#I’m so beyond depressed right now

[lauryn-order]

I am not okay.

[just-rogi]

.

[digitaldiseas3]

dear diary, i feel as though it gets harder and harder to feel anything sometimes 💖 there’s a good bit of frustration between me and my housemates over little things and it all kinda accumulated into one big Thing that is now a Conflict we have to address tomorrow bc we were all too hormonal to have the conversation tonight. and it was bad enough that one of them is staying the night with her girlfriend bc the conflict freaked her out and she didn’t wanna be alone. and i know the other one is probably both anxious and still frustrated/mad over the whole thing. and in the past i totally would have been a wreck over it like i would’ve been super anxious and upset and like. crying myself to sleep. but instead i don’t really feel much of anything! like of course i hope the situation clears up when we talk it through tomorrow but like. that’s about it rn. i feel stuck on the “fine” emotion like a sim. it’s like i can barely even feel stress over school right now even though i know i have a lot that’s really overwhelming. i felt stressed and overwhelmed even earlier today! i felt pissed off and frustrated and petty and bitter earlier! but once i had to slip into my Diplomacy Mode to deescalate the situation, it’s like i can’t turn my emotions back on :P

[kbwrites]

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four? 

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead. 

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life? 

“It’s me, (Y/N).”  he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

��Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room. 

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

 “And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

[trashbaget]

*

[01zfan]

halcyon | p. wb

guitarist!wonbin x bassist!reader | 13k words

after an insane…awful…damn near DIABOLICAL wait i present you with the most insane writing i have ever done. why i decided to go so hard for a wonbin fic is beyond me but he just evokes something particularly crazy within me.

Halcyon makes music like the album Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino by Arctic Monkeys. this takes place during the 80’s and mentions several places in the world’s rock scene in regards to this time. some songs that remind me of this couple are cry for me by magdalena bay, dare by gorillaz, heavy by powers, i’ll bet you by the jackson 5, drugs by charli xcx, and had ten dollaz by cherry glazerr.

contains: toxic relationship, physical violence (reader fights a girl, several fights during rock shows), infidelity, semi-public sex, fingering, pain kink drug mention, addictive behaviors, non-linear storytelling, it is referenced that the reader does something to "get rid of" other band members, part of this is in eunseok’s perspective then it switches

rock the house masterlist

Wonbin held after concert rituals very close to his heart. When the post-show adrenaline attempted to crash down on him and steal his serotonin like a thief in the night he had a few things lined up to keep the good feeling going. He would be on stage with the guitar still in his hands and before the last riff tore through the venue and while people’s screams still rang in his ears, Wonbin was already setting his eyes on his next dopamine rush. 

His following activities for the night post-concert goes as follows, in no particular order:

Sex.

Drugs.

Trashing hotel rooms.

Chain smoking an entire pack of American Spirits.

He gritted his teeth as he brought his hands down the neck of his instrument. A chord rang through the venue as he remembered he was on his second strike—after the previous three—of ignoring the groupie ban. As he walked off the stage he remembered that he was completely out of drugs, and when he ran his fingers over his engraved initials on the side of his metal cigarette case he came to the realization it was lighter than usual.

“Fuck.” 

Wonbin cursed under his breath, already knowing what was waiting for him inside. The venue staff and roadies moved around him as he stood completely still, looking down at his very last American Spirit. The sound of people running around and making sure equipment was being put in the right place drowned out completely around Wonbin. It was just him, the lone cigarette, and the wave of depression getting closer and closer to crashing down on him. Stray bits of tobacco slid from the metal casing and fell until it landed between his black heeled boots. He sighed to himself and clamped the case hard with a singular hand. The case almost sprung back open from the force. A cheap gift from a former lover that was already falling apart. He swore he had more Spirits.

“I’m going outside.” Wonbin spoke from the side of his mouth the cigarette didn’t occupy.

He didn’t care to look over his shoulder or wait for a reply. He’s sure Shotaro and Sion yelled at him to be back on the bus in thirty minutes or he’d send Wendy out there to kick his ass. He only waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder before heading to the door, using the side of his body to open it while he lit his cigarette.

Wonbin didn’t like Wendy too much, she insisted on managing the band like they were a professional act instead of a bunch of sleazy assholes who could hold a tune. Wonbin much preferred starting fights at shows and picking up girls to break their hearts the next day. Now that Wendy was around—and the major record label that was producing their next album—Halcyon was trying to be more classy. That meant no more young ladies in the hotel rooms, no more instigating physical confrontations at shows, and no more illicit drugs or illegal substances. Wonbin was barely able to sneak underneath Wendy’s radar. She watched him like a hawk, the only moments of solace he got was when he’d walk around the venue to take a smoke break. He was lucky she didn’t have much of a taste for the smell of nicotine. Wonbin would never be the one to tell her that a cigarette might help loosen the gigantic stick she had shoved up her ass.

He walked past the venue staff into the muggy night. Gainesville Florida, a disgusting rainy mess of a city that made you feel like you were choking on the humidity. The vibrant rock scene didn’t make up for the thick air that made everyone feel like they were swallowing smoke. Traveling the world was alot less fulfilling than he thought it’d be. Not every destination was a vibrant city with exotic nightlife and attractions. Sometimes it was in the armpit of a country, right in the bible belt wedged between two conservative cities. 

But this wasn’t all bad. Despite being a pessimist, Wonbin knew that shows paid the studio bills, it paid everything. The weather also couldn’t have been too muggy, because he still insisted on putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling the fumes, even if the fog rested over his body like a damp weighted blanket. 

Wonbin breathed in until embers ignited and he felt that sting in the back of his throat. He should make this last American Spirit last—he really should—but the more he realized this was his last vice for God knows how long he couldn’t stop himself from taking prolonged puff after prolonged puff.

He wandered away from the venue while eating his cigarette, heading towards the side of a building right next to a shady alleyway. He was grateful that word travelled he wasn’t kind to stragglers after the show. He was left alone as he leaned against the wet brick of the building, sputtering up phlegm from singing, the cigarette, and the heavy air around him. Despite the pain he continues to smoke his last dwindling source of dopamine, already imagining the unbearable asshole he’s going to be in the tour bus.

“Looking for something?”

Wonbin looked past the brick wall down the alleyway. It was entirely too foggy here too. Between the shadows of the building and the night Wonbin could barely make out who that was calling to him. The fans after a show never gave Wonbin that much space, and his old flings would’ve been in his face in seconds. His mind briefly went to his dealer, his promise to keep him supplied by his jockeys across America. Wendy made sure to scare them away and to let Wonbin know in the most polished way possible.

“The young professionals that supply your musings will no longer be visiting Halcyon on tour. Any reimbursements will be settled upon our arrival back in New York.”

“Who are you?” 

Wonbin spoke to the shadowy figure at the end of the alleyway. If he knew any better he would’ve never came down this unlit path by himself. He was a rockstar in vintage leather Prada, denim Mugler, and custom made snakeskin boots. Despite his affinity for conflict and violence Wonbin was unfortunately all talk, and he was sure his height and slim frame showcased that. He was at risk of being rundown and not a single soul would know; not a single bodyguard, member of his entourage, nothing. 

But Wonbin was more aware of the fact that it was harder to score these days than it was to die, and if he were to die in an alleyway attempting to do a drug deal atleast he’d go out doing what he loved. So he took another step towards the shadowy figure, his heel clicking on the pavement as he tried adjusting his eyesight in the night. He was going to send Taesan (or was his name Dongmin?—that doesn’t matter) a bouquet of roses. Maybe even name a song on the next album about him. If his jockey would just cut to the chase and emerge from the shadows to give him his vice. Wonbin was already reaching in the inner pocket of his jacket for his emergency drug deal money when he took another step forward.

When the shadow stayed leaned against the wall, Wonbin took another step forward. He even cleared his voice to project it further and moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth in an effort to speak clearly.

“Who are you?” Wonbin repeated. 

Finally the figure kicked off from the wall and walked towards him. Wonbin didn’t care enough to take a step backwards, even when the figure still said nothing. For a moment fear flashed through Wonbin’s mind at the thought of the person really being a murderer—or worse—a cop. He imagined red and blue illuminating the dark alleyway and the figure would emerge with a badge reading him his Miranda Rights. 

As soon as Wonbin imagined all the terrible endings to this situation the fear and panic was gone. Instead of hearing sirens Wonbin heard chatter of people passing by. Instead of seeing a cop he watched a woman emerge from the shadows, heels clicking against the pavement with each step.

He never remembered the jockey’s ever being a girl. 

Wonbin’s even swore his dealer went on a tirade about how unreliable women are when it comes to drug dealing. Something about how pussy is worst and most addictive drug on the planet, how it always complicates things between the buyer and seller, and some other borderline misogynistic rhetoric. 

(Wonbin found himself nodding along with his eyes trained on the drugs in his dealers hand. Maybe it was a Pavlov reaction to get his drugs, maybe he actually agreed with the points he was making. He never claimed to be a feminist. He is a rockstar, first and foremost.) 

Instantly Wonbin tilted his head in amusement. He recognized your face immediately, he had gotten used to seeing you in the crowd of every show. You were what he called a front row regular, singing along to every song and starting the mosh pits. Wonbin watched you start your fair share of fights, pushing someone into the crowd with a smile on your face as you watched the chaos unfold. Despite being burdensome to the security and wellbeing of others, you were never ousted. Wonbin even got the feeling that you were revered in community, not that he ever cared enough to check. He just knew that you were there in the very beginning, when Halcyon didn’t have a name and it was just him Shotaro, and Sion scouring punk bars looking to make a quick buck.

Wonbin didn’t know you were the type to lurk in alleys after a show. For the most part he believed you were one of his few normal fans. As normal as any fan can be that follows the band across state lines just to see the same show over and over again. 

You two had shared eye contact plenty of times. With Wonbin front and center and you in the crowd, it was bound to happen. But each time he gave you that look that said to meet him after the show you were always nowhere to be found. Each time the lights came on you’d disappear like a figment of his imagination, turning into dust until you materialized at his next show. 

Your aversion of meeting him backstage had him peg you for the scared type, but you leaned against the side of the building and titled your head. Wonbin wasn’t sure if you were trying to emulate his calm demeanor or if it was your truth; he was still intrigued all the same. 

“Who are you?” Wonbin asked for a third time, the tone of his voice saccharine as he did a shameless once over of you.

He leaned against the side of the building like you did, his hands let go of the money in his pocket and instead rested inside gently. He let go of the sweaty crumpled money and went to his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth.

When you didn’t speak, Wonbin blew the smoke in your face. A cloud of poisonous smog and you weren’t affected one bit. You let it breeze past you with a smirk before reaching in your back pocket. You revealed the substance like it was the bridge of a song, and held it up in the air in front of Wonbin’s face. You still didn’t say a word and even with the offering in your hand Wonbin’s eyes stayed on you. For the first time in God knows how long, Wonbin felt indifferent to substance. The far off words of his drug dealer played in his mind as he stared into your eyes, so innocent and contradictory of what was in your hand.

“Just a fan is all.” You said.

You jostled the substance in your hand for emphasis, like a human showing a dog its treats. Wonbin’s tail would’ve started wagging if he had one when he realized just how much was in the bag.

“Where’d you get that?” Wonbin asked.

“Some weirdo was just here.” You looked to your hand, feigning confusion. “He said this was for you.” You said.

He was already five minutes past Shotaro’s time warning, pulling you from the shadows ate up a majority of his smoke break. The image of his band running around the venue looking for him was fleeting, but he swore he could hear the sound of Wendy calling out his name. She imagined her scouring the streets looking for a groupie or a junkie asking if they knew of his whereabouts. They had a different state to be in tomorrow but Wonbin didn’t care, his interest was piqued by the baggie and you. You didn’t seem to scare as easily as the other girls. You kept eye contact with him, Wonbin could even see the gleam in your eyes like you were considering taking the substance for yourself.

“Why’d he give it to you?” Wonbin asked, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I may have done something for him.” You said.

Wonbin raised his eyebrows. Less than a year as a rockstar and he already had someone willing to do nefarious things just for him to know their name. Did you dirty your hands for him? Were your stockings already ripped or was that done recently? Was your makeup smudged on purpose and was your unkept hair intentional, or the byproduct of something much more demeaning?

Wonbin put his cigarette out on the brick wall and stuck his hands deeper in the tight leather pockets of his pants. Only then did he fully focus on the baggie. He felt his mouth water at the sight, that tug to do bad things deep in his heart. The adrenaline crash was creeping behind him but you were a massive brick wall he was hurtling straight towards. He reached for the bag and grazed your hand purposefully. 

You didn’t even flinch. He smiled to himself.

“What did you do for him?” He traveled his hand down your arm slowly. His knuckles grazed over the fabric of your denim, tracing the stitching all the way up to your shoulder. When he made it to your neck is when he noticed the blossoming mark, already preparing to be angry in the morning. Wonbin looked from the mark to your face and tilted his head to the side. “Can’t imagine you paid him for this shitty stuff.” He said.

His other hand stuck out in front of him as his hand made it to your cheek. You didn’t chase after his fleeting touch, your lips didn’t part in silent want and your eyes didn’t flutter shut. You were stoic as he touched you, impervious to the move that usually had girls falling to his feet. Wonbin suddenly didn’t feel like just drugs tonight. The adrenaline was building back over his body at the sight of you not scaring easily. You refused to give in, you didn’t even put the baggie in his hand. You opened it yourself, putting the white powder on your long pointed acrylic nail before brining it under Wonbin’s nose. 

He looked down to your nail then up to you. The tension built over his body tenfold, his hands retreated back to his pockets like he was debating on indulging himself. He heard Shotaro yell clearly now, and Wendy’s angry quick steps echoing beyond the alley. 

“I can show you, if you’d like.” 

Eunseok looked away from the alley between the two buildings and pressed his head to the steering wheel. The creases of his forehead are smoothed by the ragged synthetic cover of the wheel from years of use. he continues to rub his forehead against the covering just to feel something. He does it to stop himself from falling asleep, hoping that the repetitive motion can act as the rest he should be getting right now.

Eunseok thinks his job should pay him better. If he made wage proportional to the amount of work he does he wouldn’t have to drive around this disaster on wheels. When he closes his eyes for too long he’s forced to remember that he’s one bad ride away from breaking down on the side of the road—or worse in the middle of traffic. He remembers all the times the engine stalled on him and he had to call his bestfriend to come to his aide. Each time Sungchan gave his car a jump or pushed it to get a running start he commented on the abysmal state of Eunseok’s vehicle. He had heard this thing is barely drivable and you are a danger to yourself a million times. Eunseok couldn’t even deny it, he knew his friend was right. He couldn’t even turn up the music in the car without it coming out fractured through the blown out speakers. everything was muffled and the words were crackling fuzz, like pop rocks were in his sound system.

The music crackling through his speakers pulled him from wallowing in his financial situation. He lifted his head and his hand went to the sound dial on instinct. He focused on changing the volume using the tiniest adjustments on the knob. He always tries for the perfect spot on each song, because of course it’s different for each once. Every three minutes Eunseok’s fingers twist and turn the knob. Ironically it takes have the song to find the middle ground, where it’s not too quiet or entirely too loud. 

When Eunseok finds the spot he sighs to himself, forehead going back to his worn steering wheel. He drums along to the beat this time, trying to get himself up and to clear everything else from his mind. 

Eunseok tries not to think about his nerves, or the way he’s going to weave between two cop cars to get inside of the hotel. He thought it was torture surpassing a line of concertgoers to interview the artists. The exclusivity that gave him a dopamine rush turned into a stomachache when all eyes went on him. Their anger was almost always misplaced, mad at someone who wasn’t even taking up space in the general admission nor who was responsible for them waiting in line. But Eunseok knew it was pointless to argue with fans whose eyes were filled with bloodlust visions of the barricade. He only kept his head down and smiled awkwardly to the security before flashing his press badge. 

Eunseok looks up from his spot in the parking lot to the hotel. Two flashing cop cars, neither of them make a sound but they sit in front of the door to block the entrance. Only people out, no one gets in he hears one of the police officers say. There’s a huddle of them talking to someone, his view of them is blocked by their vests and wide stances. On the other side of Eunseok’s car people are gathered in the public area. They are lined on the sidewalk, standing on their tip toes and leaning their bodies like meerkats. Eunseok recognizes the reporters, they view the front of the hotel through the viewfinder of their cameras, just waiting for the perfect shot. Some people are even craning their necks to look into the fishbowl Eunseok calls a car, he can already hear the whispers and fizzled out excitement when they realize he’s a nobody.

He would take a concert over this any day. He would gladly walk past a line of hecklers than be caught in the middle of this. But the clock in his car that is perpetually an hour behind tells him that he told Wonbin he’d be in his hotel room. The ground forming on the outskirts of the parking lot only gets bigger.

Eunseok reaches across the center console of his car to open the glove compartment. The door to the small storage drops open and he reaches in deep to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He smiles when he finds the last one in the pack and sees he has just enough time and a long enough walk to smoke it down to the butt.

Eunseok rolls down the window of his car using the hand crank because of course it only opens from the outside and of course his window is not automatic. He opens the front door and gets out, closing it behind him with his foot. Both of Eunseok’s hands are preoccupied, one blocks the wind and the other tries to ignite the lighter. it’s annoying, and just like everything else in his life the lighter fails to work. he shakes it, he hits the bottom of it against his thigh, he even tilts it upside down hoping to shake up just enough of the leftover fluid to create a flame. He feels his thumb going raw from working the tiny black gear before he finally admits defeat. 

Eunseok goes through the open window of his car muttering about all his bad luck under his breath. he opens up his loose center console and tosses in the lighter before continuing to dig around. he goes through napkins, loose change, and the spare key that Sungchan swore was in Eunseok’s car. he slips the key into his pocket and reminds himself to hide it inside of the apartment later. 

One after taking everything out of the center console does Eunseok find his box of matches, deep in the bottom corner where it was forgotten for god knows how long. regardless, he is so happy to find the matches he almost kisses the flimsy box. 

He backs out of the car through the open window and opens the matchbox. He sees three perfect matches and nearly cries from happiness. His nicotine addiction induced by stress continues to fight for another day.

Eunseok is sure he looks insane to beyond the parking lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, wearing a business casual outfit to an indie rock bands possible arrest. He tries to salvage what little confidence he has left by leaning on the hood of his car and striking the match. He smiles to himself inwardly when he’s able to successfully light the end on the second try.

Eunseok had always made the deal with himself to let his insecurities run wild until he reaches the end of his cigarette. so as he pulls in the toxic fumes that still burn his throat he lets himself think about how ridiculous he looks. He thinks about his feeble attempt at seeming professional in this scratchy cheap blazer and how uncomfortable his faux suede boots are. They were on the clearance rack in the women’s section, marked down from the already ridiculously cheap price. Eunseok thinks about the people that are looking for their rockstars and instead find a journalist smoking a cigarette in the middle of the night. They must wonder why he gets the privilege to be that close to the hotel, why he has the clearance to go inside. They must know he doesn’t belong here and they must think he don’t deserve a job as cool as the one he has. 

Little do all they know that the pay is shit and Eunseok has had  to spend countless weekends trying to coax answers from half baked artists whose ego is the size of the sun. This job also gave Eunseok the shitty habit of smoking due to the stress, one that he has to cover up with travel sized mouthwash and sticks of gum. He only has the right to be here because he has schmoozed his way to this spot for nearly five years.

when Eunseok finishes his cigarette he removes all negative thoughts from his head. He drops the orange butt to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his cheap—affordable shoe. He goes back into his car and rolls up the window using the crank. Eunseok then clambers over the center console, reaching forward to the passengers seat to grab his messenger bag. He steps on wrappers of of candy and empty bags of fast food to go into the backseat of his shitty—vintage car. 

He gets out through the backdoor and goes to the front. He grabs his press badge that hangs off the rearview mirror. After he makes sure he has everything, he locks all the windows. It’s a whole process to make sure the car is secured, one that Eunseok forces himself to laugh about now.

The first step towards the hotel is the hardest. He has to hold onto the strap of his sling back for comfort and doesn’t look back at the crowd as he wills his feet forward. He can hear behind him people asking who he is, he even sees the shudders of a camera flash in confusion before it ceases immediately. He gets his press badge ready as he heads towards the entrance, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His chews the two sticks of gum in his mouth vigorously before spitting it onto the pavement. The heeled boots almost sound hollow on the pavement, but it is loud enough to grab the attention of the cops. 

They look at him confused, one of them spreads his arms out to stop Eunseok from walking forward.

“No entry is allowed into the building, sir.” The officer says.

Eunseok is used to careless venue security questioning his credentials. In the presence of an actual badge he feels himself freezing up. He babbles, pulling up the flap of his messenger bag to try and call back whoever called him. He already starts to be herded back towards his car before Wendy turns away from her conversation to the commotion.

“He’s good to go up.” She yells.

Eunseok looks towards Wendy, leaving her conversation with an officer and a girl with a bathrobe and a bloodied face to approach Eunseok. She is halfway between the two conversations, yelling again to get the officers attention. 

He remembers when he first met Wendy. She was a clean cut professional, a titan in her field of managing artists. Before Halcyon she only managed solo pop artists, but with the music worlds preferences changing she went to managing rock bands instead. Wendy had Eunseok’s respect, she had the respect from half of the industry for her bravery when it came to managing the mess that was Halcyon. Sometimes he wondered if she regret her  decision. When she wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuits or the expensive jewelry she looked tired. Her hair wasn’t managed in the neat bob but instead pulled to a tight ponytail. From here Eunseok could see that she was pulled from her bed the same way he was, he could see she still had her pajama bottoms on. Eunseok had never seen Wendy in sneakers the entire time he’s known her, but she slipped the shoes on and had a jacket thrown over what he assumed to be her night shirt. She looked exhausted. 

She didn’t even have the energy to try and explain what was going on. She only motioned towards the hotel, telling Eunseok that they were waiting for him on the thirty-ninth floor.

Eunseok was shocked when he walked through the lobby and it was completely empty. He had been in his fair share of hotel’s this late into the night, but there was always atleast a concierge behind the front desk. Here it was nothing, only Eunseok walking across the linoleum floors to the elevators. There was a feeling of dread creeping across his body as he waited for the elevator to come back to the lobby. He remembered the bloodied face of the girl outside, how desperate and tired Wendy looked in between talking to the cops and her. Eunseok already knew you had something to do with it. 

Eunseok looks at the elevator that has finally come down to the lobby. He shuffles inside, hitting the top floor and waits for the door to close.

Eunseok has always been forced to wait for Halcyon. When the band experienced overnight success purely from word of mouth and radio play it was hard to reach the group at all. The worst part was that the elusive nature of Halcyon wasn’t by design, it was purely because the group lacked the fundamentals that came with running a band. Back when the band had no manager or record label—even Halcyon wasn’t the official name yet—and they were essentially ghosts occupying the top of charts internationally and domestically. 

Back when Eunseok was struggling even more than he did now he was chasing after the group. He was for some reason more intrigued then by Halcyon. He became an investigative journalist, canvasing the dingy bars the band used to frequent to become a part of the rumor mill. He posed as an interested fan to get background information. Eunseok found out that Halcyon was a two member group, Shotaro Osaki on the drums and Park Wonbin on everything else. The storekeepers were more than happy to retell the stories, all of them claimed that in the back corner or on the small stage was where Halcyon was formed. They were the pride and joy of the rundown punk bars, nothing like the half-baked rock stars that dominated the scene.

Eunseok still remembers the rush of scoring an interview with the band for the first time. That was after Shotaro split for unknown reasons and you became his stand in. Eunseok was brought backstage by Wendy to talk with the two of you before a show. He remembers struggling to keep up with her in his shitty—affordable boots. He remembers swallowing the gum he forgot to spit out and having to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants to dry them. He remembers having to clear his throat constantly and being underneath your scrutinizing twin glares. He had to decipher your questions but still felt the rush when he saw either of your eyes light up from his informed history on the band.

Back then Eunseok was excited to be a part of Halcyon’s world.

Now as the red analog number climbs up to the top floor he feels a pit forming in his stomach. It’s a burning stone, when he takes in a deep breath through his nose he smells drugs burning. He hasn’t even made it to the top floor yet. 

“Front cover.” Eunseok whispered to himself as the number climbed higher. “Front cover, spread, and promotion.” He repeated.

