#The consequences of this decision still haunt me

[novi-high]

So...I went on Facebook Marketplace

I was looking for Rainbow High dolls--just curious to see if there was anything. I found an add that had the dollhouse, the car, the beach set, and a fantastic collection of dolls. Maybe of which I had on my want list. The add said my pick of 10 dolls from the collection which had about 18-20 to choose from.

So I contacted the seller and specifically asked if all the dolls pictured were still available. The amount asked was a lot, but not an unreasonable amount for what I was getting. I could take or leave the playsets, but it was really worth it with the dolls shown.

The lady said yes, the dolls were available. Though it literally took a couple hours before I could pry a time and address out of her. It was so difficult getting anything more than a one-word response out of her. When I finally got an address and a meeting time, I went down there to find she only gave a building number, but I needed an apartment number. I didn't have Facebook on my phone, but luckily (unluckily?)my friend did. (I brought her to help with the dollhouse.) So we asked for an apartment number and it was still at least a 15 minute wait and several responses that were NOT the apartment number before we got that out of her. By that time I was already tired, but we were there.

So finally, we found the right apartment and pulled up to their garage. We loaded all the playsets into my car and then finally were shown the dolls. And a large chunk of the dolls I was after WERE NOT THERE. She told me she had already sold them. I was so annoyed and so tired. She had told me she still had all the dolls. And I had already loaded so much stuff into my car. So I still took 10 dolls and all the playsets. But if I had to do it all over again, I would have never bothered because I did spend a good chunk of money and did not get the specific dolls I thought I would. (Sheryl, Hali, and Simone were among some of them.)

But anyway, here's pics. I got the closet (the only playset I legit really wanted) the car, the dollhouse (only found out when I got home it's missing the couch) and the beach set. The dolls I got were the cheer set (I did not want these dolls at all, even though they are nice and very cute) plus Georgia, Krystal, Daphne and Gabriella.

The pool has already been taken over by my resident reptiles. Phaedra doesn't mind. In fact, she quite likes them.

[runariya]

hhiii!! im thinking a lot about a jungkook ex & loml he would be so cute arrrghl

🎤 n maybee 🥰+🤫 ?

(idolverse+fluff+smut) part of the prompt game pairing: idol!Jungkook x ex-gf! female reader genre: idolverse, Exes2L, fluff, smut warnings: references to a few good and bad milestones of BTS, allusion to oral (m. receiving), breakup, mentions of one (1) dating attempt of OC, mentions of 190811 JK because duh, Jungkook is a petty ex, various hair colours, Times Square JK, fluff, smut, they’re both needy and desperate, big dick JK, possessiveness, dirty talk, bad language, face grabbing, mouth spitting, kind of dry humping but without clothes (?), slight dom!JK, babygirl, unprotected sex (you should all be old enough to know the consequences), slight breeding kink, hair pulling, love confessions, rough and desperate sex, a little bit of angst, Jungkook is a romantic, naked proposal, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 2.512

a/n: guess who got a bit carried away with this ask? THAT'D BE ME! 🥸

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You lived through it all. Through every storm and golden dawn alike, you’ve walked beside him—Jungkook, through the raw and uncertain trainee years, standing shoulder to shoulder when he made that long-awaited debut with your other friends, with the cheers of a scattered handful of ARMYs filling the gaps of an empty room. And you—always there, even when unjustified criticism hit them like fists in the dark, when the suffocating shadows of hate and pushbacks tried to choke out their light. You were there when sleepless nights were a currency, and saesangs turned life into a nightmare not fit for the faint-hearted. You were there during all those late-night talks, when exhaustion and doubt dragged them to the brink of disbandment, and you—you, held onto them with all the strength you had left.

You lived through it all. You walked this path with him, through the milestones of glory—their first triumphant entrance on the Billboard 200, the moment they lent their voices to a UNICEF campaign, the awe that filled you as you stood in the last rows of that historic U.N. speech, watching them rise and rise as if they could never stop. You were there when the sold-out stadiums roared, when Jungkook’s nerves shook just before he walked onto that colossal stages, and in the quiet moments behind the curtains, you became his grounding, his release—your lips open, throat pulsing around his dick as the world waited for him to sing.

Once, you believed, truly, that what you had was unbreakable, a love of once-in-a-lifetime, and you knew—*knew*—that Jungkook felt it too. It was there, lingering in every glance, every touch, every whispered word. And because, when the breaking point finally came, when one triumph followed another, when at long last, *finally*, the whole world, not just ARMY, recognised their worth, when the frantic pace of success nearly swallowed them whole, you made your decision. You walked away—not out of lost love, no, never that. Love was still there, burning too fiercely for words. But you thought you were sparing him, thought you were freeing him from another tether, another weight pulling him down, when his focus should be solely on his dream, his passion. You thought, perhaps, you were doing the right thing, even despite the way his pleas and tears seared themselves into your memory, begged you to stay, haunting you even now, even when your eyes aren’t closed. 

Those days after the breakup—they were bitter and cold—not easy, not for either of you. You saw him on screen, thriving, yes, but hurting in a way you knew all too well. The incident in November 2019—your first and only date after the split, after Jungkook, when a stitch couldn’t leave his mouth shut, reaching Jungkook’s ears, and suddenly his performance at the Lotte Family Concert became something else altogether—savage, fierce, almost a message to you, reverberating through the very core of your being. Something shifted the air back then, in him, in you, in the whole world.

You realised then, that Jungkook wasn’t just an ex, but a petty one at that. You should have known better. One offhand comment in passing to his mother about his hair—how you missed the look of it untouched by dye, lamenting that his soft, natural locks were lost beneath the constant colouring—and suddenly, every week he was colouring it anew, as though each hue was a small act of rebellion against you. The games continued—the thirst traps, the little taunts, even in every piece of merch he touched, designs you once dreamt up together in those hazy trainee years. You, lying beside him in the cramped dorm, building fragile sandcastles of what could be, of dreams yet unspoken. And now, those same castles crumbled as he used them to fuel his quiet, calculated rebellion.

And yet, somehow, it was still a surprise when the text arrived. Jungkook himself, inviting you to his surprise gig at Times Square. You hesitated, wrestling with your pride, your pain. But in the end, for old times’ sake, you relented—just one last favour, you told yourself.

And now, here you stand. He had slipped out of the room just after you arrived, and you watch from the window as the world goes wild, Jungkook commanding the stage as effortlessly as he breathes. The ache within you deepens, the love, the longing—they haven’t dimmed in all those years, not even for a moment.

When he finally returns, still glistening with sweat, fresh from the exhilaration of the performance, his presence floods the room, the light he is piercing every fibre of your being. 

"Hey," he breathes through his panting, that soft voice slipping through the air like a secret only you are meant to hear. He smiles, and the familiarity of it twists your gut in the worst way possible. He grabs and drowns a bottle of water in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that sends your heart skipping, unbidden.

And you, standing there, trying to hold your composure as the man who once was yours invades your very senses. Every drop of sweat that trickles down his neck, every movement of his tattooed arms, every unspoken memory lingering in the air. You can’t stop the surge of arousal, the way your body betrays you as your thighs press together, seeking some small relief from the tension he brings.

And when Jungkook motions for you to sit beside him on that small loveseat, your legs, weak and trembling, carry you there almost on instinct. His thigh brushes against yours as he sits down, the touch so achingly familiar it almost hurts too much to bear. You feel that old connection, sparking back to life with everything said, with everything kept in silence between you.

“I invited you here for a reason,” he murmurs, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the sincerity in his gaze captivating your every thought. "I can’t keep on going like this," he continues after a short pause, voice weighted with something deeper than exhaustion, something that seems to eat him alive.

You respond with a gentle push, instinctively deflecting, faking an easygoing happiness. "But you're doing so well, Jungkook. Your dream’s finally yours. You can’t walk away now."

“It’s not about that,” he replies, quieter now, as though his resolve softens in the space between your words.

Jungkook straightens, taking your hand, his inked fingers finding yours with that familiar tenderness, like all the lost days between you never happened. He strokes your soft skin, the gesture so achingly reminiscent of the way he used to hold you, back when the world somehow seemed simpler, back when the two of you were all you needed.

His voice deepens, the softness in his tone soothing like your very personal lullaby. "I can’t live another day without you by my side." 

His words shake your heart, each syllable removing the distance that time and hurt had created. Your eyes tremble, silver lining your lash line, as silence is everything that escapes your mouth. 

Jungkook leans in, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I love you,” the confession rolling from his lips like something inevitable, as though it was always meant to be spoken, in the past, in this moment, and in every possible future. “I still love you, with everything I am. And I know you feel it too. Let’s not try again—we’re beyond that. I know we’re meant to be. Let’s just be together.”

Your lips quiver as the dam finally breaks, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. There’s no noise, no grand release, just a quiet cascade of everything you’ve held in and pushed back for so long. And in that stillness, you finally find your voice, speaking every word out of the depth of your soul. “Yes, Kook, please.”

Your lips crash into his with a force that makes your whole body tremble. You push him back with such ferocity that he’s not able to keep sitting upright, and before you know it, you’re climbing on top of him, his hands digging into your sides, pulling you closer, as though he could never have you close enough. His tongue teases along your lips, the cool metal of his lip piercings brushing your skin, sending another wave of hot arousal out of you. You open your mouth, letting him in. His taste is the same—mint drops, just like all those years ago—and it awakens a hunger in you, a longing that has only grown more ravenous with time.

Your fingers tangle in his soft hair, pulling at it, at the black fabric of his dress shirt, ripping the buttons open as though the world outside doesn’t exist. Jungkook is just as frenzied, stripping you of your clothes, his own following without a beat, the desperation between you highlighting, almost painful, as if trying to make up for all the lost time. You’ve seen him on screen, admired the way his body has changed, matured, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality of him. Jungkook looks like a greek god carved from marble, every muscle sculpted to perfection, and his cock stands proud, thick and throbbing like a prize waiting to be claimed.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he rasps, pulling you up with him, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, your slick cunt brushing against him with each step he takes.

Jungkook carries you to the table nearby, lips never leaving yours, kissing you as though he might devour you, and as his mouth travels down your neck, over your collarbone, and to your breasts, as he sweeps everything off the table with a careless shove, lowering you onto it, you think you found euphoria just then.

“Jungkook,” you moan, arching into him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his hand pinching and twisting your other, his hips grinding against your dripping core with a raw need that nearly sends you spiralling right then and there.

“I’m going to chain you to me,” he growls against your skin. “Going to fuck you until you’re too dumb to walk away again.”

“Yes,” you whimper, as your body clenches and trembles, your release washing over you like a wave, too intense to hold back, the stimulation from his hands, his mouth, his cock rubbing against your slick folds just too overwhelming.

“Fucking scream my name,” he demands, grabbing your face roughly, forcing your mouth open with his thumb and forefinger.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, his cock sliding through your wetness as you come down from your high. You try to close your mouth, but he spits into it, his eyes dark with lust, watching you swallow with a mix of satisfaction and need.

“That’s right, babygirl,” he smirks lazily. “I’m going to fuck you stupid now. You’re still on birth control?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe, trembling as he grabs his cock, pumping it a few times before lining up with your entrance, clenching in anticipation.

“Shame,” he growls, his words dripping with dark desire. “Would love to fuck a baby into you, show everyone who you belong to.”

His words make you moan, your body responding to the filthy promise in his voice. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, baby girl?” he grins.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, dragging your mouth to his as he thrusts into you, his cock filling you completely, stretching you in a way that brings a sharp, sweet pain, the kind of pain you’ve been craving for years. You cry his name into his mouth, every inch of you vibrating with the sensation of him.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he groans. “You’re the fucking love of my life.” His pace picks up, becoming relentless, his hips slamming into you, desperate to make up for all the years you were apart.

You drink him in, the sight of him so raw and beautiful—his eyebrows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back in ecstasy. His hands grip the back of your knees, pulling you towards him, keeping you close as he drives into you over and over, the rough surface of the table scraping your lower back. His balls and thighs slap against your ass with such force that you know you’ll be bruised, but you welcome it. You embrace every desperate thrust, every rough touch, pouring all of yourself into this moment.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m coming,” you cry out, gripping his arms for support, feeling yourself unravel under the intensity of it all.

“Fucking come for me! Cream my cock like you’re made for it.”

His words send you over the edge, your body shattering into a million stars, as brilliant and infinite as the ones that glimmer in Jungkook’s eyes when he looks down at you. And you know, in that moment, that you’re home. Truly home, where everything makes sense.

Your cunt clenches around him, and that’s all it takes to push him into his own release. He lets out a deep, guttural groan, his body buckling over you as he empties himself inside you, his breath mingling with yours, his heart pounding against your chest, both of you lost in the blissful haze of it all.

You stroke the back of his head tenderly, feeling his racing heartbeat gradually slow, matching the rhythm of your own.

When you both finally come down from the high, you lock eyes. His boyish smile spreads across his face, just like it did all those years ago, and you can’t help but mirror it.

“Chain me to you, hm?” you tease, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “That’s not the romantic Jungkook I know.”

A blush creeps up his cheeks and ears as he pulls out of you, grabbing the discarded tissue box from the floor to clean you both up without saying a word. But you notice the growing tension in his body, the slight shift in his demeanour, and a flicker of unease stirs in you.

“Kook?” you ask carefully, but he only glances at you briefly before turning to his duffel bag in the corner of the room, rummaging through it.

When he turns back around, your heart plummets to the floor. It’s not fear or worry that seizes you, but the overwhelming brightness of joy, happiness so intense it almost paralyses you.

“I’ve carried this with me since our first stadium tour,” he says softly, stepping closer. “But I was always too scared I wasn’t enough.”

He kneels before you, still naked, and you don’t allow yourself to breathe, to blink. “___, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

Tears stream from your eyes once more, and you nod, unable to speak for a moment, your heart bursting like a confetti gun with every emotion under the sun. Finally, you whisper, “Yes,” and kiss him, knowing without a doubt that he’s the one. Always was, always will.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

࣪ ˖✧ Sweet Coffee

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: The morning after Sean's return party, a sheepish Arthur faces the consequences of his drinking excess. ✦ Warnings: None, this is as fluffy as the first part. ✦ Words: 3,9k ✦ a/n: This is a sequel of this one shot! Please, read it before this one :) Also, I've taken the liberty to write this as if Arthur still had Boadicea, to me it was the best way to make him have a canon horse. Gonna think about a better solution in the future.

You opened your eyes, slowly. The ceiling of your tent was turning a bit, your heart feeling like it was on the verge of leaking out of your chest. It was as if your bed was a boat, pitching with the winds and the waves; you had to prevent yourself from throwing up, a spinning sensation making your guts feel rancid.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You thought to yourself while stretching in your cot, every fiber of muscles in your body feeling worn. Your brain was mushy, unable to form any complex reflection, your forehead hurting, your mouth dry. The consequence of every party; the goddamn hangover.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You slowly sat at the edge of your bed, taking the time to move your tired members, realizing your throat was extremely sore. You probably sang a little too much last night. You get up and walk to the little cleaning area of your tent which consisted of only a simple table topped with a little mirror, a bucket of water, and a solitary towel. Nothing fancy, but at least you had your own tent, which was already a grand luxury at camp.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You take long sips of water from the bucket before cleaning up your face, looking at it in the mirror. Of course, under your eyes, big shady circles, sickles of violet darkness under the sharp radiance of your pupils. It was part of the whole hangover package. You quickly fixed your hair and put on some fresh clothes, mindlessly.

Coffee, breakfast, Arthur.

Wait, what? You thought you were going on with your morning routine thoughtlessly, but here he was. Always following you, a shadow in the back of your mind; his stupid smile like imprinted on the obscure abyss of your psyche, shining, blazing, magnificent. Haunting.

You were thinking about him very often lately, maybe too often, you noted to yourself. John's word had sealed your opinion's fate on the matter: Arthur could have behaved that way with any other girl at camp.

And yet. Yet you longed for it, for last night to mean something, anything. For you to be more than just any girl to him. For the drunken honest words he had spoken before drifting away in the sweet caress of sleep to be true. You sighed. Too much false hope would lead your heart to be even more broken, you knew it.

And yet. The shadow of his smile. The sound of his deep, powerful laugh. Following you everywhere as you got out of your tent, eyes narrowing at the bright light of the day, almost as bright and vibrant as the subject of your thoughts; almost.

Your path led you more by habits than by an actual decision of yours to the campfire next to Pearson's wagon, and you were delighted to see one of your obsessive needs was already there: a hot coffee pot, releasing a small puff of smoke had been prepared. Blessed was the divine human being who made it. You took a cup and poured some of the holy providential liquid into it, the mere smell of it already waking you up a little bit. The taste was strong, bitter; rough like your life was as an outlaw in a gang, but at least it would help you clear your head and maybe get a certain someone out of it.

As you sipped on the warm beverage, you took a look around at your surroundings. The camp offered you a pitiful but quite amusing sight. It was a real mess, as if a tornado had passed by and turned everything upside down. The Ocean of empty bottles was still present, spilling everywhere between the different people's tents. People who were slowly emerging from them, with tired eyes and ruffled hair, some of them speaking more quietly than usual, rubbing their temples, navigating through shattered glass and chaos of debris, remnants of the agitation that had taken place the night before. You chuckled to yourself. One of the more feared gangs in the West? Certainly not after a party.

Abigail was already starting to clean the pieces of glass, getting angry about how this wasn't a proper place to raise her kid. Honestly, she was right, and you wanted to help her. Ms Grimshaw would probably force you to anyway, and this idea was reinforced when you noticed her from afar, already yelling at Karen to get up and start the cleaning.

Before getting attention from the strict woman, you took a step to go and do your part but stopped in your tracks. A familiar rugged face had appeared from his tent and was heading up in your direction.

Arthur was feeling too much. Too much sensations, too much feelings, just way too much of everything. His thoughts were trying to work as fast as he could considering his slowed brain, the aftermath of his excess from last night preventing him from being as efficient as normal.

The main focus of his reflection was you. He was obsessed to know what had happened, to understand why he had so many memories about you from last night, and quite intimate ones. He was praying he didn't do anything stupid with you; were you two even okay? Had he offended you? Had he been respectful? He needed to know, he needed to make sure he hadn't screwed everything up between you two. And at the same time, he was ashamed. So ashamed of having drunk so much he wasn't even able to remember what had happened. He was so anxious to confront you about it. To hear the truth, hear you say he had been a pig, and you'd never want to see him again, because that was probably what had happened. He was convinced of it.

As he saw you drinking your morning coffee by the fire from his cot, he quickly had changed, tried to clean up a bit, and made sure he had nothing stuck between his teeth or anything else of that type that could make him pass for an even bigger fool than he already was. He had chosen one of the less damaged shirts he had, a simple green but at least not holey flannel, all his clothes being more or less in a bad state anyway. Two leathered suspenders on, keeping black basic pants from falling. Damn, his reflection in the mirror looked even uglier than usual with his lack of sleep and post-party face. He sighed deeply, screw it. He needed to talk to you, at all costs, he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else properly otherwise. He tried to actually brush his hair, a thing he never bothered to do normally; he even tried to use some hair pomade, combed them in all directions possible, anything to make them look less messy. Nothing was working. He sighed again, getting angry, and just decided to put his hat on to hide this disaster.

This was already too complicated and he hadn't spoken any words yet.

Now walking straight to you, every step he took was followed by a worried thought, his heart tightening more and more as he was getting closer to the campfire you were standing next to. What had he done? Were you mad at him? Would you even agree to speak to him? Did he look good enough? Shit, he probably still must reeks of whiskey, he should have gone to town and taken a bath, stupid moron! But it was too late. Your eyes had crossed his, you had seen him approaching. There was no going back.

Finally arriving at the campfire, the poor nervous man stood at a respectful distance from you and cleared his throat. He didn't even had taken the time to think about what to say. Moron.

"G'd mornin', Y/N." He greeted you, his tone almost a bit too formal, a trace of his troubled state. His voice sounded huskier and harsher than what he wanted to, you were the first person he actually talked to since waking up and you could hear it with how hoarse his vocal cords were.

Besides it, you couldn't have guessed how much was going on inside his head; his expression was as neutral as usual, his own way of defending himself against the flurry of feelings that was taking place inside of him. You smiled at him, a mischievous, playful smile. You had so much to tease him about. Before the party, you two would already messed with each other a lot, and now you had a whole night of details you could use for it.

"Good morning, Mister Morgan... Guess someone was a little thirsty last night, mmh?" You answered, looking at him. His eyes crossed yours, he cracked up a smile too. His shoulders seemed to go down a bit, less tensed. In reality, he was so relieved to hear you tease him and to see your smile. You weren't mad. He silently thanked the Lord for that.

"I, erm... Maybe I drank a little t'much..." He replied with an embarrassed grin, his eyes looking at his feet before planting them back right into yours. He decided to ask you right away. Arthur never beat around the bush, this time was no exception. "L'sten, I don't... I don't remember much 'bout last night and... I hope I didn't bother ya."

His bright blue pupils were looking intensely into yours as he waited for your answer. He always looked at people like this, always keeping eye contact, as if it was a quiet duel and he would lose it if he stopped; but God, it made your heart melt a little.

"Oh, Arthur." You started, smiling some more realizing he was actually worried about you. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong. To me at least. I remember you losing your nerves and punching Micah in the face." You answered his question, chuckling in the end.

"Why, this bastard had it comin'..." Arthur replied, scratching the side of his jaw, the slight grin still present on his lips, telling himself that it was definitely something he was capable of.

"You sing pretty good when you're drunk..." You added, tone playful.

Arthur sighed, he was enjoying more and more of this conversation he had feared in the beginning.

"Oh stop it, I don't." He retorted, his fingers scratching one last time before falling to his belt, both his hands gripping it, a standing position he often had when talking and didn't know what to do with his arms. Honestly, you were quite fond of it.

"You want some coffee, songbird ?" You questioned with a teasing tone, already grabbing a new cup and the pot. You knew he would say yes.

"Yeah, thank you." He replied at first, before frowning. "Don't ya start calling me that!" He added with a firmer tone, but his small smile was still stuck on his face while grabbing the hot cup you were handing to him.

"You're also quite a dancer..." You teased him once more with your mischievous voice, knowing you were pushing his limits with your remarks.

"Damn it, woman! Can't believe I was worried 'bout ya, while ya're teasin' me like this..."

"Yeah, I'm such a nasty woman..."

"Nah, you're the sweetest." He corrected you, a bit too quickly for it to be innocent. A quick, subtle flicker in his eyes showed you he was surprised with himself; the words had come out on their own.

You smiled widely, cheeks turning a bit red. You were praying it wasn't too obvious to him. Arthur was still looking at you, two indigo miniature seas fixated on you, even while drinking his beverage. The more he was, the more those vivid memories he had were making their way back to his mind. While looking at your waist, he remembered having held it at some point during the party, which explained how he learned how your clothes felt underneath his fingers. His breath quietly hitched when he realized how he knew about the softness of your leg: he recalled having an arm curled up around it at the end of the night. Shit... He really had been unruly. After a short silence, Arthur spoke again. He wanted to make sure, he needed to make sure.

"Erm... Can I ask ya if we... Did anythin' happen b'tween us while I was drunk ?"

"No, you've just been a bit... Tactile. But nothing happened." You answered his question honestly, wanting him to know the truth. After all, Arthur was your friend, and there was a whole step between gently teasing and actually tormenting him. "Oh and, you said you loved me."

Arthur almost choked on his coffee, a short strangled sound escaping from his throat, some drops of the hot liquid falling on his shirt. The only decent shirt he had was ruined. But it was the least of his problems. What the actual Hell had gotten into him? He was an even worse fool than he thought, and the bar was already low.

"I... What ?" Were the only words he was able to form, one of his hands wiping the coffee from his chin.

"Don't worry, John told me you've made it a habit to tell women that when you're drunk, apparently. We don't have to make a bit deal out of this." You reassured him. He really looked ashamed of his behavior, and you didn't wanted to make him feel even worse.

But Oh Lord, if only you knew. If only you could have understood how much he wanted to make a big deal out of it; how much he had wanted to properly say those three words to you. He was almost disappointed in a way, that you were so quick to forget about it, as if it had been a simple joke to you, something amusing a drunkard had said in a moment of alcoholic eccentricity.

"Ah, alright. Well, I'm happy ya not mad at me." He simply added, honestly not knowing what to say or how to act anymore.

Tell her. Tell her she means the World to you. Tell her you have spoken the truth. This was the best chance you would have.

But the words were stuck, and as fast as a breeze would have swept away petals of flowers, Ms. Grimshaw asked for you with her usual severe call, and off you were gone, wishing him a good day and telling him he didn't have to worry about last night, even adding your typical teasing comments, advising him to join a choir were he could flourish his singing talent.

Looking at you walking off, he sighed again, calling himself a moron for at least the twentieth time since he had gotten up. Looking down at his cup of coffee, almost empty, just like the hurtful sensation he was experiencing right now inside his heart, he got angry again. This was enough. He threw the rest of the coffee on the ground, put the cup in his satchel out of habit, and walked straight to his horse.

The afternoon passed slowly and quietly. You basically spent it tidying up the camp, the number of dishes almost twice as big as usual, and the endless amount of bottles and garbage looking like it was only getting larger the more you were cleaning them up. Thankfully, Ms Grimshaw had put every girl in camp to work too, and you weren't alone on your impossible task while the men were back on their usual activities, whether it was lazying around for Uncle and the Reverand, guarding camp for Bill and Charles, or going back on jobs for the others. You hadn't seen Arthur since your morning discussion with him, and you had concluded he probably had gone somewhere to do his own work. As the sun was getting down, the camp had ultimately taken back its usual appearance, and you were finally free from your chores.

You decided to go to the edge of the camp, behind the wagons, where the cliff was starting and was offering a breathtaking view of the mountains in front of you. At this time of day, in the dusky sun, the landscape was painted with beautiful golden and bronze colors, dazzling blend of warm tones, ephemeral treasure from the last sunrays of the day before the settlement of the night's darkness.

Lost in your contemplation, you didn't hear footsteps approaching. The shrill and recognizable sound of spurs along with the heavy stomping of a horse's hooves made you turn your head from the literal work of art you had under your nose, and your gaze fell on another one from a different nature; Arthur was walking up to you, holding Boadicea's reins into his hands, his blue gaze already fixated on you, slight frown on his forehead, looking as determined as if he was going in for a fight.

He looked different from earlier, you swore he was wearing a brand new shirt you had never seen, a fresh white one, and a black jacket which must have gone with a fancy suit. As he was heading towards you, you noticed and could smell he had taken a bath, and trimmed his beard more than usual. He looked neat, refreshed, it was quite unusual for him. You could feel how your blood was rushing at the simple sight of all this: he was undoubtedly handsome, as breath-taking as the landscape around you.

"Y/N." He greeted you with a determined voice, once he had come close to you. He let go of the reigns, letting his mare free, but she stayed right where she was and started to graze happily. He took his hat off and held it in his hands, probably out of politeness. Such a gentleman, as always around women. You had always found it quite endearing how rough he was but at the same time how respectful towards girls, complying with conventions just like an honest man would. However you were a bit confused, he had never bothered to do that with you before, only with the women he didn't knew.

"Arthur, are you alright? Did Trelawny force you to get clean up ?" You joked a bit, genuinely surprised by his appearance and sudden polite behavior.

"What? N-no..." He stuttered. He never stuttered. You could feel it flowing into you like last night: this terrible, powerful feeling of hope. Your whole being was filled with it as your eyes were glued to him, like a moth to a flame, like a moon to its celestial body.

"I erm... I got somthin' for ya." He said almost shyly. Shyly. You couldn't believe what you were witnessing. It was nearly too good to be true.

Maybe... Maybe the words he had spoken to you... Maybe his tactile behavior... Your thoughts were going entirely crazy, spiraling around the deep feeling that something really important was on the verge of happening. You watched, in awe, as Arthur turned his back to you in order to pull off from Boadiccea's saddle a gorgeous flower bouquet.

"I know it ain't much but... I've picked 'em for you..." He said quietly, his voice slow and deep as usual, but also a bit more vulnerable. You could see just how flustered he was, how unusual it was for him to put himself in such a situation. And it made you more happy than anything for such a long time. Your eyes, traveling from his insanely cute bashful face to the flowers, were now stuck on it. The colors were vibrant and surprisingly well-matched, almost like a painting, the petals going from deep red to a warm golden yellow. You couldn't prevent a deep blush from flushing your cheeks; it really was warming your heart.

"They're beautiful! Thank you so much..." You marveled, vision attached to his gift, admiring every detail about it. After a short moment, as you realized he had felt silent, you spoke again, a wave of boldness crashing onto you. He had made a step towards you, now it was your turn.

"Arthur... The words you said to me last night..." You began, your eyes slowly ascending to look at his again. To your surprise, you found him looking away.

Another hint, another glimmer of the internal storm of emotions Arthur was feeling right now. Your own heart started to beat faster; the blood flooding so fast in your veins at this point you're wondering how the hell your body is keeping it all up together without collapsing under the pressure.

Arthur doesn't answer. Instead, he simply looks back at you, a flash of apprehension in his turquoise diamonds. He stays silent, unable to say anything more. His own heart must be on the verge of bursting cause you recognize the faintest of red on his own cheeks and a little vein on his temple. What a sight, to have this grown man, one of the stronger men in the gang, probably the fastest gunslinger of the State, blushing because of you.

"Those words were true, right?" You finish your sentence with an encouraging expression and the softest smile you had.

Arthur exhaled, closing his eyes for just a few seconds before planting them back into yours and nodding. Still silent, still stoic, still nervous. The slight blush was unhurriedly spreading on his face just like a flaming stain of watercolor on a canvas. Your very own art piece.

"I love you too, Arthur." You finally confided to him, voice soft and low, as if it was a confession you would have told him in the middle of the night, intimate as secrets you'd both tell each other in the ear while lying together in the same bed, arms interlaced, heart intertwined, as everything around you both would disappear. And in the moment, for Arthur, everything did.

He carefully brought a hand on the side of your face, never breaking his deep starring until the last second, and slowly bent over to put his lips on yours. Every move he was making was measured, contained; the exact opposite of his unleashed behavior at the party. You could feel just how cautious he was in that moment, as if he was scared to hurt you, or make you flee.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, never letting go of the bouquet that was now hanging behind his back in your thankful right hand. His own was still on your head, fingers gently caressing your skin as the kiss was dragging on. His lips, although chapped, felt good against yours, taking their rightful place there.

After what felt like an eternity of sweetness, he pulled back. If you thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to his cheeks right now, the deep crimson shade having completely recovered the canvas. Finally, his body's muscles relaxing, his features softening, a big, wide smile appeared on his face; the same that had been haunting you since the night before. The stupid smile. Just for you.

"I love you too, for real I mean." He let out in a soft drawling voice, once you had never heard coming from him. He brought his forehead to rest against yours, closing his eyes, not even processing this was really happening.

"I hope you'll sing again for me, Arthur." You couldn't help but add, a playful tone and a slight smirk on your lips.

"For ya, maybe, sweetheart. But don't ya come complainin' about the rainin' after."

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

I Bet You Think About Me

Braden Schneider x Reader x Matt Rempe

WC: 4.7K

Summary: Braden made a decision and he’s dealing with the consequences

A/N: This is gonna have multiple parts and ANGST

Braden Schneider sat at the edge of his bed, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the cluttered room in front of him. The sheets were tangled, a reminder of last night’s brief distraction. Another girl whose name he couldn’t remember, whose face would blur into a long list of hazy encounters. His friends had been insistent — every night they would tell him, “She’s way better than Y/N,” but none of it stuck. No one was better than Y/N, and he hated himself for even thinking that way.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to shake the image of her from his mind. But it was impossible. Two years — two years of her laughter, her smiles, her soft hands wrapping around his when they walked the streets of New York City. They’d built something together, and he’d torn it all apart. She deserved better. She’d always deserved better. And yet, here he was, suffocating under the weight of a choice he wasn’t sure he should have made.

Y/N was always still going to be around, he knew this. Working as the Rangers’ media manager, she was impossible to avoid, and seeing her every day was a constant reminder of what he had lost. At first, he had thought it would be easy to move on. He’d been convinced they were too different. She was a small-town girl, used to the simplicity of life on a farm. It was all living room dancing and kitchen table bills. He, on the other hand, had grown up in a gated community, a life of silver spoons and privilege. It had seemed inevitable that their worlds would eventually clash. But they say you can’t help who you fall for. He’d thought ending it was the right thing. Better to walk away before things got harder, before the differences became insurmountable.

But it wasn’t just their lives that had been different. He had started laughing at her dreams, rolling his eyes at the little things that used to make him smile. He hated himself for that too. He had been cruel in ways he couldn’t take back, and when he ended it, he thought he was freeing them both. She had given him space, both at work and outside of it. She had respected his decision, even though he could see how much it hurt her.

And now… now there was Matt Rempe.

Braden had noticed it slowly at first — the way Matt lingered near Y/N in the locker room, the way he always seemed to be cracking jokes that made her smile, the way they stood just a little too close during post-game interviews. Braden tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. He was the one who had walked away, after all. He had no right to care anymore. But it did matter. It mattered a lot more than he wanted to admit.

At practice, Matt had started to get under his skin. It wasn’t anything intentional, not at first, but seeing him with Y/N every day, watching their easy camaraderie, drove Braden into a frenzy he couldn’t control. He’d begun to get aggressive during drills, checking Matt harder than necessary, throwing his weight around like it was a fight for dominance. The guys had noticed. They made jokes about how Braden needed to relax, how he was getting too wound up over something so simple.

But it wasn’t simple. Not to him.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had ended it with Y/N, and now here he was, losing his mind over the fact that someone else was getting close to her. He couldn’t stand the thought of Matt touching her, of hearing her laugh the way she used to laugh with him. He had to pretend like it didn’t bother him, but it was eating him alive from the inside.

Why had he let her go? That thought haunted him the most. The love he was looking for, the thing he was chasing in every meaningless encounter with another girl — it had been right in front of him the whole time. It had been Y/N.

He pulled himself up from the bed, pacing the length of his room as he tried to sort through the mess in his mind. His friends, his teammates, they had all told him that this was for the best. That Y/N wasn’t the right fit for his life, that there were plenty of other girls who could give him what he needed. But none of them knew her like he did. None of them understood the way she could light up a room, how her kindness softened the edges of his life, how her presence made him feel grounded in a way that no one else had.

The truth was, Y/N had been harder to forget than she was to leave. He had thought it would be easy, thought he could just walk away and never look back. But every day, every moment he saw her with Matt, he felt the cracks in his resolve deepening. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to be happy — he just didn’t want her to be happy with someone else.

And yet, who was he to interfere now? He had made his bed, and he was lying in it, tangled in regret and frustration. All the other girls had been distractions, temporary fixes to a problem that went deeper than he wanted to admit. He missed Y/N in a way that gnawed at him constantly, and no amount of casual hookups or parties could fill the void she had left behind.

Practice had been a disaster.

Braden stormed into the locker room, his chest heaving with frustration. The drills had been intense, but not nearly as intense as the fire burning inside him every time he caught sight of Matt. They had been going at it the entire session, tension crackling between them as they clashed during every scrimmage. It wasn’t just competitive anymore. It was personal.

Matt was sprawled on the bench, his long frame relaxed as he tossed his gear into his bag. Braden shot him a glare, but Matt didn’t seem to notice — or if he did, he was ignoring it.

“Dude, what’s your problem today?” Matt finally asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been playing like you want to kill me.”

Braden gritted his teeth. He wanted to say it was nothing, that he was just pushing himself harder, but the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t stand how casual Matt was, how unaffected he seemed by everything.

“Just trying to win,” Braden muttered, shoving his helmet into his locker with more force than necessary.

Matt laughed, and the sound grated on Braden’s nerves. “You could try doing that without trying to kill me every time we’re on the ice together. ”

The casualness of Matt’s tone only made Braden angrier. He felt the tension build in his chest, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to control the urge to lash out. But it wasn’t just about hockey. It was about Y/N. It was about the way Matt always seemed to be in her orbit, like he had some right to be there.

“I don’t need to kill you,” Braden said, his voice low and dangerous. “But you might want to watch yourself.”

Matt’s expression changed, his easygoing demeanor fading as he stood up and faced Braden directly. The locker room was quiet, the other guys watching the tension unfold between them.

“What’s your deal, Schneider?” Matt asked, his tone more serious now. “You’ve been acting like a total prick lately.”

Braden knew he was walking a fine line, but he couldn’t stop himself. He stepped closer, his jaw tight as he glared at Matt.

“You know exactly what my deal is,” Braden said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay the hell away from her.”

Matt blinked, clearly taken aback by the venom in Braden’s words. He frowned, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious right now? You’re the one who ended things with Y/N. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Braden’s hands balled into fists, and for a moment, he seriously considered swinging at Matt. But the rational part of his brain told him that would only make things worse — for him, for Y/N, for everything.

“She’s not a game, Rempe,” Braden said through gritted teeth. “Just… back off.”

Before Matt could respond, Braden turned on his heel and walked out of the locker room, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t deal with this anymore. The frustration, the jealousy, the aching feeling that he had made the biggest mistake of his life — it was all too much. He needed to get away from it, from Matt, from the team, from Y/N.

But no matter how far he tried to run, the truth followed him. The love he had been looking for, the feeling he was desperately chasing in all the wrong places, had been right there all along. And he had let it slip through his fingers.

That night, Braden found himself back in the same situation — in bed with another girl, her presence a temporary escape from the mess inside his head. But even as she lay beside him, her soft breathing filling the room, all he could think about was Y/N. It was always Y/N.

The more he tried to forget her, the more she consumed him. Every smile she gave Matt, every laugh that wasn’t directed at him, twisted the knife a little deeper. Braden had never been the jealous type before, but watching someone else take his place in Y/N’s life was unbearable.

He rolled over, staring at the ceiling as the weight of his choices pressed down on him. His friends had been wrong. This wasn’t for the best. Nothing about this felt right. He had walked away from the one person who had ever made him feel like he belonged, and now he was paying the price

The air in the apartment felt heavy, oppressive. The girl next to Braden stirred, shifting closer, but he felt nothing. He was drowning in emptiness. No matter how many people he let into his bed, the void Y/N had left behind swallowed them whole. He wanted to shake the girl awake and tell her to leave, to get out before he dragged her down with him. But instead, he just lay there, motionless, consumed by the weight of his regret.

Braden grabbed his phone from the nightstand, scrolling through old photos of Y/N. He had never deleted them, couldn’t bring himself to. There they were, smiling together on her family farm in the middle of nowhere, the sun setting behind them. He had always hated how different their worlds were, how the simplicity of her life felt like a threat to the carefully curated reality he had built. He didn’t understand back then that it was that simplicity that had been his sanctuary. When all the stress washed away cause he was with her.

They’d danced in her parents’ living room one night after dinner, the dim light casting soft shadows as they swayed to a country song he didn’t even know. Y/N had laughed when he stumbled over the steps, but he could still hear the way she whispered, “You’ll get it,” and the way her fingers had laced through his so effortlessly, like they were made to fit together.

Braden could almost hear her voice, feel the warmth of her hand on his cheek. But now, it was only a memory, fading and blurring like everything else.

With a growl of frustration, he tossed his phone across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall sharp in the quiet. The girl beside him stirred again, this time waking up.

“Braden?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. Not even close. He could feel her watching him, could sense the confusion in her gaze, but he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t even know her name. She had been just another attempt to forget Y/N, another failed distraction.

