#and when i read something my emotions shift with the story

[ssa-danhotchner]

Jealousy jealousy | Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: reader has finally started moving on from their past relationship with Aaron

cw: fem!reader, BAU!reader, reader is seeing someone new, Hotch wants to come back, regret, emotional conflict, jealousy, tension, let me know if I missed anything

wc: 1.1k

note: English isn't my first language so please be kind. I'm not really good at seconds part but I tried my best

read the first part here

The soft hum of conversation filled the BAU’s conference room as you glanced down at the case file in your hands, pretending to be focused. You weren’t, of course—not when you could feel Aaron’s gaze on you from across the table.

It was happening more often lately. The way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his jaw tightened whenever you laughed a little too brightly at one of Morgan’s jokes. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Whatever he was feeling—or thought he was feeling—didn’t change anything.

You were done waiting for Aaron Hotchner.

It had been months since that late night in the bullpen when you sat alone, drowning in memories of him. Something had shifted in you since then. Maybe it was the realization that holding onto the past was only hurting you, or maybe it was the encouragement of Penelope and JJ, who had both gently nudged you toward prioritizing yourself for once.

Or maybe it was him.

Ethan.

You glanced at your phone sitting on the table in front of you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t even need to open it to know who it was from; Ethan had a knack for checking in at the most unexpected yet perfect moments.

The thought of him brought a small smile to your lips. He was nothing like Aaron—charming in a carefree, easygoing way that made you feel like you could finally exhale after holding your breath for so long. You hadn’t planned on letting anyone new into your life, but Ethan had a way of breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself without even trying.

You could feel Aaron’s gaze sharpen as your smile lingered.

“Something funny, (Y/N)?” he asked, his tone deceptively light but laced with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

You looked up, meeting his dark eyes across the table. “Just a message from a friend,” you said simply, refusing to elaborate.

“Must be a pretty funny friend,” Morgan chimed in, grinning at you.

You laughed, the sound coming a little too easily. “He has his moments.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched at the pronoun, but he said nothing more, turning his attention back to the case file in front of him.

The tension in the room was palpable, but you forced yourself to stay focused. You weren’t going to let Aaron’s mood swings ruin the progress you’d made. You were moving on—finally, truly moving on—and he had no right to pull you back into his orbit.

---

Later that evening, you found yourself at a small café just a few blocks from the office. Ethan sat across from you, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he recounted some ridiculous story about a coworker.

You laughed, genuinely this time, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders.

“You have a great laugh, you know that?” Ethan said, his voice warm and sincere.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Stop,” you said, though you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “You light up when you laugh. It’s… it’s really nice to see.”

Your heart ached at the kindness in his words, so different from the guarded affection you’d grown used to with Aaron. Ethan was open in a way Aaron had never been, and though part of you still felt guilty for comparing them, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the change.

As the evening went on, you felt yourself relaxing more and more, letting go of the lingering shadows of your past. Maybe this was what you needed—a fresh start with someone who saw you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be.

But as you walked back to your car later that night, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to find a text from an unfamiliar number.

Aaron: Are you free to talk?

You stared at the screen, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t heard from him outside of work in months. What could he possibly want now?

Against your better judgment, you texted back.

Is everything okay?

The response was almost immediate.

Aaron: I’m outside your building. Can we talk?

---

You found him standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. The streetlights cast a warm glow over him, but his expression was anything but.

“What are you doing here, Hotch?” you asked, your voice sharp as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I needed to see you,” he said simply, his dark eyes searching yours.

You resisted the urge to laugh. “And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow at work?”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “It couldn’t.”

You sighed, stepping closer despite yourself. “What is this about, Aaron?”

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire.

“I saw you today,” he said finally, his voice low. “Smiling at your phone. Laughing with him.”

You stiffened, your defenses going up immediately. “And?”

“And I realized something,” he continued, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing you with someone else.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You don’t get to say that,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to act like this after everything.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone desperate. “I know I don’t have the right. But I can’t help it, (Y/N). I can’t stand the thought of losing you—to him or anyone else.”

“You already lost me, Aaron,” you said, your voice breaking. “You made that choice a long time ago.”

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his stoic exterior. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he admitted. “But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered. “You don’t get to come back now, when I’m finally starting to move on.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice barely audible. “But I needed you to know how I feel. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

You stood there, staring at him as the weight of his words settled over you. Part of you wanted to believe him, to let yourself fall back into the comfort of his arms. But another part of you knew better.

“You don’t get to be jealous, Aaron,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. “You had your chance, and you let it go. Now it’s my turn to be happy.”

He nodded, the pain in his eyes cutting you to the core. “I just hope he knows how lucky he is,” he said softly.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the glow of the streetlights.

---

tags: @cocopuff213 @zaddyhotch @lillyrob

[77zrose]

ZB1 REALISING THEY FELL FOR THEIR BESTFRIEND

genre : ot9, fluff “ 🧺 .*

김지웅 kim jiwoong

Jiwoong would notice his feelings quietly, during a moment when you’re laughing or doing something mundane. He’d feel a pang in his chest and think, Why does this feel so different now? Jiwoong is someone who values control over his emotions, so he’d likely try to keep things normal.

Over time, his actions would subtly shift. He’d linger a bit too long after walking you home, or his texts would become more thoughtful. One evening, as you both sit on a park bench under the stars, he’d finally let his feelings slip.

Jiwoong: “You know, being with you makes everything feel… easier. Happier. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I… I think I’ve fallen for you. I don’t want to risk ruining what we have, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

성한빈 sung hanbin

Hanbin’s first instinct upon realizing his feelings would be panic. He’d smile through the confusion, but internally he’d be thinking, This can’t be happening. What if I ruin our friendship? He’d probably talk to someone he trusts to figure out what to do, all while being extra attentive toward you.

One evening, after you’ve spent the day together laughing and sharing stories, he’d muster the courage to bring it up.

Hanbin: “I’ve been meaning to tell you something… I think I’ve started seeing you differently lately. I’m not sure when it happened, but… I think I’ve fallen for you. I care about you so much, and I just hope you can feel the same.”

장하오 zhanghao

Zhanghao’s realization would hit him during a quiet moment—like when you’re both reading or working on something together. He’d glance at you and suddenly feel his heart race. His first thought would be, Oh no… this is dangerous.

Zhanghao isn’t one to bottle things up for too long. After spending a week analyzing his feelings, he’d decide to confess in a straightforward but warm way. Over coffee, he’d break the silence.

Zhanghao: “I need to tell you something, and I want you to know I’ve thought about it carefully. I think I’ve fallen for you. I know this changes everything, but you’re too important for me to not be honest.”

석매튜 seok matthew

Matthew would be adorably clumsy about the whole situation. When he first realizes he has feelings for you, he’d start stammering or avoiding eye contact whenever you’re around. He’d try to act normal, but his little gestures—like remembering your favorite drink or texting you late at night—would give him away.

Eventually, he wouldn’t be able to hold it in. During a casual hangout, he’d blurt it out unexpectedly.

Matthew: “Okay, I can’t keep this in anymore! I like you. Like, really like you. You’re my best friend, and I know this might sound crazy, but I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

김태래 kim taerae

Taerae’s feelings would sneak up on him gradually. He’d notice how much happier he feels when you’re around, how your smile stays in his mind long after you’ve left. Being the artistic and emotional person he is, he’d likely channel his emotions into music first.

One day, he’d ask you to listen to a song he wrote. As the melody fills the air, the lyrics would describe his feelings—how he fell for his best friend and is scared but hopeful. When the song ends, he’d look at you nervously.

Taerae: “I’ve been writing this for a while because I didn’t know how else to tell you… I like you. More than just a friend.”

리키 ricky

Ricky would try to act like nothing’s changed, but his behavior would say otherwise. He’d tease you more often, throwing playful comments your way to hide his nervousness. Behind the scenes, he’d overthink every interaction, wondering if you feel the same.

Eventually, his confident exterior would crack, and he’d decide to tell you in his own charming way. During a late-night walk, he’d turn to you with a soft smile.

Ricky: “You know, you’re the only person who can make me nervous. I realized it’s because I’ve started liking you—more than a friend should. I don’t know how you feel, but I had to tell you.”

김규빈 kim gyuvin

Gyuvin would be hilariously awkward about his feelings. He’d start stumbling over his words around you, his ears turning red whenever you’re near. The other members would tease him relentlessly for how obvious he’s being.

After working up his courage, he’d sit you down one evening and try to explain.

Gyuvin: “Okay, so… this is really hard for me to say, but I like you. Like, really like you. And I know I’m being super awkward, but I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

박건욱 park gunwook

Gunwook would be in denial at first, brushing off his feelings as just admiration. But when he catches himself thinking about you constantly, he’d realize it’s more than that. He’d try to impress you subtly—showing off his skills or taking extra care to support you.

Finally, he’d choose a bold but heartfelt moment to confess, like when you’re both watching a sunset together.

Gunwook: “You mean a lot to me. More than just a friend. I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve fallen for you. And I’d do anything to make you happy, whether or not you feel the same.”

한유진 han yujin

Yujin would be the shyest about his feelings. He’d blush whenever you’re around and would try to avoid making it obvious, but his small acts of kindness—like sharing his snacks or sending you cute messages—would give him away.

One day, he’d finally confess in the sweetest, most innocent way. He’d hand you a small gift, like a handwritten letter, and nervously mumble his feelings.

Yujin: “I… I wanted to tell you something. You’re really important to me, and I think… I think I like you. I know this might be sudden, but I hope you understand how much you mean to me.”

[midnightfict]

A Star in the Making.

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Co-stars were caught in a whirlwind of off-screen chemistry.

A/N — this is a request that i rewrote the draft multiple times. the story request itself is sooo good but i feel this didn't live up to my expectations. hopefully, it's an enjoyable read though.

anon's request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

Lee Byung-hun sat at the long, polished table across from Kim Tae-ri and the production team, a script resting unopened in front of him. The meeting room buzzed with quiet anticipation as the director leaned forward, clearing his throat.

“So,” the director began, looking between Byung-hun and Tae-ri, “we’re finalizing casting for Our Fading Days. Ji-ho and Min-ji are set, but we’re still struggling with Ha-yoon.”

Kim Tae-ri, who got cast as Min-ji tilted her head. “Isn’t the screen test next week? I thought you had a shortlist already.”

The director sighed. “We do, but none of them quite fit. Ha-yoon is vital to the story. We need someone who embodies her hopeful, cheerful energy, but also has depth. Someone who can hold her own against Ji-ho’s quieter nature and make the audience feel that emotional connection.”

Byung-hun listened quietly, his fingers lightly drumming the table. “What’s the issue with the shortlist?” he asked.

“Either they have great chemistry with you but lack the character,” the director explained, “or have the character but can’t create the platonic bond Ji-ho and Ha-yoon need. We’re considering holding another round of auditions, but…”

The producer chimed in. “We’re running out of time. If either of you has recommendations, please send them our way.”

Kim Tae-ri raised a brow at Byung-hun. “Any ideas?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

That evening, Byung-hun walked home under the dim city lights. The meeting lingered in his mind. Casting Ha-yoon was proving difficult, and he wasn’t sure they’d find someone who could balance the character’s charm and vulnerability.

As he passed a local theater, he noticed the soft glow of lights through the windows. Something pulled at him—curiosity, maybe. Without thinking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The auditorium was nearly empty, save for a handful of people rehearsing on stage. Byung-hun’s gaze locked on a young woman, her. She stood at the center, pouring raw emotion into a heartfelt scene. Her voice carried across the room, weaving between desperation and hope. The intensity in her eyes made the dialogue feel alive like she wasn’t just acting but being.

He didn’t know the play or her name, but he felt a pang of admiration. The way she transitioned from lighthearted to deeply emotional reminded him of Ha-yoon’s complexity.

When the scene ended, her laughter rang out as she joked with the cast. The shift was so effortless that it startled him. This wasn’t just an actress—this was Ha-yoon.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a stage crew member approached him. “Sorry, sir, rehearsals aren’t open to the public.”

Byung-hun nodded apologetically. “My mistake.”

As he walked out, he pulled out his phone and called the director. “I think I found the perfect Ha-yoon. Contact the Arko Arts Theater. You’ll know her when you see her.”

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Months passed, and filming for Our Fading Days was in full swing. You, cast as Ha-yoon, had been a bundle of nerves during your first few days on set. Transitioning from theater to television was daunting, but Byung-hun made it easier.

From the start, he was supportive, sharing tips, running lines, and reassuring you when you doubted yourself. “You’re doing great,” he said one evening after a long day of filming. “Better than great. Ha-yoon feels real because of you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, still unsure. “It just feels… unnatural sometimes. Like I’m out of place.”

He smiled softly. “If that’s unnatural, I can’t imagine what you’re like when you’re in your element.”

The two of you quickly became inseparable. Lunch breaks were spent sharing snacks, late-night text exchanges were filled with inside jokes, and off-set outings turned into a regular thing. Kim Tae-ri often teased the both of you, trying to nudge the relationship further, but you and Byung-hun were oblivious to her hints.

As filming wrapped up, you found yourself bittersweet about the end. “I’m going to miss all of this,” you admitted one day.

He glanced at you. “You mean the show or…”

“Everything,” you replied vaguely.

The promotional interviews were in full swing, and the three of you, Lee Byung-hun, Kim Tae-ri, and you, sat on a couch, microphones in hand, under the bright studio lights.

The interviewer smiled as they turned to the group. “The story of Our Fading Days is so compelling—a childhood friendship between Ji-ho and Ha-yoon drifting apart as Ji-ho falls in love with Min-ji. It’s relatable and bittersweet. But,” they continued, their tone shifting to something more playful, “fans have picked up on something surprising. Despite Ji-ho and Ha-yoon not being a romantic pair, viewers are shipping you two. What do you think about that?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment, and then laughed lightly. “Oh, well, I guess it’s pretty common to root for the childhood best friend to end up with the main guy, even though Ji-ho and Ha-yoon see each other as strictly platonic. But yeah, I understand them, Ha-yoon's reaction towards their deteriorating friendship might seem more than platonic to the viewers.”

Before you could say more, Kim Tae-ri let out an amused laugh, shaking her head. “I think you misunderstood. The question wasn’t about Ji-ho and Ha-yoon. They’re asking about you and Byung-hun.”

Your eyes widened as the realization hit, and heat crept up your neck. “Oh.” You let out a nervous laugh, glancing at Byung-hun for support.

Byung-hun grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Really?” he said, leaning into the playful tone, “Shipping us? Wow, that’s a first—I didn’t think I had the qualifications to keep up with her. She’s the real star here!”

You laughed along with him, brushing it off. “He's too nice but yeah, Let's keep the shipping between our fictional lives.”

Kim Tae-ri smiled knowingly, her tone light but deliberate. “I don't know, you guys...” She paused, then added slyly, “Min-ji might just be the third wheel around here.”

The interviewer raised their eyebrows, the audience chuckled, and you felt your face grow warmer as you exchanged a quick, sheepish glance with Byung-hun. He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head in mock defeat, and the moment moved on—though the subtle tension lingered in the air.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Even after promotions ended, Byung-hun remained a constant in your life. He came to your theater performances, always waiting backstage with flowers in hand.

“You’re spoiling me,” you joked one night after a show, hugging him tightly.

“You deserve it,” he replied.

That evening, as you both strolled under the city lights, he suddenly stopped.

“You know,” he said, his tone a little nervous.

“Hmm?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I was thinking...” He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Ji-ho and Ha-yoon might make a great couple. Their relationship is certainly more than some friendship, don't you think? ”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you were speechless. Then you laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

“Is Ji-ho trying to confess, here?” you teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well… Ha-yoon definitely can sense the adoration Ji-ho has for her. I can say that she feels the same way.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing yours. “I'm glad she feels the same. She's a star in the making and he will continue walking her way.”