As soon as the elevator opened, Eunseok could smell it. The thick musky smell of weed filled the floor, he swore there was even a haze in the hallway like there was a smoke cloud. He wondered if the person talking to the suits was actually a manager of the building, coming to an agreement or settlement for the damage and disturbance a Halcyon party caused. There was a reason why the band was denied service from multiple hotels, one of them being a lifetime ban from a chain of hotels across the world.

Eunseok grimaced at the strong smell of weed as he passed through one of the open doors. As if a police investigation wasn’t going on downstairs Eunseok looked through the crack in the door to a couple that was engaging in an even stronger substance. There were other people in the room too, some of them doing other drugs and others making a bigger mess of the hotel room. Eunseok saw ripped up sheets and feathers from the pillows, spray painting on the wall. 

Right as Eunseok peered into the room across from it, he saw someone emerge from the room to pound on the door. They paid him no mind, even when he froze in his footsteps. He noticed the ash on the floor underneath the feet of the person banging on the door. His eyes travelled to the burns in the rugs when the door finally opened. Eunseok was only able to get a peak at the trash furniture before the man rushed inside, closing the door so hard it shook the ground underneath Eunseok’s feet.  The deadbolt being turned filled the hallway and Eunseok was finally moved to take another step, despite everything in his mind telling him not to do so.

He could leave right now, take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, get back in his shitty car, and never engage with the band Halcyon ever again. He could just rely on word of mouth, he was also sure whatever happened here today would make its way through the grapevine right back to him. 

Eunseok took another step towards the shut door. At the end of the hallway, just like Wendy described. He remembered the tone of her voice, how it was grave and low like there were unknown horrors behind the door. The only person to make it out of the room was downstairs in a bathrobe with a bloodied face and broken hand. 

Another step.

Was the same fate waiting for him? Why did they think to contact him directly, how were they even able to contact him directly? Eunseok knew that he might’ve been caught snooping around the scene that birthed Halcyon, but he would’ve never thought it’d be paid any mind. 

He makes it to the door entirely too fast. He presses both palms flat to the door as he holds his ear to the wood. He hears nothing, the complete opposite from the other rooms on this floor. He can hear Halcyon’s latest album blast behind the door of one, he can hear screaming behind the other and he prays he’s not hearing what he thinks he hears behind another. He just needs to focus on hearing what goes behind this one.

Just as Eunseok gets an inkling of a sound, the door is ripped open. Eunseok almost falls into the room completely from his sudden loss of something to lean against.

When the door is fully opened he sees the mess you two made. Eunseok has to stand straight to take it all in, his lips part as he’s stun locked in the doors entrance. He heard about your shared tendency to trash hotel rooms, but he never knew it was to this extent. Eunseok looks at the chunks of the drywall ripped straight from the infrastructure of the room to litter the floor in varying chunks. the tiniest pieces are already embedded in the fancy carpeting, pummeled to white dust from the other things that transpired in the room. Every piece of furniture is broken. A chair is leaned on its side and missing all the legs but one. Another chair next to it has the seat cushion smashed in, and the vanity leans the the side completely. 

The queen sized bed in the middle is completely covered by a million things. Torn paper, jostled piles of clothes, balled up sheets. Pieces of drywall rest on the bed and so does one of the chair legs. Eunseok sees the guitar and the bass tossed on top as well. The feathers from the pillow still float around in the air, and only then can Eunseok bring his gaze back up to Wonbin.

Now is reminiscent of the first time he ever saw him. Even underneath the harsh light of the hallway Wonbin’s skin was tan and flawless, complete with beautiful eyes and plump lips. They were bitten and glistening from his tongue that he ran over them as Eunseok took in everything. His hair was newly dyed raven black, the black leftover dye beaded at his wet hairline. His hair still bounced with each turn of his head despite it being weighed down, and it set perfectly the same way it always did. Wonbin stood in front of Eunseok in just his bathrobe, calm and collected despite the scene behind him. He only nodded before flicking his head backwards and leaning in close to Eunseok like he was about to tell him a secret.

“It was her this time, not me.” Wonbin says with a smile on his face.

Only then does Eunseok notice you. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as your arms splay out over the sides. Eunseok can see your ripped leggings and your missing shoe, he sees the forming bruises on your legs and your lack of movement worries him. The same time he draws a breath Wonbin follows his gaze backwards. He’s confused at first but then he scoffs, still leaning against the door frame before turning his head to face you.

“Wake up. Eunseokie is here.” Wonbin said.

Eunseok peered past Wonbin to watch you finally move on the bed. When you got up by your arms propping up on the bed Eunseok could make out the red smudges of blood across your face and knuckles, the almost catatonic look in your eyes. Eunseok could see the matching white powder on your black clothes and Wonbin’s robe. He didn’t care to ask if it was the drywall or something else, he convinced himself it was the former. Eunseok was more intrigued by the obvious look of crashing on whatever high emotions you were coming down from, whatever obviously caused this. You seemed unaffected as your feet kicked over the edge of the mattress, you and Wonbin had twin sinister smiles without even realizing it.

Eunseok should’ve stayed home.

“Why am I here?” Eunseok asked.

“Remember when you first met us?” Wonbin asked.

Wonbin pulled at Eunseok’s arm to pull him into the hotel room. Eunseok stayed planted in place, looking over his shoulder towards the elevator. He could make his great escape right now, he could take the elevator down and then sneak past Wendy and go back to his car. He could drive it home and go to sleep, pretending this night never happened. What waited for him in this room couldn’t have been good. But Eunseok kept getting pulled by Wonbin, and the idea of having this exclusive interview prior to your inevitable arrest pulled at him even more. Eunseok sighed heavily and reluctantly let himself be pulled into the mess of the hotel room.

Your feet that dangled over the edge of the bed started kicking in excitement. You watched Eunseok get pulled in by Wonbin, and watched him close the door behind him. He stayed by the closed door as Wonbin walked away, standing next to the place you sat. You watched Eunseok look from Wonbin to you, then he looked from you to Wonbin. He let out a sigh that you two laughed at, and when he went to scratch his eyebrow you and Wonbin looked at eachother. 

“I remember.” Eunseok adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, settling onto the balls of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. He kicked away the piece of drywall that was wedged underneath his foot. Eunseok looks down and continues to drag his foot across the carpet. You see tiny specks of white flick up from the carpet. “I remember when I first met you guys.” He laments.

“What was the question you asked us then that we didn’t answer?” Wonbin asks.

You stop kicking your feet. You watch Eunseok try to remember what happened all those years ago. Truthfully, you two didn’t answer his questions to begin with. Even before the makeshift media training Wendy tried to give you both, you two had the tendency to avoid questions. That first interview Eunseok gave you backstage was a mess. You two derailed constantly, Wendy interjected twice, and Eunseok was such a nervous wreck he stumbled through half the interview. 

Now Eunseok seemed fed up with the band. If you cared, you would’ve felt embarrassed about the common pattern people had in relation to the band. Whenever anyone would first become involved with Halcyon, it was always the same. They would look at you and Wonbin with stars in their eyes, singing praises about the two of you without being prompted. As time would go on they’d get more and more fed up, until they completely avoided the band altogether. At this point, the only person that was consistently in your circle was Wendy, and that was only because she was getting paid an ungodly amount of money to put up with it. 

You didn’t know when it shifted for Eunseok. Maybe it was on his way here. You imagine the wound of remorse had been festering for awhile, he was practically on your payroll while barely reaping the benefits. He was the only reporter you and Wonbin were even remotely candid with, he was at all of your album releases and the big shows behind the stage. But to your knowledge he still drove that busted ass car you’d see broken down on the shoulders of highways. 

“I asked you guys alot of questions then.” Eunseok says.

He’s irritated. He looks around the room at the mess, his eyes drag across everything. You wonder how long he had to drive to get there. 

When Wonbin doesn’t give any more indication of what he’s talking about you watch him look up to the ceiling. You see his face drop at the slanted ceiling fan that was one pull away from falling completely.

“Was it question about you two being lovers?” Eunseok asks.

You almost tilt your head back and laugh at that. You remembered when Eunseok read back the lyrics to a song about lovers meeting in dark alleys and asked if it was about your relationship with Wonbin. Wonbin answered then, without hesitation, Who said we were lovers? Eunseok was taken aback, anticipating that you two would’ve thrown him a bone for being knowledgable about your music. You were taken aback because Wonbin declared his undying love for you only an hour before the interview took place.

“Who said we were lovers?” You say quickly.

There were plenty of things that indirectly explicitly said you two were lovers, or something akin to that. The fact that you two nearly fucked onstage every show, the only thing separating your lips was the microphone caught between you two. The stage lights caught in your eyes as you leaned closer and closer to him, dancing facing him as he did his solo on the guitar. That’s not even to talk about what would happen off stage. Before that interview Wonbin had your back leaned across the hood of his vintage red Mercedes Benz Convertible in the private parking lot, your legs slung over his shoulders as he kneeled on the yellow line of the parking space. You could still smell yourself on his tongue during the interview, and you were able taste yourself after the show too. Groupies fucked him knowing you two were fucking, people in your circles still whispered to this day about your relationship. But of course, if it’s not said, then it’s not true.

Eunseok looks up from the ground to your even expression. Your throat hurts even when you speak quietly, baring the weight of the screaming you were doing an hour ago. Eunseok smiles at you, you don’t know if he smiles at the irony of this answer or the other objectively hilarious things about this situation.

“Your chemistry is palpable.” Eunseok answes.

When Eunseok does a pulling motion at his hair you tilt your head back to laugh. The infamous part during your performances when you’d pull at the hair on Wonbin’s head. The first time you did it was real, a compulsive reaction in response to the constant mess he put you through. After that it was all for show, to play the part of unfaltering love where you needed him close to you by all means. A messy hand tangled in his sweaty hair as you brought him close until your foreheads touched. The hair pull would be referenced throughout your shared careers, something that you two would only shrug your shoulders at. Now it made Wonbin roll his eyes and sit on the edge of the bed to bring attention back to him.

“Not that.” Wonbin clarified. 

Eunseok sighs and brings his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. You have to bite your lip to hold back the laughter.

“Why’d you two call me here?” Eunseok asks.

Wonbin looks to you. Eunseok looks to the floor and takes in another breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“You did alot of research about Halcyon long before you ever met us.” Eunseok is at the point where he doesn’t care enough to hide it. He simply nods before Wonbin looks over to you and takes in a deep breath. “But there was always the one thing you could never figure out.”

Eunseok scratches the back of his head as he thinks, and when he realizes it his fingers stop in their tracks. Even with his eyes pointed towards the floor you can see them widen before he looks up. 

Eunseok looks between you and Wonbin, hand still in his hair.

“You’re going to tell me how you ended up joining the band?” Eunseok asks.

When you and Wonbin nod together, you can see that Eunseok’s interest has been piqued. He looks behind him briefly and grabs the stool that was tossed on its side, sitting up on it immediately. You watch him try to balance on the missing leg, slinging his messenger bag to his lap so he can open it. Almost immediately that same spiral journal materializes and so does a pen and recorder. Eunseok doesn’t hesitate to press record.

“On the record?” Eunseok asks.

You and Wonbin both nod, sitting up a little straighter. You nod but Eunseok flicks his head towards the recorder in his hand, a silent reminder that he needs to hear you confirm it.

“On the record.” You confirm.

Eunseok leans forward in his seat, and you can see him already imagining all the stories he’s going to sell. This will get him that front cover he’s had his sights on for God knows how long, but you can see him contemplate on why you’re doing all of this. Two selfish rockstars are suddenly willing to reveal something they have kept under wraps for so long. But he doesn’t want to ask the question. Now that Eunseok has you two os willing to spill the secret, he doesn’t want to lose his chance. You’re lucky he doesn’t pry, and he’ll be lucky if you don’t clam up in the middle and recant your statement. You believe that’s why Eunseok acts fast now. He wastes no time to make sure his pen can write, and he opens up his journal to a page that already has questions written on it. A pair of glasses materializes on his face as he reads the page carefully.

“You both said that you met in an alleyway, but that didn’t lead to you getting put in the band.” 

Eunseok looks up from his journal and you shake your head. After Wonbin mounted you in the back of his tour bus while Wendy and and his bandmates looked for him he denied your request to come on tour with them.

“You gotta leave.” Wonbin buttoned his shirt while you were still laid out on your back in his bed. “No groupies are allowed on tour with us.” He said.

That’s when you pulled yourself from the mattress, ignoring the soreness across your body to be eye level with him. 

“I’m not a groupie.” You said matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stopped buttoning his shirt to look back at you with a smirk etched across his face.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

Despite the obvious taunting in his voice you nodded anyway. You dug your hands deeper into the mattress, ignoring that sinking feeling that was in your gut. 

“I’m a singer. And I play bass.” You said.

Wonbin looked forward with a scoff while continuing to button his shirt.

“The band is full. We already have a singer and someone that plays bass.” He said.

Despite being told explicitly no, you leaned forward on the bed and shook your head.

“I write too. I’m a better at bass than that kid.” You said.

Wonbin only shook his head at you then. He insisted that he couldn’t take that kid out of the band because that was his bestfriend and he was excellent at the bass. He wasn’t wrong, after his time in Halcyon, Sion went on to be a well loved and revered bass player in the industry. He just wasn’t as good at you.

And he was in your way.

You shook your head at Eunseok to tell him that you were not let into the band that night. You saw the inquisitive look in his eye as he continued down the page, eyeing something written in the margins.

“Sion, the previous bassist of Halcyon said that he dropped from the group after he couldn’t complete the tour. He couldn’t give me the specifics then, and he doesn’t accept interviews now—”

“Good for him.” Wonbin interjects.

Eunseok eyes Wonbin carefully. Wonbin has omitted eye contact with both you and Eunseok, now it’s his turn to look around the room. He is focused on the smears of red wine that stain the wall and the broken glass that litters the floor in front of it. 

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me on his departure from the group?” Eunseok asked.

You knew that Eunseok took his research about the band seriously a long time ago. Back when the circle was small and word made it back to you and Wonbin quickly, you were informed that someone was snooping around the scene and asking about Halcyon. Back when the radio play was new and no one knew your names, there was a quiet man snooping around the places the band used to frequent and asking questions. 

You laugh to yourself and shake your head. Then you thought Eunseok was a cop, and you were scared shitless until you found out he was just a newbie reporter trying to impress his bosses.

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked.

“Well. Sion’s departure opened up a spot for you in Halcyon.” Eunseok pointed towards Wonbin, whose gaze had rotated to the wall behind Eunseok. “Don’t you think he left under strange circumstances?” He asked.

Wonbin only shrugged his shoulders. Eunseok went back to his notepad and wrote something you couldn’t see.

“I just heard her voice one night, and I couldn’t let it go.” Wonbin says.

That earns a big laugh. One that has you tilting your head back and laughing directly to the dangling ceiling fan. You laugh even more when you see Eunseok trying to understand, to connect the bits and pieces of stories he’s heard to match your reaction. He knows it’s no use, that he can only begin to assume why Wonbin turns to watch you laugh with a knowing smirk on his face that only grew with your reaction.

“Oh that’s what that was?” You say, wiping away a tear. 

Wonbin’s confession that he loved your voice was said before he heard you sing. He huffed it into the crook of your neck as his fingers pumped in and out of your heat in the back of the tour bus. After Gainesville, it seemed only right to follow him to Raleigh. You started finding your way to the back of the tour bus before anyone else was there. If Wonbin had half a working braincell or any thought beyond feeling good he should’ve been worried about how you so easily found your way onto the bus. But you found out quickly he only worried about his post-concert rituals, evident in the way he practically crawled to you down the narrow hallway of the bus. 

You waited for him at the very back on his bottom bunk, legs open and propped on the edge of the mattress. The closer he got the slower and lower he went, until he pressed a longing kiss to the area right above your ankle.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked before placing another kiss.

“I didn’t.” You whispered.

That only spurred Wonbin on more. Despite popular opinion, Wonbin was more of the sheltered than he cared to admit. Before becoming a rockstar he grew up in the suburbs of Queens to a working class family. His proximity to the city lead to him seeing crazy on the subways and overhearing it on the bus, but he never met crazy. He never met someone who carelessly exposed herself  in the back of tour busses, or found a way to break into them by stealing the keys. He never met someone who so shamelessly lead his hand underneath the band of her underwear, or would finger herself if Wonbin wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it right. What type of guitarist doesn’t know how to use his hands? You’d always tease him without second thought, looking down to him when he spent his time looking down on everyone else. Wonbin never met someone who would get lost in him so easily, moaning loudly in his ear as he worked another finger in. 

But he had also never met someone who so clearly always had an ulterior motive. When he was getting lost in you and using you to keep the post-concert adrenaline from killing him you’d lean in close, hand wrapped in his hair before sucking harshly on the skin of his neck.

“Let me in the band.” You moaned.

Wonbin was going to say no before you pressed you palm hard against the crotch of his jeans. He felt your warmth and force seep through the thick fabric and his fingers in you stopped there movement. He only regained his composure when you started grinding your hands against his palm.

“Sion.” You pressed harder. Wonbin pushed his dick against your flattened hand. “Bassist.” He mumbled.

“Mhm. I know.” You licked the side of Wonbin’s face and continued talking directly to his ear as you pressed harder. His hand that was behind you suddenly gripped your waist with a bruising strength. “What if I got rid of him?” You asked.

Wonbin couldn’t see the way you were already thinking about how Sion could be dealt with. He was only paying attention to the way your walls clamped around his fingers and how you preened into his touch. He was so consumed by you that he only nodded his head quickly while digging his fingers further into your waist.

You assumed Wonbin took some of the blame for Sion’s abrupt departure from the band. Leaving in the middle of the tour after a brief stint in the hospital, a spot Halcyon suddenly opened up for you. You didn’t question it, neither did Wonbin. Shotaro was the only one that kept a close eye on you, whispering to his bandmate and not saying a word in your presence. You still remembered Shotaro’s reluctancy to even let you in the band, but you were down a bassist and you knew all the music. Just for a couple stops. Shotaro always made sure to make that clear.

Now you were here and he was not.

“Sion and Shotaro leaving is completely unrelated to me.” You say matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they like to be mentioned in articles these days either.” 

Eunseok digresses. He would love to ask how the group dwindled down to just the two of you but he knows he will be here forever, peeling back layer after layer. He’s also convinced he’s running out of time due to the sound of the other people on this floor yelling about pigs and the sound of doors being busted down. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the illegal contraband that’s in the other rooms and seizes you and Wonbin. So he closes his notebook and leans forward in the broken chair, putting all of his weight on the leg in the front.

“Where were you inducted into the band?” He asks.

“Fukushima.” You and Wonbin answer at the same time.

“Okay well.” Eunseok tries getting comfortable in the chair but its missing leg causes it to lean to the side. He has to keep his foot planted where the missing end would be. “What happened in Fukushima?” He repeats.

The same thing that happened in Fukushima happened in New York. And Amsterdam. And Ibiza. Anywhere in the world where you two were left to your own devices it happened.

Before you even landed in Japan, Wonbin was getting on your nerves. You were getting on his. The both of you were getting on the nerves of your entire team, looming over everyone like impeding doom. You both blamed it on the Asian showcase you were forced to go on. You downgraded from the sold out venues in North America to the crowded and stuffy underground clubs of the rock scene across Eastern Asia. 

The first strike happened in Beijing. Halycon’s studio debut record was snuck to the rock scene on cassette tapes from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Everyone in the crowd dressed like Wonbin, they had their hair touching their shoulders and the same leather jacket he donned. There, they liked him more. They sang his lyrics back to him twice as loud, shaking the floor and causing the windows to vibrate. The cramped stage caused you to accidentally step on the amp of Wonbin’s acoustic guitar, causing the music to abruptly stop. You were forced to perform an unplugged version of a song, making you shine but leaving Wonbin looking like an idiot. He was convinced you did it on purpose, seething at you on the private jet that you were jealous you weren’t a star like he was. You seethed back, telling him that he was nothing but a half-baked rockstar who let praise inflate his ego. 

The second strike was in Hongdae. If Wonbin was the favorite in Beijing, you were the favorite there. There all the men fell to your feet, passing you bouquets and crying anytime you looked in their general direction. They worshipped the ground you walked on, they followed you around the city after the show. You could see the anger on Wonbin’s face when you looked towards him in the middle of the show. You smiled at the permanent scowl, you took it a step further to ask the crowd please make some noise for our guitarist as if it was a charity. Wonbin gave a shy smile and bowed, but at the end of the show he held your hand tight, a silent sign that he was upset. You held his hand towards the  crowd, using his silent threat as a testament to your dedication to eachother.

You enjoyed the instances where you could use his narcissistic tendencies against him. He also performed better when he was angry. You liked when he’d look to you before cursing or inciting a fight in the crowd. People like Wonbin were born to be mad, and you believed you were put on this Earth to stoke the fire. 

When he was angry and it’d come to a boiling point when you two were alone it also meant he’d fuck you better. In Beijing you two made a mess of your hotel room, the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the floors cleared from the sounds you were making. 

That night in Hongdae, when you and Wonbin were at a penthouse party of some millionaire you two found a room away from everyone else. He caught you at the base of the stairs getting unbearably close to a man in a suit, and that ensued a screaming match. The drugs and the alcohol made everyone oblivious to your fight, or maybe the anger coursing through your veins made you forget about everyone else entirely. All you knew was that the fight ending with Wonbin chasing you up the stairs, pushing at you while you threw your limbs back in an effort to make him fall. He was poking and prodding at you, while you corralled him into a room with a lockable door.

“I fucking hate you.” You yelled it before the door even shut. 

Wonbin laughed as he turned the lock with his hands shaking from rage. You felt fire from the soles of your feet getting higher and higher, his sudden calmness only making you more upset.

“I fucking hate you back.” Wonbin sneered.

By the time the music changed downstairs to another floor shaking song you had Wonbin pushed against the door. Your face inches away from his, a permanent scowl etched on your face. An article was released the same day that rock-n-roll was dying and rockstars were all narcissists with anger issues. You stared down the man that refused to let you into the band you were singing and writing for so he could be the only star. Wonbin looked at the girl who got rid of his bandmates so she could secure her spot in the group.

When you and Wonbin looked at eachother for too long everything else started to come to the surface. It was hard to pretend to be an unbothered rockstar when someone who was going through the exact same thing was looking at you so intently. It was hard to fake indifference when the overwhelming weight of performing was becoming clearer and clearer. Why were you two doing this? Nothing was binding you to Halcyon or Wonbin. You could’ve booked a flight home and pretended none of this ever happened. He could afford to stop performing then and there with enough money to sustain his lifestyle.

But you two both knew whatever this was, was more complicated than that. Too avoidant and too toxic to quit, and the money and fame wasn’t too bad either. You two didn’t need an understanding relationship. Happy people made ballads and the stupid pop music that was stealing your radio play and the general public. Rockstars were toxic and they were mean, they are terrible because it’s freeing. So instead of bringing you close and telling you that he’s scared for the future of his band, Wonbin reaches forward and clashes his lips against yours. 

His kisses are angry and they make no sense. His teeth clash against yours and he moves you backwards in the general direction of a bed. You pull at him by a hand wrapped in his shirt and you make tiny sounds at each harsh collision. He was never gentle with you, and you liked it that way. Something had to have been fundamentally broken inside of you, something that would’ve made you want a normal life. Or to feel remorse for your actions that led you to this point. It was hard to believe that the way you behaved was wrong, because it made you money and one of the most famous people in the world.

“On the bed.” Wonbin said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” You said back immediately.

Wonbin replied by tugging at your chest by your perked nipples that poked through your tee. You gasped in surprise and pain before cupping his dick roughly. The two of you stood next to the bed for a moment, smiling at the pain you were bringing the other. It wasn’t long before the pain turned into pleasure and you both fell to the bed at the same time. 

The next morning you two only woke up because Wendy had called every apartment building in the Hongdae area. As if the night before didn’t happen, like you and Wonbin didn’t relieve the tension through rough touches and markings, you still fought. During the plane ride you two were silent, the start of your mutual meltdowns. Wonbin wouldn’t speak directly to you the whole day, using Wendy and the roadies as an indirect link to conversation. You were just as worse, referring to Wonbin as that guy, stripping him of his name completely. That guy wouldn’t look at you as you did your soundcheck, that guy only sneakily said someone’s flat underneath his breath whenever a note didn’t sound right. 

