your eyes are baggy and darkened, likely because you only slept two or three hours. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you lay down your plans for the day: feed the animals and do the morning chores, then head to the police station and tell the cops about what’s going on. 

They will have to help you. And even if they don’t do much, at least you won’t feel so alone. 

As you finally gather some courage to grab your phone, a shaky laugh escapes your lips: there’s nothing new. No new text, no new photo, nothing. You were suffering from anticipation without any cause to do so. So, you take the phone off silent mode and stuff it in your pocket. 

The day already seems lighter and brighter. Perhaps you won’t even need to go to the police.

Grabbing a quick breakfast, you open the door, still chewing on your apple, ready to face the day. You don’t find it unusual that there are hardly any birds singing. 

Though you should’ve.

Because as soon as you open the door, you’re assaulted by a foul smell. The apple you are holding rolls in your hand and falls to the floor with a thud. Blood. There’s so much blood. 

Nausea turns your legs to jelly, and you grip the handle of the door tightly as your eyes widen and sweep the scene. There are countless dead birds, squirrels, rats, and even cockroaches. They’re scattered across your porch and thrown carelessly over the railing and the porch chairs. Blood is smeared and pooled everywhere, and the smell of rot and decay makes your eyes tear up.

You gag and fight for your breakfast to remain inside your stomach as your hand flies to cover your mouth. What could this mean?

Then, from the corner of your eye, you find your answer: there’s a cat - its fur an oddly close resemblance to the colour of your hair - dead, lifeless, gutted, and covered in blood, pinned to your door. The note attached to the poor animal is written in crimson words, and the message is clear as day:

Don’t tell anyone, Kitten.

You’re powerless to stop the retches and heaves as you fall to your knees. 

-*-

After what you found on your porch in the morning, you lock yourself in the house again. With the windows locked and the curtains closed, you curl into a small ball on the couch, put on your headphones, and will yourself to just disappear. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

But he doesn’t leave you alone.

Unknown: I love seeing you scared, Kitten. The way your big, bright eyes widen. The way your chest heaves. Unknown: You’re so beautiful. Unknown: I hope you understood my message, darling. Don’t tell anyone.  Unknown: Not. A. Soul. Unknown: Or next time, it won’t be animals…

More threats. More possessive words. More praise.

The tears keep falling from your eyes, and you feel trapped and utterly alone. How did this happen to you? Who could this person be? He’s a man - you can tell because of the hand that was holding Rob Lucci’s eyes in the photo. That much is clear. 

But who?

Who would want to hurt you? Who would want to scare you?

Unknown: You don’t need to be afraid of me, Kitten. I won’t hurt you. Not you, never you. Unknown: I think your dad’s animals might be hungry.  Unknown: Are you going to be cooped up inside all day? Do you need me to feed them?

What? How sick is he? How can he say this? Is he close? How close?

A whimper escapes your lips as you clutch your face in your hands, shaking your head and shutting your eyes shut. 

He’s right, though. You need to feed the animals. You’ve been inside the house for around four hours already. The animals must be starving.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to gather the strength and courage to face the slaughter on your porch and then another five minutes to gather a trash bag and gloves. Then it’s with heavy breaths that you place your shaky hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly, your eyes still closed. 

The smell is still overwhelming, but it’s not as bad as you thought it would be after the dead animals were left rotting in the sun for hours. With another shaky breath, you finally open your eyes.

There’s nothing there.

No animals. No blood. No note or cat pinned to the door.

For a fleeting second, you think you’re going crazy. You have to be. But then your eyes fall back on the door. Your nails scrape gently against the dark wood: there’s a mark where the knife was pinning the cat and the note. 

You didn’t dream it, you didn’t imagine things. It happened.

And he cleaned it all up.

What is going on? Why is he playing these mind games with you?

Suddenly, you hear a distant noise coming from the treeline, just beyond the barn. Your blood runs cold, and a shiver filled with dread makes you tremble. With a shaky step forward you grip the railing, straining your eyes against the brightness of the day to try to discern if there’s something lurking there. 

Your breathing slows down, and your knuckles turn white with the force you’re clutching the railing. Dread rises from somewhere in the pit of your stomach and settles right in your chest.

There’s definitely something - someone? - there. And it looks big. Massive, even. 

The shadow moves forward, and you gasp at the same time your phone begins to ring. A scream climbs up your throat, and you stumble backwards, fumbling with your pockets to fish out the blaring phone. 

Nami.

You pick up shakily, your eyes already moving back to the place where the shadow had been. “Y-yeah?”  

“Hi!” Nami’s voice is bright, she might not have noticed the strain in yours. Your left hand grips the railing again as your eyes dart left and right. Nothing. “How are you, honey? Are you feeling lonely now that your broody cop left for the week?” She giggles, and you force out a shaky, fake laugh. Nothing! “I thought you might want some company. Want me to come over?”

Nothing at all.

Fear grips you again, and you stumble backwards, closing the door with force and leaning against it with heavy breaths. “Come over?” Breathe. Just breathe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to tell Nami to come over. No matter how much you want her company, how alone you feel, or how much comfort you seek. You won’t risk her getting trapped in this person’s web. “Sorry, Nami. I can’t today. Maybe another time?”

She groans on the other side of the line as you move to the window, your eyes scanning the trees again. “Fineee! I was just postponing some boring house chores anyway. I’ve been procrastinating since the weekend.” She giggles. “Talk soon, then?”

You let out a noncommittal noise, and silence fills the line. “Are you okay?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Calm down! You try to force some semblance of control back into your voice. Nami always sees right through your bullshit, so you need to be a good liar. Just this once. One time.

“Of course I am! I’m just sooo tired! Ace couldn’t help me today, so I’m tending to all the chores alone. I need rest.” You let out another shaky laugh and hope against all hope she believes you.

There’s still nothing out there. 

“Hmm, okay, okay. I believe that. Farm chores are so tiresome. ‘K, gotta go. Call me later?”

“Sure, Nami. Thanks for checking in.”

She hangs up, and you grip the phone tightly. You could’ve sworn that the shadow was coming for you when you picked up the phone. And that thought alone is enough to make you stay cooped up inside for another hour. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you do it, but you force yourself to tackle your morning chores, even though they’ve now turned into afternoon chores. 

Every little noise, every tiny movement makes you tremble and whimper. Even the cows sense your discomfort, some of the older ones gently bump you as you pet them and whisper soothing words. 

How ironic is it that you're the one in need of soothing, not the cows. 

Somehow, you manage. And as soon as you're done, you rush inside, bolting the door and sighing as you lean against it. You did it. You're safe inside. He can't get in. 

He can't get in. 

You're safe. 

-*-

You take a quick shower and have a meager dinner. You wouldn't be able to eat anything different even if you were hungry. Your fridge and pantry are almost empty. You should've gone grocery shopping yesterday, but the sick cow threw those plans out the window and now the last thing you want to do is leave the safety of your home to buy food supplies. 

You can always survive on nuts and cereal. 

A groan leaves your lips as you finish cleaning the dishes. No, you can't. 

You place the towel on the rack to dry, then halt your movements, tilting your head to the side to listen for any noise. You’ve closed all the curtains, but you still feel watched. It's like someone is creeping in on you, watching every move you make, every sound, every thought. 

Shaking your head, you leave the kitchen, turning off the light and running towards the stairs like a child scared of the dark. Your stomach still rumbles a bit, though you're so nauseated and scared that, even though you're hungry, you know you can't eat anything right now. 

Plus, empty pantry and all that… 

So, tomorrow, grocery shopping will have to be. Get out, buy stuff, get back in. 

How hard can that be? 

-*-

Hard. So very hard. 

Considering you didn't sleep much last night. Maybe an hour, two at most. He kept texting you with praise and soothing words, telling you to turn off the light and rest. But how could you turn off the light when he was watching you, and every shadow felt like it was looming closer? How could you rest when your heart kept pounding with adrenaline? 

You don't know how much longer your body can function without sleep, with barely any food and under constant stress. But the truth is, you can't even bring yourself to worry about those things when the real terror hides behind creepy texts. 

And there are still three more days before Zoro returns. 

Trying to ignore the dread in your stomach or the way your breath leaves your mouth in shaky exhales, you open the front door, bracing yourself for anything. 

But there's nothing. 

A longer and much more relieved exhale empties your lungs, and you feed the animals before rushing to your car. The farm feels eerily silent, as if the animals can sense all the apprehension coursing through you. 

And they probably do. 

You drive a little faster than you should on the way to the store and as you park the car and exit with rushed movements, new texts greet you, and you grimace in consternation 

Unknown: Slow down, Flash. There's no one following you, don't worry. No one will get near you. 

Right. No one but this creep, whoever he is. There's no need to worry at all. 

Fear induces hurry, and you take little care in picking the prettiest vegetables or the plumpest fruits. You just want to grab your essentials, and get out. Rush home, and lock yourself in until Zoro returns and you can find some solace in his arms. 

Is that too much to ask? 

“Well, hello there, gorgeous. I see you're all alone today.”

Oh, no, no, no. 

“Hi, yes, I'm in a hurry, excuse me.” It's the store clerk who flirted with you when you returned. And his advances are especially unwelcome today. Even more so since Zoro isn't around to pretend to be your boyfriend. 

He places an arm on your cart, a cheeky smirk in his lips and you suppress a groan as his hand inches closer to touch yours. “I'll help you. What do you need? Besides my number?” He chuckles and now it's the urge to roll your eyes you suppress. 