As the two of you walked on, hand in hand, the city seemed brighter than ever.

[unfortunate--moth]

I'm a big hurt/no comfort fan

Also a particular fan of more gorey or psychological dead dove do not eat fics- I'm an angstlord, what can I say

I still adore fluff though <333

- Milgranon

am i the only one here. am i alone in this world. guys cant we just be happy. cant we have happy fics. or should i actually literally kill mikoto in this next chapter. no more fluff /j

[kuromi-hoemie]

i've tried making some sort of post about it since last night probably 4 or 5 times, but I finally got to read through Dungeon Meshi and it's hard to like..... talk about how i feel about it...? not that it is a confusing story!!

I think it is genuinely so good in so many different ways/directions it's kind of hard to pick just one thing and roll with it you know? but it felt life-changing kind of.. in a way that's hard to put into words.. yes i will take things slow, yes i will stop looking at food and rest as rewards and not the bare minimum my body needs for it to carry out the tasks i give it effectively. yes i see the importance of not only doing the things you want to do, and the ways that only doing what you want can come back to bite you in the ass.

so on and so forth, it was just really good.. i think the biggest bittersweet thing i felt by the end of it was a gut punch feeling of wanting to share a meal with someone ಥ_ಥ there is also something very raw in watching someone literally give themselves the strength they need to make it through the day, and it's not even extraordinary it's just.. they take care of themselves. each other (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠) i hope to find myself in similar company one day.

[seventh-district]

.

[ccwpidsblog]

crashing out — onyakopon

⭐️: nsfw 18+ in which you learn why your fiancé retired from his old ways

cupids arrows: if you’re new here pls ignore my old post 🙏🏾

Onyakopon was the chillest man you’d ever met.

You remember the first day you met your fiancé like it was yesterday. Your puppy had slipped her leash and bolted after the two of you got caught in the rain. Mud was everywhere—on her paws, on the soaked sidewalk—and you watched in horror as she ran straight for the tall, dark-skinned man with deep waves and glistening golden grills, his baggy jeans and fresh Dunks standing no chance against the chaos she brought.

The muddy paws left stains all over his jeans, and you were mortified. You snatched her up quickly, firing off apology after apology, even offering to clean his shoes and pants. You were so embarrassed you swear you felt your soul leave your body.

But he just shrugged it off, his low brown eyes soft, paired with a small smile that eased your panic.

“You good,” he said simply, his voice calm and mellow, while you were seconds from collapsing in shame.

That day never left your mind, especially after you somehow ended up in a relationship with the man. Ony was so... nonchalant.

You yapped his ear off from morning until sundown, never running out of things to say, and he never once complained. When you accidentally knocked over his grinder, spilling his entire stash of weed, he didn’t get mad—he just kissed you on the forehead to quiet your babbling apologies. When you bleached his Chrome Hearts hoodie, almost crying over it, he shrugged and said, “It’s just a hoodie. I’ll get a new one.” And he did.

He was a sweetheart through and through. He spoiled you, listened to you, and made you feel like you could do no wrong. Even when he proposed—after three years together—it was the most emotion and the most words you’d ever heard him say all at once.

Most of your love lived in unspoken gestures. A look, a kiss on the temple, his hand resting on your knee when you ranted about your day. You always seemed to read his mind before he had to say anything. And you were okay with it—Ony’s silence spoke volumes.

So when his friends sat around telling wild stories—about your Ony chasing some guy down three blocks for stepping on his shoe—you just blinked, completely dumbfounded.

“That was not my Onya,” you said, shaking your head.

It was one of those late summer days where the air felt heavy with heat and conversation. You and Ony were at one of Sasha’s backyard barbecues—loud music, too much smoke in the air, and way too many faces you didn’t know. You didn’t mind, though. Ony always brought you along, hand warm in yours, whispering low in your ear, “You good, ma. I got you.”

But today, Ony had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Probably off somewhere smoking a blunt to cool. You didn’t mind. Coco was leashed at your side, her tail wagging as she sniffed around, and you were content grabbing a soda from the cooler, letting the afternoon sun warm your shoulders.

Until you noticed him.

Tall, built like Ony but rougher around the edges. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and something about him set you on edge.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at Coco, who barked happily.

“Thanks,” you replied, polite but wary. “She’s a menace, but she’s ours.”

The man chuckled, eyes lingering on you. Too long. “Yours and Ony’s, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Ony got himself all... domesticated.”

You blinked, thrown off by his words. “Yeah. We’re engaged.”

For emphasis, you lifted your hand and showed off the engagement ring sitting proudly on your finger. Ony had picked it out himself, saying something about it being “the only rock that could keep up with you.”

The man’s grin faltered for a second before turning sharp again, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “Man... Ony really cleaned up. Bet you don’t know half of what he used to be on.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you know Ony?”

Before he could answer, you felt it. The shift in the air.

You turned to see Ony stepping up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His calm, lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and dangerous.

“Yo,” Ony’s voice was low, sharp like a blade. “What the hell you doin’ here, Ricky?”

The man, Ricky, smirked, completely unfazed. “Relax, bro. Just catching up with your girl. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to say hi.”

Ony ignored him and stopped in front of you, his hand gently brushing your elbow, like he needed to feel you there, steady and safe. “You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, searching his face. “Who is—”

“You don’t talk to her,” Ony cut you off, his voice sharper again as he looked back at Ricky. “Ever.”

Ricky barked out a laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing was a joke. “Damn, Ony. You really changed, huh? Wife. Dog. Family barbecues. You think this erases all that sh*t we did? Think it makes you better than me?”

You looked between them, confusion swirling in your chest.

Ricky’s smirk widened. “You ain’t gonna tell her? About Kev?”

The name hit Ony like a physical blow. His whole body went rigid.

“Who’s Kev?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Ricky grinned, ignoring you. “The one who didn’t make it ‘cause we were out there actin’ reckless. But you remember that, huh?”

It happened so fast you gasped. Ony’s fist collided with Ricky’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Ony!” you cried as Coco barked wildly.

The crowd turned, the music seeming to dim as Ony’s voice rang out. “Keep my name out your mouth!”

Ricky spat blood and grinned like he’d won. “Same old Ony.”

Ony let Eren drag him back, but his face was still tight, his body vibrating with rage. He didn’t stop to explain. He just scooped Coco into your arms and pulled you out of the backyard, his hand gripping your waist.

“What the fuck was that, Onyakopon?” you hissed as you reached the car.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” he snapped.

The tone stunned you into silence. It was the first time in three years Ony had ever raised his voice at you. Before you could argue, he lifted you off your feet, set you in the passenger seat, buckled you in, and slammed the door. 

The ride home was silent, the tension so thick it choked the air. Ony’s jaw was set, teeth gritted as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as you stared out the window. Even the low hum of the engine felt deafening.

When you got home, the silence followed. Ony unlocked the door, opened it for you like he always did, and set your purse down, but his movements were robotic, like he was on autopilot. You didn’t move—just stood there staring at him.

Finally, you snapped.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened, Ony!” Your voice trembled with anger, eyes blazing as you threw your hands up. “What the hell was that back there?”

Ony didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch, walking straight to the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, following him. “Don’t you dare—”

“I said it don’t matter!” he barked, whirling around. His voice was sharp and raw, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but stood your ground, refusing to let him shut you out. “How can you say that? That man knew you, Ony. He knew things about you I don’t! And the way you hit him? Who was that?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the man I know!”

Ony ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth. “You don’t need to know that part of me.”

“Why?” you shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want me to see who you used to be?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he looked at you, eyes dark and stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it, Ony?” you pushed, voice trembling. “You can’t stand here and tell me you love me—ask me to marry you—and then keep this huge part of yourself locked away like it doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped, voice booming. “I was reckless, alright? I was a dumb kid, running around, doing shit I ain’t proud of. You really wanna hear how bad it got? You really wanna know the kind of man I used to be?” His voice cracked, his fists shaking at his sides. “I ain’t that man anymore. I can’t be.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I want all of you, Ony,” you whispered fiercely. “Not just the version you think I deserve. I don’t care how ugly it gets. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the truth.”

He froze, shoulders slumping as he stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. “I’m tryin’, ma,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tryin’ so damn hard to leave that shit behind. You don’t know what it’s like, carryin’ that with me every day. Losin’ Kev... I don’t ever want to feel that again. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some monster.”

Your face softened, tears spilling as you stepped closer. “I’m not gonna look at you like that,” you said, your voice shaky but sure. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to stop pushing me away.”

Ony’s gaze flickered to yours, the fight finally draining out of him. He let out a long, unsteady breath and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I scared you back there. I just... when I saw Ricky talking to you, all I could think about was keepin’ you away from that part of my life. Away from him.”

You took a deep breath, the anger still simmering but softened by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, Ony. But you gotta stop keeping me out.”

He looked up at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “You deserve better than the mess I used to be.”

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “You’re not that man anymore,” you said softly. “I see you, Ony. I see who you are now. And I’m here because I love you—all of you.”

His expression cracked, something deep in him finally breaking free. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Damn, ma,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Stop saying that.”

Ony’s hands tightened on your waist, his eyes holding yours. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, breath hitching. “Ony...”

His gaze darkened, the tension between you shifting—charged and electric. Slowly, he stood up, his towering frame forcing you to tilt your chin up to keep looking at him. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it made your knees weak.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of promise. “Let me make it up to you, baby. I got you. Always.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and possessive. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss—soft and tender at first, then hungrier, like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

“Ony,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he kissed down your jaw, his lips trailing warmth along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your neck, his words punctuated by soft kisses. “For everything. I swear I’m gonna be better. You just gotta let me show you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Show me, then.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Starting right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself lying back on the bed, your body a tangled mess of need and warmth as your fiancé, lost himself in your ocean. His hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force, pulling them up and against your chest as his tongue worked in ways only he knew how to, bringing you to places you’d only ever reached with him. Every motion was deliberate, skilled—each flick, each touch of his fingers pushing you further, deeper into pleasure. His strength held you in place, leaving you no space to escape the sensations he stirred in you. His mouth, hot and insistent, tasted you, marked you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The pleasure became too much. Your body jerked, squirming away from the relentless skill of Ony’s tongue, but he was quicker, stronger. His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His large palm landed on the side of your thigh with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze and gasp.

“Where you think you goin’, mama?” His voice was low, husky, as he leaned up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. His golden grills caught the light, making him look both dangerous and divine. “Why you runnin’ from me? I’m just tryna apologize.”

Your whine came out incoherent, the words caught in your throat as his dark, smoldering eyes stayed fixed on you. He towered over you now, his body an imposing figure as he crawled over you, caging you beneath him. His breath was hot against your cheek, and you stared up at him, dazed, your vision swimming with glassy tears of overwhelming bliss.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that half-smile, wet and sinful. His smooth, dark skin gleamed, catching the dim light in a way that made him almost unreal, too beautiful to belong to one person alone—but he was yours. Completely yours. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he praised, brushing a thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear.

Your body trembled as he shifted, lining himself up with slow precision. Then he pushed into you, your shared groans filling the room as he sank in deep. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretched you perfectly.

“My pretty fuckin’ wife,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with possession and reverence.

You didn’t have the strength to reply—just a soft moan as your legs locked around his waist, anchoring him to you, letting him take you to where only he could.

The slow, deliberate roll of Ony’s hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “You feel so good, baby. Perfect—just for me.”

You could only moan in response, your hands sliding down his back, nails raking gently across his skin. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and meant to unravel you. His pace quickened, his control slipping as he pushed deeper, his grunts mixing with your cries.

“Ony,” you gasped, your voice breaking. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist, desperate to feel all of him.

“I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me?” His words were both grounding and intoxicating, pulling you further into the bliss he created with every stroke.

The heat built between you, your breaths turning shallow and ragged. Ony’s forehead rested against yours, his dark, hooded eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice deep and low.

Your glazed eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice raw, almost breaking.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a sob catching in your throat. “I love you too,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your hands cupped his face.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, his pace growing erratic, matching the desperate beat of your heart. “You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his movements growing sharper, deeper. “All mine.”

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your core until it finally snapped, sending shockwaves through you. Your back arched as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Ony wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping his throat. His body shuddered against yours, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Ony’s weight was solid and grounding on top of you, his hands still gripping your thighs as though he was afraid to let go.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rolling to the side, pulling you with him. He tucked you into his chest, his large hand splaying across your back.

“You good, mama?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“More than good,” you murmured, your voice still shaky. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his gaze. “I love you, Ony.”

“I love you more,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against yours.

As your breathing evened out and sleep began to tug at your senses, Ony whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, nuzzling into his chest. “And I’d do the same for you.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was Ony’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to your hair.

[cherryxbooo]

Not the same anymore

Summary: After ending his three-year-long relationship due to his friend’s influence, Lando tries everything to get his lover back.

Note: I’m back!!! The winner of the poll I set up was loud and clear! I hope all of you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! P.s buckle up this one is a long one!

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst

I had been dating Lando for three years, and our relationship was everything I could have ever hoped for. We met at an event, our eyes locking from across the room. He was so handsome, his smile blinding, and I knew right then that I had to talk to him. Except I was too shy to approach him. At that moment it felt like the universe heard me and made Lando approach me. We talked all evening long and we hit it off instantly.

From that moment on, we were practically inseparable. We spent hours talking and getting to know each other, our bond growing stronger with every conversation. I still remembered vividly how he had made me laugh until my sides hurt, how he listened with genuine interest to every word I said.

I remembered the excitement and anticipation when he asked me out, the butterflies in my stomach when he first held my hand. It felt like a fairy-tale come true, and I knew from that moment on that he was the one for me. We shared so many moments of joy, of happiness, and even the occasional disagreement, but we always worked through them together.

At first, I tried not to worry, thinking it was just a phase, but the changes in him only became more pronounced. He was less responsive to my texts and calls, and he seemed to prioritize spending time with his friends over me. I felt lonely and confused, unsure of what had caused this sudden shift.

Lando invited me to his place, and I was excited. I thought he was doing just the same, planning to spend some quality time together.

However, as soon as we found ourselves alone, Lando's face was serious, and my heart started to pound. I knew something terrible was about to happen.

Lando sat down next to me, his gaze fixed on the floor. There was a long, heavy silence before he finally spoke.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice almost a whisper.My heart dropped. Those words... they were never good.

I sat there, feeling the dread settling in my stomach. I knew whatever was about to come couldn't be good. Lando took a deep breath, but his face remained serious.

"I think... we need to break up."

I felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Break up? The words hung heavy in the air, and my mind struggled to process them.

"W...what?" I managed to choke out, my voice shaking slightly. "Why, Lando?"

He avoided my gaze, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "It's just... I need to focus on my career right now," he said, his voice robotic, like he was reciting lines. "Being in a relationship is a distraction, and I can't let it interfere with my goals."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was throwing away our three years together with such ease, as if it meant nothing. I tried to reason with him, to remind him of all the happy memories we had shared.

"We've been together for three years!" I said, my voice rising in volume. "Why is it suddenly a problem now?"

"I need to be 100% focused," Lando insisted, finally meeting my eyes. "It's not just about the amount of time, y/n. It's about the current moment, and right now, my career is my priority." He sounded almost cold, like he was pushing me away.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I fought them back. How could I mean so little to him, that he would discard our relationship so easily?

"What about us, Lando? What about everything we've been through together?" I pleaded, my voice shaky.