By the time you made it to your underground Fukushima show you two weren’t speaking to eachother at all. Wendy refused to be involved in your mess and everyone else cleared the room when they saw either of you approaching. You two just let the silence continue, neither of you saying a word until you were about to go onstage. The worked of the club set up the mic stands on the small circular stage you two would be sharing before Wonbin suddenly turned to you.

“Halcyon is just me.”

With your eyes casted forward in shock, Wonbin saw his chance to take the stage. He left you on the other side as he started the concert without you, singing your part as you stood there in silence. You stumbled on stage and through the rest of the concert, hating that he bested you. The smile on Wonbin’s face said it all as he continued playing his guitar and singing your lines. When the show was over and the lights went out, Wonbin was like a ghost. He cleared the stage and the venue quickly, leaving you in the dust and without a place in the band. 

Two bangs on the door interrupted your story. Eunseok nearly fell from his chair at the abrupt sound. The impact shook the ceiling fan and made Wonbin look towards the door. 

You almost looked too, but Eunseok’s hand kept you focused on him. 

“What happened next?” Eunseok said, his voice laced with urgency.

“She came to me and expressed,” Wonbin stayed locked on the door as three more harsh knocks rang throughout the hotel room. “Her desire to be in the band.” He says, motioning to the room.

Eunseok would’ve loved to think that you came by Wonbin’s hotel room in Fukushima with agents and your demo tape, maybe even an audition prepared to show him you could fit into the music for Halcyon. But the way Wonbin smiled slyly and you leaned over and hit his shoulder made Eunseok think different. You two giggled together as you recalled more and more of that night. You only continued to giggle as the police made their presence known on the other side of the door. 

After the Fukushima show Wonbin left you all alone. You paced around in your hotel room as the carelessness in his voice as he denied you being a member of the group once again. You heard from security that Wonbin was down the hall with a girl that stayed behind at the venue. The same part replayed again in your mind. You couldn’t control yourself from leaving your hotel room and storming down the hall. 

You told the same story to Eunseok as the cops continued to beat on the door, the one he heard through the grapevines and the mugshot of you that was lost over the course of time and the lack of coverage of the arrest overseas. You often imagined if the story was relayed the same way back to him, or if the details were muddied by the game of telephone.

Wonbin and his groupie of the night just finished. She was face down on the bed, trying to recollect herself. You know Wonbin was able to go through so many girls and have so many crawling back not just because he’s gorgeous but because he knows how to fuck. Just look at him. Eunseok would’ve had to listen to hours of wishful thinking from girls who would never have a chance before getting to the actual information. You’re sure they left out the fact that you were wearing the same outfit you met Wonbin in, except you had no shoes on your feet. Just running down the expensive hotel lobby barefoot, barely making a sound as you cleared the carpet. 

They would’ve never talked about the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you held your ear up to the door. You could barely hear yourself when you covered the peephole and knocked politely. The groupie was so out of it that she didn’t think twice when someone covered the peephole and said “room service!” in a cheery voice. The girl who was still wobbly-kneed and only wearing a bathrobe called for Wonbin to answer the door. Poor girl must’ve never been to a hotel before. What type of hotel has room service that late in the night? She was nothing fit to be a rockstar. Wonbin thought that he could just replace you by finding another girl at the end of his show, like you weren’t one of a kind. He was too busy running the water for a bath and smoking his post-sex cigarette to be bothered. 

He just said “You can get it,” knowing that crazy bitch was on the other side! 

The retellings of that night never got it right. They never stopped to consider what Wonbin was doing. 

Plenty of people naturally assumed he was naked while this was happening. If he was in the bathroom drawling a bath or simply laying in the bed was always commonly fought about. They didn’t know that Wonbin was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom wrapped in a robe as he watched the tub fill with water. He was smoking his American Spirit in complete serenity while the fight happened behind him. He had the bathroom door opened, watching the fight with a smile on his face and a canoeing cigarette between his fingers before he turned away completely to deny culpability in case it ended badly. He counted the mustard tiles that lines the bathroom as each punch, scratch, slap, and scream came from the other room. You think afterwards he turned to look at himself in the mirror underneath the warm yellow glow of the light and adjusted his appearance. You imagined he knew he’d be suffering the same fate if he didn’t turn the charm on. 

But you didn’t know what Wonbin was doing exactly. You couldn’t see much besides the girl underneath you. You couldn’t hear anything besides the noises you two were making together. 

When you would entertain the rumors and have them relayed back to you, there were always multiple accounts of the brawl between you and the groupie. What they did get right that one the door was open a crack you kicked it open full force. 

What they got wrong was that the groupie screamed immediately. She did yell when you got on top of her after she fell to the ground, but that was only after the initial shock wore off. Even Wonbin turned away from his cigarette when he heard the impact of the door on the groupies nose. The post-coitus warmth was replaced with something burning when you screamed first.

When the rest of the floor started opening up their doors and seeing what was happening in the room was when the other eye witness accounts started getting messy. Some say the groupie fought back. Some of them said that you kicked the door open so hard it fell off its hinges. The common consensus was that you fucked that poor girl up! then wrote a song about it! 

“Did you listen to the song through your blown out speakers, Eunseokie?” You asked.

Even he was turned towards the door as the police continued to slam into you. You focused on the tape recorder instead, eyes locking onto the two spinning reels as you continued your story.

People didn’t know if the stories inspired the lyrics, or if the stories were spun by people overanalyzing the lyrics. You and Wonbin were the only songwriters on all Halcyon tracks, it was hard for people to not think the music derived from your personal lives. The song couldn’t stop people from thinking you came around that corner into the bathroom with a knife in your hand. The groupie found a way out from underneath you and bolted out of the room screaming for her life with a bloodied face and her tail between her legs. You leaned against the doorframe as Wonbin stared up at you, not even looking at what you had in your hand.

“If you want me to do something for you, you need to use your words.”Wonbin would say. 

Maybe if they listened to the prechorus hard enough they’d know you dropped the knife instantly. But if they listened to the bridge they would’ve thought you waved it around just for show to see if you could scare Wonbin. But by the way he joined you as the backing vocals they’d know he had only looked to your bloody knuckles before taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill up the last sacred space in America where you could smoke indoors before offering it to you. He’d still sit on the toilet seat but lean towards the small ceramic sink to show you he wasn’t scared in the slightest. 

You took an even bigger drag than Wonbin did, watching the ember at the end ignite before turning to ash. You’d let out a smoky cloud right into his face, shuddering from the release of tension.

“Was she better than me?” You’d ask after putting out the end on the lip of the sink. 

Black and gray ash smeared against the white surface. You looked from the mess you were making on the sink to see Wonbin wordlessly shaking his head.

“Not even close.” He said without missing a beat.

“I should cut your dick off.” You’d laugh about it, pointing your long nail towards Wonbin’s dick that was twitching against the fabric of his bathrobe.

“Why? So you can keep it for yourself?” He teased.

Once again, this was where things got fuzzy for you. Some secrets are meant to stay between lovers, or whatever this mutually toxic and equally awful thing you and Wonbin had going on. The cops that came through then back in Fukushima were alot more serious than the cops that came through the door here, in Paramus, New Jersey. For Wendy—who followed closely behind the cops here—this would be an easy story to cover up. Another mugshot of yours would be taken and hidden behind lock and key, only getting revealed to people who would spend their hard earnings from work to see it behind dumpsters in alleyways. This night would just be another anecdote in the long line of mysterious lyrics and subject-changing phrases. The only form of proof in a small black and white photo of yourself. Your smiling face covered in scratches, makeup smudged across your eye bags from excessive rubbing, and blood on smeared across your blue and black knuckles that held up the card with your name and which jail held you overnight. You looked down to see that the collar of your black shirt was stretched beyond saving around your neck. 

Even when you looked like that, Wonbin stared at you like you put the sun and the the moon and the stares into the sky. You stared him down, leaving bloodstains on whatever you touched. He stood from his spot on the toilet seat to be eye level with you. 

I hear they fuck like they’re at war. I was sleeping with their bassist and I could hear them from down the hall. 

Wonbin grabbed at your wrist, bring your hand to eye level. You clenched your fist in a last ditch attempt at resisting him, but he’d pull you into his bare chest so fast you’d barely have time to adjust. You settled in embarrassingly fast, giving you the most gentle kiss on your cracked red lips. You couldn’t taste any other girl on him over the smoke. You were burning eachother up, only pulling the other to get closer. At the thought of the other girl in this position you felt the rage bubbling in again, but instead of fighting you only leaned fully into Wonbin, making your shared bodyweight pressed against the tiny sink. 

You and him were reacting in desperation only. His rough hand pulling at your waist underneath your shirt, your hand fisting the material of his clothes. Your shirt was off and your pants were wrapped around only one ankle as you two clambered around the tiny space of the bathroom. She’s one of those new-age feminists, ya know the type that likes to be in charge, even in bed. You pushed him against the wall opposite of the sink, then against the closed door of the bathroom. Anytime he tried to take control your took it back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and tilting his head the way you wanted it to go with your bloody hands. Anytime he tried to do the same you smacked away his hand or pinched his neck. The only thing you allowed Wonbin to do was stuff his hand into your underwear, and the only time you let him guide you was to put your foot on the edge of the tub to open you up more. 

Wonbin is even worse than her though. since he’s so used to getting what he wants. If they were wrong they would’ve guessed he took control back by picking you up and fucking you against the wall or on top of the sink, reeling off the metallic smell of blood while your hands tangled in his inky hair. 

In the end they were only right about the two of you being reckless, just reckless. You two carelessly kicked the knife around, causing the wooden handle to ricochet off the walls on the ground. Even with a spinning blade near your feet you two wouldn’t be deterred. You two wouldn’t separated until a police officer came through the crooked open door with the groupie trailing close behind. 

“That’s her!” She said in a shrill voice as she pointed her finger towards you. 

You only rolled your eyes before pulling away from Wonbin. He put on his robe while you lazily put on your clothes, being pulled away in handcuffs. Even haphazardly clothed on your way to jail you were be unbothered, quickly fixing your mussed hair with blood crusting underneath your fingernails. Only when you heard the whistling of a cop as they guided you out the hotel room would you remember the other reason you came to Wonbin’s hotel. 

Other people waited for you in the hallway. Roadies you couldn’t remember the name of, more cops holding things they will try to put you away to jail for, and Wendy with that look of disappointment on her face. Eunseok trailed close behind, Eunseok still holding the tape recorder close to your mouth.

She looked back to him one more time as the police were leading her out. This is seriously what the cops and what the groupie said she said, word for word. She looked back, hair a mess, blood on her hands and scratches on her face but smiling like a fucking crazy idiot. She started whistling with the cop like she knew the mindless tune or something. Before she rounded the corner to leave the room she spoke directly to him. 

He leaned against the broken doorframe of the hotel room with his arms crossed like an upset Mom watching her kid get walked out. When she looked back at him he smiled like he read her fucking mind or something.

“This means i’m in the band, right?”

[meanbossart]

I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

[rey-129-fan]

Gotham-Amity Co-op AU Part 3

Part 1 | Previous | Next

“Hola beauties, and welcome back to Fashionable History, I’m Paulina,”

“And I’m Star, and on this channel, we teach you how to be at the height of fashion, no matter what time period you find yourself in.”

“Now for our long-time viewers who missed our community posts, you might be wondering about the change in location.  Well, we are moving up in the world.  That’s right, fam, we are officially-

“College girlies!” The two shouted into the camera.

“Ah, such a big step,” ‘Star’ sighed.

“Indeed it is.  And to celebrate, let us dress up like we’re going to meet the queen of fashion herself: Marie Antoinette!”

***

“So you would think it would be hard to demonstrate Amity Park’s weirdness while no longer living there, but you would be wrong,” a black man said into the camera while walking down a hallway, his glasses fallen ever so slightly down his nose.  There were voices in the background progressively getting louder.  “You see, Danny’s mentor popped by this morning, and apparently, he decided that the perfect way to tutor Danny and piss off his bosses at the same time was to allow a bunch of college kids to summon a historical figure of their choosing to discuss their area of expertise.  Once a week.

“Jazz got to go first.”

The black man stopped in a doorway.  Much clearer in the background was a woman’s even voice.  “And Jazz, being the future psychologist that she is, picked the most sex-obsessed man in history.”

The camera flipped to show a young red-head sitting across an older man with a white beard in a blue three piece suit.  In the background was a younger man, his blue eyes glazed over as he sat there sipping from his mug, his head of black hair bobbing as he fought to stay awake.  Really, it wouldn’t gather a second glance, except for the tiny detail that the older man’s skin was as green as a sunburnt person’s was red.

“-indeed homosexuality is not an illness, and in fact the only link between it and mental health has been observed to be caused by familial and community reactions.”

“That is good to hear.  Indeed, many people throughout history were homosexual, and a lot of them did not show any other signs of mental illnesses.”

“It is.  However, with the recent pushes for public acceptance of those not heterosexual, many have come forward with sexual orientations beyond just hetero and homosexuality, including those that are attracted to both men and women at the same time, as well as those who experience no sexual attraction or are completely repulsed by the idea of anything sexual.”

The camera flipped back to the first man.  “She is explaining how psychology has developed in the last 100 years without trying to rip apart Freud’s work.

“This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened.  Occasionally, we’d get guest speakers that would turn out to be some famous author or pioneer in their field.  It’s how our English teacher got his copy of the Tempest signed by the original author.  I think this might be the first one that won’t end in a raid by government idiots in white, though.

“So yeah, we occasionally get to talk to dead celebrities and don’t bat an eye at it.  Amity Park is very weird.”

***

“Danny!  You left your cups in the sink again!”

“How can you tell it’s mine?”

“They’re glowing green and you’re the only one that drinks ectoplasm!  Now take care of them before you bring the food to life again!”

“Fine…”

The camera pans over to a goth woman giving the camera a flat look.  On screen, there’s some text that reads: ‘When your boyfriend forgets to clean off his dishes after his mildly radioactive smoothies.’

***

“Urgh!” Just die you stupid, lazy skeleton!”

“How long is this attack going to be!”

“I don’t care, because when it’s finally my turn, I am going to stab the dust out of this depressed sack of bones!”

On screen was a couch, and on that couch sat 3 young adults, two women and one man.  One of the women was Valarie Gray, US National Taekwondo Silver Medalist, was jabbing her thumb down on the d-pad of her controller, lips pulled back in a snarl.  The other was Samantha Manson, more known for the TikTok channel Our Strange Lives.  The man was a muscular blond.  All three were focusing on the screen, their eyes emitting faint light and Valarie’s teeth seemed to be getting sharper.

Quietly a blond woman walked on screen, a backpack slung over her shoulder.  The woman was Star Strong from Fashionable History.

“You guys are still streaming?”

“This boss is stupid difficult and Manson and Gray are the only ones willing to play.”

“What happened to the guys?”

“Fowley, Wes, Singh all had work.  Fenton got to the first boss and then lost it because ‘Goat Mom just wanted to protect us’ before getting a call from his lil sis asking for help.  Kwan is working on a lab with a guy from his chem class, and Kyle passed out a couple hours ago.”

“Stop dodging!”

“Wanna play?”

“Can’t.  Going to the library to study for a calc exam I have coming up.  See you guys later.”

“Later.”

“FUC-”

***

“And so, with this polaroid image, we have evidence to prove that-”

“Hey, Wes, do you have something I can use for a collage?  Oh sweet, thanks bro!”

“What?  No!  Kyle!  Get back with that! That was the proof I was going to use to prove the existence of Yetis!”

“Oh damn.  This is some nice creature work!  Danny, your friend has an incredible costume, man!”

“Thanks, Kyle!  I’ll pass it on!”

***

Tim paused the video right as Wesley Weston stood to chase his older brother.

There.

The red-head’s eyes had a slight glow to them.  Tim clicked over to the other images he had gathered of the Amity Park teens, all with their eyes glowing or other signs of something inhuman.

Tim had been introduced to this group by Stephanie when she found a martial arts demonstration Gray did that involved breaking multiple boards, all several feet above her head.  Stephanie had meant it as a ‘check out his cool person doing what we’re doing,’ but Tim noticed something.  All the boards were being held by seemingly the same person- or at least people dressed very similarly.  And not in a way where they’re sitting on a ledge above Gray and are switching out the board each time she broke one.  More that there were multiple companies of the same white glove all holding a board and all floating several feet above where they should have been.  That was already a little weird, but it could’ve been some special effects or just a uniform.

No, what caught Tim’s attention was the quick glimpse of the face of one of the board holders.  It was youthful- late teens- but with paper white hair that showed no signs of bleaching.  Now these features would have been a thing to cement the mysterious person in Tim’s mind.  But it wasn’t that.

No, what got Tim to do some digging to find out about a previously unknown supposed hero from a small town that has been blacked-out by the US government, was his eyes.

His calm, glowing Lazarus green eyes.

***

So we finally get a taste for the shenanigans our liminals are up to. Sam, Tucker, and Danny all share a TikTok where they show off how weird the other two are and how weird their town is. Wes is trying to prove cryptids exist, which Kyle ruins. Dash has a gaming stream that most often Kwan joins in on, and Paulina and Star do dress history. Oh, and Valarie is a national taekwondo because karate has only been an event for one Olympic games, but taekwondo has been an event since 2000 and Val seems more like a kicker than a thrower. Plus, I actually took taekwondo when I was younger.

We do get another Bat showing up at the end. There is absolutely no plot, however, so who knows where this is going. Certainly not me!

I'm still looking for names (please, I need them). As for majors:

Jazz-Psych (obviously)

Kyle- Liberal Arts (I wanna put him in accounting, but Liberal Arts works for now)

Tuck- Comp Sci

Danny- Poly Sci, minor in Astronomy

Sam- Double Poly Sci and Environmental Science

Val- Criminal Justice

Dash- Undecided (both me and him)

Kwan- Pre-Med for now, though he wants to do Child Development/Education

Paulina- Fashion Marketing

Star- Sports Science

Mikey- Music

Wes- Journalism

[oshygoshy]

“do you think i’m pretty?”

word count - 567 words

warnings - cringe couple activities (im so lonely) also i'm not sure abt some chars so i put question marks but these can fit any and all ur faves. lmk if i forgot anyone!!

a/n - back from the dead. school started up again and im depressed and i have so many exams next week but here i am procrastinating!! maybe one day i'll write something again but in the mean time have this (it's been marinating in my notes app for like 3 months by now)

“yeah, you’re cute. adorable, even...” 

he said with a million-watt smile, his fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes against your thigh. you raised an eyebrow, questioning his taste. right now, you were wearing his old pajama shirt and bottoms which were both faded and fraying at the hems. out of all the times to call you cute, did he really choose right now? 

he leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose lightly, his fingers making their way up to your hands from your legs. he held them in his own warm palms, and kissed the corner of your lips. “don’t give me that look,” he whispered. “i think you’re the cutest wearing my clothes, y’know.” he kissed your cheek. “it makes me feel at home,” he said against your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. something about his charm was infectious, and no matter how much you might doubt yourself, you knew he would always love you, tattered pajamas or not. 

hinata, bokuto, komori, yaku (demon senpai or not he definitely has a soft spot), aone, asahi, hanamaki, yamaguchi? aran? tendou? kenma? kageyama?

“beautiful. absolutely gorgeous,” he breathed.

your eyes widen, taken aback at the sincerity of his tone. a light flush couldn’t help but creep its way up onto your cheeks, and you look away, abashed. his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your face back at him. “why are you being so shy?” he questioned. “i mean it. truly. even the simplest things you do make me fall in love all over again.” his thumb rubbed soothing circles against your soft skin. "every time you fall asleep on my shoulder, every time you raise an eyebrow at me, and even right now when your cheeks are glowing pink make my heart stutter like we're on my first date," he said with a laugh. you could feel your cheeks burn aflame at his honesty, and couldn't help but look away. “quit blushing,” he teased. “i can’t focus when you’re looking so pretty like that.” 

akaashi, sugawara ("little shit") koushi, sakusa, the hirugami bros (acting like they don't have a combined word count of 20 in the entire series), iwa chan, daichi, semi, kita, ushijima?, tsukki?

“you’re pretty sexy.  hot, if i dare be promiscuous.” 

you roll your eyes at first, huffing through your nose and turning your attention back to your phone before he drags you back to his side. “i’m being serious,” he murmured into the side of your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “it goes beyond your looks, you know. it’s the way you walk, the way you carry yourself…the way you’re so confident in our relationship and in me,” he said, heartfelt. “that kind of unwavering confidence? unbelievably hot.” he leaned back, taking in your entire body. “also, you have a nice ass, which really helps.” he deserved the slap he got, but he couldn't help but grin at the sound of your giggles. he placed a chaste kiss against your temple, his hand looping around your waist again. "keep doing whatever you're doing. i'm in love with you, always. it's hard not to be when you're so irresistible," he whispered against your skin. 

kuroo, THE miya twins, meian, futakuchi, daishou, konoha (that legendary "nah, don't wanna" panel lives in my heart), oikawa, mattsun fs,  suna, noya, i would say tanaka but i don't want to be a homewrecker

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories | eight | Azirel X reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

A/N: I'm very nervous about this part and the ones coming after it. I hope you still enjoy it, even though it's probably what you're expecting.

When the darkness faded, all you could see was the Moonstone Palace that you’d spent so much time in as a child. You could finally fill my lungs with air, a sweet jasmine scent floating in it. Feyre was gently laid on a couch in the center of the great room. Mor, who didn’t seem to know what to do, ran forward and wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you so tightly the newly fresh air was knocked from your lungs. 

“You were dead,” She cried, “We mourned you. For years we mourned.”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, “I tried, for years I tried.” 

But then you gave up. And you accepted your fate in the Spring Court. You didn’t fight hard enough when Amerantha still had control. Or in the days following her fall. You could have made it, surely you could have. You thought you could winnow short distances at that point, though you hadn’t tested it. You should have been able to jump from place to place until you made it to the border of the Night Court. Until you made it to safety. But you didn’t. You threw up in the rose and gave up. 

You gave up on them. 

Dread filled you. Because how could you explain everything that happened to you? How could you explain that you’d given up on ever seeing any of them again, and that your only thought had been of death. Because then, maybe the Mother would grant you access to your own mother. Maybe she would allow you to look after Rhys and the others from whatever world exists beyond your own. 

Guilt swirled in with the dread. How could you tell your brother that you’d been praying for death for hundreds of years? How could you tell him that your mother didn’t beg for herself that day, or her wings, she begged for you. Begged for them to spare you and send you on your way. Begged as they started to cut into your back, leaving behind two long and ugly scars. 

How could you explain any of it?  

“How are you alive?” Rhys questioned, pain lingering in his eyes. 

“Tamlin begged for my life that day,” You reply, feeling an icy cold settle over you. 

You hadn’t spoken of it. Hadn’t voiced what happened that day. Saying it now makes it all too real. Before you could imagine that your mother was still alive, flying around Valaris, but now….now saying it aloud you knew she was gone. You could feel it deep in your bones. 

“He begged his father and brother, said it would be better to keep me as a bargaining chip,” You explain, “He ended up just keeping me as a toy, after everything happened.” 

Then a thought accrued to you. Tamlin was so desperate to get Rhys to release Feyre from their bond, he said he would do anything. Perhaps he would have let you go…perhaps he would’ve finally used you as a bargaining chip against your brother. 

“He probably would’ve offered me on a silver platter for you to release Feyre,” You laugh. 

“All these years, you’ve been right there?” Rhys asked, voice cracking. 

It's been years since you’d seen him cry. The stone exterior was crumbling, leaving behind a broken boy who lost his mother and sister in the same day, only to have one returned to him. You want to move to comfort him, but you’re locked in where you stand. As if there is a spell over you, keeping you from moving. 

You’re afraid to move, truly. Because if you move you might wake up and find that this is all a dream. A beautiful and cruel dream. So you stay put as the tears fall from both yours and Rhys’ eyes. 

“All this time,” You reply, “I’ve been locked away in the Manor House. I was there that night that you and father came, and I was there when you first met Feyre, and every moment after that.”

“Calanmai,” he says suddenly, “You were there that night. Gods above, you spoke to me.”

The tears are falling harder now. Unstoppable against the emotions you both feel. Mor is still standing close to you, you could almost lean against her for support. But she’s somehow also giving you and Rhys your space to work this out. 

“I was praying to the Gods and to the Mother and to the Cauldron that you would be able to see beyond the glamor and see me,” You verify, “That’s why I said I was like the wind, I hoped you would hear it and realize.” 