You feel a faint vibration in your pocket and push the cart forward as you decide to ignore it. “I really don't need your help, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod and try to push past him again, but his hand moves, gripping your forearm instead of the cart. “Because I can be very… serviceable.”

Hell, no. 

A loud crash from the next aisle - that sounds like broken jars - echoes through the store, and the clerk groans. “Not the pickles, come on. They stink up the place!” He releases your arm with frustration, and you seize the opportunity to slip away, grab the rest of your essentials, and cash out. 

Your nerves are frayed to the breaking point, and all you want is to curl up and disappear. 

It's not until you finally get home, unload the groceries and lock the door, that you look at the unread texts on your phone. 

Unknown: Who does he think he is?  Unknown: He dares flirt with you? He dares TOUCH you? You're mine!  Unknown: Don't worry, Kitten, I won't let him bother you again. 

No! Oh, no!

A quick online search shows you the phone number of the grocery store and you're fast to dial it, your foot tapping the floor impatiently as guilt gnaws at your insides. 

You can't let anyone else get hurt because of you. It's not fair. Not fair at all. 

Someone picks up at the third ring and it's an older female voice. It's not him. You try your best to describe the clerk you wish to speak to and, thank God it's a small town, because the woman on the line knows who you're talking about and calls him. 

The phone buzzes in your ear and you glance at the text while you're waiting. 

Unknown: How selfless of you, Kitten, trying to save him.  Unknown: You can't, though, you know? 

“Hello?” He sounds pissed. 

“Hi! Oh, thank God. Are you okay?” You collapse into a kitchen chair, your legs wobbly all of a sudden. 

“Who is this?”

“Right! Sorry! Uh… I’m uh… The girl you were talking to earlier? Erm… The one you offered to help?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “The gorgeous one? Yeah, I remember you. Guess you really needed my number, then.”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: He's gone, Kitten. Might as well say goodbye now. Nobody touches what's mine. 

“Good! Listen, you're in danger.” Your voice falters as you think about how crazy you must sound. How delusional. “I can't tell you much, but someone might try to harm you. Don't ask me how I know, I just do! Please don't leave the store alone! And go to the cops, please!”

There's a moment of silence on the line and you hope he's considering your words, listening to the faint edge of fear on your voice, something that shows him reason. 

“Wow…” He's not convinced. “This has got to be the most elaborate excuse anyone’s used to get me to back off.” He chuckles again, but this time in disbelief. “Listen, I get it, okay? I'll back off. You're not interested. I won't try again.”

“No, no, wait! That's not what I–”

“Don't worry, miss. I got it.” He sighs. “I got to go, some asshole spilled the whole aisle of pickles and that shit’s already spilling to the other aisles. Er… Bye, I guess.”

And he ends the call. You hold the phone to your ear, ignoring the beeping signaling the end of the call. This can't be happening. It can't. Someone will get hurt again because of you. 

You drop the phone, and it slips to the floor with a thud, your fingers threading through your hair and gripping tight. The walls feel closer now, the air thinner. You're alone. You're frightened. You're vulnerable.

And you will be responsible for another terrible crime. 

-*-

The chores that could be postponed, got postponed. Those that couldn't, got done half-heartedly. It will have to do. At least until Zoro comes back and you can rely on him. 

You miss him. You need him. So, so much. 

As per usual, you lock the door tightly and double-check all the other locks on the back doors and windows, though you haven't touched those since this whole ordeal started. Everything's locked, and though apprehension still grips your heart tightly, you feel as safe as you're going to feel for now. 

He won't get into your home. You're safe inside. 

You still rush up the stairs and lock yourself in your bedroom, lights on and covers pulled up to your chin. 

After you've settled, and after you've made sure there's nothing hiding in the shadows or inside your closet, you unlock your phone, skim through the new set of texts: ‘You're mine’, ‘Sleep tight’, ‘Drink water and get some rest’, and then open the website of the local newspaper again, dreading the time when you'll see the store clerk's picture or some reference to him. 

It dawns on you that you don't even know his name. 

And yet, you're going to be the one to blame for whatever gruesome thing that happens to him. Should you go confess to the cops? 

No… You can't. He doesn't let you go to the police, you got that message loud and clear: if you do that, somebody else will get hurt. And maybe next time it could be one of your friends. Or you. 

A shaky inhale leaves your lips as a new set of tears threatens to fall. How do you have more tears to cry? How are you still hanging on? How long will you last without fully breaking? 

-*-

Like all the other nights, you eventually give in to exhaustion and fall asleep for a few hours. Except this time, the events from the day before are still pretty fresh in your mind, so the first thing you do is grab your phone - no new texts. Yet. - and open the newspaper website. 

Nothing. 

A relieved sigh empties your lungs, and you actually manage a small smile. Maybe this person, this stalker, is all bark and no bite. 

Though even as you think this, you know you're wrong. He's very vicious. Rob Lucci, the dead animals… You feel he's capable of terrible things. But maybe, just maybe, this time he was just bluffing. 

Bzzzz. 

No. No. No. 

It's a picture. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: I always follow through on my threats, Kitten. 

And then there's an address. 

No. It's your fault again. You know you shouldn't open the picture, you already know it's gruesome, you already know you'll regret it, and yet… 

You still open it. 

The shop clerk is blindfolded and tied up with intricate knots, the rope is binding his chest, his legs, his arms. His face is swollen and barely recognizable. There's blood everywhere. And his hands… They're detached from his body, hanging on his neck like a necklace and holding a paper with a bloody note: Nobody touches what's mine. 

-*-

You used the address to make an anonymous tip to the police. You didn’t even know you could do that online, but apparently, there are specific websites that offer that anonymous service. 

You can’t bear to look at the picture one more time, but you hope he’s still alive. All he did was talk to you. Just like Rob Lucci. 

They aren’t guilty of any other crime. And that’s why you feel so responsible for what happened to them. 

The urge to tell Zoro all that’s been happening is stronger than ever, but then there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind telling you that if the stalker managed to do this to men who only flirted with you, what could he do to Zoro, someone you’re actually interested in?

You know Zoro is a cop, and you know he can take care of himself, but still… 

You fear for his safety more than you fear your own.

And that is terrifying.

-*-

Shanks called and said he and Beckman are having a wonderful time, and business is blooming. Some of your father’s best horses have already been selected by breeders, so, unfortunately, Shanks is going to have to prolong his stay for at least three more weeks. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell him how alone and terrified you felt. So instead, you feigned happiness that all was going well for him and told him he could stay for as long as he wanted because you had everything under control. 

Lies, after lies, after lies. 

The rest of the week passes in a haze. You barely sleep, hardly eat, and are in a constant state of stress and nerves. The only time you leave the house is to feed the animals and clean the stables. And even then, there are times you manage to ask Ace for help, pretending to feel sick. 

The rest of the time is spent curled up, frightened, and being constantly harassed over text by this creep.

You’ve been wracking your brain as to who he is, but you have no idea. Absolutely no idea. And the fact that he could be some random person might even be scarier than if he were someone you know. 

Friday finally arrives, and as you down your third mug of coffee of the morning, sitting iyour couch, your phone rings. And this time you’re actually happy to see the name on the screen.

It’s Zoro.

But as you’re about to answer, the call disconnects suddenly. Did he hang up?

Bzzzz.

No. He didn’t. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, don’t tell him anything. You don’t want to see the cop pinned to your door next, do you?

Zoro calls again, and once more, the call dies before you pick it up. 

Unknown: You know by now that I don’t make idle threats. You do not want to see me mad, Kitten. I don’t want to hurt your friends because I don’t want to see you sad, but I will hurt him. 

Zoro calls again, and still you have no time to answer. 

“Shit!” You almost sob. “I won’t tell him anything… I won’t…” You mutter to yourself, tears already gathering at the corner of your eyes as the feeling of being trapped and alone overpowers you. 

This time, when Zoro tries again, you manage to pick up. 

“Hey, Troublemaker! What the hell is wrong with that damned phone?”

God, oh God, you missed him so much. His strong voice, his confident demeanour, the way that just hearing him speak to you makes you feel instantly safer.

It’s too much.

Too much.

You try to keep the tears and the sobs at bay, but you can’t. “Zo…” You sniffle, and it’s clear that he immediately stands at attention on the other side of the line.

“What’s wrong, Trouble? Talk to me. I’m still heading home, I’m about two hours away. What’s wrong?”

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten… don’t disappoint me. 

“Nothing!” A wet, shaky laugh climbs up your throat, and you bring your knees to your chest, trying to feel smaller. “I’ve just been feeling lonely this week. Nami and Robin have been busy, I don’t want to bother Kaya and Usopp. Luffy is busy at the fire station, and… and… I’ve missed you so, so much… I’m such a crybaby, I’m sorry.”

Is this enough?

Silence stretches, and all that you hear on the other line is the sound of cars and chatter from his coworkers. “I’ve missed you too, Trouble.” At least his worry is hidden behind a semblance of softness. It might’ve been enough. “Are you sure that’s it?”

Another excuse, quick.

“Yeah… I mean, my dad just called saying he has to be away for more weeks than he initially thought, I guess that I also miss him…”

Zoro chuckles softly, and you sigh in relief. 

“You’re an emotional mess today, Trouble.”

You laugh softly and sniff, your hand cleaning the remnants of your tears from your cheeks. 

“I guess I am.”

“Well, Nami texted me earlier, saying the gang’s going to meet at Robin’s. Are you coming?”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. You don’t want to put any of them in danger, but you don’t think you can spend more time alone inside a locked house. You need your friends, you need Zoro…

“Yeah, I guess.”