He remained stoic, his expression unchanging. "I'm sorry, y/n," he said, his tone lacking emotion. "But my mind is made up."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It felt as though he was a stranger, a shell of the man I had fallen in love with. “You don’t mean any of it! You’re just stressed.”

Lando seemed to snap. "My friends were right," he said, his tone sharp. "This is for the best. Now, I don't need the distraction of a relationship, and I'm better off without you."

His words felt like a stab in the heart, and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I wanted to defend myself, to challenge him, but his friends were the last thing I wanted to bring up.

But I couldn't help it. "Your friends?" I shot back. "They're the worst! All they care about is partying, drinking, and living off your money.”

Lando's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare talk about my friends like that," he snapped, his tone filled with resentment. "They're the ones who are always there to support me, unlike some people."

I couldn't hold back anymore, the emotions boiling over. "Unlike some people? Are you kidding me?" I retorted, my voice cracking. "Who was there for you when you were doubting yourself? Who stayed up late with you, listening to your worries, pushing you to keep going? Wasn't it me?"

He looked stung, but he shook his head, trying to uphold his cold facade. "That's not how things work," he said stiffly. "My career is my top priority, and I don't have time for anything else."

I felt my own anger rising to match his. "So, you're telling me three years of love, support, and understanding mean nothing to you? Just throw it all away for the sake of your career?"

Lando stood up, his face tense. "The decision is made. I don't need a distraction right now, and that's what you are. A distraction." His words felt like a slap in the face.

My heart shattered, each word breaking another piece of it. How could he turn our love into nothing more than a mere bother? How could he talk to me like this? But I couldn't let myself break down fully. Not here, not in front of him. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back tears and keep my composure.

"Fine," I said, my voice cold. "If I'm just a distraction, then go ahead. Focus on your oh-so-important career." I crossed my arms, trying to hide how much his words had hurt me.

"And you know what, Lando?" I continued, my voice rising. "Your friends? They're all using you. They're not true friends; they're just there 'cause you're famous and rich."

Lando's face twisted in anger at my words. "How dare you talk about my friends like that?" he sneered, his tone spiteful. "They're the ones who have supported me through everything. They're true friends, unlike you. Maybe that's why I'm better off without you."

My eyes narrowed. He had crossed a line. How dare he? "At least I never used you. I loved you for you, not for your fame or your money," I shot back.

He laughed, a humorless, bitter laugh. "Love? Please. You only liked being with a famous guy. The attention it brought you, the luxury. Let's not pretend this wasn't also about status for you."

I felt my fist clenching so hard it hurt. "You know that's not true," I said through gritted teeth. "I never cared about your fame or money. I loved who you were, or at least who I thought you were."

"Oh, really?" Lando challenged, his tone sharp. "Then why didn't you ever say no to the fancy parties or designer clothes I bought you? Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."

I felt like my chest was tightening with every one of his accusations. How could he twist things like that, making it seem like I only cared about his money? It was so far from the truth. The minute those words left his mouth I knew it was his friends feeding him these lies about me.

"Those were gifts, Lando," I said, my voice cracking. "I loved them because they came from you, not because they were expensive!"

I didn’t let him speak as I grabbed my bag, my hands shaking with emotion. "Fine. Just don't contact me ever again," I said, my voice cold and void of emotion. "This is over. You’re not the same anymore.”

I walked out of his place, my steps heavy and numb. I didn't look back, afraid of seeing him or breaking down in tears. I just wanted to leave, to get away from his words that echoed in my head, and the painful ache in my heart.

As I stepped outside, the fresh air felt like both a relief and a cold slap in the face. I hailed a taxi, and as I watched the familiar streets pass by, I felt as though my old, happy life had shattered into pieces. I had given him everything, and he had thrown it all away for his stupid career. I would never make that mistake again, I promised myself.

Lando sat in his place alone after she left, the silence of his now-empty home weighing heavily on him. He started thinking about the breakup, feeling a pang of guilt, but quickly pushed it aside, remembering that he had chosen his career over her. It was for the best, he told himself, repeating what his friends had been telling him.

As the hours passed, the guilt started to fade, numbed by the pain and the alcohol he poured himself. He eventually called his friends, and they eagerly agreed to come over, happy to hear he had broken up with his now ex-girlfriend.

They arrived, with smiles on their faces, their eyes glinting with anticipation. "Finally, you get to live a little without that distraction!" one of them said, slapping Lando's back. "We're gonna party hard tonight, man! You deserve it."

Lando felt himself slipping into a numbing haze, the alcohol dulling his emotions and his conscience. He allowed himself to be guided by his friends, their words like sweet poison, promising him that he was better off without me, that he wouldn't miss her. They started planning their night out at a flashy new club, their enthusiasm infectious in Lando's alcohol-doused state.

Lando found himself nodding along, his resistance fading away with each drink. The idea of partying seemed like a good escape, a way to drown out the guilt and the loneliness. He convinced himself that tonight, he would let loose and forget, throwing himself into the nightlife and the company of his so-called friends.

As the night progressed, Lando found himself increasingly affected by the alcohol he had consumed. The world started blurring at the edges, and his thoughts became a jumbled mess. He grabbed his phone, his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the buttons. After several clumsy taps and misdialed numbers, he finally managed to dial Max's number.

As the call went through, he heard Max Fewtrell answer from the other end. "Lando? What the hell, it's 3 am, are you drunk?"

Lando let out a chuckle, his voice slurred. "Heyyy, Maxxy," he said, his words tripping over themselves. "You sound so grumpy. Come ooon, I need to talk to youeee."

Max sighed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from his voice. "Lando, this better be important. I was trying to sleep, you know." His tone was annoyed, but the concern was evident under the surface.

Lando ignored Max’s tone, his mind swimming with alcohol-induced impulsiveness. "I need to talk, buddy," he said, his words stumbling over each other. "It's about y/n."

Max sat up in his bed, his annoyance fading in the face of Lando's evident distress. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more awake and alert. "Okay, Lando, I'm listening," he said, his voice steady.

Lando took a deep breath, his words slurred. "Max, I messed up, I really messed up," he slurred, his voice cracking. "I broke up with y/n, and man, I feel like crap. I miss her, Max. I miss her, and it... it hurts, Max, it hurts so much." The line of words came out in a jumble, the weight of his emotions too heavy to hide under his inebriated state.

Max let out a sigh, his concern growing with Lando's admission. "Okay, Lando, listen to me. Stay exactly where you are, and for god's sake, don't go anywhere else. Tell me the name of the club, and I'll come get you."

Lando mumbled the name of the club through the phone, his words a bit muffled. "It's... uh, it's called 'The Neon Lights.' It's that new club in town, very fancy. Can't miss the neon lights," he hiccuped.

Max sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, Lando. I'm on my way. Just don't do anything stupid. Just stay put and wait for me." Max quickly got dressed, leaving his bed behind for the task ahead.

Max drove as fast as he could, and reached the club soon. He spotted Lando right away. His best friend was sitting outside, next to a homeless man, laughing loudly in his inebriated state.

Max couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Lando's current predicament. He approached them, giving the homeless man a nod in greeting. "Alright, Lando, let's go," Max said, reaching out to grab Lando by the arm to help him onto his feet.

Lando tried to protest, but his words came out as a muddled mess. "No, wait! I was just having a talk with him!" he argued, hiccuping. He tried to pull away from Max, but his balance was too shaky. "He's a cool guy, Max. Look!" Lando gestured at the homeless man, his movements exaggerated.

Max shook his head, trying to keep his composure. "Lando, stop making a fool of yourself. Let's go, you're coming with me." He gently led Lando away, making sure he didn’t stumble and fall.

By now, a few people from the club were giving them odd looks, amused by the sight of an apparently famous driver being a mess outside. Max just focused on guiding Lando away, thankful no one had recognized him. "Come on, buddy," he said softly, his arms holding him steady.

Lando put up minimal resistance, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. He tried to protest but his words only slurred together, making it impossible to understand. His legs felt like jelly, and he let Max guide him to his car, his head spinning from the alcohol.

Once they reached the car, Max opened the passenger door for Lando, gently guiding him into the seat. Lando slumped in with a groan, his eyes flickering. Max secured Lando's seat belt, making sure he was as safe as he could be in his current state.

As they arrived at Lando's apartment, Max helped Lando out of the car, his feet dragging sluggishly. Walking him to his bed was a challenge, as Lando leaned heavily on Max. With effort, they finally made it to the bedroom, where Lando practically flopped onto his bed, groaning as his head spun.

Max was concerned about Lando, still inebriated and vulnerable. He grabbed some medication and water, placing them on the bedside table for when Lando woke up. He covered Lando with a thin blanket, making sure he wouldn't be cold in the night. He left quietly, making a mental note to check on him in the morning, closing the door softly behind him.

Max returned to Lando's place the next morning, his concern for him still lingering. He used the spare key Lando had given him and let himself inside the apartment. There was a noticeable silence, the aftermath of Lando's excessive drinking still hung heavily in the air.

Max was in the kitchen by the time Lando trudged down, looking half dead from the night before. His hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and his face pale. He groaned as he spotted Max standing by the counter, a cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast ready.

Max watched as Lando slumped into a chair, cradling his head in his hands. "What the hell were you thinking, Lando? You were drunk off your ass," Max scolded gently, his voice laced with worry.

Lando winced as he lifted his head, his eyes squint to slits. "I... I don't know. Needed a distraction," he groaned, his voice hoarse. The alcohol had taken its toll, and he felt like death warmed over.

Max sighed, pushing the cup of coffee towards Lando. "There are better ways to distract yourself than getting drunk, Lando. What if the media had found out? You could have jeopardized your entire career."

Max paused, his gaze fixed on Lando’s disheveled state. "So who were you with last night? Who was irresponsible enough to let you drink in such a state, and then leave you alone in that condition?"

Lando rubbed his temples, trying to remember through his foggy memory. "Some friends," he mumbled, avoiding Max's accusing stare.

"You know, just some guys I hang out with sometimes. They were partying, and I... I don't know, I joined in." He paused, trying to compose himself. "Then I got drunk and they... they left."

Max’s eyes narrowed, seeing right through it. "Those friends, right? Are those the ones who always use you, Lando? The ones who take advantage of your fame?" His voice was sharp and filled with frustration, knowing exactly how those 'friends' manipulated Lando.

Max’s tone was hard as he continued, his questions probing deeper. "Did they invite you or did they just drag you along with them? Because I know how they are, Lando. They always take advantage of you. They use you for your money, your fame, and never really care about you."

Lando hesitated, his eyes downcast. He knew Max had a point. "I... they invited me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "But I went because I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget her." His voice trembled slightly, the pain he felt creeping into his voice.

Max's ears perked up at the mention of y/n. "Is that why you broke up with y/n, then?" Max's tone softened slightly, realizing this was a sore subject.

"Because you wanted to forget her? To distract yourself from the pain?" He saw Lando wince at the mention of her name, and it confirmed his suspicions.

Lando swallowed hard, the pain in his eyes speaking volumes. "I... yes," he whispered. "I thought if I ended things, it would make it easier, but it's only made it worse." His voice shook with regret, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders.

Max probed further, sensing there was more to this. "Were the friends the ones who influenced you to break up with y/n, Lando?" He had a feeling they were involved, knowing their toxic nature.

Lando shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Max's gaze. "They... they encouraged it, yeah," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

"They kept saying she was holding me back, that a relationship would only hinder my career, and I... I let them get into my head."

Max was furious. He had seen how much y/n loved Lando, how much she supported him at every turn, and now he had thrown it all away because of some 'friends' who didn't care about him. "They're the worst, Lando!" His voice rose. "They don't care about you, not like she does. She's been there for you, through everything. And you let them poison you against her?"

Lando closed his eyes, the reality of Max's words piercing through his foggy mind. Max was right. He had let himself be manipulated by his so-called friends, allowing them to turn him against the one person who genuinely cared about him.

"I know," he whispered, his voice choked. "I messed up. I'm an idiot."

Max sighed, his frustration mingling with a sense of compassion.

"You're not an idiot, Lando. But you made a terrible mistake. You let yourself be led astray by the wrong people. Those friends, they're poison. And y/n... she's the one who truly cares for you. You need to fight for her, Lando. Don't let them ruin what you and y/n had."

Lando admitted, his voice filled with regret and defeat. "It's too late, Max. She has blocked me everywhere. She doesn't want anything to do with me." His shoulders slumped, the weight of his mistake heavy on him. "She probably hates me now, and I don't blame her. I hurt her, Max. I don't think she'll ever take me back."

Max, determined to help Lando, decided to take matters into his own hands. He texted y/n, hoping to plead on Lando's behalf, but Max was met with a cold wall - she had blocked him too. Frustration welled up inside, knowing how much of a hole Lando had dug for himself.

"Lando," he said, his tone heavy, "She blocked me too. This is going to be harder than I thought."

Lando flinched as Max confirmed y/n had blocked him too. It felt like the finality of his mistake, like the door to reconciliation was slammed shut, and he had no way to open it.

"I can't blame her," Lando muttered, his eyes downcast. "I messed up so badly. She's got every right to hate me now."

Lando's phone suddenly buzzed with a text from one of his 'friends,' inviting him out again. But before Lando could even react, Max swiped the phone from his hand, angrily blocking them all.

Lando stared at Max, a mix of shock and annoyance on his face. "Dude, what the hell!" he exclaimed, trying to get his phone back.

Max's expression was serious, his tone firm. "Those friends of yours are poison," he stated, holding the phone just out of Lando's reach. "They're the ones who encouraged you to break up with y/n. They're not your real friends, and I'm not letting them influence you further."

Lando tried to reach for his phone again, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Max, please give me my phone. You can't just block them all! Those are my friends!" He sounded desperate, trying to justify something he knew deep down was wrong.

Max stood his ground, shaking his head. "No, Lando. Those friends are the reason we're in this mess right now. They don't have your best interests at heart. They only care about what they can gain from you. You need to see that!" His grip on the phone remained firm, not giving Lando any chance to retrieve it.

Lando, still hungover and angry, tried to make his case. "But... but they're the only ones who are there for me, Max!" Lando argued, desperation lacing his voice. "They're the ones who party with me when I feel down. They're the ones who go out to clubs while y/n stays home. They're just trying to look out for me."

Max's patience wore thin, his anger boiling over. He threw the phone at Lando with a snap, the device landing on the bed next to him. "Fine!" Max sneered, his voice cold. "Figure it out on your own, Lando. Seems you'd rather listen to those so-called friends than hear the truth. See how far they take you."

Lando flinched as Max threw the phone at him, feeling a mix of guilt and stubbornness bubbling inside. Max's words rang true, a painful reminder of the fact that he was defending his toxic friends over the one person who cared. But in his hungover state, he was stubborn, unwilling to admit his friends were the ones pulling him into a toxic pit.

"Fine!" Lando retorted, his voice rising. "I don't need you trying to control my life! And I don't need y/n. I can do whatever I want with my friends!" He grabbed his phone, clutching it tightly, his anger and resentment towards Max growing.

Max stormed out, leaving Lando alone in that moment, his thoughts swirling like a storm. Lando sat in silence, surrounded by the chaos he had created, and the weight of his choices. Max's absence left him with nothing but his own thoughts and the quiet, empty apartment, the reality of his situation setting in.

Days blurred together as I drowned myself in work, my fingers flying over the keyboard, creating numbers and reports that seemed like a lifeline in this sea of heartache. The silence of my apartment was too loud, so I stayed at the office, working until exhaustion took hold.

My best friend grew worried, her concern palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to open up. Who would even want to listen to my sob story, anyway?

I couldn't even bring myself to think about our breakup, the pain still too fresh. Work was my solace, a way to stay one step ahead of the thoughts that threatened to consume me. I tried to focus on the numbers, the deadlines – anything to avoid confronting the reality of my shattered heart.