His head shook, “I couldn’t allow myself to believe. I heard you, Mother I heard you, but I couldn’t believe it. You didn’t smell like you.” 

“Scents change, besides, I was wrapped in Lucien’s clothing to disguise my scent,” You explain, “I expect I smelled like Lucien for a long time. He was the only constant visitor I had for years.” 

“Y/N-” His voice broke as he surged forward to wrap you in his arms, “My sweet baby sister. I’m so sorry.” 

You shake your head. If anyone should feel guilty about all of this, it should be you. You should have fought harder that day. Even at such a young age, you could have misted all of them if you really wanted to. But you’d never killed another fae before. Never killed another living thing. So you hesitated and that was long enough for them to overpower you both and kill your mother. They’d come for Rhys that day, but they got a better prize in the form of the Princess of the Night Court. 

“No, you don’t get to feel bad about this,” You warn him, “You are not to blame.” 

“If I hadn't trusted him…if I would’ve just met you both in the woods thay day,” He all but cries out. 

“No, it’s no one's fault but Tamlin and his family’s,” You stay sternly, hoping maybe one day you’ll believe it. 

Maybe one day you’ll finally believe that you aren’t to blame for your mother’s death. That none of it was your fault. She had no real power of her own, no way to protect herself. It was on you to do that. It was Rhys’ responsibility to protect you both. Not that you would ever, ever blame him for what happened. He couldn’t have known what Tamlin was planning with his family. He couldn’t have known that his friend wanted him dead because they saw him as such a threat. 

Suddenly your body felt heavy and weighed down. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. All you felt was pure exhaustion. Your eyes flutter and Rhys seems to notice the change in your body. 

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” he questions. 

You try to smile, but you know it doesn't reach your eyes, “I don’t sleep well anymore.”

He sighs deeply and wraps an arm around you as he slowly leads you towards the bedrooms, “I can have a tonic brought up for you.”

“No need,”You shake your head, “I’m sure just being back here will put me at ease.” 

You wished you believed the words you were saying. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure that anything would put you at ease again. All you could feel was anxious energy swirling in your belly. Threatening to boil over at any moment. You couldn’t fully wrap your mind around the fact that you were free. Couldn’t fully understand that you were here, and safe, and with your family again. Or at least part of them. 

“Cassain and Azirel won’t know what to do with themselves,” Rhys lets out a small laugh as he wipes at his eyes. 

“You can’t tell them,” You halt suddenly, “Oh, Rhys, you can’t. I’m not ready.”

“Don’t you want to see them again?” he questions, brows drawing in. 

“Of course I do, but I-” You shake your head, feeling your whole body start to shake. 

How could you explain it to him in a way that would make sense? How could he understand where your head was at? Seeing them would push you over the edge. Seeing Az…knowing his shadows would tell him your darkest secrets…you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t handle seeing him disappointed in you…disgusted with you. It would break you in more ways than Tamlin ever could. 

To lose Azirel was like to lose the air you breathe. It would kill you to lose him. You could feel it deep within you. You wouldn’t survive Azriel turning his back upon you. So it was best that he just didn’t know you lived. Maybe you could live out the rest of your days in a cabin in the mountains. Yes…that would be good. You were used to the solitude anyway. 

“You can’t tell them,” You begged your brother, “Please Rhys. I can’t bear them knowing.”

“But Y/N, they’re our family,” He tried to reason with you. 

“Please Rhys,” you shake even harder, “I can’t bear it. I’m not ready.” 

“Okay,” He finally relented, “Okay. I won’t tell them.”

Your body sags with his agreement. Your breath comes out in heavy pants, because your lungs seem to be constricting and not allowing the proper amount of air into them. Everything just feels wrong now. Nothing feels right. You feel as if you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be allowed to have a moment of happiness with your brother. 

You shouldn’t be allowed happiness when it’s your fault that your mother is dead. You should have done more to save her that day, instead of going limp in the arms of Tamlin’s brothers. You should have done everything in your power to save her. Instead you let her die, and you still live. It would have been better if you just died that day. 

“Here we are,” Rhys said, unaware of the thoughts you were having, “Try to sleep. I’ll come check on you in a while.”

“Okay,” You sigh, pushing the door open, “Rhys?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Little Star. Now sleep, before you drop in a heap on the floor.” 

You couldn’t sleep though. No matter how hard you try. Because all you could think of was how it should have been you to die. It should have been you, and not your mother. She could have helped Rhys with his transition into High Lord, she could’ve been there for Cassian and Azirel, who desperately needed a mother. 

But instead you lived. And now you’re too cowardly to tell them that you lived. Too cowardly to ask to return home to Valaris. Too cowardly to do anything. 

Rhys didn’t come back for hours, when he did you pretended to be asleep. All the while tears quietly slid down your cheeks. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Your life wasn’t supposed to happen like this. What did you do to make The Mother punish you so?  

“I’m taking Feyre to Valaris,” He spoke, somehow knowing you’re awake, “Please consider coming with us.”

“No,” You say firmly, not rolling over to see him, “I’d like to stay here.” 

“It’s your home, Y/N,” He pleaded, “You can’t hide from it forever.”

“I can’t go back Rhys,” You can’t explain it to him. He would never let you out of his sight if he knew. 

“Please consider it,” He begs, “Please, Little Star, I don’t want to be separated from you again.”

“Then don’t leave,” You snap at him. 

“You know I have to go back.”

“Then take her and get out,” You snarl, “I’m not going back.”

“Y/N-” 

“Go Rhysand!” You yell, reaching for anything to throw at him. 

You can feel yourself losing control of the little power you had access to. Darkness seeping from your body. There were no stars in this darkness, only a black void. Much like the cocoon that Feyre created. Only this was something you never did. Your darkness always had stars, but now you aren’t sure if you could conjure them even if you tried. 

That light inside you had been snuffed out long ago. It was only now that you realized it. It was only now that you accepted it as the truth. Your light was gone, the stars were gone. You weren’t Rhy’s Little Star anymore. You were something worse. Something made hard from years of captivity and cruelty. You weren’t sure you would even recognize yourself if you looked in the mirror. 

“Fine,” You’d never heard him sound so defeated. You were sure if he had wings they would be dragging on the ground as he turned to leave your room. He stopped at the door and looked back at you, “I’ll send Mor to check in on you.”

“Don’t bother,” You mumble, “I’ll be fine.”

Only you wouldn’t be fine. You weren’t fine. And You weren’t sure that you ever would be fine again. The darkness threatened to swallow you whole and you wanted to let it. You wanted to give into it and let it take all that you were. Maybe it would be better that way. Easier. 

When your door clicks shut and you hear Rhys’ footsteps moving away from you, you allow yourself to fall apart. When the house goes silent you let out an anguished cry loud enough to almost shake the whole mountain. Life wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to be overjoyed at being freed, not whatever this is. 

You feel as if you’re going to rip yourself apart, and for a moment you wish you would. You wish death would just come for you. You yearned for the sweet release that death would provide. Because at least then you might be able to find peace.

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @hnyclover @saltedcoffeescotch @queerqueenlynn @thelov3lybookworm @one-big-fangirl @witchymomfrien @wallacewillow0773638 @sstrohma @maddybraps @minnieoo @mariahoedt @amara-moonlight @st0rmyt @annamariereads16 @hunterksmith @sleepylunarwolf @sh4nn @emryb @mikatanazaki @nickishadow139 @ilovespideyyy @mysticalfuncollectorus @judig92 @tele86

[xjoonchildx]

kanalia | jhs x reader | final chapter: because i couldn't stay away

banner by the amazing @kth1 💕

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes. smut warnings in effect.

⚜️word count: 10.2K

⚜️author's note: happy birthday month to my forever muse, jung hoseok. i hope that i did this poor, tortured version of you some justice. and yes, it did take me years to finish this story (😭) , but i did. thank you to every single who has ever taken an interest in this story and cared enough to stick with me through long delays and rough writing spells. once again, i have to shout out the OG @hobi-gif who lent her eyes to part of this story. i appreciate you all so much and if you enjoyed it, i would very much appreciate a reblog as well as your feedback.

thank you guys so, so much 💕

previous chapter masterlist

Love doesn't discriminate Between the sinners and the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep loving anyway We laugh and we cry and we break And we make our mistakes And if there's a reason I'm by her side When so many have tried Then I'm willing to wait for it I'm willing to wait for it

– “Wait for It”

Hamilton, An American Musical 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

One perfect loop is followed by another. And another. And another.

You need not look back and check your work, not anymore. Now you know simply by the pull of the thread that each stitch you place is snug and uniform. You sit in your chair by the fire and repeat the motion over and over again, staring unseeing into the pattern in your lap. 

“It’s a beautiful day, Your Grace.”

Hyeri’s voice taps at the edges of your consciousness, muffled as though she’s standing outside the chamber door instead of seated right beside you. You ignore it and push another loop through the fabric.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” she persists, gentle. “Perfect conditions for a walk, if you feel up to it. I could even accompany you, if you wish?”

There was a time, not long ago, when Hyeri’s prodding would have set your teeth on edge. But you do not have the energy to muster any such emotion. And so you give Hyeri the same answer you’d given her the day before. And the day before that one. The same hushed words, spoken in the same decisive tone.

“I’m content to stay in today, Hyeri. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

She drops the matter with a quiet sigh.

It’s unlike her. The Hyeri you know would fret and fuss for as long as it took for you to relent; until you had no choice but to quit your chamber simply to enjoy a moment’s peace. The Hyeri you know would be shooing you away from the fire, prattling on about how one errant thread could catch and send your entire dress up in flames. 

But the Hyeri seated beside you does none of those things.

So you sink deeper into the plush chair perched in front of the hearth and watch the flames dance. The embers at the base of the fire glow deep red, putting off a heat blistering enough to scorch your bare feet. 

But you cannot feel it. You cannot feel anything.

You’ve surrendered to the weariness now; let it consume you. Allowed it to fuse itself to the very marrow of your bones. For days you’ve done little beyond sleep and spend your few waking hours seated by the fire, needle in hand. 

Twice you’ve left your chamber and neither time by choice, but rather because the King had insisted on your presence at dinner. To what end you still cannot be sure seeing as you’d taken both meals in stilted, awkward silence. Apparently His Grace is far less bold without a bit of ale in him.

“The hunting party leaves in three days' time,” Hyeri says. “There’s been quite a fuss in the kitchens over it. They’re taking enough supplies to travel for months, by the looks of it.”

You make a non-committal sound under your breath. Hyeri forges on, undeterred.

“There will be a send-off in the courtyard, of course. Will you – “ she pauses to choose her words carefully. “ – Well, I assume that you’ll want to see the King off.”

You do not want to see the King off. Were it not for his pigheaded adamance that you keep up appearances for the sake of this sham marriage, you’d be content to never see him again. But you’ll not tell Hyeri that. Not when she’s made it clear where her loyalties lie and not when she still holds on to the delusion that one day you’ll decide to embrace your role as the placeholder by the King’s side.

So you say nothing at all. The fire pops as one of the logs crumbles in the hearth.

Hyeri clears her throat. “Your Grace, I only want what’s best for you. Surely you know that by now? And I don’t want people casting aspersions, which they most certainly will do if you’re not there to see the King off. The staff is already asking questions about why you’ve not been seen in days.”

“Has he asked for me?”

Hyeri blinks. “The King?”

“Yes, Hyeri,” you say slowly. “The King. Has His Grace requested my presence at this send-off ceremony?”

The color seems to drain from her soft face as she admits, “No, Your Grace. He hasn’t.”

“Then I see no point in worrying yourself over the matter.”

You return your attention to your needlework and place another yellow thread in the center of your Mugunghwa flower’s pistil. The flames crackle in perfect, undisturbed silence. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“It’s cold out there today,” Hyeri says. “But if you bundle up tight, it’s quite pleasant in the sunshine.”

“Thank you, Hyeri,” you reply evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it. You have no intention of leaving this chamber today and much to your relief, the King did not require your presence at his evening meal the night prior. Hyeri had ordered your dinner sent up and then proceeded to dine with you herself. An insidious voice inside your mind whispers she’s afraid to leave you alone.

You ignore it.

Instead you try to focus on your Mugunghwa flower. You study it, blinking until the riot of colors before you has clear, defined boundaries – fiery crimson at the center which slowly bleeds into a subdued pink which in turn dissipates into a milky white. You pull fresh white thread through your needle and set to work on the flower’s edges.

“Your needlework is much improved, Your Grace,” Hyeri notes. “You’ll be finished with that pattern by the end of the day, as I see it.”

You thumb over the fabric and consider her assessment. She’s right, you’ll be done with this pattern in a matter of hours. And the only thing that awaits on the other side is another pattern. And another. On and on and on. 

“Perhaps when you’re done, you’ll consider mending this for me,” Hyeri says, gesturing towards her lap. “My eyesight is not what it used to be. I’m terrified of ruining the old man’s beautiful design.”

You set your embroidery down and turn to look at Hyeri, gaze falling to the opulent plum fabric in her hands. Slowly, the details sharpen into focus. The rich velvet trim. The gold threads glinting back at you in the firelight. The room begins to tilt.

“A footman found it in the woods last night,” Hyeri explains, her cadence slow and deliberate. “By the stables.”

You are keenly aware of the way she watches you in the weighty seconds that follow, one gray eyebrow lifted as she awaits a response. You do your best to appear calm despite the panic clawing its way up your throat.

You’d lost that shawl in your mad dash back to the castle. You’d been tearing through the dark, paying little heed to the branches that tugged at your dress and occasionally scraped at your hands and face. One of them had caught the shawl, but you’d been so desperate to reach the refuge of your chamber that you’d hardly noticed when it was wrenched away. You’d had, after all, your humiliation to keep you warm.

And you’d earned it, hadn’t you? With your drunkenness. With your recklessness. You’d let every one of your baser emotions take control. You’d risked every advantage of your carefully curated life just to throw yourself like a wanton at the feet of one of your husband’s closest confidantes. Like a fool. 

When Lord Jung turned on his heels that night and abandoned you in the woods, he’d done far more than just rebuff your clumsy advances. 

He’d finished you. 

“Your Grace?” Hyeri’s curiosity is evident. “Are you alright?”

Hardly. Your mouth waters as your stomach threatens to cast up what little you’ve eaten today. One glimpse of that garment had been enough to bring a torrent of memories rushing back; vivid, awful memories that you’ve worked hard to banish to the deepest recesses of your mind. You grip the arm of your chair hard enough to make your knuckles go white. 

“Your Grace?”

You don’t answer until you’re sure that you won’t retch the very moment you open your mouth. Hyeri studies you in the interminable silence, lips parted in an expression of concern. Your tongue is thick when you finally collect yourself enough to speak.

“Please do thank the footman for me, Hyeri. And I think it best to leave the more intricate needlework to you.”

Hyeri stares as you reach for your needle and thread with trembling hands, but you don’t dare look her way. You try to place a loop at the edge of your flower but the Mugunghwa’s colors have gone blurry again and you’re forced to back the needle out and start over.

Perhaps there was a time when the Mugunghwa was as vivid as a rose. With petals of rich orange-red, opaque from pistil to tip. But perhaps it was asked to weather too many storms. Too many droughts. Too many winters. 

Perhaps the Mugunghwa looks the way it does today not because of how it was made, but rather what it’s had to endure. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first snow of the season arrives early.

You stand at your window and watch it fall, noting how quickly the fields turn from green to white. You press your fingertips to the windowpane and the cold seeps through it, chilling you instantly.

In the courtyard below, the horses are draped in heavy blankets. Stablehands scurry around them; dusting snow off their muzzles and checking their shoes. Footmen work in teams, sharing the weight of the heavy trunks they load on to waiting carts. 

“I’ll wear the blue walking dress today, Hyeri. The one with the white flowers on the bodice.”

“Your Grace?” Hyeri is on her feet at once to join you at the window. “You’ll see the king off, then?”

“I’ll need the matching cape too,” you direct, brushing her question aside as you watch the newly-packed trunks take on a layer of white snow. “If the conditions are as awful as they look.”

“Yes of course,” Hyeri breathes, hurriedly whirling about the chamber behind you as she gathers your things. In a matter of minutes she has you dressed and seated, fingers twisting your hair into a plait at the base of your neck. She loops the plait and pins it into an elegant bun, fingers smoothing the hairs into place before her hands come to rest on your shoulders. She squeezes them gently.

“I’ll not ask you why you’ve changed your mind, Your Grace,” she says softly. “But I’m so glad for it. It’s important that people see you. For them, of course, but for you most of all. And besides, you look so lovely.” 

You don’t feel lovely. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all. And if Hyeri had pressed you as to why you’ve changed your mind, she’d not be satisfied with your answer. You’ve changed your mind because you cannot bear to cause more conflict with the King. Because you have no desire to create a scandal that you’ll somehow have to fix. You’ve changed your mind because you have no fight in you left. This is the path of least resistance.

You rise from your seat and Hyeri’s hands fall away. She clutches them to her chest, rheumy eyes soft with sadness as she watches you take your place at the window once again. Outside the snow falls harder, and you watch the footmen leave deep divots in it with their boots.

“Tell me when it’s time,” you say quietly.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You can scarcely recognize anyone in the throng of well-wishers gathered outside the castle.

They’re all bundled tight in winter coats and pelts; some wear hats and scarves. The snow doesn’t help either, and from the moment you enter the courtyard you’re grateful for your cape. Not only for the warmth of its thick lining, but for its hood, too. It affords you a bit of privacy in this otherwise very public affair.

You weave your way through the crowd and do your best not to make eye contact with anyone. Surely Boram is among those gathered with sweet Yeona in tow, here to see Lord Min off on his adventure. But you cannot bring yourself to seek her out – not when she’s already called on you twice without so much as an explanation for your disappearance. At any rate, you don’t think you could bear to look at her right now. To see the worry and concern you know you’ll find written all over her face. 

So you keep your hood pulled tight and your eyes down as you set off in search of the King. And you have no trouble finding him despite your reticence to make your presence known. It’s not just that he stands a head taller than most. It’s in his stature, in his stance – in that self-assured air that seems to come naturally to those born with power. He catches sight of you as he’s speaking to a footman and pauses, gaze locking on yours.

Your legs feel heavy. Your boots sink into the snow as you approach, each step more tiring than the last. When you are finally standing before the King you bow, dipping your head as you peer at him from beneath your hood.

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, lips twitching into a cautious half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come down to say goodbye.”

“And yet I have,” you respond evenly. A snowflake lands on one of his long eyelashes and you resist the urge to reach out and sweep it away. “So I do very much hope that you are pleased.”

“I am pleased.”

The King reaches for your gloved hand. He waits a heartbeat before bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your leather-clad fingers. Beneath your hood, your cheeks burn. You withdraw your hand quickly and let it fall to your side. 

“Well. Then. I wish you a comfortable journey,” you say. “As well as a safe return.”

The two of you stand there for an awkward moment, the King’s expression expectant as though he’s waiting for you to say more. But you have no more to say. The words you’ve already offered him will do. They’re as empty as the vows you’d exchanged little more than a year ago.

“We ought to head out, Your Grace. We’re losing precious daylight and this weather will slow us as it is.”

The voice comes from somewhere in your periphery, but you need not see the man to know exactly who it is. Suddenly each breath you draw is painful, the frigid air pricking your lungs like a thousand tiny needles. You will yourself not to turn towards it, not to react in any way. 

“You’re right.” The King acknowledges Lord Jung with a brusque nod. “Have the stablehands check over the horses one more time.”

You won’t look at him. You can’t look at him. Not when the sound of his voice reverberates through every wounded place inside of you. Not when you can close your eyes and still feel the hot trickle of embarrassment that slid down your spine that night in the woods. But then he leaves you with no other choice.

“Your Grace.” 

The low timbre of Lord Jung’s greeting makes the fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end. You turn to him, slowly, and his dark eyes briefly connect with yours before he bends into a shallow bow. Your knees nearly give way when you return the gesture, along with a subdued, “My Lord.”

What must this man think of you now? What has he told the King? The nausea you’ve managed to stave off for days returns at once. 

You startle when a gloved hand wraps around your forearm and the King beckons you to face him. You flick your eyes up to meet his and find that they – along with his countenance – have darkened. By now Lord Jung is yards away, tending to his horse as the hunting party readies to embark. Your lungs ache with each deep pull of cold air.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Not at all,” you insist, contriving a weak laugh. “I’m not accustomed to this kind of cold, is all. I’ll need to go back inside to get warm.”

The King’s brows furrow as he studies you. But you maintain your mild expression until his face relaxes and the disquiet subsides. He leans in to place a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“Hyeri assures me you’ll be well taken care of in my absence.”

You lift the corners of your mouth in a gesture that you hope will pass for a smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Be well.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hyeri does not protest when you ask to undress upon your return to the chamber. Nor does she fuss when you climb into bed with the morning sun still high in the sky. She simply presses a soft kiss to your hair, draws the curtains tight and leaves you with a whispered rest well. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Your chamber is dark when you wake but for the soft glow of a fire. 

As you come to, so does an ache in your temples, a quiet thud that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Your muscles protest as you roll onto your side to find Hyeri seated at the hearth. 

She’s yet to realize that you’ve roused and so you lie there for a while, studying her. She has a strange, far-away look in her eyes as she stares into the flames, her grip tight on a book in her lap. After a few minutes she opens the book and begins to thumb through it and you watch, curious, as she pulls a worn piece of vellum from between its pages.

She unfolds the missive and reads over it, face crumpling as she fights back a sob.

“Hyeri?”

The older woman nearly jumps out of her skin when you call out to her.  She hastily folds the vellum and slips it back into her book, smoothing down her dress as she stands at attention. “Your Grace,” she says, voice huskier than usual, “I hadn’t realized you were awake.”

“It’s alright,” you say absently, voice rough with sleep. You steal a look at the book left lying in Hyeri’s chair as she hurries over to bring you some water. Her countenance is that of someone who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. You stare at the glass she offers you, watching the water slosh back and forth. 

Is she trembling?

“You ought to eat something,” she admonishes gently, waving a hand towards the food waiting on the table nearby. “You slept through the evening meal. I had my mind made up to wake you if you’d gone much longer, but thankfully I didn’t have to. So come,” she beckons, “Eat something. It will do you some good.”

Your stomach twinges at the mention of food. It’s been in upheaval for days now, and as such it’s been far too long since you had a proper meal. But whatever awaits in the dishes nearby smells enticing enough, so you allow Hyeri to help you out of bed. Your muscles are stiff with disuse and you grimace as you make your way to the table. Your eagle-eyed handmaid takes note.

“A long, hot bath will do you some good, too,” Hyeri remarks as you spoon lukewarm bulgogi onto your plate. You eat slowly as she busies herself with lighting the torches and stripping the linens from your bed. “I’ll have the maids bring up the water after you’ve had a chance to eat.”

You’ve only managed a few bites of the bulgogi before there’s an army of maids filing into the chamber, flitting about the room like a swarm of bees. You watch the entire affair in a daze as the maids make quick work of the tasks set before them: tidying and sweeping the chamber, draping your bed in fresh linens, filling the tub with steaming hot water. And when all the commotion is finally done, Hyeri dismisses them with strict orders not to return unless they are sent for. 

You are grateful at once for the silence that immediately falls over the chamber. Even Hyeri leaves you for a while, disappearing into the antechamber to prepare your toilette. But when you glance over at her chair, Hyeri’s book is gone. Along with whatever was written on the vellum inside.

“Come now, Your Grace,” Hyeri says, at last. “I’m ready for you.” 

She leads you into the bathing chamber, where the air is humid and sweet. Then she helps you out of your rumpled nightgown and holds out her hand. You accept it, leaning into her as you step over the tub’s steep rim. Slowly you ease yourself down, sucking in a breath as the heat blazes a path up your feet to your legs and thighs. The water is hot almost to the point of pain but you withstand it, sinking until it laps at your shoulders.

“I used rose oil tonight,” Hyeri says, kneeling behind you and cupping your head in her hands. “I thought you could do with a bit of pampering.” 

The delicate fragrance envelopes you, carried on the curls of steam that rise just above the water. You breathe in the soft, floral scent and close your eyes; try to clear your mind. Hyeri presses her thumbs to your temples and starts making firm, soothing circles. 