“See you soon, then?”

You hum, and before you can say anything else, the call ends again. Did he hang up? Was it the service? Or… maybe you should think about changing phones…

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Such a good girl, Kitten. I knew you could do it.  Unknown: I hope you think of me at the gathering later. I do want you to have fun, you know? But remember…  Unknown: Behave, Kitten. You do not want to see me angry. I don’t want to have to punish you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000

[pinkberrytea]

Writing year in review: 2024

Tysm for the tag @amoremagnificentbastard and @deadly-diminuendo! Took me quite some time but I’m finally doing it! Forgibe 😭

words posted: 32,230

additional words written: 1,551 (Referring to my Secret Santa gift to @amoremagnificentbastard which I haven’t yet posted, I wanted to end the year on an even number 😅)

grand total of words: 33,781

fandoms: BG3

highest kudos: Bloodless - 280 kudos

highest hit oneshot: Memento Mori - 2,813 hits

new things I tried: Everything! I published my first fic back in April and it’s crazy to think it’s been this long since I started. Truth be told I still deal with a lot of insecurity and self-doubt, but I’m endlessly grateful for all the support y’all have shown me along this journey, it means the world to me, truly!

fic I spent the most time on: Vanitas

fic I spent the least time on: Bloodless

favorite thing I wrote: Requiem

favorite thing(s) I read: Oh boy, get ready, because I have a bunch of honorable mentions 😬 All of them are Tavstarion fics, but I sorted them by category for easier navigation!

🦇 AA x F!Tav | 🩸 UA x F!Tav | 🌻 UA x F!Tav (post-game) 🥀 AA x F!Reader | 🔪 UA x F!Reader | 🍷 AA x GN!Reader 🌹 UA x GN!Reader | ✨ AU (F!Tav) | nsfw | ongoing

Long fics

🩸 With Stars to Fill my Dream by @xxnashiraxx (ao3 . tumblr) 🩸 Midnight Chimes by @bardic-inspo (ao3 . tumblr) 🦇 Aeterna Nostalgia by @bardic-inspo (ao3 . tumblr) 🦇 Beloved by @starryjuicebox (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 In Another Life by @locallegume (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 Die for You by @astarionancuntnin (ao3 . tumblr) ✨ Branded Blood by @inkymoonbunny (ao3 . tumblr)

Oneshots

🦇 Romance is Dead by @judasiskariot (ao3 . tumblr) 🦇 Blood in the Mortar by @bardic-inspo (ao3 . tumblr) 🦇 Rampaging Bride by @rhiaden (ao3 . tumblr) 🩸 Kissing Every One of Your Ridges by @judasiskariot (ao3 . tumblr) 🩸 Khywren’s Kinktober 2024 by @khywren (ao3 . tumblr) 🌻 Dhampir Dreams by @bardic-inspo (ao3 . tumblr) 🌻 A Feast for the Soul by @nyx-knox (ao3 . tumblr) 🌻 i'll peel my heart like a pomegranate if you promise it won't go to waste by @amoremagnificentbastard (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 venus in furs by @verbenaa (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 Make Your Own Kind of Music by @lipstickghoulie (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 Ribbons of Blood by @lipstickghoulie (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 Midnight Stroll by @blissfulstarsfics (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 Taken to the Hilt by @libbybee (ao3 . tumblr) 🥀 The Life of Astarion's Dark Consort by @faerievampling (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Loss of Innocence by @lipstickghoulie (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Crimson Plots by @lipstickghoulie (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 The Fool by @obsessedwhyyes (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Honeycomb by @roguishcat (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Quick and Dirty by @hhh-hemogoblin (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 For Your Eyes Only by @thedreamlessnights (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 So Innocent by @marlowethebard (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Sweet Dreams, Darling by @deadly-diminuendo (ao3 . tumblr) 🔪 Naughty Girl by @nyx-knox (ao3 . tumblr) ✨ Kinktober 2024 by @xxnashiraxx (ao3 . tumblr) ✨ The Ways of Worship by @astarionancuntnin (ao3 . tumblr) ✨ Atone by @wolficer (ao3 . tumblr) 🌹 When I Think About You by @kittenintheden (ao3 . tumblr) 🍷 Dancing with the Devil by @bananasfosterparent (ao3 . tumblr) 🍷 Bound by You by @carooosa (ao3 . tumblr)

Not all of these were written in 2024, but I only started reading fic in March, so that's why they are included here. I highly highly recommend all of them! As you can see, I’m an avid reader, so feel free to throw recs my way 🥰

writing goals for 2025: I really want to maybe try dipping my toes into xOC territory rather than just sticking to xreader. I’ve been neglecting Mav for so long, it’s about time I start writing for her!

new works:

Bloodless

Death & his Maiden

I've tagged plenty of people already when citing my favorite reads, and I'm also pretty late to the party, so no tags this time! If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged!

[quinnmorgendorffer]

#no bc Tony is literally looking at him with the biggest heart eyes and it’s just so incredible?? brings to mind thag post I saw a few days#ago. and I gotta find it again. but it’s basically like the fact that gob is the bluth who is repeatedly said to be unlovable. the one who#is the most difficult. and yet HE is the one who ends up with this epic Shakespearean true love story. not Michael whose romances are more#plot driven and such but GOB who is over and over shown to have fail romances thag he’s not not that invested in either way#and I love that sm. me watching seasons 1-4 is like. gob is my favorite but also an ass but I still love him. s5 is me being all gob has#done nothing wrong ever/deserves only nice things. and I’ll admit I want to give him nice things in 1-4 as well but this whole development#really hits in such a satisfying way. he was willing to run away- to leave the family- for and with Tony. smth Michael always tries to do#and fails. and again that alongside his romances being not as pivotal as gobs is so interesting to me#i could be wrong but it’s the feeling that Michael HAD his grand true life changing love story already- and it was Tracey. and the loss of#of Tracey haunts him still- nearly every romantic relationship Michael has after is haunted by her.

omg i don't think I ever saw these tags before but I'm losing it omg. Gob, despite seeming to neve rhave a permanent residence with his family (remember how they didn't even know where he lived in the s3 finale? lmao), really never expressed an interest in leaving them. He planned on it in s1 during "My Mother the Car", but as soon as he realized Michael couldn't have been the cause of the accident, he decided to ditch his plans and basically save his brother. He does bad things to his family at times, sure, but he still helps them when needed in his own way, and clearly just wants them to love and respect him. Gob Love Family.

So, yes, him really being ready to leave his family? That means everything. I've talked way too much and yet never enough about how PERFECT of a romance Blunder is and I just will never get over how a silly little plot on a sitcom really is just such a profound and true romance of Shakespearan levels.

And, okay,I have to say that I find the psychology of all the characters fascinating already, but Michael and his love life truly make it even more fascinating to me. Partially because I have so many random headcanons about him and Tracey, or at least a lot I've written in fic about the two of them meeting and falling in love, but how could I NOT with how they wrote all of it? Like, Tracey truly DOES seem to be the ~epic love story~ of his life.

He literally shoots himself in the foot every time he tries to move on from her, since I don't think he literally ever can/will - maybe, deep down, he doesn't WANT to. Even with Rebel, one of the very first things he said was "my dead wife had red hair". Doesn't sound like moving on behavior, my dude!!!

And Rebel made it clear she didn't want or do committed relationships, yet he still pursued her anyway, maybe partially only because of the above mentioned reminder of Tracey. Of all his love interests, the only ones he seemed to have a chance with were Marta, Sally, and Rita. The Rita stuff is its own loaded issue i refuse to touch with a ten foot pole lol. But with Marta, he first almost ruined it by not just talking to her honestly when Gob thought she was cheating, which, if he really cared for her as much as he was convinced he did, he would've realized that was obviously not the sort of person she was. And even when they first start connecting, the narrator says that it was basically the first time he had been alone with a woman since his wife died and like...how much of that was him genuinely being in love with her and how much was it just the first time he even tried to connect with a woman since Tracey died?

And with Sally, oof. Finally got the girl and blew it instantly because of Maggie Lizer. Sally herself even pointed out how it was clearly him being unable to handle being in a relationship iirc. He literally just could not handle it. Part of it was being a martyr, sure, but much of it was just because he wouldn't allow himself to be happy. I have so much headcanon over his romance with Tracey, but since it was implied that he had a crush on her since, like, middle school with a throwaway line, he seemed afraid to live in another house properly without her (hence him and GM living in the attic of the model home), and a whole bunch of small little moments...man, I do think that was his epic love story and always will and would be.

[aventurineswife]

“Desire is an ugly and a beautiful thing”

Summary: In the Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday, is approached by you—someone who has long been part of the Oak Family. Over the years, Sunday has grown weary and detached, having seen the toll of his ideals and the sacrifices others have made. Yet when you confess your desire for him, not just the peace of the paradise he provides, but him, Sunday is forced to confront his own buried feelings. Despite his reluctance, he finds himself drawn to you, and the two of you navigate the dangerous beauty of desire in a place meant for escape. As the boundaries between reality and dream blur, Sunday is faced with the decision to care once more, even at the risk of everything.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Emotional Conflict, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Angst, Romance.

Warnings: Angst Themes of longing and unrequited desire, Mentions of loss and resignation, Emotional tension, Slight mature themes (suggestive content, not explicit).