But as much as I worked, the pain lingered, refusing to fade away. Every now and then, I'd find myself staring off into space, the memories of our time together flooding back. The sound of Lando's laughter, his warm touch, it all came crashing back in waves that threatened to crush me.

Lost in my own world, the sound of my best friend's voice finally broke through the fog of my thoughts. She had been calling my name for the past five minutes, but I hadn't heard a word, too consumed by my own internal battle. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the daze.

She stood by my cubicle, her expression a mix of worry and concern. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft. "I've been trying to get your attention for a while now."

I blinked again, trying to shake off the haze and focus on her words. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lied through clenched teeth, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Just really focused on this project." I tried to sound convincing, but I couldn't meet her gaze.

My best friend gently urged, "Y/N, I'm here for you, whenever you're ready to open up. How about a girls' night out tonight? A chance to take your mind off things? You need a break."

Each word felt like a lifeline. She knew just what I needed, an opportunity to lose myself for a moment without the weight of the breakup suffocating me.

The distraction of a girls' night out sounded tempting. I'd have a chance to let go, to pretend things were fine for a while. "Okay," I softly agreed, a small hint of warmth amidst the pain. "A girls' night sounds great. Let's do it."

As the hours passed, I tried to focus on the preparations, changing into something comfortable after my long day of work. But as I stood in front of the mirror, my mind kept wandering, the memories of Lando and the happier times we shared together. I took a deep breath, locking those thoughts away at the back of my mind, and plastered on a smile.

We met at a nearby bar, the noise and laughter a stark contrast to the silence of my apartment.

My best friend tried to engage me in conversation, steering clear of any topics about relationships or exes. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and I found myself sipping on my favorite cocktail, letting the alcohol blunt the edges of my pain for just a moment.

As the night progressed, my best friend knew something was still weighing heavily on me. She steered the conversation deeper, her eyes meeting mine in understanding. "Y/N, really, what's going on? I can see something's eating at you."

I sighed, taking another sip. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and the pain I'd locked away started to slip out.

I hesitated for a moment, then the floodgates opened. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and with each sip, the words poured out. "Me and Lando broke up," I said, my voice wavering. The pain I'd tried to hide finally came out in the open.

My best friend listened without interruption as I told her everything - the pain, the doubts, the sense of loss. She held my hand, her thumb running across the back of my hand in a comforting gesture, allowing me to release all the emotions I had been holding in.

The pain intensified as I allowed myself to acknowledge it again. "I still miss him," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, "but I can't go back to him. Not after everything he put me through."

My best friend stayed silent, letting me take the lead, listening without judgment, offering reassurance with her hand, holding mine firmly.

Her words were gentle, yet comforting. "You're strong, Y/N," she said, squeezing my hands. "It hurts, and it's hard, but you'll get through this. I'm here for you every step of the way."

Her words provided solace, reminding me of my own strength, even when I felt like I was crumbling.

She was right; I had gotten through tough times before. This, too, would pass. I tried to hold onto those words, a glimmer of hope in the midst of hurt. I wiped away my tears, taking a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

After hours we decided to call it a night. As my best friend dropped me off at my apartment, the night's diversion ended, and the silence of my apartment fell heavily around me.

The momentary respite from the pain had come to an end, and the reality of being alone set in again. I tried to ignore the loneliness, the emptiness without Lando. Instead, I got ready for bed, trying to find solace in routine.

I reached for my phone in an attempt to distract myself from the memories that kept invading my thoughts. But as I opened it, I was met with a barrage of social media updates about Lando and me - our pictures together, speculation, and the truth I had been trying to escape. The pain hit me all over again as I saw others asking about our breakup, theories swirling around me.

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f1gossippoffical Trouble in Paradise? Fans have suspected that Formula One driver Lando Norris has broken up with his girlfriend Y/N. The pair have unfollowed each other on all platforms and haven't been seen together in months. This suspicion was confirmed after fans saw Lando getting drunk at a club without his partner, living his life. What do you think happened? Follow for more updates!

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loveformywags2 What? Is this confirmed? This can't be right?! 🥲

lalalandlando4 He deserved better anyways 🤷‍♀️

f1maniaclvr Do y/n and Lando know about this? 🤦‍♀️

pookielanscar481 It's just odd that he was seen being drunk out of his mind without her

mam4you81 That's what I was thinking... What if she broke up with him and he's drowning himself in alcohol?

nanalalaf14 Honestly I don't think so, I think he dumped her since he had stopped interacting with her on his socials while she still liked and commented on all his posts.

4everf1loca NOOOOO my sheilaaaaa 😭

As I scrolled through the comments, reading the theories about us, a bitter realization hit me. They were only seeing the surface, the façade we had carefully crafted for the public. If only they knew what had really happened, the pain, the reasons behind our breakup.

The comments were full of speculation and curiosity. People thought they knew our love story, but they knew nothing. They didn't see the fights, the lies, the coldness between us. Their theories felt like a slap in the face, mocking the reality of our relationship.

All I knew at this moment was that I should take the time to heal and not let anyone ruin this for me.

Months had passed since the breakup, and I had finally made significant progress in my healing journey. Though the memory of Lando and our heartbreak still lingered, I had come a long way. I had focused on myself, investing time in hobbies, spending quality time with my friends, and allowing myself to heal.

I had established boundaries, avoiding social media and news about Lando that would reopen the wounds. I started a new project at work, pouring my energy into something productive. Slowly, I felt like I was rebuilding myself.

Right now, I was sat with my best friend, enjoying lunch together. My phone buzzed with a notification from an old group chat I had almost forgotten about. It was the group chat I used to be part of, with Kika and Alex.

When I opened it, I was greeted with a flood of messages, the group hasn't been active ever since my break up. So I was curious to see what this was all about.

My best friend, curious, noticed the notification that I had checked my phone. She gave me a questioning look, asking, "What was that about?"

"It's an old group chat from two of my WAG friends," I explained. "They want to catch up during the next GP."

My best friend raised her eyebrow, visibly curious. "And are you going to go?" she asked, her voice gentle but eager to know.

"At first, I didn't really want to go because of... well, Lando being there," I admitted, a mixture of hesitation and bravery in my voice. "But then I thought why should I let him dictate what I do? I shouldn't be scared of him, right?"

I paused, my determination showing through. "So, yes, I agreed to go."

My best friend's face lit up with happiness as she heard my decision. "I'm so proud of you!" she said, her pride shining through. "You're not letting him hold you back or influence you anymore. That's such a huge step forward, and you should be proud of yourself."

For a moment, seeing my best friend's proud expression filled me with a surge of bravery. She was right; I wasn't letting Lando affect my decisions anymore. I was taking control of my life again, one choice at a time.

As I laughed with my best friend, the weight of Lando gradually faded into the background. We continued talking, laughing, and enjoying our lunch together. Lando's name didn't come up in conversation. For now, he was just a distant thought, overshadowed by the joys of friendship and healing.

Lando stood in the McLaren garage during the Silverstone GP, his entourage of fake friends surrounding him in his papaya-colored driver overalls. They joked, laughed, and offered their hollow support, all while he got ready for the race.

Amidst the laughter, Lando's thoughts turned to y/n. He missed her, the void she had left in his life was still present, gnawing at him. He had tried to reach out, creating new accounts, but he found himself blocked at every turn, silence his only reply. It was as if the universe itself was holding back any chance of them reconnecting, driving home his deepest fears and regrets.

Lando snapped out of his pensive state, focusing his mind back on the race ahead. He had a job to do, after all. With a firm tone, he told his friends to stay put, to relax and enjoy the race while he got ready. His determination was evident, a momentary distraction from his heart's constant ache.

Lando quickly realised that he had forgotten his phone. As he retraced his steps to retrieve his phone, he heard muffled voices from within his driver's room. Curious, he stopped before he entered, straining to hear the conversation inside.

Michael chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Can you believe Lando was so stupid to break up with her?" Sam agreed wholeheartedly, a sneer on his face. "She was perfect for him, a distraction holding him back from his true potential."

Jake snorted. "Yeah, she was a total inconvenience, always nagging and taking up his time and money. Good riddance, I say."

They shared a cruel laugh, satisfied with their opinions. The conversation between Lando's fake friends revealed their true intentions - to have Lando's undivided attention, away from someone who truly cared about him.

They continued their conversation, mocking y/n's influence on Lando. Michael spoke with a mischievous grin. "It was a piece of cake convincing him. He ate up everything we said like a fool."

John snorted in agreement. "Yeah, we made sure he saw her as a hindrance. Now we have him all to ourselves, no competition."

James interjected, a cruel glint in his eyes. "We convinced him she was holding him back, that he needed to focus on his racing. We even convinced him she was just after his money. Classic play."

They chuckled, pleased with the web of lies they had spun. Michael added, "He doesn't even know what's good for him. We'll keep him under our control, keeping his attention and his wealth all to ourselves. He's too naive to see through us."

Sam, the schemer, couldn't contain his glee. "This has been the easiest con ever. Lando's so trusting, so foolish. We just have to keep filling his head with our lies, and he'll do whatever we want."

Lando, his heart heavy with the revelations, stormed back into the room, anger seeping through his every feature. His fists clenched, his eyes darkened in fury. He couldn't believe how easily he had been manipulated, how blind he had been to the deceit around him.

"How could I be so stupid?" he bellowed, staring down the group.

The group of fake friends froze, their faces stunned. They stared at Lando, wide-eyed, their laughter abruptly silenced. They hadn't expected Lando to return so soon, or to have overheard their malicious conversation.

Lando's voice trembled with a mix of fury and pain. "I can't believe I let you manipulate me like this!" His eyes burned with a potent blend of anger and regret. He stepped closer, his voice filled with a mixture of disgust and hurt. "You were behind all of this, convincing me to break up with her, making me think she was holding me back."

The friends, caught off guard, tried to scramble for excuses. But Lando's words cut through their attempts to justify themselves. Michael spoke up, his voice trembling, "We... we were just looking out for you, Lando. We thought she was holding you back. We wanted what's best for your career, that's all."

Sam chimed in, trying to appease Lando. "We were trying to help you, Lando. We saw how she was distracting you, taking up your time and money. You need to focus on your racing. You're our golden goose!" He forced a fake chuckle, hoping Lando would buy into the manipulation again.

Lando clenched his fists, his body trembling with fury. "You didn't care about what's best for me. All you cared about was having me all to yourselves, using me for my fame and money. You manipulated me, turning me against the one person who loved me truly."

Jake tried to interject, his voice oozing with false concern. "Lando, we did care about you. We just wanted to protect you from a bad influence. We didn't want you to be taken advantage of." He attempted a manipulative smile, trying to deflect the blame onto me.

Lando's voice rose in intensity, his anger boiling over. "Don't you Dare talk about her like that! She was the only one who genuinely cared about me, not you. You're just jealous because she didn't let you use me like you do. You're nothing but a bunch of leeches!"

Michael, emboldened by Lando's anger, smirked, his words sharp. "Don't you dare blame us. This is on you, Lando. You were the one who was too stupid to see through our facade. Now you've lost her because of your own damn foolishness, not our fault in the slightest."

Lando, seething with a mix of hurt and anger, quickly called the security guards. With a firm voice, he instructed, "Get these snakes out of here now!"

The security guards, recognizing the tone of a man pushed to his limit, swiftly entered, escorting the fake friends out of the garage. Lando stood there, watching them leave, a bitter taste in his mouth.

As the fake friends were forcefully escorted out, Lando was left alone in the garage, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. The pain, the regret, the anger—it all slammed into him, finally giving way to the torrent he had held back for so long.

He slumped against a wall, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. Tears prickled in his eyes, his breath coming in ragged breaths.

As Lando sat there, the regret gnawed at him, growing sharper by the second. He thought about y/n, the love he had lost. The memories of their time together flooded his mind, and he berated himself for throwing it away. He blamed himself for listening to the friends who had manipulated him.

He thought about the love they shared, how he had let it slip through his fingers, shattered by his own foolishness and vulnerability to their lies.

Lando, still in a vulnerable state, decided to reach out to Max, despite their rocky past. He thought about the clubs and the disagreements they had had, but he had no one else to turn to now. With a mix of regret and desperation, he dialed Max's number.

Max picked up the phone, immediately sensing the desperation in Lando's voice. As Lando poured out his emotions and apologies, Max listened, his tone softening.

Lando confessed, his voice cracking, "I should have listened to you, Max. You were right about them, all along. I was a fool to listen to their lies and ignore you."

Max, surprised but relieved, replied, "I'm glad you realize now, Lando. Those friends were toxic. They used you, and I tried to protect you, but I understood, now." Max's words were sympathetic, understanding Lando's turmoil, even though they had their differences.

Lando confessed, his voice trembling with a mix of regret and desperation. "Max, I miss her, I miss y/n so much. I'll do anything to get her back, anything at all. It's the biggest mistake I've ever made."

Max fell silent, his concern deepening. He didn't know the extent of Lando's mistreatment of her.

The mention of y/n stirred worry in Max. He gently asked, "Lando, you know I didn't want you to break up with her. But why do you think you mistreated her? Can you tell me about that?" Max's tone was cautious, sensing that there was more to the story than he knew.

Lando hesitated, knowing he had a lot to unpack. Max's curiosity fueled a mix of fear and guilt inside Lando. He knew he had to come clean, even though it was painful to admit.

Taking a deep breath, Lando began to confess, his voice shaky. "I... I treated her badly, Max. I hurt her, ignored her, and took her for granted."

Max couldn't help but wince, knowing there was a deeper issue.

Lando's voice cracked with remorse. "They fed me lies about her. They convinced me that she was holding me back, that she wasn't good enough. I believed them, and I treated her poorly."

Max, as supportive as possible, tried to provide words of encouragement. "Lando, that's rough. You've made mistakes, but the first step is admitting it. You know you messed up; now it's about making amends."

He sighed, "Lando, remember that true love isn't about perfection. It's about growing together, learning from mistakes, and valuing someone despite their flaws."

He paused, his voice serious. "But you've got to show her you mean it. Words are easy, but actions will be your proof. Are you ready to do that?"

Lando, though shaken and determined, nodded, his voice firm. "Yes, Max. I'm ready. I want to prove it to her. I'll show her I've changed and that I'm serious about making amends."

Max and Lando continued talking, their conversation growing shorter as Lando had to prepare for the race. As they bid each other goodbye, Max reminded Lando, "Stay focused during the race. Clear your mind; that's important, too."

Lando, though his mind was heavy with emotion, took Max's words to heart. He knew he had to compartmentalize his feelings for now and focus on the race ahead. He focused on the tracks, his car, and his performance, pushing aside his turbulent emotions for the moment.

I stepped into the grand prix feeling a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The grandstands, the roaring fans, and the smell of rubber and fuel in the air brought back a whirl of emotions. Seeing the tracks where Lando and I used to share moments filled me with nostalgia and a pang of heartache.

My thought were interrupted by two voices. Kika and Alex, my two closest friends, ambushed me with warm hugs, pulling me into their embrace. Their cheerful voices cut through the noise of the Grand Prix, and I felt a mix of relief and joy. It had been a while since we had been together.

"Y/N! You made it!" Kika exclaimed. "We've missed you so much!"

Alex chimed in, grinning widely. "We've been dying to hang out with you! It's been ages." She playfully pinched my cheek. "You look great, by the way."

"Oh, stop it! I didn't do anything special. You two, on the other hand, are the real stars here. Look at you!" I playfully nudged them both, my tone teasing and lighthearted.

Kika and Alex beamed, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Alright, alright, enough with the flattery," Alex said, feigning exhaustion. "We're here to have a blast. You ready for this?"