“I should go,” she said softly, already sensing the distance between them.

“Yeah… I think that’s for the best.”

The girl got up, collecting her things in the dim light. As she left, the door clicking shut behind her, Braden felt the suffocating loneliness settle back into place. He stared at the ceiling, knowing that it didn’t matter how many girls came and went. None of them would ever be Y/N. He had known that the moment he let her go.

But knowing it now didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make up for the way he had pulled away from her, the way he had dismissed her dreams and her jokes as if they didn’t matter. It didn’t undo the nights when he had rolled his eyes at her, or the cold silence that had grown between them in the last few months. He had convinced himself they were too different, that their worlds couldn’t coexist. He’d told himself that walking away was the right thing to do, that they both deserved better.

But the truth was, he had been looking for a reason to leave. He had been scared. Scared of how much he needed her, how much he had started to rely on the way she made him feel. Y/N had been real in a way that nothing else in his life had ever been. She wasn’t like the girls who chased after him because of his name or his money. She saw through all of that and loved him anyway. And he had thrown it all away.

Now, every time he saw her with Matt, every time he saw the way she laughed and smiled at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. He had no right to be jealous, no right to be angry — but he was. He had thought that once they were apart, he’d feel free. Instead, he felt trapped in a prison of his own making, watching someone else live the life he had discarded.

Matt wasn’t a bad guy. That was the worst part. Braden couldn’t even hate him. He was one of the nicest guys on the team, always joking around and keeping things light in the locker room. But the way Matt hovered around Y/N, the way he made her laugh — it was unbearable.

Braden knew he had to get his head on straight. He couldn’t let this ruin the season, couldn’t let it destroy the bond he had with his teammates. But every time he saw Matt standing too close to her, it set off something deep inside him that he couldn’t control. The anger was irrational, burning hot and fast, and Braden hated it. But he couldn’t stop it.

He was the one who had left. So why did it hurt so much to see her moving on?

The next day at practice, the tension between Braden and Matt was thick enough to cut with a knife. The guys could feel it, sensing that something was off between the two of them. Braden knew he wasn’t hiding it well. His patience was razor-thin, and every time he saw Matt’s easy smile, it made him want to throw down right there on the ice.

Y/N was there too, her presence like a ghost haunting every corner of the rink. She was working, interviewing players, making sure the media was coordinated for the post-practice press conference. Braden tried not to watch her, but he couldn’t help it. She looked so at ease, so damn happy, like she hadn’t just had her heart broken a few months ago. She’d moved on. And he was still stuck.

The practice drills got more intense, the coaches pushing them harder as the upcoming game against a division rival loomed closer. Braden’s frustration boiled over when he and Matt ended up in the same scrimmage group.

They were skating down the ice, Matt with the puck, Braden closing in fast. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline and anger mixing into something dangerous. Matt made a move to pass the puck, but Braden didn’t care about the play. He angled his body and delivered a hit that sent Matt crashing into the boards.

The entire rink seemed to freeze.

Matt hit the ice hard, groaning as he clutched his side. The whistle blew, and the coaches yelled for them to cut it out, but Braden didn’t move. He stood there, breathing heavily, staring down at Matt like he was daring him to get back up.

“Gosh, Schneider, what the hell was that for?” Matt spat as he got to his feet, wincing from the impact.

Braden didn’t answer. He just stared, his fists clenched at his sides.

Matt shoved him back, his voice rising. “You’ve been acting like a psycho lately. You want to go? Let’s go.”

Braden took a step forward, ready to drop the gloves, but before anything could happen, the coaches were between them, pulling them apart.

“That’s enough!” Coach barked, his face flushed with frustration. “What the hell is wrong with you two? This isn’t how we play.”

Braden barely registered the scolding. His eyes were still locked on Matt’s, and in that moment, all he could see was red.

“Back off, Schneider,” Matt muttered, brushing past him as the tension slowly dissolved under the weight of the coaches’ reprimand. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to get over it.”

As the rest of the team moved back to their drills, Braden skated to the bench, sitting down and burying his face in his hands. He was falling apart, and everyone could see it.

After practice, Braden showered quickly, eager to avoid any conversations with the guys. He was about to leave the locker room when he felt a presence behind him.

It was Y/N.

She stood there, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Braden’s heart dropped into his stomach. They hadn’t spoken outside of work-related conversations since the breakup, and now here she was, staring at him like she saw right through the mask he’d been trying to wear.

“You need to stop,” she said, her voice steady but firm.

Braden swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “Stop what?”

“Whatever this is,” she gestured vaguely toward the ice where Matt was still talking to some of the other players. “I know you’re mad, but you don’t get to act like this. You broke up with me, remember?”

He winced at the reminder, the guilt crashing over him like a wave. “I know.”

“Then why are you acting like you didn’t?” Her voice softened, and for the first time in months, Braden saw a flicker of the girl he had once loved standing in front of him. “You don’t get to be jealous, Braden. You made your choice.”

His chest tightened. She was right. He had made his choice, and now he was living with the consequences.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s eyes softened, but there was a distance there, a wall that hadn’t existed before. “You thought it would be easy, didn’t you? Walking away.”

Braden nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Well, it’s not,” she said, her voice sharp with the pain she had been carrying all these months. “But you can’t just punch your way out of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Braden whispered, the words feeling inadequate, too small to fix everything that had been broken between them.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy and thick with all the unsaid words. Braden wanted to reach out, to pull her close and tell her he was sorry for everything — for laughing at her dreams, for rolling his eyes at her jokes, for making her feel like she wasn’t enough. But the words caught in his throat, and he knew that no apology would ever be enough to take away the hurt he had caused.

“You’re sorry?” she repeated, her voice low and full of disbelief. She shook her head, taking a step back, away from him. “You don’t get to be sorry, Braden. You don’t get to say that now. Not after everything.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I screwed up, Y/N. I just—” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t know it would be this hard. I thought… I thought we were too different, that it would be better for both of us if we—”

“If you left me?” she cut in, her eyes flashing with anger. “If you ripped my heart out and walked away without a second thought? Yeah, Braden, that’s really worked out well for you, hasn’t it?” Her voice was shaking now, and Braden could hear the pain buried beneath her anger, a pain that mirrored his own.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly, hating how weak the words sounded, how inadequate they were in the face of everything that had happened.

Y/N laughed bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you did. You hurt me more than anyone ever has. And now… now you’re mad because Matt and I are friends? You don’t get to be jealous, Braden. You don’t get to care anymore.”

Braden felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. She was right. He had no right to care, no right to be angry or jealous. He was the one who had walked away, the one who had decided that their differences were too much to handle. But every day, every moment he saw her with Matt, it tore him apart. He hadn’t realized how much he had relied on her, how much her presence had meant to him, until it was too late.

“I still care about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. It felt like the most vulnerable thing he had said in months. “I never stopped caring.”

Y/N’s eyes softened for a brief second, but then her guard went back up, the wall between them growing higher and stronger. “You don’t get to do that,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t get to care when it’s convenient for you, Braden. You don’t get to decide when you want to be a part of my life after you pushed me out of yours.”

Braden took a step forward, his chest tight with desperation. “Y/N, please… I didn’t know it would be this hard. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought we were too different—”

“You were scared,” she interrupted, her voice cutting through his words like a knife. “You were scared of how much you needed me. You were scared of what it meant to actually love someone. So you pushed me away, and now you’re mad that I’m not waiting around for you.”

Her words hit him like a slap to the face, the truth of them sinking deep into his bones. She was right. He had been scared. Scared of how much he had loved her, scared of what it meant to be vulnerable, to let someone into his life who didn’t fit the mold he had been raised to believe in. Y/N was everything he had ever wanted, but he had been too much of a coward to admit it.

“I know,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I know I messed up. But I can’t stand seeing you with him. I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “You can’t handle the fact that I’m moving on? That I’m not sitting around waiting for you to decide when you want me again?” She took a step closer, her voice rising with every word. “You ended it, Braden. You’re the one who said we were too different, that this wasn’t going to work. You made that decision. So don’t you dare try to act like you still have a claim on me.”

Her words cut deep, each one a reminder of the choice he had made, the life he had walked away from. And now, standing in front of her, watching the fire in her eyes as she fought to hold back tears, Braden realized just how much he had lost.

“I know I don’t have a claim on you,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “But I can’t help it. I miss you, Y/N. I miss everything about you.”

Y/N’s face softened for a moment, but she quickly looked away, shaking her head as if trying to keep herself from falling apart. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. “It’s too late.”

The words hit him like a dagger to the heart. Too late. He had spent so many nights lying in bed, trying to fill the void she had left with meaningless encounters, trying to convince himself that he had made the right choice. But deep down, he had always known the truth. The love he had been looking for, the one he was desperately trying to find in someone else, had been Y/N all along. And now, it was too late.

Braden swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know how much I needed you until you were gone.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his face for a moment. Braden thought he saw something flicker in her expression, something like the love they had once shared. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by the cold reality of their situation.

“It doesn’t change anything,” she said softly. “You made your choice, Braden. And now I’m making mine.”

She turned to walk away, and for a moment, Braden felt the urge to reach out, to grab her arm and beg her to stay, to tell her he would do anything to fix it. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He had hurt her too deeply, and now, no amount of regret could change the fact that he had pushed her away when she had needed him the most.

“Y/N,” he called after her, his voice cracking. She stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry.”

She stood there for a long moment, her back to him, and Braden held his breath, waiting for something, anything that would give him hope. But when she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“So am I.”

And then she was gone, walking away from him for the last time.

The emptiness that followed Y/N’s departure was unlike anything Braden had ever felt before. It was a void, vast and cold, that swallowed him whole. He had thought that breaking up with her would free him, that it would make things easier. But instead, it had destroyed him.

He didn’t go out that night. He didn’t text his friends to find another girl to fill the empty space beside him in bed. He just sat in his apartment, staring at the walls, replaying every moment he had shared with Y/N in his mind. Every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment they had spent together in her tiny apartment or on her family’s farm.

It had been simple with her. Life had been quieter, slower. It wasn’t the fast-paced, glamorous life he had been used to, but it had been real. And now that it was gone, Braden realized that it was all he had ever really wanted.

He lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as memories of Y/N played on an endless loop in his mind. He could still hear her laughter, still feel the warmth of her body next to his. But no matter how tightly he clung to those memories, they were slipping away, fading into the background of a life he had chosen to leave behind.

The other girls had never meant anything. They had been placeholders, temporary distractions from the overwhelming pain of losing the one person who had ever made him feel truly alive. But no matter how many nights he spent trying to drown out the emptiness, the truth remained the same: he had lost Y/N, and there was no getting her back.

He thought about what she had said. “You were scared.”

She had been right. He had been terrified. Terrified of how much he needed her, terrified of what it meant to let someone so completely into his life. He had told himself that their differences were too much, that they couldn’t last because their worlds were too far apart. But that had just been an excuse, a lie to cover up the fact that he was afraid of how much he loved her.

And now, it was too late.

A/N: Go to my page for part 2

[freyaphoria]

Run Away Together (Part II)

a/n: It's me again! I apologize for making you wait months for the second part of this. First of all, this is the continuation of the first part I wrote, the main story. Since everything got so mixed, I feel the need to state it again. This story is the continuation of the fic where reader and hwa tried to escape and joong shot reader in the leg. I will start writing the second part of Passion to Punishment. And I would like to thank my babe, @matzrionette , for her contributions♡ PLEASE READ THE FIC SHE WROTE, I READ IT THREE TIMES EVERY DAY

tw: yan!hongjoong, poor hwa:( , blood, violence, bone fracture, failed escape attempt, punishment, swearing, knife, gun, killing, being shot, fever, painkiller use, body bruise, bone breaking with an iron rod, fainting, slightly gore, manipulation, hurt comfort(HAJDMDJ sorry), I had so much fun writing Jongho's parts, Yunho is at the crime scene AGAIN, kinda seongjoong

wc: 6.5k

taglist: @aim-blossom

Yan!Matz masterlist

<- previous part

Hongjoong, with his hands covered in blood from bandaging his new doll, opened the basement door, locked the two of them inside, and went upstairs. He had to do it; he had to hurt them. The tension in the air was palpable as he ascended the creaky wooden stairs, each step echoing the weight of his decision. Hongjoong's mind raced with conflicting emotions. He knew that to protect you, protect Seonghwa, drastic measures were necessary, even if it meant compromising his own morals. The blood on his hands was a stark reminder of the lengths he was willing to go to keep you here. As he reached the top of the stairs, he know that the consequences of his actions would haunt him for a long time to come.

Seonghwa’s attempt to escape after months, and your somehow convincing him, was an indication that Hongjoong’s plans were going well. Did Seonghwa breaking his rules make him unhappy? Yes, it did cause him a measure of displeasure. However, at this moment, what truly mattered was not Hongjoong’s feelings. After all, in the grand scheme of things, he would ultimately get what he desired; he had the power to make Seonghwa worship him once again. That was not what mattered right now.

After stepping out of the shower, Hongjoong meticulously put on his new clothes, carefully combed, and dried his growing hair. This grooming routine ensured he looked exceedingly neat, normal, and entirely harmless. His youthful yet captivating appearance was a highly effective tool in gaining the trust of his unsuspecting victims. People were drawn to his neat, his warm smile, the soft and gentle tone of his voice, the light that sparkled in his eyes, the professional gestures he employed while speaking, and the seamless harmony of the words he chose. Just like Seonghwa did...

If he lingered at home any longer, he would be late, so he quickly got ready and packed his belongings into a backpack. The weather had gotten colder compared to two hours ago when he had shot one of his victims and dragged the other inside, and he was angry with himself for not wearing his jacket and putting it in his bag. After quickly getting into his car and starting it, he turned on the heater and took out the paper from the glove compartment. He knew where he was going, but he still wanted to check. He saw photos of a man in the file. In the first photo on his profile, the old man's wrinkled eyes were full of life and shone with a light that was unexpected from his age. Hongjoong took pleasure in very few things as much as he took pleasure in making lively people lose their zest for life.

When he reviewed the file again and reached the last page, he suddenly hit his forehead with his hand in frustration. He was supposed to inform someone before leaving the house, but it had completely slipped his mind. He quickly went to the contacts on his phone, scrolling through the list, and was just about to find the name of the person he needed to inform when the phone rang. The unexpected call interrupted his search, and he hesitated for a moment before answering. When he saw who was calling, he realized he was indeed late, and the person on the other end of the line was likely angry with him.

“Why the fuck are you late?”

“How the fuck are you talking to your hyung like that?” Hongjoong fastened his seatbelt and put the files back in the glove compartment.

"Hyung my ass. I’m freezing here, hurry up or I’ll screw you the first moment I see you.”

“Shut up, I’m in the car, I’m coming"

“Hurry up, asshole.” All he wanted was a little respect, but he was looking for it in the wrong place. Respect was currently in the basement, probably calming down his new little lover. Hongjoong drove the car out of the parking lot and hit the road.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

You had started to come to your senses. Hongjoong, the most considerate person in the world, had taken the bullet out of your leg without any anesthetic and stitched it up, causing you to pass out from the pain. But being extremely considerate, he had given you a choice: “Pick your own punishment, either I take that bullet out without any drugs, or I don’t take it out and it stays there.” You were going to choose the second option at first, but because living with a constantly bleeding wound that nearly exposed your bone and getting infected in this dusty basement would be impossible, you chose the first option.

And oh, when he inserted a big tweezer into your leg to remove the bullet, the pain was so intense that you wished you would die from the infection. The searing agony felt like it would never end. Maybe you didn't realize he hurt you so much on purpose, but the last thing you remember is Seonghwa holding your hand tightly, his grip firm and unwavering. His eyes were swollen and red from crying, tears streaming down his face as he whispered words of comfort, trying to keep you conscious and hopeful. The room around you seemed to blur, but Seonghwa's presence was the only thing that kept you grounded in those harrowing moments. Still, Seonghwa wasn’t very successful and you left yourself in the darkness of your mind.

"Angel! You're awake!" As Seonghwa crawled towards you, you tried to sit up from where you were lying. The constant pain in your leg and the cold spreading throughout your body made you jump and shiver suddenly. "Wait, don't get up suddenly." When you looked at him, you saw that his legs were bruised and swollen. It looked like the bruises on his skin were about to burst and bleed, as if he had been hit by something very hard. "H-Hwa? What happened to you?" your voice came out very hoarse, all that shouting and gasping in pain had dried your throat. Despite feeling freezing cold, the warmth coming from within you made you uncomfortable and you started to shiver. "Don't worry, I'm fine, but you have a fever. We need to bring it down." Seonghwa placed his hand on your sweaty forehead to check your temperature. His hands were trembling, and if you looked closely, you could also see his lips trembling.

"Is he still here?" you asked in a low and nervous voice, your eyes darting around the dark basement as if expecting him to appear any second. He shook his head slowly, his expression a mix of relief and concern. "He left about half an hour ago," he replied, his voice steady as he tried to stay calm and not alarm you.

He dragged himself on the ground again, his movements slow and labored, trying to reach the bathroom in the basement. You watched him with growing anxiety, the silence between you heavy with unspoken questions. "What did he do to your legs?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn't answer. Instead, he wet a tissue and came back to you, his face pale and etched with pain.

"Hwa, did he break your legs?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you tried to understand the extent of his injuries. He looked at you with haunted eyes, the silence stretching on, making your heart pound even harder.

When the wet and cold tissue touched your forehead, you shivered and wanted to pull back, but Seonghwa held your head with one hand, preventing you from retreating. “It doesn’t matter. We need to lower your fever first.” As he moved the napkin from your face to your neck, you flinched more and tried to move forward to escape, but your injured leg hit Seonghwa’s probably broken leg. A deep, pain-filled groan came from Seonghwa, and he tried to hold his leg. “Seonghwa! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that.” While Seonghwa continued to writhe in pain, he nodded at you and tried to smile as much as the pain allowed. “It-it’s okay. It-it will pass soon- Agh….” “We need to wrap your leg, there must be a cloth here, right?” When Seonghwa saw you moving, he grabbed your shoulder and tried to lay you back down. “I’ll take care of it, you worry about yourself. Your fever is too high.” He could never be convinced. Once he set his mind on something, he would definitely do it, and if he didn’t want to do something, he would never do it, so you didn’t argue with him further.

Seonghwa managed to lower your fever a bit and found a painkiller from the depths of the basement; its expiration date had passed by 3 months, and normally you shouldn’t take it, but it was a mild herbal medicine, and you really needed it. To see if you would be okay after taking it, Seonghwa tried it himself first and, not seeing any side effects, gave it to you as well. And surprisingly, it worked. Seonghwa hid these medicines in one of the most cluttered parts of the basement in case such an event happened again. As your pain eased, your fatigue fully surfaced, and you let yourself fall asleep. Seeing that you fell asleep willingly without passing out, Seonghwa felt a bit relieved. As he saw your fever dropping and the bleeding from your wound stopping, he remembered he needed to treat himself.

His leg was extremely swollen and constantly aching, a persistent pain that seemed to get worse with each passing moment. The pain was so intense that it made him feel dizzy and lightheaded, as if the world around him was spinning, and the painkiller he took didn’t work for him. He thought about taking another one but didn’t, in case you needed it again since it worked for you. Hongjoong had probably broken both of his legs with an iron rod, right below the calf.

He couldn't stand on both of his legs; previously, he had hit his leg with an iron rod because he had tried to escape, but at that time, he could still stand a little. This time, it was impossible. It must have been definitely broken. The sharp pain was spreading from his ankle to his thighs, and from there to his entire body, becoming unbearable. It felt as if his entire body was broken, with pain everywhere. Every part of him hurt with each heartbeat and blood pump, making it impossible for him to stay still. The pain was making him dizzy, and his vision was starting to darken. If he didn't pull himself together, he would faint, and if he woke up only to find that Hongjoong's anger hadn't subsided and he attacked her again, he wouldn't be able to protect her while unconscious. But why was he protecting her in the first place? Was it because he felt guilty? Because he had given Hongjoong the idea to kidnap her? Maybe Hongjoong should have killed her right there.

He needed to pull himself together; he was sweating profusely, even in this cold basement. Crawling was excruciating, as if his leg was being sanded with sandpaper and his skin was being set on fire. Nevertheless, he had to wash his face. He had to do something, or he would lose himself. He pulled himself forward using his arms towards the sink. His arms also hurt; Hongjoong had hit his arm when he raised it to defend himself, but at least it wasn't broken. Compared to the pain in his leg, the pain in his arm was nothing. But the most painful thing was breaking Hongjoong's trust.

He shouldn't have done it, yes, he had gone too far. He had ruined Hongjoong's trust in 5 minutes and didn't know if Hongjoong would trust him the same way again. But freedom had seemed very tempting. It meant he still wasn't a completely obedient toy to him, he needed more shaping. He noted to himself that when Hongjoong returned home, he would need to fall at his feet, apologize hundreds of times, and beg for his forgiveness.

He gave a sigh of relief when he reached the sink with tears streaming down his face from the pain. It had taken him about 5 minutes to get there from your side, even though it would normally take a regular person 10 seconds. If you suddenly called him, he couldn't come immediately, so he had to finish it quickly and return to your side. He lifted himself using the strength from his arms, each muscle straining with effort, and bent over the sink. He tried not to put any weight on his feet, which throbbed with a dull, persistent pain. When he quickly washed his face with the cold water, the sensation momentarily jolting him awake, he let himself fall back to the ground and groaned in pain. He balled up a piece of toilet paper, wet it under the faucet, and, leaning heavily against the door frame, placed it on his ankle as a makeshift cold compress. He looked over at you sleeping calmly on the other side of the basement, your breathing steady and peaceful. He wished so much that he could sleep like you right now, to escape his pain and find some semblance of rest… Maybe he could sleep. His head was spinning, and the floor wasn't stable, it felt like he was on a roller coaster. As his head and eyelids grew heavier, his body began to relax. The pain hadn't gone away, it was still there, but at least he wasn't thinking about it right now. He would sleep, even if Hongjoong came here and took you, he would sleep, he needed it so much. The cold wetness of the wet paper ball on his leg had calmed him, and he let himself fall asleep.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

"If you keep complaining about the weather a little more, Jongho, I'll throw you out of the car and you'll walk the whole way. I even turned on the heater for you, what more do you want?" Jongho shoved his hands into his pockets and glared at Hongjoong while shivering. "You accepted this gig, dragged me along, and now you're saying you'll throw me out of the car?" Jongho snapped angrily in one go. "You also chose to team up with me, you could have told Yunho, and he would have changed it. So stop whining." After Hongjoong's harsh response, the younger one sighed, sank into his seat, and started watching the road through the car window.

They weren't a good team, they constantly bickered and argued over the smallest things, but they still got their work done and left no evidence behind. "We're here, wake up, princess." Hongjoong said with a mocking tone as soon as they arrived. Jongho, who had been in a light sleep, immediately woke up and punched Hongjoong in the arm. "I'm not that little mouse you took into your home, don't call me that again, bastard." If they didn't have a job to do, they would probably have fought each other, but they knew if they didn't get the job done on time, Yunho would nag them. "Move, don't dawdle." Hongjoong got out of the car and looked at the ultra-luxurious villa adorned with lights. 'Same scenario again...' he thought to himself

They had paid a large amount to kill that old man to Hongjoong and Jongho, and now the reason was understood. Another rich businessman, another money-related murder. "How do these bastards have so much money?" Jongho stuck his head out of the car and looked at the mansion, which was almost invisible from the lights. "They don't sit at home jerking off like you, they work." Hongjoong spoke as he opened his trunk and took out his equipment. "What am I doing right now? Do you see my dick out or am I on the job?" Jongho also joined Hongjoong and started rummaging through his bag.

The mansion was four stories tall and very wide, built in a new architecture, and the ornamental shrubs in its garden looked recently pruned. As Yunho had said, surprisingly, only two security guards were protecting this huge house, and they didn't seem to be paying much attention to their surroundings. They could easily be killed. Hongjoong put on his special gloves and mask, took his gun and spare bullets. Normally, he wouldn't go on a mission with so little equipment, but Yunho had told them that even a few bullets would suffice, and they trusted him. He and his team had never made a mistake.

After dressing, Jongho threw his bag into the car and closed the car door. Outside, the only sound other than the wind was the two security guards talking as if they were discussing something very important. Both guards were taller than them but very distracted. Even though Hongjoong’s car wasn't very far away, the gurads still hadn't noticed them. With Hongjoong's signal, the two of them advanced from the side of the car to the front yard, towards the guards. Jongho usually preferred to use a knife; he was very good in close combat. Hongjoong was also good, but Jongho was much stronger than him.

They continued to approach silently. Since the house lights illuminated the entire path, there was nowhere to hide or camouflage; they had to be quick and attack as soon as they approached. Using the garden wall as cover, they got closer and were now very close to the guards. Jongho wondered how such careless people could be guards, but it worked in his favor. Thanks to that, he would complete his mission and receive a large amount of money he had never received before.

The guards were about three meters in front of them. In this silence, Jongho and Hongjoong could hear all their conversations, even their breathing. They had prepared themselves to kill them instantly. If Yunho was wrong and there were more guards, they didn't know what they would do.

Jongho stepped in front of Hongjoong and took his long and large knife in his left hand; he waited for Hongjoong's signal.

Hongjoong pulled the trigger of his suppressor-equipped gun, ensuring he held it properly with both hands for maximum stability. The suppressor wouldn't completely block the sound of the shot, but it would significantly muffle it. Since they were in an open area and the distance between the entrance and the house was far, it could prevent those inside the house from hearing the noise.

The two of them made eye contact, their gazes locking in silent communication. Hongjoong raised his eyebrows, a clear gesture indicating that he was waiting for approval from Jongho. Understanding the unspoken question, Jongho blinked in confirmation. With a steady hand, Hongjoong pulled his left hand away from the gun, making sure Jongho could see his every move. He showed three fingers to Jongho, signaling a countdown. Then, he lowered one finger, then two, and then one. And as Jongho grabbed the neck of the man with his back turned and stabbed him with the knife, Hongjoong simultaneously shot the man facing the knife-wounded man in the forehead. It had taken no more than 3 seconds for both to die, and as they had predicted, no other guards came from anywhere else. It was a very quiet job; everything had happened in an instant.

Now they had left the man on the ground with blood gushing from his neck and the other man whose brains were scattered all over the road and entered the garden to proceed towards their main goal, towards the mansion.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

Suddenly, you were jolted awake by a sharp, piercing pain. As your consciousness slowly returned, you realized that your leg was bleeding from the area where it had been stitched up. It seemed that during your sleep, you must have made a wrong move, causing the stitches to tear open. The pain was so intense and overwhelming that for a brief moment, you completely forgot where you were and what was happening around you. The room seemed to blur as your mind struggled to catch up with the sudden burst of agony.

"Hwa..." You called out weakly to him, but got no response. The place where you were lying was stained and damp with the mixture of blood and the wet cloth that Hwa had used to bring down your fever. Your wound was definitely going to get infected. You tried to see Seonghwa in the darkness of the basement but it was nearly impossible. The reflection of the moonlight from the small window only illuminated the area in front of you. At least you knew he wasn't nearby.

"Hwa, are you here?" you called out, raising your voice slightly. The tension in your tone was unmistakable, filled with worry and fear. Seonghwa would never leave you alone after a punishment, especially not when you were suffering from a fever and bleeding. It was so unlike him. As the blood from your leg ran down your thighs once more, you felt a sharp pang of pain. Your vision blurred slightly, and you realized just how parched you were. The thirst crept up on you, making your mouth feel dry and your throat scratchy. You needed water, but more than that, you needed Seonghwa by your side to reassure you that everything would be okay.

The only continuous water source in the basement was the water from the sink, and there was no problem with drinking it. Besides, even if there was an issue, you had to drink it. Your mouth was very dry, and your lips were cracked.

You didn't want to try standing up; it would hurt too much. The idea of enduring another layer of pain on top of the already unbearable one was simply inconceivable. So, instead, you gathered all the strength you could muster and began to drag yourself towards the sink, relying heavily on your good leg and the support of your arms. As you slowly inched your way forward, you were startled by the sight of a silhouette leaning on the bathroom door. Your heart immediately started to beat rapidly, pounding in your chest, and you were gripped by a sudden sense of panic, not knowing what to do next. In your frantic state, you attempted to crawl back in the opposite direction, desperate to escape whatever danger the shadow might represent. But then, a low, agonized familiar groan emanated from the shadow, causing you to pause in your tracks. The sound was filled with such pain that it made you stop crawling.

"Seonghwa? Is that you?" you called out, your voice trembling with worry. When the shadow made a sound as if confirming, you quickly crawled towards him, your heart pounding in your chest. As you got closer, you could finally make out his features. He was drenched in sweat, and his eyes seemed glazed over, indicating that he wasn't fully conscious. His body started to writhe and moan in place, and you quickly realized that his condition was far worse than your own.

You reached out and touched his forehead, feeling the intense heat radiating from his skin. He had a fever, and it was burning through him even in this cold basement. You pulled back slightly, your eyes scanning down to his legs. The sight made your stomach churn. If you had to describe it in one word, it would be 'terrible'. His legs were completely messed up. Despite the poor visibility in the darkness, you could distinguish light from dark, and Seonghwa’s legs were an ominous, deep shade. They were swollen and purple up to his kneecaps, but 'purple' didn't quite capture it—they were almost black. "Seonghwa! Why didn’t you wake me up? Your legs are so bad!" you exclaimed in a panic.

You knew you had to help him. The condition of his legs was alarming, and you weren't sure if a person could die from such severe bone fractures, but he looked like he was on the brink. It was clear that Hongjoong must have hit the same spot over and over, pulverizing his bones into a gruesome state. Seonghwa's suffering was evident, and you couldn't let him endure it alone.

"Ugh… it hurts…” he groaned softly, feeling the intense pain radiate through his body. “I know it hurts. Wait,” you responded, your voice filled with concern. You stood up very nervously, taking great care not to open any more stitches that had barely begun to heal. And you did it! You managed to balance yourself by putting your strength into your good foot.

With determination, you wet a few cloths in the sink and leaned over to run them over his face, just like he had done for you before. The soothing touch of the wet cloths seemed to provide a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang, and the clatter of metal filled the room. Startled, you lost your balance and fell to the ground. Even though the impact sent sharp waves of pain through your body, you chose not to make a sound out of fear. The last thing you wanted to do was draw attention to yourself and face the devil who was now approaching.

He came right at you with an air of menace. As he suddenly turned on the lights, the harsh brightness illuminated his dangerous face. His expression was constantly grinning, as if everything was so funny, a stark contrast to the terror and pain you were experiencing. The sinister amusement in his eyes made your blood run cold.

“Where were we?” Hongjoong's voice sounded sarcastic and amused, the tone of someone who finds great entertainment in the suffering of others. Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open as soon as he heard his voice. It was like he had just woken up from a nightmare, except the nightmare was about to begin now, in real life, with no escape. “Don’t come any closer, can’t you see our condition? We’re already in a bad situation. What more do you want?” Your voice was trapped in fear, trembling and barely audible. You were wondering if he could hear you because your voice was so quiet, almost a whisper.

He took slow, deliberate steps in front of you, his eyes never leaving your trembling form. As he approached, towering over you, you felt the weight of his gaze. You were pinned to the ground, feeling utterly tiny and insignificant under his scrutiny. The sight of you, bloody and scared, with helplessness written all over your face, made his heart race with a mix of excitement and something darker. Seeing you in such a vulnerable state stirred something deep inside him, an insatiable desire that making him want more.

Seonghwa, with a sudden burst of energy, lunged forward, using all his strength to drag himself to Hongjoong’s feet. His movements were frantic, and it was clear that he still wasn't in his right mind. Hongjoong, on the other hand, was brimming with excitement. Hongjoong knew exactly what Seonghwa was going to do.

Hwa, what are you doin-” You were cut off when Seonghwa threw himself at Hongjoong’s feet, desperation evident in every movement. “I-I beg you, f-forgive me. I didn’t do it on purpose- agh! I didn’t do it on purpose. P-please love me again. I’ll do a-anything!” The basement was eerily silent except for Seonghwa’s pitiful pleading. Hongjoong watched him without uttering a single word, his expression unreadable. “Why would I forgive you? Who would love naughty little bunnies like you? After all, you betrayed me.” Seonghwa started to cry harder at Hongjoong’s cold, cutting words. You were on the verge of tears too, the discomfort and tension of the situation weighing heavily on you. You wanted to tell him to shut up and go back to his old place, but you were too scared to intervene.

“No, I’m not! I’m not naughty! I didn’t mean to act like that!” Seonghwa’s voice was choked with emotion, his tears flowing freely. Hongjoong watched his masterpiece with a sense of twisted satisfaction. His first love, with his legs broken, threw himself at his feet and begged for forgiveness while his new toy, with her burst stitches, watched what was happening in fear and helplessness. The wiev was of unparalleled beauty. If he hadn’t left his phone upstairs, he would have definitely taken a photo to preserve this view forever. Hongjoong felt a surge of power and control, basking in the pain and fear that radiated from both of you. The basement, usually a place of darkness and dread, became a stage for his cruel artistry, a tableau of suffering and submission.

“But you acted like that.” He finished his sentence with a smile by kicking Seonghwa in the chest. When Seonghwa’s breath hitched and he fell back, you backed away from Hongjoong in panic. Neither of you could muster the courage to speak. Only the sound of his painful, ragged breathing filled the room. Hongjoong looked down at Seonghwa’s ankles. They were broken, but it wasn’t anything that wouldn’t heal in a few weeks. Despite his injuries, it was almost endearing how Seonghwa continued to beg for forgiveness in such a weakened state. When Hongjoong shifted his gaze to you, he noticed that your leg was bleeding again. If he went any further, it would be hard for both of you to heal, so he decided it was enough for now. “Since I’m such an understanding person, I’ll end your punishment here. But you’ll be staying here for the next few days.” You were relieved that he wouldn’t hurt you any further. But you both needed proper first aid right now. “We can’t stay like this. H-Hwa is in a bad condition. Can’t you help him?” Your voice trembled as Seonghwa flinched when he heard his name as he writhed on the ground. The fact that you were thinking of him warmed his aching heart a little. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa again and smiled that annoying smile of his. “You should have thought of that before you ran away together.”

You thought he would at least help Seonghwa. After all, Seonghwa had asked for forgiveness from him and had been with Hongjoong for a long time. But he hadn’t. He would leave him like this, he would leave you like this. You shouted and cursed after him as he left the basement; you didn’t know where you found this confidence but you were very angry with him. Interestingly enough, he didn’t turn around and do anything to you after you insulted him. He just locked the door and went upstairs.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

As it was 5 am, the exhaustion of the whole day had settled on him like a heavy blanket. All he wanted was to take another shower to wash away the day's fatigue and then fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Normally, he couldn’t sleep without Seonghwa by his side, but tonight he was so tired that he knew he had to sleep, no matter what. He didn’t even have the energy to dry his hair after stepping out of the shower with wet hair clinging to his face and neck. Instead, he just threw himself on the bed with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his hair still dripping wet. He was probably going to get sick from it, but he didn’t care right now. All he could think about was closing his eyes and escaping into the oblivion of sleep.

He couldn’t sleep. Despite his best efforts to find a comfortable position, he tossed and turned in bed for what seemed like hours. The chill in the air only made things worse, seeping through only the damp towel tied around his waist and about to be opened and causing him to shiver. The cold weather, combined with the lingering dampness of his towel, was a miserable combination that left him feeling even more cold. He had to wrap himself in something. Something warm. Something warm to take away the cold in his heart and body...

He got up with a stumbling motion, slowly put on some clothes, and started walking down the stairs. The sky was gradually lightening at dawn, casting a soft glow over everything, and the fresh morning air was filling the house through the open windows. He quietly opened the basement door, careful not to make any noise. He could see who was where with the light of the new sunlight seeping through the window. You were both sleeping where he had left you last, Seonghwa lying on the floor and you sitting with your backs against the wall. Sleeping would be the wrong word to describe your state. You were more like unconscious.

Hongjoong picked up his favorite toy, trying not to wake or hurting his toy. Although he was short compared to most men, he had a strength that was unexpected from his appearance; he was very strong, so he was able to easily lift his favorite. He returned to the basement door, casting one final glance at his other toy. Without locking it, he quietly closed the door and ascended the stairs. As he gently laid his toy on the bed, he heard a groan of pain.

“Shh, go back to sleep, my prince. I’m here.” Seonghwa’s eyes widened as he locked eyes with Hongjoong, feeling a rush of emotions. He loved him for that. No matter how much Hongjoong hurt him, he would always take care of Seonghwa and show him love. Hongjoong couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Even though he was still running away, he was still in Hongjoong’s bed right now. “I’ll wrap your legs, wait here,” Hongjoong said softly. When he returned with the first aid kit and went to Seonghwa’s side, he saw him looking at him with admiration and a disturbing level of affection. “What?” Hongjoong asked as he unwrapped the new bandage pack in his hands, trying to ignore the intensity in Seonghwa's eyes.

“I love you,” Seonghwa whispered. He loved him very much. Or maybe he thought he did; sometimes, he didn’t know. The lines were blurred. Hongjoong broke him so well, yet he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of attachment. It was a complicated, twisted love, but it was all they had. Hongjoong broke him so well.

“It'll be over soon, don't worry. Just keep your legs straight.”

Seonghwa didn’t take offense that Hongjoong didn’t tell him he loved him back. He knew Hongjoong loved him too.

“Ugh Joongie, it hurts so much." Seonghwa squirmed in discomfort as he felt the tight bandage wrapped securely around his legs, which were throbbing with sharp pain. “Shh shh, I know. Be a good little bunny for me, and don't squirm.” Hongjoong's soothing yet firm voice made Seonghwa suddenly go still. He didn't want to disappoint him even more with his actions. "That's a good boy. I'll give you painkillers as a reward." Hongjoong's words were filled with a mixture of comfort and authority. Seonghwa's eyes met Hongjoong's, filled with a silent plea for relief, and he nodded weakly.

After Hongjoong finished wrapping Seonghwa’s legs tightly to ensure they were properly supported, he gave him a strong painkiller and laid down on the bed next to Seonghwa. He was enveloped in the warmth he so desperately needed, and the soothing heat radiating from Seonghwa’s weakened body served as a balm for Hongjoong’s cold heart and chilled body.

He closed his eyes, thinking that he could finally get some much-needed sleep by holding him tightly in his arms without hurting him too much. The warmth and comfort he felt were almost enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, he suddenly heard the annoying ringing of his phone. The sound was jarring in the quiet room, and he opened his eyes again, startled by the sudden noise, he noticed Seonghwa jump slightly in his arms. He gently reassured Seonghwa, whispering softly that nothing was wrong and that he should continue sleeping. With a sigh, he carefully reached for his phone to see who was calling, hoping it wasn't something urgent that would further disrupt their rest.

Jeong Yunho.

It was strange that he was calling at this hour, and if he was calling after the mission, it usually meant there was a problem with the mission. He sighed in annoyance and picked up the phone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hyung, you need to come here immediately.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was anxious. It was hard to see Yunho anxious; he was always so sure of what he was doing and relaxed. Something was definitely wrong.

Hongjoong cursed at him when the phone abruptly hung up on him. Yunho always liked to make people curious and leave them hanging. As Hongjoong got out of bed and started getting dressed, he caught sight of Seonghwa’s anxious eyes. “Is someone in trouble again or are the police going to raid our house?” He could speak more comfortably now that the pain had subsided a little. “I don't know, he didn't say. Also, don’t bother your beautiful brain with such things. I’ll be back in a few hours. Make sure our princess doesn’t escape from the basement in the meantime. Otherwise, I won’t forgive you this time, Park Seonghwa. So, keep an eye on her and don't let your guard down again.”