The moonlight filtered through the thick branches of the oak trees, casting silver shadows across the lush grounds of the Sweetdream Paradise. The night was calm, as it had always been in the serene dream realm that Sunday now oversaw. His eyes, usually sharp and clear, had grown distant, reflecting the years of leadership, wisdom, and loss. He stood at the edge of the garden, looking out toward the horizon, his expression unchanged by the beauty around him.

It had been a long time since he had seen anyone who truly needed him. But tonight, as you approached from behind, your soft footsteps barely audible on the gravel path, something stirred in him. A faint, fleeting sensation that he couldn’t quite grasp. He turned slowly, his hair catching the faint light as he fixed his gaze on you.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge, a hint of something deeper that only someone like you could detect. You had been a part of the Oak Family for as long as he could remember, yet tonight, there was something different in the way you looked at him. Something that had shifted between the two of you, something undeniable.

You hesitated, standing just out of reach, unsure if the time had come to speak the truth that had weighed heavily on your heart for so long. But it had. The time had come.

“I don’t think I can live without this paradise, Sunday,” you confessed quietly, your voice trembling. “But it’s not just the dream I crave. It’s you. I want you, not just your protection, not just your leadership. You.”

Sunday’s gaze softened, though his expression remained unreadable. His eyes flickered, the halo behind him dimming slightly as he took a slow breath. It wasn’t the first time someone had confessed such feelings, but there was something about your words—about the intensity in your eyes—that made his heart ache, an unfamiliar feeling for someone who had long since distanced himself from such things.

“Desire is an ugly and a beautiful thing,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “It makes us abandon every principle we’ve built our lives around. It makes us care.” His gaze darkened slightly as he met your eyes, the weight of his years pressing down on him.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, unsure of what would happen next. The distance between you both had always felt like an insurmountable chasm, a space that Sunday had carefully cultivated to protect both of you from the consequences of emotional entanglements. Yet, here you were, baring your soul, ready to cross that line.

“Sunday, I…” You struggled to find the right words, but the truth hung between you, undeniable.

His hand, once steady and certain, reached up to touch his ear, where his golden earrings shimmered faintly in the soft moonlight. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his face away, his breath coming in a quiet sigh.

“I’ve seen the consequences of desire,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve seen what happens when people want something more than peace. More than escape.”

Your heart tightened at his words. The man before you, the one who had once been filled with hope and compassion, had grown resigned over the years, his ideals tempered by the crushing weight of the choices he’d had to make. But there was a part of him still buried beneath the layers of responsibility and loss, a part that had always wanted to protect you.

“I don’t want to be your escape, Sunday,” you said softly, taking another step forward. “But I don’t think I can keep living like this, in this paradise, if it means living without you.”

He turned his head, and for the briefest moment, his gaze softened, vulnerable. A flicker of something—an emotion long buried—surfaced in his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the weary resolve that had come to define him.

“You still don’t understand,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness. “I can give you everything—this—this dream, this peace, this world where nothing hurts. But in return, I need you to let go of what you desire. I need you to let go of me.”

You took a deep breath, standing just inches from him now, your heart racing. “I don’t want to let go of you, Sunday. I don’t want to live in this paradise if it means I’m not with you. I’ve already abandoned everything for this dream… but I can’t abandon this feeling. Not anymore.”

For a long moment, Sunday said nothing. His eyes searched yours, perhaps seeing the sincerity, the unshakable truth in them. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came.

Instead, he closed the gap between you, his hand reaching to gently cup your face, his touch soft but firm, as if afraid that you might disappear. His eyes, still dimmed by years of sorrow, looked deep into yours.

“You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Desire is a dangerous thing… but it’s also the only thing that makes us human.”

And in that moment, when the weight of all those years seemed to fall away, and the boundaries between dream and reality blurred, you both surrendered to it. To the beauty and the ugliness of what you had long tried to deny.

In the quiet of the Sweetdream Paradise, under the endless canopy of stars, Sunday finally allowed himself to care again. To feel. To desire. Even if only for a fleeting moment.

And as the dream flickered softly around you both, it felt like home.

[httpsnali]

WEALTHY CHARADE

CHAPTER TWELVE: Notice

✬ Pairing: Park Sunghoon x Female Reader

✬ Genre: strangers to lovers!AU, angst!romance

✬ Synopsis: Forced into a union that promises more complications than peace, you must confront the ghosts of the past and decide if you will bend under the weight of family duty or carve out your own path.

✬ C/W: suggestive language, mentions of character death, toxic parenting (lmk if i missed anything)

✬ A/N: this is a work of fiction. none of the descriptions of the characters are an actual representation of them in real life. if you wanna be tagged reply to this or send me a dm...i love reading your comments and interacting with you guys so reblogs, likes and feedback are highly appreciated! xx

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TAGLIST: @domfikeluva @quilevyt @wildtigerlili @enhaverse713586 @tasnemluvs @vbluly

[z0mbiiex3]

this reference was enough to send me to my grave LMFAOO

[sidefrog-of-all-kinds]

Constantly thinking of how terrified Ukyo must be of teenagers now. (Using everyone's starting ages for comedy and convenience purposes)

This man spent the entirety of the Stone Wars going "wow I can't believe I'm about to watch a teenager fight a bunch of- YOUNGER TEENAGERS?!"

Yuzuriha: 15- Can create any kind of clothing in a matter of minutes, can continue doing this for hours, probably knows just about every crafting technique

Kohaku: 16- Freakishly good at... Everything athletic honestly. Able to pick up and carry just about anything, amazing eyesight, and a tendency to keep fighting through concerning injuries

Senku: 16- has reinvented gunpowder, cars, guns, regularly works with highly toxic and acidic chemicals without a flinch and minimal (if any) protective equipment

Taiju: 16- Seemingly limitless power supply, has a scary long endurance that I'm not sure if we've seen him hit a limit for, additionally doesn't seem to realize how terrifying either of these things are

Homura: 17- Has no qualms about setting an entire village on fire and possibly killing everyone inside, a professional gymnast before the petrification that probably could have made it into the Olympics

Tsukasa: 18- Can kill a lion with his bare hands and rule over an entire empire of people, has seemingly no problem with what he knows is a sort of mass murder

Gen: 19- Concerningly good at lying and manipulating people, follows a moral code that benefits him and (thankfully) his allies

[front-facing-pokemon]

[lunarharp]

more phoenix wright situations

[b0ylik3r]

mspaint is fun to use, actually

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 5

A/N: Holy hell, this chapter got hands. I sincerely apologize for it taking me almost two months to update. Buckle up -- we got some unsettling bullshit brewing within this one. As always, thank you all for your continued support, and please mind the tags. Happy reading!

Rating: Explicit Word count: ~8.2k (I'm rounding up) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, minor character deaths, depictions of murder, dark romance, pregnancy mention (of course), manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, jealousy, abuse mention, minor references to suicidal ideation and overall mental health struggles Summary: Tav awakes after the events of the prior evening alone, confused. Having overheard a discussion between the servants, she makes her way down into the depths of the manor and uncovers a shocking secret.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

She awakens; startled.

Her eyes snap open and Tav springs up from the plush cocoon of linens she's wrapped in – white sheets and a cream colored duvet envelop her. She looks around, frantically searching a room that is unfamiliar. There’s a crick in her neck as she turns her head too fast. She winces then raises a hand to rub over the spot. Raised scabs cover the two signature pinpoints in her neck as she continues to soothe the aching muscle.

There's a heaviness to her head as the events of the prior night swim to the surface of her mind, panic starting anew. 

‘He bit me,’ Tav remembers, urgently. She extends both arms in front of herself for inspection, flipping them over again and again. At this moment, Tav cannot recall what her usual skin tone is – her chest heaves with labored breath as she looks hurriedly around the room for a mirror. In the corner, alongside the wall, sits a vanity. She bolts from the bed, rushing urgently to the mirror.

Grasping the edges of the vanity, Tav snaps her head up to meet the glass.

Her reflection…stares back at her.

Astarion had kept his word – he did not turn her.

She sighs, collapsing into the seat stationed at the vanity. Autonomic tremors wrack her body, adrenaline beginning to take effect. Closing her eyes, Tav focuses on her breathing. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, blowing it out through her mouth. Again. And again. As she rides the choppy waves of her anxiety, a sharp twist in her stomach has her laying a hand over her lower abdomen. With the palm of her hand, Tav rubs soothing circles over the plush softness of her growing belly.

“Glad to see you're okay,” she says affectionately to her stomach, lips curling up into a smile.

How did she end up here? Where is here? Peeling open her eyes, Tav gives the room an honest gander. It's not large, but not necessarily small, either. The room hosts hunter green walls with natural pine wood flooring. There’s a glass door to the front of the room, adjacent to the bed, with two smaller windows on either side; Tav can only assume it leads to a balcony. Beige drapes hang over the windows, parted gently down the middle and tied to the wall by golden holdbacks. There are plants – so many plants – throughout the room. Marbled pothos in hanging pots, a small belladonna on a stand; various other flora and fauna act as decor for the quaint bedroom.

She rises and walks back to the bed, noting that her belongings have been placed neatly along the bottom edge. Tav pokes through them, revealing each layer; her satchel, scarf, and hat are all present. Personal items are all accounted for as she rummages through her bag. It isn't until she notices her dress folded under her bag that she’s aware of her current attire. Somehow, she's now wearing a beige silk slip gown, the hem stopping just above her knees. The top and bottom of the dress are embroidered with white lace; a small bow is positioned right between the beginning of her cleavage.