I sighed one more time while looking around before replying. "More then ready."

We made our way to our favorite hangout spot at hospitality. It was cozy, far from the chaos of the track. As we settled in, surrounded by comfortable couches and tables, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation washed over us.

"I've missed this place," Kika said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "So many memories, right?"

We spent hours catching up, sharing stories, laughter, and heartfelt moments. The conversation flowed easily between us, like old times. Laughter echoed in the cozy space of the hospitality center, and our spirits were lifted. Time seemed to slip away as we bonded and supported one another. Eventually, the time came for Kika and Alex to head back out; their respective significant others were getting ready for their races.

Kika and Alex rose from their seats, their faces slightly apologetic. "We have to go," Kika sighed.

Alex nodded, adding, "Come find us later, okay?"

I gave them both a nod, understanding their commitment to support their boyfriends. "Of course, we'll catch up after the races. Good luck to them!"

Kika and Alex shared one last embrace, their hugs warm and reassuring, then they left to get to their respective spots by the trackside.

As they left, I was left to navigate the grandstands, finding my spot amidst the sea of fans. I blended into the crowd, the anticipation in the air as the racers prepared for their engines to start.

The race concluded, but it felt bittersweet. Lando's face was everywhere - on the screens, the winners' podium, the trackside banners. Seeing him in his natural element, celebrating victories, stirred mixed emotions in me. The pain of missing him and the hope of reconciliation blended together in a complicated mix.

After a bit, I decided that I needed to use the restroom so I headed that way. I made my way to the private VIP restrooms, my VIP pass granting me access. The restroom was clean and spacious, offering a respite from the noise outside. I checked my reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to compose myself.

As I exited the restroom, I was lost in my thoughts, only to bump into someone in the hall. I froze, instantly recognizing Lando's familiar voice. His figure stood in front of me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. His gaze met mine, and time seemed to stand still.

Lando called out for me, his voice filled with surprise, "y/n." His eyes held a mix of shock and tenderness, his voice holding a hint of the emotions he was trying to keep at bay.

As the words hung in the air between us, my heart raced. His presence was so close, the warmth of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I got out of my stance, trying to leave, I tried to walk past him, but Lando blocked my path, stopping me in my tracks. I felt a wave of emotions crash over me - pain, anger, hope, and a deep longing all mingled together. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and I tried to suppress it.

Lando's voice was hesitant and filled with vulnerability. "Y/N, please…can we talk? Just for a moment."

His request was sincere, his eyes pleading with me not to walk away.

I shook my head, my resolve firm. "No, Lando. I can't and I don't want to." I replied, my voice resolute. The pain from our breakup was still too fresh, and talking to him now would reopen wounds I wasn't ready to confront. I tried to move past him, my expression set with determination.

Lando's face fell, a mix of hurt and resignation evident. He saw my determination, my refusal to engage. He took a step closer, his words soft but desperate, "Please... just hear me out."

My frustrations boiled over. "Don't you think it's ironic? Now you want me to hear you out, when you never listened to me when you decided to end things," I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of anger and sadness.

Lando winced at my words, the truth of them hitting him hard. "I know... I made a mistake," he said, his voice tinged with regret. He was trying to find the right words, his eyes pleading with me to give him a chance.

Lando's expression twisted, the guilt evident on his face as he processed my response. The words cut deep, the truth behind them undeniable.

"A mistake?" I repeated, my voice dripping with bitterness. "You ruined me."

I continued, my words raw.

"I spent months wondering what was wrong with me, why you ended a relationship of three years for a fake friendship that didn't even last a year. Where are those 'friends' who supposedly supported you through everything? I don't see them here, Lando."

Lando looked down, ashamed. He had no answer. His fake friends were nowhere to be found, leaving him alone to confront the consequences of his actions. The weight of his mistake seemed to grow heavier.

He finally managed to gather his thoughts, his voice a mix of guilt and sincerity. "I messed up. I don't expect you to forgive me right now. But please, let me explain." He took a step closer, his regret etched on his face, silently begging for my understanding.

I raised an eyebrow, my words sharp. "Explain? What's left to explain? You threw away three years of us for a group of shallow friendships. What could you possibly say to make this better?"

Lando knew my words hurt, but he was desperate. "I was blind. I was a damn coward," he confessed. "I allowed myself to be manipulated by my so- called friends, and in the process, I hurt you."

He continued, his voice tinged with regret and shame, "I saw them as my real friends, but now I realize they only saw me as a way to elevate their social status." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "They saw you as a threat, someone who could expose their true intentions. They convinced me you were holding me back, when in reality, they had me blinded."

His voice trembled as he continued, "I let myself believe their lies. They filled my head with jealousy, making me doubt our relationship, and I was stupid enough to listen to them." His vulnerability shone through, his emotions raw.

I nodded, my expression guarded. "I'm glad you've recognized your mistakes, Lando. But can you imagine the pain I've experienced because of them, because of you?"

My words conveyed a mix of grief and resentment. The hurt I suffered remained a palpable presence, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.

Lando nodded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't take back what he had done. The time he spent believing those fake friends and ending our relationship had shattered something that couldn't easily be repaired. He understood the depth of my suffering, a consequence of his blind trust and foolishness.

Lando looked at me, his expression sincere, and asked if we could try again. He voiced his regret, hoping for a chance to make things right. The hope in his eyes was clear, but the weight of the past lingered between us. He wanted to rebuild, to fix what he had broken.

He pleaded with me, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I want us to try again. I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't let those fake friends influence me anymore. I'll do whatever it takes."

I shook my head, my voice resolute. "No, Lando. I'm still healing, and right now, I don't want to try again. I need time, space. I can't just forgive and forget in a snap."

My words were firm, expressing my current inability to jump back into a relationship after everything I had been through.

Lando, his voice filled with sincerity, looked into my eyes. His gaze conveyed the depth of his regret and determination. "I understand," he said. "I will wait for you, for ten years or more," he promised. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."

As we concluded the conversation, Lando stood there, his heart heavy with the weight of our future hanging in the balance. He watched me leave, a mix of emotions coursing through him: regret, hope, and an ache of longing. He had to accept that he couldn't rush our healing process, no matter how much he desired to be by my side.

I walked away, my eyes misty, the past and the uncertainty of our future intertwining in my thoughts.

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f1gossippoffical Months after their break-up, Lando Norris and Y/N have been spotted after the Silverstone GP. Sources state that the ex-couple were arguing, what the argument was about is still a big question. Many suspected it was because of a third party being involved. Thoughts about this one?

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lazyformulaland Bro leave them alone, they're both adults. Let them solve this in peace ffs. 🙄

lvr4lan Noooo Lando honey this isn't you run!

wagslov4 Did he pick you yet ? 🙄

bbpiastri81 What the hell is going on

norriswithrizz4 This is insane, the main focus of formula one isn't even on formula one anymore smh 🤦‍♀️

4everyours4ln Y'all are too invested, leave my girl y/n alone.

momolew16 Forreal the girl didn't ask for this

closetofpeacefashion7 Exactly she was finally thriving and then this happend. It doesn't even look like she wanted to talk to him

mayyoushush8 Did she tell you that 🤨

closetofpeacefashion7 @mayyoushush8 Don't be stupid even a kid can see that 🥱

I decided to head back home, not forgetting to shoot Alex and Kika a quick message which they completely understood.

As I reached home, the weight of the evening's emotions crashed down on me. The conversation with Lando had stirred up all the hurt and confusion I had been suppressing. I felt emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed, unsure of what to make of it all.

The silence of my home only amplified my inner turmoil, leaving me to wrestle with my conflicted feelings.

A few days passed after the incident, I decided to move on with life and not let it bother me again. A perfect distraction? Drowning myself in my workload.

I arrived at work as I stepped inside the building, I was greeted by Linda, one of my co-workers.

Linda, approached me with a mischievous grin, her question catching me off guard. "Do you have a secret admirer, by any chance?" she asked, the curiosity palpable in her voice.

I stared at her, confused by her question, wondering why she would draw such a conclusion. I shook my head, puzzled by the idea. "What makes you think that?" I replied, raising an eyebrow.

Linda chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a hint of intrigue. She replied, "Have a look in your office."

Puzzled by her cryptic hint, I made my way to the elevator and reached my office. As I stepped inside, confusion lingered in my mind, wondering what I was about to find.

My eyes widened with shock and surprise as I entered the office, finding a massive bouquet of my favorite flowers. The delicate blooms filled the space with a sweet, comforting fragrance. Attached to the flowers was a note, mysterious and intriguing. My heart fluttered with anticipation as I reached for the note.

My fingers traced the delicate paper of the note, and as I read the words, they stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The poem was written in delicate script, the words flowing like music... and it was about love. Each line spoke of tenderness, trust, and a future filled with hope. The words were so beautiful, it was as if they were carefully chosen specifically for me.

The little poem, written with a tender brush of affection, read:

"From the morning dew to the evening's glow, My love for you continues to grow. Through shadows and light, in every season's rain, Our bond remains, a gentle refrain.

In whispers of joy and moments of peace, I hold you close within my heart's embrace. Each smile shared, each memory we weave, My love will remain a boundless pledge."

I was so confused, who could've been behind this? As I read the poem again, my mind wandered to Lando for a moment. I quickly dismissed that Idea. He had confessed that he couldn't write romantic words, finding them cringeworthy.

If it wasn't Lando, then who would have written such a poem?

As the day wrapped up, I found myself heading home, my mind still lingering on the mysterious poem. Entering my home, I sank onto the couch, exhaustion seeping through my bones. The softness of the cushions welcomed me as my thoughts played through my mind, trying to unravel the mystery.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ring of the doorbell that echoed through my home. It was late in the evening, and I couldn't guess who might be at the door at such a time. With some curiosity and a hint of wariness, I got up to answer.

I went over to the door to open it and I was met with a delivery man. The delivery man handed me a massive bouquet of fresh flowers and a large box of chocolates. The fragrance from the flowers mingled with the scent of chocolate. The combination was almost overwhelming, leaving me baffled as I accepted the gifts.

Now I was even more confused, this bouquet was even bigger than the one from my office. And the weird thing was, that the chocolates I got were only my favorites.

I examined the box of chocolates, finding another note attached to the top. Carefully, I opened the wrapper, retrieving the note. Just like the previous one, it was written on delicate paper, filled with intrigue. I unfolded it, ready to read the message.

As I unfolded the paper, I was met with neat, elegant handwriting. The words held a romantic touch, and I felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. The second poem spoke of tender love and adoration.

"Your presence brings light to every room, A symphony of grace in each simple bloom. Though we may walk separate paths in life, My heart's allegiance is a ceaseless strife."

I sat there, taken aback by the heartfelt words. They spoke of admiration and deep affection. Who could have written these beautiful poems and left them for me? The confusion deepened, and I pondered who could be behind the mysterious gestures.

Plagued by curiosity, I reached for my phone and called my best friend, hoping for answers. As the call rang, I prepared myself for a wave of questions, expecting her to know something.

My best friend's cheerful voice filled the call, answering instantly. "Hello?" She sounded cheerful as ever, not knowing the mystery I was about to unload on her.

I cut straight to the point, my tone slightly urgent. "Hey, I have a question. So, I've been receiving anonymous flowers, chocolates, and... poems." I paused a moment. "Any idea who it could be?" I asked, hoping for some insight.

She was silent for a moment, her surprise apparent. But then her voice brightened, and I could tell she had a theory. "Oooh, a mystery admirer?" she asked, half-joking, half-curious.

I sighed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Well, yes. It is somewhat mysterious." I replied, unable to hide the hint of unease in my voice amidst the flowers and chocolates surrounding me.

We delved into the mystery, discussing possibilities. From past crushes to unknown admirers, we contemplated various scenarios. But no concrete conclusion surfaced, leaving me even more intrigued and slightly frustrated.

That was until my best friend's insight sparked a new perspective. She pointed out that the mystery admirer seemed to know me well. They knew my workplace, my love for romantic poems, and even my favorite chocolates and flowers. It wasn't just a coincidence; they seemed to have a grasp on my habits. The timing of the delivery was eerily precise, appearing just when I arrived home.

My best friend continued, her voice filled with speculation. "It's not just the flowers and chocolates, it's the timing. They know your work schedule. It's almost like they're watching, waiting for the right moment."

I agreed, thoughtfully absorbing. "Yeah, that's been bothering me. The timing is too perfect. They either know my schedule or they're stalking me." I chuckled, trying to soften the situation with humor.

"Wait!" My best friend suddenly interrupted, a speculative glint in her eyes. "Could it have been Lando?"

The name hung heavily in the air, bringing our conversation to a halt.

I shook my head, quickly dismissing the idea. "No, probably not. Lando doesn't enjoy writing, especially not romantic poems. He always told me he found them cringe."

My bestie nodded, acknowledging my response. "Ah, right. He's not exactly the poetic type, is he?"

I grinned slightly, remembering Lando's disdain for poetic words. "Nope, definitely not. He'd rather punch a wall than write a poem." I joked, the idea of Lando writing a poem seeming far-fetched, even for a moment.

After a while of thinking and cracking our brains open, we ended the conversation, deciding to table the mystery for the moment. We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone, my mind still swirling with questions. I prepared for the night, the flowers and chocolates lingering in the background, their presence a reminder of the mysterious admirer.

Several months passed, and the mysterious gifts persisted, each one more thoughtful and personal. The flowers continued arriving, alongside a new addition - small, handmade tokens. Notes slipped into the bouquet containing thoughtful messages, while a box of my favorite chocolates came with a heartfelt poem.

I sought information, asking friends and family if they knew anything. They were taken by surprise and genuinely had no idea who was behind the surprises. The mystery deepend as everyone denied any involvement.

The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.

The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.

The messages, delivered alongside the tangible gifts, carried messages that resonated with my emotions and experiences. It felt almost as if this person truly knew me, yet remained hidden behind the anonymity of their identity.

It was that time again - our annual girls' night out. We always looked forward to these nights, a chance to let loose and have a blast in a vibrant club. I had my best friend beside me, ready to dance the night away. The only problem? My best friend chose a club that Lando used to go to every time. She reassured me that he wouldn't be here which I took her word for.

We strutted into the club, excitement filling the air. Music pulsed through the venue, the bass matching the rhythm of our hearts. The lights dazzled the dance floor, and we blended into the crowd, the worries of the day fading in the throes of the nightlife. We decided to hit the dance floor, letting go of any inhibitions as we lost ourselves in the music.

We danced with abandon, the beat pulsating through us, the rhythmic movements our shared language. The neon lights flashed, adding an electric charge to the atmosphere. As we danced and whirled, we felt liberated from the daily grind, living in the moment, lost in the music and the company of my best friend.

Later that night we both got thirsty, I made my way to the bar to get us drinks, when suddenly a man approached me. I could already smell the alcohol on him as he staggered towards me, a lopsided smile plastered on his face.

He smirked, his words coming out in a clumsy manner. "Hey there, pretty lady," he slurred, his tone oozing with an unwanted familiarity. He invaded my personal space, leaning in a bit too close for comfort.

I could feel the warmth of his breath, tainted with alcohol, against my cheek as he spoke. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing here alone?" He tried to flirt, his persistence evident even amidst his intoxication.

I tried to maintain a polite smile, stepping back slightly. "I'm here with a friend," I replied, my voice a mix of politeness and discomfort. I glanced at the bartender, silently praying for my order to arrive sooner so I could escape this uncomfortable interaction.

He chuckled, his intoxication making him clumsy yet bold. "Oh, come on. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be tied down to just one friend. You should let loose and have fun," he insisted, his words filled with a suggestive undertone.