It was absolutely impossible for someone upstairs with broken legs to check if someone in the basement had escaped, so Hongjoong carefully picked him up again before leaving the house and took him down to the basement. Although Seonghwa felt a deep sadness to leave the comfort of his bed and the warmth of Hongjoong’s arms, he was happy and relieved that he would now be able to keep an eye on you. Leaving the two of you in the brightly lit basement once more, Hongjoong made a mental note to get Seonghwa a pair of crutches on his way home. He then grabbed the bag containing his weapons and equipment, ensuring everything he needed was inside, and headed back to his car with a sense of urgency.

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[choerypetal]

Love at first Sight / Steve Harrington x Winchester!Sister

Summary: The reader, as the younger sister of the Winchesters, moves to Hawkins to investigate a hunt after losing contact with their father, John. Unbeknownst to them, Hawkins harbors dark secrets, particularly when a certain boy rescues them from the monsters.

ps: This is my longest story to date, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it just as much! Since English isn't my first language, I apologize for any minor grammar errors.

word count; 6ks.

tag list ; @figurantedefilme

“Father, hasn’t come back.” 

Dean’s words reiterate in your mind as you sat in the passenger seat. Sam, your twin, understood the potential consequences of bringing you along. You vividly recalled his argument about the test you had the next morning, how he had done everything possible to support your decision not to get involved. The thought of dragging their little sister, on the brink of graduating high school, into family matters made him troubled. "And where exactly is the location?" he asked, struggling to conceal his irritation while casting worried glances in your direction. 

Dean understood he had no alternative. If given the opportunity, there was no doubt he would have ventured alone. However, giving John's unequivocal instructions left no room for debate on the matter. When family, particularly your father, was concerned, it was imperative for everyone to participate, regardless of their preferences. Dean's grasp on the steering wheel tightened as he disclosed the destination you were bound for.

 “Hawkins.” 

Hawkins was nothing like Kansas. After an eight-hour drive with multiple stops, your brothers took turns at the wheel. For once, you all agreed that your father should be immensely grateful when you finally rescued him, especially given the uncertainty about where to start. It wasn't until you checked into a motel near Hawkins that the research on the haunting began in earnest.

Dean had gone to buy some food while Sam and you continued your search. The sun had set, giving way to the shimmering stars of the night. One of the things you couldn't help but admire about Hawkins was the luminous presence of its own scenery. You were stargazing from your motel window when you heard the door creak open and Sam's voice, poised to relay any information about your father's whereabouts. But it was Dean who spoke first, interrupting Sam's rambling about anything he could find useful. "So, you're telling me there are no official records, just a stupid student article about the incident that happened, what, a year ago? When it all started with a boy going missing?"

"Maybe we should ask for the chief," you suggested, recalling the man around your father's age whom your brothers had seen at the gas station an hour earlier. One who could definitely be a source of information. However, your brothers dismissed the notion, unwilling to involve others. "No, no, no," Dean said, pulling food from the plastic bag and placing it on the table. Sam, still engrossed in his laptop, grabbed the first item his hand found. "The one thing we definitely can't do is involve the cops, especially the sheriff."

And he was right, much as you hated to admit it. Dealing with the cops had never been your brother's strongest suits. Recalling numerous arrests, all tied to their hunting activities, with your father or Bobby often being the one to bail them out.

"I think I found something," Sam said, capturing your attention. Dean snatching the laptop from him, causing Sam to roll his eyes and start munching on his sandwich. "Demogorgon, really?" Dean said, almost offended by the article. What struck him, though, was how off the situation felt with the missing boy and the lab in Hawkins.

"I don't know, man. Don't look at me like that. Just read further," Sam insisted as Dean tried to process the information. Despite their extensive hunting experience, from Wendigo's to the King of Hell, Dean was on the verge of dismissing the student article entirely. This seemed like a stretch even for them.

"And you're telling me Dad went missing because of a half-man, half-creature that feeds on human powers?" Dean asked incredulously. Sam chuckled at his brother's disbelief and nodded. "That's what the article says," he confirmed, though Dean remained unconvinced. He needed more evidence, which meant by morning they will have to start questioning anyone around Hawkins. "Tomorrow, first thing. If the rumors are true, and as much as I hate to admit. Dad might be the creature's next snack anytime soon."

The next morning in Hawkins, you and your brothers headed to the nearest diner. Unlike other places you'd visited, Hawkins had a surprising calmness to it. You were particularly excited to visit the DVD store that had caught your eye, likely the only other place of interest besides the arcade. You always made a point to bring something back from each mission—a habit your brothers found odd yet endearing.

"Please," you begged Dean as the three of you walked into the diner. He rolled his eyes as you all sat down and ordered the usual breakfast: two coffees and an orange juice for you. "What do you even need at a DVD store?" he asked. "Maybe it could also be a good excuse for you and Sam to investigate," you replied with a hint of amusement. Your brothers exchanged a glance and thanked the waitress as she brought the food. "She isn't wrong, you know," Sam agreed, seeing the potential in the idea. "And if it makes Y/N feel at home..." 

"Fine," Dean finally conceded with a sigh. "But after that, we're heading to the trailer park." He insisted, knowing it was one of the areas where the creature had reportedly lingered and the last place your father was apparently seen.

"Robin, I told you, the last time I flirted with a woman, I couldn't even avoid making her cringe," Steve sighed as he brought the DVD tray to restock returns. Behind the counter, Robin mentally tallied her best friend's countless failures, a smile playing on her lips. “I call dibs on the next client.” As she noticed three silhouettes entering the store, her attention shifted entirely to them. "Welcome!" she greeted them, her tone ambiguous enough to make it unclear whether she enjoyed her job or not. "May I help you?"

Your brother wore an expression of determination. Sam, ever the polite one, smiled first and quickly refocused on their primary mission: finding your father. "We just need a few pieces of information," he said, presenting their fake FBI cards. You leaned forward, peeking between your brothers. Immediately catching Steve's attention. Outside, Max and Billy, being new in town, added to the unusual sight of newcomers, especially at this time of year. Steve couldn't help but admire this in awe. "I'll go look for a souvenir. Don't wait for me," you said, glancing at them one last time before heading off. 

"Alright, Chipmunk, just don't take long," Dean replied, prompting you to roll your eyes. Steve noted the nickname, remembering it all too well. As you made your way toward the shelves of tapes, Steve remained with your brothers, soon summoned by Robin.

"It's about their father," Robin had filled Steve in on the situation. Wherever their father was, it didn't sound promising, especially with everything happening—the Demogorgon, Vecna—anything could be connected. Observing Dean's expression shift from annoyance to complete shock, as Sam realized that dismissing the student article might have been their first mistake.

"So... you're saying you fought one of them?" Sam directed his question to Steve. Usually, Steve couldn't resist a bit of ego-boosting, but the serious expression on Dean's face and his repeated glances in your direction, ensuring you wouldn't make a mess, made Steve reconsider. Perhaps setting aside the flirting was the wisest choice. Thus, he simply nodded. "Yes, thanks to Dustin, who obtained the information initially. Even the police are clueless about what's truly occurring."

The Winchester brothers exchanged glances. "Dustin?" they asked simultaneously. Steve nodded in confirmation. "Yes, and not just Dustin. We also have El, who possesses superpowers. She's been instrumental, but given your father's disappearance, someone would have found his body by now or—" Steve hesitated, unwilling to entertain darker possibilities, especially after their experience in the Upside Down. He shared a concerned look with Robin, who shrugged, considering various scenarios. "Wait—let me just process all of this," Dean interjected, taking a step back. Robin offered him a seat at the counter, which he gratefully accepted as he attempted to piece everything together.

"So, let me get this straight: first, this kid Will goes missing, then you guys run into some Demo-whatever-the-hell-it's-called, and now there's this girl with random powers who was held captive in a lab by some Vecna creep?" Dean recalled how vague his father had been on the phone the previous night, mentioning he'd be at some sort of lab. The thought worried him, prompting Sam to give his brother a concerned look. "Are you okay?" Sam inquired. Dean hummed a yes and locked eyes with Steve, who swallowed nervously. Despite only meeting briefly that day, something about your older brother made Steve fidgety. Dean paused momentarily, then retrieved an article from his back pocket and placed it on the counter. Steve immediately recognized Nancy's handwriting.

"Not to sound arrogant, but that's your source?" Steve gestured towards the paper, blinking twice. While Nancy's article was informative, she had to simplify and spice it up to attract readers for her publication, not to mention keep the whole Upside Down ordeal a secret. Steve distinctly recalled her mentioning that. However, he hadn't anticipated it would attract a group of hunters brandishing fake FBI badges. Despite his reservations, he refrained from commenting on it. "Also," he added, indicating their badges, "this whole fake badge charade doesn't fool us. We've already dealt with the Russians trying that stunt," he remarked smugly. Just as you arrived with a stack of DVDs, you couldn't help but laugh. "See? I told you those FBI badges were outdated."

Sam's lips curved into a playful smile as he observed your reaction. Despite disliking that you were traveling with them and missing out on a normal life outside of hunting, it was gratifying to see you interacting with people your age. Your formal demeanor while conversing with Steve, who nodded in response to your comment, was refreshing, as were the small interactions you shared with Robin. "Cash?" Steve inquired next, prompting an eager nod from you as Dean stepped in to pay. "But I have enough!" you protested, pouting adorably—a sight that Steve found strangely endearing. He snapped back to reality as your brother impatiently waited for him to retrieve the cash. "Want-Want the receipt?" Steve asked stuttering slightly, to which your brother shook his head. As the three of you prepared to leave the store, thanking the two employees one last time, Dean paused, causing Sam and you to exchange a curious glance. Dean clearly had something in mind.

"Can we arrange a meeting spot?" he inquired. Steve and Robin shared a glance, aware that the next day they would be assisting Dustin in searching for his friend Eddie. It appeared to be an ideal opportunity, particularly since your brothers intended to explore Hawkins' forest as well. "Skull Rock?" the younger boy proposed. Neither your brothers nor you were aware that you would have more company than anticipated. Dean hesitated, but upon seeing your radiant expression as you held the stack of DVDs you had purchased, you spoke up on their behalf before he could respond. "We'll be there!"

Steve's prediction proved accurate. The following morning arrived, and he remained uncertain whether you would indeed appear, let alone bring your brothers along. The previous night, after interviewing numerous locals, you had practically pleaded with them to join, convinced it was an excellent idea. Considering your father's tendencies, initiating the search in the forest seemed logical. "If this is because of that Steve boy again," Dean interjected with disdain evident in his tone, prompting you to roll your eyes. "It has nothing to do with him! Besides, he's taken down one of these creatures before. I'd sooner trust a DVD seller than a random sheriff at this point." You made a valid argument, and upon witnessing the resolve in your expression, Sam concurred, "She's got a point." With a sigh, Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before starting the engine without another word and directing the car toward Skull Rock.

"So who are we waiting for exactly?" Dustin inquired impatiently, observing Steve's restless pacing. "And what's with the sudden nerves?" Robin teased with a smirk. "It's Y/N." "Y/N?" Steve spoke your name, almost offended. "Oh, so you know her name?" Robin enjoyed Steve's irritation and couldn't resist teasing him further. "She mentioned it before they departed, in case you were paying attention, lover boy."

"They?" Dustin regarded the two adults before him, clearly perplexed by the situation and the strangers they had involved. "Her father vanished, and her brothers, who are apparently hunters, were dispatched here. We're just hoping we don't stumble upon their father's lifeless body along the way," Steve explained. He hadn't intended to sound so severe, but his nerves had taken over, leading him to adopt a touch of sarcasm. His confidence faltered as he heard your brother's voice drawing nearer. "Y/N, this is nonsense. We should've contacted Castiel."

"Yes, but remember, Castiel's at the hospital right now. He needs the rest," you reminded them, recalling the events of the last hunt. "Come on, grumpy old man," you added, grabbing Dean's arm, eliciting a whine from him, while Sam chuckled, enjoying the moment. As your eyes met Robin’s, you waved at her. "Robin!"

Robin was the first to notice your arrival and approached you with a hug. You were introduced to Dustin, whom they described as the clever one, and who had some knowledge about the creatures and your father's potential whereabouts. Lucky for him, he had mentioned about seeing a man whose description bore a striking resemblance to your father's, which he promptly relayed to Dean. "So, that's how you stumbled upon this entire Russian trap?" you inquired. They all nodded in agreement, but their conversation was interrupted as Eddie emerged from his hiding spot, causing you to startle slightly.

"Dustin, you rascal," Eddie's voice reverberated in your thoughts. Amidst the chaos of your missing father and the onslaught of curses from Max and Eddie, whom you had only just met, Eddie extended his hand to shake yours, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as he flashed a smile. "Haven't seen you around before, sweets," he remarked, managing to find humor in the situation despite its gravity, prompting a slight cringe from Steve, who had been the first to encounter you. Yet, you couldn't deny that Eddie exuded a certain charm of his own. "We've been sent on a mission. My father disappeared around here a few days ago, and my brothers, who are hunters, insisted I come," you explained, introducing Dean and Sam to everyone present, including Lucas, Max, and Nancy, all of whom reciprocated with their own introductions.

"And I assume you're familiar with me," the metalhead sighed at his presence, wishing for a more auspicious introduction. You shook your head, seeking confirmation from Robin and then Steve. "Eddie," Steve answered, somewhat irritated. "The 'supposed boy' who was involved in the cheerleader's death?" your brother recited from a news article. But quickly flinched and groaned in discomfort as you took the crumpled article and hit it against his chest. "Good Lord, Y/N, what was that for?" he protested as you gave him a knowing glance. 

"Do you get a serial killer vibe from him?" you questioned, coming to Eddie's defense. “It’s alright, Y/N, there’s no need…” Observing the unfolding scene, Steve couldn't help but wish he were in Eddie's position, but circumstances had changed since your meeting with him the day before. Determined to contribute, he spoke up. "Shouldn't we be, you know, taking action instead of just standing around? Especially for their father, Dustin, and everything?" 

Dustin briefly glanced at Steve, recognizing that familiar look of jealousy. First, it was with Nancy, and now it seemed directed toward a complete stranger. Amused, Dustin couldn't resist teasing him and feigned ignorance, only serving to make Steve's jealousy even more evident. Meanwhile, you were completely absorbed in Eddie's presence, oblivious to Steve's inner turmoil. Dean, always the vigilant brother, interjected, "Come on, lover boy, no time to waste," playfully tousling your hair as he noticed Steve's uneasy glance. You muttered a few choice words before smoothing down your hair. It was endearing to witness the two men vying for your attention, but it also put Dean, the protective brother, on edge. "Sammy?" he called out, turning to Sam, who was already assisting Dustin in plotting the next course of action. "Ready?"

You, on the other hand, gave a final glance to Eddie, who appeared ready. "Lead the way, sweetheart," you encouraged. The walk proved lengthier than anticipated, and as the sun began to set, the sky revealed the first twinkling stars, a sight you never failed to appreciate. Steve made a point to remain by your side throughout. "Look!" you exclaimed, prompting Steve to recall the way your smile lit up your face. Your observation caused everyone, including your brothers, to pause in their tracks. "The stars seem larger tonight," you remarked in awe. "Are you a fan of astrology?" Eddie inquired, leaning closer to you, and you turned to regard him. "And you?" you countered. He shrugged. "Not particularly, but now that you mention it, Hawkins nights do hold a certain allure, don't they, Steve?"

"Indeed," Steve responded, the faint edge of irritation apparent in his tone. Eddie noticed, recognizing the signs of infatuation, and chose not to press the matter further. "Perhaps," he suggested, "rather than discussing stars, we should direct our attention to..."

An interruption broke the silence—a familiar screech that caused Dustin to halt abruptly, prompting everyone to freeze in place. He listened intently, ensuring it wasn't merely his imagination. "Do you all hear that?" he whispered, the sound growing louder. Your brothers remained nearby, while Steve stood steadfastly by your side. You could have sworn you felt his fingers graze yours, prompting you, out of habit, to reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. In that moment, he was your knight in shining armor.

Dean swiftly seized the flashlight, his actions quickened by a piercing scream resonating through the air. As you turned to confront the creature lurking in the shadows, a chill of fear gripped you, compounded by the sight of blood dripping from its jaw. Paralyzed, you sensed its menacing presence drawing nearer with each passing second. In the blink of an eye, it lunged towards you. "Y/N!" Steve's urgent voice reverberated in your mind as Dean barked orders at Sam to take the first shot. Yet, the gunfire proved futile against the relentless creature. "Steve!" Robin's frantic shout pierced through the chaos as she tossed him the bat. Everything unfolded too swiftly to comprehend.

Overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the creature, you found your knees giving way, sending you tumbling to the ground. In a swift response, Eddie rushed to your side, offering reassurance in a soothing tone. "It's alright, it's gone," he repeated, his words a steady anchor amidst the chaos. With trembling hands, you instinctively shielded your face, attempting to suppress the rising tide of screams threatening to escape.

Unbeknownst to the group, your father had been silently observing from the shadows all along. With keen interest, he monitored the actions of his two sons and daughter, though the sight of you among them caught him off guard. This situation served as a test, one that Dean might soon recall—it was designed to assess whether the two boys were prepared to tackle cases beyond their usual scope. However, your involvement was an unexpected twist, not part of the original plan. Little did John know, another version of himself had been lurking much closer than anticipated.

Sam was the first to discern John's presence. His disbelief was palpable, tinged with a hint of revulsion at the sight of his father seemingly unscathed, contrary to the myriad theories the three Winchesters had fervently debated in recent days. "Dad? Dad?" Dean's puzzled expression mirrored Sam's confusion, just as Steve swiftly dispatched the Demogorgon with a well-timed blow. 

"Boys," John greeted with a smile that felt forced. Max, sensing an underlying unease, found herself growing suspicious. Though not intimately acquainted with the Winchesters' father, her own encounters with flayed individuals had honed her instincts. "Guys," she interjected, attempting to capture Steve's attention, "I have my doubts about him." Steve, casting a brief glance at Hargrove, immediately redirected his focus upon hearing your faint cries, ensuring your well-being as he knelt beside Eddie. Meanwhile, your brothers stood frozen in astonishment at the sight of their impostor father.

"Dean?" Max's voice reverberated in your brother's mind, prompting him to turn towards her. "Yes?" he replied, noting the concern etched on her features. An instinctual feeling swept over him, suggesting that the figure before them wasn't their father. With Sam in close proximity, Dean couldn't resist beckoning him over, yet there was no response. "I don't believe it's your father," Max murmured softly, her words carrying a weight of conviction. "And what leads you to that conclusion?" Dean inquired, though inwardly he harbored similar suspicions. Despite clinging to a glimmer of hope, he remained open to Max's insight. "Do you notice any discrepancies?" Bingo. Dean scrutinized the man masquerading as their father, discerning subtle nuances in his smile, his gaze, and the feigned affection. It became increasingly apparent that whatever entity had taken control was failing miserably at replicating their father's mannerisms.

"I'm relieved to find you all here. I was growing concerned," the voice emanated, its tone unsettling. Max's intuition proved correct. Sensing trouble, Sam moved closer while Dean hastened towards him, their actions synchronized with the abrupt sound of another gunshot. The bullet found its mark, striking the impostor masquerading as John. A sickly green fluid oozed from his mouth, portending imminent danger. His once-human eyes now glowed an eerie white. In a stroke of luck, John had managed to discharge a bullet into his counterfeit form. Sam's eyes widened in horror as he cried out for his father.

Dean's grip tightened on his firearm, grappling with the uncertainty of the situation, questioning the authenticity of the figure before him. John's eyes met yours, a silent challenge conveyed through his gaze. Despite the tension, you managed to steady your breathing, feeling the weight of the moment. With Steve's presence lending you reassurance, you stood your ground, determined to maintain composure amidst the uncertainty.

"Bringing Y/N along, really?" Your father's tone dripped with a mix of disgust and shame, causing Sam to sense the weight of the situation. Understanding the pressure you were under, he rose to stand by your side. Meanwhile, Eddie and Steve, recognizing the need for composure, subtly suggested maintaining distance, hinting at the gravity of family matters. Despite their advice, you clung to their shirts, silently pleading for their support. "Please," your eyes implored. Thus, you, Sam, Eddie, Steve, Max, Lucas, Dustin, Robin, and Nancy maintained a respectful distance, observing the unfolding events.

Dean harbored discontent towards his father's stance on involving you in the discussion. While it had been acknowledged that reaching a certain age would inevitably draw you into the hunting lifestyle, akin to Sam's trajectory, Dean remained disheartened by the prospect. He often cited Sam's own journey, pointing out how it led him to abandon Stanford and commit to hunting full-time. Unlike Dean, Sam advocated for a conventional life for you, one filled with relationships and camaraderie. The time spent in Hawkins only solidified this perspective for you. "She's prepared," Dean asserted, though John's skepticism was evident.

"Y/N, return to the car," your father's voice rang out, commanding attention as all eyes turned towards where you knelt, shaking your head in defiance. "I said, return to the vehicle," he reiterated, employing the same authoritative tone he used on Sam during the vampire hunt. Just as you were about to interject, Sam's figure materialized beside you. Sensing the escalating tension, Steve cautiously ushered Eddie away, allowing space for Sam to intervene.

 He knelt beside you, meeting your gaze with familiarity, recognizing the turmoil reflected in your eyes—a familiar sight during conflicts between your father and himself. Understanding the need to address the situation decisively, not only for his own sake but for yours as well, he inquired, "Do you want me to speak to him, instead?"

A silent sob and a nod conveyed everything. "No, Dad," Sam's voice, grave and resonant, shattered the stillness. He reserved that tone for moments of utmost gravity. Dean attempted to interject, "Sam!" but his words fell on deaf ears; Sam had already approached their father. "She's not prepared," Sam asserted, his gaze penetrating the darkness of the night. Towering slightly over their father, he leaned in, exuding an air of palpable tension. "You are the reason she departed in the first place. In any case."

"What did you just say?" John's voice carried the weight of authority, now laced with a menacing undertone aimed at both his son and daughter for their insubordination. "You heard me," Sam retorted unwaveringly, his gaze hovering dangerously close to his father's collar, poised for confrontation. Yet, he refrained from physical action, mindful of the precarious situation in Hawkins. The tension between the two men simmered, with Dean positioned between them, striving to defuse the escalating conflict. "Yes, you left when your brother and I needed you. You chose her over us! Sam! You—"

"And let's not forget, Dad, you're the one who said, 'Don't come back.' You slammed that door shut on her, not me! You were just angry because you couldn't control her anymore!" Dean interjected, seizing his brother's collar to preempt any potential altercation. John, their father, fixed his gaze on you. Sam's accusation hit home. Despite your love for him, the scars from his domineering nature and the dangers of the hunt still haunted you. Was it all to prove a point about strength? Even now, the memories of that day haunted your dreams. 

"We're all exhausted," Dean interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension. "Now that we've found you, maybe we can head back to the motel." Sam's expression betrayed his reluctance, but it seemed like the most prudent course of action. With their father located, the Winchesters knew their business in Hawkins was concluded. However, your intentions were different. You had someone else in mind: Steve.

Steve observed the scene with mounting fury. The family conflict played out before him, and seeing you curled up, trying to hide your distress, fueled his anger. He was furious at your father for forcing you into a life you hadn't chosen, for making you feel trapped by the family legacy. Watching your brother stand up for you only deepened his ire. Later that night, while your brothers tried to calm your father. From how you would see him gently caressed your cheek, wiping away any lingering tears, and let you collapse into his arms. Murmuring soothing words such as, "Hey, it’s going to be alright. I’m here." And he meant it. He stayed with you all night, knowing that by tomorrow, you might be gone. Or so he thought.

The following night, you faintly recalled your brothers arguing, their voices rising until they stepped outside to avoid waking you. The hunt had left you drained, but your father's harsh words lingered in your mind. With your eyes closed, feigning sleep, you heard the front door of the motel room creak open. Your father entered and knelt beside you, gently brushing the hair from your face. The look on his face, one you couldn't forget, made you wonder if Sam had managed to get through to him. "I am so sorry..." he murmured softly.

His voice was hoarse from crying. Whatever they had discussed was more significant than you had imagined, affecting not just you but Sam as well. As his twin, you had always stood by his side, through thick and thin. Your father, recognizing this bond, finally broke the silence, "If you want to go to college," he said, his voice laden with emotion, "then you can. I love you."

He hadn't wanted to wake you, but his genuine words stirred you. You couldn't help but lean in and wrap your arm around his waist just as he was about to leave. Initially thinking you were asleep, his eyes widened in surprise, then softened as he smiled and returned your embrace. When your brothers returned with food, Sam smiled but refrained from teasing, not wanting to embarrass you. "Dinner?" he asked simply, the warmth of the moment lingering in the air.

Your father glanced at you as you wiped away the last of your dried tears. Nodding, you joined the three men at the dinner table. As you ate, your thoughts drifted to Steve and the longing to see him one last time. "I know we're leaving tomorrow, but..." you began, cheeks flushing. Dean, catching on immediately, spoke through a mouthful of sandwich, "The lover boy?" He raised an eyebrow. Both Sam and your father chuckled, with your father raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. "Who?" he asked, though he clearly knew. "Steve," you murmured, so softly that your family made you repeat it. "Who?" they echoed, smirking. "Steve! Alright, jeez. Anyway, I have to return my DVDs anyway."

Dean rolled his eyes, even though he was notoriously inept when it came to romance. Seeing you with someone, especially someone like Steve, was undeniably endearing. He knew Steve was a good guy—after all, he had helped a complete stranger in the woods, which had led to more than just uncovering their father's disappearance. Now they knew their dad had been flayed. While Dean hated the idea of leaving so soon, he understood that helping Hawkins was necessary. And if it meant you could spend a little more time with Steve, he didn’t mind at all. "You know," he said in a suggestive tone, "I talked with this Dustin kid..."

You met your brother's gaze, eyebrows furrowed, sensing he was onto something significant. "Spill," Sam demanded.

"Well, I also talked to Dad," Dean began. "We discovered something more sinister lurking beneath Hawkins. They need all the help they can get, so I offered our assistance. We’ll be staying a few days to start our search." Your eyes widened in shock and joy as you processed your brother's words. This meant you might be staying for weeks, even months, given the seriousness of the Upside Down situation. And it also meant more time with Steve. “So, we’re staying?” you asked, excitement evident in your voice. Dean nodded with a smile, ruffling your hair. "Don't get too excited, Chipmunk. But yes, and Dad is joining in."

You couldn't be more grateful, and as the three of you settled into bed that night, only one thought occupied your mind: Steve.

The next morning, your brothers and father decided to eat at the nearest café in Hawkins. Over breakfast, you managed to gather more information: one piece related to Max's curse and another concerning Eddie's possible connection to Chrissy's murder, a name you learned only afterward. “And I thought vampires were bad,” you quipped, eliciting chuckles from your brothers. Given your extensive hunting records and those of your brothers and father, it was evident that this situation in Hawkins was unlike anything you had faced before.

After breakfast, while your family was investigating with Dustin's help, you decided to visit the store. Steve was nowhere to be found, so you gently placed the DVDs on the counter and waited. As time passed, your patience waned. With a sigh, you left the DVDs and some cash on the table, resigning yourself to the thought that Steve might already be thinking of someone else, perhaps even kissing another girl. Just as you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out, “Y/N! So sorry, it was my break shift. I didn’t–”

Your face brightened at his presence, a wave of relief washing over you for not considering his break earlier. You watched him clumsily put on his vest and walk toward you for a hug. “You okay?” he asked, releasing you and focusing entirely on you, his eyes filled with affection. You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yes, we finally managed to talk it out with my father,” you murmured, still processing the emotional weight of the conversation.

Steve's concern was palpable, but relief washed over his face as you spoke. “Also,” he added, a smile spreading across his lips, “I heard you’ll be staying here for a while, huh?” His teasing tone made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile, nodding your head and murmuring a soft, “Mhm.”

"Yep, my brothers insisted on helping as much as they can," you said, appreciating their unwavering support, even in the gravest situations. It was one of the many reasons you wanted to join their hunts; balancing college and hunting didn't seem so daunting after all. "This means seeing your face all day," you added with a teasing pout, trying to feign offense. Steve's chuckle and eye roll, however, told you he saw right through your playful act.

"Ouch, I am hurt," he said sarcastically, stepping closer. It was now or never, he thought. If he waited another day, another week, who knew when he'd get another chance to express his feelings. "You know," his voice became slightly hoarse as his eyes roamed over your face and body. His fingers gently brushed your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. Up close, you realized how striking Steve's eyes were—something you'd have to get used to. "I don't have anything planned for tonight," he purred, making you tilt your head in feigned innocence. You knew Steve had something in mind, even if he wasn't saying it outright.

"I was thinking of inviting you over for a movie night at my place. I'll cover the pizza," he offered, his words causing your cheeks to warm. While you felt the urge to inform your brothers, you decided to wait until later, until you were at Steve's house. "Alright, lover boy," you said, using the nickname your brother had coined for him. Steve grunted and rolled his eyes, dismissing the teasing. "So, tonight at 8, Chipmunk?" he added with a smirk, to which you responded with a playful glare.

"Eight o'clock it is," you agreed. Just as you felt the warmth of Steve's proximity, the door swung open. In walked Dustin, Max, Eddie, and your brothers. Dean, unable to resist, was the first to comment. "Alright, lovebirds, we've got some research to do. If you want my sister by eight, we need to get started immediately."

"Dean!" you protested, turning to face your brother with a glare. He smirked and followed Dustin to the DVD computer, while Steve protested for more carefulness. As everyone crowded around the screen, Sam approached you, leaving the two of you momentarily alone. "You know," he said with a genuine smile, "if you want to go to college—" You shook your head. Despite your father’s agreement, you couldn’t leave your family behind; you loved them too much. "No, I really think I'm ready," you replied. Sam raised an eyebrow, taken aback but relieved, and wrapped one arm around you in a quick hug.

"Then let’s kill this thing," Sam said, and you nodded, following him. Who would have thought that a place you initially hoped would hold clues about your father's whereabouts would also be where you'd find friends and someone to count on—Steve Harrington. "You okay?" Steve murmured as you joined him, noticing your brief discussion with Sam. "Yes, I am," you replied with a smile, feeling his hand gently squeeze yours. "I just can’t wait for tonight as well," you confessed, and you could have sworn you saw Steve's cheeks warm at your comment, which you found adorably endearing. He leaned in to press a kiss on your cheek, returning the favor.

"I am too," he said.

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (3/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: without ona, you find other ways to fill the hole in your heart, as the consequences of your own actions come back to haunt you.

word count: 7.0k

a/n: holy shit is this one long. some more cameos for the plot who are all good bros to our dumbasses in love 👍

PART I, PART II, PART IV, PART V

2018, 5 years ago.

You always hated it when your hands shake after adrenaline rushes. It felt debilitating, like you weren��t able to make rational decisions because all you could think about was trying to hide your trembling hands.

When your coach called you into his office, you were still cradling your right hand, the other pressing an ice pack to the bruise starting to form on your right knuckles. The way he pointed with his head for you to follow him—doing so without a word—reaffirmed that you were definitely in trouble.

It was a warm day in May, and yet you had two training sessions to complete. You were drenched in sweat afterwards, your body warm and buzzing like a furnace. Definitely not a good day to be pissed off.

Coach Dennis sat in his chair behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him. His lips were curling and jutting out like they always did whenever he was concentrating or trying to look angry. It made him look like a fish.

A silence followed, and then he spoke. “Are you aware of what you did?”

You clenched your jaw to stop yourself from blurting out something sarcastic. “I punched a teammate, Coach.”

“You’re aware that that could get you released, don’t you, Y/N?” He asked. “NYCFC has zero tolerance for violence within the first team, much less the youth academy.”

You lowered your head. Your hands were shaking much less now.

“May I ask why you did it?” Coach pressed further when he didn’t receive an answer.

So you told him. There was a group of girls that had been picking on you for years now. You were never the biggest or strongest, so you used your techniques to weave the ball through defenders, to make you stand out, and it pissed them off.

“So you punched one of them.”

“They were cornering me.” You said simply, looking up at him for the first time since the meeting started.

The man sighed and covered his nose and mouth with his palms. You might have reduced his lifespan by a decade right then.

“Y/N, I know you. I know you will stand up for yourself, and I expect nothing less from you, but this kind of behavior will not and cannot fly here. That’s why I’m telling you this, because I know you’ll be special one day.”

“Those girls are bullies, Coach. They don’t deserve to be here. You should be punishing them!”

“They will get their punishment in due time, but you still punched a teammate,” he said firmly. “You did what you thought was right, but violence is never the answer. You can’t punch your way out of everything.”

“Are you kicking me out?” You asked, trying to remain stoic, yet you were fiddling with your fingers.

“No. I’m blocking your Dallas offer.”

FC Dallas had been one of the top scouts that have had their eyes on you, and you had been working extra hard to impress them. This was your chance to break into their first team, and it was gone.

“You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can.” He pressed.

“Coach, please—”

“Thank you, Y/N.” He cut you off. “You may leave.”

Leaving Dennis’ office, and walking down the hallway, your eyes caught Sara—the girl you punched—sitting in the infirmary, her face tear-stained, red, and blotchy. She had always looked at you with disdain, but now there was a fear in her gaze as she caught yours from far away. When she did, you got a better look at the damage you’d done to her face. You suddenly felt that shame you should have felt back in the office.

“Yo, Y/N,” you heard someone call when you were outside. “I heard about what happened.”

“You’re gonna lecture me, Gio? ‘Cause Dennis already did.”

“No, man. I was gonna say how badass that was,” he grinned.

A slow grin spread on your face. You shook your head, as Gio put his arm around your shoulder and you walked to the cafeteria.

You met Giovanni Reyna a few years ago when you first joined the academy. In a training session where both the boys and girls participated, you were paired with him for finishing drills. With a hard tackle, he’d almost put you in the hospital. Ever since then, you had been stuck to the hip. He was the first friend you made and the longest friend you’d ever had.

You’d stay another year at NYCFC, honing your skills, and avoiding another run-in with your bullies until the transfer window was near. You were still waiting for FC Dallas to call back, as you had for a year now. It was the only place you wanted, and while you knew it was risky to do so, it was your gateway to Europe through their partnership with Bayern Munich.

“Sara is going to the Red Stars, did you hear?”

“Dylan’s going to Orlando Pride.”

“I heard Hope and Mary-Anne are going to Roma and Lyon!”

You had tried to block out the gossip in the cafeteria, but it made you doubt yourself. What did they have that you didn’t? Yes, you weren’t the tallest or strongest, but neither were Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro. But maybe that was just it; you were not Messi, Xavi, or Aguëro, and you would never be.

Gio was leaving too, there had never been any doubt about that; his dad was a U.S. legend, and it was only natural that he’d give the best to his son. Besides, Gio might have been the next best thing after Christian Pulisic skyrocketed to fame within the past few years. The boy’s move to Borussia Dortmund was almost imminent, and people had been whispering about it for weeks, but you were the one he told first.

“When do you leave?” You asked, picking at the food on your tray. Gio and you were sitting outside having lunch.

“Beginning of June,” he said.

“I’m happy for you,” you muttered, voice cracking quietly, but a small smile remained on your face.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is a good thing,” you smiled, nodding as you grabbed his hand over the table. “I’ll just miss you a ton.”

“Hey,” Gio searched for your eyes. “I have no doubt that you’ll be scouted soon. I know it. I know you have what it takes to be at the top, whether it’s in Europe, or here.”

Your best friend left less than a month later. You had wrapped your arms around him so tightly and hid your face in his neck, afraid you might bawl like a baby the last time you saw him on the training ground. But you didn’t cry then.

You did cry, though, when Coach Dennis called you into his office again a week later. This time, instead of expressing his disappointment in you, he hugged you tight, congratulated you, and let you read the email that Portland Thorns FC sent to request a transfer for you to their first team.

2023, present.

“You ever thought about what you’d be doing if you weren’t playing football?”

You had just drifted off a bit when the voice next to you spoke. Furrowing your eyebrows, you wondered how she wasn’t absolutely battered.

“Don’t know. Never had a plan B. Didn’t want to.”

“Right. But I feel like, I go to training, I kick the ball, people come and watch me, and then when I go home after, I don’t know who I am. It’s like . . . I’m nothing without the footballer.”

You didn’t expect your hookup to be opening up to you like this. You’d only just met her a few hours ago at a club. You had played against her a few times in the league but had never spoken to her face-to-face. Though not the best on the dance floor, she made an excellent dance partner in bed.

“Well, having a personality is overrated nowadays anyway.” You replied, closing your eyes again. “Nobody cares who you are until you fuck up on the pitch, so just don’t fuck up on the pitch.”

“Easy for you to say,” she huffed. “You have your starter place at City guaranteed.”

You ignored her and turned to the other side. A few minutes later, you heard the sheets shuffling, then the sound of a zipper. “This was fun,” she whispered before you heard your bedroom door opening and closing.

No barks, it meant Bratwurst was asleep, luckily for your ears. Most people you had been bringing home he had been barking at. You wanted to think it was him being protective over you, but he would bark at your teammates too when they would come over, except for one person.

Ever since you came back from the World Cup much earlier than you had anticipated, you liked to find company at clubs and parties. In your time of need, you’d found that you preferred sporadic ones, fewer complications, and headaches.

You were also invited to events; award shows, the British Grand Prix, and a few fashion shows. Those you never really bothered with, but they were chances for your stylist to go crazy with the outfits (which you never complained).

The only good thing to come out of those, however, was seeing Gio again at Paris Fashion Week. The moment you saw him, you gladly accepted it when he brought you into a tight hug, feeling like that 13-year-old again when you first met. You kept in touch over the years, but your schedules were always too different to ever meet up. But it was as if no time had passed, and the only thing that kept you both from talking till morning was that Gio needed rest for his rehabilitation training the next day.

“I’m going on a trip to Ibiza soon with a few friends. You should come,” he said.

“I don’t know, G. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t. I want you to come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Just because you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean you’re allowed to set me up,” you smirked and shoved him.

“I’ve seen the stuff that came out about you, Y/N,” he sighed. “Is it true?”

“I’m not doing anything illegal if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I meant. About you being seen at clubs day in and day out. What is this really about, Y/N?”

You know Gio wanted the best for you, even though sometimes he was too stubborn to admit it. You were too, but you loved him to bits. Maybe that’s why you two fit together so well.

“I let someone close to my heart, and it fucked me over.”

Gio nodded softly. “Well then. Just consider it a vacation. She’ll still be there though.”

“And you won’t make me go out with her?”

“As if I can make you do anything.”

Unless you were legally prohibited or physically unable to, you would never turn down a proper party. So there you were, on a yacht in Ibiza with your best friend and several other people in his entourage. Gio, that little shit, though having promised not to set you up, was elbowing you at a woman the moment she set foot on the yacht. Anyone with eyes would say that she was beautiful; curly hair, plump lips, and soulful eyes you could get lost in.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. It didn’t hurt to try.

You went over to the bar where she stood and ordered a drink. Glancing behind your shoulder, you noticed Gio sending you a big thumbs-up.

“So, you are the one Gio keeps raving on about,” said the woman next to you. Her eyes were really pretty.