Tav scans the room again and finds a matching bathrobe hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. She quickly gathers the robe and throws it over herself, catching from the corner of her eye, what appears to be a note on the nightstand adjacent to the bed as she turns around. A vase of freshly cut red roses also resides atop the table.

Tav picks up the note and inspects it. The handwriting is Astarion's – of that, she's certain. The note is addressed to her. It reads,

‘Tavaria,

My apologies that you will wake alone with only this letter  – I'm in rather high demand, today. I am hopeful this note will provide much needed clarification.

It seems as though we’ve had a repeat of our first encounter, yester eve. For that, I owe you an apology. I was overzealous. Truly, I'd forgotten how much I savor your blood, and just how easy it is to lose myself to it.

Rest assured, as soon as I'd realized you'd lost consciousness, I stopped. Everything. Nothing further occurred during your incapacitation. I gathered us both and brought you here, to your bedroom, to rest. I hope you don't mind my giving you a change of clothing; not sure how you'd feel about falling asleep in your day clothes. You did always make it a point to change before retiring for the evening.’

Tav smiles as she reads over the letter. He was right; she never fell asleep without dressing down for the evening. When he had asked her why, she'd told him that it would invite horrid dreams, were she not comfortable during sleep. 

She continues reading,

‘I've tasked Magdalena with helping you around the manor. You need only ask that of which you desire, and she will assist. I suggest taking your morning tea out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard garden. The roses I've left were cut fresh from one of our many bushes this morning.

Tav looks to the glass door leading out to the patio. She catches a glimpse of the small courtyard beyond the ledge of the balcony. Various shades of pink and red roses line the courtyard walls; they're no doubt the source of his gift.

Although the urge to sequester you all to myself is an incredibly formidable one, our time is sadly not yet. You are free to leave whenever you desire. Simply inform Magdalena of your wish to leave, and she will escort you.

I do hope you make a habit of coming to visit. It would be lovely to have you at future events.

I ever so miss having you near, my dearest spitfire.

A. A.

Spitfire – his old moniker for her.

The first time he saw her charge headfirst into a group of Gnolls, he bestowed that name upon her. She'd yelled orders from her frontal position to the back line, the pack dropping quickly from their combined onslaught. All piss and raw vinegar as she cut them down, screaming with each swing of her great sword. For Astarion, it was exhilarating to watch the woman he was newly involved with take the initiative. He would later tell her it was a deciding factor in how he inevitably fell for her.

Tav places the note back on the table, raising her head toward the windows. She approaches the door to the balcony, placing a hand upon the handle. It turns with relative ease and Tav pushes open the door, stepping out onto the patio. The sun bathes her skin in a comforting warmth and she takes a moment to enjoy the sensation. Despite it being morning, she can already tell the weather will be unbearably warm by midday. Yet, for now, this is fine. This will do nicely to help soothe her worrisome heart. At least, for a short while.

Looking out beyond the balcony, Tav is greeted with a full view of the courtyard garden. She sees the rose bushes from before clearer, now. Various colored tulips outline the brick path cut down its middle, along with lavender and catmint, creating a dazzling display of color. Tav closes her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. A sweet floral scent meets her nose and she instantly relaxes, shoulders falling into a more comfortable position.

She recalls Astarion's surprise when they reached Baldur's Gate. “You forget just how much color there is in the world,” he told her. Seeing first hand how much vibrancy the garden possesses, it's no wonder he speaks so highly of it.

As she looks down at the grounds below, Tav sees gardeners trimming hedges. A couple look up and wave, having caught her in their periphery. She waves back as a kind gesture, and returns back to the bedroom. There's knocking on the bedroom door – three short taps with the back of a knuckle, just as she closes the door to the balcony.

“Lady Tavaria? Are you awake?” comes a light voice from the other side of the door.

‘Magdalena.’

“Y-yes! I'm up,” Tav answers. She walks to the bedroom door but doesn't open it. Instead, she chooses to stand in front, awaiting a response from the servant.

“Ah, wonderful!” Magdalena exclaims jovially. May I come in, my lady?”

Tav worries the inside of her cheek, hesitantly raising a hand to the doorknob. The woman is harmless, she knows, yet her heart still wavers. With a brief shuttering of her eyes, Tav draws in a deep breath again and opens the door.

Magdalena stands just outside the door, a tray of tea and finger sandwiches in her hands. “Brightest of mornings, Lady Tavaria,” she greets with a short curtsey. Her signature smile is widely on display. “I've brought tea and some breakfast, at the behest of Lord Ancunín.”

Tav nods and steps out of the way, welcoming Magdalena into the bedroom. The older woman places the tray on top of a wooden dresser along the wall. “Thank you,” Tav says, walking over to the tray. 

Her stomach growls as she looks over the sandwiches. It dawns on her that she hasn't eaten since lunch the day before. As she reaches for a piece of sandwich, Tav notices a small scroll rolled up on the tray next to the tea pot. Choosing to forego food at the moment, she picks up the scroll and starts cautiously untying the binding. “What is this?” Tav asks, glancing up toward Magdalena.

“A scroll of Lesser Restoration,” Magdalena explains. “The young Master insisted you’d have need of it.”

Tav opens the scroll and reads over the incantation. During their travels, it wasn't uncommon for Tav to ask this of Shadowheart, especially after nights with Astarion. Shadowheart would scold her for taking things too far yet again with their vampiric companion, but would heal her, nonetheless.

“That's very thoughtful of him,” Tav answers, flatly. She recites the spell laid out within the scroll, a faint blue aura enveloping her. The scroll disintegrates within her hands as the aura clears. Her head suddenly feels clearer, her body stronger. Tav never quite understood how the spell works, but she chooses never to question it further. For now, she'll enjoy her breakfast, pouring herself a cup of tea before choosing a piece of sandwich.

Magdalena smiles again as Tav begins eating. “May I run you a bath?” she offers. “It will be done by the time you finish.”

“Ah, no,” Tav answers while chewing, raising a hand to cover her mouth, “that's quite alright. I think I'll just slowly get myself together.”

Their eyes meet as Tav lifts her head toward the older woman once more. For a moment, the servant's eyes glow. Tav furrows her brow as she studies Magdalena’s face. She's seen this look before, but not since Cazador was still master of the palace. 

Suddenly, it clicks.

She's actively conferring with Astarion.

Magdalena's eyes return to their usual hue almost as quickly as they changed. Tav resumes her breakfast, feigning innocence of her discovery. 

“Of course, Lady Tavaria. That would be no problem at all,” says Magdalena. The servant makes toward the bedroom door, but turns around before exiting. “Please feel free to call for me, if you have need.”

Tav nods again while taking a sip of tea. “Of course, Magdalena. Thank you, though there's one question I have.” She motions toward the note lying on the nightstand next to the bed, seeking to prove her prior theory correct. “Astarion said in his note that I may leave whenever I please.” She places her tea back down on the tray, locking eyes once more with Magdalena. “Is that true?”

A brief moment passes without a response. Faint glowing rings appear around Magdalena’s irises once again, then fade within seconds. “Absolutely!” the woman exclaims, positively. “You’re free to come and go as you please. Master Astarion would never keep you here against your will.” The smirk on her face is not her own but that of Astarion’s, a blatant display of his compulsion over the older woman.

Tav draws in a shallow breath, deeply unsettled. “Thank you, Magdalena,” Tav says quietly, placing her cup of tea down. Magdalena bows before taking her leave of the bedroom, the door shutting with a soft ‘click’ behind her. Tav stares at the back of the door, mind beginning to race. 

Why spy on her if she's free to leave? Why offer her accommodations if Astarion has zero intent to keep her here? She winces as a sharp throb shoots through her neck. The scroll may have cleared her mind, though his mark is still very much present.

“He's hiding something,” Tav says aloud, raising a hand to rub the side of her neck. The scabs brush along her palm as she smoothes over the skin. She begins to ponder the night prior. The look on his face… His liar's smile. Tav knows the look well. He's used it on her and countless others across the duration of their journey together.

But why? It's her, after all. He can trust her, can't he? He can confide in her.

“You left me, remember?”

The words echo in her mind. She hates to admit it, but Tav broke his trust just as much as he broke hers. The exact moment of Astarion’s triumph is when she pulled away. When he finally achieved all he lusted after, she left. Rejected entirely the man he became, truly, for her. Sold the very essence of his conscience in a diabolical contract to achieve the confidence, power, and strength to protect her, to protect them, for the rest of eternity.

She drops her hand to her stomach, rubbing over the small bump of her lower belly. That same circumstance is the exact reason she's in her current position. It surprises her, though Tav believes Astarion is still somehow unaware of her condition. If he were, he would have half the manor waiting on her hand and foot. The best clerics and healers would be brought in from all around Faerûn. But above all, he would demand that she stay here. Tav has little doubt he would be an attentive and caring partner. Yet, it would mark the end of her freedom. There is no doubt in her mind about that.

Tav inevitably makes her way to the bath, stripping herself of the silken nightgown. She cleanses her skin thoroughly with care, looking delightfully at the array of soaps and oils provided to her. When she steps back out, she assembles her outfit from the day before. 

With one more small bite of a sandwich and a sip of tea, Tav heads out of the bedroom and into the large hallway. She's unfamiliar with this wing of the palace – not somewhere that was accessible to during their initial visit. It's entirely possible Astarion had this built during the renovations, though the marble carvings within the walls state otherwise. Plush red carpeting lines the hallway, leading to a grand wooden staircase.