I tried to end the conversation, giving him a firm but polite dismissal. "Thanks, but I'm good," I said, my tone leaving no room for further conversation. I discreetly inched closer to the bar, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone.

Instead of taking the hint, he persisted. "Oh, come on. Don't be a party pooper. One drink won't hurt," he insisted, his words slurring even more. He took another step closer, trying to close the gap between us.

I felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance as his persistence continued. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, leaving a cloying odor on the air. I tried to maintain my composure, not wanting to cause a scene but also wanting him to back off.

He took another step closer, his gaze lingering on me. I could see the effects of the alcohol on him - the unsteady steps, the glazed look in his eyes, the clumsy attempts at charm. He reached out, attempting to touch my arm, his gesture too familiar and unwelcome.

The guy got annoyed when I backed away. He reached out, his hand grabbing my arm with a firm grip, trying to pull me back. I felt a jolt of fear as he attempted to drag me.

His hold tightened, his voice a mix of frustration and insistence. "Come on, don't you know how to have fun? Just one drink, a little chat." He tugged at me, his alcohol-fueled stubbornness evident.

I felt a mix of panic and defiance. "Let me go, you sick prick!" I exclaimed, my voice strained. I glanced around, hoping for someone to intervene, but every face seemed lost in their own world, oblivious or uncaring about the situation. The loud music blared, making it seem as if no one could hear my cries for help.

The guy gripped my arm tighter, his eyes filled with a mix of drunken determination. He leaned in closer, his face twisted with frustration. "Why are you making this so difficult? Just one drink, come on."

He forced me into an empty, private room, his grip on my arm still strong, leaving me with a sense of dread. The music was a distant throb outside, leaving me more isolated in this unsettling scenario.

His grip faltered as someone unexpectedly appeared, a figure entering the room with a decisive move. Before the guy could even think of pulling me fully into the room, someone intervened, delivering a well-aimed punch to his gut. The guy groaned, doubled over in pain as he released his grip on me.

The guy fell to his knees, clutching his stomach as the force of the blow rippled through him. Confusion, pain, and shock replaced the smugness from before. I could only watch, relief washing over me as I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

The drunk guy, overwhelmed by the combination of alcohol and the punch, scrambled to his feet before stumbling out of the room, whimpering in pain. The sudden exit left me alone with the mysterious person who had stepped in to save me.

Lando rushed towards me, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion. The warm green in his eyes held a mix of worry and relief that I was alright.

He reached for my arm where the drunk guy had grabbed me before, inspecting the area to check if I was hurt. I could feel the tenderness as he gently ran his fingers over the spot, ensuring I was unharmed. Lando then gazed at my face, studying it for any signs of distress.

I gently pulled my hand away, forcing a small smile to reassure him. "I'm okay," I insisted, my voice steady but guarded. His concern was palpable, and I could see the relief in his eyes as he saw that I was not physically harmed.

Lando seemed desperate, unwilling to let me leave just yet. He reached for my arm again, his grasp gentle but firm. "Please, just hear me out," he pleaded, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

My response came sharp, biting. "Why would I? You didn't try to reach out, didn't try to find me, or even show an ounce of concern until now," I shot back, my words laced with bitterness and resentment.

Lando's response came with a mix of frustration and hidden emotion. "I haven't tried? Since our last talk, I've done everything I could to win you back," he retorted, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Who do you think sent you all those gifts? Who else would know your work schedule, your favorite foods, your love for poems? I know I said I hated them, but for you, I embraced them."

His words were layered with hurt and a desire for reconciliation. Lando finally confessed, "It was me, all along. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever, so I hoped my gestures would speak for me." The pain in his face was evident, his eyes pleading for understanding.

I stammered at his words, a mixture of surprise and confusion overwhelming me. Never in my entire life I would've thought Lando would do all of this for me. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend the lengths he had gone to reach me.

My voice trembled as I spoke, "So... you were behind those text messages as well? How...? But I blocked all your accounts, even the new ones. How did you manage to send me messages?"

Lando hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine as he confessed. "I bought a new phone with a different SIM card... just so I could message you." His answer hung in the air, the weight of his dedication palpable in the quiet space of the room.

He continued, his voice earnest, "I couldn't bear the silence between us, the distance. Even if you blocked me everywhere, I had to find a way to reach you, to express how I felt." The depth of his yearning and determination to keep the connection alive was evident in each word.

I remained silent, overwhelmed by his confession. Lando had gone to great lengths just to communicate with me, buying a new phone and SIM card, defying my attempts to cut off contact. The depth of his dedication was both touching and overwhelming. I couldn't deny the mix of emotions swirling within me.

Lando stood there, his eyes searching mine, desperate for a glimmer of hope. The air hung heavy with anticipation as he awaited my reaction, his vulnerability on full display, his heart on his sleeve.

I grappled for a response, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "I... I'm still processing this," I managed to utter, my voice filled with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why let me think you didn't care?" I blurted out, a hint of betrayal seeping into my voice.

Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his shoulders slouching slightly. "I was afraid," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of being rejected, scared that you would push me away if I tried to talk to you and most importantly scared you would've moved on. I thought sending those gifts and messages would be a way to reach out without directly risking rejection."

I stared at him, taken aback by his honesty. His confession laid bare his fears and insecurities, exposing the vulnerability beneath his usually composed facade. But my hurt remained, the sting of his silence lingering.

I couldn't hide my feelings, and I let my resentment spill out. "But you let me suffer!" I cried out, the pain pouring out in my words. "I thought you didn't care, that you moved on, while I was here, hurting over our broken relationship."

Lando's face contorted with pain at my outburst, his shoulders sinking lower. He took a step forward, bridging the gap between us. "I know, I know," he pleaded, his voice filled with regret. "I was a coward. I let fear dictate my choices, and I hurt you in the process. I'm sorry."

I wanted to believe him, to fall into the comfort of his apology and the sweet gestures he had made, but the wounds of the past remained. The memories of his silence, his refusal to communicate, and the pain I endured still weighed heavily on my heart.

Lando saw the hesitance in my eyes, noticed the barrier I had put up. His expression pleaded with me, a mixture of sorrow and yearning. I could tell he wanted me to forgive him, to let him back in.

"Lando, I'm so conflicted," I confessed, my voice cracking. The wounds of the past still fresh, I couldn't let go easily. "How can I trust that you won't hurt me again? I've suffered so much because of you, how can I be sure you won't do something like this again?" I asked, hoping for an answer that would quell my doubts. The pain was still too raw to simply forgive and forget.

Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his face a mask of sorrow and guilt. He knew he had caused me pain and had no right to expect forgiveness so easily. He stepped closer, the gap between us becoming smaller. With a gentle voice, he spoke. "I don't ask for you to trust me instantly," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't make the same mistakes again. Please, just give me a chance to show you."

I held his gaze, my eyes pleading for understanding. "I need some time," I implored, my voice shaky. "I can't just forget overnight. Give me the space to process everything, to heal." The emotions coursing through me were overwhelming, and I needed time to make sense of the rollercoaster of events.

Lando's response was gentle and resolute. "I will wait for you. Remember, even if it takes ten years," he said, his voice filled with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."

I looked back at Lando, his pleading eyes yearning for a reprieve. With a heavy heart, I whispered, "Goodbye," and reluctantly turned away. The music and lights faded as I weaved through the crowd, searching for my best friend who had remained oblivious to the emotional storm that had just unfolded between Lando and me.

I found my best friend in the crowd, her smile lighting up upon seeing me. However, her smile quickly faded as she saw the tears streaming down my face. Without a word, she stood up, concern etched on her face.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, gently guiding me towards the exit. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with understanding. "Let's go home."

We stepped out of the club, the cool outside air a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. We hailed an Uber, and my bestie decided to spend the night to provide comfort and lend an ear.

We settled into the car, the soft hum of the engine accompanying us as we made our way home. I took a deep breath, preparing to recount the tumultuous events of the evening to my best friend.

The Uber pulled up in front of my building, and we disembarked, the night's cool air a stark reminder of the emotional journey I had been through. We made our way into my house, the silence between us filled with anticipation.

We entered my house, the familiarity of the space providing a semblance of comfort. My bestie guided me to the couch, pulling a blanket over us as we settled in for what was sure to be a long night of conversation.

I poured my heart out, recounting every detail, from Lando's apology to the painful memories that still lingered. My best friend listened intently, her eyes widening in surprise and shock as she took in the emotional rollercoaster I had described.

She was stunned, her face reflecting the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded. "Wow," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't believe he did all that."

My voice trembled with uncertainty, "I don't know what to do," I confessed, my emotions a tumultuous mess. "I want to trust him, but it's so hard to ignore the pain he caused. It feels like a never-ending cycle of confusion and fear." I rested my head on my friend's shoulder, seeking solace in her presence.

She rubbed my back soothingly, her support an anchor that kept me from drifting further into despair. In a gentle yet reassuring tone, she spoke. "It's okay to feel conflicted. Trust is earned, and forgiveness takes time. Don't rush yourself. Take whatever time you need to figure out what you want." She held me closer, offering her presence as a grounding force amidst the chaos.

My best friend posed the question that echoed within me, "Do you still love him?" The question sliced through the air, digging deep into emotions I had tried to bury.

Hesitantly, I met her gaze, tears glistening in my eyes. "I… I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

My friend's words were honest, cutting through the confusion. She persisted, "That isn't an answer, y/n. It's a simple yes or no question." I remained silent for a long moment, my emotions swirling inside. Finally, after an excruciating pause, I whispered, "Fine, yes. Yes, I still love him." The admission hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

My best friend looked at me, her eyes mirroring a mixture of understanding and support. "Give him a chance," she urged, her voice gentle yet firm. "Don't give in immediately. See how far he's willing to go. If he goes beyond just gifts and gestures, you'll know he's sincere.''

A wave of confusion washed over me, and I turned to her for clarification. "What do you mean, 'beyond gifts and gestures'?" I inquired, the words tumbling out in a whispered plea for understanding.

She seemed to gather her thoughts for a moment, then met my gaze with an earnest expression. "I mean, beyond just grand gestures. Beyond the gifts and the poems. Love is about more than just gestures. It's about genuine care, about being there for each other, through every high and low. It's about trust and communication. Those are the true tests of sincere love," she replied, her words wise and heartfelt.

She continued, her voice steady. "If Lando truly cares about you, he will show it in every aspect of his life, not just with grand gestures. He will prioritize your needs, respect your boundaries, and be there for you, even in the most ordinary moments."

Her words resonated within me, their truth echoing in my heart. It didn't matter if he had sent flowers or sweet poems. Love wasn't just about gifts; it was about presence, understanding, and unwavering support through life's tumultuous journey.

We continued talking for hours, my best friend's words sinking deep into my thoughts. Eventually, we decided to call it a day, both exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster. My mind whirled with questions as we prepared to say our goodnights.

Lando's dedication persisted. In the days that followed, his gestures remained constant. I noticed flowers and chocolates carefully placed on my desk each morning, a poem hidden amidst the petals, and a warm coffee waiting when I arrived in the morning, exactly how I liked it.

Today it was different. I heard a knock on my office door, I replied with a simple 'come in' as the person entered. Lando stood in my office doorway, his hands holding my favorite coffee and a neatly prepared lunch. He spoke softly, concern in his voice.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, but I know you can get forgetful about your nutrition while working. So I brought you something." The gesture warmed my heart, leaving me momentarily speechless.

His willingness to break away from his busy schedule, solely to ensure I took care of myself, touched me deeply.

"Thank you," I expressed gratefully, touched by his thoughtfulness. I had to ask him, curious about the sacrifice of his valuable time. "But aren't you busy? You still made time for this?"

Lando responded, his voice gentle yet sincere. "I'm busy," he admitted. "But I make time for you because you matter to me."

His simple yet powerful response struck a chord within me. In the midst of the busyness of life, he had made time for me, prioritizing my wellbeing. It spoke volumes about his devotion and care, that he was willing to sacrifice his valuable time just to ensure I wasn't neglecting myself.

The sincerity in his eyes and the way he stood in my office doorway, a small lunch in hand, felt overwhelming. It was as if he was trying to prove that he valued our connection more than the hustle and bustle of life.

In the weeks that followed, Lando's gestures became an integral part of my routine. He arrived at my office each morning with my favorite coffee, not missing a single day, even when I forgot it myself. During lunch breaks, he carefully watched over me, ensuring I ate, sometimes even bringing me delectable meals he prepared himself. He began helping me with paperwork, even when he didn't have the expertise—a gesture that left me touched.

Once, when I found a mouse in my apartment, he came at 4 a.m., not hesitating for a moment despite having an early flight.

His devotion continued. In the midst of his travels, he remained constant in sending me thoughtful gifts. The distance didn't seem to matter as his love crossed time and continents.

With each passing day, my heart opened up a little more. His gestures filled my heart with a mix of gratitude, warmth, and a hint of rekindling love.

It seemed like any ordinary day, with Lando on the other side of the world for a race. I was engulfed in my work, my focus solely on the paperwork, to the neglect of myself. Suddenly, my colleague Linda burst into my office.

Linda spoke with concern, her voice filled with worry. "You've been working nonstop. Come on, let's get something to eat." I protested, insisting on finishing my task first, but Linda's stern expression was unrelenting. I agreed reluctantly, rising from my seat. Little did I know, the world was about to spin.

As we walked, I started feeling dizzy, an unfamiliar sensation overtaking me. Linda's voice was heard from beside me. "Sweetheart are you alright?"

"No, no, I'm fine," I quickly reassured Linda, believing I had just stood up too quickly. Yet, before I could take another step, my world slipped away, and I plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness.

Linda witnessed the sudden collapse and hurried to my side, concern filling her voice. "y/n, are you okay?" she asked urgently, but I was unresponsive, the world around me fading into blackness.

The sound of voices echoed in the distance, Linda's voice calling my name. However, the comforting embrace of darkness held me captive.

As I emerged from the haze of unconsciousness, I felt a soothing yet firm hold on my hand. I groaned softly, my eyes slowly creaking open, reluctantly adjusting to the stark brightness of my surroundings.

As my vision cleared, I realized I was in a hospital room. The sterile environment, the soft hum of medical equipment, and the distinctive smell of antiseptic filled the air. I heard someone calling my name, I turned my head, my gaze drifting towards the source of the voice that called my name.

I blinked, still in a state of surprise to see Lando beside me. He looked at me with concern, his presence unexpected given that he was supposed to be on the opposite side of the globe. He spoke urgently, "How are you feeling? Should I call for a doctor?" His worry was evident in his eyes as he waited for my response.

Amidst the haze of confusion and exhaustion, my mind clung to one question. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice weak but filled with surprise. "You're supposed to be on the other side of the world."

His response caught me off guard, touching my heart amidst the whirlwind of emotions. "I'm you're emergency contact," he reminded me, and the realization set in.

He had crossed continents and time zones, arriving swiftly on his private jet, driven by his concern for my well-being. I had been asleep for 12 hours, and in that timeframe, he had made his way across the globe to be by my side.

The depth of his commitment touched my heart. Despite the demands of his career, he had flown across the world to be by my side, prioritizing my well-being above everything else. The knowledge that he was my emergency contact made a surge of warmth flow through me. It was a reminder of my significance in his life and the lengths he would go to for me.

I tried to compose myself, my voice still weak, I told him, "You shouldn't have done this. You have important things to attend."

Guilt tugged at me, knowing he had sacrificed his commitments to be here. His racing schedule, his career, everything seemed secondary to his concern for me in that moment.