“I guess so. That’s me,” you let out a laugh, albeit shakily. “Am I everything you dreamed of and more?”

It was her turn to laugh. “He definitely mentioned your confidence, yes.”

“Well, then I’ll definitely keep you around for sure. But just so you know, I do other things besides kick a football around and look pretty doing it.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” you smirked. “I’m Y/N,” you extended a hand.

“Leena,” she took your hand in a firm handshake and raised her drink to you.

You took a sip, and watched her behind the glass, only to notice that she was looking back at you as well. “So, how did you know Gio?”

“I worked with him on a couple of photoshoots. I’m a photographer,” leaning against the bar with her drink, she smiled and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “He was really nervous, said he didn’t like getting his picture taken. Luckily, I used to work with kids and animals back home in Finland, so making a full-grown man laugh for his headshots wasn’t too hard.”

“You’re from Finland?”

“Mmhm. I go back and forth between London and Manchester now, though.”

“Interesting,” you nodded inconspicuously. “I play in Manchester. Nice city.”

Before you knew it, the sun had started to go down, and it was time to drive the yacht back to port. As you all made your way to the exit to disembark, you waited for Leena before offering your hand to help her down the ramp.

Your group was to head into town, and have some dinner before going to a local music festival to finish the night off. It was dark by the time you arrived at the venue, and you wasted no time in immersing yourself in the music. Gio and the others were long forgotten, and you found yourself enjoying your time with Leena much more than you had anticipated.

You told her about your job, and she asked about the World Cup. As much as you hated to talk about it, having declined several interviews and podcast appearances in which mentions of the tournament were inevitable, you told her everything she wanted to know.

She was so attentive and listened, even though you knew she didn’t follow the sport, and for that you were thankful. It has been a while since you talked to someone about how you felt and have them listen so wholeheartedly.

“Do you ever miss home?” You asked once the both of you had taken a break from dancing.

“Sometimes, but right now my wanderlust is bigger than my homesickness. I want to see everything the world has to offer.”

You swirled your martini on the standing table. “I’ve been away from home for so long, I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

“Well, I think home is where you make it.” She lay a hand on your bare arm, caressing it slowly. “If you’ve already made a home at this age, what else is there to do?”

Your eyes trailed along her arm up to her face. Your heart slowed, and the music seemed to have faded in the background. Despite the chaos of the festival, several drunk people dancing next to you, and your friends have already disappeared somewhere, you suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss Leena.

But it wasn’t her that you wanted to kiss, not really. You wanted to kiss her because it reminded you of familiar feelings, to have someone in your corner that you didn’t have to pretend to. But of course that was all based on a lie.

As she reached into your martini to pick up the olive pick and held it out for you, you bit down gently on the fruit and let her pull the pick away. You smiled bashfully.

“I’ll go get us some more drinks,” you cleared your throat. “Do you want some fries too?”

You needed to get out of there before you did something you regret and ruin a good thing, again.

The bartender was off once you’d given him your order. Whilst waiting for the drinks, you looked around for familiar faces and spotted Gio and a couple of his friends “dancing” to the music in one corner, clearly quite inebriated.

“Y/N.”

You turned around and wished that you didn’t. It was Ona, looking at you like you were some sort of alien.

“Ona,” you breathed.

“Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with friends.” Now would be a good time for those drinks, bartender.

She nodded. “How are you?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly. “Congratulations by the way, on winning.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You guys deserved it. No matter who’s trying to take it away from you, you did, and you should celebrate it,” you meant it and tried to force a smile that adequately expressed your sentiments. Needless to say, it would be easier to be saying this to one of her teammates, anyone but her.

You remembered the night she broke your heart, the night when you left your heart by the sidewalk as you trekked all the way home on foot.

That was three months ago, and with all the distractions you’ve indulged yourself in, somehow it still ached.

The bartender handed you your drinks just then, and you were off.

“Y/N, wait.” You closed your eyes. “I’m sorry . . . for what I said, how I said it.”

“No, I think you made your point very clear, Ona. Have a good rest of your trip.”

“Y/N, I did feel something too! I did!”

Ona felt like biting her tongue at the look you gave her when you turned around, the two glasses of Negronis dangling in your fingers by your side. She had almost regretted it when your lips trembled, and your chest rose and fell as if an implosion was imminent.

You took a large step towards her and exhaled. “You don’t get to do that. Not after I’ve tried to do everything to forget you. You can’t do that.”

Ona opened her mouth to say something, but she knew anything she said would only add to your fury.

“I hope you’re happy by the way.” You said mockingly. “Seeing that you got what you wanted. Winning the World Cup, moving back to Barcelona. Hope you’re happy. Bye, Ona.”

She watched unmovingly as you walked away from her, back to a table where a woman was waiting, and pulled her towards the crowd to dance. She found herself returning to her group, not being able to get the image of you swaying behind the woman with your arm around her neck out of her mind.

What kind of sick joke was the universe playing to make her see you right when she was supposed to be enjoying her days off? Maybe it was her punishment, having broken your heart then practically fleeing the country immediately after.

“Where’s the drink, Ona? You were supposed to get us some,” Lucy questioned her when she came back.

“Oh, sorry. I thought I saw someone.”

“Oi, is that Y/N? Y/N!”

“No, please don’t.” Ona grabbed Lucy’s arm, and quickly pulled it down.

Realizing Lucy didn’t know about it, she knew she was going to have to tell her one way or another. Surprisingly, Lucy didn’t laugh or tease her about it after hearing the entire story. They were back at their hotel, with another bottle of wine passed between them, and Ona told her new teammate everything.

“You were under our noses the whole time, and we didn’t even realize,” Lucy snickered with a shake of her head.

“Yeah,” the night had taken a toll on her, and Ona started to feel the effect of the alcohol as she lay staring at the ceiling. “Have I made a huge mistake? Letting myself be involved in all this.”

“Obviously, but the heart wants what it wants. Trust me,” the brunette took another sip from the bottle. “It is a hard situation, but she needs space, as much as you can give her so she can heal.”

“Sounds like you’ve been through it before,” Ona smirked and poked her with her elbows.

The older woman only laughed. “Something like that.”

As hard as it was to accept the truth, Ona had to move on. She didn’t have a lot of time to mope around, however, before she knew it, the season had already begun. Barcelona had always been a place to return to, and the team needed someone who had Barcelona in her DNA to complete the defense.

It was all going swimmingly, too much so even. The season started out slow, but they grabbed the wins when they needed them. Then it was time for the Champions League draw. Barcelona had been drawn into a group with RSC Anderlecht, AS Roma, and Manchester City.

Just her luck. She’d have to see you twice before the year ended. Barcelona would be going to Manchester first.

With her chance encounter with you in Ibiza still fresh on her mind, she joined the queue for warm-up, looking up every once in a while in case she spotted you. When she did, you were standing by the sideline talking animatedly to your other former teammate Keira. She tore her eyes away before you could notice her, and swallowed that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Longing for your American girl?” Mapi said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Ona mumbled, jogging away to do stretches. “I knew Lucy would blab.”

“So Lucy knows? I was just making an educated guess from the way you keep making those sad puppy eyes at her.”

“At who?” Ingrid appeared from behind.

“Y/L/N,” Mapi raised her eyebrows at her girlfriend with a smirk, and Ingrid gasped excitedly.

“Oh my god, Y/N Y/L/N?! You guys would be so cute together!”

“Guys, come on. We have a match to play,” Ona groaned and begrudgingly jogged away. Just before she started her sprints though, she snuck one last glance at you, when you briefly looked back. As if having been burnt just by a look, you quickly said goodbye to Keira and went back to your half to continue warming up.

“Do you think they were already together?” Ingrid whispered at Mapi.

Mapi sighed, “Definitely.”

Ona started that match on the left, as Lucy also started and occupied her usual right side. You were playing on the right this time to allow Lauren Hemp to be on the left wing. It meant there would be none of her usual duels with you.

Ever since Lucy’s slip-up in the World Cup final, Ona knew she had been more cautious in defense and stayed back most of the time. It gave her the opportunity to set up passes deeper whilst also keeping you at bay, the tactic Ona herself used at United and one she knew you absolutely despised.

Sure enough, you stupidly went up against only one of the best fullbacks in the world. Your dribbling and speed were to your advantage, and Lucy—with all her experience and knowledge of your play—easily controlled you at the flanks. So you tried inverting inside, and Lucy followed you too, if not Irene did.

Man City was pressing high, giving the offense plenty of opportunities in the box, but Barcelona was better in defense. It was only when a precise lofted ball was sent past the back line, that Lucy was trailing after you. You went down just outside of the box. As everyone was getting ready for the free kick, you were still on the ground. Your ankle had been stomped on by Irene during the struggle.

Ona quickly jogged over and put her hand over your shoulder, “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Don’t put your hands on me,” you seethed, swatting her hand away, just as the physios came over and sprayed your ankle. Just moments later, you were able to stand up, but you never spared her another glance.

As much as it stung, she clenched her jaw to stop the tears and got ready for the free kick.

Barcelona ended up winning 2-0, a stellar start to their UWCL campaign. While Ona went to shake hands with several players from the opposition, she looked for you, seeing you walk towards the stands. You took pictures and signed for some people, even gave a little kid your shirt, but she saw the way you lit up when talking to someone in the crowd. Upon closer look, it was the woman you were with in Ibiza.

Your smile was blinding as Leena was led down the pitch towards you. “Hi,” you breathed. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I did. You gave me tickets, remember?” She brought you in for a hug. “I’m sorry you lost, but it was very entertaining. I took lots of pictures.”

“Of me, I hope?” You smirked.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Keep dreaming, Y/L/N.”

Smiling slightly, you brought her in for a side hug. “Thank you for coming,” you kissed Leena’s cheek. “Means a lot.”

Ona was watching the entire interaction, fuming on the inside. Lucy and Mapi knew to steer clear of her path once they returned to the dressing room by the glower on her usually affable face.

SportsPro Media: Y/N Y/L/N Seen ‘Smiling’ After Man City Lost to Barcelona in Women’s Champions League Group Stage “Fans have taken to social media to criticize the winger, 21, after she was seen smiling and conversing with fans at the stands after a 2-0 loss to reigning champions Barcelona. The criticism came after several of Y/L/N’s teammates on the USWNT were also condemned for their overt optimism after barely making it out of their group in the Women’s World Cup this summer. Among the critics was former USWNT international Carli Lloyd. Y/L/N was also seen getting more than friendly with her rumored girlfriend, whom the winger was spotted on holiday with in Ibiza alongside U.S. men’s team’s Gio Reyna after a shockingly early World Cup exit. […]”

When the second round of the group stage came around, you were much better prepared. Though you were playing away in Barcelona, Man City were preparing to win. You were definitely training to do so, so when the starting XI lineup was posted on the door in the dressing room, you were stunned when your name wasn’t on the list. You had been benched before—it was all part of the game—but only during less important games or for your own recovery, but never during an important game like this.

“Gareth, can I speak to you, please?” You said, gritting your teeth when the gaffer opened the door in his office.

“Of course,” he gestured for you to follow inside. “Take a seat.”

You remained standing. “Why am I not starting for the Barcelona game?”

“I’m doing what I think will be best for the team, Y/N.”

“By benching me? You need me!”

“Easy, Y/L/N. No one is above the club, and I don’t appreciate your tone,” Gareth’s tone was despicably calm, yet no less menacing.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself. “I want to know why, in an important game such as this one.”

“It seems . . . that you might have a personal reason as to why you want to start this game, but I have to rotate the squad and—”

“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean? What personal reason?”

Gareth sighed. “I’ve been informed that you’ve had a personal relationship with one of Barcelona’s players that didn’t end too well.”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?” You all but yelled.

“I’m making a decision that I deem best for the club, and you and every other player will listen because I am in charge!” Gareth had never yelled, not like this. It made you flinch. “I will not have my players’ private life bleed into the performance of the team. Now, you can either support my decision or I will have you removed from the squad traveling to Barcelona, and replace you with someone else who will put the team above their own interest.”

Your mouth is sewn shut, just by the sheer shock at what the manager had just said. You stormed out of his office without another word, slamming the door open to mask what you were truly feeling inside. It wasn’t fury—you were beyond that—it has turned into fear of being replaced; fear of being left behind.

Man City drew that match, and it was just enough to send the team to the quarterfinals, having done it entirely without you. Gareth had made up a bullshit excuse to the press to make you stay home.

Your agent, Toni, was much more furious for you, saying what he did breach the contract you signed and that you should be taking action. In the five years they have been your agent, you have never had to endure that much legal talk over a club issue before. You’d be amused at their passionate rambling if you weren’t already nursing a headache.

“I think you should leave, Y/N,” they finally said after getting off the phone.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But where would I even go? I don’t have any offers yet.”

“You will, once the news comes out that you’re looking to leave the club. You only have one year left on your contract anyway, plenty would seek to employ you.”

You had been through this before. The waiting after letting it be known that you wanted to leave was the worst, but you weren’t just a nobody anymore. You were Y/N Y/L/N, and you would have it your way one way or another.

“Alright, then.” You nodded firmly. “Let’s have a talk with Gareth. I’m not gonna scurry out of this club like a rat.”

Goal.com: Y/N Y/L/N Looking for Man City Exit After Tension With Boss Gareth Taylor “Sources within Man City are saying the American winger could be on her way out of Manchester this summer. The player has reportedly ‘fallen out of favor’ with City gaffer Gareth Taylor after ‘expressing her vexation over lack of playing time’. The 22-year-old was left out of the squad traveling to Barcelona for the 4th group stage match of the Women’s Champions League altogether and has since featured in significantly fewer matches for the Citizens. Several European clubs are reportedly keen to sign Y/L/N, but she could also be making a return to the NWSL for what could be a record signing in the women’s game yet. […]

Though you were scared, it was much easier to let go of a burden that you have been carrying around for so long.

Which was why you had agreed to come to a concert with Leena when she had asked you. You would let yourself have fun and connect with someone without being scared anymore because what Ona did to you had nothing with who you were, and you sure as hell weren’t going to pay the price for it.

Needless to say, you and Leena had a great time. You were been walking back to your car in the parking lot when you saw a flash. You sighed and walked Leena towards the passenger side.

“Get in the car. Don’t come out, okay?” You told her with a smile, which was quickly wiped off once you saw the photographers approaching.

“Y/N, are you leaving City? Where do you think you’re going next?”

“Did you have a fight with Gareth?”

“Y/N, are you going to Barcelona?”

You entered the car with an exasperated sigh. Your breathing became heavy as you attempted to start the car, and your hand started to tremble.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Leena spoke softly. “Don’t let them get to you.”

She placed a hand over yours and squeezed it softly. Finding her eyes, you nodded gratefully, and drove away, trying your very best not to run those imbeciles over.

You went back to her apartment where you both ordered some takeout. Over a movie, you talked about anything and everything.

It was like that with Leena. Somehow, she has made you feel okay with pouring your entire heart out in front of her, her caring eyes and encouraging silence taking away your doubts about looking like an emotional fool in front of her.

But the moment you saw her eyes dart back and forth between yours, then down to your lips and leaned in, you froze. You wanted this, only because it would be good for you, but you couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry, Leena. I-I—” Jumping out of the couch, you stuttered like a broken record. Of course, she would have read it like that, you couldn’t blame her. You didn’t quite know what you wanted, but all you could think about was how different it was to kiss Leena than it was to kiss Ona.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t try to stop you. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. She might as well have been just as shell-shocked as you were by your reaction. You bolted out of there as quickly as you can, like a coward.

Unsurprisingly, Leena hasn’t tried to contact you. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be pissed at yourself too. It seemed everyone was pissed at you these days.

Chloe approached you once in the weight room to ask if you were leaving. You could only offer her an apology, but she brought you in for a hug. You would miss her the most.

Meanwhile, Toni was working tirelessly on your next move, and all you could do was train and be the best footballer you could be while you waited. Even if Gareth didn’t deserve your effort, your teammates did, and you owed it to them to give it your all until the day you left the training ground for the last time.

There was only one destination you had in mind, but going there would mean having to confront your serial one-night stand that you were possibly in love with, who also didn��t share your feelings.

You couldn’t let that deter you from ascending the football hierarchy, though. You couldn’t, and you won’t. You would do it one way or another because it was where you deserved to be. You would show Gareth that he was wrong about you.

“I can’t believe you’re going to Lyon! That’s crazy, Y/N!” Gio said over the phone. He was the first person you told and was ecstatic when you did.

“They still haven’t sent anything official yet, but it’s looking like it, yeah.”

“Well, what happened to the Barcelona deal?”

“My agent was flipping out when I said no, but then this deal came two days later and now they’re flipping out again but for a good reason.”

“That’s awesome, dude! I’m happy for you!”

“I don’t know, I just—I feel like I’m not there yet or something. Lyon wants me, but they’re freakin’ Lyon!”

“Hey, I know all about imposter syndrome, alright? But you can’t let that keep you from playing at one of the best clubs in the world.”

“Don’t let Dortmund hear you say that,” you smirked.

“Eh, we know where we are. That’s why we sold Erling and Jude,” Gio spoke. “Point is, they want you. They clearly see how good of a player you are. So get your ass over to France and show them that!”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You’re right.”

“Alright, gotta go. But hey, let’s go for a drink next time you’re in town. Hopefully, by then, you’re a Lyon player.”

You ended the call and got up to go take a shower. Just before you went to the bathroom, though, your phone rang again.

Grinning, you picked up again, “Look, if you’re telling me you’re gonna set me up again, I swear to god, Gio.”

But you didn’t hear Gio’s voice or teasing laugh. Instead, there was a shaky sniffle on the other side.

You checked the caller ID, and it was an unknown number. From Barcelona.

“Hello?” You said, unsure.

“Hey, Y/N. I just . . . just needed to hear your voice.”

You sighed because you knew exactly who it was. You had etched the cadence and tone of her voice into your memories during the many nights you’ve spent together.

“It’s Ona, by the way.”

“I know,” you nodded. You didn’t quite know how else to carry on this conversation. “I heard Barcelona’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said, sniffling again. “You should see the beach at sunset. It’s great. I go and sit there almost every night.”

“Are you drunk, Ona?”

“No, no. Maybe a little bit. Just a little bit though. I had two glasses of wine. Or else I wouldn’t have the courage to be doing this. Just like I didn’t have the courage to tell you that I had feelings for you too. Have, I still do.”

You closed your eyes and shut off the water. Then she said it again, “I have feelings for you, Y/N. I think about you all the time. And I know you might be with someone now, but I just can’t . . .”

She started crying again. “I can’t go on without telling you anymore.”

“This is incredibly selfish, what you’re doing, Ona.” You were close to tears too, hearing how much this hurt her.

“I know. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. I’m sorry for hurting you. If I could take back everything I said, I would. I’m so, so sorry.”

You took a deep breath and sat back down on your bed. “I forgive you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was selfish too,” you said quietly. “You should go to sleep. You have a Champions League final to play tomorrow.”

You ended the call before you or she could say anything else.

“Shit,” you mumbled and threw yourself back onto the bed. This was exactly why you had to say no to Barcelona, even though it was your dream to play for them. Alas, it started to feel like a mistake.

You dialed Toni. “Hey, um, please don’t kill me for asking this, but could you reach back out to Barcelona and tell them I’m very interested?”

“I knew you’d pull some shit like this so I’ve stalled them. They don’t know we’re negotiating with Lyon, and would probably be fine with setting up a call soon. It’d be a headache to handle Lyon, though.”

“That’s why you’re the best agent in the world, right?” You smiled sheepishly.

“We’ll see, Y/N. We’ve got some leverage for now, but it’s not guaranteed that Barça won’t say no.”

“Thank you, Toni!” You hung up the phone.

ESPN: Barcelona Completes Signing of Y/N Y/L/N from Manchester City on World Record Transfer Fee “Manchester City W.F.C. has agreed to sell USWNT winger Y/N Y/L/N to Barcelona on a £485,000 record fee. This transfer surpasses Keira Walsh’s own move to Barcelona from the Sky Blues in 2022 with a fee of around £400,000. The signing of the summer was finally completed after several clubs have been reported to enter the race. Olympique Lyon was also close to acquiring the 22-year-old’s signature, but the deal broke down in late June when the player repeatedly expressed her interest in joining the Catalan giants. A technically gifted forward, Y/L/N can play on either side as a winger, and occasionally as an attacking midfielder for the national team. Her impending arrival at La Blaugrana would provide a boost in attacking power to an already impressive Barcelona side. […]”

“Jesus, you look like someone murdered your mother or something. Liven up, please.” Mapi smacked her Ona on the shoulder.

“I’m just a little nervous to see her again,” the younger girl muttered, fiddling with her fingers.

She could hear voices outside the dressing room getting closer. At the sound of your voice, her ears trained. She remained facing her locker, trying to occupy herself until you came in. She really felt like throwing up.

You greeted Aitana first with a quick hug, Marta too, then Lucy brought you in for a spin and released you for Keira to go in for the hug.

You said hello to Mapi and Ingrid, both of whom hugged you tightly.

Then you were in front of her. She had expected you to not even look at her, after what she had said over the phone. But you smiled a genuine smile, the one you used to give her whenever the world was a little too hard to bear.

Ona remembered everything. From the sheer hatred and resentment to the lust and sleepless nights under the sheets, to the longing and heartache she endured away from you.

“Welcome,” she whispered quietly, afraid you might not reciprocate her greeting.

Instead, you pulled her into you and held her tightly.

a/n: i’ve decided to add some lore for our y/n, lmk if you like it, if you don’t like it, if you think it’s too long and you just wanna get straight to the smooching :)) there’s more to come but now the stakes 😌☝️ are higher now that we have some info on what makes y/n ticks. i’m going back to college this week so updates might come later but yeah pls let me know what you think!!

[flowercrowngods]

felt like letting mike and steve work through some shit again

cw: descriptions and imagery of them being lost and self-sacrificing, left alone with trauma they have no means to work through, could read as suicidal tendencies or intrusive thoughts

🤍 also on ao3

“What do you want?” Mike asks when Steve sits down beside him, gravel crunching, their feet dangling over the dark and endless abyss that is the quarry at night.

Steve doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t really know what to say now that he’s here, now that he found him. He looks so small, now more than ever, and it reminds Steve so painfully that he’s still just a child. He was always just a child, and children shouldn’t—

It feels like they got their rights at a childhood revoked years ago, and then they were just… supposed to be okay with it. It was expected, it was implied when nobody came to talk to them after.

When all they got was one NDA after another. When none of the professionally trained adults took one look at the children that they were, and asked, Are you okay? What do you need to be okay? I will talk to you once a week and make sure you learn how to be okay again.

Steve feels like a big brother to most of the kids now, sure, but he’s not their shrink, and he sucks when it comes to actually talking about shit. He can be there to drive them anywhere, can provide an evening of distractions and as much of a sanctuary as a house as haunted as his can be.

With everything else, though, he’s helplessly lost. So he says nothing, weighs his words to make sure they come out right — especially for Mike, who’s always just waiting for him to say something wrong and throw it back in his face with the sunny disposition of a feral, rabid cat.

“Hey,” Mike says then, irritated again; but his voice is hoarse, too. Tired. No heat behind it after that stupid fight with Dustin and Lucas earlier tonight that made him snap and leave Steve’s house in a frenzy. “I said, What do you want?”

Steve shrugs, looking ahead into the darkness that feels endless and alluring and deeply terrifying.

I miss my friend! My best friend, Mike!

“Making sure you’re okay.”

You’ve changed, you know that? You’re not the guy who would jump off a cliff for me anymore, I don’t think I even know you anymore!

Dustin’s voice echoes in Steve’s mind as it undoubtedly does in Mike’s, too, and he can only imagine how much that hurts, especially if he’s shivering like that even though the night is warm for early September.

“I’m okay,” Mike says, sounding endlessly annoyed about the fact. Steve almost huffs out a humourless laugh. Yeah, right.

“Sure you are,” Steve says, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Mike’s shoulders without a comment, half-expecting him to just throw it into the darkness below. But Mike doesn’t move, is eerily still beside him, pretending not to notice that Steve’s watching him.

“But you know it’s, like,” he starts again and trails off, looking for the right words because this is unfamiliar terrain and the ground beneath his feet is quite literally nonexistent. “It’s fine if you’re not, right? It’s actually really fucking normal to be more than a little fucked up after everything, all that crazy shit. Or just… in general.”

You were twelve, he wants to say. You were twelve and you jumped off from here. You were twelve and you were going to die. And not because of those monsters, not yet. Just because… you were twelve.

Mike doesn’t say anything, but the gravel crunches once more as he reaches for a handful of stones to throw them into the darkness one by one, the void beneath them so enormous that they don’t even hear the noise of impact.

You jumped.

The longer Mike remains silent, the more Steve wants to scream, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to make him see and understand that Steve knows about the scars a decision like that leaves, especially when you live to deal with the consequences.

He gets seizures to deal with the consequences. His ear is fucky, his eye is twitchy, his head is aching constantly, he gets migraines that knock him out for a day or two, all because he wanted to protect his friends. All because he did protect his friends. It worked. They’re safe.

But they’re also unaware of… of everything. Of the horrible stillness as clarity dawns and all signs point to the one way that always seems to work. The one easy way out, and still the hardest of them all when the plan goes wrong and he makes it out alive. When It’s gotta be me is the only thing to say, but later turns into an angry It never should have been me because the world looks different when it’s smeared with your blood.

And it’s always the lost boys who make decisions like that. Steve wonders, some nights in cold sweat, what happens if he makes these decisions without immediate danger. What happens if he just… decides to jump. Decides to run. To give the world more of his blood. Without saving anyone.

It’s not like he wants to — but he’s terrified that it’s just who he is. Who he’s turned into, terrified that his friends will forever expect him to.

And he’s even more terrified knowing that Mike jumped before he learned about monsters. Before he learned about fighting and surviving.

You were a kid, he wants to say again, but his throat is closing up on him.

“I don’t think that’s okay actually,” Mike says after a while, tearing Steve away from his fears. They’re still both looking ahead rather than at each other, but it’s fine. They’re still here. “Like, people say it is, but it feels so empty when they do, you know? Like, sure, yeah, I’m not fucking okay, but what the hell do we do about that now? Oh, right, I know! Let’s throw it in my face that I’m not good enough for you anymore now that there’s no monsters to kill anymore. Now that I’m just Mike, who’s not even enough to be that anymore, sure. Right. Yeah. Let’s pretend it’s all fine, Steve, let’s pretend it’s okay to hurt all the fucking time!”

Mike is shaking now, violent tremors running through his body, and Steve’s first instinct is to reach out and pull him close, to keep him from that edge and take him to his car; turn on the heating and talk there. But Mike seems to need the darkness, seems to need to be faced with endless depth to give voice to his thoughts.

“What Dustin said was messed up. He shouldn’t have said that.”

Mike shrugs, throwing more pebbles into the darkness, though his motions have lost their vigour. “He’s right, though.”

Steve sighs, though not unkindly. “No, he’s not. Hey, listen to me.” He waits until Mike turns to meet his eyes, and he leans forward. “It’s not okay. It’s not right what he said. You don’t deserve to have that shit thrown in your face just because Dustin is a tactless little douche bag.”

Taking a bullet for someone is not the baseline for friendship, he wants to say, and it occurs to him once again how fucked up their perception and idea of friendship must be, now that they’ve all bonded over the most horrific shit and actual grief they never learned how to work through.

It’s not even Dustin’s fault, not really. They’re all just collateral damage to something Bigger, and all they have is each other, leaving them in a vicious cycle that is so, so fucked up.

“Why’d you jump?” he asks eventually, quiet in case the darkness tries to listen in. “Back then, why did you jump?” And do you wish El had let you? Do you sometimes wish that? When your room is quiet and it’s only you living with all those silent, terrible decisions?

Mike shrugs again, but there’s not much fight left in him, Steve can see that, can feel it in the air between them.

“Will was gone,” he says like it explains everything— and it sort of does. Steve has seen the way these boys look at each other when the other’s not looking, he has seen the hurt and the anger and the gentleness stored there, the words unspoken and the fear that, despite interdimensional monsters, kinda goes unmatched.

Because they have each other. They only have each other. And if someone’s suddenly different than what they thought they knew, if someone’s suddenly different, then… Everything might just fall apart.

And Steve wants to grab him again; wants to pull him close and say, I’m the same. We have the same scars. We have the same!

Slowly, carefully, he does lean over now, weaving an arm around Mike’s shoulders and pulling him into his side.

“I get that.”

Mike swallows heavily and exhales shakily. “I don’t think you do.”

“No. I think I really, really do. But it’s okay, Mike. You won’t be alone with this, okay. I’m on your side, you little shit.”

A pause, a beat, a moment’s respite. Then, “Why?”

“Because,” his heart is racing, his mouth trembling around forming the words for the first time, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. Knows it’s important.

Knows it might just save a life.

“Because I fell harder for Eddie Munson than I ever thought possible, and once i found out what was happening, I kind of wanted to jump off a cliff, too. But I didn’t, because I had someone with the same fears as me, and instead of stupid shit we just… Cried together sometimes. Screamed into our pillows. Laughed with and at each other, calling ourselves hopeless, and— I don’t know. It’s really fucking scary, and that doesn’t go away just because you have someone to talk to. But it‘s… better. It’s so much better.”

He huffs, swallowing around the lump in his throat, smiling into the darkness.

“So I’ve got you, okay? Whatever it is, whatever makes you feel like it’s not fucking okay, I’ve got you. You come to me, yeah? Lucas does, Dustin does, even Max does. This is your official, standing invitation and whatever, okay, dickhead?”

Mike shoves at him lightly, still not parting from the rather awkward side-hug they’ve got going on, and Steve is glad for it.

“Okay, okay, geez,” the little shithead says, rolling his eyes which Steve can see even in the dark, and it feels like the edge has moved away from them, like they have solid ground beneath their feet again.

Steve doesn’t say anything more after that, just waiting for Mike to stir to lead him back to the car, load in his bike and take him wherever he feels like spending the night.

But Mike doesn’t move for another long while, and it makes Steve feel like something big has just happened between them. Like they finally have found the common ground that Steve’s been suspecting they had for months now, even years.

Eventually, as they make their way to the car and Mike goes to grab his bike, he speaks up again, but more subdued now.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Does… Does Eddie know?”

“About what?” My tendencies to take a leap off the edge?

“You. Being…”

“Oh!” A smile as he unlocks his car and opens the back door to squeeze Mike’s old bike in there with minimal smears of dirt. “I’d hope so, we’ve been dating for months.”

“You’re dating?! You? Eddie’s dating you?”

“Yeah, listen, do you want me to just leave you here or would you rather be thrown out in the middle of nowhere?”

Mike grumbles something unintelligible as he climbs into the front seat, waiting for Steve to start the engine before he speaks up again.

“It’s just, you’re so… How did you even do that?”

Steve laughs at that, disbelieving and all, because, “Trust me, I have no idea. Must have been the ol’ Harrington charm and all that.”

Mike rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest, sinking lower in the seats to pout. “You’re so lame.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over how much I have a boyfriend and you don’t.”

If his heart skips a beat because it still feels like a forbidden truth saying the word out loud despite the playful banter, then he’s ignoring that in favour of revving the engine.

“Asshole.”

“Dickhead.”

“Grow up,” Mike says, but Steve can see the smile he’s not even trying to hide, and he mirrors it with his own as he turns on the radio catching the final tunes of Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark.

They’re not okay, none of them. But the car is warm, the cliff’s edge is behind them, and they’re not listening to the same ten songs anymore.

They’re getting better, step by tiny step.

[animeredhead101]

Dad Phantom DP x DC Crossover

Completed

Bask in Our Cosmic Insignificance by DisillusionedDanny :

After Lady Gotham sends a lost and alone King Phantom to check on a little boy Danny Fenton finds himself the new guardian "angel" of a six year old boy. Tim Drake. Word Count: 33,632

The Devil Wore a T-Shirt by DisillusionedDanny :

After a one-night stand, Danny finds himself pregnant with Red Hood's kid. Now he finds himself as a dad to a small child with an important decision to make. Does he tell Red Hood he has a child? Or does Danny raise the kid by himself?

Word Count: 24,778

Who's Old Now? by LiraBuswavi :

“Am I your dad!!?” Billy shouted. Danny paused. Took a deep breath in and out before turning to him. “I’m gonna need you to back up, and explain. Please.” Or, what happens when a twelve year old masquerading as an adult superhero calls his guardian, an adult who can also turn into a child superhero, on speaker phone, in front of the Justice League. Word Count: 36,017

Of All the Things My Hands Have Held by DisillusionedDanny :

Upon learning that her son is in a relationship, Talia decides to create a clone to gift to her son as a gift to celebrate finally settling down. Now Damian and Danny are stuck trying to figure out how to raise a baby when neither of them had the best examples growing up.

Word Count: 17,066

Mourning a Young Soul Leads to Shared Custody by Olive_of_Vanders :

Danny was given a choice. Become King or parent a ghost kid. Ghost kid sounded a lot more easier to him. Word Count: 41,929

It's Not Sugar by ConspiracyCrows :

Ellie is destabilized and nearly killed by Vlad while trying to make another, "better", clone of Danny. In order to stabilize her she was de-aged to about 7, and now has chronic issues balancing her ecto the same way a type one diabetic has issues balancing blood sugars. In fact that's the cover story the pair use when Danny enrolls Ellie at Gotham Academy. The one favor he will allow Vlad to do for them. While Vlad seems to have finally come to his senses about Ellie, Danny won't let him anywhere near her ever again. Which is why they moved to Gotham in the first place, Vlad won't step foot there. It also helps that Lady Gotham is more than happy to have the Realms' Ambassador to the Living in her streets. They settle into Crime Alley, and Danny may or may not have forgotten to introduce himself to the Haunt owner, assuming Gotham would handle the niceties as he gets Ellie settled, and handles the pressing issues of the negotiations between the city, the realms, and those denizens of both who want or need one thing or other.

Word Count: 23,052

On-going

Deadly Assumptions and Their Consequences by Silver_star_06 :

The Justice league believes that Phantom is Captain Marvel‘s dad and tells the hero to summon him to help them with Darkseid. They weren’t expecting the cryptic eldridge being to start hanging around the watch tower. Danny couldn’t help but feel a kinship with the pre-teen that ended up as the current Captain Marvel. A scrappy black haired and blue eyed child vigilante, that only became one because of circumstance. Danny was going to help this child whether he wanted it or not. Word Count: 25,977

My Dad is Dead to Me by GhostInGotham :

John Constantine was fourteen when he set his house on fire. John Constantine was fourteen when he realized his father was still inside. Word Count: 19,573

Phantoms and Foes by Zylev :

Krypton was dying long before it exploded. After a lab accident at 14 gave Danny ice powers, he used them for good to try and stop crime as the first hero of Krypton. But when thousands of years of mining the core of Krypton finally caught up to the planet, General Zod evacuated Krypton to the Phantom Zone before it exploded. Little did Zod know he led the Kryptonians to a slaughter. Years later, Danny is the only Kryptonian left alive when Kal-El finds the Phantom Projector and brings him to Earth. Danny must now adjust to having new powers and life on a planet that is completely different than Krypton and the Phantom Zone. Word Count: 121,723

The Human Prince of Ghosts by AceFace98 :

Danny has been King for a few centuries now, but he's still half-ghost, immortal or not. So every now and again, Clockwork likes to kick him out of the Realms to go play human for a decade or two. It's usually pretty boring. This time, though, he meets a small child with a camera and a lot of pointed questions and immediately has Dad Instincts about it. Word Count: 65,300

Phantom's Progenies by Makuro767 :

progeny /ˈprɒdʒɪni/ noun plural noun: progenies a descendant or the descendants of a person, animal, or plant; offspring. A drabble collections of Danny Phantom as the father to several kids that are both his and clones of him from several different realities. Fluff with doses of trauma. ~ If you think you can write a full story from each drabble, be my guest. Word Count: 79,111 This is a HUGE multi-crossover fic FYI

[lordgrimwing]

How Elwing Lost A Silmaril

The first letter—sealed with an eight-pointed star pressed into red wax and delivered just before dawn—left Elwing trembling in her small office, stomach rolling and the taste of bile thick on her tongue. What was she to do? What could she do? Her parents’ murderers were coming here.

The letter didn’t say as much outright. The writer (Maedhros, she’d learned his name eventually, but he would always be the red-haired orcish monster that took her home away and haunted her worst nightmares) veiled every threat behind eloquent lines of meaningless placations and enteritis for the silmaril. He asked her, granddaughter of a thief, to return it to him, eldest son of its maker and rightful heir. But she could read what he did not say: that if she did not bend to his will he would do to Sirion as he did to Menegroth. He would come with his fell army and slaughter everyone in his way.

But how could she give up the jewel? It protected them, kept the forces of darkness at bay just enough for the refugees to eke out a living on the shores. And should Eärendil, her dear, brave husband, find a path to Aman, its light might be the only thing that could stay the Valar’s Doom long enough for them to listen to him. She could not give up their hope.

The second letter—sealed in red wax and delivered as the barley fields were harvested—brought more promises of horrors unnamed falling upon the settlement. She wept after throwing it in the fire. She could not do this on her own. The city council was terrified into inaction at the thought of what lay before then, and Eärendil was still out at sea. She missed him. She missed him so terribly when the councilors looked at her with fearful eyes and asked for her decision.

The fifth letter arrived in the hands of an underfed Mannish girl as the first winds of winter blew in from the sea. Elwing gave her food and a family offered a spot in their home, but the girl said her lord instructed her to go nowhere else until she had a reply for him. Elwing thought of banishing her from the city unanswered, of telling the guards with their rough-made weapons to see that the Fëanorian did not return. She regretted the thought nearly as soon as she had it. The girl was young and it was not her fault that her parents joined themselves to a mighty Elf lord. She could stay for a day.

Tell me whatsoever you desire, the greatest or smallest need of your heart. 

The letter said in handwriting that was fast becoming too familiar. 

I will give unto you that thing and greater still if you would part with my father’s Silmaril. I would bring you all the provisions of my camp, all the weapons of my army, every other precious thing of power left in this land if you would but willingly part with that one small thing that I must otherwise be driven to take by force in the spring. Tell me your desire, and I will give it unto you. Let this not end with blood.

She fumed in her office, angrily pacing the thin rug gifted to her by the weary-eyed wife of one of her father’s guards who fell in the tunnels of Menegroth. She does not need anything from the murdering bastard! Sirion has all it requires. They would be safe if only they were left alone. How can Maedhros think that he could ever give her anything to make up for what he’s done, to convince her to do what he wants? He’s a monster and a coward who wishes to soothe his conscience by acting as if the attack is all her fault, an inevitable consequence of her resistance. He wishes to absolve himself of yet more evil.

She will not let him. If it is the only thing she can do, she will defy him.

Elwing takes up precious ink and paper. She throws herself into her chair and leans over the beaten desk, pouring her anger and helplessness into the words she scratches across the page.

You’ve taken everything from my people. You wish to take everything from me again. You are monstrous, servant of Morgoth. May the Valar stand against you as I cannot. What would I have, you ask? I would have what you’ve taken from me restored: I would have Dior, my father, and Nimloth, my mother; I would have Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, alive again and in my arms. But I shall never have them for they died at your hands and at your command.  You cannot give me my parents. You search for my little brothers but still cannot give them to me.  So, what would I have? I would have your brothers. Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

She signed the bottom with a vicious strike that split the quill’s nip, blotting the page with ink as dark as orc blood. Her heartbeat in her chest, thumped against her ribs under her breast as though it would escape fate. Her letter would change nothing and she hesitated for a moment before dripping wax from a flickering candle for the seal, tempted to throw the paper to the fire. 