“I remember the very first moment I saw you,” Hyeri muses softly. “I’d been so impressed by your poise.” Her hands move to the column of your neck and she kneads at the tight muscles there, pulling the tension from them with each pass. “You were little more than a girl then, but I could still see that you were lovely, inside and out.”

Were you? You’re not sure that you would even recognize the girl that stepped out of that carriage so long ago. You’d been so idealistic – so certain of the comfortable life that you would find here. Of the affluence and status and yes, perhaps, even love that you’d enjoy once you’d ascended to the throne. But that girl had been a nitwit. The woman you are now will never entertain such foolish notions again.

“I know that so much of this has not been easy for you,” Hyeri continues, setting to work on your shoulders. “I know that there have been days when you’ve struggled to put one foot in front of the other. But you have. And that means something.”

It does mean something. It means that your mother’s great work is finally complete. She’d spent her entire life molding you into the polished, empty creature you are today. If only she could see you now; see how biddable and pathetic you’ve become. It would fill her to overflowing with joy.

“Anyhow, when you’ve lived as long as I have you realize that nothing is forever,” Hyeri says thoughtfully. “Same as what you’re going through right now, Your Grace. It won’t be forever.”

Nonsense. Hyeri cannot change the King’s heart. She cannot save you from a lifetime of awkward exchanges and forced smiles simply because she believes things can change. And she cannot will a child into your womb simply by decreeing that it should be so. The swell of emotion that surges inside you is more powerful than anything you’ve felt in days. And it’s anger. 

“Hyeri, stop,” you order tersely. “No more.”

Her face falls at that, features going slack with dismay. But she heeds you, holding back whatever she’d meant to say next. Then she reaches for the soap and begins to wash your hair in silence. You chase the beads of oil that float along the surface of the water with a fingertip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to be ugly to Hyeri. 

But then you’ve done many things of late that you hadn’t meant to.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s alright, Your Grace. I know you meant no harm by it.” Hyeri dries her hands off and then rises to her feet, looking down at you with a kindness you do not deserve. “I’ll leave you to soak for a bit. You can have a few minutes of peace before I return.”

You’ve been unfair to her, haven’t you? The realization cuts you deep as you watch her retreat from the antechamber. She’s served you in so many ways since your arrival here: as caretaker and as advisor and as confidante. And how have you thanked her? By being cold and distant. By unleashing all the frustration and resentment you feel towards the King on her. And what of the tears you’d seen her hold back while she’d been sitting by the fire? Have you been so mired in your own anguish that you’ve neglected to see hers? 

The water has begun to cool and your skin has begun to pebble by the time Hyeri returns.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she says upon her return, helping you out of the water. “The time got away from me. You must be freezing.”

“Only a little,” you lie, teeth chattering. Hyeri sets to drying you, throwing the damp linens on the floor to catch the rivulets of water that fall from your hair. Her dark eyes dart from your shoulders to your neck to your ears, but they do not meet yours. 

“Is something wrong, Hyeri?”

“No, no. Not at all,” she answers quickly, “Just a bit tired.” Her reassurance rings hollow because she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as she bends to reach for the rose oil. When she straightens, you catch her hand with yours, stilling her. 

“What were you reading tonight?”

Hyeri’s mouth opens in surprise and then quickly closes.

“I saw you sitting by the fire,” you admit. “You were reading something that looked to upset you.”

“And here I thought you were sleeping,” Hyeri grumbles, taking her hand back. She pours the oil into one palm and then warms it before pressing it to your neck, letting a long moment pass before she speaks. 

“It didn’t upset me,” she explains. “Not in a sad way. Those were happy tears, I suppose.” She pours oil into your hands and begins to gently massage it into your fingers. “It was a letter from my Sanghun, back when he’d been courting me so many years ago. You might find this hard to believe, but I wasn’t always the old woman you see now. I had more than my fair share of suitors.”

It’s not hard to believe. Time has been kind to Hyeri. Her features, though soft with age, are still striking. She must have been quite fetching as a young woman. 

“What made you choose Sanghun?” you ask.

“I don’t know that I had a choice in the matter at all,” she laughs as she helps you slip into a nightgown. “The moment I saw Sanghun, no other man existed for me. It was him or no one.” Her eyes go soft with a faraway look as she recounts the memory. “The other girls thought him too practical, too serious. But I saw a side of him that no one else saw. A part of him that was just for me.”

“You must miss him,” you say gently.

“Every day,” Hyeri admits. “Ten years he’s been gone and I think of him every day. Those letters remind me of what it’s like to be young and so in love that you’ll not see rhyme or reason. But –” she trails off and waves a hand as if fending off fresh tears. “Never mind that. Come sit.”

It’s unclear which of you she’s sparing from the memory. But as Hyeri begins working her comb through the lengths of your hair, you’re struck by how shortsighted you’ve been. There is suffering in never having the chance to love and be loved, certainly. But there is a different kind of suffering that comes with having that kind of love and then losing it. The thought humbles you.

Hyeri comes to stand behind you and begins working your wet hair into a loose plait.

“I’m sorry, Hyeri,” you say softly, gaze dropping to your hands. “I’m sorry that I haven’t thought to ask you about Sanghun. I haven’t been myself and I’ve just – “

Hyeri silences you with a soft hush. She secures your braid with a piece of linen and then drops to her knees to look her in the eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says softly, stroking a hand down the side of your face. “Nor do you owe anyone an explanation for feeling the things you feel.”

Her warmth thaws the frozen places inside you. It causes tears to spring to your eyes. And when she takes your hand in hers, you squeeze it gently — hoping that the gesture can convey the feelings you can’t put into words.

“Now put all of that behind you,” she says, smiling through her own unshed tears. “And come sit with me for a while.”

Hyeri leads the way into the chamber and you follow, only to stop short when the hearth comes into view.

When your gaze falls on the silhouetted figure near the fire, you nearly scream. You try to scream. But fear seizes your body, inch by inch – rooting your feet to the floor and closing around your throat like a shackle. You have no choice but stand there, staring in horrified silence as the figure begins to emerge from the shadows. In the span of one frantic heartbeat, the figure has a shape. In the next, it has a face. 

And in the next, it has a name.

“H-Hyeri?” you stammer, swaying on your feet as your legs threaten to give way. Your handmaid doesn’t answer and so you call out again, voice quivering. “Hyeri?”

You cannot take your eyes off the man standing before you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and so you stare as the firelight flickers over his stark, beautiful features. Shadows dance across his clenched jaw and knit brow. And his eyes – those dark eyes you know so well are fathomless, inscrutable – smoldering coal set in unblemished, unforgiving stone.

“Hyeri!“ you call out to her again, desperate – reluctantly tearing your gaze from the man to look for her. And when your eyes finally land on Hyeri, you find your handmaid standing near the chamber door, hands clasped together tightly. Streaks of color running up the thin skin of her neck and into her soft cheeks.

But she’s not surprised, is she? Not flummoxed in any way by finding Lord Jung lying in wait inside your private rooms. The realization comes over you slowly, wholly, until a strangle tingle runs from your scalp to the tips of your fingers. She’s arranged this, hasn’t she? 

“W-What is this?” The words leave you as more air than sound, but they ring out clear enough in the silence of your chamber. Lord Jung and Hyeri exchange a long look, but neither utters a sound.

“Someone speak!” you cry, wincing at the hysteria in your voice. 

Hyeri finally clears her throat, her face now fully aflame. “I believe the two of you – “ she pauses, swallowing hard. “Well, I believe the two of you have some things you need to discuss.”

Discuss? You and Lord Jung? Suddenly the panic you feel metastasizes, growing into something much darker. Has he come to admonish you, then? To punish you for your disloyalty? Has he come to lay bare every humiliating detail of that horrible night at the stables for Hyeri to hear? 

“No,” you whisper. You do your best to appear composed, despite the way your knees tremble. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Hyeri. I have nothing to discuss with Lord Jung.”

“Yes, you do.” The man in question speaks for the first time, his voice little more than a low rasp. “And we will.”

“No,” you repeat your refusal, shaking your head as though the movement will help sort your jumbled thoughts. “No. You have no right to turn up here and say what I will and will not do. And where did you come from? I saw you leave. I saw you mount your horse and ride off with – “

You stop yourself before you can finish the thought, flushing fiercely at the unspoken mention of the King. Your tedious, disinterested husband would be anything but if he had any inkling of this clandestine encounter.

“I was called back to the castle,” Lord Jung explains evenly. “A palace rider came bearing a missive bidding that I return at once to address an issue at the stables. I was but an hour’s ride away at the time.” Once again, he looks to Hyeri and they exchange another one of those maddening looks.

“But there was no issue at the stables,” you deduce quietly, the pieces falling into place, one by one. “Was there, Hyeri?” Your handmaid seems to shrink beneath the weight of the accusation in your eyes. 

“No, Your Grace,” she confesses weakly, “There was not.”

Oh, but your head is truly spinning now – each new revelation more disorienting than the last. How long have these two been conspiring together? What does Hyeri know about what’s transpired between you and Lord Jung? What does he know about the many private things you’ve shared with Hyeri? Both thoughts cause the bile in your stomach to rise.

“You can leave us now, Hyeri,” Lord Jung says. “Thank you.”  

Leave you? Has the man lost all good sense? You open your mouth to protest, but when met with the intensity in his glittering dark eyes, words fail you. You just stand there, mouth agape, rendered mute and immobile with shock. You look over at Hyeri, who has fixed her pleading eyes to your wide ones, her expression urging you to comply. And though you cannot make sense of a single thing that you’ve witnessed tonight, you do.

“Very well, My Lord,” she says quietly. “Rest well, Your Grace. The staff rouses at dawn.”

And with that Hyeri takes her leave, the chamber door closing behind her with a heavy thud that echoes the one in your chest.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Once you are alone with Lord Jung, you realize how truly vulnerable you are.

With little more than a thin nightgown to cover you, he can see far more of you than would ever be considered proper. All it would take was one shout from the man to bring the guards running, to compromise you both to the point of expulsion. Perhaps worse.

But the situation is far weightier than that. 

You’ve been vulnerable to this man from nearly the first moment you saw him. You’d been weak to his attention and charms. You’d allowed him to see you in ways that no one else has: not Chaehee, not Hyeri and certainly not the King. And the only time in your life that you’d thrown caution to the wind – and acted with abandon, not restraint – he’d mortified you. The memory of that night is a wound that’s just barely begun to heal, and now here Lord Jung stands, poised to pour salt on it. 

You’ll not allow him to devastate you again. 

“Go on then,” you say, lifting your chin and speaking with feigned bravado. “You’ve gone to great lengths to speak to me, so speak. I assume you’ll enlighten me as to which matter is so pressing that you felt the need to steal into my chamber and risk ruin for us both.”

“I know what I’m risking,” he growls. Then he stops to collect himself, exhaling deeply as he shoves a hand through his hair. “I know what we both stand to lose. But I could not come to you any other way.”

“Why have you come to me at all?” you demand. “You made your feelings quite clear the night of the festival, did you not?” You can no longer contain your bitterness and it drips from your every word. “You should go back to your sovereign, My Lord. Back to your King.”

Lord Jung looks stricken when you use his own words against him. There is a despair in his dark eyes that might have pained you once, but not now. Not anymore.

“You have every right to be angry with me, Your Grace,” he acknowledges. “And if you bid me to leave, then I will do so. But not without telling you the truth. You deserve to hear the truth.”

“Everything here is a lie. Perhaps you, most of all.”

He looks at you for a long moment before turning towards the hearth to gaze into the fire. Orange-red light illuminates his profile, sweeping across his smooth brow, over the elegant slope of his nose and down to his strong jaw. He is still the most beautiful – and most terrible man you’ve ever known.

“The King said he would give her up,” he says woodenly, staring into the flames. “When your marriage was announced, he swore it. And I believed him.”

Every muscle in your body pulls tight.

“I knew that he loved her. We all did. But he vowed that he would respect his father’s wishes and I’ve never known him to be a duplicitous man. I’ve never known him to say one thing and do another. And when I realized that he’d been deceiving you, deceiving us all, I – “ he stops and shakes his head at the memory. “ – I wasn’t thinking clearly. I confronted him at once and demanded that he explain himself.”

The argument in the courtyard. The memories come back to you in an instant. The way they’d both looked so irate, the way their voices would rise and then fall. Lord Jung turning his back on the King and stalking away into the dark. 

The tightness in your chest is unbearable now, viselike. 

“I was so damned angry,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “Never once in my life have I imagined putting my hands on the King, but in that moment – I don’t know. I don’t know what I might have done had I not walked away. But I confronted him because I had to know why.”

He rips his gaze from the fire and turns to you, eyes flashing.

“And do you know what he told me? Do you know what he said when I asked him why he would insult you by keeping a lover? He told me that he couldn’t stay away. That he’d tried to do the honorable thing but he couldn’t stay away.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The tremor in your voice belies your pathetic attempt at composure. “If you mean to cause me pain, it’s too late. I’ve known about the King’s lover since the early days of this marriage, and I’ve accepted it. Just as I’ve accepted that I’ll never amount to more than a trinket he dusts off to show to his people.”

Lord Jung takes a step towards you, his beautiful face hard in the firelight. There’s a maelstrom behind his eyes, a polite violence that sets you to shiver.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to understand,” he says. “I want to hate him. I have tried to hate him. But I cannot. I have no position of honor to stand on. No rightful claim to virtue. I have no right to condemn the King for his sins when I have so many of my own to account for.”

“I – I don’t understand,” you say weakly.

“I have no right – “ his voice breaks, thick with emotion, “-- I have no right to denounce the King for coveting another woman.” He drags a hand down his face, distraught. “Not when I have spent every single day since you stepped out of that carriage coveting you.”

You stop breathing entirely.

“So no,” he continues, voice graveled. “I cannot bring myself to hate the King. And you were right to think me a liar. I’ve pretended that my nearness to you was benign, nothing more than an act of service. I’ve tried to make myself look honorable to you, when I have been anything but. I’ve been a liar since the moment I met you.”

You are trembling now, head to toe. Rendered speechless by Lord Jung’s confession. Slowly, the maelstrom in his eyes starts to recede. He looks as vulnerable now as you feel. 

“You deserved to know the truth,” he says quietly. “If from no one else, than from me.” 

There is a heavy silence in the seconds it takes you to find your voice.

“My Lord, I – “

“Don’t call me that,” he pleads. “Please. Not now. Not when I’ve come to you like this.”

“Very well, Hoseok. But you sent me away. In the woods that night, I’d asked you to – “ you stop, not wanting to say the words aloud. “What’s changed? Why are you telling me this now?”

“I have tried to leave you alone.” His voice is ragged now, anguished. “I thought if I could just put some distance between us – if I rose earlier and worked harder and retired later – that I could exhaust this need out of me. But I can’t.” Torment is etched into every line of his beautiful face. It makes you want to reach out and touch him but you resist, uncertainty keeping your hands pinned to your sides.

“I cannot war with myself any longer,” he says hoarsely. “I cannot continue to lie to you or myself. And if he is not willing to give you the things you desire, then I will.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, your neck. It gathers in your belly, too.

“So if you’re asking me why now?” he says, taking another step towards you, closing what little distance remains. “It’s because I couldn’t stay away.”

He touches you then, takes your face into one warm hand and strokes his fingers down your temple, smooths the pad of his thumb over your lips. The featherlight touch raises goosebumps all over your skin. It’s more intimate than anything you’ve ever experienced with the King. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. 

“No,” you breathe. “I want so much more than that.”

He looks at you with such heat that the warmth in your belly goes molten. Then he presses his mouth to yours and slowly coaxes it open with gentle strokes of his tongue. He tastes of whiskey and smells of fine, heady soap and he does not relent until you are panting. Moisture gathers at the juncture of your thighs, beneath your thin nightgown.

But suddenly you are apprehensive. You’ve no idea how to kiss a man properly, much less satisfy him as a lover. And you’re not sure that you could ever live down the shame of disappointing him. When he finally pulls away to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, you have no choice but to confess.

“There’s something you should know, Hoseok,” you say, the sound of his given name still foreign in your mouth. “It’s just that – well, I am by no means a maiden but in some respects, I might as well be. I know almost nothing about how to please you.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and for one terrifying moment you fear it’s for you.

“That is through no fault of your own,” he says darkly. “And if he’s been too much of a fool to see to your needs, then so be it.” He dips his head to press a kiss to your ear, then whispers, “Your pleasure will be mine and mine alone.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Hoseok spends an inordinate amount of time tending to the fire. 

You sit on the edge of your bed and watch him, feverish with anticipation as he moves the weakest logs and adds fresh ones. Once he’s satisfied, once the chamber is glowing with fresh flames and warmth, he cleans his hands and comes to you.

Your heart rattles harder with each step he takes towards your bed. 

When he’s finally standing at the foot of your bed, he takes off his belt. And then reaches behind his head to pull his tunic away. The sight of his bare chest is enough to make your mouth go dry. His body is lithe and sleek and strong, his muscles rippling as he puts his hands down on either side of you and lowers his mouth to yours for a kiss.

“Tonight is about you, pretty bird,” he murmurs, trailing more kisses across your cheek, down your neck. “So I want you to tell me everything you want.”

“I want to see you.” The words leave you in a rush an account of the way his mouth moves from the juncture of your neck and to the hollow of your collarbone. “All of you.”

Hoseok wastes no time in straightening to his full height to remove his breeches, and then his smallclothes. And try as you might not to stare, it cannot be helped. You’ve never been able to study a man like this. Not even the King.

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he groans.

And then you are cautiously reaching for him, wrapping a hand around the length of him, marveling at the way he pulses in your palm. You run your fingertips down the skin of his shaft, awestruck by how silky and warm he is. But when your fingers reach the blunt head of him, he flinches.

“I don’t – I’m sorry,” you say quickly. “Did I hurt you?

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me,” he assures you, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “I’m just sensitive there, is all.”

“Will you show me, then?” you ask, curiosity far stronger than any self-consciousness you might feel. “Show me how to touch you.”

“Of course.”

He sits down on the bed beside you, taking hold of your hand. And then you watch with a heady mix of confusion and excitement as he takes your fingers into his mouth one, by one. He finishes the unfamiliar preparation by licking a long stripe up the palm of your hand. The stroke of his tongue sends a bolt of desire racing through you.

“It’s easier like this,” he explains, guiding your hand back to his length. You take hold of him again and this time he wraps his hand around yours. He moves your hand for you, up and down the length of him, until you can feel him growing hotter and harder in your hand. You’re fascinated by it all – by how firmly he wants to be touched, by how labored his breathing becomes, by the way the muscle and sinew in his legs seem to twitch at your command.

He leans over to capture your mouth as he begins to buck into your hand in earnest. And after a while his own hand falls away, leaving you to take control of his pleasure. And what an intoxicating power he’s given you – taut muscles in his abdomen flexing with each of his strained breaths.

“That feels so good, pretty bird,” he groans, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. “Just right. Your hand feels so good around me like this.” 

The wetness you’d felt between your thighs when he’d kissed you the first time returns, and each sound of pleasure he rewards you with makes you wetter and warmer. He is rock hard in your hand now, the dusky head of his manhood shiny with moisture. You watch a bead of it appear at the tip and you slide your fingertips over it, transfixed by how smooth it feels. Beside you, Hoseok shudders.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says, breathless. “I’ll be of no use to you if you keep that up for much longer.”

You have half a mind to protest, but then his hands are sliding over the thin material of your nightgown, cupping your breasts through the gauzy fabric. He takes one of your nipples between his fingers and teases it until it’s standing at attention. You sigh.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers, pulling at the nightgown. 

You hesitate. Not even the King has seen you nude. Not once has he ever asked you to remove your nightgown and so for a long time, that is what you’d assumed he preferred. That is, until you’d caught him in bed with his lover. 

“Look at me,” Hoseok says, sensing your anxiety. He tips your chin up until your gaze meets his own. “I’ll not ask you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to use my mouth and hands on you. On all of you.”

You inhale deeply, flustered by the way he speaks so plainly about his desires. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve longed for all this time. And that’s what he’s promised you, isn’t it? Pleasure. Pleasure that will be his and his alone. 

You draw your nightgown up to your thighs and then raise up to pull it even higher. When you’ve finally discarded it, when there is nothing left between you and Hoseok you flush, looking away.

“You have nothing to hide,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful. Believe me, pretty bird – you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Emboldened by the praise, you draw nearer to him and trace the outline of his heart-shaped mouth with one finger. And then it is your lips that find his; your tongue that moves past the seam of his lips and your teeth that find the shell of his ear. You thread your fingers in his hair, and he groans, gathering you close.

“You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve dreamed of you like this,” he says, gently laying you back on the bed. “You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve taken myself in hand to these fantasies.”

Oh, but you can imagine, can’t you? The few times you’d dared to try and seek your own pleasure, it had been him in your mind’s eye as your hand was between your legs. It had always been him. 

Hoseok’s mouth leaves yours and when it  finds the tip of one aching breast, you gasp.

“Do you like that?” he goads, laving your nipple with his tongue, taking it between his teeth. The pang of pleasure he incites in you is so sharp, you cry out. “Your body is so responsive,” he murmurs. “So damned responsive.”

There is only so much of that particular torture you can take, and so when his mouth finally leaves your breasts you exhale a sigh of relief. But then his mouth is on your sternum, and then your stomach, and then –

You freeze.

“I want to kiss you here,” Hoseok explains, cupping your mound with one large hand. “I promised you pleasure and this is the surest way to it. Will you let me?”

He looks up at you from the edge of the bed, his dark hair wild and his dark eyes glossy with desire, his mouth hovering over your most secret place. Your pulse skitters, heart pounding erratically at the thought of him kissing you there.

“Is it – is it proper?” you ask, chiding yourself at once for asking such a stupid question. Your face flames when Hoseok raises a brow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever thought to consider the … propriety of such an act,” he says slowly. “But I know that you’ll enjoy it if you allow me to show you. And if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll stop.”

In the seconds that follow, you think about the way he’d let you take him in hand. How he’d showed you how to bring him pleasure, without reserve. How powerful you’d felt when he’d been shuddering under your touch. He’d trusted you, hadn’t he? Just as you now must trust him.

“Alright,” you whisper, nodding your assent. “I trust you.”

He grins at you then, wickedly, before lowering his mouth to your mons. And then he is kissing you there, softly, each brush of his lips moving lower and lower still. Until you feel the heat of his breath at your entrance. You tense.

“Relax for me,” he instructs, licking a long, wet stripe up the length of you. The touch sends a frisson of sensation shooting through your limbs. “Close your eyes and try to think of nothing but this.”

And then he sets his tongue to the tiny pearl at your entrance. 

And at once, you see stars.

“H-Hoseok!” you gasp, your hips flying off the bed at the contact. The urge to snap your legs shut is almost as strong as the urge to push deeper into the pleasing press of his tongue. Almost.

But he pins your legs down with his arms and continues the onslaught, stroking and licking at you with his tongue, nipping at you with his teeth. You grab fistfulls of the duvet as though it might ground you somehow, keep you from bursting into flame.

And then he slides one long finger into you.

You are incoherent now, moaning and begging in broken sentences that do not make sense. But your body is responding in ways that your words cannot, hips moving in time with his mouth. Each pass of his tongue sends sharp spikes of pleasure to your core. You’d thought you’d known what this pleasure felt like, that perhaps you’d be able to reach it on your own someday, but never once had it been like this. 

And then you can feel it – the coil turning inside you, the desperate ascent to the one place you’ve never been able to reach. And it’s so close, so so close – the promise of whatever awaits on the other side strong enough to sate this nameless craving that you’ve felt for so long. It’s within your reach now, if only you can just hold on.

And then it stops.

He takes his mouth and tongue away and the pleasure vanishes. “Hoseok, no,” you cry, sapped of all energy, robbed once again of the relief you so desperately seek. “Please,” you beg weakly, “please.”

But he’s at your side now, the length of his body resting against yours, his manhood hard and hot against your leg. “Come now, pretty bird,” he soothes, “I didn’t bring you this high just to let you fall.”

He presses his lips to your ear at the same time he presses his fingers back to the aching bud between your thighs. “Go on then,” he whispers. “Fly.”

He brings every sensation he’d wrought from you rushing back with his fingers. His mouth hovers at your ear, whispering his encouragement until the coil inside you snaps. He must have known that you’d not be able to contain yourself when you came apart because he covers your mouth with his own, swallowing the sobs he wrenches from you, bringing you down slowly as you come apart.