Lando shook his head, his expression resolute. "I don't care, none of it matters as much as you do," he insisted, his gaze filled with sincerity. He reached out to gently hold my hand, his touch comforting. "Nothing is as important as you," he repeated, emphasizing his priorities.

His words struck a nerve, causing a mix of emotions to rise within me. Tears welled up in my eyes, his unwavering devotion filling me with a combination of gratitude and sorrow. I had doubted him, feared a lack of commitment, yet here he was, proving me wrong in the most dramatic way possible.

His presence in the hospital room, despite the distance he traveled, felt surreal. The sound of medical equipment beeping in the background seemed distant compared to the intense emotions swirling between us. Lando held my hand, his touch warm and reassuring.

In that moment of tender silence, Lando spoke again. His voice was soft, carrying a mix of concern and affection. He squeezed my hand gently, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm. "I was so worried," he admitted, his eyes locked on mine. "Seeing you here in the hospital... was terrifying."

His eyes mirrored the vulnerability he rarely displayed, raw emotions laid bare. The fear he had felt, the concern that gripped him, all visible in his expression. The reality of the situation weighed heavily between us, his emotions palpable and sincere.

I offered a reassuring smile, trying to ease his worries, though the weakness in my voice betrayed my fatigue. "I'm okay," I whispered, exhaustion evident in my words. My weak hand attempted to squeeze his in return, hoping to show my gratitude despite my physical state.

Lando's grip on my hand tightened, his thumb tracing comforting circles on my skin. His gaze remained focused on me, studying my face, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain. He was skeptical of my reassurance, his worry etched on his furrowed brow.

We delved into conversation, discussing random topics, our worries fading into the background. Our chat was filled with laughter and genuine connection. However, our peaceful moment was interrupted when the doctor entered the room for a routine check-up. The doctor informed me that I was discharged, giving me the okay to leave.

Lando assisted me in gathering my belongings, the tenderness in his gestures evident. He carried my bag and carefully guided me out of the hospital room. We paced side by side, making our way to Lando's car parked outside.

We traveled in a soothing silence, the weight of the hospital now off our shoulders. As we reached my place, Lando diligently helped me bring my belongings inside and prepared to leave. But before he could go, he paused and called my name, the sound breaking the tranquility.

I turned my attention his way, meeting his eyes with curiosity. "Yes?" I responded, wondering what was on his mind. His voice had held a hint of hesitation, as if there was something important he wanted to convey.

He inhaled sharply, the weight of his question becoming apparent. He spoke with vulnerability, "There's something I want to ask you. You're free to refuse, but I genuinely want to ask... Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?"

I was initially startled, but the anticipation in his eyes was evident. He swiftly added, "Only if you want it to be a date of course" I could see the sincerity in his gaze. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I accepted his invitation, my voice steady with anticipation. "Yes."

The relief and happiness that washed over Lando's face at my acceptance were evident. His shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You'll go on a date with me?" he asked, a mix of surprise and joy in his tone. "Really?"

The vulnerability in Lando's voice hinted at the significance of my acceptance. He was eager to hear my confirmation once more, his eyes glimmering with hope. I smiled warmly, reassuring him, "Yes, I'll go on a date with you."

We bid each other good night, both feeling the exhilaration of the upcoming date. The way we acted mirrored that of teenagers experiencing their first date, a mix of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. As we exchanged a final glance, our connection felt like a magnetic pull, both eager for the moment to come. The goodbye lingered for a few moments, filled with electricity.

The evening of our date arrived, and my best friend was diligently working on styling my hair, while I focused on applying my makeup. She fussed over my locks, while I carefully applied concealer and mascara to enhance my eyes. My outfit hung on the closet's door, chosen for the evening. The weight of my excitement made my heart flutter in anticipation of the night ahead.

My best friend, brushing through my hair as she styled it, spoke up. "You know, Lando really went above and beyond for you, don't you think he deserves a chance?" she said, emphasizing his efforts.

There was a pause as I met her gaze in the mirror, a mix of emotions coursing through me. I set down my mascara and turned to face her, the weight of her words settling.

She looked at me, waiting for my response, her eyes filled with a mix of encouragement and genuine concern. The reminder of Lando's efforts weighed heavily on my thoughts. He had shown dedication and cared for me, but my past fears and apprehensions lingered, making it hard to fully let go.

I took a moment, considering her words. Inhaling deeply, I nodded, offering a soft smile of agreement. "Yeah, I know," I admitted, my voice a mix of vulnerability and hope. "But it's... it's hard to trust after everything."

I voiced my intentions, my eyes glimmering with determination. "I want to give him a chance," I declared, my resolve strengthened. "Not just a chance, but an opportunity to show me that he's worth trusting." My past pain weighed heavily on my heart, but the hope in my voice was undeniable.

Her squeal of happiness filled the room, echoing her encouragement. "Oh my god, y/n! I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "You're doing the right thing, giving him a shot. He'll make you so happy!"

She grinned, her excitement infectious. "I can feel it in my bones, this is gonna be great. He's going to sweep you off your feet."

We concluded our primping, with my best friend leaving with a parting "keep me updated, and good luck!" The anticipation in my stomach intensified, a mix of excitement and nerves gripping me. I took another glance in the mirror, taking in my appearance one last time.

I was wearing a black off shoulder dress, that hugged my curves nicely. I paired it with the famous uncomfy YSL heels and matching purse. My hair was styled in a beautiful blow out flowing over my shoulders. I sighed one more time before grabbing my stuff.

The doorbell echoed through the room, signaling Lando's arrival with its gentle tone. My heart leaped in my chest, his presence just outside my door.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then opened the door. Lando stood there, his presence immediately filling the space, and warmth spread through my chest. He looked handsome, his well-groomed appearance evident, but it was his warm eyes and gentle smile that greeted me.

Lando stood before me, a bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand. His expression was one of awe, his words momentarily lost. He managed to compose himself and spoke, his voice filled with admiration. "You look absolutely stunning," he said, his eyes drinking in the sight of me.

The flowers were a beautiful display of color, their delicate petals reflecting the soft light of the hallway. Lando held them out, offering them to me like a bouquet of promises. I extended my hand, taking them with a soft smile, his compliment making my cheeks flush.

We walked out together, arm in arm, the cold evening air washing over us. Lando guided me to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me inside as a gentleman. As we settled in, the city lights danced outside, casting a cozy ambiance in the car.

We arrived at the restaurant, a charming Italian bistro with soft lighting and a cozy ambiance. Lando got out, rushing to open my door, offering a hand to help me out with a soft smile. The scent of fresh herbs and garlic filled the air, a promise of a delicious meal to come.

We stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around us. The atmosphere was romantic, with soft music playing in the background. Lando guided me to a table by the windows, pulling out my chair before taking a seat himself. Candles flickered on the table, casting a soft glow over everything.

We settled into our seats at the table, the ambiance around us serene and inviting. The waiter approached, greeting us warmly and setting menus before us. The scent of fresh bread and delectable aromas wafted from the kitchen, fueling the anticipation for the meal ahead.

Lando spoke with confidence, knowing my preferences. "What do you want to get?" he asked, but before I could respond, he answered himself, "No, I know already. Let me guess... the carbonara." A smile tugged at my lips as he remembered my favorites so effortlessly. I replied, "You know it," a mix of affection and appreciation filling my voice. His attention to detail and memories of things I liked made my heart swell with warmth.

The night unfolded, filled with lively conversation and laughter. Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in our connection, the sound of others around us fading into the background. It felt as if the world had narrowed down to just us, an intimate bubble filled with shared laughter, stolen glances, and shared stories.

As the night drew to a close, neither of us wanted it to end. Lando paid for the meal, and I thanked him with genuine gratitude. We decided to take a stroll, drawn to a nearby bench that offered a view of the water. As we settled onto the bench, the gentle moonlight illuminated the night, casting a silvery glow over the water's surface.

I broke the comfortable silence, my voice soft and sincere. "Lando?" I began, my words carrying heartfelt appreciation. "I really enjoyed today. Thank you," I expressed, my eyes glimmering with warmth as I looked at him.

Lando met my gaze, a soft smile playing at his lips. He spoke with sincerity, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, his eyes mirroring the appreciation in mine. "It means the world to me that you had a good time. I truly enjoyed every moment with you."

I addressed the elephant in the room, acknowledging the immense effort he'd put in. "You know, you really have gone above and beyond for me these past months," I said, my tone sincere.

It had been a challenge to regain my trust, and Lando's consistent gestures had played a significant role in rebuilding it. His eyes glimmered with a mix of vulnerability and hope, absorbing my words.

Lando's voice was quiet as he responded, his tone sincere. "I know I have, but every moment of it was worth it," he confessed, his emotions clear in his eyes.

"I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that I would go to any lengths to earn your trust," he added, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and earnestness.

I continued, my questions flowing out. "What about after we get back together? Would you still care about me like this" I inquired, my eyes searching his.

Lando's expression shifted, vulnerability and sincerity mixing in his gaze.

"After we get back together, I want to cherish every moment even more," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to support you, care for you, and be there for you through anything. I want to keep building on the trust we have and make our relationship stronger than ever."

His sincere words found their way to my heart, a tenderness washing over me. The vulnerability in his expression, combined with his commitment to cherishing our relationship, stirred something within me.

I spoke up, my voice soft but filled with resolution. "I think," I began, "I'm ready to be yours again."

Lando stood up, his eyes wide with disbelief, his emotions overwhelming him. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the bench in a tight embrace.

As he spun us around in a whirlwind of joy, he spoke with heartfelt conviction, "I won't disappoint you ever again. I love you so much."

His hands remained on my waist, a tender touch that seemed to anchor me. I felt a surge of warmth and contentment as I replied with a giggle that turned into laughter, sharing in Lando's excitement.

"I love you too, Lan," I confessed, my eyes glimmering with affection

Lando's grip on my waist tightened as he pulled me into a passionate kiss, a fusion of his emotions and desires. The softness of the moment contrasted with the intensity of our feelings, the kiss sending a surge of electricity through my body. I melted into his embrace, returning the kiss.

As the kiss intensified into a make-out session, I reluctantly pulled away, the reminder of Lando's fame echoing in my mind. However, Lando was unfazed, his response quick and resolute.

He shrugged off the potential consequences, insisting, "Let them see. I've got my girl back, and that's all that matters." His smile was filled with a mixture of certainty and passion as he pulled me back, their lips meeting once more in a toe-curling kiss that seemed to defy any outside concerns.

The moon shone down, lighting up the night as Lando wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and we walked back to his car. The air held a delicate sense of anticipation, and as we drove away, I nestled my head against Lando's shoulder, feeling safe and cherished.

Gratitude and affection swelled within me as I realized I had given Lando another chance, and that my heart had bloomed open once again. I smiled, my thoughts swirling with appreciation and love for the incredible journey we were about to embark on.

The end

[tetzoro]

SLOW MORNINGS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after two years, you finally agreed to move in with kuroo and after your first night together, kuroo reflects on his perspective of love — and how much you’ve influenced it.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : fluff, fluff, fluff ! — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this was lost in the abyss on kuroosdarling but i rescued this cheesy lil piece. enjoy !! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

love was something kuroo always found in fiction.

whether it would be from the stories his grandmother used to read to him as she tucked him into bed, her sweet voice filling his mind with a longing desire to one day have even a fraction of that love.

or in the books his father swore he didn’t own but yet somehow found themselves nestled in between the self help and business books that collected dust on his bookshelf. the tattered covers showing signs of wear and tear that could only come from a devoted reader.

but he never thought he’d make it here and experience a moment like this for himself. he never thought that this was something he’d ever even want at all. relationships had always been pushed back into the far corner of his heart, the fear from his parents ultimate brutal destruction overshadowed his desire for it.

so he never chased after love.

but then you chased after him. and he couldn’t help but welcome you in his arms. you were everything he never thought he needed. you brought peace and serenity into his life. kept him grounded, balanced but still somehow always knew how to push his buttons and keep him on his toes at the same time.

you were the perfect partner for him.

the day he met you, he had no idea how much you were going to infiltrate his life. you went behind enemy lines, storming towards his heart all without making a noise. the perfect stealth attack that left him questioning if he ever had any defenses to begin with.

but he supposed that all boiled down to a simple fact. he could act blind all he wanted, but his soul knew better, for it was the very thing that led you right into his heart, letting you steal it and make it yours.

he was just happy that it was finally in safe hands.

it all brought him crashing down to this moment — seeing your toothbrush innocently sitting next to his in the little ceramic glass by the bathroom sink. the little reminder that showed he shared his space with someone, actually letting them into every crevice of his heart. the thought had him getting a little emotional at 6 in the morning.

because he could easily look over to his right, through the opened bathroom door and see you still peacefully asleep in his bed — your shared bed. and it warmed his heart to no end.

as if you could sense his thoughts, you shift awake, watching him as he stared back at you.

“morning tetsu.” you whisper into the otherwise silent apartment. it took him a second to process the words as they spilled from your lips, watching as you slowly get up and stretch in a way that reminded him of a cat when they first rise from their slumber.

“morning sweetheart.” he smiles, his toothbrush haphazardly hanging out of the side of his mouth. you giggled at the sight, causing his grin to spread wider — wide enough for it to slip out of his mouth and into his hand. his reflexes from volleyball always came in handy when he needed it most. but he supposed he still looked like a fool in front of you — you just had that effect on him.

“you still asleep in there or something?” you ask, teasing him as you wander into the bathroom, wiping some toothpaste off his cheek before wrapping your arms around his bare waist.

“tell me, is it possible to get too much beauty sleep? because you’ve never looked more gorgeous.” he murmurs back, his large hand covering yours as he held your gaze in the mirror. he relished in the flustered expression you tried to hide as your face burrowed between his shoulder blades.

“so cheesy this early? my oh my, we’re off to a good start.” you giggle, your lips pressing against his bare back as the sound escapes you, sending chills all throughout him.

“you better believe it.” he smirks, happily leaning back into your touch. “how’d you sleep?”

“i slept great.” you poke your head out from behind him, smiling as you met his gaze in the mirror once again. it was hard for him not to immediately match your smile, the light in your eyes already brightening the dawn of the day. so he didn’t bother to fight it as his lips lifted upward. “our first night together in the apartment.”

“our apartment.” he quickly corrected, his palm patting your hand soothingly.

“our apartment.” you repeat. you pivot so you’re next to him, lightly bumping his hip with yours so he’d step to the side, giving you some room in the cramped space. you reach over and grab your toothbrush, the very one he was so caught up in only moments ago.

the quiet space now filled with life as you start your morning routine. he resumes brushing his teeth, watching each step you take.

how could something so mundane fill him with such joy?

your pretty eyes meet his in the mirror once again as you start brushing, slightly widening them in surprise under his watchful gaze.

and you were just so cute, sleep still clinging onto your sweet features as if you were internally fighting to stay awake. the two of you had plenty of sleepovers prior to you moving in, but this felt different.

this was the start of your lives together.

and it made him happy. so happy that he couldn’t help but chuckle, watching your face scrunch up at the strong minty toothpaste he used.

you couldn’t hold back your laughter either, lovingly looking at him through the mirror as your shared giggles fill the room.

if this was the first day to the rest of your lives together, he knew it would be filled with nothing but love. the kind of love he thought only existed in cliche movies and sappy poems. the kind in the bedtime stories his grandmother would read to him. the kind he found between the annotated pages of his father’s books.

but he found all of that within you, the love of his life.

thank you so much for reading :3

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K release date: december - january

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon young but nothing happens until she's 21, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

author's note: so here we are! this is the story i've been thrilled to push out as it is happening in the universe and almost simultaneously with CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI. Y/N alias Peaches here, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after champagne confetti side B goes out. I have drafts for another fics that are happening in the same universe as champagne confetti and now anubis but step by step my faries ♥ I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I was keeping for myself for a looong time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within champagne confetti universe - which i still didn't name coz all the fics just have different titles so let's just call it like that for now. Without further ado, enjoy fairies! ♥ let's go back to 1996. omfg, let's call it thatttt, back to 1996!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone. main masterlist 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

1996

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story will be up for reading, you can write in the comments and i'll create a taglist!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[mononijikayu]

love is the law, religion is taught — ryomen sukuna.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.” And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 20k words

NOTE: when i was writing this, i thought it wouldn't be this long. but when i ended up writing more and more, i just couldn't stop. i ended up writing this as a sort of prequel to the other woman's latter parts. if people are aware of me from other websites or just here, you know i write a lot. this 20k usually was my usual writing. but i feel like people like a lot of short stories. i'll post about that some time else. i'm gonna be sorry for breaking more of your hearts like this. the reason this took so long as me drafting multiple times. and then my exams. so, it just...this will be a read. anyway, i love you guys!!! thank you for your birthday wishes. see you later <3

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

YOU COULD FEEL THE YEARS IN YOUR BONES. You had been Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine for nearly ten years, a role that once filled you with dread and uncertainty. Over time, however, the nature of your relationship shifted. Unlike the others who served him out of fear or obligation, you had managed to carve out a space for yourself in his world—one of strange but growing trust.