She’d written in a tantrum, a final kicking of her feet against what would come in an impotent rage. But what did it matter? Did she not deserve to beat her fists against the Doom once? Everyone looked to her for leadership and guidance as Dior’s heir but she felt like little more than a child. This would be so much easier to handle with Eärendil at her side but he still had not returned and at times she doubted he ever would (what Doom had befallen him on the waters? What lonely fate for him and the crew on the waves?). She would send this letter then say goodbye to all childishness and face what came bravely as her parents and grandparents did. 

Resolved, she dripped the wax and sealed the letter. She’d give it to the messenger tomorrow with what small food they could spare so the girl did not starve on the journey. And then…

And then all would be out of her hands and fate would fall as it would.

The sixth letter came in the hands of two red-haired Elves on tall horses. The men sat straight and tall in the saddle, their heads held high. Elwing would have called them haughty if they hadn’t dismounted and bowed deeply before her, falling to one knee as one might before royalty. A third Elf, dark-haired and somber-eyed, rode with them, though he kept himself aside and astride his steed.

“Queen Elwing,” one of the red-heads said, his face fire-scarred. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

She nodded and waved her hand impatiently, wondering what new trick Maedhros was playing or if this was how he announced an impending slaughter.

The speaker went on, looking up slightly though he stayed kneeling. “We are Ambarussa–” he gestured to the other– “youngest sons of Fëanor. We give ourselves up at your request in exchange for the silmaril.”

Elwing stood in frozen silence as he continued, icy sea breeze biting at her fingers and face. 

[nyehilismwriting]

having the option to kill rohan (and so early on too!) feels like kind of a crazy huge swing re:branching that fills me with respect but also fear. (also, unrelated, the way you talk about your writing process is really cool.) if you want to answer, how early on did you arrive at that decision? was it something you always knew you wanted to have as an option, or did it come about more organically? how do you balance maintaining xir presence/relevance/'agency' as a character while keeping to a reasonable scope for the rest of the game? (becoming increasingly agitated) does the genre appropriate scifi ghost of rohan yet haunt the dead rohan timeline? where am i? is this thing on?anyways.

yeah, I knew from the very start that killing rohan was going to be an option - while nash was the first character I really had cemented, the events of the initial chapter, and the idea of letting the player kill that character early on, were pretty much the foundational concepts for the game. I didn't - and still don't - want to pull punches re player decision-making and the consequences of those decisions, even if it means more work for me - and, if killing rohan wasn't a route I was interested in exploring, I wouldn't include it as an option. it's been a fun challenge to find ways of making sure that the plot remains coherent and roughly equivalent with and without xem, and for me one of the big joys of interactive fiction is having that opportunity for knock-on effects - decisions made in early chapters can have consequences much later, that won't always be obvious :-)

in terms of the writing process, it's actually a relatively simple one: I have a variable that tells me if rohan is dead or not, and I can divide scenes and passages by it, splitting the game into entirely separate branches, rather than trying to integrate if/elses across multiple paragraphs and make it all make sense. it's more work, but it's not necessarily harder work, if that makes sense.

as for whether xe haunts the dead timeline.....well:) we'll see:)

[kjhbsies]

Within These Walls

Ellie Williams x fem!reader Synopsis: What would happen if Ellie saw her worst enemy, and the girl who has a crush on her wife? No, she's not jealous... is she? Warnings: Part III of the Ellie and arranged marriage trope. This is the last chapter and I'm grateful for all the support. This is not proofread so expect some grammatical errors. There are some Abby x reader and Ellie x Dina. Please be warned that this is just a fiction and I don't hate Dina. Happy reading!

wc: 5695 Part I. Part II.

Ellie’s mind is blank throughout the day and she can’t seem to move, not even a limb. She’d like to just sleep and rot in her bed for eternity but she couldn’t. Not today. Because this is a special day. This day will be your wedding.

A voice pulled her out from her thoughts. “What a handsome young girl you are.” The old lady who is preparing her attire complimented Ellie. She smiled at her forcefully, not even having the courage to give a genuine one.

“Is there a problem?” She asked kindly and Ellie couldn’t even answer her straight. Instead, she just sighed and looked down on her feet.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Ellie answered silently. Still feeling guilty of taking your feelings for granted and also for being a shitty person to everyone, even herself. She has unfinished business with Dina, and as much as she wants to just avoid the situation completely, it’ll still bite her in the end. But she doesn’t have the balls to talk to her, she’s afraid that if she does, Ellie will still go back to the darkest place that she’s in when Dina left her.

So instead, she’s trying to avoid the confrontation. She’s used to running away from everything. Ellie figured out that it’s best to just put the problems in a box and throw it away without fixing all of the unsolved issues. And when those things that she’s steering away from starts haunting her, Ellie would just do what she’s best.

And that’s to run.

Run until she’s tired. Until she can’t any more.

And what happens in the end?

That’s the thing that Ellie doesn’t know how to answer.

“I’ve been married for 70 years already?” The old lady laughed. Ellie looked at her. “And you know, I was just like you on the wedding day. I am full of doubts because marriage is not a joke. You’d be tied with the other person for years, even eternity. And I don’t like that. I want freedom, I want liberty, and marriage is such a scary thing for a young lady.” The lady picked up Ellie’s tie and started to fix it on her neck. “An hour before I walked to the altar, I wanted to run away.” She looked up at her eyes. “Do you?”

Ellie gulped.

Do I want that?

The old lady laughed again. “Ah.” She nodded. “Your hesitation gave me the answer. You see, either you walk away right now, or get married, it’s still a decision that will create a series of consequences. You just have to think whether it’ll be good or bad.” She finished the tie and left Ellie in front of the full length mirror. “My marriage advice is don’t let your anger or hate become more powerful than your love for her.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t love her.” Ellie looked at her.

“Then why are you still here?” She smiled kindly before excusing herself to go to the bathroom, leaving Ellie alone in the room.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Every little step of yours towards her feels like the sweetest torture one could bear. Ellie felt that her heart would burst out into many pieces as you were getting closer and closer. You, on the other hand, felt so much more.

When Joel asked Ellie about her vows, she said she didn’t prepare anything. And while that might seem true, Ellie was actually lying. In fact, for all the hours that she spent wondering and thinking last night, she sat up on her bed while gripping a piece of paper and a pen while looking at your sleepy figure.

This is the first time that both of you slept in bed together, and Ellie was wondering that even in your sleeping state, it is with no doubt that you still radiate gentleness. Maybe you could give her some?

With shaky hands, Ellie gripped the microphone to say her vows. Both of you were staring right at each other's eyes, not wanting to look away – afraid that one of you would disappear if you did so.

“I always thought that I am the most difficult person in the world. And maybe I am.” She exhaled. “I always thought that finding someone who will love someone like me who has her heart shattered into pieces was just a chance encounter. A cupid’s luck, maybe. But I never thought that it would be you. I am a complex jigsaw puzzle that’s so hard to complete. While others may have thought of giving up, you, however, stayed. Still, I am fragmented. Pieces of me weren’t even there, or are completely gone. But you showed me that I can still be loved even if I am so broken. That you made me feel special even though I am imperfect. And for that, I promise to love you forever and ever.”

You almost struggled to smile as you were trying not to let a single tear fall.

That is not real, you thought.

But you wished it was. Oh, how beautiful it is to be loved by Ellie.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Ellie’s hands are still cold and shaking while she’s slowly pulling up your veil. Both of you smiled at each other before she hesitatingly enveloped you into a warm kiss. Every guest is tearing up while they are celebrating the marriage that is not even real.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Today was Sunday, which means that you and Ellie will have your weekly grocery shopping. You two have been wed four months ago and you could say that both of your relationship with each other is doing great.

Really, it is.

You’re surprised that Ellie took an initiative to apologize for every shitty thing that she’s done to you, whether it is intentionally or not. At your honeymoon, Ellie tried her best to show you that she’s capable of changing – from being such a jackass, to a great wife. You two are getting along really well, talking at each other frequently as the awkward tension in the air is released. Both of you are eating together, having dates in different places, and traveling everywhere.

“I hate when you’re purposely trying to carry every grocery bag even though I know you’re struggling.” You rolled your eyes while you and Ellie were walking towards the car.

“I don’t want to make a princess carry a thing.” Ellie teasingly nudged you and it takes so many forces not to crack out a smile.

While the both of you were walking, you two saw a familiar face. You gulped and Ellie didn’t know what to feel.

Or she did not know if she even felt anything.

“Oh, hey. Funny seeing you two here.” She smiled while her eyes were looking at you back and forth. You two stopped in front of her.

“Hey Dina.” You greeted her. Ellie did not utter a single word.

To be honest, Dina was still in shock when she first heard that Ellie is getting married, just a few months after she stepped foot in Jackson again. And hearing that she’s going to be married to you, the town’s favorite girl, made her really insecure.

They both ended up in a bad light, and Dina wished that she could get some sort of any closure, up until now. But asking that with Ellie was just her being too much. Clearly, the moment you two shared your vows, and kissed each other in front of the altar was the answer that she has been looking for so many months.

But it isn’t enough. It wasn’t. The pain she felt the day of your wedding made her weak and furious. She wanted to get Ellie back, no matter how pathetic she looked while doing it, but at the same time, she wanted to just let go and forget everything, or to start over. And that’s what she did. She tried everything she could to move on. But right now, looking at the two of you, Dina’s heart was shattered into pieces again. Especially now that she can see how real it was.

“Hey, Y/N.” She said, looking at you. Dina felt her eyes getting bloodshot as her throat was slowly aching from trying to stop her tears from falling. She looked again at Ellie… who’s staring at you.

Almost two years have passed and it is the first time Dina has seen Ellie up this close. She’s just used to getting a glimpse from her in different bars and clubs in Jackson, and Dina never got the chance to look at her like this. Ellie is still the same, just a bit more mature looking but her eyes are different.

It was now soft and gentle.

“Ellie,” Dina called and that’s when she slowly turned her eyes away from you. “Sorry to ask this but can… can we talk?” She uttered, almost like a whisper.

“I’ll just get in the car.” You politely excused yourself but Ellie caught your hand before you quickly got away from her.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine.” You smiled at Ellie who looked at you with a concerned face. “It’s fine.” You repeated before squeezing her hand.

Slowly, Ellie let you go. But she did not want to.

Instead, she just followed your figure who’s walking towards the car, just near the back of Dina.

“How are you?” Dina pulled her gaze away from you. “I mean, how’s married life?” She chuckled.

“We’re both doing great.” Ellie answered.

Dina nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. Really.”

Ellie nodded too before looking where you are again. Her grip at the grocery bags tightened when she saw you talking to a very familiar figure. It’s like every single thing that Dina is saying is just a background noise, and Ellie couldn’t understand a thing.

“Abby!” You greeted a friend.

The girl looked at you while smiling before you two shared a hug. “You looked different now, but you’re still very beautiful.” She said before looking at you.

“And so are you.” You complimented her. You almost did not recognize Abby because the one you've been friends with since you were just a kid are very different from the Abby in front of you now. She got so much taller, and her physique got bigger.

“I’m sorry that I did not get to attend your wedding. I’ve been busy in New York, attending seminars and everything.” She jiggled her keys.

Ellie watched you and Abby talk. She lightly craned her neck – an indication that she’s getting irritated as she caught you two laughing.

What the fuck is she doing here? Why is she making you laugh so fucking hard???

“Ellie? Ellie!”

“Fuck. Sorry.” Ellie shut her eyes tightly. “What were you saying again?”

Dina looked at where Ellie was looking.

It was you and Abby.

Dina could tell that Ellie is getting mad.

“JJ’s birthday will be tomorrow. That's why I’m going to do some huge grocery shopping. You two should go-”

Ellie nodded quickly. “I’ll ask my wife. Excuse me.” She said before marching towards you quickly.

“Oh, there she is.” You said, smiling at Ellie. “Ellie, this is Abby. Abby, this is-”

“Ellie.” Abby grinned widely. “Yeah, we knew each other.”

“Very well.” Ellie’s jaw tightened.

“Really? How?” You are looking at the two of them. Now, you’re not the smartest person on the earth, but you’re not that dumb. They definitely did not like each other.

“We’re schoolmates. I’ll tell you everything when we have dinner.” Ellie looked at you.

“Or you could just ask me.” Abby chuckled, fully taunting your wife. “Anyway, nice meeting you guys again but I have to go. Bye, Y/N, bye, Ellie.”

Ellie rolled her eyes before cursing under her breath.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Ellie and you are in the kitchen, you are washing the dishes that you two just ate, and Ellie is the one who’s putting the groceries away. She’s been really quiet the whole drive home, and even up until now. You were looking at her each second, trying to decipher how to talk to her, or even ask her what was wrong.

“How’d you know Abby?” Ellie suddenly asked.

Your head snapped at her. You squint your eyes. Oh, right. Abby.

You cleared your throat. “Well, her dad has been our family doctor ever since we were kids. Abby and I became friends because of that. We basically grew up with each other. But when her father died last year, Abby moved to New York to study biology. How about you? From what I’m guessing with your interaction, you two didn’t get along well.”

“You’re right. You know I played football, right?” Ellie asked, and you nodded. “Well, I was the team captain for our course – engineering. Aside from that, I was also a part of the university’s varsity team. Both of us were. I met Abby there when we were freshmen and she loves to get on my nerves.”

“How?”

“Every time there’s an intramural, when engineering and biology are competing with each other, Abby is my greatest rival because she would boast and annoy me every single game. And when she got accepted into the varsity team, I was forced to train with her and everyday that I wake up, I would rather just die and go to hell than be with her all day.” Ellie grunted. “I thought she was just doing that for attention, not until I found out that her crush likes me.”

You snorted. “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing. I just made fun of her.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re mean.”

“I know, babe. I’m not sorry.” Ellie shrugged.

“Did you find out who it was? Abby’s crush?”

“No… why wouldn’t you know that? I thought she’s your best friend?” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“She never said anything about it.” You thought. Yeah, Abby never opened up something about her crush.

Ellie stared at you. Hard. Her brows are slowly furrowing as she thinks about something.

Did Abby have a crush on… you?

You cleared your throat once again. “So…” You went beside Ellie. “What did Dina say to you earlier?”

Ellie sighed. “JJ’s birthday is tomorrow and Dina wants us to go.” She looked at you. “But if you don’t want to-”

“Ellie, it’s fine. It’s JJ we’re talking about.”

“I don’t want you to become uncomfortable.”

You took Ellie’s hands and smiled at her. Ellie’s heart stopped for a second. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As much as Ellie wanted to, she can’t help but think of you every single moment. Her thoughts are filled with you, as well as her decisions are tied with you. Ellie did not want to hurt you in some ways, mostly because she’s warming up to you. But on the other hand, it might be good to finally see JJ after a year and more. After all, he’s just like her son to her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“I’m so glad you two could make it.” Dina greeted when she spotted the two of you. Her enthusiasm was genuine, really. All she wanted was her son’s happiness, and that is to meet Ellie again.

“Here’s a gift for JJ.” You handed her a gift bag which Dina accepted immediately.

“Thank you so much. You don’t have to.”

“Well, we can’t come empty handed.” You smiled before looking at Ellie who whispered at you.

“Is it okay if I go to JJ or do you want to come with me?” She asked and you shook your head.

“I’m okay.” You answered gently.

Dina watched the two of you talk. The familiar ache in her chest starts showing up again but she couldn’t help but to smile even though it hurts her so bad. A voice at the back of her head started to whisper bitter things that she couldn’t brush off.

Dina and Ellie broke up because she didn't want to settle with her. Ellie got scared of leaving Jackson, got married with her, and to live peacefully – like a true happy family. But after a year, Ellie did everything that Dina never got to experience. With a different girl.

Dina couldn’t help but ask herself if she was the problem. Maybe she didn’t think of everything that could happen when she asked Ellie to do those things. Maybe she became irrational and impulsive. Maybe Dina only thinks with her feelings.

If she waited for a year, would Ellie say yes to her?

“I’ll just go to JJ.” Ellie interrupted her thoughts. “Is that fine?”

Dina smiled widely. “He’s waiting for you all night. He’s probably at the house, you can find them in there.”

Ellie nodded before squeezing your hand, letting you know that she’s going to go find him. Dina caught a glimpse of it and gulped.

When Ellie went away, you two awkwardly stared at each other for a couple of minutes. You did not know what to say to your wife’s first love. To say that Dina is pretty is just an understatement. She radiates a beautiful energy which makes everybody love her. You could see why Ellie was crazy for her, and that made you envious.

“If I ever become too pushy with Ellie and JJ thingy, you could refuse to go.” Dina started.

You shook your head. “I think it’s only fair. I mean, JJ grew up with her and I’m not going to stop them from seeing each other.”

Dina nodded while smiling. There it goes again, the awkward silence between you two. You wanted to excuse herself to go somewhere because you cannot bear the tension in the air. But on the other hand, you wanted to just stay with Dina to prove that you aren’t affected by her presence. That you aren’t going to be phased by her being Ellie’s ex-girlfriend. And you could tell that she feels the same way, too.

Your brows knitted when you spotted a familiar figure going out of a car again. It’s Abby, holding a gift bag on her right hand while jiggling her keys on her left. She’s wearing a suit and her hair is tied at the back.

“You know Abby?” You looked at Dina while squinting your eyes.

“Oh… yeah.” Dina chuckled. “We were close in highschool and she’s one of JJ’s godmother.”

Abby spotted the two of you before waving. She’s walking towards the both of you while smiling, at the same time that Ellie is striding towards your direction with JJ.

Her irritation grew once again when Abby showed up. She truly forgot that Dina made her one of his godmother. It’s so stupid that it made Ellie want to punch Abby in her face.

JJ immediately ran to Dina and Ellie quickly went beside you, snaking her tattooed arm on your waist as Abby stood in front of you two.

Abby handed JJ the gift bag which he immediately opened. Everyone watched him as he unboxed it.

“A robot toy!” JJ squealed.

“What do you say to Ms. Abby?” Dina asked.

“Thank you!” JJ hugged Abby’s legs before running away as quickly as possible. Wanting to brag to his friends about his new favorite toy.

Dina laughed. “He’s so energetic. By the way, thank you for the gift. You shouldn’t even be bothered. I know you were so busy.”

Abby only shrugged. “It’s fine. Maybe it’ll be the last time that I’m giving him something, right?”

Everyone laughed except Ellie who grew more irritated when you found her corny ass joke funny. She rolled her eyes because of that.

“I know I always ask this when we see each other but… why are you still single?” Dina asked.

Abby just laughed hard before quickly taking a glance at you. Now, in your perspective, it meant absolutely nothing. But in Ellie’s eyes, it answers everything.

FUCK!

IT WAS YOU, ALL ALONG.

Ellie’s grip in your waist got tighter.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

As soon as you and Ellie got out of the car when you two got home, she has been annoying you and bombarding you with so many irrelevant questions of everything that has happened in highschool. Such as “did you tell someone if you got a crush on her”, “did Abby know about your crush,” blah blah blah.

She’s so weird throughout the ride that you couldn’t help but to stare at her ridiculously.

“Why did you want to know?” You asked her back, your shyness started creeping up when she kept bringing the past. Yes, you did tell someone that you got a crush on the football’s team captain – Ellie. And that someone was Abby. And why is Ellie asking you this was still a mystery because she wouldn’t answer it. It’s getting annoying.

Ellie started walking behind you, slightly gripping one of your belt holes as you two walked inside the room. She’s being really paranoid about something. It’s like there’s an itch in her brain and a huge discomfort in her veins that made her want to get information about you and Abby.

I mean, it made sense. All of it. Abby probably went back to Jackson when she heard that you got married. And for what? She couldn’t get you. She just wont.

“Okay, okay.” Ellie surrendered when she could tell that you’re starting to ask her questions about why she’s fishing out information about Abby. Her hands softly gripped your waist and she gently turned you to face her. Ellie’s heart almost jumped when you looked at her straight in the eye. She squeezed your skin before talking. “Last question. Did you… ever like Abby?”

You laughed so hard, as if Ellie just asked the dumbest question in the world. Well, she probably did. Your hands gripped her arms to gain balance but you couldn’t stop laughing which made Ellie look at you in amusement. A small smile starts to creep up in her face when your giggles are infecting her.

“What’s funny?”

“You!” You wiped a tear at the corner of your eye. “Really? Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know!” Ellie shrugged. “I was just…curious. She looked really into you. I could tell.”

“She’s not. Trust me. And if she does, I don’t think I can reciprocate her feelings.”

“Why?” “Ellie…” You chuckled. “You’re the only one I ever wanted, okay?” You shut your eyes in embarrassment. “Don’t make me say that again.” You said before quickly turning your back on her.

Ellie stood there, her gaze following as you ascended in the stairs. There it goes again, the familiar warmth on her heart that almost made her unable to stand up straight nor even make her brain function. All she thinks about right now is you. You. You. Just you. Always you.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Tonight is the year end party, an annual celebration for townies in Jackson and is held by your father. This day is important for everyone as it serves as a fun night to get away from the problems of life. Everyone gets drunk with unlimited booze, dances the worries away, and socializes with each other.

You and Ellie arrived at the plaza that is now filled with decorations, buffets, dancing lights and loud music. People started to make their way at the venue while wearing their finest suits and dresses. Ellie wore her usual formal attire – black trousers, a blazer and a button down shirt with the first three buttons opened to show the gold chain that is hanging on her neck. Her auburn hair is tied into a nice half up bun, accentuating her features. You, however, just wore your nice black satin mini dress, paired with gold stilettos and gold jewelries that complimented your skin tone.

Ellie couldn’t stop looking at you even when she’s driving the car. Yes, you two could get into an accident since she was so distracted by you. But can you blame her? A beautiful girl is sitting on the front passenger seat, and all she could do is to let her ringed fingers sit on your exposed thigh. God knows that Ellie wanted to do more than that.

“Ah! My daughters.” Joel greeted, enveloping the two of you in a tight hug. He handed Ellie a glass of whiskey which she accepted, quickly gulping it in just one shot. “How’s married life?” Joel asked. “I was so busy at the barn that I couldn’t stop by your house.” He looked at Ellie. “You looked great, by the way.”

“I know.” Ellie answered. “Well, we’re doing just fine.” Ellie shut her eyes tightly. “Ah, no, we’re doing great.”

You placed your hand at Ellie’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Ellie almost jumped at the physical contact. She blushed profusely, she thanked everyone who put the LED lights in here because it hides her freckled cheek that is now beet red. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” She chuckled nervously. God, you’re really pretty. So pretty. “I just needed another booze.”

You nodded, fully agreeing because you thought that Ellie was just getting anxious about the questions. “Yeah, you should get some by the bar.”

Ellie nodded. “Do you want to drink, Joel?” She asked him and he quickly agreed. Saying that he’s been waiting for her the whole time for them to get drunk again together like old times. Ellie bid her goodbyes to you, saying that she’ll find you later. You nodded, making your way in the direction where your friends are.

You and Ellie have been away from each other for almost three hours now. You spent the whole night drinking wine, and talking to your friends about every gossip that is happening in the town. Those stories made you really immersed, especially when your friend Evie, has been telling it with actions mixed with funny words.

“Heya!” Abby’s voice came from your behind.

“Abby!” You greeted her with a hug. “Want a drink?” You offered and she nodded immediately. Sitting at the empty chair beside you, Abby greeted your mutual friends at the table. She couldn’t be happier when Ellie wasn’t near you.

Ellie, on the other hand, has been sitting in the bar stool, drinking whiskey with such quickness as she started to gather her thoughts. Joel is sitting beside her, telling so many stories that she can’t even quite comprehend since her mind is only filled by you.

And Abby.

And Dina.

And you again.

FUCKKK DOES SHE LIKE YOU NOW? WHAT ABOUT THE ‘NO FALLING IN LOVE RULE’ THAT SHE MADE?!

So, she does what she did the best: drink. Drink until she can’t walk, nor even form any coherent thoughts because she must be going insane, right? The two of you aren’t real. Yes, she may consider you as her friend but she can’t fall in love with you. Ellie is a mess. She’s afraid to break you, too.

“Hey.” Someone pulled her out from her thoughts. Dina sat beside her and Ellie craned her neck to see where Joel went. He probably got tired of talking with a brick wall for hours so he decided to leave her alone. And Ellie didn’t even notice.

“Can we talk?” Dina asked.

Ellie shooked her head before drinking another shot. “We have nothing to talk about, Dina.” Ellie dismissed her. It’s true, though. They need to stop interacting with each other because they don’t have anything to do with each other.

Besides, Ellie doesn’t want to have another buzz of rumors to circulate between her and Dina, especially now that she is married. Even if your marriage is not real, Ellie cared for you as her true friend. “Please, just this once, Ellie. And I’ll stop.” Dina looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Dina, we’re done. I don’t want my wife to think of anything bad.” Ellie said, her voice rising as she can feel the irritation seeping through her veins.

Dina looked at her, tears welling with eyes. “My wife?” She chuckled sarcastically, as if she couldn’t believe anything that Ellie was saying. “You like her now, Els? Really? I thought it wasn’t real. Please tell me it wasn’t real!”

“Fuck it!” Ellie shut her eyes tightly before gripping Dina’s arm. She dragged her to the plaza’s secluded area. “You really want to fight while everyone’s looking, huh?”

“I just want to talk to you.” Dina immediately clung on Ellie. Her hands finding hers but Ellie immediately pulled away. Looking at her disgustingly.

Dina cried hard. She looked pathetic right now but she couldn’t care. “Tell me that you don’t like her. I have known you for years, Ellie. You wouldn’t marry so easily. Especially not with her.”

“The fuck are you saying?” Ellie asked, her tone is now angrier. “We haven’t talked for years. I’ve changed, Dina. What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Dina knows that she was spewing nonsense. Hell, she couldn’t even recognize her own voice right now. She knew that what she was doing was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. Dina hadn't slept for a day, and the only thing in her system was alcohol. She spent the morning through the afternoon without eating. She couldn’t even find the courage to cook something. It’s like the thought of Ellie falling in love with someone else hit her. That it is real. Everyone might think that their marriage is just fake, that there wasn’t a love circulating between the two. But Dina knew what she saw. Ellie loves you.

But in a desperate move, Dina gripped Ellie’s blazer on both of her hands, pulling her ex-girlfriend in a kiss. Ellie’s eyes widened, feeling her heartbeat tripling but it wasn’t in a positive way. Not the same kind of nervousness when you’re around. This was different. Ellie hates it.

Ellie immediately pushed Dina so hard that she stumbled onto the ground. Dina remained in that position, biting her lips to prevent herself from crying loudly. Ellie became furious, the booze she drank earlier was now long gone. She looked at Dina with disbelief and with so much anger. She feels like she would explode. But before Ellie could say anything, she heard someone at her back.

“What the fuck?” Abby asked loudly. Beside her was you, looking at Ellie and then back to Dina. You couldn’t move a limb as your whole body tensed. You can feel yourself getting pale and cold while tears are welling up your eyes. Abby immediately went to help Dina get up.

Ellie breathed loudly as she saw your state. “Baby…” She immediately went up to you, holding both of your cold hands into hers. Ellie moved the stay hairs away from your face before cupping your cheeks with both of your hands. Ellie kept holding your gaze but it was focused on Dina only.

“Is she okay?” You asked, even though you fully know what happened.

Ellie shut her eyes tightly. This cannot be happening. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Don’t worry about her, baby, please.” Ellie said, almost begging. At last, you looked at her eyes and Ellie felt like her heart was squeezing when she saw the tears that almost want to roll down your face.

“Ellie, she kissed you.” You asked, breathlessly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Ellie assured you. “I can explain.”

“Ellie, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Dina wailed loudly. Her words are slurry as Abby struggles to keep her by her feet. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She kept on repeating.

Ellie looked at her with a pure disgusted face. “Dude, keep her away from here. My wife and I will talk.” She said, and Abby couldn’t do anything but to nod and keep on dragging her away from you two.

Abby looked at you and you nodded as a sign that it’s okay. You were looking for Ellie since you saw that she wasn’t at the bar. And Joel said that he left her an hour ago. You have no idea where she went and Abby offered to join you. Both of you decided to check behind the plaza since it was the only place that you two hadn’t looked at. And out of all the chances, you and Abby saw Dina kissing Ellie. And the next moment, she’s on the ground when Ellie pushed her.

When Dina and Abby were out of your sight, you looked at Ellie.

You gulped. “You pushed her.”

“She kissed me, and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want her to kiss me.” Ellie’s grip on your hands tightened.

Your gaze fell down, feeling a lot more confused than hurt. “But why? I thought you still liked her?”

Ellie immediately shook her head. And you looked at her, confused. “I never said that.”

“But I can feel it.”

“Then you’re wrong, okay?” Ellie said, her voice slightly rising. “If you have a lot of questions, I don’t think I have the answer for it. If you’re confused, just know that I am, too.” Ellie shut her eyes tightly again.

“Do you want to have a divorce?” You asked, asking the question hurted you a lot harder than you thought it would. Ellie’s eyes shot open. “I can make an arrangement. My father can-”

Ellie shook her head frantically. It was now the turn for her eyes to well up in tears. Her body ran cold and she could feel the nervous beat of her heart ringing up her ears.

“No, no, no,” She said, still shaking her head.

“One word and I’ll-”

“NO!” Ellie shouted. “I don’t want to! Fuck! Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, Y’N.” Her gaze fell down as her tears kept streaming down her face. “Please. I beg.” Ellie whispered shakily.

“Ellie…” You called gently.

“I beg you. Please. Stay.”

And you did one thing that you wanted to do for the very first time. You kissed her hard. Ellie’s eyes widened for a second but she immediately answered your kisses with longing, passion, and love. If the right words can't find her own tongue, maybe her lips will.

“I love you.” Ellie whispered.

You smiled. “I love you more, my wife.”

——————-

taglist: @machetegirl109 @p4ison1vy

[eunseoksimp]

PLS PLS PLS we NEEEED a part 3 where she finally realises how manipulative he is and finally lets go 😩🙏🙏

your wish is my command anon. a couple of people requested for a part three, so i hope this doesn't disappoint. this is the final part of the series (something i never intended to make in the first place :)

synopsis: a poignant exploration of secrecy and infidelity, where you finds yourself trapped in a tumultuous relationship with a man you deeply love, yet who views you merely as the object of his desires. delving into the intricate emotions and heartache that arise from such a dynamic, painting a tragic picture of a woman who elevates a mortal man to the status of a god, only to face the devastating consequences of your misplaced reverence.

Pairing:Toxic! Park Wonbin x Fem!Reader

Genre: angst

Warning: wonbin is being the worst person alive yet again, extreme levels of manipulation and gaslighting, strong language, brief description of sex, small mention of depression and suicide towards the end, reader still being delusional, 20k word count!

part 1 — part 2

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the night air outside was crisp, a sharp contrast to the heavy, suffocating atmosphere in wonbin's apartment. you lay curled under his sheets, the fabric cool against your skin, but offering no real comfort. the weight of the decision you had made last night pressed down on you like a stone, rendering you almost immobile. you stare at the ceiling, the room bathed in shadows that seemed to stretch and twist like the thoughts in your mind.

your phone lay abandoned on the nightstand, its screen dark. you couldn't bear to turn it on, to face the barrage of messages from your friends, especially from donghyuck. the disappointment  you saw in their eyes at the party haunted you, their silent pleas and furrowed brows etched into your memory. you imagined their texts, each one a dagger of concern and bewilderment, a reminder of how you had let them down.

wonbin's voice drifted through the fog of your thoughts, a low and persistent murmur. he was saying something, his tone smooth and convincing, but the words barely registered. they washed over you like a cold, relentless tide, each wave pulling you deeper into a sea of numbness. you felt detached, as if you were floating above yourself, watching this sad, broken version of you trying to make sense of the choices you had made.

‘you know you belong here,’ wonbin said, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. his touch was gentle, almost tender, but it felt like ice against your skin. ‘they don't understand you like i do. they never will.’

you wanted to protest, to argue, to say anything intelligible to him, but your throat felt tight, voice lost somewhere in the haze of regret and guilt. instead, you closed your eyes, trying to block out his words, but they seeped in anyway, like smoke curling through the cracks of your resolve.

‘you’re better off without them,’ he continued, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. ‘they hold you back. with me, you can be your true self.’

each word was a hook, digging into your already fragile heart. you knew he was manipulating you, twisting the truth to keep you close, but you were too exhausted to fight it. the numbness was easier, a blanket of indifference that protected you from the sharper edges of reality.

pulling the sheets tighter around yourself,  you seek solace in his embrace even as it stifled you. the room felt like a cage, the walls closing in with every passing moment. you wished you could turn back time, undo the choices that had led you here, but the past was a chain that bound you to this present, inescapable and unyielding.

in the silence that followed, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside, you felt the sting of tears. they welled up, blurring your vision, but you refused to let them fall. crying would mean acknowledging the depth of your despair, and you weren't ready for that. not yet.

instead, you lay there, a prisoner of your own making, caught between the regret of last night and the fear of what tomorrow would bring. wonbin's words continued to weave their insidious spell, deep down, beneath the layers of guilt and numbness.

for now, you let the numbness take over, let the darkness of the room and the weight of the sheets shield you from the pain.

‘i know it's hard,’ wonbin murmured, his voice a velvet trap, soothing yet suffocating. ‘but you have to trust me. we're meant to be together. they can't give you what i can.’

your mind flashed to donghyuck, his kind eyes full of worry, his voice a beacon of sanity in the chaotic storm of your life. but that light felt so distant now, obscured by the fog of wonbin's influence.

‘stop thinking about them, focus on me instead. not everyone understands us.’

‘you don't understand,’ you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. ‘they care about me. they want what's best for me."

‘and so do i,’ wonbin insisted, his tone sharpening slightly. ‘but they can't see the real you. they don't know your struggles, your pain. i do. i see you.’

‘i bet you still haven’t told anyone else about that night.’

his words were a double-edged sword, cutting through your defenses yet binding you closer to him. you felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his belief in his own twisted version of love. it was intoxicating, this dark allure that promised understanding and acceptance, even as it isolated you from the people who truly cared.

‘please,’ you whispered, a plea more to yourself than to him. ‘i just need time.’

‘time won't change anything,’ he said softly, his fingers continuing their hypnotic dance on your arm. ‘but I'm here for you, always.’

wonbin's voice broke through the silence once more, softer now, almost a whisper. ‘stay with me. here, you don't have to pretend. here, you're free.’

free. the word echoed in your mind, a bitter irony. his definition of freedom was a gilded cage, a place where you could be yourself only if that self conformed to his desires and expectations. yet, in your current state, the illusion of freedom seemed more bearable than the harsh reality awaiting you outside these walls.

‘i.. i don't know,’ you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. the words felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. someone stronger.

‘we'll figure it out together,’ he promised, his hand now resting on your shoulder, a weight that felt both grounding and suffocating. ‘trust me.’

trust. another word tainted by the complexities of your relationship. you wanted to trust him, to believe that he had your best interests at heart. but the undercurrent of control and manipulation was too strong to ignore.

you sighed, a sound filled with a mixture of acceptance and despair. ‘okay,’ you whispered, more to yourself than to him. ‘we'll figure it out.’

and with that, you closed your eyes, allowing the darkness to envelop you once more, seeking a momentary escape from the labyrinth of your emotions.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the late afternoon sun cast a muted light over the city as wonbin's car finally pulled up outside your apartment. the building loomed like a sanctuary and a prison all at once, its familiar facade a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you. you felt hollow, a shell of the person you had been just a few days ago. as you stepped out of the car, the weight of wonbin's influence clung to you like a shroud.

he leaned out of the window, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. ‘remember what i said baby,’ he murmured, his voice smooth and insidious. ‘no one understands you like i do,’ his words echoed in your mind, a dark mantra you couldn’t seem to shake, while you’re left watching him drive away.

your feet felt leaden as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, the hallway stretching before you like an endless tunnel. each step felt like a struggle, the decision you had made two nights ago weighing heavily on her heart. when you finally pushed open the door, the sight that greeted you sent a jolt through your numbed senses.

yunjin was there, pacing the living room with a stormy expression, and mark sat on the couch, his face a mix of worry and determination. the air crackled with tension, a stark contrast to the dull numbness you had been wrapped in.

‘finally,’ yunjin said, her voice sharp as a knife, slicing through the silence. ‘do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? you just disappeared, and now you show up like nothing happened?’

you flinched at yunjin’s words, the guilt hitting you hard and you hung your head in shame. your friend's frustration washing over you like icy water, but it barely penetrated the fog of your mind. you knew yunjin was right, but the web wonbin had spun around you was so tight, so suffocating, that you could barely think straight.

‘i… i didn’t plan to,’ you murmured, voice barely audible as you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking some semblance of comfort. ‘he… he just… i don’t know what to say yunjin.’

yunjin’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and desperation. ‘this isn’t you, ‘ she said, her voice rising. ‘you’re not the person who lets him control you like this anymore. we’ve been through this before, and you got out! why are you letting him drag you back?’

mark stood up, his calm presence a counterpoint to yunjin’s fervor, aiming to ease the tension. he stepped closer, his gaze gentle but firm. ‘we’re here for you,’ he said softly. ‘wonbin’s a terrible person, he’ll destroy you.’’

you looked at him, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. the words that had been hammered into your mind over the past two days surfaced like an automatic response, a defense mechanism you couldn’t quite shake. ‘he’s the only one who can love me,’ you whispered, the phrase dripping with the poison wonbin had fed you.

yunjin’s face fell, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and sorrow. ‘no,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘that’s not true, you know that’s not true. we love you. donghyuck loves you. you don’t need him. you don’t need park wonbin.’

but the numbness was too thick, the web too tangled. you felt like a marionette, strings pulled by a master manipulator who knew exactly which buttons to press. yunjin looked at mark, her frustration giving way to worry, her hands shaking as she tried to hold back tears.

mark reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘it’s going to be okay,’ he said, though the uncertainty in his eyes belied his words. ‘we’ll get through this together.’

yunjin nodded, wiping at her eyes. ‘you’re not alone,’ she repeated, her voice firmer now. ‘we’ll help you untangle from him, even if it takes time. but you have to believe us, that you really don’t need him. you have to believe in yourself.’

you wanted to believe them, to feel the warmth of their support seep into the cold void within you. but the echoes of wonbin’s manipulation were still too loud, drowning out the voices of reason and love. you sank onto the couch, curling into a ball as if to shield yourself from the overwhelming reality.

yunjin's frustration simmered just below the surface, her voice rising again as she stepped closer, her presence a mixture of fierce protectiveness and desperation. 