Looking around, Tav notes that there is barely a presence on this floor. She begins making her way toward the staircase, noting that even the floor below looks just as deserted. The gears in her head begin turning; where could everyone be? It's barely mid-morning – certainly the servants have chores?

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Tav hears soft echoes of voices coming from around the corner. She believes this to be the main floor of the manor. Is he having a meeting in the foyer? The ballroom? She travels down the hall and hugs the corner wall. Slowly she peaks her head over the corner. No one is present in the manor foyer, yet when she turns her head toward the ballroom, Tav quickly pulls herself close to the wall in an effort to avoid being spotted.

Cautiously, Tav again looks around the corner, staying as flush with the wall as possible. There's a gathering of sorts within the ballroom. Maids and servants are arranging table sets, ornaments are being strung from the walls. One servant is up on a ladder hand-wiping each crystal of the delicate chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. 

Ah, this explains why the manor is so deserted. They're all here, seemingly preparing for an event. Tav looks around and quickly notes Astarion’s absence, yet catches Magdalena fussing with another servant.

“Why’s it we who have to do all this?” complains the young man. He's tall, thin, with shortly cropped ears. A half-elf, perhaps? Maybe even less. “Why's the Master get to sit all pretty while we're here working?” He's holding a silver teapot, polishing it with a soft, white cloth.

“Oh, Thaddeus,” Tav overhears Magdalena sigh, “Lord Ancunín trusts that everything will be up to his expectations, so long as it is us who do this.” The basket she holds comes to rest on a nearby table top as she turns to her companion. “You can hire just about anyone to do anything. But those finer details that have people talking for weeks?” She raises a hand, wagging a finger toward the young man. “Those can only be found by knowing your clientele. And we do.” She nods her head. “He knows that.”

Tav begins to pull back along the wall but stops once she hears the young man speak again, “You know him a long time, don't you?”

“I do,” Magdalena answers confidently.

“Was he always this arrogant?”

The pensive look in the woman's eyes gives Tav pause once again. “He wasn't always in a position to be otherwise,” Magdalena replies quietly.

Tav finally pulls herself back along the wall, looking down to the floor. It's how he survived Cazador. The slavery. The whoring. The hunger. All of it. “Spite made me who I am!” She remembers the venom laced within those words, having pushed him too far. Her heart skips in her chest as it floods with unsettling heat.

“Do I really have to go down there?” the boy from earlier says from around the corner. “It's cold down there. And smells awful.”

Tav listens closely as Magdalena responds, “Oh fine, you don't have to go right now. But someone must go down before tomorrow night’s banquet.”

‘Down?’ Tav ponders. The only thing she remembers being under the manor is the crypts. Those were left empty after the ritual, having sacrificed all those lives in the Rite. Nothing remained but the stench of death and stale air. What could possibly be down there that they need to check on?

In a split decision, Tav peers quickly over the edge of the wall again. The path is clear; every servant is occupied with their tasks at hand. She then dashes to the opposite wall, hugging it close as she listens to the activity within the ballroom.

Nothing. Just the same chatter as before.

If she has any hope of making it to the crypts, Tav remembers she needs the ring. That accursed fucking ring, engraved with the Szarr family sigil. She doubts Astarion has changed the enchantment, as evidenced by the heavy metal doors of the ballroom. ‘But where to find the ring?’ she ponders. Tav recalls a matching set – one within Cazador's possession, and the other…

Godey. 

Astarion returned the duplicate back to fucking Godey. Or, really, what was left of him. Once obtaining Cazador's ring, he returned the prior to the skeleton before departing the palace. 

“I very much deserve the real thing. Not some cheap imitation,” he says. As Tav watches him kneel before the corpse of his tormentor, he gives pause. They’re the only two occupants of the room, the others choosing to stay above in the foyer. The room smells horrid; fetid. Nothing but the stench of death and decay permeates the air. Astarion sits with his head bowed low, hands balled into tight fists on his thighs. Tav refrains from speaking, letting Astarion have his moment. Eventually, the newly ascended vampire lord reaches into his pocket and produces the duplicate ring, dropping it within the pile of bones that was once animated. As he rises, Astarion turns to Tav and says, “I’m done here.”

She quirks her brow. “Are you sure?” Tav asks in concern. “We should really talk–”

“I’m done here,” Astarion repeats again, more sternly. He walks past Tav without making eye contact and heads for the stairs. Tav looks back at the room briefly before exiting, then follows Astarion up the stairs.

Looking around, Tav realizes the layout of the manor has changed. “But has he changed the structure underneath?” she whispers to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she finds it – a small stairway at the end of the hall leading down and–

‘Aha; there it is.’

Tav quickly scans the hall and upon realizing the way is clear, dashes toward the staircase. She hurries down the stairs, halting momentarily at the bottom to perform another quick surveillance of her surroundings. 

Having Astarion as a teacher certainly helped improve her stealth. His two-hundred years of experience shined brightest as he glided about the night, lifting coin purses and trinkets with finesse so smooth they'd all be right out of earshot when the shrills of the victims finally rang out. Tav would stand in awe as he'd then pawn the hot items, using every smooth edge of his perfectly sculpted face to its full advantage. It was often that he'd come away with more gold in hand than the others during these exchanges, leading to the group agreeing unanimously that Astarion barter with all merchants.

The way looks clear once more and Tav ventures into the hall. This floor looks little changed; the…entertainment…quarters are off to the left, which means the kennels are still to the right. Tav turns her head as she approaches the threshold of the kennels. The blood-stained mattresses from months prior are still strewn about the floor of the room, coupled with the shackles welded into the stone. What makes her breath catch is Godey’s skeleton, lifeless on the ground. It's laying in the exact same position it was left in when he was slain. 

Astarion hasn't touched it. 

No one has touched anything in this room, let alone on this floor, from the looks of it.

With a heavy sigh, Tav steps through the doorway and enters the torture chamber. The air still carries the horrid scent of decay, but not nearly as strongly as the months’ prior. She kneels before the pile of bones on the floor that once was Godey, and without much hesitation, begins rummaging around for the ring. She finds it under his ribcage, nestled between his pelvis, and quickly stashes it in her satchel. Tav tries rearranging Godey’s remains as respectfully as she can, then rises from the floor.

She's quick to leave the room, not affording herself a glance back, and slinks back up the stairs. A servant passes as she reaches the top of the stairs and Tav halts, watching them intently. Thankfully, they fail to notice her presence, and she continues up into the hallway. Her next challenge is to somehow sneak into the ballroom, to the doorway off to the left that houses the elevator shaft. Astarion taught her an invisibility spell during their lessons, though her grasp on the spell is crude at best, only being able to hold the veil for half its usual time. 

She'll have to be quick, is all.

Tav hugs the wall once more as she makes her way back to the ballroom. Silently she prays no changes have been made to that wing of the manor. She whispers the incantation for the invisibility spell to herself; her form blinks out of view and she dashes into the room. Holding her concentration as best she can, Tav nearly collides with a maid as she turns the corner. The spell flickers for a soft moment, threatening to collapse entirely, before she inevitably regains focus. She looks around briefly – no one within the ballroom seems to have noticed her mishap, and she quickly slips behind the door leading to the elevator, closing it promptly behind her.

Exhaling in relief, Tav releases the spell, retrieving the ring from her satchel as she walks toward the elevator. The gate opens as she approaches and she steps in. As she raises the ring to the corresponding sigil etched within the metal wall, Tav winces, hoping that the activation of the elevator doesn’t trigger an alarm. Ancient gears begin to wind, feeling the vibrations under her feet, and the gate closes. The elevator begins to draw down, and Tav sighs in relief.

The air shifts as she further descends down the shaft. An uneasiness takes root deep within her chest as the temperature shifts; she shivers, and suddenly, the elevator stops with a jump. The gate swings open and Tav steps off. She's assaulted by the scent of rotting organic matter and stale blood. Her stomach churns, half in nausea but also hunger. Curse the child growing within – already having such a twisted moral compass. Most befitting of the union between a vampire and a Bhaalspawn.

Her footsteps reverberate loudly against the tall stone walls of the dungeon. As she looks around, Tav realizes that this, too, has been left untouched during the renovations. Making her way to the main hall, she ponders where Astarion would keep his secret hidden, were there one. She turns off to the left and heads to where the remains of Vellioth lay; where most accounts from all prior lords of the manor reside.

Entering the stone room, Tav immediately notices the two sarcophaguses off to the right. They, too, are made of stone, their lids decorated with intricate carvings. She quirks her brow, drawing closer to the structures. These look new; a fine dust has settled on the ground surrounding each, most likely shaken off the while being placed.

A quick memory flits across her mind, of the two men mentioned within the Gazette. Evidence of fangs marks marring their necks, vanishing from the crime scene without a trace. Again Tav's stomach churns, queasily this time. 

Perhaps these are Astarion's new sleeping chambers? Her brain is trying to form a positive explanation. Maybe he's grown tired of satin and feathered beds, craving the comforts of solitude. 

She winces, seemingly staring out into nothing, and pulls her head to one side. ‘No,’ Tav thinks, ‘not after that particular event…’

She approaches the first of the tombs, cautiously extending her hands to the lid. With a breath, she pushes, the bellowing sound of stone grinding against stone cutting through the heavy silence of the crypt. Finally, the cover drops to the floor with a loud ‘thud’, the ground shaking briefly beneath her feet.

Closing her eyes, Tav leans forward over the lip of the stone coffin. She wills her eyes to then open observing the contents inside.