And when you finally come to your senses again, when your breathing has evened and your heart has slowed and every part of you feels liquid and languid, he smiles.

“I couldn’t risk you waking the entire castle,” he explains apologetically, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you shudder through your quiet laughter, aftershocks of sensation rippling through you. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never – never experienced anything like that.”

“That’s mine,” he murmurs, going up on one elbow. “Just as I told you it would be.”

Indeed. But what about his pleasure? The firm reminder of it remains pressed against you, the rigid length of it leaking onto your duvet. You reach for it and he draws a sharp breath through his clenched teeth.

“I want to feel you inside me,” you say softly, noting the way a muscle tics in his jaw. You wrap your hand around him and squeeze, astounded by how feverishly hot he feels. “Please.”

Hoseok nods, climbing over you and settling his hips between your thighs. He takes himself in hand and when you feel the blunt head of him at your entrance, you tense again. But he doesn’t enter you right away. Instead he looks down at you, his dark eyes brimming with emotion.

“Are you certain,” he breathes, his brow dotted with a fine sheen of sweat. “I need to hear you say it.”

You lift up to kiss him, pressing your lips to his. “Take me, Hoseok,” you whisper. “Now.”

And in one sure stroke, he’s buried to the hilt inside you. 

Bodies sealed, fates sealed.

The force of his entry steals the breath from your lungs. And though you’ve been breached before, it’s never felt like this. You’re still sensitive from the pleasure he’d given you only moments before and each of his thrusts only heightens the sensation. 

You cling to him as he rocks against you, closing your eyes to revel in the fullness. He buries his head in your neck and thrusts harder, the sound of his skin meeting yours just as gratifying as it is lurid. And when he reaches between you to press his fingers to your pearl once again, impossibly you feel fresh pleasure begin to bloom.

Broken phrases fall from his lips, a string of curses and blessings and everything in between. And his coarse language doesn’t scandalize you; in fact it only causes you to hurtle towards the peak faster. And then you’re flying again – flying apart, scattering into a million pieces. Crying into his mouth as your release explodes into color and tiny wisps of fire slowly drift back to the earth.

But you come back to yourself just as his rhythm has started to falter, just as the steady cant of his hips becomes so frenetic that you know his own release is near. You have only a moment to mourn the loss of his weight and his warmth before he’s on his knees before you.

You’ve never seen anything more erotic. Firelight flickers over him as he throws his head back, the cords in his neck clenching as he takes himself in hand. And then he is groaning, long and low, as his release spills on to the duvet.

Then he collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his arms, turning you both until he’s on his back and your head rests upon his chest. And then you both lie there for a while, skin to skin,  watching the flames cast shadows on the stone.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Neither one of you sleep, the threat of dawn too near to indulge in any such luxury. 

“What happens now, Hoseok?”

You ask the question after he’s made love to you a second time, both of you too exhausted to move. Hoseok inhales and exhales deeply. “I don’t know. I have no control over the world outside of that chamber door, pretty bird.”

You map the lines of his chest with one finger, thoughtful.

“You told me earlier that if the King would not give me the things I desire, you would. Did you mean that?”

“I did,” Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “If it’s within my power, then I will. I will give you anything I can.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. “Thank you.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

You sit by the window and take in the afternoon sunlight, eyes drooping as you fight to stay awake.

You cannot ever remember being so tired. You sleep in fits and starts now, two or three hours at a time. And your body is too fatigued to talk up walking again, though the fresh air and exercise would do you some good. But you will walk again, soon. It won’t be long before you’re sitting with your birds and reading in the gentle Spring breeze.

Hyeri charges into the room like a bull, the tea tray in her hand clattering loudly. You narrow her eyes at her as she approaches and she fixes you with a sardonic look.“Oh, hush you,” she grumbles, setting the tray down on the table and walking over to you. “I wasn’t that loud.”

But her scowl falls away as her gaze locks on the baby at your breast, her muted eyes glowing with admiration. 

“That’s a fine Prince you have there, Your Grace,” she says softly. Then she looks up at you and her scowl returns. “Though at the rate you’re going, I’ll never get to hold him, will I? You’ve an entire staff to help you with him, and still you refuse. You’re going to make that boy rotten.”

You chuckle under your breath as you stroke your hand over the tuft of downy hair at your son’s crown. He blinks up at you with his huge dark eyes, and your heart is filled to overflowing with a love that you once you thought you’d never know. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

y,all i finished it! hahah okay so listen. if you'd like to talk to me, i'd love to hear from you. please consider reblogging and dropping me an ask 💕

[auras-moonstone]

hockey player ethan/jack?? what do we think

HOT!!! that’s what we think. anyways happy august season to the august girlies<3 this was very painful yet fun to write btw

august — ethan landry

word count: 3,180

pairing: hockey player!ethan landry x fem!reader

based on: august by taylor swift

summary: y/n and ethan had never seen each other with romantic eyes, until she pulls up her car. after that, their summer love adventure starts.

warnings: angst, fluff, cheating and that’s it i guess

part one part two

Y/N WAS CERTAINLY NOT PROUD OF WHAT SHE DID, BUT SHE COULDN’T LIE TO HERSELF, SHE DID NOT REGRET IT. Did that make her a bad person? Probably, and maybe that’s why karma got her, because sneaking around with someone’s boyfriend—even if it that someone was Betty, whom Y/N absolutely despised—had been a dick move, and she knew it all too well. But then again, Ethan’s puppy brown eyes had been like a trap. A trap she had fallen for unexpectedly and deeply.

Ethan Landry was the captain of the Blackmore Hockey Team—which Y/N’s brother, Drew, was a part of—, and Blackmore University’s golden boy. He was beyond untouchable, and taken by the captain of the cheerleader squad: Betty Harkness. They were the perfect couple on papers, but everyone knew they didn’t get along very well, and that they broke up and made up back and forth.

Everyone wanted Ethan—he was gorgeous, confident, hilarious, kind, athletic and pretty much every positive adjective you could find. But Y/N always saw him as Drew’s friend and Ethan always saw her as Drew’s little sister (although she was only a few months younger than them). Until one action completely changed the course of their lives.

“Eth? Are you on your way to hockey practice?” Y/N pulled up her car when he saw the tall boy walking on the sidewalk, hockey stick over his broad shoulder.

“Y/N! Yes. My car broke down, and now I have to walk” Ethan said, scrunching his nose.

“Get in the car, dumbass. I’ll drive you” she said, opening the shotgun door.

“Are you sure? Aren’t you heading somewhere else?”

“No, actually I was going to see the practice too. My best friend left to visit some relatives, so I have no plans. Drew invited me to the practice when he saw me mopping around the house”

Ethan laughed, and got into the car “You’re a life saver. But hey, does that mean you have to spend your whole summer all alone? That’s awful”

Y/N shook her head “Only a week and a half. Now I kinda wish I had more friends, although staying at home watching rom-coms doesn’t sound that bad”

“God, you depress me” Ethan groaned.

“Sorry Mr. So Popular I Get Invited To Every Party” she teased him.

“You could get invited to parties too, if you didn’t have that bitchy face whenever someone approaches you with an invitation” Ethan said, trying to contain a smile.

“I do that?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

Ethan raised his eyebrows “You don’t do that on purpose?”

“No! I mean, I would take the invitation even though parties aren’t my thing and will probably not go”

“Why? Because you’re not like other girls?” he joked.

Y/N scoffed “No, you dick. I get anxious around big crowds, especially intoxicated crowds” she explained.

“Oh… now I do feel like a dick”

The girl sent him a reassuring smile “It’s okay”

“You know, this is the first time we talk without Drew around” Ethan said.

“You’re right. What’s your veredict? Am I better company than my brother?” she asked, playful smile on her lips.

“Oh, most definitely” he said mirroring her smile “Jokes aside, you’re actually fun to be around”

“You doubted that?? What a wrong thing to assume from someone who was the authority to kick you out of her car” Y/N tried to keep a serious expression, but Ethan’s laugh ruined it.

“True, true. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Y/N/N. Please don’t leave me stranded” Ethan said, putting his palms together and looking at her with his deep brown eyes.

Had he always had those cute puppy eyes? And holy shit was he handsome, and charming. How did that go past her all this time?

Y/N did an exaggerated sigh “Fine, I guess I am feeling a little kind-hearted today, so I’ll give you a pass”

“Oh, thank you, benevolent Y/N” he said, and then both bursted out laughing.

Ethan sneaked out glances at her throughout the rest of the ride, wondering how he had never noticed how funny and gorgeous she was. And had she always had that shiny smile?

what are you wearing? 😏

um my grandma’s camisole

who is this?

you’re supposed to say i’m just in my underwear or something sexy jesus y/n🙄

you’re absolutely disgusting, stranger

who are you??

a very handsome and espectacular hockey player (the best on the team, if you want my opinion)

omg julian hi!! i was going to ask for your number but i never had the courage tbh

WHAT THE FUCK YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON JULIAN YOUR BROTHER IS GOING TO KILL YOU

AND HES NOT THE BEST ON THE TEAM 😡

lmaoo

you’re fricking adorable ethan

oh you knew it was me

what gave it away? the handsome part or the espectacular hockey player??

your ego🫤

ah yes makes sense🤔

so… no crush on julian?

nope :)

why are you texting me tho?

i’m bored and you told me you had no plans

so, meet me behind the mall?

we can go see a movie or something

if you want to, ofc

oooh i heard they are playing twilight 🥺🥺

not gonna happen

pretty please????? don’t be judgemental

it’s a classic

we have very different opinions on the term “classic”

come on don’t be like that😫😫 i really want to go

plus we can watch a movie you want another day???

okay fineeee

see you in an hour?!

see ya👹

what the fuck is that emoji

it’s the closest thing to a vampire 😭

🧛🏻🧛🏻‍♂️ there you go, the emojis actually exist

OMG YOU JUST CHANGED MY LIFE

you’re the dorkiest dork i’ve ever met

a cute one tho ;)

thank you but get your ass moving

robert pattinson is waiting for me!!!

ETHAN WOULD ABSOLUTELY HATE THE MOVIE IF THE SIGHT OF Y/N’S EXCITED FACE WASN’T SO GODDAMN HEART WARMING. Ethan didn’t know what was going on with him, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her ever since the drive—which was a week ago. He yearned for her sarcastic remarks and funny comebacks. He found himself going to Drew’s house more often just to catch a small glimpse of the gorgeous girl, who would smile brightly at him when she caught him staring.

Yes, they were definitely flirting. And he felt like he was fifteen again having his first crush. But the attraction was obviously mutual, so he didn’t hesitate to make a move.

“How many times have you watched this movie again?” Ethan whispered in her ear, and she felt goosebumps all over her body. How could a voice be that sexy?

“Like… ten times? I don’t know. Why? Am I reciting the lines too much?” she asked embarrassed.

Ethan bit his lip softly, his heart not taking her cuteness “No, just wondering if you could miss five minutes of it”.

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you”

“But I wanna keep on watching Robert” she teased as she got closer to the tall boy.

“You’re seriously talking about another guy while I am one second away from kissing the fuck out of you?”

Y/N shrugged “Deal with it”

“As you wish”

The arm rest was stabbing her ribcage but Y/N didn’t care about anything else other than that intoxicating kiss. She didn’t feel anything but the heat of his touch on her waist, on her jaw, on her neck—everywhere. And Ethan didn’t care about anything else but her soft lips, the feel of her fingers on his hair, the little whimpers she was making as his tongue explored her mouth.

“Now that I think about it, I can miss the rest of the movie” she spoke against his lips.

Ethan smirked “My house?” Y/N nodded eagerly.

THE SILKY SHEETS FELT SOFT AGAINST HER NAKED SKIN AND THE WARMTH OF ETHAN’S BODY MADE HER WANT TO NEVER GET UP. But it was practice day, so Ethan’s alarm went off, and they both groaned. The night had been amazing, after whispers of ‘are you sure?’ and ‘never have i ever before’, they ended up twisted in his bedsheets and the memory of the passionate rounds were the first thing that came to their minds as they woke up.

“We need to get up, Eth. You have practice” Y/N said as the sleepy boy pulled her towards him.

“But you look so pretty beneath the sun and in my sheets” he whispered, kissing her collarbone.

Y/N blushed “Come on, we have to go”

“We? Are you coming to the practice?” Ethan said excitedly.

Y/N nodded “If that’s okay”

“Yes! Prepare to be left enchanted by my hockey skills”

“I’ve seen you play hundreds of times, Eth” she laughed. “I know you’re fantastic”

“I will dedicate every score to you” he kissed her softly.

“Wow, I’m so excited and honoured” Y/N said in a high-pitched voiced.

“You’re so mean” Ethan laughed. “By the way… are you feeling okay? Aren’t first times painful?”

“Well, my legs feel a little bit weird, but I’m okay. Thank you” Y/N smiled sweetly, and he pressed his lips to her temple.

Was it too soon to say she had, maybe, fallen for him? Could he possibly feel the same? Y/N could only hope it wasn’t just a summer thing for him, because she certainly knew it wouldn’t be for her.

AUGUST HAD SIPPED AWAY LIKE A BOTTLE OF WINE AND SOON CLASSES STARTED AGAIN. And the feeling of anxiety filled Y/N’s chest. What would happen now? Would Ethan break up with Betty or was he going to let the memories of august slip away into just a moment in time? They had never talked about it, they just enjoyed their moments together.

“Well, well, she’s alive! Who would’ve thought?” the voice of Willow, her best friend, filled her ears.

“Hi, my gorgeous beautiful pretty friend” Y/N said with a guilty smile as she approached her.

“No, no. There’s not enough adjectives in the world to remediate the fact that you cancelled our plans all summer” Willow crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m sorry… I need to confess something”

Willow raised her eyebrows “I’m hearing”

“Promise not to freak out? It’s important that you stay calm, we’re in the hallway”

“I promise”

“I’ve been seeing someone during the summer” she whispered.

Willow’s eyes almost popped out of her face “Holy shit! Who?”

“Remember your promise, okay?” Y/N reminded her, and she nodded impatiently. “Ethan”.

Willow didn’t scream, or gasp, or choked in surprise. She laughed. “Oh my god, imagine!” wow, was it that unbelievable? Y/N stared at her with a serious expression and soon Willow realized it wasn’t a joke. “Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N/N? Are we talking about Ethan Landry? Captain of the team? Your brother’s friend? Mr. Popular? Betty Harnkness’ boyfriend?”

“Yes, Willow. Congratulations, you know him!”

“Don’t use that tone with me right now! Y/N he has a girlfriend”

Y/N sighed “I know, okay? And I feel a little bad. But it’s too late, okay? It’s done”

“A little bad?” Willow repeated, trying not to laugh.

“Well, it is Betty we are talking about. And are they really into each other or is just for social status?”

“Yeah… what is going to happen? Are him and Betty over? Are you two dating?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know and no” she answered. “We haven’t talked about it”

“I bet you didn’t talk at all” Willow smirked.

“Actually… we did. I mean, we did have fun doing… physical stuff but we also talked a lot” Y/N said with a smile “He’s so amazing, Willow. He’s so easy to talk to, he’s funny, sweet, laughs at my jokes, takes care of me, compliments me every chance he has, he’s an amazing kisser… he dedicated me every single score he did when he played. It was so sweet”

“Holy shit, Y/N you really fell for him”

“I know” you could almost see the sparks radiating off her.

“Well, lover girl. Let’s go to class, and then you’ll tell me all the details”

And as they walked through the hallway they caught sight of Ethan’s group. Against the lockers were Drew, Julian, Chad, Tara, Mindy, Anika, Betty and Ethan, whose arms was draped around Betty’s waist.

Y/N felt her surroundings get frozen, a knot appeared on her throat and she was pretty sure she was about to cry. Just like that, every hope and excitement left inside her turned into ashes. She wanted to keep walking, but her feet were glued to the floor.

“Fuck, Y/N/N” Willow whispered, as she saw what had left her best friend in such state “Let’s keep walking” she grabbed her friend’s hand and started to guide her towards the classroom.

But to do that, they had to walk past the group. The two friends set their eyes on their goal—the classroom—praying they wouldn’t notice them.

“Y/N/N!” shit no, no no. Willow squeezed her friend‘s hand tightly as they heard Drew calling her. She had no choice.

“It’s okay, I’m here” Willow whispered as they dragged their feet towards them.

“Hi” they said, Willow’s tone was dry while Y/N’s was just low and unstable.

“Hey, just wanted to give you these” Drew said, handing her two tickets. “For the hockey match this weekend. You are going, right?”

“I don’t know. Willow and I have plans” Y/N said, only looking at Drew.

“But it’s our last match. And we’re pretty confident we’re winning, with our star player right here” Drew said, patting Ethan’s arm. The boy laughed, and Y/N felt her heart clench at the beautiful sound.

“Yeah, Y/N/N come on. You enjoy hockey” his voice addressing her did nothing but make her want to cry in the spot. Was he mocking her? Y/N didn’t look at him, and Willow threw him a dirty glance.

“Y/N’s thing is to stay home with her lame romantic comedies” Betty’s annoying voice said.

“Shut up, Betty” Tara said harshly.

“Please? I really want you there” Drew told her.

How could she say no? She loved her brother “Okay, okay. We will be there” she faked a smiled so he won’t see how miserable she was feeling.

But he was her brother, and knew her like the back of his hand “Hey, what’s wrong?” he grabbed his sister by the cheeks, eyes reflecting how worried he was.

“Nothing” god she felt so pathetic. It was now obvious she was about to cry. And she was doing it in front of her brother’s friends, the boy who broke her heart and his girlfriend “I need to go to class, see you later”.

By the end of the day, Y/N felt absolutely defeated. Her energy was drained, the knot on her throat didn’t want to go away and her mind was making fun of her by replaying the memories of her summer love thing with Ethan. But as if God took pity on her, the last class of the day got suspended so she got to go home early.

But apparently it was the Let’s Make Y/N Feel Like Shit day, because Ethan had been waiting for her in the hood of her car, with his perfect mullet hair and his hockey jersey that looked absolutely amazing on him. She had no escape.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she spoke. Now she felt furious, how dare he show his face after that morning?

“I needed to talk to you” Ethan said in a soft voice.

“I have things to do. So, I’m really sorry, but not right now”

“By ‘things’ do you mean go home, make cookies and watch 10 things I hate about you?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“Don’t act as if you knew me” she spitted in anger.

The smile fell from his face “I do know you, Y/N/N”

“Well then, you might’ve realized that I don’t want to talk to you at all” she said, trying not to let the tears fall. Why was he there? Wasn’t the pain he put on her that morning enough?

“Please… I- I need to explain what happened. It’s not what it looked like” Ethan said.

“So, you’re telling me that you actually broke up with Betty?” she asked, already knowing what the answer would be. Ethan sighed and shook his head no. “Then it was exactly what it looked like. And you even had the audacity to mock me!”

“What?! I didn’t mock you” Ethan said truthfully.

“Y/N/N come on. You enjoy hockey” she imitated his voice. “You were mocking me. You know I don’t care about hockey, I just cared about seeing you and my brother”

“I- god yes, it sounded bad. But I swear I didn’t mean it like that. It was my way of telling you everything was okay”

“What the fuck?!” she laughed dryly “Nothing is okay, Ethan! You are still with her. And I know we didn’t state you were breaking up with her to be with me, but I just thought… I thought you would do it. That we had something going on. I thought it was more than a summer thing”.

“It was more than that, I promise. It was so much more than a summer thing. I’ve never felt something so strong towards someone”

“Then why are you still with her?”

“I… don’t know. I just-she saw me and everyone was watching us… I couldn’t break up with her. I’m sorry. With the match coming up, I didn’t want to add any unnecessary drama… I just thought it wasn’t the right time to break up”

“Unnecessary drama? The match? Are you fucking serious? It didn’t cross your mind how would I feel when I saw you with your arms around her? Well, in case you were wondering it was fucking devastating. I was just telling Willow what an amazing guy you are… how in love I am with you. And then I saw you two… it sucked, Ethan. So I’m sorry if your apologies aren’t enough. Now I need to go”

“How in love I am with you” were the words that resonated on Ethan’s head as he watched Y/N drive away. She was in love with him, and he was very much in love with her too, but he wrecked everything.

“Hey, man. What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Drew found him in the empty hallway.

“I screwed it up, Drew. I hurt her”

“What’s are you talking about?” but Ethan did nothing but sob with his head in his hands. “It’s okay, man. Just breathe, just relax, it’ll be okay”

But Ethan didn’t know if it was going to be okay. He cursed for having been so careless with the relationship, for having though that wanting would be enough. It wasn’t. He should’ve been clear with Betty. His top priority should’ve been Y/N, not Betty nor the hockey match. He ruined it, but he was going to do everything in his power to make it up to her. He was determined to win back the girl he loved.

[unboundprompts]

Hey! I love your prompts and I was wondering if you had something for angst no comfort. Person A is depressed and very deep in the hole (physically can't recognize themselves, confusion, maybe hallucinations?) But they never tell anybody about it and they try and hide it like "oh, I binge watched a show" when asked why they look so tired. Person B is super silly and is obvious/chooses to believe them

Thank you so much!!

Angst No Comfort Prompts (ft. Oblivious Friend)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"You look exhausted. You okay?" Person B’s tone is casual, light, as they glance at Person A’s hollow eyes and pale face.

Person A forces a weak smile, trying to look convincing. "Yeah, just stayed up binge-watching some show. You know how it is."

Person B laughs, shaking their head. "Classic. I knew you’d get hooked. What was it this time? Another murder mystery?"

Person A’s smile falters for a fraction of a second. "Something like that," they mutter.

Person B doesn’t notice how their hands tremble as they clutch their coffee cup, or how their eyes dart toward the shadows in the corners of the room.

"Hey, you spaced out there for a second."

Person B snaps their fingers in front of Person A’s face, jolting them back to reality. A sickly feeling of déjà vu lingers, like they’ve been drifting in and out of this same fog for days.

"Oh… sorry," Person A mumbles, rubbing their eyes. "Just… tired, I guess."

Person B grins. "Let me guess—another Netflix marathon?"

Person A forces a laugh. "Yeah, you know me."

But Person A doesn’t mention the way the world seemed to melt at the edges just moments ago, or how sometimes they aren’t sure if they’re awake or dreaming.

"Why don’t you ever want to hang out anymore?"

There’s a hint of hurt in Person B’s voice, but Person A barely hears it over the static buzzing in their head.

"I’ve just… been busy," Person A replies, swallowing the tightness in their throat. "Work's been crazy."

Person B huffs, rolling their eyes. "You’re such a workaholic. I’m coming over with takeout tomorrow. You need some fun."

Person A’s heart sinks. They can already feel the panic creeping in, the dread at the thought of having to fake normalcy for a whole evening.

"Yeah, sounds great," they lie, trying not to let their voice crack.

"Did you eat anything today?"

Person B asks casually as they rummage through the fridge. They don’t see the way Person A’s face pales at the question, don’t notice the empty bottles of water and little else on the counter.

"Oh, uh, I grabbed something earlier," Person A says, hoping it sounds convincing. "I’m not really hungry right now."

Person B nods, unfazed. "Good, because I’m starving. Want me to make you a plate anyway?"

Person A shakes their head, their stomach twisting with nausea at the thought of food. But they smile, and it’s only a little strained. "I’m good. You enjoy."

The couch cushions are lumpy from days of neglect. Person A sits in the same spot, knees drawn up to their chest, wrapped in the same blanket they’ve been using for a week. The TV is on, but the sound is low, and their gaze is fixed somewhere beyond the screen. Their phone vibrates on the coffee table, and they blink as if the sound has traveled to them from a great distance.

"You’re still watching that?"

Person B flops onto the other end of the couch, reaching for the remote. Person A forces a chuckle, dry and thin.

"Guess I got hooked."

Person B doesn’t notice the emptiness in Person A’s eyes or the way their fingers twitch restlessly against the fabric of the blanket.

The coffee cup rattles slightly as Person A sets it on the counter, their hand slipping on the smooth ceramic. The liquid sloshes over the rim, pooling on the countertop. They watch it spread slowly, their mind drifting.

"Whoa, you okay?"

Person B’s hand reaches out to steady the cup, wiping up the spill with a quick swipe of their sleeve.

"Yeah. Just… clumsy today," Person A mumbles, lips barely curving upward.

Person B grins, giving them a playful nudge. "You need more coffee, not less."