‘look at me,’ she demanded, her voice trembling. ‘look at what he's doing to you. this isn't love, it's control. he's manipulating you, making you think you're nothing without him. but that's not true. you're so much more than he says you are.’

the words struck a chord deep within you, a faint spark of resistance flickering in the depths of your soul. but the numbness was overpowering, a dense fog that obscured your thoughts and dulled your senses. you closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, but yunjin's voice cut through the haze.

mark sat beside you, yunjin on the other side, his hand gently resting on your back, a steady anchor in the storm. ‘we're not giving up on you,’ he said quietly. ‘no matter how long it takes, we'll be here. you don't have to fight this alone.’

your eyes open, tears blurring your vision as you looked at the two people who cared for you more than anything. the love in their eyes was a stark contrast to the cold manipulation you had endured from wonbin. it was overwhelming, the intensity of their concern, their unwavering support.

but the poison of wonbin's words still lingered, a dark cloud that loomed over your heart. ‘he's the only one who can love me, the only one who still wants me,’ you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, the phrase feeling like a shield against the reality you weren't ready to face.

yunjin's shoulders slumped, the realization dawning on her that this battle wouldn't be easy. she exchanged a worried glance with mark, the weight of the situation settling heavily on them both. they had seen you like this before, trapped in the web of wonbin's deceit, and they knew how hard it would be to pull you free.

but they also knew your strength, even if you had forgotten it. they had seen you fight your way out once, and they believed you could do it again.

yunjin knelt in front of you, taking your hands in her own, her touch warm and grounding. ‘we'll get through this,’ she said softly, her voice filled with determination. ‘one step at a time. we'll remind you of who you are, of how much you're loved. and we'll help you see the truth, even if it takes time.’

all you could do was hold on to the faint glimmer of hope that their love and support could one day help you break free from wonbin's grasp. as you lay there, wrapped in the cocoon of their concern and their arms,  you felt trapped between two worlds—the dark, insidious pull of wonbin’s influence and the bright, hopeful promise of your friends’ unwavering support. it was a battle you wasn’t sure you had the strength to fight, but nevertheless clung to the faintest glimmer of hope allowing yourself to feel a flicker of gratitude, a small light in the overwhelming darkness.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

wonbin's presence lingered like a ghost, haunting every corner of your life. from the moment you woke up, the shadows of his influence clung to you, whispering reminders of the control he held over you. 

he was the one who picked you up for college, his car a cage of false comfort, its leather seats cold and unwelcoming. he was the one who dropped you home, his eyes constantly watching for any sign of disobedience. he demanded hours-long conversations on the phone, his voice a chain that bound you tighter with every word.

it had been two weeks since the party, a week since you had felt anything resembling happiness. every morning was a chore, and you felt like you were wading through a thick fog, your reflection in the mirror a distant, unfamiliar face. the vibrant person who had began to surface not too long ago was now buried under layers of guilt and manipulation. you couldn't shake the feeling that everyone you knew hated you, thoughts of donghyuck weighing down on you heavily. the gestures wonbin normally did—buying you gifts, taking you to restaurants—no longer brought the giddy excitement they once did. now, they felt hollow, empty rituals that failed to stir you.

‘what’s up with you?’ wonbin asked, his voice cutting through your reverie as he pulled up to the front of the college building. his tone was sharp, eyes narrowing as he studied you. he wasn’t pleased with how ungrateful you had been acting, how distant you had become. you no longer fawned over everything he did, no longer showered him with the adoration he demanded.

you shrugged in response, unable to summon the energy for words. leaning over the console, you gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. ‘i’ll see you this afternoon,’ you said, voice flat and devoid of emotion. wonbin’s eyes, sharp and unreadable, followed you as you adjusted the strap of your tote bag on your shoulder, turning away from the car.

the morning sun, bright yet indifferent, cast long shadows that seemed to elongate your already heavy stride. the walk from the parking lot to the main campus building felt interminable, the path lined with meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant flowerbeds seemingly mocking in its serenity. how could everything look so perfect whilst inside of you was a maelstrom of confusion and guilt?

students milled about, the campus alive with the usual morning energy of chattering, with laughter ringing out and conversations filling the air. yet to you, the scene was muffled, distorted by the haze of your own disquiet. it was as if a veil of grey had descended over the vibrant colours of the world, dulling every sound and every sight. you moved around like the world like a ghost, barely touching it, keenly aware of stares and casual greetings that seemed to float past like distant echoes.

you kept your head down, eyes fixed on the cobblestone path beneath your feet. the burden of your relationship with wonbin, the secrecy, the lies, the manipulation, felt like an iron shackle around your heart. you were a marionette as he held the strings, each pull tightening the noose of deceit. ‘no one will ever love you like i do.’

sighing as you approached the entrance of your lecture hall, the oak doors looming before you like the gates of some ancient fortress, you pushed through them, ignoring the murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of footsteps on the tiled floor as you opted for a seat near the back, hoping to remain inconspicuous.

settling into your chair, the cool hard surface grazing your skin, you listen to the clatter of notebooks and pens being arranged, and how the sounds all dissipated as soon as the lecturer walked in. his voice droned on, a monotone narration that barely registered in your consciousness.

you tried to focus, to anchor yourself to the present moment, but your thoughts were a storm-tossed sea, each wave crashing against the fragile vessel of your sanity, a chaotic whirlpool that was spinning with thoughts of park wonbin. his face flashed in your mind, his smile charming yet sinister, his voice sweet but poisonous. his presence loomed large in your mind, an omnipresent shadow that stretched across every corner of your being. you could feel the weight of his gaze, how the closer you got to him, the more entangled you felt and the more distant you seemed.

why couldn’t you break free from his grasp? what was it about wonbin that rendered you a soulless vessel, awaiting his input into making you come alive again? your mind was a labyrinth of questions, each corridor leading to another dead end. the pen in your hand felt foreign, the notes on your page mere scribbles, devoid of meaning.

when the class ended you were one of the first to get up, gathering your things with mechanical precision before moving through the throng of students.

the day wore on, each class a monotonous blur as the minutes dragged on, each one a tiny eternity as you tried to piece together your scattered thoughts. you had successfully managed to avoid yunjin and mark, the former seemingly not in school today. even though you had seen mark at lunch time, he could only watch with a sad smile as wonbin whisked you away, urging you to eat with him and leaving you with no other option. even donghyuck, who you were used to seeing around almost every corner of the college had only appeared once in the courtyard, his back turned to you as he spoke to one of his roomates, giving you the opportunity to swiftly speed walk in the other direction.

the guilt was a storm of its own within you, its winds whipping you fiercely, leaving you feeling battered and bruised. you missed your friends and you loved them dearly, but it was hard to face them. you had chosen this path, allowing yourself to be drawn into wonbin’s orbit, yet instead of being liberating, the sensation was suffocating. it felt like you had traded your peace for a cage of your own making. 

each interaction with him had once been a thrill, but now every word, every touch was tainted with unease. the realisation was like a cold, hard truth sinking into your chest, its impact echoing through every faucet of your existence.

snapping out of your thoughts, your last class of the day just concluding, you attempted to shake this feeling, instead focusing on how wonbin had invited you to watch his basketball practice, something that he had never let you do before. a small part of you clung to the possibility that this was a sign of change, a step towards something deeper in your tangled relationship. your mind raced as you thought about what it could mean, that perhaps he had finally decided to let you into his world, a flicker of hope that was like a fragile flame in the cavern of your doubt.

you arrived earlier than planned, the doors closed as the sounds of dribbling basketballs and the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished wood grew louder. stepping into the dimly lit auditorium with a sense of foreboding. the bright lights of the gymnasium flooded your vision, momentarily blinding you, but as your eyes adjusted, the scene in front of you made your heart plummet into a chasm of disbelief.

there, on the court, wonbin was with ning ning, standing close to her, his posture relaxed and his expression one of playful concentration as he guided her hands on the basketball, helping her aim for the hoop. they were absorbed in their own world, a bubble of intimacy that excluded everyone else. ning ning's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that echoed painfully in your ears.

wonbin's hand lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary, his smile warm and genuine as he leaned in to give her a quick, affectionate kiss, a gesture so casual yet intimate that it made your heart sting and your throat tighten, your legs weakening beneath you. 

your breath caught in your chest, the pain of betrayal wrapping around your heart like a vice, the scene playing on like deja vu. you couldn't tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you, each moment a new twist of the knife. the sounds of the bouncing ball and their muted voices were a cruel soundtrack to your torment.

you stood frozen, the scene unfolding before you like a cruel movie. the numbness that had settled over you was a heavy blanket, smothering your emotions. you wanted to cry, to scream, but the tears wouldn’t come. you were a spectator in your own life, watching as everything you had feared came true. ning ning’s presence lingered like an unwelcome shadow, her influence casting a persistent, uneasy haze over your relationship.

‘hey, it's been a while since I've seen you,’ shotaro's voice broke through your paralysis, his tone friendly and warm, his cheerful greeting like a jolt, snapping you back to the present. he approached with a bright smile, his enthusiasm genuine, his eyes not yet falling on what you could see. 

wonbin's head turned at the sound of shotaro's voice, his eyes locking onto yours. for a fleeting moment, surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a mask of innocence. he jumped away from ning ning, his movements abrupt and almost comical in their obviousness. his attempt to appear nonchalant was belied by the smirk that began to curl at the corners of his mouth when he realized you weren’t walking away or lashing out.

instead, you forced a smile, directing it at shotaro. ‘yeah, it has,’ you said, your voice surprisingly steady. his smirk deepened, a silent acknowledgement of the power he held over you. he watched as you made your way down to the court, your steps measured and deliberate even though your hands trembled and your stomach churned. he was confident in the knowledge that you wouldn’t confront him. you were back to being the obedient girl he had molded, the one who wouldn't dare challenge him.

you let him pull you close to him as he planted a kiss on your cheek before turning his attention to shotaro as you took your seat on the bench, your body moving on autopilot while your mind was consumed by the image of wonbin and ning ning. the latter drew nearer to you, blissfully unaware of the pain she caused you.

‘hey, it’s good to see you here,’ she greeted you, lowering herself so she could fling her arms around your neck, your stiff body doing nothing to deter her.

‘i’m glad i finally have someone else to sit with.’

the implications of her words, the true meaning hidden behind them that entailed this wasn’t the first time she had come to watch them was enough to accelerate the movement of bile to your throat, barely managing to give her a tight lipped smile.

the rest of the practice was a blur, a nightmarish sequence of events that played out in slow motion. every time wonbin scored, he would glance in your direction, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. he winked at you, expecting a reaction, and you forced a smile, your lips stretching painfully as you clapped your hands together. each gesture felt like a betrayal of your own dignity, but you couldn’t muster the strength to do otherwise.

the other players moved around the court, their movements fluid and coordinated, but to you, they were mere shadows, their actions meaningless against the backdrop of your inner turmoil. the sounds of the game, the cheers, and the shouts of encouragement all faded into a dull roar, a cacophony that underscored your isolation.

wonbin's presence was a constant, oppressive weight. his every move seemed calculated to draw your attention, to remind you of his dominance. he was the star of the show, and you were the captive audience, forced to watch as he reveled in his power. each successful shot, each display of skill was a taunt, a reminder of the hold he had over you.

the practice dragged on, each minute an eternity. you were  acutely aware of the eyes on you—shotaro's concerned glances, ning ning's occasional, curious looks, and, most of all, wonbin's constant, predatory gaze. you felt exposed, vulnerable, like a specimen under a microscope, every emotion laid bare for Wonbin's amusement.

finally, the practice ended, and the players gave one last bow to the coach before they began to disperse, their laughter and chatter filling the gymnasium once more.  you stood, your legs shaky, your mind a swirling maelstrom of hurt and betrayal. ning ning approached them with grace, practically floating over as she gave them some words of encouragement.

‘you guys are so good,’ she gushed, giving them a thumbs up as they all secretly marvelled at her effortless beauty. you were transported back to a couple of months ago, you being in the background, a third party in your own relationship as you watched ning ning charm everyone that came upon her path, including wonbin.

they spoke for a while longer whilst you made your way to the exit, your steps unsteady, each one a struggle against the urge to collapse. you had no clue how you would make it back home, given that wonbin was the one now driving you to and from school, but you knew if you didn’t leave now you might collapse. wonbin however intercepted you near the door, his expressions a calculated blend of concern and smugness.

‘hey,’ he said, his voice dripping with faux sincerity. ‘i’'m glad you came. i wanted you to see me in my element.’ you forced a nod, your throat too tight to form words. his eyes searched yours, looking for a crack in your facade, a sign of the devastation he had wrought.

‘give me a second to clean up then we’ll leave.’

like a fool you gave him a final strained smile, rooted in your spot as he left you standing alone to head towards the changing rooms. it wasn’t till he was gone that you let out the breathe you had subconsciously held onto, the feeling of air re-entering your lungs some sort of anchor.

the drive home was silent, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your chest like a stone. the car hummed along the empty streets, its headlights carving through the darkness in narrow beams. next to you, you could feel his gaze, a searing brand that burned into the side of your face, but you kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead.

the silence between you was thick and oppressive, a tangible fog that dulled your senses and smothered your thoughts. the events of the evening replayed in your mind, each image a fresh stab of pain that reverberated through your entire being. wonbin had invited you to his practice, a gesture that had sparked a fragile hope within you, only to crush it under the weight of his betrayal.

‘are you going to say anything?’ his voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold. his tone was a challenge, a demand for a reaction that you refused to give.

you kept your eyes outside of your window, lips pressed into a thin line. the streetlights cast fleeting shadows across his face, highlighting the hardness in his eyes, the set of his jaw. he was waiting for you to break, to lash out or crumble under the weight of your emotions. but the numbness had settled too deeply, a protective barrier that shielded you from the full brunt of his manipulation.

‘come on, don’t be like this,’ he continued, his voice a mixture of irritation and condescension. ‘it’s not what you think.’

you clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to scream. the lie was so blatant, so casually delivered, that it took your breath away. how many times had he spun his web of deceit, ensnaring you with his charm and false promises? the realization was a bitter pill, its taste acrid and lingering.

‘say something,’ he demanded, his voice rising. ‘i invited you to my practice. I wanted you to see me play, like you’ve always begged me to do. what’s your problem now?’

‘to see what?’ your voice trembled with suppressed emotion. ‘to see you with her? to see how easily you can replace me?’

wonbin’s eyes flashed with anger, the car seemed to close in around you, the space too small to contain the intensity of your confrontation. the tension was palpable, a living thing that thrived on your mutual resentment.

‘you don’t understand,’ he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ‘ning ning means nothing to me. it was just a bit of fun. you’re the one I care about.’

the words were hollow, empty echoes that rang false in your ears. you turned your attention back to the window, the streetlights blurring into a continuous stream of light and shadow. his attempts at placation only deepened the chasm between you, the fissure that had been growing for so long now a yawning abyss.

‘i didn’t do anything!’ he exclaimed in frustration. ‘you’re overreacting.’

overreacting. the word hung in the air, a toxic reminder of every time he had dismissed your feelings, minimised your pain. how many times he had used that word on you, to make you feel like a fool, as if you were crazy for the things you saw.

the rest of the drive passed in a tense, heavy silence. the city lights gave way to the darkness of the suburbs, the roads winding through quiet neighborhoods. each passing house, with its warm glow of family life, felt like a mockery of your own situation. you yearned for the sanctuary of your room, for the moment you could be alone and let the facade crumble.

when he finally pulled into the driveway of your apartment complex, he killed the engine and sat there, the silence between you thicker than ever. wonbin's hand lingered on yoru leg, his touch a burning brand that you wanted to shake off but couldn't.

‘hey,’ he said softly, his voice a silk trap, ‘you know how much you mean to me. how much i’m trying to make it up to you.’

you turned to face him, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. his eyes were dark, inscrutable pools that promised nothing but more manipulation and pain. ‘yeah,’ you said, your voice barely above a whisper, ‘i know.’

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek, ‘good,’  he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. 

‘let me make it up to you. let’s go out this saturday, just you and me. you would like that, wouldn’t you pretty?’

you nodded mechanically, the numbness spreading like a poison through your veins, ‘yes, i would.’

‘good girl. goodnight my love.’

‘goodnight, wonbin.’

as you got out of the car and watched him drive away you let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you made your way inside. the apartment complex was quiet, the shadows deep and comforting.

the moment you closed the door to your apartment, the tears came, hot and unbidden. you sank to the floor, your body shaking with silent sobs. the image of wonbin and ning ning played over and over in your mind, a cruel, unending loop. the pain was a physical ache, a hollowing out of your chest that left you gasping for breath.

you stayed there for what felt like hours, the darkness of the apartment a welcome cocoon. the facade you had maintained all evening crumbled away, leaving you raw and exposed. the numbness was gone, replaced by a deep, searing pain that burned through your veins. the tears flowed freely, a torrent of pain and frustration that you had held back for too long. your throat burned, your eyes stung, but you couldn’t stop. the emotions poured out, raw and unchecked, each sob a desperate plea for release.

you cried until there were no more tears left, your body exhausted and spent until you eventually pulled yourself up, moving through your apartment like a ghost, each step a monumental effort. making your way to the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, hoping to wash away the remnants of the evening. the reflection in the mirror was a stranger, eyes red and swollen, face pale and drawn.

climbing into bed, the sheets were cool and comforting against your skin. the apartment was silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. you stared at the ceiling, the events of the evening playing out in your mind like a twisted movie. his smirk, his touch, the way he had looked at ning ning—each memory was a fresh wound, a reminder of the power he held over you.

sleep was elusive, your mind refusing to quiet. the pain was a constant companion, a throbbing ache that refused to be ignored. you tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around you like a suffocating embrace. 

finally, as the early hours of the morning crept in, exhaustion claimed you, pulling you into its merciful embrace. it was not a restful sleep but a restless, fitful slumber, a tangled web of nightmares and half-formed dreams.

wonbin still plagued your mind, his presence a dark shadow that loomed over you even in sleep. his voice echoed in your ears, his touch lingered on your skin, the haunting remnants of his betrayal echoing through the depths of your restless mind,  a stark reminder that even as sleep claimed you, his shadows would never fully relinquish their hold. 

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the morning sun seeped through the curtains, casting a cold, sterile light across the room. your eyes, swollen and raw from crying, barely registered the brightness. you felt like a hollow shell, your emotions drained, your heart heavy with the weight of regret and sorrow. 

your phone buzzed incessantly beside you, the sound a relentless reminder of the world outside your bubble of despair. yunjin’s name flashed on the screen, and you wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to sink back into the void where you could hide from everything.

but guilt gnawed at you, a persistent ache that wouldn't be ignored. you hadn't faced yunjin since that night, since the look of disappointment and hurt in your friend's eyes had carved a deep wound in your soul. with a trembling hand, you picked up the phone and answered.

‘i’m outside with breakfast. let me in,’ yunjin’s voice was gentle but insistent, leaving no room for refusal.

you glanced at yourself in the mirror, wincing at the sight. your eyes were puffy and red, dark circles marring your complexion. you tried to make yourself look less dead inside, splashing cold water on your face and brushing your hair, but it was futile. the pain was etched too deeply, the sorrow too visible.

with a heavy sigh, you unlocked the door and swung it open. before you could utter a word, yunjin flung herself onto you, wrapping her arms around you tightly. the warmth and care in your friend's embrace was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you felt inside. it was too much to bear, and the dam broke once more. you crumbled, sobbing into yunjin’s shoulder, your body shaking with the force of your grief.

mark appeared beside her, his expression a mix of concern and determination. he pulled you both into a hug, his broad frame providing a sturdy support as you cried together. the sound of your sobs filled the small hallway, a symphony of shared pain and sorrow.

inside the house, the silence was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle. you sat on the couch, yunjin and mark flanking you, their presence a lifeline in the sea of despair. you took a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush as you recounted the events of the previous day.

‘i think wonbin is still with ning ning," you tell them, voice barely above a whisper. ‘i saw them together at the gym. he was teaching her how to shoot a basketball, and then he kissed her when she made a basket. i don’t know what i’m doing wrong.’

mark's jaw tightened, a rare flash of anger crossing his normally calm features.  ‘that bastard,’ he muttered, his fists clenching, visibly upset at how dejected you looked. ‘he can't keep doing this to you.’

yunjin's eyes were blazing with determination. ‘we need to get you away from him,’ she said firmly. ‘i've said it before, and i mean it. you need help breaking free from this cycle and i think that therapy might be the best option.’ 

you hesitated, the thought of therapy filling you with uncertainty. a part of you wasn't ready to let go of wonbin, to sever the ties that had bound you to him for so long, as stupid as it sounded. ‘i'll think about it,’ your voice wavered as you spoke. ‘i'm not sure I'm ready.’

yunjin reached out, taking your hand in a gentle but firm grip. ‘i understand. but you need to start somewhere. you've been so strong, and i know it might seem like i’m being hard on you but i’m just worried. i need you to be okay.’

mark nodded in agreement, his expression softening. ‘we just want what's best for you. you deserve to be happy, to be free from his control.’

the morning stretched on, the weight of their concern pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. despite yunjin and mark's unwavering support, you couldn't shake the relentless grip wonbin had on your heart. as they talked about therapy and escape plans, your mind wandered back to him—his voice, his touch, the way he once made you feel special.

you listened to their suggestions with a detached numbness, nodding mechanically as they outlined their hopes for your recovery. yet deep down, you knew you weren’t ready to let go of wonbin, not yet. the thought of severing ties with him, of facing a future without his presence, filled you with a profound emptiness that mirrored the hollow ache in your chest.

he was the lone soul who cherished every flaw you bore, the one who could kiss away your anxieties, wrapping you in a cocoon where the rest of the world ceased to exist, if only for fleeting moments. the imperfection of the relationship was a shadow that never escaped your notice, whispers of its toxicity brushing your ears. it likely was a venomous bond, but it tethered you to the man who had pulled you back from the precipice of despair. for that, you learned to bury the unsettling disquiet deep within, to choke down the acrid taste of bitterness, and to mask the cracks in your heart with a facade of acceptance.

you had withdrawn into yourself, lost in thoughts of wonbin as you replayed your moments together in your mind, the highs and lows of your tumultuous relationship. the room blurred around you, your friends’ voices fading into the background, their words a distant echo in your ears. they were determined to rescue you from wonbin's clutches, but you couldn't summon the strength to break free. 

even when they had gone and you were left to sink onto the couch, alone with your thoughts, the deafening silence did nothing to help  the all consuming nature  of wonbin. all you could do was think about was wonbin—the way he made you feel alive, the promises he whispered in the darkness, the intoxicating allure of his presence. 

in the solitude of your apartment, you faced the harsh reality that you weren’t ready to let go. you retreated into yourself, the echoes of yunjin and mark's concern fading into the background. in the depths of your soul, a whispered voice echoed—a voice that sounded eerily like wonbin's, promising you everything you had ever wanted.

in that moment of quiet desperation, you made a choice—to hold onto him, despite the pain, despite the uncertainty. for now, he was all you had left, the anchor in the storm of your emotions.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the next morning came, the promise of a new day lay ahead, yet a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. you tried to shake off the unease as you prepared yourself, but the memories of last night’s restless sleep clung to you like a shadow.

a knock on the door startled you out of your reverie. you glanced at the clock—10:30am. right on time. with a deep breath, you opened the door to find wonbin standing there, his usual charming smile plastered on his face. he looked effortlessly handsome, his hair tousled just enough to seem natural, but his eyes held a glint that made your stomach twist.

"good morning love,’ he greeted, he greeted, his voice a silky veneer masking the chill beneath.

‘morning,’ you replied, forcing a smile as you grabbed your bag and stepped outside, closing the door behind you.

the drive started in uncomfortable silence. wonbin’s car was sleek and modern, the leather seats cold against your skin. you noticed his good mood immediately, the way he hummed along to the radio, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. it was infectious and at first you were happy to see him in this way, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in your chest.

he pulled up to a traffic light, his fingers moving rapidly to an incoming text. your eyes caught the name flashing on his phone display as he switched it off—the  name that had become all too familiar. 

‘who was that?’ you asked, striving for nonchalance, but the strain in your voice betrayed you.

‘just ning ning,’ he replied quickly, trying to seem indifferent but he was not meeting your gaze.

the name hung in the air like a dark cloud, a constant reminder of your insecurities. ning ning seemed to be everywhere, her presence looming over you like a spectre, taunting you with the impossibility of living up to her. she was the embodiment of everything you weren’t, and it gnawed at your self-worth like a relentless parasite.

you sighed, sinking deeper into the cold leather seat, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. the strength to confront him, to demand answers, eluded you. the fear of what those answers might reveal paralyzed you, rendering you silent.

wonbin noticed your demeanour, his eyes flickering with a mix of annoyance and something else—something you couldn’t quite place. ‘hey’, he said sharply, his tone lacking the usual tenderness. 

‘why are you being like this?’

‘it’s nothing. i’m fine,’ you lied, looking out the window to avoid his gaze.

he sighed, a sound of irritation. ‘i know you don't believe me, but there's nothing going on with ning ning. she's just... she's clingy. i’ve been telling her to leave me alone."

‘clingy,’ you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

‘yeah,’  he said, his tone dismissive. ‘i’m trying to let her go, but she just doesn't get it.’

you wondered if he had said that about you before, painting you as the desperate one in someone else’s story. the thought twisted in your gut, a nauseating realisation that perhaps you were just another name on his list, another heart he played with.

as he stopped at a red light, he turned to you, his fingers gripping your chin, pulling you towards him. his lips met yours in a kiss, aggressive and demanding, an attempt to erase your doubts and fears. but this time, it felt different. the usual warmth, the comfort of his touch, felt tainted by the lingering presence of ning ning.

you pulled away, staring into his eyes, searching for a truth you feared didn’t exist. hisis gaze was intense, filled with a coldness that made you shiver.

‘please,’ he whispered, his voice a velvet trap. ‘trust me. i’m done with her.’

you wanted to believe him, to let his words wrap around you like a comforting blanket. but the cracks in his story were becoming too glaring to ignore. the light turned green, and he resumed driving, his hand still resting on your thigh, a gesture meant to reassure.

but it only served to remind you of the precariousness of your situation. you were teetering on the edge, clinging to the minuscule amount of hope that he really loved you and that all these things were done out of that love.

the rest of the drive was a masterclass in pretence. wonbin maintained his cheerful demeanour, chatting about inconsequential things, his words flowing like a river that never reached the ocean. but beneath the surface, you could sense the current of unease, the hidden rocks that threatened to capsize your fragile peace.

you arrived at your destination, a picturesque park bathed in the soft light of morning. he parked the car, and you both stepped out, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside you. the park was serene, a haven of tranquility that felt worlds away from the chaos of your emotions.

wonbin took your hand, leading you down a winding path lined with blooming flowers and towering trees. his touch was warm, his presence comforting, but the questions in your mind refused to be silenced.

as you walked, he talked about his plans, his dreams, his vision for the future. his words were like a beautiful melody, captivating and hypnotic, but beneath the surface, an undercurrent of doubt flowed.

you stopped by a small pond, the water reflecting the azure sky above. wonbin turned to you, his eyes a myriad of emotions, like he was surprising his true emotions.

‘i know i’ve made mistakes,’  he said, mustering up as much fake dejection as he could. ‘but i want to make things right. i want to be with you.’

his words tugged at your heartstrings, everything you wanted to hear floating melodically into your ears. you wanted to believe him, to let go of the fears and insecurities that plagued you. but the scars of past betrayals were not easily erased, and the presence of ning ning lingered like a dark shadow.

‘why is it so hard for you to let her go?’ you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, scared to hear his response.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. ‘it’s complicated,’ he admitted falsely. ‘we’ve  known each other for a long time, and she has a hard time accepting that it's over.’

‘but it’s over between you two, right? you don’t want her anymore?’ you pressed, needing to hear the words, to have a tangible confirmation that you weren't just another name in his web of deceit.

‘she doesn't mean anything to me,’ he finally said, his voice a strained whisper that barely rose above the silence. his gaze flitted away, unable to meet yours, focusing instead on a spot on the floor as if the truth might lie hidden in the weedy grass.

you took a step closer, ‘do you really mean that?’ you asked, your voice barely more than a tremor in the stillness. ‘do you truly not love ning ning anymore?’

wonbin’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, a fleeting emotion that could have been guilt, regret, or merely the reflection of the dying light. ‘how many times do i have to tell you, i don't,’ he replied, a bit more firmly this time. ‘i don't love her. it’s you. it’s always been you.’

wonbin's lips curved into a smile, a masterful facade of warmth and reassurance. he reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek with a touch as soft as silk, sending shivers down your spine. ‘she's nothing to me now,’ he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur that seemed to wrap around you like a velvet cloak. ‘it's only you that i need.’

his words were a balm to your wounded heart, and you drank them in greedily, desperate to believe. the world seemed to brighten, colours more vivid, sounds sharper, as if his declaration had breathed new life into everything around you. the tight knot of jealousy and insecurity that had been gnawing at your insides began to unravel, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest like the first rays of dawn.

you wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, and in that moment, you did. wonbin’s voice was the honeyed trap, his lies the silken threads that ensnared your heart. he was the master puppeteer, and you, his willing marionette, dancing to the tune of his deceitful serenade.

he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, carrying the faint scent of mint and something darker, something that hinted at the shadows lurking beneath his charm. ‘you're the only one i care about,’ he whispered, and his words were a melody, a siren’s song that drowned out the rational voice in your head.

you closed your eyes, letting his lies wash over you, feeling the weight of your longing lifting. the desperation that had clawed at you for so long was soothed by the simple, sweet assurance that you were his one and only. your heart, so eager to be loved, so willing to be deceived, clung to his words as if they were the very breath of life.

in that twilight moment, with the stars beginning to weave their tapestry across the sky, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the illusion of his love. you were none the wiser, blissfully ignorant of the web of lies that held you captive. all that mattered was that wonbin loved you, and that was enough to sustain you through the darkness of the night.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the study café was nestled in a quiet corner of the bustling city, a haven for those seeking solace and focus amidst their hectic lives. the soft hum of the espresso machine and the gentle clink of ceramic cups created a comforting symphony, blending seamlessly with the muted conversations that filled the room. the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm, golden glow that enveloped the space in a serene, almost ethereal ambiance.

you sat at a corner table with yunjin and mark, the three of you cocooned in a bubble of shared silence. the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of vanilla and cinnamon from the bakery counter, creating an inviting atmosphere that made it easy to relax. the table was a comfortable chaos of notebooks, highlighters, and laptops, the quintessential tools of students immersed in their studies.

your spirits were noticeably lighter today, a stark contrast to the past few weeks. the recent turmoil with wonbin and ming ning had cast a long shadow over your days, but now, with ning ning out of the picture, a sense of calm had returned. yujin's eyes, soft and observant, flickered with concern as she watched you sip your latte, the steam curling up around your face like a comforting embrace.

‘how are you feeling?’ yujin asked, her voice gentle yet probing as she took a moment to ease her eyes from the strain of the light coming from her laptop. ‘have you thought any more about seeing that therapist i recommended?’

you hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup as you gathered your thoughts. the mention of therapy stirred something uneasy within you, a reminder of the tangled web of emotions and betrayals that had ensnared you.

‘i haven't,’ you admitted, glancing up to meet her gaze. ‘but honestly, i think things are getting better now. wonbin told me he doesn’t love her, that it’s ning ning who’s holding on to their past. he’s trying to break free from her.’

a brief silence fell over the table, the air thick with unspoken words. mark and yujin exchanged a glance, a fleeting moment of disbelief that passed between them like a silent conversation. yujin's lips parted as if to say something, but mark gently placed a hand on her arm, a silent plea for caution.

‘just... don't completely discard the idea, okay?’ mark said, his voice steady and reassuring. ‘it might still help, even if things seem sorted now.’

the words hung in the air, a delicate balance of concern and caution. you looked from one friend to the other, sensing the depth of their worry and care. the soft light caught the edges of their expressions, highlighting the sincerity in their eyes.

‘i know you mean well,’ you said, offering a small, appreciative smile. ‘but i really think it’s different this time. wonbin wants to move forward, and so do i.’

yujin nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving your face. the bustling café around you seemed to fade into the background, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices dimming as the weight of the conversation settled over your small group.

‘i get that,’ she said softly. ‘but just remember, sometimes, it helps to talk to someone who can give you a different perspective.’

the café door opened with a gentle chime, letting in a brief gust of cool air that carried the faint scent of rain. outside, the streets were bathed in the soft afterglow of a recent shower, the pavement glistening with a sheen of moisture. you watched as a couple huddled under a shared umbrella, their laughter ringing out as they splashed through puddles, imagining it was you and wonbin in their stead.

‘what makes you so sure?’ yunjin finally speaks up, unable to contain her words any longer. she doesn’t mean to be accusatory, but she wondered if her friends naivety was prompted by any of wonbin’s actions.

you shrugged, trying to keep your voice light and dismissive. ‘i just know. he wouldn't lie to me about something like this. he promised me.’

yunjin’s eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place—pity, perhaps, or frustration. ‘but remember the times you told us about? like when he was texting her constantly, or that day at the basketball court? you broke down in my arms about that sight.’

‘he explained all that. ning ning is finding it harder to let go of wonbin, and if we’re being honest i don’t blame her. but it’s all in the past now and he only cares about me, not her. i know what you’re thinking but i need you to trust me.’

yunjin put down her highlighter, her expression serious but not unkind. ‘we’re just worried about you,’ she said softly. ‘you deserve someone who makes you feel secure, not someone who keeps you guessing.’

‘i appreciate your concern, i really do. and i know this is coming from a place of concern as my best friend. but i trust him. he loves me again.’

mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘we just want you to be careful. sometimes, when you're close to someone, it's hard to see things clearly. he has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean.’

you felt a surge of irritation, understanding that it was because they cared about you, but you were tired of them bringing up the past, especially because things had changed now. ‘i get it, you’re sceptical. but this time is different, i know it is.’

the café around you seemed to close in, the familiar sounds and smells fading as the tension at the table grew. you could feel the weight of their concern pressing down on you, but you resisted, clinging to the belief that Wonbin was sincere this time. the light streaming in through the windows seemed harsher now, casting long shadows across the table, and the previously comforting hum of activity felt more like an intrusive buzz.

yunjin sighed, exchanging another glance with mark before returning her gaze to you. ‘alright,’ she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation as she realised there was nothing she could do or say to change your mind presently. ‘just...promise us you'll be careful, okay?’

you nodded, grateful for the change in subject but also feeling a pang of guilt. ‘i will. thanks guys, i know you’re only doing this because you’re my friends.’

the café’s ambiance wrapped around you again, a gentle reminder of the present moment. the sun had shifted, casting a soft glow on yunjin’s dark hair, highlighting the intensity of her focus as she returned to her textbook. mark was back to his typing, his brow furrowed in concentration. you watched them for a moment, feeling a surge of gratitude for their friendship.

the hours passed, the light outside shifting from the bright gold of afternoon to the softer, muted tones of early evening. the café grew quieter, the rush of the day giving way to a more subdued, intimate atmosphere. you finished your latte, the last sip now cold, and packed up your things, glancing at yunjin and mark as they did the same.

as you stepped out into the cool evening air, the doubts resurfaced, stronger now without the distractions of the café. you hugged your coat tighter around you, feeling the chill seep into your bones. mark and yunjin walked beside you, their presence a comforting anchor, but the uncertainty gnawed at you, a silent, persistent question mark.

the streetlights flickered on, casting a soft, warm glow on the sidewalk. the city seemed quieter now, the rush of the day replaced by a more reflective stillness. you walked in companionable silence, your friends’ presence a silent support as you navigated your thoughts.

when you reached your apartment building, you turned to them, offering a small, grateful smile. ‘thanks for today. i really appreciate it."

‘anytime. we're here for you, always.’

mark nodded, his expression serious but warm. ‘take care, okay? and remember what we talked about.’

you nodded, the weight of their concern settling on your shoulders like a heavy cloak. ‘i will. goodnight, guys.’

the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city became a lullaby as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. despite the doubts planted by yunjin and mark, a deeper part of you clung stubbornly to wonbin's words. you replayed the moments when he had reassured you, his voice gentle and sincere, his eyes filled with a promise that seemed too genuine to be a lie.

you remembered the warmth of his embrace, the way he held you close as if you were the most precious thing in his world. you thought about the small, tender moments—the way he smiled when he saw you, the soft kisses on your forehead, the late-night conversations that made you feel seen and understood. these memories were like a balm, soothing the unease that had settled in your heart.

wonbin had his flaws, you knew that. but you had seen sides of him that others hadn't, sides that made you believe in the love he professed. you remembered the way he looked at you, with a mixture of affection and vulnerability that seemed too raw to be faked. it was this belief that you clung to now, letting it wash over you like a comforting wave, drowning out the voices of doubt.

as you turned onto your side, curling into the blankets, you whispered into the quiet room, as if speaking the words aloud would solidify them. ‘he loves me. he really does.’

the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow that illuminated the room. you imagined wonbin's face in that light, his expression open and honest, his love for you evident in every glance. the doubts that had been gnawing at you began to fade, replaced by a renewed sense of conviction.

you were determined to believe in him, to trust in the bond you shared. love, after all, was about faith and trust. and you had chosen to believe in wonbin, to stand by him despite the uncertainties. the love you felt for him was a powerful force, strong enough to drown out the voices of doubt and fill you with a sense of purpose.

as sleep finally began to claim you, the last conscious thought you had was of wonbin's smile, the warmth of his touch, and the promise of his love. it was enough, you told yourself. it had to be enough. with that thought, you drifted into a dreamless sleep, the doubts momentarily silenced by the strength of your love and the conviction of your belief in him.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the restaurant exuded an air of quiet sophistication, its dimly lit ambiance casting a soft glow over the neatly arranged tables. each surface was adorned with a pristine white tablecloth, and flickering candles provided a warm, intimate light that should have felt comforting.

the rich scent of roasted garlic and herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate aroma of the fresh bouquet of wildflowers that sat in a slender vase at the centre of your table. it was the perfect setting for a romantic evening, yet, despite the setting's promise, a profound disconnection settled over your corner like a heavy fog.

wonbin was seated across from you, his presence felt more like a shadow than a companion. his eyes, once brimming with warmth and attentiveness, were now cast downward, glued to the screen of his phone. his fingers moved with a mechanical precision, scrolling through something invisible to you, the rhythm of his taps almost hypnotic. it was as if the digital world had consumed him entirely, leaving no room for the tangible reality of the restaurant or the person sitting right in front of him.

your gaze wandered to the plate of gnocchi before you, a culinary masterpiece of delicate, pillowy dumplings nestled in a bed of rich, creamy sauce. the steam that had once risen from it had long dissipated, leaving the dish cold and uninviting. you poked at the food absentmindedly, pushing it around the plate, trying to summon the appetite that had abandoned you. each bite you had hoped would bring comfort now felt like a chore, as though the simple act of eating was a reminder of the growing chasm between the two of you.

the silence stretched, its weight palpable, and you could feel your stomach tightening into a knot of anxiety. you had hoped that tonight would be a chance to reconnect, to solidify the progress you had made since ning ning was no longer a presence in your lives. the thought of her brought a fresh wave of discomfort, but you were determined not to let it cloud this evening. after all, wasn’t this supposed to be a new beginning for you?

‘wonbin,’ you ventured, voice barely rising above the soft murmur of the restaurant. you could hear the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation from nearby tables, their sounds juxtaposed sharply against the isolation you felt. ‘how was your day?’

‘fine,’ he replied, his eyes still locked on the screen. his response was curt, devoid of any warmth or elaboration. it was as if he was offering the bare minimum to satisfy an obligation rather than engaging in a meaningful conversation.

the sting of his disinterest was like a cold, sharp needle piercing your chest. you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making each word you spoke feel like an uphill battle. your mind raced, desperately searching for a topic that might spark even a flicker of interest in him. 