Her mouth drops open, breath arresting in her chest by what she finds.

Within the stone coffin lay a man in hooded black garb. Of elven lineage, most likely – not much older than a hundred. As she scans his form, Tav notes a discolored bruise on one side of the man’s neck. A trail of blood leads down his chest, obscured by the collar of his garb. Reaching into the coffin, she gently pushes the hood to the side, allowing her a better view of his neck.

Her pupils grow wide.

Within the blossomed bruise, two pin marks decorate the man’s skin. Tav raises a hand to her neck and traces the distance between each of her scars. She extends her hand over the man's neck, keeping her fingers aligned. 

She gasps – the marks line up near perfectly with her fingers. 

‘No…’

A surge of heat crawls throughout her body, her heart drumming loudly within her ears. Tav darts her eyes to the second stone coffin and sets to work on shoving off the lid. With one final groan from Tav, the lid hits the floor, ground shaking again from the impact. Quickly, Tav peers over the ledge.

Another young man in hooded black garb – a dragonborn. Tav reaches down to push the hood over, revealing the man's neck to her eyes. He, too, possesses the same pin marks as the first.

“Somehow I knew I'd find you here,” comes a smooth voice from beyond the corridor. 

Tav halts, a shiver running down her spine. She knows that baritone voice, all too well.

Him.

Footsteps echo off stone flooring, the sound increasing in intensity as he walks down the hall. He emerges from the shadows and into full view; he's chosen his red and black doublet today, with a simple pair of black slacks. His loafers are the same as the day's prior. Not a single strand of hair atop his head is out of place. Perfectly poised, per usual.

“Shouldn't’ve taught me your entire repertoire, then,” Tav retorts with slight annoyance, swiveling her head to address him over her shoulder.

He smirks as he closes the distance. “Half, little love,” Astarion chides with a wag of a finger. “I taught you half of what I know.” He stands just within the doorway’s arch, crossing his arms over his chest. Astarion then tilts his head to one side, pulling his face into a questioning scowl. “Why exactly are you here?”

Silence hangs heavy in the air while Tav conjures a response. She narrows her eyes, shooting Astarion a searing glance.

“You lied to me, Astarion,” she accuses, raising a finger at him. “And I knew you did.” Looking to the twin coffins lining the walls of the room, Tav shakes her head. “I overheard the servants talking about something here within the crypts, and I–”

Astarion drops his brow. “Who did you overhear?” comes his stern response, laced within a deep growl.

Tav shrugs her shoulders. “Does it matter?” she suggests. “The damage is already done, Astarion. I know the truth.”

He's quiet as she walks toward him; stoic. He stops breathing, having no true need of it, and he’s a living statue before her eyes. Ivory skin with just the faintest hint of life. Piercing red eyes. A strong, sharp nose. Hardened jaw clenched tight… 

Tav is quick to rid her mind of the creeping lust that threatens to bloom within.

“But what I don't understand is why lie to me, Astarion?” She continues to argue her point, pounding a fist over her chest. “What do you gain? What do you preserve?”

Astarion doesn't answer immediately, likely trying to piece together a sound reply. He shifts his weight onto one hip and sighs. “Has our dearest friend Wyllyam not told you of our arrangement?”

Tav shifts back a step, turning her face toward the side only minimally, eyes still fixated upon him. “What are you implying?”

Astarion’s resulting smile oozes malice. “Oh dear, you really don't know.” He drops his arms from his chest and closes the distance. Tav flinches as he leans toward her, dropping his voice to a purr, “And here I thought you were just playing the part.”

“Know what, Astarion? Speak plainly,” demands Tav.

Again, a momentary lapse in response. He stares blankly, expressionless as he says, “Awfully surprised this hasn't come up during pillow talk.”

Tav blinks in genuine shock. ‘Pillow talk? What in the hells–’

Suddenly, her brain mulls over the thought and she scowls. “Astarion, are you asking if I've ever slept with Wyll?”

He leans back, shifting his head again to one side. “I'm not quite sure, love,” he says, feigning innocence. “Perhaps you could tell me?”

Flabbergasted, Tav shouts, “He's the Duke, Astarion! I report directly to him!” She shakes her head in disagreement. “No, our interactions are strictly professional.”

“Of course, but old habits die hard, my dear. Surely you know that,” Astarion retorts.

The sentence churns within her brain. Tav recalls the events of their journey against the Absolute. Every dinner, every laugh, every intimate moment shared.

‘He can't possibly be referring to…’ 

Her attention snaps back to Astarion, who waits patiently as she unravels his meaning.

“We shared a kiss, Astarion,” Tav explains, mildly annoyed. “You and I pledged ourselves to one another soon after. You know this.”

“You both shared a rather intimate dance, as well.” He begins to circle her; Tav keeps her head on a swivel as she tracks his movement. “What else, I wonder, did you share in our time away from one another?”

“I already told you, our relationship is strictly professional. I harbor no additional feelings for Wyll.”

Astarion's raises his hands in defeat, bowing slightly at the waist. “I'll accept what you say as truth.”

Somberly, Tav looks toward the two stone coffins holding the unfortunate victims. “How does Wyll have anything to do with this?” she questions. “I doubt he'd take murder lightly.”

Astarion huffs a laugh. “Oh, my darling, how wrong you are. They aren’t dead.” Astarion moves toward the first sarcophagus, stopping just next to it. “And they're not innocent. I can assure you of that.”

She whips her head toward Astarion, bewilderment painted clear up on her face. “Not dead?” reiterates Tav. “Astarion, I'm sure of what I saw. Those two men are dead; gone of this world.”

“Did you touch them?” he inquires, lifting a brow.

“No,” she admits, shaking her head, “why would I?”

Astarion lifts his chin, nodding toward the coffins. “Touch them,” he dares. “Go on.”

Tav holds his challenging gaze for a moment before bowing her head. Cautiously, she walks toward the coffins again, choosing the one that holds the elven man. Quickly she looks to Astarion, who nods his head again in encouragement. Tav raises a shaky hand over the lip of the coffin, reaching for the young man inside.

The hand connects and her eyes grow wide.

‘His skin…it's…’

“Cool, but not chilled, yes?” Astarion comments smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tav quickly retracts her hand, shooting a heated glance at Astarion. “What the hells is this, Astarion?” she yells. “What kind of enchantment is this?!”

Knitting his brow, Astarion says, “Tell me, darling – does this satisfy your desire to paint me as some type of devil?” Slowly he stalks toward her, like a predator encircling their prey. Instinctively, Tav backs away, desperate to create more distance. “Does this prove your preconceived notions correct?”

“Astarion…” Tav says in a small voice, but she halts her retreat – a wave of rebellion overtaking her. She stands steady, watching his every movement.

He stops before her, heavy breaths rippling through his nostrils. “Will you fly from me again?” he asks, jaw tight. He leans forward, adding in a growl, “Do you fear me, now?”

He’s spiraling.

Backed into a corner, he's poised to strike. As she studies his face, Tav notes the tension set deep within his features. “...Not unless I have reason to,” she challenges. Tav narrows her eyes in question. “Do I?”

The tension eases somewhat, Astarion's face softening. He straightens his posture, placing a hand on the lip of the coffin for support. “Of course not,” he admits, looking off to the side. Astarion worries at his bottom lip. “I would see this entire city burn, if you willed.”

A cold shutter runs down the length of her spine. “I would never ask that of you, Astarion,” Tav states, cocking her head to one side.

“I know,” he smiles, lips pulling into a smirk, “but my offer still stands.”

Despite offering to raze an entire city in her stead, Tav realizes he still cannot call this what it truly is. 

Love.

How much he loves her. Loves the idea of them. His worst fear realized, Tav comes to understand, is her turning her back on him again. Walking out the door, never to return. Astarion still cannot admit to himself that he longs, desperately, for nothing more than them being together, for as long as the accursed Gods above allow.

But, she knows. She sees it – sees him.

Her eyes wander back to the elven man in the stone coffin. Tav turns to face the coffin and dips her hand once more, placing the flat of her hand against the man’s cheek. “How is it possible that they still live?” she asks, curious. “You bit them, didn't you? Drained them?”

“I did,” agrees Astarion with a slight nod of his head, “however, that's only the first part. They haven't yet reached the final act.” His chest rises as he draws in a breath, exhaling with audible force. He meets her eye as he says, “Currently, they lay between.”

Tav's jaw drops in silent question. “How do you mean between, Astarion?” she asks, mortified. “Are you implying they're in a sort of stasis?”

“Somewhat, yes,” confirms Astarion. “To create a vampire spawn, the victim must be buried under six feet of dirt. After which,” he continues, gesturing with a light twirl of his wrist, “they awaken the following night. Beckoned, by their new master.” A hollow look sets on his face, eyes dropping to the floor. “Bound to them. Forever.”

“This happened weeks ago,” Tav is quick to argue, the soft burn of panic igniting within her chest. “You've kept them here this entire time? In this state?”

Astarion shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance, adopting a sort of apathy as he says, “Not much else to do, unfortunately. Not until I decide otherwise.”

A heavy sense of dread looms overhead. Tav can hardly believe how seemingly detached he is from the severity of the situation – willfully keeping these men in limbo, until he, essentially, gets around to settling the matter. 

Completely at his mercy.

“This is hardly fair, Astarion,” says Tav, voice quivering.

“And what makes you think they're deserving of such a gesture?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Everyone is,” she states in an urgent breath, “especially in death.”

“You’ve no idea who your heart bleeds for,” Astarion counters in a low growl, teeth clenched.