Person A manages a laugh, though it catches in their throat like a splinter.

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[throneofsapphics]

the ebb and flow of fate part 4 

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part five) (epilogue)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: She felt a tug, a thread like current weaving between the three of them, and shoved deep, deep down.

Warnings: injuries, nightmares, angst, a bit of fluff, depression, throwing up, drinking

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: I’m back ish! It felt so good to write again, this was close to finished before & I can’t promise when the next part will be out but I’m crossing my fingers for soon, I’m guessing there’ll be about 1-2 more

Cassian’s mad for several reasons. The main one being - she risked her life for him. Put herself in danger for him. He’s mad at himself as well for being … well, a complete asshole to her. But, right now it was easier to hold on to his anger than process any other kinds of emotions. Even if it’s not fair to her. 

He gazed over at the sleeping form, brows furrowed, curled up tightly on her side. 

His fault. 

It's his fault she’s in that pain, in that state. 

Assigning blame won’t help.

Won’t help a damn person. 

The door creaked open, Mor popping her head in. 

“Any change?” She asked, not bothering to look at him.

Another side-effect of the fucked up situation. His longtime friend, her sister, was pissed at him. Pissed at both him and Azriel, for reasons she wouldn’t disclose. Fuck, she only spoke to him when absolutley necessary - or to ask after y/n. 

“No,” his voice was curt, tone sharp. Mor finally looked at him, her eyes narrowed as she took another step in, leaving the door open behind her. 

“You can leave.” 

“I just got here,” he leaned back further in his chair, crossing his arms, looking away from her burning stare. 

“And you obviously don’t want to be,” the blonde snapped. 

“When did I say that?” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I want to be here,” he said through gritted teeth. Mor let out a noise of disbelief, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. With Azriel, they’d agreed not to announce their bond without speaking to her first. Whether or not the others figured it out, was up to them. 

“I do.” He insisted, still feeling Mor’s glare on him. The female left without another word, the door quietly closing behind her. 

Cassian stood, dragging his chair behind him towards the edge of the bed. Everything about this was confusing. Frustrating beyond belief. 

The door creaked again, and he opened his mouth to tell Mor to leave him the hell alone, but the scent of night mist and cedar hit him, and his mouth snapped shut. Azriel closed the door behind him, but didn’t move from it, leaning against the frame and observing them from afar. He tilted his head back, neck resting on the top of the chair as he looked at the ceiling. At this point, he knew every small swirl and indent of it. 

His attention snapped back in front of him as a small groan sounded, finding y/n’s eyes heavily blinking, darting between him and Azriel. 

“Another nightmare,” she muttered, and closed her eyes again. He couldn’t fight the small snort that left him. Apparently that’s what they were to her; a nightmare. It didn’t sit right with him, but he didn’t do anything to try and fix it. She could easily brush off anything he said as a delusion or hallucination. To him, there’s no point in fixing anything now, not with what Madja told them. 

 ‘I cannot guarantee how much she will remember - if anything.’

Maybe that could play in his favor, confess everything he wanted to - and brush it off as one of her hallucinations later on. He shook his head, throwing the idea out of it. That was cruel, and he hated himself for considering it. 

“Not a nightmare,” Az finally spoke. He knew she was still awake, but chose to ignore him. 

-

Morning dew coating the moss soaked through her clothing, drenching her back and legs. Her eyes are fixed above her, on the clouds warping in and out of different shapes. She can’t move, can’t block out the images, can’t escape the thoughts circling inside of her mind. Cruel words whispered in voices so familiar, but just out of reach.

Even the clouds seem to be her enemy, forming arrows launching across the sky. Could they be considered clouds? As far as she knows, clouds don’t move like that.

Not real. Not real. Not real. She chants in her mind. Regardless, right now this is her reality. There’s a vague awareness behind her, that this will end at some point. All things considered, this one is rather tame compared to the others. 

-

Thrown into her room, she cowers in the corner, wrapping her arms around her legs and tucking them in tight. Maybe if she makes herself small, they won’t notice. He won’t notice. They’ll finally leave her alone. 

Heavy footsteps pound across the room as she squeezes her eyes shut, if she can’t see it - it’s not real. It won’t happen. Cruel hands tighten around her arms, another slapping against her mouth to muffle her screams -

“Wake up,” a voice says. Wake up from where? The males hands brand into her, his body looming over her - 

“Wake up,” the same voice repeats. 

An invisible hand tightens around her shoulder, shaking it back and forth. She glances down, but the hand isn’t there. Only the one tightening around her upper arm, the grip bruising. 

“Wake up, y/n.”

Her screams are still muffled, her back slammed against the wood. 

Gentle fingers run across her forehead, “please,”

Nausea whirls as she’s flung back into her body, an arm steadies her as she launches forward, clutching a hand over her mouth. 

A bowl is placed in front of her, and she empties the contents of her stomach into it. Minutes pass, and she’s still heaving, her body pale and shaking. 

“Get it all out,” the same voice says. One she can recognize now. A voice she loathes, mostly for the comfort it’s bringing her now, even the real hand that's rubbing her back. 

As soon as she’s done, the bowl and its contents disappear, and she shoved the hand away, shuffling as quickly as she could to the other side of the bed, ignoring the pain shooting up her arms and legs, and tumbled out, barely catching herself on the other side of the wall. 

“Gods-damned it,” someone cursed, and she felt their presence moving in the room, at her side before she could make it to the bathroom on her own. 

“Go away,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“And let you fall on your ass?” Cassian muttered. That’s who the voice was. 

“Yes,” she manages to say, even though each breath hurts. She groans again as his arm wraps under her knees, the other behind her back. In her mind, she can pretend she’s protesting and fighting him on it, but in reality she doesn’t have the energy to. 

He deposits her in front of the sink, and hovers a few steps away like an unwelcome shadow. 

“Fuck off.” 

“A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” 

“Why should I be grateful to you? You don’t have to be here,” her hands grip the edge of the sink as she glares at him through the mirror, doing her best not to focus looking at herself. 

“Yes, I do,” he leaned against the doorframe nonchalantly, but she knew he’s observing every movement of hers, looking for any sign of weakness. 

Letting out a large sigh, she cups her hands under the water to rinse her mouth out. A small toothbrush and toothpaste appear next to her, and she thanks the house for it. At least he doesn’t call out how her hands shake with each movement, taking a few tries to actually get the toothpaste on the brush. 

A few minutes later, and she feels marginally better, some of her strength returning. 

Y/n slapped his hand away as she made her way out of the bathroom, but couldn’t stop him from hovering behind her. His shadow covers hers, engulfing her completely as she makes her way back to the bed. The bed. Her damned prison now. 

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he commented after she settled back in. 

“And you know what’s good for me now?

“Quit putting words in my mouth,” his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, “I swear if you weren’t injured i’d -” 

“You’d what?” Hazel eyes glared at her for the interruption. “Go on.” 

“No.” 

“Exactly,” she forces a grin, “you’d do nothing.” 

His head tilts back, as if he’s praying to the mother for patience. Maybe if she annoyed him enough he’ll leave her alone. 

-

She was finally in a state of somewhat lucidity, and all he’s getting is her attitude. At least her real feelings hadn’t changed much. Yesterday was a whirlwind. 

“I think I love you both,” she sighed as Azriel ran a cloth over her forehead. He froze, his entire body going still. It was one of the times they both were in the room. 

Azriel, to his credit, didn’t stop his motions. 

“Sometimes,” she continued, “even if you’ve been assholes.” 

She went on to reference something he knew hadn’t happened, and Cassian tried to think of ways he could forget those words. I love you. 

It didn’t work, her soft and gentle voice had replayed in his mind the rest of the night. Void of the venom she usually spoke to them with. 

-

“I thought we were mates at one point, but mates can’t hurt each other.” Y/n had convinced herself this was a hallucination, and didn’t feel any remorse for saying what’s been on her mind. Dream Cassian and Azriel had frozen and she let out a soft laugh. “It’s alright. This isn’t real. I’d never tell you otherwise.” 

They exchanged a look, and she was impressed with how well her subconscious could mirror their real motions. 

“At first, I wanted everything to blow over or to try and fix it. But now, it’s easier to be angry at both of you,” she turned on her side, propping herself up on one arm, face scrunching. Pain. She pushed past it. “I don’t know if I'll ever not be angry, but I heard that hate sex is enjoyable. Not that you’d ever touch me again.” 

Cassian choked, and Azriel had gone still, shadows whirling around his shoulders. 

“That’s not true,” Az’s quiet and cool voice said. 

“That’s how I know this isn’t real” she let her eyes close again, “and thank the mother for that. I’d be mortified.” 

-

“Anything,” she begged with tears streaming down her face. “Please.” 

Anything to take some of the pain away. Azriel let himself hold her, let himself wrap an arm around her shoulders, lean her shaking body into him. 

“I can’t,” he whispered. 

“Why?” Her tear filled face gazed up at him, eyes full of betrayal, “why do you keep hurting me?” 

“I’m sorry,” his thumb brushed away some of the tears, a gesture too intimate, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

She turned her head away, “if you really were sorry, you’d help me.” 

Her breaths evened out, sleep taking over her body again. Azriel wished it would mean she wasn’t in pain anymore, but the nightmares seemed to get worse as the week went on. Sometimes, she’d be frozen in place, body stiff and eyes darting rapidly behind her lids. Others, she’d thrash in the sheets so violently his shadows would intervene of their own accord, holding her in place enough for him to try and wake her. 

-

“I’m so tired,” she told Mor. “I want it to be over.” 

“It’ll pass with time.”  

“I want everything to be over.” 

Mor’s heart clenched. “Just give it time,” she pleaded, even knowing her sister wasn’t in her right mind. That this wasn’t how she really felt. 

“It’s been years,” she whispered. 

“It’s been a week,” Mor brushed away the strands of hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. “It’ll get better.” 

“Everyone says that.” 

“It’s true, Madja said so.” 

“If Madja said so,” her hand covered her yawn. 

“Get some sleep.” 

Her head shook rapidly, even as her eyes grew heavy, lids closing. “It’s worse in my sleep. I’m alone.” 

-

“You can try using your magic soon.” 

Azriel watched as her eyes lit up, a small spark coming back - as if Madja’s words had somehow breathed life into her. For some reason, he’d insisted on being present as much as possible when the healer visited. If he couldn’t be there physically, his shadows would. 

“Now?” The words were barely above a whisper. 

“We should wait for your cousin.” Her head dropped, the small spark extinguished. “In case anything happens,” Madja added, even though she didn’t need to. Y/n would understand why. If anything got out of control, Rhys would be the best option to contain her magic.

“Step out with me for a minute,” Madja murmured to him as she crossed the doorway. A few shadows lingered behind to keep an eye on her as he followed the healer out. 

The healer studied him with a startling intensity. A few decades ago, he may have been tempted to squirm under her gaze, but now it didn’t affect him. He’s used to being looked at like that - to being scrutinized with everything he does. Still, her gaze lacked the usual distrust present in others. Trust. That’s what he’d built with the healer the last two weeks - regarding his mate, at least. His mind had just become used to calling her that. There wasn’t any other word to describe it, really, even if she chose to ignore the bond once it snapped. That’s another thought he’d become used to - the very real possibility that might happen. He didn’t know if it would be him or her who would. But, he couldn’t stand the thought of her accepting it with Cassian, and not him. They hadn’t discussed that possibility either. Maybe neither of them wanted to speak the chance into existence. 

“It may snap as soon as she has full access, it may not.” 

She’s only repeating things he already knows. 

“I’m aware,” he told her. 

Her eyes narrowed at him. 

“It may … undo some of the progress made. Her mental state is fragile.” He didn’t bother telling her he’s aware of that either, he’d witnessed it himself - either directly or indirectly, he always had eyes on her. Knew every word she’d spoken over the last two weeks. 

Madja was hesitating to say something, so he prompted, “what else should I be aware of?” 

“That’s all for now.” She was hiding something from him. In most cases, he’d figure it out in time. Azriel normally prided himself on his patience, but he’s found when it comes to y/n’s … health, he has little of it. 

“What is it?” He fought to keep his voice cool and steady. 

“I’m still looking into long term effects, although I don’t anticipate many.” Many. Meaning there still will be some. “Keep it between us,” she warned him. 

His brows flicked up slightly at that, but he assured her he would, before slipping back through the door. 

“It’s you again,” she huffed as he entered.

That’s how he knew she was lucid. The attitude and disdain. 

“Thought you’d be happy, getting your magic back.” 

“If it actually happens.” 

Something pricked the back of his neck. “What does that mean?” 

“You think I haven’t been trying?” 

Azriel pushed down his anger. Most of it. “I don’t need to tell you how stupid that is, do I?” 

“You lose your magic for a few weeks, tell me what you think.” 

He’d experienced it temporarily, through ash arrows, but never to this extent. Still, sharp and perhaps distasteful words left him, “I think you’re being reckless.” 

She blinked a few times, a type of haze coming over her eyes. “What if I never get it back?” Just above a whisper, like earlier, but this time filled with dread. 

“Then you adapt,” Azriel said, much gentler. There was a very slim possibility of that happening, but he wouldn’t deny it completely to her. That’s what he’d always brought her, honesty, and he wouldn’t change it now.  

“It’s like … missing a limb.” 

There weren’t any words of comfort he could provide, instead he crossed the room and tugged her to his side. At first, she froze against him, but he ran his fingers through her hair, and slowly she melted, letting herself relax against him. Something he didn’t feel he deserved. 

-

She didn’t lose her magic, and thank the gods because that would’ve snapped the last strand of her sanity. Sanity she felt like she was barely hanging on to at this point. 

Although reality was distorted, some things were clear to her. Cassian and Azriel had been there the most, but she didn’t know whether or not that was by their choice. She didn’t want to know. 

A month later, one particular nightmare hadn’t gone away. 

She was in a town square. Not Velaris, but Autumn. Where her ex-friend lived. 

“I told you I wouldn’t let anything come between us,” a haunting voice whispered, and their wings … her scream was guttural as two pairs of wings dropped, echoing on the stone. 

Her hand covered her mouth, trying to muffle the remnants of the scream, before remembering the shield she’d put up for this reason. 

She had to know they were alright, that they were alive. Logically, she knew it was just a nightmare, but  couldn’t stay in this room any longer. She fled from the room like it was on fire, bare feet stumbling against the carpet, arms shoving the door open in front of her. 

Two familiar scents and heartbeats in Azriel’s room. Relief flooded through her. It would be too much to barge into there, but at least she knew they were alive now. She retreated down the hall, instead bracing her arms on a window sill, taking in the full moon casting light over Velaris. 

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she heard the door open, two pairs of almost silent footsteps approaching behind her. In the reflection, their eyes met. Both of them looked vaguely concerned. 

“Just … needed to check you’re alright,” she offered an explanation. Not that she needed to, but it’s better than letting their imaginations run wild. 

“Nightmare?” Cassian’s voice was soft and gentle. She hated his tone, hated that it comforted her. Words didn’t want to work, so she nodded. 

Azriel didn’t speak, but held a hand out to her. Slowly, she turned back around, pinching her arm to make sure this was real. His eyes tracked her movement, flashing slightly in recognition but his body remained still and she placed her hand in his, his warm and calloused hand closing over hers. 

Heart pounding and threatening to burst out of her chest, her rapid breaths warmed the air before her as they crossed the threshold. He pulled her towards his bed, pulling the covers back and gently pushing between her shoulder blades. Cassian climbed in on the other side. Said male wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her into his chest. Azriel’s body fell into place behind hers, as if this was the most natural position for the three of them. She felt a tug, a thread like current weaving between the three of them, and shoved deep, deep down. Like fate was trying to weave the three of them together, to mend and straighten something warped and misaligned by time and stupid decisions. An ache spreading through her chest, mind working overtime to try and figure out what the hell that meant. 

“Relax, princess,” Cassian cut off her spiral, his large hand cupping the back of her head, guiding her to rest right where she could hear his heartbeat. Normally, the nickname was teasing - designed to get a reaction out of her, but now it felt gentle, a term of endearment.  

A sense of calm overtook her, and her heart quit trying to explode, slowing to match his. Azriel ran soothing circles with his thumb, right above her hip bone. Her eyes shuttered closed and she fell asleep between the two warm bodies. 

-

It had been a split second decision, and as Azriel watched them sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Sleep was almost foreign to him, but watching them sleep peacefully, feeling her soft body pressed against his, was almost enough. Maybe he should feel jealous of how she melted into Cassian with a few words, her taut and tense body unwinding, but content filled that space instead. 

They heard her stumbling down the hall. She hadn’t left the room for nightmares since … before. The footsteps paused for a moment before his door, before retreating. That’s when he knew it had been about them, whatever had happened in her sleep. They didn’t need to communicate with each other before leaving the room to track her down. 

His only intention was to check on her, just to see she’s alright. Still, even as her hand reached out for him he meant to bring her back to her room, to close the door and leave, but as soon as her skin met his, he headed in the opposite direction. 

Cassian hadn’t questioned him, hadn’t acted as if anything was out of the ordinary. The threads winding them together practically took on a life of its own as it sang with joy at having her this close, at having her safe between them. Where she belongs. He cleared the thought from his mind. Only if she wants to be there. Did she feel it too?

He wasn’t naive enough to think the nightmares would disappear because of their presence, and sure enough her body stiffened. Cass noticed and his sleepy eyes blinked open, meeting him with concern, almost asking; do we wake her? 

I don’t know, he replied honestly. 

Small whimpers left her. Not the sweet kind of her reacting to their touch, whimpers of pain. Cassian’s hand reached out, running his thumb back and forth over her cheek. Like he was some kind of instant drug, her body relaxed again. 

Do we wake her? He looked at him again. Azriel shook his head, and laid down on the pillow, this time tugging an arm around her waist and bringing her closer to him. 

Cassian’s mouth curved at the corner in amusement, but he ignored him and placed a kiss to her hair, taking pleasure in how she snuggled further into the pillows, one hand covering his own - holding it there. 

-

She woke to warm sheets that weren’t her own, her back pressed against a warm body, another caging her front in. Opening her eyes might end this dream, might ruin whatever moment this is. Her nails dug into her palm, a small hint of pain running through. Real, this was real. She wiggled, trying to dislodge the arm slung tightly over her stomach. 

“Stop,” Azriel’s said, his voice hoarse and sleepy. If that’s how he sounds in the morning, maybe she should try to sneak in here more often. But, she didn’t listen, and shifted her hips again. Something hard brushed against her backside. Fuck. The arm tightened around her, one leg crossing to pin hers in place. 

“I said, stop.” 

This time, she listened. Warm breath brushed against her neck, a sigh of relief. 

Warm rays of sun peeked through the curtains, casting a glow on the bed. They rarely slept past sunrise. Actually, they never did, as far as she knew. 

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” she murmured quietly, not wanting to wake Cassian. 

“I didn’t want to leave.” 

“Don’t you have work to do?” Her pulse fluttered. 

“Are you trying to kick me out of my own room?” 

She shook her head rapidly, and he let out a low chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How long have you been awake?” 

“Long enough to hear you snore.”

“I do not.” 

“You do,” Cassian’s sleepy voice said this time. 

“Rude.” 

Azriel’s leg released hers, his arm loosening enough to give her some room to make space between them. Reluctantly, she did so. Her eyes trailed to the clock. One hour until she needed to be at the library. 

Limbs heavy, she sat up, pushing the sheets down to climb out of the bed. Cassian’s hand reached towards hers, before stopping, falling back to his side. 

“Thank you,” she said, voice just above a whisper, and climbed off, pausing at the doorway, messy hair flipping over her shoulder. They looked at her, some expression she couldn’t read, and left. Neither followed her or said a word, she wished they would. Maybe she’s relying too much on them to make any kind of move. Still, it’s normal for friends to cuddle … right? 

Ever since she’d fallen … ill, they’d changed. They acted almost like they had before, with an extra tension, and it was giving her whiplash. Nothing had been cleared, despite the ‘olive branch’ they’d offered, there wasn’t any discussion of the past. Instead, it seemed like they were avoiding the topic at all costs, despite her hinting towards it. Their temporary peace couldn’t last forever, nothing good did. 

Since that night she ran into the hall, she hadn’t sought them out again. Mainly from fear they would reject her. Turn their backs on her. She wondered if they wished she would. Maybe she could test that theory, if she finally grew the courage to do so. 

As always, they found a way to piss her off. Acting  like they had a right to her, going as far as to scowl at any males that tried to approach her on their nights out. Any time she went out with her sister, they found reasons to be there, and she got into with Cassian one morning. 

“We’re not together, quit acting like it.” 

Hurt flashed through his eyes, gone as quick as it came. “Fine,” he’d replied, and left like a fire was lit under his ass. 

She found herself regretting the words, but she felt an inexplicable need to build a wall between them. That she was getting too close to them. Making it too easy for them to rip her heart out again. She tugged down the top of her shirt, fingers grazing over the tattoo on her collarbone. They hadn’t released her from the bargain, although they easily could’ve. Was it from care? Or for something to hold over her head? 

-

She watched in slow motion as a female pressed up on her toes, and planted a kiss right on Cassian’s mouth, her hands balancing on his shoulders. 

“Push her away,” she pleaded to the universe. Instead, his eyes stayed open, finding hers as he wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer to him. She’d brought it upon herself, she supposed. “We’re not together, quit acting like it.” 

If he wanted to play that game, she could too, and a fire lit under her. 

His eyes flashed; your move, he seemed to say. 

Watch me. She answered.

“Can you help me out with something?” She whispered to a female friend of hers.

Her eyes lit up, “I’m all ears.”

-

As soon as y/n had turned away, he gently turned down the female who’d kissed him, and felt a bit guilty as she scoffed and stormed away. Not guilty enough to do anything about it. His entire body had recoiled against it, screaming to him that it’s wrong. 

But, she’s the one who clearly stated they’re not together. 

He grabbed his drink, tilting his head back to let the liquid burn down his throat. 

“It’s good to see her getting out there,” Rhys commented wryly. Cassian snapped his head to him. 

“What?” 

“Y/n,” he said too innocently.

He turned slowly and watched as she danced with a female friend of hers, hips slowly grinding against each other, arms twining around each other's necks. Then, their lips met. He didn’t think she’d actually take his subtle challenge. 

Rhys clapped a hand on his shoulder. Cassian couldn’t force himself to move, if she wanted her fun - she could have it. He could play this game, even as it tore into him. 

Apparently, Azriel couldn’t. The shadowsinger intercepted the two of them,  tugging her away from the other female's embrace. Right, he hadn’t found the time to inform him of their … discussion, this morning.

A smirk crossed her friend's face. She’d done this on purpose, he already suspected, but now he had his confirmation.  

Small fists beat against Azriel’s back as he stormed out, y/n thrown over his shoulder, her friend laughing in the background. 

“Why are you waiting?” 

He scowled at Rhys’s voice in his mind, but slid a gold mark on the counter, more than covering his tab, before following them out the door. Cassian had a strong feeling Rhys knew of the bond, even if he kept his mouth shut. 

Azriel had paused in front of the building, waiting for him. As he approached, y/n was still spewing curses at him, her face slowly turning red. One of Azriel’s arms was wrapped securely around her thighs, holding her in place. There’s no way for her to escape his hold, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t trying. There’s a small shield around his wings, keeping her from using that to her advantage. 

Azriel shot him a look, and he picked up his pace. 

“Quit it,” he muttered to the female, his hand lightly slapped her ass. The surprise was enough to still her for a moment, letting Azriel snatch his arm and winnow the three of them to the townhouse. 

-

Azriel finally let her down, and she glanced around them, noticing he’d taken them directly to his room.

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered too mildly. 

Oh, he was pissed. She shot a look at Cassian, she’d expected he would relay their conversation, but maybe she shouldn’t have counted on him for that. Azriel followed her gaze. 

“And you, apparently,” the next statement was directed at Cassian. The other male looked completely unapologetic, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders.  

“She made it crystal clear we’re not together.” 

“Really?” Azriel tilted his head, fixing that searing gaze back on her as he closed the gap between them.

Against her will, her heart raced as he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“We’ve never been together,” she managed to say. “You don’t have a claim to me.” 

His mouth indented at the corner, but it wasn’t a smirk of amusement - more like barely concealed irritation and anger. “That’s where you’re wrong.” 