‘did you see the new exhibit at the art gallery?’ you pressed on, hoping to steer the conversation toward something you could both enjoy. ‘i read that they’re showcasing some incredible modern pieces. maybe we could go this weekend.’

he glanced up briefly, his expression unchanging. ‘maybe,’ he said flatly, a single word that carried no hint of enthusiasm. his gaze quickly returned to his phone, the screen lighting up his face in a cold, blue glow.

your heart sank further, the ache in your chest intensifying. you could feel the desperate effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, but it was like trying to hold onto sand slipping through your fingers. 

the idea of bringing ning ning into the conversation crossed your mind, but you pushed it aside, unwilling to revisit that painful subject. you had worked so hard to move past it; you didn’t want to derail this evening with old grievances.

the minutes ticked by slowly, each one stretching into what felt like an eternity. you fumbled with your fork, the metallic clatter against the plate sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. your attempts to engage him were becoming increasingly painful, like trying to breathe in a room with no air. every question you posed was met with terse responses, as if you were intruding on a private, unspoken space that he was unwilling to share.

‘have you been working on anything interesting lately?’ you asked, forcing a light tone that didn’t quite mask the strain in your voice. the question felt as though it was thrown into a void, with no expectation of being answered. you could see the flicker of a notification on his phone, but it was too fleeting to catch the details.

 the sharp pang of anxiety that followed was almost overwhelming. for a moment, you thought you saw ning ning’s contact name, but you dismissed the thought immediately, chalking it up to paranoia.

your stomach churned with an unsettling mix of anxiety and disappointment. each silent pause was a reminder of the growing distance between you, and you found yourself grappling with the fear that he might be losing interest. the thought of another argument—of digging up old wounds—was a torment you wanted to avoid at all costs. you kept trying, even though the effort was slowly draining me of hope and patience.

the candlelight danced across the table, casting shifting shadows that seemed to echo the dissonance between you. the warm glow should have felt comforting, but it only highlighted the cold reality of the situation. your mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—fear, frustration, and a desperate longing for connection. you could almost feel the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on you, a physical manifestation of the emotional chasm that had opened up between you.

‘i saw that you were reading something interesting on your phone,’ you said, attempting a more casual approach. ‘anything you’d like to share?’

‘just some emails,’ he said, his tone indifferent. ‘nothing important.’

the response was as empty as the spaces between your words. your shoulders sagged in defeat, and you looked around the restaurant, searching for something—anything—that might distract you from the growing realisation that the night was slipping away from you. the couples around you seemed to be effortlessly engaged, their conversations filled with laughter and intimacy, a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped your table.

your efforts felt increasingly futile, like trying to light a fire with wet matches. each time you reached out for a connection, it was met with a cold barrier that pushed you further away. the more you tried to bridge the gap, the more pronounced the separation became. it was as though you were speaking into a void,  words swallowed by an emptiness that seemed to grow with each passing minute.

‘i’ve been thinking,’ you said, trying to grasp at straws. ‘maybe we could plan a short trip somewhere? a change of scenery might be nice.’

his response was a mere nod, his eyes remaining fixed on his phone. the effort to maintain the conversation was becoming increasingly painful, like a relentless grind that left you feeling hollow and exhausted. you forced a smile, though it felt as if it were painted on, a mask to hide the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

the longer the silence stretched, the more you felt like a spectator in your own life, watching as the connection you once cherished disintegrated before your eyes. the gnocchi on your plate remained untouched, a silent testament to the disheartening reality of the evening. the warmth of the restaurant felt like a cruel irony, amplifying the coldness between you.

as you reached for your glass of water, you unintentionally caught another glimpse of his phone, and for a brief moment, as the corners of his lips curled, you thought you saw ning ning’s face again in the photo of the person he was messaging.

your breath hitched, and your heart raced, the old insecurities flaring up with a vengeance. you tried to push the thought aside, convincing yourself it was just a figment of your imagination. but the doubt lingered, a nagging voice that refused to be silenced.

eventually, you fell silent, words exhausted and energy depleted. the effort to keep the evening going, to salvage something from the night, felt like an impossible task. you watched as wonbin continued to tap away on his phone, his detachment a stark reminder of the growing distance. the gentle hum of the restaurant, once soothing, now seemed like a distant echo, a reminder of the world that continued to move forward while you were trapped in this painful limbo.

as the final course of dessert arrived, you picked at it absently, the sweetness doing little to alleviate the bitterness you felt. you glanced at wonbin one last time, hoping for a sign of the person you once knew, but the look in his eyes was unchanged—distant, detached. the finality of the moment settled over you like a shroud, a painful acceptance of the reality that the connection you had hoped to rekindle might be slipping away.

the drive home was equally quiet, each passing streetlight a silent witness to the unspoken words and unresolved feelings that lingered. your thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions, a swirling vortex of doubt and longing. you knew that the night would end, but the echo of its silence would linger far longer, a painful reminder of the struggle to keep a relationship alive when the other person seemed determined to remain just out of reach.

the finality of the evening hit you as you reached your doorstep.

the cool night air clung to your skin as you closed the door behind you, the muted sounds of the city a distant hum against the heavy silence that enveloped you both. your heart thudded in your chest, the last flickers of hope still flickering like a candle in a storm. you turned to wonbin, his silhouette standing in the hallway like a forlorn statue, his eyes lost in the shadows.

‘do you want to stay over?’ you asked, your voice trembling slightly despite your attempt at nonchalance. ‘i mean, it’s late, and it might be nice to relax at home for a bit longer.’

wonbin looked at you, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you wondered if he might decline, but then he nodded slowly, the movement so slight it might have been a gesture of resignation. ‘sure,’ he said softly.

the quiet of the house seemed to amplify the tension that had followed you from the restaurant. you led him to the living room, your footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor, each creak a reminder of the effort you were making to keep connected. the room was bathed in a gentle, ambient light, the soft glow of a few strategically placed lamps casting a warm, inviting aura. but even the inviting atmosphere felt like a mere backdrop to the palpable disconnection between you.

you busied yourself with making tea, the rhythmic clinking of cups and the hiss of the kettle providing a feeble attempt at breaking the silence. your hands moved with practised precision, but your mind was a tangled mess of anxiety and determination. every action was a calculated effort to reignite something that felt all too distant. the scent of chamomile filled the room, mingling with the faint aroma of the candles you had lit earlier, each fragrance a fragile attempt to soothe the evening’s growing tension.

‘i thought we could watch something together,’ you said as you returned to the living room, placing the steaming mugs on the coffee table. you picked up the remote, your fingers brushing over the buttons as if willing them to summon some form of connection. ‘there’s a new movie on that i thought we might like.’

wonbin took a seat on the couch, his posture rigid, and he nodded absentmindedly. the space between you felt like an invisible barrier, one that you were desperate to bridge. you settled next to him, close but not touching, your heart aching with each passing second of his indifference.

the movie played on the screen, but the images seemed to blur into the background as you tried to focus on wonbin. you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, a tantalising reminder of the closeness you once shared. you reached out, your hand brushing against his, a tentative gesture that felt both intimate and desperate.

‘wonbin,’ you said his name gently, your breath warm against his skin. ‘can we talk? i really want to hear about what’s been going on with you.’

he glanced at you briefly, his eyes dark and distant. ‘it’s nothing much,’ he replied, his tone flat. ‘just basketball and school stuff.’

you tried to read the emotion behind his words, but the emptiness in his gaze made it difficult. you took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage to push forward, even as the sting of his detachment cut through you. ‘i  miss talking to you,’ you admitted, your voice catching in your throat. ‘i miss us. i just want to feel close to you again.’

‘how can you miss me when i’m right here?’

‘that’s the point. you’re here physically, but it seems like your mind has ventured elsewhere.’

his silence was more painful than any words he could have spoken. the movie continued to play, but the sound was a mere backdrop to the strained effort of trying to keep him engaged. you reached out, wrapping your fingers gently around his hand, your touch a plea for a connection that seemed to be slipping further away with each passing moment.

it’s what made you pause the movie and lead him to your room, the soft light of the overhead bulbs casting a warm glow over the space. you needed him, physically, and you felt it would be a good thing to bring the both of you closer.

the room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. the air was thick with an unspoken heaviness, an almost palpable silence that seemed to seep into every corner of the space. you lay beside wonbin, the intimacy that once brought you together now feeling like a distant echo, muffled by the cold, mechanical reality that had replaced it.

you reached out tentatively, your hand brushing against his, feeling the familiar texture of his skin but missing the warmth that once accompanied it. his response was automatic, a slight shift of his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours, but the contact felt flat and lifeless, devoid of the passion and connection you used to share.

the moments of touch and proximity, once sources of deep emotional connection, now felt like empty rituals. his movements were mechanical, his responses perfunctory, as if he were following a script rather than engaging in an act of intimacy. you pressed closer, trying to find solace in the physical closeness, but each movement felt like an exercise in futility. his body was unyielding, and the warmth you sought seemed to elude you like a mirage.

“wonbin,” you whispered, your voice a delicate thread in the thick silence. “i need you. please… just be present with me.”

he turned to you, his eyes reflecting an emptiness that made your heart ache. he adjusted his position slightly, and you could feel his body moving in a practised, almost automatic way. his hands, once a source of comfort and affection, now traced your skin with a detached precision. every touch, every caress, felt rehearsed and hollow, the physical act devoid of the emotional resonance that once accompanied it.

you reached for him, your hands exploring his body with a desperation that felt almost painful. you sought the familiar spark, the connection that used to ignite with every touch, but instead found only a cold, distant surface. his responses were muted, his body unresponsive, and the intimacy you sought felt like a distant dream slipping further from your grasp.

as you moved together, the act felt like a mere exchange of physical needs rather than an expression of shared desire. each motion, each touch, was devoid of the passion and engagement that had once marked your moments together. the rhythm of your bodies seemed out of sync, the movements mechanical and without the spark of genuine connection.

you closed your eyes, trying to focus on the sensations, but even they felt distant and muted, like an echo of something that had once been vivid and real. the pleasure you sought was elusive, a shadow of its former self, and each moment felt like a bitter reminder of how far you had drifted apart.

the silence of the room pressed in on you, a heavy shroud that seemed to amplify the emptiness of the moment. the act itself, once a source of deep connection, now felt like an empty transaction, a physical exercise that failed to bridge the emotional chasm between you. his breathing was steady but lacked the depth of shared emotion, the sound of it a stark contrast to the passion you had once known.

you held onto him, your arms wrapped around his body in an attempt to find solace, but the embrace felt hollow, a formality rather than a genuine connection. the warmth you craved was absent, and the act that should have brought you closer only served to highlight the distance that had grown between you.

as the moments passed, the physical connection that had once been a source of joy now left you feeling more alone than ever. the room remained silent, the only sound the steady rhythm of your combined breathing, a reminder of how disconnected you had become. the intimacy you sought was like a fading memory, and as the night wore on, the weight of the soulless encounter lingered, a poignant reminder of the emotional void that now defined your relationship.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the morning sun slanted through the blinds, slicing the room with narrow, trembling stripes of light that fell across the cold, vacant kitchen floor. you sat at the table, the coffee in front of you a bitter, dark pool slowly growing cold, a symbol of the morning's unspoken disappointment. 

your phone lay still, an inert black slab, void of messages or calls from wonbin. his silence was an alien chill; he always greeted you with the warmth of his voice, a daily sunbeam that now seemed to have vanished. a knot of worry tightened in your chest, twisting tighter with each tick of the clock, each second of unbroken silence gnawing at your heart like a hungry predator. an unsettling sense of foreboding urged you to his place.

the walk was a disorienting blur, the familiar path stretching and warping, each step a slog through a mire of dread. the streets seemed to close in around you, their familiar outlines now menacing. your heart pounded a frantic rhythm, anticipation mingling with a chilling, gut-deep dread. 

by the time you reached his building, the sky had draped itself in a shroud of grey clouds, as if mourning with you. you inhaled deeply, a breath that felt like a last vestige of hope, and knocked on his door. the sound was hollow, reverberating through the silence of the quiet hallway like a ghostly whisper.

silence.

you knocked again, louder this time, each rap of your knuckles like a drumbeat of despair, but the void remained unbroken, and your heart sank with the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. you knew his passcode, a small but significant thread that had always made you feel intimately connected to him. with shaking fingers, you entered the numbers, and the door clicked open, a sound that felt like the cracking of a fragile barrier.

as you stepped inside, the apartment greeted you with an unsettling stillness, the usual warmth and cosiness replaced by a cold, oppressive silence. your voice trembled as you called his name, the sound of it lost and swallowed by the emptiness. the only responses were the mechanical hum of the refrigerator and the distant, metronomic ticking of a clock, each beat a cruel reminder of the moment slipping away.

then, a faint, unmistakable sound drifted from the bedroom—a shuffling noise, followed by a low, intimate murmur. your heart lurched into your throat, and your hands trembled uncontrollably. a tempest of emotions swirled within you, torn between the primal urge to flee and the insatiable need to know. curiosity propelled you forward on unsteady legs, each step feeling like wading through a mire of fear and hope.

as you approached the bedroom door, your mind raced with a kaleidoscope of anxious possibilities. you hesitated only a moment before reaching for the handle, your fingers brushing against it as if touching the edge of a chasm. you pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted you was a gut-wrenching punch to the soul. 

there, entangled in the sheets, was wonbin on top of ning ning, their bodies intertwined in a way that shattered your world. her laughter, a cruel and melodic sound, hung in the air like a mocking serenade. wonbin’s hand rested possessively on her knee, his touch a jagged knife to your heart.

for a moment, the world seemed to contract, the room closing in around you with a suffocating pressure. time itself seemed to freeze, your breath caught in your throat like a trapped bird. ning ning’s eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as she scrambled to cover herself, her vulnerability a stark contrast to the scene you had walked into.

‘what—what are you doing here?’ she stammered, her voice a fragile tremor of confusion and discomfort.

wonbin turned, his expression shifting from surprise to something darker, a storm brewing behind his eyes. he was not panicked or remorseful but exuded a sullen annoyance, his jaw clenched as though your presence was an irritating blemish on his day.

a frigid, relentless fury surged through you, intertwining with an unrelenting, raw pain. “ning ning,” you spat, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions, your anger lashing out like a tempest.

‘how could you? why are you doing this to us?’ your words were jagged shards of glass, each one cutting deeper into the fragile veneer of your relationship.

ning ning’s confusion was palpable, her brows knitting together as she looked between you and wonbin, her voice filled with genuine perplexity. ‘what are you talking about?’ she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and concern.

before you could respond, wonbin stood up, his face contorted with a simmering rage. he had reached the breaking point with you, his patience evaporated by the constant need for reassurance.

‘stop this,’ he snapped, his voice a whip-crack of finality, but it was no use. tears streamed down your face, your eyes still locked on ning ning, a bitter, impotent rage consuming you. why did she always seem to be the one who ruined everything? why couldn’t she just disappear from your lives?

‘every time i think i’m rid of you, you just keep coming back, like a damn shadow. i’m sick of it. i’m sick of you tearing us apart.’ ning ning, the unfair target of your wrath, shivered under the weight of your unrestrained emotions, her discomfort palpable as she stood up, trying to escape the searing intensity of the moment.

‘ning ning, don’t go,’ wonbin said, his voice steely and authoritative, placing a hand on her arm to stop her. his gesture was the final, shattering confirmation of your deepest fears.

‘please,’ you begged, your voice cracking as you turned your desperation toward him. ‘don’t do this. don’t leave me for her,’ you pleaded, your words a broken, desperate prayer.

‘we- we were doing so well and we had finally- finally moved on, and i thought that she was finally gone. but now she’s here, and i’m sure there’s an explanation for this, a reason why you’re laying in bed with another girl who’s not your girlfriend,’ you’re rambling at this point, the words tumbling out as your nature of finding a defence for every wrongdoing of wonbin’s takes control.

wonbin turned to you, his expression hardening into a cold, unrecognisable mask. ‘you’re crazy,’ he said, his words laced with venom. ‘i  showed you a sliver of kindness, and you turned it into this... obsession. you took it too far.’

the room spun around you, your heart collapsing under the weight of his betrayal. ‘no,’ you whispered, shaking your head as if to deny the searing reality before you. ‘i love you. i believe in you. this was just a mistake right?’

wonbin’s eyes were icy, a void where warmth once lived. ‘you need help,’ he said, his tone a final dismissal. ‘this was never what you thought it was.’

your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, the sobs wracking your body with an almost physical force, leaving you breathless and broken. the world blurred into a smear of colours, your vision obscured by a cascade of tears as you watched him turn away, his hand still possessively resting on ning ning’s arm.

you stared at him, disbelief washing over you like a relentless tide. ‘i thought you loved me,’ you whispered, your voice barely a breath against the storm of emotions. ‘i thought…’

but he cut you off, his words the final, crushing blow. ‘i never loved you, how could you let your delusions run so far?’ he said coldly. ‘get out of my house, and stop bothering me and my girlfriend. don’t make me get a restraining order.’

the world seemed to crumble around you. each word he spoke was a dagger to your heart, the pain radiating through your entire being. the air felt thick and suffocating, the room spinning as you tried to make sense of the betrayal. you had loved him so deeply, had believed in the bond you shared. but now, it was clear that it had all been an illusion, that you were a fool, like everyone had told you.

you rushed to the door, flinging it open as if to escape the walls that seemed to close in on you. the hallway was a blur, the world outside a muted haze. you needed air, space, something to break the suffocating grip of your despair. each step felt like an eternity, your legs heavy and unsteady as you made your way down the stairs, barely aware of your surroundings.

outside, the sky had finally broken open, the rain falling in heavy sheets, mingling with the tears that streamed down your face. the cold droplets felt like needles against your skin, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the agony in your heart. you pulled out your phone, fingers trembling so violently that it took three tries to unlock it. 

‘yunjin,’ you whispered, your voice breaking as you selected her contact. the phone rang once, twice, before her familiar voice filled the line, a lifeline in the storm. 

‘hello? are you there? i can’t hear you,’ her voice was tinged with concern, the warmth of her friendship a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you felt.

‘i—i need you," you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of betrayal,

‘please, yunjin, he—he's with ning ning. he said I'm crazy. he never loved me."

there was a brief pause, the silence on the other end heavy with shock and anger. ‘i’m coming. stay right there. i’m on my way,’ she said, her voice firm and reassuring. ‘mark's with me. we'll be there in a few minutes.’

you hung up, the phone slipping from your grasp to fall on the wet pavement but you didn’t bother to pick it up. the rain continued to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face, but you barely felt it. the world around you seemed distant and surreal, the pain in your chest the only thing grounding you to reality.

minutes felt like hours as you collapsed onto the pavement, the cold, wet concrete seeping through your clothes, adding a physical chill to the emotional numbness spreading through you. the rain mingled with your tears, washing away the remnants of your composure. the city around you felt like a distant, indifferent entity, its usual vibrancy muted by your all-consuming despair.

finally, headlights pierced through the downpour, and yunjin’s car screeched to a halt beside you. she flung the door open and rushed towards you, her face a mask of worry and anger.

‘oh my god,’ she breathed, wrapping her arms around you, not caring about the rain soaking through her clothes. ‘i'm here. we're here.’ mark followed closely behind, his face pale with concern as he hovered nearby, unsure of how to help.

you collapsed into yunjin’s embrace, your sobs coming in heaving gasps that shook your entire body. she held you tightly, her grip an anchor in the storm of your emotions. ‘i can’t— i can’t breathe,’ you whispered, clutching her shirt as if it was the only thing keeping you from drowning in your sorrow.

‘it's okay, take a deep breathe in, just like that. and then let it out all, yes’ yunjin’s voice was soothing even as her own tears mingled with the rain. ‘you're safe now. we're going to get through this.’

mark stepped closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. ‘let’s get you inside. you’re going to catch a cold out here.’

they guided you to the car, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the icy rain. you huddled in the back seat, yunjin beside you, her arms never leaving your shoulders. mark drove quickly but carefully, the windshield wipers working furiously to keep the view clear.

the drive passed in a blur, your mind replaying the scene with wonbin over and over, each memory a fresh stab of pain. yunjin murmured comforting words, but they barely penetrated the fog of your grief. by the time you reached her apartment, your sobs had quieted to silent tears, your body exhausted from the emotional upheaval.

inside, yunjin guided you to the couch, wrapping you in a warm blanket as mark made tea. the familiar surroundings of your living room offered a small measure of comfort, but the ache in your chest remained a gaping wound.

yunjin sat beside you, her arm around your shoulders, her presence a steady reassurance. ‘do you want to talk about it?’ she asked gently, her eyes full of concern.

you shook your head, unable to find the words to describe the depth of your pain. instead, you leaned into her, drawing comfort from her warmth and the steady rhythm of her breathing. mark returned with a steaming cup of tea, pressing it into your hands with a soft smile.

‘drink this. it will help warm you up.’

you sipped the tea, the hot liquid burning a path down your throat and settling like a small flame in your stomach. the warmth spread through your body, easing the cold but doing little to touch the chill in your heart.

‘i don’t understand,’ you whispered, staring into the cup as if it held the answers. ‘how could he do this to me? how could he say he never loved me?’

yunjin’s grip tightened around you, her own tears shining in her eyes. ‘some people are just…cruel,’  she said, her voice trembling with anger. ‘he didn’t deserve you. he never did.’

‘but I loved him. i love him,’ you said, the words a broken confession. ‘i gave him everything. why am i not good enough?’

mark assumed a different position, kneeling in front of you, his expression serious and full of compassion. ‘i know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ll get through this," he said. ‘you’re an amazing girl, and i promise you that when the time is right, you’ll end up with someone who can love you truly.’

donghyuck. his name flashes briefly in your mind, and you feel the clench of your heart as you think back to all of the times you had declined his calls, or left his messages unread, or refused to see him in person, all because wonbin said it made him feel uncomfortable. all of that was for nothing now.

the hours passed in a haze of tears and quiet reassurances. yunjin and mark stayed by your side, their presence a balm to your wounded soul. As the rain continued to pour outside, the storm within you slowly began to subside, the sharp edges of your pain dulling to a persistent ache.

the enormity of your heartbreak loomed over you, a shadow that threatened to engulf you whole. you didn’t know how to move forward, how to rebuild the pieces of your shattered heart.

that night, sleep was elusive, your mind replaying the scene over and over, each iteration a fresh wound. you saw wonbin’s cold eyes, heard his cruel words, felt the weight of his betrayal pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. when sleep finally came, it was restless and filled with fragmented dreams of happier times, only to wake up to the harsh reality of your loss.

when you woke, the apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the windows. yunjin sat beside you, her hand resting gently on your arm.

‘how are you feeling?’ she asked softly, her eyes full of concern.

you took a deep breath, the pain in your chest still there but no longer suffocating. ‘i don’t know,’  you admitted, your voice hoarse from crying. ‘it still hurts.’

‘it’s going to hurt for a while,’ yunjin said, her voice gentle. ‘but it will get better. you’re stronger than you think.’

you nodded, knowing she was right but unable to see a future beyond the pain. ‘i just don’t know how to move on,’ you said, your voice breaking. ‘i  don’t know how to let go.’

‘one step at a time,’ yunjin replied. ‘lean on us. let yourself feel the pain, but don’t let it define you. you’re more than what he did to you.’

her words were a balm, a small but significant comfort. you nodded, a spark of determination igniting within you. it was faint, fragile, but it was there and you clung to it, knowing it was the first step towards healing.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the days that followed were a blur of tears, anger, and quiet moments of reflection. yunjin and mark were constant presences, their support a steady anchor as you navigated the turbulent waters of your emotions. you spent hours talking, crying, and slowly beginning to piece together the fragments of your broken heart.

there were moments when the pain seemed unbearable, when the weight of your grief threatened to pull you under. each day was a struggle, the pain of wonbin’s betrayal a constant, gnawing presence. you avoided mirrors, unable to face the reflection of your own brokenness. your thoughts were a chaotic storm, memories of your time with wonbin interspersed with the harsh reality of his deceit.

two weeks since his words cut through you like shards of glass, leaving behind wounds that seem to refuse to heal. the memories lingered in the quiet moments, like smoke that clings to your clothes long after the fire has burned out. you can still hear his voice, dripping with the venom of half-truths and twisted affection, echoing in your mind as you stare at the ceiling, unable to escape the weight of it all.

your body felt heavy, like it was made of lead, each movement a struggle against the invisible chains that bind you to the bed. the sheets are tangled around you, a reflection of the chaos inside your mind. sleep has been a rare visitor, fleeting and unsatisfying, leaving you more exhausted than before. the clock on your nightstand ticks away, each second a reminder that time is moving forward, dragging you along with it, whether you’re ready or not.

you force yourself to get up, the cold floor sending a shiver up your spine as your feet make contact. the air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and something else, something you can’t quite place—maybe it’s the lingering traces of him, his presence still woven into the fabric of your life despite your best efforts to untangle yourself. you wonder if you’ll ever truly be free of him, if the ghost of what you thought you had will haunt you forever.

yunjin’s words from last night replay in your head, her voice soft but firm, like a lifeline in the darkness. ‘you need to talk to someone,’ she had said, her eyes filled with concern. ‘you can’t keep carrying this by yourself. it’s eating you alive.’

‘you deserve to be happy, to be whole again. please, just consider it.’

at the time, you’d nodded, more to placate her than out of any real belief that talking to a stranger could help. but now, as you stand in the shower, the water scalding against your skin, you realise she’s right. you can’t keep going like this, stumbling through the days in a haze of pain and confusion.

you find yourself dialling the number she gave you, your hands trembling slightly as you press the phone to your ear. 

‘hello, dr. kim's office," a calm, professional voice answered. ‘how can I help you?’

the voice on the other end is warm, inviting, and it pushes you to say something. ‘hi, um, I'd like to make an appointment,’  you stammered, your voice wavering. ‘i  need to talk to someone.’

‘of course. we have an opening later this day luckily. would that work for you?’

‘yes, that would be fine,’  you replied, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety, the words leaving your mouth before you can second guess yourself.

when you hang up, there’s a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of dread and relief. it’s the first step, you tell yourself, though the thought of opening up to someone about the tangled mess of your emotions fills you with anxiety. it was a small but significant move towards reclaiming your life from the shadow of wonbin’s manipulation.

the therapist’s office is small and cozy, the kind of space that feels like a sanctuary, removed from the outside world. you sit in a plush chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, as you try to ignore the way your heart races in your chest. you sit across from her, your hands twisting the hem of your sweater as you try to find the strength to speak. the room smells faintly of lavender, a scent meant to be calming, but it does little to soothe the turmoil inside you. your chest feels tight, like there's a vice around your heart, squeezing tighter with every breath.

‘i've been used my entire life,’ you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. it's the first time you've said it out loud, the first time you've dared to give voice to the darkness that has been festering inside you for as long as you can remember. 

‘by men. they... they never saw me as anything more than something to take from. i was never valued, never cared for. just... used. for their pleasure.’

the therapist nods, her expression one of quiet understanding, but she doesn’t interrupt. she knows you need to get this out, to let the words flow even if they cut you open in the process.

‘i was alone for so long,’ you continue, your eyes fixed on the carpet, unable to meet her gaze. ‘except for yunjin, i had no one. my family... they weren't there for me. i was abandoned, neglected. i learned to expect nothing from anyone because that's all i ever got—nothing. no one ever loved me. i was told, over and over, that i would never be loved.’

your voice cracks on the last word, and you pause, swallowing hard as the memories rise up like a tide, threatening to drown you. you think of all the times you were left behind, all the times you were told you were worthless, all the times you were made to feel like you were nothing more than a burden.

‘and then... i met him.’ his face flashes in your mind, and you have to close your eyes against the rush of emotions that follow. ‘it was late, on a bridge. i was ready to jump, to end it all. i couldn’t take the emptiness anymore, the loneliness. i just wanted it to stop.’

you hear yourself saying the words, but it’s almost like they belong to someone else, some broken version of you that you don’t fully recognize anymore.

‘he found me there,’ you say, your voice trembling as you recall the night that changed everything. ‘he talked me out of it. he said... he said, 'let me love you.' and i believed him. i was so desperate, so empty. he convinced me to live, convinced me that maybe, just maybe, i could be happy.’

you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the armrests of the chair so tightly your knuckles turn white. ‘and for a while, i was. i was happy. he treated me like a princess, spoiled me, made me feel like i was the centre of his world. he made me believe that i was worth something, that i was deserving of love.’

the therapist leans forward slightly, her gaze never leaving you. ‘it must have felt like a dream come true,’ she says softly.

you nod, the tears that have been building finally spilling over. ‘it did. for the first time in my life, i felt like i mattered. but... it was all a lie, wasn't it? he didn't love me. he didn't care about me. he just wanted to own me, to control me.’

‘he saved me, but not because he cared about my life—he did it because he wanted to have power over me. he wanted someone who would be eternally devoted to him, someone who owed him everything. i was just a... a possession to him, something he could use to feed his own god complex.’

the words feel like acid on your tongue, burning as they leave your mouth. it's the first time you've admitted the truth to yourself, the first time you've allowed yourself to see him for what he really was. he didn’t save you out of love—he saved you because it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction, because it made him feel like a god, like he had the power to give and take life.

‘he made me believe that i needed him,’ you say, your voice growing steadier as you continue. ‘that without him, i was nothing. and i believed it. god, i believed it so completely. i let him control me, let him make all the decisions, because i was so afraid of losing that feeling, of losing the love that i thought i finally had.’

the therapist watches you carefully, her eyes full of empathy. ‘but it wasn’t love,’ she says gently. ‘it was manipulation, control. he preyed on your vulnerability, on your desperation for love, and he twisted it into something toxic.’

you nod again, tears blurring your vision as you wipe them away with the back of your hand. ‘i see that now,’ you say, your voice thick with emotion. ‘but at the time, it felt real. it felt like the only real thing in my life. and when he started to show his true colours, when he started to use me, to hurt me... i couldn't leave. i couldn't walk away, because i thought that was all i deserved. i thought that was love.’

the therapist leans back in her chair, giving you space to breathe, to process everything you've just said, her presence calm and steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. after you’ve poured out your story, your emotions raw and exposed, she lets the silence linger for a moment, giving you space to breathe, to collect yourself. then, gently, she begins to speak.

‘you mentioned that you were used to being abandoned, neglected,’ she says, her voice soft but direct. ‘that no one ever really saw you, valued you. can you tell me more about how that made you feel? what fears did that create in you?’

you hesitate, the words caught in your throat. it’s hard to articulate the deep, gnawing fear that has been with you for as long as you can remember, the fear of being unwanted, unworthy. but you know she’s right—you need to confront it, to bring it into the light if you’re ever going to move forward.

‘i guess… i’ve always been afraid of being alone,’ you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. ‘of being invisible. it’s like… if no one loves me, then what’s the point? i’ve spent my whole life feeling like i’m not enough, like i have to do something, be something more to deserve love. but no matter what i did, it was never enough. i was always left behind.’

the therapist nods, her expression one of deep empathy. ‘and that fear, that sense of inadequacy… it’s something that wonbin played on, isn’t it? he made you believe that he was the only one who could love you, the only one who saw your worth. but in reality, he was using those insecurities to keep you close, to keep you dependent on him. he made you feel like you needed him to be whole.”

the truth of her words hits you like a punch to the gut, and you can feel the tears welling up again. ‘he did,’ you say, your voice shaking. ‘he made me feel like… like i was nothing without him. he’d say things like, ‘no one else would ever want you,’ or ‘you’re lucky i’m here to take care of you.’ and i believed him. i believed that he was all i had, that he was the only one who could make me feel loved.’

the therapist leans forward slightly, her gaze intent. ‘but let me ask you this: why did you believe him? what part of you thought that he was right, that you didn’t deserve anything more?’

the question lingers in the air, heavy with the weight of its implications. you know the answer, but it’s one you’ve been avoiding for a long time, burying deep beneath layers of denial and self-preservation.

‘because… because that’s what i’ve always been told,’ you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. ‘by everyone. growing up, all i ever heard was that i wasn’t good enough, that i wasn’t worthy of love. my parents, they… they never really cared about me. they were too wrapped up in their own lives, their own problems. and the few relationships i’ve had before wonbin… they were the same. men who just wanted to use me, who didn’t see me as a person, just… just a thing. so when wonbin came along, and he said he loved me, that he saw me… i wanted so badly to believe him.’

the therapist lets out a small sigh, her eyes filled with compassion. ‘it’s understandable, given everything you’ve been through. but what wonbin did was cruel. he took advantage of your deepest fears and insecurities, and he used them to manipulate you, to keep you trapped in a cycle of need and despair. he made you feel like you had no choice but to stay with him, because if you left, you’d be alone again, invisible, unwanted. but that’s not true. you are so much more than what he made you believe.’

you feel a lump forming in your throat, the tears threatening to spill over once more. ‘but how do i unlearn all of that?’ you ask, your voice trembling. ‘how do i stop believing that i’m worthless, that i don’t deserve love?’

the therapist’s expression softens, and she reaches out, placing a comforting hand on yours. ‘it’s going to take time, and it’s going to take work. but the first step is recognizing that these beliefs—these lies—were never true to begin with. they were planted in you by people who were incapable of giving you the love and care you deserved. but just because they couldn’t see your worth doesn’t mean it isn’t there. it’s about challenging those negative thoughts when they arise, about reminding yourself that you are deserving of love, simply because you exist, because you are you.’

she pauses, letting her words sink in before continuing. ‘and it’s about learning to set boundaries, to recognize when someone is trying to manipulate you, when they’re trying to take advantage of your fears. it’s about reclaiming your power, your sense of self, and not letting anyone else dictate your worth. wonbin didn’t own you. he didn’t save you. he just made you think that he did, because it gave him power over you. but you have the power to break free from that, to create a life that isn’t defined by what others think of you, but by what you think of yourself.’

"you were taught to believe that love meant sacrifice, that it meant enduring pain and suffering," she says after a moment. "but real love doesn’t hurt. it doesn’t demand that you give up your identity, your autonomy, your sense of self-worth. real love builds you up, supports you, makes you feel safe and valued."

her words hit you like a tidal wave, and you feel something shift inside you, something that has been locked away for far too long. for so long, you’ve been searching for love in all the wrong places, clinging to the hope that someone, anyone, would see you, would love you for who you are. but all you've found is pain, betrayal, and heartache.

the tears finally spill over, and you find yourself crying, not just for the pain of the past, but for the realisation that there is a way forward, a way out of the darkness that has consumed you for so long. ‘i want to believe that,’ you say through your tears. ‘i want to believe that i can be… more.’

‘i just don’t know how to love myself,’ you admit, your voice small, almost childlike. ‘i’ve spent my whole life thinking that love is something you have to earn, something you have to fight for. but i don’t even know where to start.’

the therapist offers you a small, encouraging smile. ‘it’s okay to not know,’ she says softly. ‘healing is a journey, and it’s going to take time. but you’re already taking the first steps by being here, by acknowledging the pain and starting to unpack it. learning to love yourself is a process, but you don’t have to do it alone. you have yunjin, you have me, and most importantly, you have yourself. that’s where it starts—with you, with recognizing that you are deserving of love, not because of what you can give, but simply because you exist.’

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, offering a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time. you nod, more to yourself than to her, as you let the truth sink in. it’s going to be hard, and there will be days when you want to give up, to fall back into old patterns, but you know now that you don’t have to face this alone. you have support, you have people who care about you, and most importantly, you have the strength within yourself to heal, to break free from the chains that have held you down for so long.

as you leave the therapist's office, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter, the air a little easier to breathe. you’re still hurting, still struggling, but you’re not the same person who walked in an hour ago. you’re starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s a life worth living on the other side of all this pain.

it’s painful, this process of unlearning, of peeling back the layers of lies and distortions that wonbin had wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket. but it’s also liberating, like you’re finally taking a breath after being underwater for too long. you realise that healing isn’t about forgetting him or erasing the memories, but about reclaiming yourself, your identity, your worth. it’s about recognizing that you deserve more than what he gave you, that you are more than the broken pieces he left behind.

as you step out of the therapist’s office, the evening air feels cooler against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth inside the room where you’ve just laid your soul bare. the session left you raw, emotions still tingling on the surface, but there's a clarity that you haven't felt in a long time. each breath feels a little easier, each step a little lighter. you’re beginning to understand the long road of healing ahead of you, and for the first time, it doesn’t seem so daunting.

walking down the quiet street, your thoughts swirl with everything you’ve uncovered today. you’ve confronted the lies you were told, the fears that were planted deep within you, and the ways in which wonbin preyed upon them, turning your vulnerabilities into chains. but most of all, you’ve begun to recognize your own worth—the truth that you are deserving of love that doesn’t come with conditions, that doesn’t require you to sacrifice pieces of yourself.

it’s a liberating realisation, but it also leaves you with a sense of unfinished business. the therapist’s words echo in your mind, a gentle but persistent reminder of the steps you still need to take, the fears you have yet to face. you’ve started to reclaim your life, but there’s one part of your journey that remains unresolved—one final piece that feels both terrifying and necessary.

donghyuck.

his name lingers in your thoughts like a whisper, a soft, persistent presence that you can’t ignore. you’ve avoided thinking about him for so long, scared of what it might mean to reach out, to let someone in again after everything you’ve been through. but now, after all the work you’ve done, after all the truths you’ve uncovered, you realise that this might be the final step in your recovery process.

it’s not just about donghyuck; it’s about you—about proving to yourself that you can take control of your life, that you can choose who you allow into your heart, and that you can set the terms of your own happiness. reaching out to him isn’t just about seeking connection; it’s about facing the fear that’s held you captive for so long, the fear that you aren’t worthy of real, healthy love.

as you stand on the quiet street, the cool evening breeze brushes against your skin, carrying with it the scents of the city—distant car exhaust, the faint sweetness of blooming flowers, and something deeper, like the smell of rain about to fall. your heart is still racing, each beat a reminder of the decision you’ve made. calling him doesn’t feel right, not for this. you need to see donghyuck face to face, to confront everything you’ve been avoiding, to finally put an end to the uncertainty that has haunted you for so long.

the thought is terrifying, but there’s also a strange sense of calm that settles over you. the kind of calm that comes when you’ve made up your mind, when you know that there’s no turning back. you start walking, your feet moving almost of their own accord, each step heavy with the weight of what you’re about to do.

the streets blur around you, the familiar path to his place etched in your memory, your senses heightened as your mind races with a mix of anticipation and fear. you notice everything—the way the shadows lengthen as the sun dips lower, the sound of distant laughter from an open window, the way your breath catches in your throat with each step closer to him. the world feels both vivid and surreal, as if you’re moving through a dream, and yet you’ve never felt more awake.

you reach his building, the sight of it sending a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins. for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at the windows, the ones you know so well. your pulse pounds in your ears, and you feel a momentary urge to turn around, to flee back to the safety of your own space. but then you remember everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve learned. you’re stronger now, stronger than you were before, and you owe it to yourself to take this step.

with a deep breath, you push open the front door, the familiar creak echoing in the small lobby. the sound of your own footsteps on the tiled floor seems unnaturally loud as you walk to the elevator, each second stretching out, the anticipation building. you press the button, the elevator doors sliding open with a soft ding, and step inside. the ride up feels interminable, your heart pounding in your chest as the numbers tick by, each one bringing you closer to him.

when the doors open again, you step out into the dimly lit hallway, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above you the only sound. you can feel your hands trembling, your throat tightening as you approach his door. there’s no going back now, no more hiding, no more avoiding what you know you need to face.

you raise your hand to knock, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before your knuckles rap against the wood, the sound sharp and jarring in the silence. you wait, your breath held, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. 

footsteps sound from the other side, muffled but distinct, and your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest. the door swings open slowly, and there he is—donghyuck, standing in the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you. 

you don’t know what you were expecting, but the sight of him after all this time sends a jolt through you, a rush of emotions you can barely contain. the air between you crackles with tension, thick with all the words that have gone unsaid, all the feelings that have been left unresolved. 

his gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to hold its breath, the sounds of the city fading into the background, leaving just the two of you in this charged, electric silence. his eyes search yours, as if trying to understand why you’re here, what you’re feeling, what this moment means. 

and just as the words are about to spill from your lips, the apology you’ve been clutching so tightly, donghyuck steps closer. his eyes, heavy with a thousand unsaid things, lock onto yours, and the silence around you seems to breathe with his unspoken ache. 

the warmth of his breath mingles with the cool air, a bittersweet reminder of the distance that once separated you. his gaze, intense and filled with a raw, longing glow, makes the world around you blur, leaving only the undeniable tension that crackles between you. you stand there, heart racing.

 then, in a voice that quivers like a leaf in the wind, he utters the words that pierce through the stillness.