In a display of confidence, albeit foolishly, Tav approaches the vampire. “Did these men give themselves to you willingly?” she asks, pushing forward. Taken aback, Astarion steps away. “Did they pledge fealty to you? Or did you take it?”

Still stepping back, Astarion says quietly, “That hardly matters.”

“No, that's precisely what matters,” Tav insists, forcefully. She halts her frontal assault, choosing to meet his gaze. “Answer me, Astarion – did these men give you permission to turn them?”

They stand, eyes locked in a heated silent exchange, before Astarion finally admits, “No.” it's a one word response, yet it holds the weight of an entire mountain within its meaning.

The fire within her chest threatens to burst into an inferno, and Tav can tell Astarion is feeling the pressure, as well. There's a sheen to his eyes that only appears before the fall. Before a breakthrough.

“Is that the sort of master you want to be?” she pushes. The consequences of such an accusation can leave her in the same position as the men in the coffins, though this is another test of their bond. “One who takes without consideration?” Tav continues. 

Can he withstand moral objectivity? Criticism? ‘Comparison,’ she thinks to herself, ‘to Cazador?’

“I would not wish to create spawn of those unaware of this life,” Astarion states mournfully.

“But if you complete the process, they become your spawn, correct?” infers Tav, continuing to lay on the pressure. “You would have the ability to compel them.”

Astarion shoots her a side glance. “I would never do that to them,” he snarls defensively, his limit quickly approaching.

“No, but you would still have the option. Just as he did. And they would know that.” Astarion's nostrils begin to flare as Tav encircles him, his face screwing up into a tightly disapproving scowl. “Just as you did.”

“Tav,” Astarion growls out in warning, fists clenching with fevor. He follows her path around him, eyes glued to her form.

“That at any moment,” she continues, “you could bend them to your will. Just as he did.” Astarion's chest is heaving by this point. Strong, ragged breaths tear through his chest.

Yet, Tav goes on. “How long do you think you'll have before they rebel? Before they seek to reclaim the life you unjustly stole from them?” Tav stops just before him, craning her neck to one side as she says, “Does that sound like a familiar story to you?”

“I am not him!” Astarion shouts, hunching over. His fangs are bared, his palms splayed wide. His eyes flicker a bright gold for all but a second, but it's a second too long for Tav to not take notice. Astarion drops to his knees and Tav backs away, startled by the display before her.

Astarion's nails dig deeply at the stone floor below. He's snarling – saliva now drips from his mouth as his body gives over to a fit. Panic settles within Tav’s chest, though her feet refuse to carry her any further away. Astarion whips back his head – pupils blown wide – and their eyes meet; a thin ring of ruby red encircles them. 

“Astarion…” Tav sighs. She eases herself to the floor, but doesn't reach for him. Instead, she sits attentively – an unspoken display of trust that he will not take advantage of her vulnerability. Hoping that somewhere, deep within, he's still the man she came to love.

A low rumble rises from Astarion's chest as he studies her face. His eyes roll into his skull and he sits back, blinking rapidly. Raising a hand, he swipes it down the front of his face, then shakes his head.

“...Are you back?” Tav asks, timidly.

Astarion gives a knowing glance, nodding his head in silent agreement.

“What was that?” she asks.

Settling his gaze on the floor, hanging his head, Astarion confesses, “I…I don't know,” His chest rises and falls with labored breaths. “Forgive me; I meant you no harm.”

Somehow, she knows. Trusts in the one impenetrable fact that he will always protect her. That no harm will ever come to her, either by his own doing or by others. Tav doesn't fear him, nor what he is capable of.

“I know,” Tav says, confidently. She holds out her hands, palms turned upward, in offer to Astarion. They don't have to talk about what happened just yet. For right now, they must move forward.

He gives pause at her gesture, but then readily accepts, enclosing his hands over hers. They aid one another in rising off the floor and stand, keeping their hands interlocked just a moment too long.

Tav speaks first, saying, “You have to do something with them, Astarion. You can't just leave them here and pray they'll go away.”

His hand finds one of hers again, entwining their fingers once more. “...What would you suggest I do?” he asks, unsure. Astarion looks to her from under his lashes, brow knit tightly in a concerned scowl.

Tav squeezes his hand encouragingly. “Show them the mercy you wish was afforded to you.”

Astarion lifts his head, eyes widening as he looks to her. “...You would allow such a thing?” he asks with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Tav brings their interlocked hands to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his. “I support you doing what's right, Astarion.”

His eyes flutter momentarily, somewhat surprised by the intimate gesture, before he dips his head in a short nod. “Fine,” he says, “I'll do it.” 

Releasing his grip on her hand, Astarion moves to the coffin holding the young elven man. He reaches for his side, under his doublet, and Tav hears him unsheath his dagger from its hilt. Seconds later, Astarion pulls it free from his hip with a skilled jerk.

With a shaky breath, Astarion takes the opposite hand and begins tracing down along the breast bone of the unconscious man beneath. He feels, under the pads of his fingers, for each intercostal space, stopping once he reaches the fourth. Now moving his hand slightly to the left of the sternum, he dips his fingers again to confirm proper placement. The man's heart beats slowly under his touch; Astarion releases his breath, and looks again to Tav.

Tav sees the trepidation in his eyes. He's asking silently, again, for her permission to continue. If what he’s about to do is tolerable. Will she turn and run if he goes through with this? Would it be too much for her to witness him at his worst? 

She nods almost instinctively, taking notice of her own heightened state. There once was a time when the call of blood and sinew thrilled her; though now, the adrenaline coursing through her veins exists for a different reason entirely. Her heart beats strong against its cage, flooding her ears. 

Astarion means to kill these men. Mercifully, yes, but kill them, all the same. And she's allowing it. Encouraging it. Guiding his hand toward a path of resolution. A chance at redemption for his soured soul, all but forgotten by every God.

It's no matter to her, really – she longs to be his sanctuary. The savior of his damned existence. She wasn't strong enough then, during the ritual, but by the Gods she will never make that mistake again. Stop at nothing now to save him. To give him a new chance at life.

One where they all can exist together. Him, her, and the blossoming love that grows within.

Receiving the answer he sought, Astarion turns his attention again to the man’s chest. He raises the dagger, replacing his fingers with the tip of the blade. He pauses for a second, then begins pushing the knife forward.

A deep, agonal groan rings loudly against the crypt walls the moment Astarion's blade pierces heart. A shiver passes over Tav as she traces the movements of Astarion's arm. He twists the dagger within the elf’s chest, another garbled sound slipping past the young man's pale lips as Astarion carves through myocardium.

Astarion stands, near perfectly still, in the same position until the sound dies down. Only then does he pull the dagger free. He wipes the flat of the blade against his thigh, moving toward the dragonborn in a seamless transition.

A final groan spills from the older man. It reverberates within the crypt, drifting off into a dull dum. Astarion carefully removes the blade from the man’s chest, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor with a loud ‘clang’. Astarion drags a hand down the length of his face and begins stalking backwards. “It's done,” he comments, turning on his heels and heading toward the exit. His head hangs low as he passes Tav.

She hardly acknowledges his passing – she’s too transfixed on the scene before her. 

Finally, the two men lay dead. Her nose picks up the faint scent of their blood as it slowly trickles from their wounds, though the smell is not as fragrant as that of a fresh kill. The scent envelops her once more and her stomach lurches in disgust.

‘It's rancid!’ she cries to herself. Tav places a hand over her abdomen, rubbing soothing circles over her belly, hoping to calm this sudden wave of nausea.

The crushing reality of the situation begins to set in. Tav had encouraged Astarion to show these men mercy. Mercy that wasn’t shown to him. She knew he'd likely choose this option, but the why escaped her. 

Until now.

“Astarion,” she calls out in a shaky breath, beginning to understand, “does this mean you…?”

Astarion halts just before stepping beyond the room's threshold. He turns slowly, looking at Tav as he says, “I'm holding a charity ball tomorrow evening. In Wyll's honor.” His voice is flat – devoid of its usual flair. “You should come. Speak with him. He can explain this better than I could ever hope to try.”

He's already rebuilding his walls.

Tav shifts to meet his gaze. A single tear tracks down Astarion's face and he quickly wipes it away, but she sees. Sees the bob of his neck as he swallows. Finds the hollow look in his eyes as he meets hers. “You did the right thing, Astarion,” she states, trying to provide reassurance. Give him an encouraging hand.

Yet, he's quick to refuse it.

“Then why doesn't it feel that way?” Astarion confesses, sternly. He promptly turns again and heads once more to the doorway, disappearing beyond the threshold.

Tav stands alone within the crypt. Her knees suddenly grow weak as the evening's events finally catch up to her. She guides herself softly to the floor, supporting her weight on a single arm as she leans to one side. Tav brings her other hand to rest over her chest and feels the crazed beating of her heart. The crushing weight of the evening settles deep in her bones.

Part of Astarion…wishes that were him.

[abyssal-ilk]

posting that sketch yesterday made me remember just how much i love my taashath so i did another doodle <3

[grapecaseschoices]

Books I Wish to Read in the Coming Year

thanks to the @pinayelf for the tag! there are more, but -- ... i'll just do six.

tagging: @wayhavenots @andthatisnotfake @likesomethingblooming @nightingalesighs @laufire @andrewknightley @magebastard - i don't recall all of yall that talk about books. i know a lot of you do especially gideon of the ninth? i just dont remember so if you see this feel free to do it and @ me!