“Excuse me?” She tried to wrangle her chin from his grasp, but he only tightened his grip. Instead, she looked to Cassian. A slight shake of his head, and she redirected her attention to Az.

“I won’t repeat myself.” 

“Then explain.” 

“If you can’t figure it out yourself, I can’t help you.” His hand dropped, and she missed the touch on her skin. 

-

“How do you expect me to understand if you don’t tell me?” Y/n exploded, fists clenching at her side. He knew he shouldn’t have dragged her out of there, but he couldn’t stand to watch her there, in another's arms. Holding her how he should be. 

Still, Azriel had waited so patiently for her to figure it out herself, he could wait a little longer. Apparently Cassian couldn’t. 

“You’re our mate.” 

The temperature in the room plummeted. Not literally, but shivers ran down her spine, goosebumps covering her arms. Her eyes darted rapidly between the two of them, forming some kind of conclusion. 

He counted each second. Forty-seven, before she spoke. Less than a minute. 

“Do you expect me to forget everything? To fall to my knees for you now?” She spit

He pressed his lips into a tight line, and prayed Cassian wouldn’t rise to the bait. He needs to stop praying and hoping where that male is concerned. 

“I’d never turn down a chance to see you on your knees, princess.” 

Azriel groaned. 

“You’ll never see it.” 

“Want to bet-” he caught the look Azriel pinned him with, and shut his mouth mid sentence. Y/n looked too pleased at the turn of events, but he couldn’t take that away from her now - not without making a bigger mess to clean up. She stormed from the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. 

Fuck patience, fuck letting fate run it’s course, the truth is in the air now. He’s sick of waiting. 

Azriel flung the door open, taking off after her, Cassian on his heels. 

She tried to slam the door to her room on them, and he wedged his foot in between, forcing it wide open.  

“Leave me alone,” she snarled. 

“So you can block us out?” Cassian countered, shouldering past him to cross the threshold. 

“You deserve it,” his heart thumped in his chest as she switched her gaze to him. “You both do.” 

“What the hell did we do?” Cassian took another step towards her, forcing her to back up. 

-

“I thought you were smarter than that,” she flung his words back in his face. She saw the hurt cross his face, looking vaguely like a kicked puppy. A small sliver of guilt filled her, but a vindictive anger overtook that - good, she wanted him to feel how they made her feel. Even if it was cruel, karma deserved to be thrown back in their faces. The bond may have snapped in her at that moment, but it took less than a minute for her to come to a conclusion. Like hell she’d lay down and make it easy for them, or for herself. It means nothing if she doesn’t accept it. That was a lie, she knew it, but if she repeated it enough to herself maybe she’d believe it. 

They shattered her before, and she had to build herself back together. The temporary peace they’d hovered in was never going to last. 

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[syluscore]

Every Version of You

A reverse harem with three variants of Leon Kennedy and feminine reader.

An average day, nothing noteworthy. Until someone intercepts you and your partner a week before you’re gearing up to head out for an assignment. Now there’s nothing average about today, nothing is normal anymore. You’ll never understand. Is it time travel? Is his soul broken apart and now manifesting different versions of himself? All you know is that an older version of Leon is here, insisting he had to come back to save your life with the help of a trusted few. And for some reason his younger self from when you two first met and survived Racoon City together is also here. When your Leon is swept away on a mission to rescue the president’s daughter from a cult in Spain, you’re left to try and prevent your coming death with his past and future self. When he returns, how do you confront everything that has come to the surface with the other two? Will you be able to prevent your ultimate demise? It’s going to take every version of him in order to save yourself.

~ Masterlist ~ Next Part ~

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

SONGS: Always - Bon Jovi and Work Song - Hozier

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR PART ONE: drunkenness, pining, repressed romantic feelings, death, depression, anxiety, tension, kidnapping, violence, drugging, water submersion, self-depreciation, thoughts of dying, desire to die, heartache, angst, hurt with no comfort

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! THIS POST AND BLOG ARE 18+ ONLY!!!!!!!!

PART "CHAPTER" ONE:

“I can’t sing a love song, like the way it’s meant to be.” You belt out the lyrics to the last song you remember playing in the bar before the alcohol completely took over. Despite your words slurring, you did your best to mimic the sultry rock tone of Bon Jovi.

“God, you’re so drunk,” Leon laughs as he tries to keep you up right as you make your way down the dark, city streets. 

The only other patrons on this road are other drunks. All of the businesses beyond the bar are closed up and dark. You can still hear the music from the bar thumping in the distance.The late night air is chilly, but you’re too obliterated to take much notice of the goosebumps littering your exposed skin.

“Nooooooo,” you whine at Leon. “You’re supposed to sing the next part. This is a duet, Leon, come on!”

He stares down at you with an amused look on his face. “I’m not doing a Bon Jovi duet with you at 3 am in the middle of the street.”

You pout at him, stopping in your tracks in defiance. He tries to continue pulling you along, but you hold the heels of your feet firmly in place on the cobblestone. The rough texture of the restored downtown district usually pissed you off. You were always tripping over yourself on the uneven terrain, but tonight it’s helping ground you in place. You subconsciously apologize to the ground for all the times you’ve cursed it.

“I can’t sing a love song, like the way it’s meant to be.” You sing the same lyric as earlier loudly, your tone absolutely atrocious. 

Leon sighs before finally giving in, replying with the next line. “Well, I guess I’m not good anymore, but baby, that’s just me.”

You squeal joyfully at his rock ballad impression before clinging to his arm again, allowing him to continue guiding you down the road.

You’re practically screaming at this point, “And I will love you, baby, always. And I’ll be there forever and a day, always.” 

Leon knows he’s lost the battle. Your drunken mind knows no ration, so he sings along with you quietly. He fights the smile threatening to overtake his face, not wanting to encourage you further.

But it’s too late. When he gave in during your small fit, that was all the motivation you needed to give the city street the performance of your life. 

As you continued singing, your hazy mind couldn’t keep track of the lyrics. Leon just shakes his head as you get the words completely wrong. 

He stuffs the warm feeling in his chest down, locking it away as he always does. He doesn’t like how endearing he finds you. The way you carry yourself so carefreely. You’re boldly and unapologetically yourself. It’s everything Leon wishes he could be. He never allows himself to think any deeper on the feelings inside of him. Nothing good ever comes from him expressing the intricacies of the branches growing and entwining deeply in his chest. 

You’ve got your claws deeply embedded into his person. He has killed for you before, many times, and he will do it again without a second thought. You’re his best friend, his partner, his twin flame, but he refuses to vocalize what you mean to him. 

The world is a shitshow filled with unspeakable horrors and ill intent. Boldly caring for anything makes you vulnerable. If you have nothing, then there isn’t anything for the world to steal from you. His life is already overly complicated. He’s merely a prop for the US government. Nothing but a tool, or more accurately a weapon. He’s the weapon they use against bioweapons. A machine that serves its intended purpose and is expected to maintain itself as it sits idly by before it’s needed again.

He finds comfort in this fact somehow. An object doesn’t need to feel or process emotions. It enables him to push down his trauma and function day to day without breaking apart at the seams. If he detaches himself from the physical world enough, going through the motions is a piece of cake. Maybe he’s not living, maybe he’s merely existing, but when he’s with you… he feels everything. He wants to stay in the secureness of being numb, safe and sound within his own walls.

He shouldn’t have agreed to hit up the bar with you tonight. But after being briefed on your next assignment, you needed to be plastered to cope with the new horrors you’d be dealing with. And the truth was Leon cared about you extensively, so he could get through tonight. He’ll drop your drunk ass off at home and then seclude himself from you until it’s time to go on your assignment together. 

“Oh fuck,” you holler as you trip over your own feet, exposed knees crashing into the ground beneath you. You hiss at the stinging of new scrapes on your skin. 

Leon crouches down and attempts to help you up, but you’re super unsteady as your legs shake underneath you. 

“We need to get your drunk ass home before you completely self-destruct.”

You giggle up at him before your eyes connect with his. Your mind goes completely blank as you soften beneath his gaze. This is what it means to get lost in someone’s eyes, it must be. The alcohol running through your system is making it hard to ignore all the pesky feelings you’re able to brush off–to stuff deep down when you’re sober.

What if he leaned down and kissed you right now? What if he finally closed the gap between the two of you? What if he completed those broken pieces of yourself and made you whole again? Finally giving into six long years worth of tension? Your eyes fall down to his plump, wet lips before rising back up to meet his stare. You subconsciously lick your lips in anticipation. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as the pace of your breathing picks up. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you want nothing more than to extinguish the flames, but in the back of your mind you know you want to ignite them further.

Neither one of you break the stare down raging between you two somewhere in the middle of this forgotten street. You could be literally anywhere and it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference. Wouldn’t change a fucking thing. But you know that’s just the loneliness and liquor talking. He’s your Leon, it’s not like that. He’s not like that. You’re not like that. Right?

You’re so lost in one another that you don’t notice the sounds and shifting air around you until it’s too late. While you were lost in your own bubble, you left yourself vulnerable and exposed to the world around you. And it seems the world took advantage of that fact.

Suddenly arms are wrapped around your cowering frame. A hand comes up and covers your mouth, muffling the startled scream tumbling from your throat.

Leon darts forward to pull the person off of you when two men you don’t recognize grab either of his arms and pull him back away from you. His elbows are flying into their sides, his nails digging into their skin. His knees and legs kicking out as he fights to break from their holds on him.

“Don’t make me do this, Leon,” a deep voice speaks to him, but it doesn’t change anything. Leon keeps fighting against them. The man lets out a heavy sigh before swinging his free arm and punching Leon hard in the face, his body instantly going limp at the impact.

You realize you’re crying and whimpering as you shake in the man’s arms. His tight grip on you hasn’t faltered for even a second. You’re powerless, a helpless feeling taking over your entire being. You have no fight in you tonight. You’re too drunk and you immediately regret allowing yourself to be in such a state.

“I’m so sorry.” The man holding you removes his hand from your mouth, but before you can say anything, there’s a stabbing pain in the side of your throat. Your eyes shoot in the direction of his arm, seeing him pulling a now empty syringe away from you. You’ve been drugged. You want to panic, but a fuzzy feeling seeps its way into your muscles and bones. Before you’ve even processed the sudden turn of events, darkness wraps around you like a blanket.

You have no choice but to allow yourself to fall into it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Waking up feels like you’re trapped underwater. The world is so far away, the only sound surrounding you being your own heart beat thrumming in your ears and the movement of the water flowing around you. Your limbs feel limp, your body weightless. The only thing you can do is allow yourself to sink into it, to embrace the sensations.

But then you begin to open your eyes.

Everything is out of focus, distorted as if looking through someone else’s glasses. You have to force yourself to blink, taking all of your energy to lift your heavy eyelids. 

You can’t help it. You let them fall shut again. Even with your eyes closed, it feels like the world is spinning around you, but at least the ache behind your eyelids stops.

You almost give yourself back over to sleep. Almost. 

You feel hands gripping your arms, shaking you. You assume the person is trying to wake you up and you try to force yourself up, but your blood feels thick in your veins. That under water feeling growing inside your body as well. The feeling is almost peaceful so you cling to it.

The memories start to trickle into your brain that feels like it’s vibrating inside of your skull.

You shoot your eyes open and look down, attempting to focus your eyes as you force yourself to blink rapidly. You feel so fucking high and there’s nothing you can do other then beg yourself to please come down. Even as your eyes start to focus, your brain feels trapped behind a barrier and you still can’t get any appendage attached to this useless body to just move.

This isn’t working. You close your eyes again, instead focusing on your breathing. In, hold, then out. In, hold, then out. Rinse, lather, repeat. You can feel your lungs expanding and retracting over and over in your chest; the feeling has your anxiety rising.

But it’s finally working. Somehow, some way, the anxiety is awakening your nerves and pushing the drugged out feeling away. 

It probably takes twenty or thirty minutes to come back to yourself enough to comprehend what’s happening around you, but it finally does. And what you see has you feeling even more high.

You’re laying on some dingy, old couch. The room around you is dark and dank. It’s somewhere between a basement and a dungeon. The more you look around, the more you think it’s more dungeon leaning. 

You slowly manage to sit yourself up, using every ounce of strength you have to achieve it. You take more deep breaths before pushing yourself up, barely managing to steady yourself as you stand and your knees threaten to give out beneath you. More deep breaths and your head stops spinning, allowing you to open your eyes again. 

The room is small;  just the couch, a lamp, and a door. 

A few shaky paces forward and you’re at the door. Up close, you can see that the old door isn’t closed all the way. Placing one hand on the door frame for balance, you reach forward with the other slowly pushing the door open. And what you see has your head reeling more than the drugs.

This room is much larger than the previous one, the high ceilings nearly three times higher than the previous. Two men stand at a control panel surrounding a large tank of… water? It looks like bubbly, murky, thickened water. Another man stands away from the others, looking lost and out of place in a shadowy corner of the room.

But those are the least concerning elements. What has you screaming out in shock is the man up on the metal platform above the tank holding an unconscious Leon in his arms. It looks like he’s moments from dropping Leon into the mysterious vat of liquid and it has panic overtaking your system.

Every man in the room's attention darts to you at your sudden outburst.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a man with a thick accent speaks from the control panel.

“What are you doing to him? What the fuck is going on?” You wheeze out. The room grows silent except for your heavy breathing and the weird humming noises coming from inside the tank.

Adrenaline takes over, your survival instincts kicking in as you rush towards the tank, ready to do anything to get Leon away from this death trap.

You throw yourself at the ladder attached to the platform above the tank, ready to do whatever it takes to save him. But large muscular arms wrap around you, trapping your arms at your side.

You kick and scream, anything to break free of his grasp, but to no avail. He’s so much larger than you. Even without the drugs lingering in your system, you’re still not sure you’d stand a chance against him. You’re the damsel in distress, nothing but a sitting duck waiting for your hero to come rescue you.

But the ever dependable hero is in immediate danger, mere feet above his ultimate demise. 

“You ready?” The accented man speaks to the man above the tank.

“Whenever you are.” A gruff voice responds from above. 

The accented man starts counting backwards from ten as the other man starts to move Leon towards the edge, ready to toss him in like nothing but a rag doll.

You’re screaming, pleading, begging them to stop. You’re in hysterics and all of the men ignore you. No one even bothers to spare you a second glance.

You’re completely helpless. You can’t save him. You’ve failed him as you always do. You know if it was you in his position, he’d have saved you effortlessly. He’d never allow you to die like this. He’d never allow you to die at all, but you can’t return that simple fucking favor. 

Please let me be next. Throw me in after him. I could never live knowing I allowed him to die as if he was nothing. He’s everything. If I can’t save him, take me with him. I’ll follow him even in death. What’s a world without Leon Kennedy? I don’t want to know, please don’t make me know.

Your heart shatters as you watch Leon’s limp body fall into the vat of liquid. The man at the control panel flips a giant lever and the liquid glows. The light from the tank is blinding as the man holding you releases you to cover his own eyes. 

You’ve always been a coward and you refuse to be as your best friend dies in front of you. You force your eyes to stay open through the excruciating pain burning in them. 

But then as quickly as it appeared, the light disappears. The man on the platform has collapsed, unconscious above the tank. And weirdly enough, the man lingering in the shadows has collapsed as well. 

You can’t stop the tears as they fall down your face, a sob breaking through your lips as the realization sets in. The tank is empty. Leon is no longer inside.

Did they fucking incinerate him?

You fall to your knees as you shake, your entire body crumbling as the situation truly sets in.

I’m so sorry, Leon. I’m sorry for being such a useless piece of fucking shit. Wherever you are, reach through to me and smite me dead with you. Drag me to the other side with you. Don’t make me stay in a world where you don’t exist. 

I’ll never let you down again. I’ll remind you every day how much you fucking mean to me. You can’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. There’s no me without you. 

You’ve always been larger than this world, Leon, but it’s nothing without you. The world was never worthy of you, and neither was I. But don’t fucking leave me. There’s so many things I haven’t said, too many things I haven’t said. And I’ll forever hate myself for it. 

If your heart isn’t beating, then mine doesn’t deserve to beat either. I’ll rip the fucking thing from my chest to follow you wherever you are now. It beats for you and I think it always has, since the day I fucking met you. 

If not this life then I’ll be yours in the next. I won’t be stupid anymore, I fucking swear it Leon.

I love you Leon Scott Kennedy. I fucking love you. 

And the afterlife can’t fucking have you. I know you and I know that you can look God in the face and fight, kicking and screaming, your way back to me. It’s not your time. All the time in the world would never be enough time to spend with you.

So you bring your ass straight back here and I’ll fall to my knees, devote my life to you. I’ll pray to you if it’s what you ask of me. You are my purpose and there is no meaning to this bullshit life without you in it.

I never got the chance to properly and loudly love you. Never got the chance to show you I love you. You left this world not knowing how much you were loved. And none of it is right. I’ll burn this world down for you, Leon. I don’t care if you want me to or not. This place will not go on without you. I promise, my love. 

If you don’t come back to this world, there will be no world for any mother fucker to ever come back to. No one is more worthy than you and I’ll never allow them to feel as if they are. As if any mortal soul could ever begin to compare.

You’re supposed to stay with me to the end. This can’t be the end. Is this the end? I refuse to accept this ending. I’ll rewrite the whole fucking book until it’s structured around nothing but your happy ending, Leon.

Leon. Not my Leon. I’ve lost you before you were even mine to lose. You left without knowing I’m yours.

[suguru-getos]

fractures // geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 4

links: part 1 / part 2 / part 3

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: only five more days left to finally be able to leave the geto estate, however with an environment so brutal & scathing… the reader is slowly losing her will to keep going, and her hopes with it.

warnings: depressed reader, geto is being a cunty bitch as always (but hes softened a teensy bit if you squint), trying to provide the resder comfort in his own way. degradation. not beta’d by me i’m a lazy ass bitch :33

you sat lonesome, devastated & absolutely crushed below the shower. the way the cold water drenched your hair, every hit of it against your skin reminding you of the fact that you were alive, still alive unfortunately. and will be alive, until geto suguru gets what he’s promised. the money. its been close to an hour and your skin has started to wrinkle apart, you are so lost in your thoughts that your mind forgets to register how cold you feel with the shivering. the white marble flooring of the bathroom against your bare bottom & the soles of your feet a constant reminder of the coldness.

“y/n.” a voice echoed from outside the expensive glassed sliding door of the bathroom. it sounds like a fake echo amidst the stormy thoughts you’re battling.

“Y/N!” the voice snapped louder, and you jerked at the shocking bellow. flinching and getting pulled from your mind to what’s real. “yes?” you answered meekly, getting up on your now wobbly feet with how long you had been sitting the same and twisting the shower nozzle to stop.

“just checking if you had died.” manami’s voice scoffs from outside the door, footsteps walking away from you and sounding delightfully fainter.

you want to kill everyone & yourself. these people were so beyond powerful that you didn’t know humans could… do that.

begrudgingly, passionately hatefully, you got up and wandered to wear clothes and apply any cream that could soothe your now dry & angry skin. that’s when you see the girls.

mimiko & nanako, peeking through the door and humming. “you are pretty.” one of them smiles, “shame you’re nothing but a monkey.” she pouted, the one with brown, whiskey-kin hair. you blink, unsure how to respond to something that sounded awfully unclear. “what do you mean when you say monkey?” you asked, sighing.

the girls invited themselves in, putting your food beside you. “geto sama wants you to eat.” the raven haired little girl numbly reiterated. you nodded, unsure why they respected the monster so much. then again, you also think he is insanely kind to everyone but you. oh how fun.

“funny he didn’t bring me an animal bowl since he called me a mutt.” you scoffed, you know the life within you brimming and enflamed could one day kill you. maybe it should. oh no… you’re starting to feel depressed. why else do you think so frequently that you should rather fucking die?

“mimiko, nanako, you both are excused.” the velvety hum of geto’s voice from the entrance of your door echoed. it sent instant chill in your spine, the color of blood & fear mingled into the reminding dark red that oozed from the word ‘monkey’. the girls listened to him as if he was all they ever had. conflicting, the tender tone he used for those teenagers was conflicting.

he walks in, hands in front with the gojo-gesa making him look even more majestic than he is. he is tall, bigger than you, and his cologne is perfect. you wondered if he dresses like this to hide the real him. the rotten, unemotional, sadistic bastard.

“did you like sleeping on the floor yesterday?” he hums, clearly in a mood to stab your barely healed psyche wounds. “yes, it was comfortable. i’m sure sleeping on the bed must have been quite uncomfortable.” your sarcasm is biting, you haven’t had a good sleep thanks to him. “get used to it, little mutt.” he shrugs, “get used to it until your pathetic parents can gather the money they are demanded.”

you sigh, right. money… “i am.” the fight within you is flickery, and you never know what might rub geto the wrong way & suddenly your whole body is chopped up. “you clean up bearable.” geto hums again, his eyes flickering towards how devastatingly gorgeous you look post shower.

“i know.” you respond again, waiting, bracing. he is here to hurt you anyway. he’s doing that everyday ever since you’re here. “the girls brought you food, eat.” he sounds demanding suddenly, breaking the chain of your vile overthinking.

“is it poisoned?” you snarkily replied. rolling your eyes. you have come to the delusional conclusion that this “geto” person wouldn’t kill you. until he has the money that is… that is the sole reason why your mouth hasn’t stopped.

suguru’s gaze almost softens, you look pale, having lost a lot of blood. he remembers how bruised your skin looked, and you look like you have easily lost a few pounds. he has come to a conclusion that he doesn’t like damaged goods. even when he’s returning them. that is a much better explaination than the other one that meekly whispers to his heart: he has a soft spot for a fucking monkey!

“it’s not. i am fully capable of stuffing that useless mouth full.” he answers, equal bite to his tone. oh his words scathe and burn you, but they do the same to him. they feel like branding on his skin. especially when the light in your eyes fades a little more at his sentences. you hesitantly take a bite, then another… and another. you didn’t know you were ‘this’ hungry, because you could swear the plates are finished in a few minutes. suguru feels a motherly joy upon seeing you like this, before he forcibly snaps himself out. “five more days, then you’re a free girl.” he hums, wanting to see the excitement in your eyes of finally ridding yourself off of him. to his surprise, there was none.

“if i am alive by then.” you hummed, there was no malice in your words, no ill-intent, no insight to piss him off. that’s what HURTS him. it feels like the wrath of a thousand suns is coming for him. you actually… feel that you wouldn’t survive.

for you, its because you want to give up. maybe kill yourself, maybe let him kill you. the idea of a ‘life’ after this whole ordeal seems draining. it would take so much to heal from it; and you’re becoming more and more unsure with every passing day.

suguru gets up, glancing your way once more. you are torturing him just by breathing. “if you had one last wish, what would it be?” he asks, partially to see any emotion apart from the numb on your face. be it fear.

you looked at him, “that you don’t tell my parents i’m dead. tell them i escaped & wouldn’t return.”

he widens his eyes, the frog in his throat unbearably tight. he clears his throat to sound the same distinct monotonous, unkind tone. “they should be happy their daughter is dead if you were to… stop… breathing.” he has to strain the last two words out of him. his jaw tightening.

“a-after all, what use are you to them? you are giving them stress while they try to collect money for you. to save you. and here you are, so okay with your demise.” there is a questionable vigor in his tone. as if he’s trying his best to stop you from killing yourself. “the only reason you’re still alive is because they promised the money.” and… not because suguru can’t bring himself to kill you. yeah, that’s it.

tears sting your eyes, your heart feels heavy. you don’t want to die either… you’re just tired god damn it! “what’s your full name?” you asked him, trying to deviate from the topic.

suguru is taken aback at that change, why do you want to know more about him? “geto suguru.” he hums, responding rather conceited.

“during sunset.” he begins again, unsure why he’s saying what he’s about to say. kicking himself for it. “the gardens… look exceptionally beautiful.”

you raised a brow, curiosity brinming within your bones. “if you don’t wish to die even one bit, a walk might help.” he gets up with that, leaving for the exit. before doing so, he stands at the entrance, “should you want to be a good daughter who is at least breathing when she meets her parents, i would be there in the gardens too. an unwelcomed and imposed company.”

you don’t have an answer to that. except a sigh of relief when he leaves, he didn’t hurt you today… until now. how relieving…

what you don’t know is geto is leaned against that very door, replaying this conversation over and over in his head like a stuck tape-recorder. almost choking at the way you were. maybe he needs to get back at it, killing annoying monkeys. that… should help?