‘i’ve missed you.’

[ride-thedragon]

My blood and cheese thoughts.

I want to get it out of the way and say I didn't hate the adaptation. I think it was a bit underwhelming in terms of the atrocities committed and positioned in the books, but for the changes the show made, I think it's a really good adaptation of one of the worst aspects of the dance.

To go in further though a pros and cons list because I didn't entirely love it.

Pros:

1. PHIA SABAN. She was just excellent. I saw a lot of people early on hating on the delivery, but to me, it worked extremely well. That's Helaena experiencing this disaster without anyone at her side. That's show Helaena, it's amazing that she understands the character so well. Her immediate reaction is her discomfort at someone being so close yet still being terrified. The necklace handed over because she didn't know better, she's never had to know better. The way she reacted to Alicent and Criston, running through the castle muttering things to herself. It was all so excellent and she really sold it. "The boy is dead" sounded like a part of the prophecy she couldn't face when she was afraid of the rats and the way she's trembling as they believe her, that she sacrificed her son. It was incredible acting so early on, and it was excellent.

2. The trade-off. It was set up so well to me. Aegon confuses Jaehaera from behind in their first scene. Helaena is the one who can tell which child is which. The mother knows, is haunting, and the fact that she was checking on her kids that late in the night was so saddening. Then she, the only one so far who we see keeping track of who is who willingly is just beyond heartbreaking. The fact that they had the killer look her in the eye and admit to the other that she wasn't lying when she pointed to her son was just insane.

3. It was Aemond. In the books, they say Daemon, Mysaria, and Rhaenyra purposefully tried to kill Jaehaerys and traumatise everyone involved as payment for Luke. The fact that it was Aemond in the show made a lot more sense .

Cons.

1. World Building.

Helaena is the Queen of Westeros. Her children are the heirs to the throne. WHERE ARE THE GUARDS?!. Where are the at least 2 guards that should be obligated to be at their side. The handmaid's that would go with her to the kids' room in case they wake up, her maids who'd prepare her for bed after?. It makes absolutely no sense for them to be alone in that moment. It's not Criston’s responsibility. He's Alicent's guard. Helaena and her children should have guards.

2. Cruelty.

The cruelty of the killers was lost in the adaptation for the worse. Obviously, they don't have a personal stake, and the way it's set up, Cheese finds Helaena, and blood is trying to work it out, but I do think they should've been worse. There was just a menacing quality missing from the killers, especially when we followed them around. I think having it from Helaena’s perspective isn't the best, but it would've been better to have it interchange. To build up to the suspense.

3. Brutality.

No, I did not need to see a child murdered on screen, but I think the brutality of the situation was lost as well. Helaena is terrified because she's a princess left alone with criminals doing something unknown. Why not make it clearer. Have some bashed in heads of fallen guards, have a murdered handmaid, and the kids left sleeping. Decorate the place with the cruelty of what hey intend to do, have it resonate what her choice means, and when we see her run and hear the noise, it's past what they've already done. This also means blood is more a part of it and it isn't a split decision. This leads to more last issue.

4. LET DAEMON BE ACCOUNTABLE.

Why is he not? Why is it left ambiguous? It's so strange. When Aemond killed Luke, you could tell it was him overestimating the situation, its a mistake only to the extent that Aemond was playing a cat and mouse game with a war shipment because he didn't think of the consequence. It makes jo sense to do that with Daemon. This man wants to burn and kill and go to war the entire episode only to not have him say any prince would do. He schemes and plots, risks himself in King's Landing only to not have the final call? Let him be extreme. Now I'm going to have to sit through Daemon and rhaenyra again, misunderstanding each other and Daemon being sad because no one trusts him because he's a horrible person to be loved by and I'm sure by the end it'll be rectified. But I wanted that call from him, on screen for his anger towards what happened, towards the delay in action, when Rhaenyra gave him an inch by saying she wanted Aemond, I needed him to take a mile because that's who he is.

Overall,

I think it was a good adaptation for the show. I don't want to watch the episode back because the sounds of Jaehaerys' death made me sick. I don't think they could've done it better off-screen or more responsibly for the current events of the world. It was simply effective. I just had my expectations as a book viewer and as someone who was excited to see where the writers are taking the world they created because either like a lot of their choices.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Gale’s words shower over you like acidic rain. Could he really be speaking the truth? Could Astarion’s compulsion have been driving you down this path all this time? Even though you don’t need to breathe, it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you clutch at your chest as if it might help you feel a little less off-kilter.

You glance at your husband, who has stumbled away from the altercation and is pressing his forearm against the wall, taking deep breaths to try and keep himself present.

That icy chill of the sensuous song howls through the bond and regresses into your bones, making them feel like your skeleton is splintering. The ambrosial chords of the melody beseech you to sink into it, let yourself be overtaken, and it swears an oath that it will provide you with unlimited serenity.

You know it lies—that it parades false hopes and delusions—but the promises are tempting nonetheless. There is a part of you that begs to give in, if only so you can be swept away from this dream turned nightmare.

There is a choice you have to make quickly, and you glance between Gale and Astarion. Who do you believe? Who do you put your faith in?

Do you pick Gale, who has never directly lied or tried to manipulate you and who still harbours some sincere feelings for you? Gale, who has been trying to save you from the consequences of your foolish decisions since he and Shadowheart took you in knowing the danger you posed. Gale, who has been working tirelessly to find ways to pluck you from the suspension of this deathless death and restore you to life once more?

Or do you pick your newlywed husband, who you know has manipulated you, compelled you, and could easily be doing so again without your knowledge? Your husband, who played your love like a lyre to secure himself a spot in your good graces. Your husband, who kept you locked away when you did not turn out to be as obedient as he hoped. Your husband, who carved into your flesh without a hint of remorse.

You’ve spent months connected to Astarion’s mind. You’ve felt his feelings, heard his unfiltered thoughts, and haven’t detected any indications of deceit, but that does not mean Astarion could not force your mind to forget or bypass anything that was there.

He made you forget your name, after all.

You try to reach out to Astarion’s mind, but he cannot hear you over the bellow of Cania clamouring in his skulls.

Do you love him? Or is that another trick of the Ascendant? Has his compulsion rooted him into your mind and grown from a sapling to a mighty tree? Shadowheart’s warning twists in the storm of your chaotic thoughts — He will always do what it takes to survive.

The fates have not bestowed the time to deliberate. The choice must be made. You must pick one or the other, and the consequences of choosing wrong are dire.

A dangerous game, indeed.

“No, Gale,” you condemn resolutely. “Whatever proof you think you have, I have no need to hear it. I know in my heart that what I feel is real and not a compulsion.”

A small voice, deep within you, whispers. Is it?

There is no need to hear the objections forming on Gale’s lips. Your choice has been made, and you choose your husband, for better or worse. You turn away, ruck up your dress, and hurry over to Astarion. When you place your hand on his shoulder, he jerks away and snarls at you like a cornered animal. Your hand wavers for a moment, but you place it back on him defiantly.

“Astarion.” You try to get a look at his eyes, but they are squeezed shut with a terribly pained grimace that contorts his face. “I can be your light. Let me in.”

His eyes crack open, and you’re barely able to make out the scarlet that peeks through the narrow slits. You grasp onto him, and he fumbles to try and push you away with rigid, ungainly movement that is so unlike his usual easy grace.

“You don’t understand!” Gale shouts. “You will always choose him. It’s exactly what he’s compelled you to do. If you will only give me a moment, I can show you.”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, the shrillness of your voice ripping your vocal chords. “I don’t care what you think you know, Gale. Leave. GET. OUT.”

Shadowheart grabs Gale’s robes, desperately trying to tug him away, but Gale shakes her off. “I’m sorry, my friend. You leave me no choice.”

Your brow quirks for only a moment before Gale shoots Dancing Lights high into the darkening sky, and you recognize the signal for aid from your adventures.

The high-pitched whistle of loosed arrows and the rush of marching boots are soon to follow. You quickly cast Wall of Stone and grab Astarion to drag him down behind the barrier. Numerous arrows hit the wall with a thunk. When the barrage finally ends, you peek around the wall to get a view of Gale’s apparent backup.

You’re stunned to see Gur filing into the space, bursting through all the doors, breaking windows, and lumbering over the fence of the terrace. Has it been Gale feeding the Gur information all this time? Did he nearly get Astarion killed?

Shadowheart stands in the midst of the chaos, mouth agape and completely unprepared, but you can see the golden light of her radiant magic illuminated on her fingertips. Whose side will she take? Gales or yours?

Astarion still pants beside you, his body practically vacillating the air with every one of his muscles quivering as he tries to fight the urge to sink into the song and languish in the abyssal prison of his own mind. You toe off your heels and unholster the spare dagger you know Astarion always keeps concealed under the leg of his pants. The sharp blade smoothly splits through the fine silk of your gown, and you tear away the bottom half of the skirt hastily.

The Weave fills you at your behest, and it coruscates around you in a roseate corona. You crouch, ready to pounce as the hoard of shuffling feet inch closer.

“Run, my love.” You hear Astarion’s strangled gasp as you take the first step out from behind the wall. “Run, and never look back.”

Though you understand the warning, you refuse to leave Astarion behind to be absorbed by the deceit of a devil. You once pledged to spill no more innocent blood, but it seems you cannot escape death. Rage burbles inside you, boiling over the edges. How many times have you tried to be good, do good, and where has it gotten you?

Perhaps it’s time to rise up like a lightning-ignited wildfire and fucking burn.

The first hunter rounds the corner of the stone shield with their crossbow aimed. You lash out, casting Fear, and the hunter cowers. Lunging forward, you grab their face, digging your fingers into their fleshy cheeks, and fire detonates from your palms. Flames liquify skin and burst from every orifice as they let out a strident shriek.

You hate that it feels good.

A battle axe swings in your peripheral vision. You duck, cast Magic Missile, pelleting the man with spiny bolts like a fleshly pincushion until he drops. Your grabbed from behind by a rough pair of hands and dragged backward away from Astarion. You growl, struggling against the constraint on your body. To your surprise, the hunters run straight past you, only meaning to subdue you.

You are not their target.

Sweat begins to drip down your forehead as you watch hunters barrel toward the wall protecting Astarion. You throw your head back, smashing your skull into the Gur’s nose, causing his grip to weaken, and wriggle out of his arms. You reel forward, fingers dancing, and a cloud of daggers bursts into existence, catching some of the hunters in their approach and cutting the rest off.

It’s all you can do before you’re thrust down and slammed into the boards of the terrace. Despite your attempts to fight it, the hunter manages to pin your arms with your palms flat against the rough wood. A knee digs into your back to cement you in place, and you’re helpless to watch as the hunters begin to descend on Astarion.

“Morere!”

You barely catch the flash of sickly green magic, feel the sudden jerk and shudder of the hands holding you down, and you’re released as the body slumps to the side. Shadowheart helps you to your feet, hauling you up with a surprising amount of strength.

There is no time to talk, and you nod in thanks as you sprint forward and rain Fireball down on the group nearing Astarion. Shadowheart tries to stick close to you, but in the chaos, you’re both bounced between bodies and separated once more.

The whiz of a blade slicing through the air makes your ears twitch, and you pivot just in time to catch the blade in your palm before it splits your skull in half. The sharp edge slices deeply into your hand as you strain against the sheer strength of a Fighter, and you must use both arms to block the attack.

Blood oozes down your forearms, coating your ashen skin in vivid red as you grapple, feeling yourself slowly fold under the brute force. Your eyes dart around for Shadowheart, but she’s locked in her own struggle across the terrace. Fire spits from your palms, heating the blade until it burns red-hot, and you can hear the sizzle of your skin and your opponents, but he does not let up or even falter.

“Not her!” You hear Gale shouting from somewhere in the disorder. “We had a deal!”

Your knees eventually begin to fold in on themselves under the pressure, and your arms shake as the tension mounts. The rigid boards creak as your knees are ground into them. You squeeze your eyes closed and let out a strangled cry as your arms begin to giveaway.

The stress is released suddenly. Your eyes jerk up, and your stomach sinks when you realize it’s not your husband’s brilliantly red eyes staring back at you, but the blunted maroon of his shadow.

He smiles hauntingly. “Shall we put our differences aside for a moment and deal with the more pressing matter at hand, or would you prefer I kill you now?”

You nod your grim acceptance of the offered temporary truce. He flourishes his dagger, grabbing your arm and yanking you forward into his chest. For a moment, you think the truce was another ruse, and he’s about to sink his blade into you, but it lodges deep into the temple of a hunter who is holding a stake that was meant for your back.

Thrusting yourself away from him, you turn and press your back against his in a reflexive habit formed during your adventure. It is a tactic you and Astarion used on many occasions when you were fighting hoards of enemies. He seems to remember it and holds his position while you cast Thunderwave to throw the incoming attackers backward.

“Can you slow them down?” He asks.

“Do you really need me to, Ascendant?”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Hardly. I was thinking of you, darling. It would be such a pity if one of these dogs had the pleasure of putting you down before I do.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to keep me alive.” You cast Web to slow the Gur down. It will allow you to cast at range, and Astarion should have the dexterity to negate the effects. “Right or left?”

“Left.”

Astarion bursts into mist, reappears behind one of the Gur, and his blade runs across their throat, slicing through skin and sinews like softened butter while he laughs maniacally. You go right, keeping yourself skirting around the borders where you are most proficient at casting at range. Spells skip across your lips, and the Weave flows between your fingers in a kaleidoscope of colours. Chain Lightening ropes between enemies in close proximity, turning them to little more than steaming husks. Scorching Rays buffets the chest of a hunter to your left, and Magic Missile skewers another.

You cast carefully, trying to keep track of Astarion from one minute to the next, but his speed makes his movements nearly incalculable. He blinks in and out of existence, often appearing out of thin air, running his blade from belly to neck like gutting a fish, and phasing out once more.

It would be impressive if it were not so incredibly daunting.

The click of a crossbow surprises you, and you hear the bolt whistling through the air as you turn toward the sound. It streaks toward you, only visible by the faint chromatic flash of the metallic arrow point, and your stomach sinks as you brace for the impact. Astarion appears in a flurry of red mist. He snatches the arrow out of the air, whirling to keep the momentum, and launches it back. The bolt imbeds itself into the eye of the woman with so much force that her head snaps back, and she’s reeled off her feet.

He smirks smugly with a wink and disperses again. You continue your death march, your eyes skipping through the crowd until you spot Shadowheart grappling with a hunter. If you don’t get her out of here, Astarion will target her when he’s done massacring the remaining Gur.

You run up behind the hunter, cast Disintegrate, and grab her arm, dragging her toward the door. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I didn’t do this, Illyria!” She shouts, pulling back. “I swear.”

“I know.” You cast Telekinesis and launch a hunter blocking your path to the door off the terrace. “Astarion’s gone. You must go.”

“I won’t leave you!” She growls obstinately.

A hand wraps around your arm. You snarl and turn with your teeth bared, ready to rip out the throat of whoever dares try and stop you, and see Gale’s rounded, solemn eyes. There is a part of you that wants to make him pay for this, but you know that his intentions are pure. In his eyes, he’s trying to protect you, and you cannot damn him for that.

You grab his sleeve roughly and shove them both into the foyer with all the force you can muster. “Leave. Both of you. Now.”

“Illyria.” Gale pleads, trying to grab your shoulder, and you smack his hand away. “Don’t you understand? It’s all been a compulsion. All of this, everything you think you feel, is a lie. If you would only give me a moment—”

“No!” You trample over him, and the truth sneaks out of your mouth. You look at him sombrely, tears pricking your eyes. “Don’t you understand?! I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”

“What?” He stares at you slack-jawed. “My friend, you cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The unfiltered truth is that you would rather sink into this fantasy than sink into despair. If it has all been a compulsion, a beautifully polished lie, you don’t want to know.

“Leave.” You thrust Shadowheart’s bag into her hands. “Both of you before Astarion—“

“Before Astarion, what?” Astarion appears, blocking the doorway, blood-drenched, and looking beyond crazed. “Going somewhere?” He pouts. “And here I thought we were all such good friends.”

You’re launched backward, sliding across the floor, and back out onto the terrace until you hit a mushy mass of flesh. You scramble to your feet, stumbling, and Shadowheart and Gale are likewise pitched out of the villa, their bodies thumping into the boards and skipping across them.

Your brain works to try and formulate a plan—any plan—but falls flat. Astarion is too quick to try and run from and too strong to try and fight head-on. Even if you could fight him, would you? Could you? Is this the poisoned loyalty that Gale is talking about or love?

Astarion glances around the ruined villa with a furrowed brow. “This is lovely. What party did I crash?”

“Our wedding,” you answer honestly.

“Gods,” he spits in limitless contempt. “He married his spawn? Idiot.”

Spawn…

It dawns on you that this version of Astarion has no idea that you’re not merely a spawn but a bride, which means he does not know you share a mental connection. There must be a way to use his ignorance to your advantage, but you don’t have very much time to figure it out.

“Well, all the more reason to rid myself of you,” he shrugs irritatedly as if his counterpart has left him a chore to do. “The wizard might make a fun spawn though, no? I wager he would be splendidly obedient. Unlike you, pet.”

Shadowheart gasps, bringing his attention to her, tucked away behind your legs. “The Cleric, too. She knows how to faithfully worship a God. Don’t you, flower? You wouldn’t even need much training. You already know how to get on your knees.”

You growl low and shout. “You won’t touch her or Gale for that matter, boy!”

Boy. What Cazador used to call him, and you know he despises. If you can enrage him, you might be able to get his attention completely on you. It’s a bad plan, a terrible one, but it’s the best you have right now.

“Pardon?” He hisses. “You best rethink that, pet, or I will make you suffer!”

You hate what you’re doing, but you try your best to reuse things you heard Cazador taunt him with. “I’ve known you for years. Have I not suffered enough?”

“Silence!” He orders, a tic working in his jaw, and his eye twitching.

“You are weak,” you snarl, pressing on even though it makes your stomach twist in upset. “You’re a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything. Even with all this power, you are still nothing.”

You see the quick flash of Astarion’s hand going for his dagger; see him lunge toward you as if in slow motion. The Weave glows in your eyes. You will fight to your last. If you’re lucky, it might give Shadowheart enough time to get herself and Gale out of here.

Astarion flashes across the terrace, disappearing into mist and reappearing only a step ahead of you. A flash of fire suddenly brightens the area, blinding you temporarily. The smell of brimstone and sulphur fills your nostrils, and your eyes snap open to see Astarion’s dagger millimetres away from your chest, but he’s held fast in a spell you recognize well.

Hold Monster.

You look to Shadowheart and Gale, but it’s clear neither of them are behind this because they look as bewildered as you.

“Quite the show this has been. A pity I had to step in and ruin the grand finale.” Mizora’s voice comes from behind you. She waves her hand, and a swirling, fiery portal opens up just behind you. “I can only get you to Avernus. You will have to find your way to Cania from there.”

When you don’t move, she rolls her eyes. “It’s now or never, pet. I cannot hold him forever.”

You can’t leave Astarion here, not like this. There is no telling what horrors this version of him will reap on Baldur's Gate. More importantly, he will no doubt target your friends. What good would saving him do if he cannot live with the guilt of his actions?

“He needs to come with me,” you murmur.

“That’s a very stupid thing to do.” Mizora snaps. “He will kill you as soon as you set foot in Avernus.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He cannot be left here.”

Her eyes narrow, and her brow creases with tension as the spell shimmers, wavering slightly. “You’re running out of time.”

“Let him go when I give the signal, Mizora.”

She huffs but nods. “Tick-Tock.”

“Illyria! Don’t do this!” Shadowheart grabs your ankle, but there is no time to debate.

“I have to.”

You position yourself several feet behind him and get ready. Before you can nod, Shadowheart scrambles to her feet, takes Gale’s quarterstaff from his hands, and tosses it and her bag to you. You catch them, secure it across your body, and grip the quarterstaff in both hands. Whatever the bag holds, it will be your only supplies. There is no time to fetch clothes or weapons. Even you can see that Mizora is struggling to hold him, and the cage has started to fissure and crack like stressed glass.

Nodding to give the signal, Mizora instantly lifts the spell, and Astarion reels forward. You sprint with all the speed you possess, slam into him, and use the momentum to propel you both through the swirling, burning maw of the portal.

Jagged, obsidian crystals slice gashes into your arms and legs when you crash into the treacherous terrain. The air is sweltering, acrid, and tastes heavily of ash. You push yourself up onto your wobbly legs. Before you have time to recover, Astarion’s hand wraps around your neck, lifting you into the air with no visible effort.

“What have you done!?”

Your words are cut off, and only strangled noises are able to escape your throat, but you cannot help the faint smile that quirks your lips up. Those dull eyes are filled with an unease and the slightest hint of fear.

He seems to notice and quickly steels his countenance back to that of a confident arrogance. His hand tightens a fraction, fingernails cutting into your bruising skin. His dagger flashes in his hand, twirling into his grip, and he presses the tip of the blade firmly into your abdomen. You’re surprised when the progression halts before it can do so much as cut you. He falters, the dagger wavering almost imperceptibly, and he scoffs, dropping you unceremoniously.

He glares at his hand with a puzzled twist to his lips and stows his blade. “I have half a mind to decorate the ground with your innards.”

His threats sound empty, or you have abandoned your fear of this version of him. He once told you that he would never kill you, and so far, that has proved true despite the ample opportunities he’s had.

“Why didn’t you then? Performance issues?”

“No!” He huffs in indignation. “I have a better idea.”

Astarion’s eyes glow, and the tendrils of compulsion take your muscles hostage. “Follow me, pet.”

You obey, getting to your feet, and hate that it feels glorious to assent. Astarion looks around, apparently settling on a direction, although you think it’s simply a random choice. There is nothing but hills and low, rocky mountains as far as the eye can see. He starts walking, and you quickly fall into place at his heels.

The land is covered in rubble and sharp stones of quartz and other crystalline-looking structures that gnaw at your bare feet, but you’re helpless to stop even as the pain mounts. Each step leaves a bloody footprint, dotting the charred wasteland. The side effects of the blood war can be seen spreading across the environment. Skulls and bones of creatures big and small litter your path, and it’s not long before you begin to see the crumbling remains of buildings, their walls blackened and caved in, stone strewn about, and large craters in the terrain from the impacts of the fireballs.

Clouds of red and black roil in the reddened sky, flickering with orange flames and fireballs that frequently race across the darkened heights. You stay quiet, staring at the back of Astarion’s head while you try to figure out how exactly you’re going to get your husband back. His ignorance of your mental connection could prove useful, but he will know if you attempt to go digging around in his head. That will have to remain a last resort.

Astarion only gave the order to follow, but he did not specify how closely, and you begin to fall behind. At first, it’s merely a small length, but the distance increases as your feet are chewed up by the ground.

“You’re quiet.” You hear him utter from ahead of you. “There was a time when I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Astarion glances over his shoulder, alerted to the fact that you’re lagging behind him by the quietness of your voice. “Quit dawdling.”

It’s not a command, and you don’t bother to quicken your pace but only roll your eyes at him with an exasperated scoff.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, scenting the air.

“Wow.” You transform your expression into one of mock awe. “Your powers of observation are truly a marvel to behold. Seven thousand souls have given you the great power of stating the obvious.”

“Cheeky. Be careful with that smart mouth, darling, or I’ll cut your tongue out. Now, hurry the Hells up.”

“I have no fucking shoes, Astarion!” You gesture toward your feet. “It’s like walking across hot shards of glass.”

He arches a high brow at you, looking rather amused or astonished at the insolence in your tone. “And whose fault is that exactly?”

“Yours.”

“I do not believe I was the one who pushed us into the fucking hells!” He snorts, crossing his arms. “Come on, pup. Walk faster. We haven’t got all day.”

“We’re immortal, Astarion. We literally have eternity.”

But you do, in fact, hurry up because you cannot fight his compulsion. The sharp rocks and stones rend the flesh of your feet, often jutting from the ground and piercing so deep you’re sure they glance off your bone. It doesn’t matter how carefully you try to place your steps; the ground is uneven and cluttered, and every step serves as another painful reminder of where you are and who you are with. The only reprieve afforded to you is when he stops to look around, where he once again appears to choose a direction at random. He leads you deeper into what appears to be a ruined fortress of some kind. Skeletons, big, small, and gargantuan alike hang limply, strewn everywhere the eye can see. Others look so old they’ve petrified, and you have to crawl between teeth that are twice your size.

It is beyond still in this fiendish graveyard, and the silence is so deep that you wonder if you might be able to suffocate in it. Whenever you trip over a rock or fall, it gives you the distinct impression that you’re disturbing the peaceful rest of the dead simply by existing.

When you once again finally step out into the ruined street, you can vaguely see the river Styx, slithering over the landscape like a scarlet snake with glinting scales. You don’t make it far when you notice a slowly moving shadow that seems to be increasing in size as if a dark cloud were drifting over you.

Your eyes flick upward and spot a mammoth fire-spewing boulder careening with the speed of a meteor. It takes you a moment to recall what you read when you were doing research about the layers of the Hells.

“The fireballs that race across the darkened sky of Avernus appear random at first glance, but be warned, they actively target motion.”

Shit.

Instinct kicks in, and you bolt toward Astarion, who is just beginning to notice the increasing darkness. For a moment, you’re blessedly free of the pain in your feet with the spike of adrenaline. Your arms encircle his waist, and you launch your body weight into him. He tries to catch himself before falling, but his heel catches on a rock, and he falls backward.

“You little shit!” He shouts.

The fireball hits with enough force that you can feel it vibrate the ground as red silt is blown outward like a wave. You close your eyes, feeling as it settles on your skin. When you’re able to open them again, dust falls off your lashes, and the earth is charred and smoking around the crater that lays just a little ways off where Astarion’s feet are.

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen on top of him until you glance back and see his wide eyes looking at the hole where he had been standing and back to you. For a moment, you think you see affection in those cold eyes, perhaps gratitude, but he chucks you off of him roughly.

“You did that!” He hisses.

The stones feel like needles against your palms as you push yourself up and give him an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would I do that and then save you?”

“You’re trying to toy with me, with my emotions, but it won’t work!” He growls, gesturing wildly. “I have been manipulating people for longer than you have been alive. Your games will not work on me, you wretched bit—”

His shouting is cut off when another shadow descends, the boulder whistling through the air, and Astarion has to phase into mist and back to avoid the strike. Both of you look to the sky, and your brows downturn, mouth slack-jawed, when you notice the swarm of them catapulting toward you.

“Shelter! We have to find shelter!” You scream.

You barely get the words out before they start thundering into the earth, each seemingly having a mind of their own. They force you to throw yourself to the side, back, forward, repeatedly to avoid being squished.

“The cave!” Astarion bellows, pointing toward a rocky cliff face.

Between the smoke and dust in the air, you can’t see a cave, but you attempt to start flinging your body in that direction. You can’t see where Astarion went, but you do feel the tug of his compulsion forcing your feet to move in a certain direction, which is interfering with your ability to evade the oncoming onslaught. That, coupled with the current state of your feet, your movement is dreadfully hindered.

A fireball slams into the ground behind you. The heat radiating off it sears your flesh before it explodes on impact, and you get caught by the shrapnel and thrown from your feet. Black dots march in your vision. You try to blink them away and get up, but the hellscape around you swells and dips like rough waves.

You can barely make out of vague darkening of the area surrounding you, and you try to drag yourself out of its path. Will it hurt, or will you be brought peace long before your brain can receive the signals for pain? You laugh softly at the prospect of being killed by a fireball after you’ve cast them countless times to do the same to your enemies.

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve fallen suddenly, and your world becomes a shapeless blur. A comfortable pressure encircles your waist, and before you know it, you’re enveloped in a deep dimness. When your eyes finally clear, you’re looking out the mouth of a cave, watching fireballs fall like hail from the sky.

Astarion stands with his back pressed hard against the stone, his eyes closed, and his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s covered in soot and rusty-coloured dust. He saved you? Hope blooms in your chest that when he opens his eyes, they will be the fiery sunset warmth of your husbands.

“Astarion?” Your voice is rough and hoarse from having inhaled the dirt in the air.

“Master to you, pet,” he purrs, his eyes opening slowly to reveal the lifeless maroon like a ruby covered by layers of dust.

Astarion watches you almost curiously for several minutes while you observe the chaos happening just outside the opening of the cave before he takes a seat. His forearms rest on his knees, and he twirls his dagger between his fingers, feeling the edge of it to judge the sharpness.

It’s nostalgic watching the way he assesses the blade and checks the weight and balance of it. How many times did you watch him perform the same inspections of his weapons in camp? You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. This Astarion is still Astarion, but this Astarion is composed of two centuries of darkness and Cazador’s tortures.

Opening Shadowheart’s bag, you dig through the contents. There are a couple of random scrolls, a potion of healing, and the sharp, glass scraps of whatever potion didn’t make it through. There is a small pouch of coin, though you think it will do little good here. Your heart swells when you see her trousers and shirt, apparently stashed after she changed into your dress. The masterpiece that was your wedding dress is ruined beyond recognition, and you slip out of it.

“That’s some positively scandalous negligee,” Astarion taunts. “I assume that was for him?”

You glance down at the strappy, lace nightwear you had meant to surprise your husband with. “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant for you,” you retort.

“And yet, here I am enjoying the view and not him,” he says sinisterly.

Astarion turns, grabbing your ankle and giving it a quick tug toward him. He crawls up your body with that sensual smile you know too well and dips his head to kiss your hipbone, below your belly button, and continuing upwards. Though your brain knows the difference between your husband and this imposter, your body does not, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You push hard on his shoulders, trying to push him away, and he brings his eyes up with a lazy, crooked smile. He rests his chin on your stomach, his hot breath fans your cold skin.

“I know you want me,” he purrs, his fingers playing with the straps of your nightwear. “You cannot hide it from me, little lamb, and it seems we have some time to spare.”

“I want him,” you correct. “I have no interest in you. Get off me.”

“Him. Me. What’s the difference?” He shrugs and places another lingering kiss in the soft spot between your ribs. “We are one and the same. I’ll even be generous. I’ll whisper the sweet little lies I’m positive he feeds you, and you can pretend I am him.”

“I said no,” you growl, letting your palms heat against his shoulders in a warning.

Astarion sighs, rolls his eyes, and pushes himself to his knees. “Gods above. Why are you such a drip? Honestly, it’s like you hate having a good time.”

Pulling on Shadowheart’s shirt and tugging on the trousers without acknowledging his goading, you grab your raw feet and cringe. The blood is starting to dry, your healing abilities kicking in, but there are still crystal slivers and shards sticking out of your toes and heels, nestled deeply in your skin and muscle. You grasp at them, managing to pull some out, but your fingers aren’t quite nimble enough or adroit enough at getting purchase on the smaller, thinner pieces.

Astarion watches you again, with an odd intensity that you find puzzling. He reaches for you, but you recoil and pull away.

“Let me help.” It borders between an order and an offer, as if he couldn’t decide which and never made a choice either way.

It’s either this or walking with crystal shards impaling your feet, so you reluctantly slide your foot toward him. Astarion’s hand wraps around your ankle, and he lifts your leg and places it on his thigh. His eyes scrutinize the wounds carefully, and though his face remains cold and impassive, when they flick to you briefly, you swear you see concern in them.

Astarion plucks out the remaining pieces one by one, easing them from your flesh with more care than you would have thought this version of him possessed. When he’s done, he scoops up the remains of your dress and cuts long pieces from the silk, wrapping them around each foot in some sort of makeshift shoe. It’s unlikely to do much in the way of protection from the elements and will likely get chewed to shreds as quickly as your skin did, but the gesture still leaves you dumbstruck.

You cannot help yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“I need you to be able to walk.” He states simply.

“Where are you taking me?”

He smiles ominously, predator-like, and it makes you such in a sharp breath. “We are going to bargain with Mephistopheles, of course. What do you think he will bestow upon me when I hand deliver the little snake who aims to reverse his arrangement?”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

We've finally made it to the Hells!

[soulofapatrick]

Everything to me - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader 

Summary: You return to Beacon Hills after being away for a year

Words 2.1K

Warnings: none 

Y/N's POV

As I drive up the narrow, winding trail to the newly rebuilt Hale House, my heart pounds in my chest with a force that feels almost supernatural in its intensity. The familiar landscape of Beacon Hills blurs past the windows, and each turn of the wheel brings me closer to a confrontation I've been dreading for the past year. The supernatural world that once fascinated me had become a nightmare, and the war with the hunters left scars deeper than any physical wound. The most significant of those scars is the bite I received, a mark of the werecoyote now a part of me. The fear of rejection, of being an outcast in the pack I once called family, gnaws at me relentlessly.

Leaving without a word, without a goodbye, was the hardest decision I've ever made. I remember the night vividly, the moon high in the sky, casting eerie shadows as I slipped away. I couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt, in their eyes. I didn’t want to face their questions or their possible rejection. So, I ran. Chicago became my refuge, its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces a strange comfort. An old family friend helped me regain control over my new werecoyote side, teaching me to harness my abilities and temper the beast within. But no amount of control can temper the anxiety coursing through me now as I approach the Hale House.

The mansion looms ahead, a testament to the resilience of my friends. Its imposing structure is both a symbol of strength and a reminder of everything I left behind. As I park the car and cut the engine, the silence is deafening. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. I sit there for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but the mix of anticipation and fear swirls within me like a storm.

What if they don’t want me back? The question haunts me, each scenario playing out in my mind. I picture Lydia’s disappointment, Scott’s silent judgment, the pack turning their backs on me. What if I’ve been replaced, my absence a void too painful to fill? What if they see me as a traitor, someone who abandoned them in their time of need? The thought is almost too much to bear, and for a moment, I consider turning the car around and fleeing once more. But I can’t. I need to face them, to face the consequences of my actions.

I barely have time to unbuckle my seatbelt before a high-pitched squeal pierces the air. Lydia’s voice. I turn just in time to see her racing towards me, her red hair a bright streak against the backdrop of the mansion. The next moment, I’m nearly knocked off my feet as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that’s as fierce as it is unexpected. My arms come up automatically, hugging her back, and a wave of relief washes over me. Oh god, I’ve missed my best friend.

Over Lydia’s shoulder, I see the others emerging from the house, their faces a mix of shock, curiosity, and wariness. I know what they must be thinking. I left without a word, disappearing into the night like a ghost. I see the questions in their eyes, the unspoken accusations. But there’s something else too—a glimmer of hope, of welcome. Maybe, just maybe, I haven’t lost them entirely.

A sharp sting on my cheek snaps me back to the present, and I wince as Lydia pulls back, her glare intense enough to make me squirm. “What the hell were you thinking? Leaving like that!” Her voice is a mix of anger and relief, and I can’t blame her for either emotion.

“I—” I start to explain, but the words catch in my throat. How do I explain the fear, the desperation that drove me away? Before I can find the words, Scott steps forward, sweeping me into a hug. His embrace is strong and comforting, a silent promise that he’s still here for me. He murmurs something into my hair, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s holding me, accepting me, is enough.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. We shared secrets, fears, and feelings we never dared to voice before. His sleep-filled voice was my anchor, and now, seeing him in person, my heart aches with the need to close the distance between us.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heart pounding even harder. He stands there, fidgeting nervously, his eyes darting away when they meet mine. His uncertainty mirrors my own, but beneath it, I see the same longing, the same hope that kept us connected all those nights.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I see the worry, the fear of rejection, mirrored in his gaze, but also the unwavering affection that has always been there.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me.

Scott finally releases me, holding me at arm’s length, and my gaze shifts to the figure standing on the porch steps. Stiles. The one person who knew where I was, who called me every night to make sure I was okay. Those calls were my lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Every night, no matter what, we would talk. It didn’t matter if it was a late-night shift for him or a sleepless night for me. We never missed a call.

Each full moon was a torment. The change would ripple through me, and the urge to succumb to the primal urges of the werecoyote was overwhelming. But Stiles was always there. On those nights, he would stay on the line for hours, his voice a soothing presence. He’d tell me about everything happening in Beacon Hills—the latest supernatural drama, mundane school gossip, even funny anecdotes about his day. He had a way of making me feel like I was still a part of their world, even from hundreds of miles away.

“I wish you were here,” I would whisper into the phone, my voice trembling as the moon’s influence grew stronger.

“I know,” he’d reply softly, his voice laced with the same longing I felt. “Just hang on, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm, easing the pain and fear that came with each transformation. Stiles kept me anchored, his presence—albeit virtual—a lifeline I clung to desperately. He’d talk me through the worst of it, his voice a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone cared deeply for me.

But talking on the phone is one thing; seeing him in person now, standing just a few feet away, is another entirely. My heart races as I take a step closer, memories of our late-night conversations flooding my mind. The anxiety that had been a constant companion for the past year now mingles with a different kind of nervousness—the fear that the connection we shared over the phone might not translate to reality.

“Excuse me, Scotty,” I mutter, gently wriggling out of Scott’s grip. I take a cautious step towards Stiles, my heightened senses picking up every detail. The scent of his anxiety is sharp, mingling with the familiar notes of his cologne and the underlying scent that is uniquely his. But there’s something else, something deeper—an intoxicating mix of love and need that almost makes me dizzy.

“Stiles,” I whisper his name as I stop in front of him, my voice trembling. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. I can practically taste the tension in the air, feel the electric pull between us. His eyes, a rich cognac colour, are filled with a mixture of fear and hope, mirroring my own emotions.

“Hi,” he says softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I’ve come to recognise. The sight makes my heart swell with affection, and I can’t hold back any longer. I reach out, my hands gently cupping his face, forcing him to look at me. His skin is warm under my touch, a comforting reminder that this is real.

“I meant everything I said,” I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes widen, and before I can say anything else, he’s moving. His hands grip my shirt, pulling me towards him, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is desperate, needy, but it’s perfect. It’s everything I’ve been longing for. His lips are soft yet insistent, moving against mine with a fervour that sends shivers down my spine. I can taste the salt of his tears mingling with our kiss, and it breaks something open inside me. My heightened senses pick up every nuance—the rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of mint on his lips. It’s overwhelming and beautiful, a sensory overload that drowns out everything else.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he responds in kind, his hands tangling in my hair, holding me as if afraid I might disappear again. The world fades away, and all that exists is the two of us, locked in this embrace, sharing a kiss that speaks of everything we’ve been through and everything we hope for.

“I love you,” he breathes against my lips, his voice raw with emotion. Tears blur my vision, but I smile, whispering the words back to him. “I love you too.” 

In this moment, with Stiles in my arms and the pack around us, I know I’m finally home. Werecoyote or not, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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