It wasn't love, at least not for you, but it was something. Ryomen Sukuna treated you differently from the others. He sought your company more often, and the violent edge in his voice seemed to soften when he addressed you.

What set you apart wasn’t just your demeanor or willingness to adapt—it was your face, the way you looked almost identical to Ryomen Hiromi, the only woman your husband Sukuna had ever loved.

At first, you didn’t know why he lingered in your presence or why his temper cooled when you were near. It was only after overhearing a conversation between two of his most trusted advisors that you realized the truth. You looked just like her—the woman whose memory still haunted him. You had become a ghost of his past, a stand-in for the love he had lost long ago.

As the years passed, you began to understand Sukuna in ways no one else could. He never spoke of Ryomen Hiromi to you, but in quiet moments, you saw the flicker of something softer in his gaze.

Perhaps he found comfort in your presence because you reminded him of her. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he had come to care for you—not as the woman you were, but as the reflection of someone long gone.

Even so, you knew where you stood. You were the favored concubine, yes, but the specter of Ryomen Hiromi loomed between you, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of tenderness. You were not her, and you never would be. But in this cruel, tangled relationship, you had become the closest thing Sukuna allowed himself to care for.

You had long since come to terms with your place in Sukuna's world, understanding that his affection for you wasn’t truly yours. Still, it made life easier, gave you a strange sort of power in a place where others lived and died on his whims.

Once in a blue moon, sometimes, you both sat together for dinner. It was a rare occasion, that was for sure. Ryomen Sukuna often eats alone, served by his most loyal servant Uraume. But there were times when he would ask you to join him. It was often late at night, Sukuna didn't sleep well. You doubt he ever does. 

As the sun set and the air turned cool that night, Uraume had come to your chambers and told you that Sukuna summoned you to his chambers to sup with him. You were surprised. But you immediately dressed with the help of your servants and as soon as the last of your satin ribbons were tied to your hair, you rushed out towards his chambers.

When you had arrived, the servants had been tense. It is usually like that when your lord Sukuna does not get what he wants. You apologized to them quietly, as quietly as possible for your lord husband not to hear. You would rather not have him do so. He does not like anyone, anything he owns lower themselves. You told them to leave, to go away. You would rather that it be you in that room alone with him. It would be easier.  

It was one of those rare moments where he wasn’t looking to dominate or torment. Instead, he seemed pensive, sitting by the window, staring out at the horizon. Trays of food were scattered with luxurious food and luxurious ceramic tiles of alcohol. It was not for your husband. He does not need such sustenance.

It was for you, even with your small appetite. You could feel a bile rip through your throat. You purse your lips, walking inside the room and slowly lowering yourself, to bow. His crimson eyes flickered to you as you entered, and the smallest of smirks tugged at his lips. 

“You're late, little one.” he said, his voice deep and teasing, though there was no real malice in it.

"I was making sure I looked presentable, my lord." you replied calmly, accustomed to his games. "I didn't think you'd appreciate rushing in disarray with your servant.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, but you had learned to discern when that sound held genuine amusement. He urges you forward from your bowing position and you stand up, moving towards him and sitting on the silk pillow as gracefully as you could.

"You always did know how to play the part. Perhaps that's why I tolerate you more than the others."

You sat across from him, not too close, but not far enough to seem distant. "Or perhaps it's because I remind you of her."

At this, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you had overstepped. But instead of lashing out, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering on you. You looked over the meal and started to plate for your husband, even if he does not eat it. And then yourself. You slowly moved your sleeve away, carefully as you took the alcoholic beverage and started pouring it upon silver cups, first for him and then on your own. 

"You think you're clever, little one?" he said, his tone neutral, betraying nothing. "But tell me... do you believe that’s all you are to me? A ghost of someone who no longer exists?"

It was a question you had pondered many nights alone in your chambers, alone and cold, unable to sleep whatsoever. You wanted to believe that over the years, you had carved out a space of your own in his cold heart, but the truth was undeniable. You were Ryomen Hiromi’s echo, the closest thing he would allow himself to love again. But how much of you, the real you, did he see?

"I don’t pretend to know what goes on in your mind, my lord." you said carefully, holding his gaze. "But I know I am not her. And I know you don’t care for me the way you cared for her."

Silence hung heavy between you. Sukuna's eyes, burning with something unreadable, bore into yours before he spoke again, softer than usual. He uncharacteristically lets his hand move towards the table and slowly takes one of the silver cups full of sake and raises it to his lips. He downs it slowly, letting the cool smooth taste echoes on his throat.

"You're right, little one." he admitted, surprising you. "You're not her. You never will be. Best remember it, hm?"

His words were sharp, meant to cut, but they didn't sting the way they once might have. You were used to those words. And so you do not speak. You let him say what he does and slowly let yourself consume the warm flavorful broth.

Sukuna looks towards you once more, watching you eat some meat. Silence echoes through the room. Instead, they hung in the air like a truth neither of you could avoid. And yet, as he turned his gaze back toward the setting sun, his voice grew quieter.

"But you're the only one who's come close."

It wasn’t an admission of love or devotion—you already know that your lord Sukuna wasn’t capable of that, not anymore. You were used to it. And yet, even if it was something you were used to it — you were still pained by it. But it was the closest you would ever get to understanding his complicated feelings for you. It was all that was left in his pitch black heart that never belonged to Ryomen Hiromi. You swallowed the last of the meat.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.”

And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

He rose from his seat, approaching you with the predatory grace that always reminded you of the monster he truly was. He cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward him, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. You could feel your breath hitch hotly as his gaze burned your own. You purse your lips, trying to maintain control of yourself.

"But never forget, little one." Sukuna continued, his tone dropping. "You are here because I allow it. You may remind me of her, but you are still mine to control."

You held his gaze, unflinching. "I haven’t forgotten, my lord."

For a moment, the two of you remained like that for a moment. It was as though you were both locked in a silent struggle of power, emotion, and unspoken understanding. Even after ten years, it was just that way. Finally, Sukuna released you, stepping back as though the moment had never happened.

"Good." he said, turning away once more. "Now leave me for the night, little one. I’ve had enough of this sentimental nonsense for one night."

You nodded at him. You drank the last cup of alcohol and let the bitterness burn you. Soon after, you rose without a word, bowing slightly before you made your way to the door. Just before you left, you paused, glancing back at him one last time.

"I wish you a good night, my lord."

He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the horizon. But as you left, you couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, buried deep within him, there was more to his feelings than even he understood.

══════════════════

THE PEOPLE OF HIDA VIEWED YOUR HUSBAND LIKE A GOD. They always have, for as long as you could remember. The grand hall of Ryomen Sukuna’s temple buzzed with the presence of those who had come from all corners of Hida.

The heavy doors swung open to let in petitioners, men and women alike, who approached with heads bowed low, their faces masked with fear or desperation. Some came seeking mercy, others with requests for blessings or favors only Sukuna could grant.

They dared not meet his eyes as they offered up their pleas, knowing that their fates rested on the whims of the man seated high upon the throne.

And there you sat, just below him, on a fine mahogany chair that had been made specifically for you, a symbol of your status within the temple. The carved wood was smooth beneath your fingers, but no amount of comfort could erase the tension simmering beneath your skin.

Sukuna's gaze swept across the crowd with indifference, his presence towering over all as his blood-streaked eyes flickered lazily between the petitioners. You could feel the immense weight of his power bearing down on the room, as though his very presence could crush anyone at will.

But what irked you the most wasn’t the groveling or the constant fear that filled this place. No, it was her.

Directly in front of you, standing tall in the center of the hall, was the statue of Ryomen Hiromi. The woman who had haunted you from the moment you became Sukuna's concubine. The resemblance between you and her was striking—uncannily so.

The cold, lifelike stone eyes stared straight ahead, almost as if they were judging you, just as she had judged countless others. The figure of Hiromi was positioned so that it faced not just Sukuna, but you as well, creating an eerie sense of being under constant scrutiny. Her hands, carved with impeccable precision, reached out in a serene pose, like a goddess looking down on humanity.

It was not just this one statue, either. There were others scattered throughout the temple—statues, paintings, carvings—each one depicting Hiromi in a different light. She was revered here, just as much as Sukuna himself.

The woman Sukuna loved most, the woman you could never truly become, was enshrined in every corner of his temple. Her image lingered like a ghost, haunting you, reminding you that no matter how close you sat to his throne, you would always be second to her.

Sukuna’s voice echoed in the chamber, deep and commanding, as he passed judgment on the next petitioner, his words casual as if human lives were merely tokens to him. You barely listened, too distracted by the sensation of Hiromi’s stone eyes watching you, bored at you with those haunting eyes..

You couldn’t escape her. Not here. Not ever.

Your eyes drifted from the petitioner at Sukuna's feet back to the statue, a chill crawling down your spine. It was too perfect. The way it captured her beauty, her serene expression, the very essence of what made her Ryomen Hiromi—everything that made her more than just a memory for Sukuna.

You wondered, in your darkest moments, whether Sukuna had commissioned these statues himself, making sure they were as accurate as possible, preserving every detail of the woman he loved more than life itself.

The thought gnawed at you.

The crowd shifted again, and you could hear the low murmurs of the people waiting for their turn to kneel before Sukuna. A faint breeze from the temple’s high windows stirred the air, and the faint sound of bells chimed in the distance.

And still, the statue stood, unwavering, staring at you with those lifeless eyes. It was as if Ryomen Hiromi had never left, as if she lingered between this world and the next, a permanent fixture in Sukuna’s heart, never allowing you to forget that you were only here because of her.

“Next.” Sukuna’s voice boomed, pulling you from your thoughts.

Another petitioner shuffled forward, trembling as they knelt. Sukuna watched them with a bored expression, waiting for them to speak.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, your gaze flickered back to the statue—always back to her. She was everywhere. No matter where you turned in this temple, in this life with Sukuna, Ryomen Hiromi was there.

Her presence was eternal, and it was driving you mad.

It wasn’t as if you truly hated Ryomen Hiromi. How could you hate someone you had never met, someone who existed only in the memories of others and in the cold, flawless statues that filled this temple? No, hatred wasn’t the right word. But her presence—her haunting, ever-present likeness—gnawed at you in ways that went deeper than resentment. It was painful.

Painful because every time you looked at her, it reminded you that you would never truly be seen for who you were. Sukuna’s gaze might fall on you often, but you knew the truth. He wasn’t looking at you—he was seeing her. You were a reflection, an echo of the only woman he had ever truly loved. And that knowledge burns inside you, slowly and constantly.

The way her statues were placed, almost reverent, made it clear just how important she was. To the people of this land, Ryomen Hiromi was no less a god than Sukuna himself. Her beauty, her grace, her presence—immortalized in stone—became a legend, a tale passed down from generation to generation. And you? You were simply the woman who bore her face, destined to be a stand-in for a love long lost.

You couldn’t escape it.

Even now, as you sat in that carefully crafted chair below Sukuna’s throne, the image of Hiromi loomed over you. Her delicate features seemed to accuse you, her eyes hollow but full of judgment. It was as if she were silently asking: Why are you here? Why are you in this temple, sitting at his feet, when you could never be me?

Your fingers tightened on the armrests, a subtle but instinctive reaction to the thoughts swirling in your mind. You knew it wasn’t logical to be angry at a statue—at a dead woman whose only crime was being loved by Sukuna—but the feeling still crept in. You had no reason to despise her, but the weight of constantly living in her shadow was suffocating.

Another plea for mercy echoed through the hall, but you barely registered it. Sukuna’s voice was deep, dismissive as he granted or denied requests with a wave of his hand. This was his world, and Hiromi was as much a part of it as you were. More, even. She had her place in his heart, in his temple, in the minds of the people who worshiped them both.

But where was your place? Were you always to be nothing more than a reflection, someone to remind him of what he had lost? And what pained you more was that even after nearly ten years by his side, you hadn’t found an answer to that question. Sukuna had grown accustomed to you, perhaps even fond of you, but you knew that in the deepest recesses of his heart, it was Hiromi’s memory that still held sway.

It hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t her. And no matter how long you stayed by Sukuna’s side, no matter how much you tried to understand him, to navigate the storm of his power and wrath, you could never be her.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your gaze, away from the statue, away from the memory that plagued you. The hall was filled with voices, but none of them reached you. Sukuna’s voice, sharp and dismissive, barely registered in your ears.

The weight of Hiromi’s existence pressed down on you, heavier than the stone statues that surrounded you, more oppressive than the walls of the temple that bore her likeness in every corner. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder—a dangerous, fleeting thought—what would it have been like if she had never existed?

If Ryomen Hiromi had never crossed Sukuna’s path, never claimed the part of his heart that was now lost to time, would his gaze fall upon you differently? Would he see you, truly, and not the pale reflection of the woman he had loved so deeply? Could you have been someone significant to him in your own right, not simply because of your resemblance to her?

The thought lingered, bittersweet, filling you with a longing you barely allowed yourself to acknowledge. It was tempting, imagining a world where Hiromi had never been. Where you, instead of living in her shadow, might have been the first to carve a place in Sukuna’s heart, the one to leave an indelible mark on his soul.

But it was a foolish thought, and you knew it.

Hiromi had shaped him. Her love—or perhaps the memory of her—had molded him into the man he was now. She wasn’t just a figure of the past. She was the cornerstone of this entire existence, the silent foundation upon which Sukuna had built his empire, his throne, his identity.

The cold stone likeness of her didn’t just haunt this temple—it haunted Sukuna’s very being. It influenced his every thought, his every action, even the way he looked at you.

You weren’t just living in her shadow. You were her shadow, a reflection of something he could never truly let go of. And no matter what you did, no matter how close you came to him, you would always be caught between the person you were and the ghost of Hiromi.

And the worst part? You couldn’t hate her. Not really.

You wanted to. In those quiet, agonizing moments when you felt Sukuna’s eyes on you, knowing he was searching for traces of her in your face, you wanted to hate Hiromi with all your being. But how could you? She had been everything to him. Her love had meant something so profound that even in death, she lingered, casting her long shadow over the living. Her presence was woven into the very fabric of Sukuna’s existence.

But more than that, you owed her everything. Without Hiromi, without the love that had marked Sukuna so deeply, would he have ever taken notice of you at all? Would he have seen something in your face, something in your eyes that reminded him of the one woman he had ever loved?

Without Hiromi, you might not even be here. Her memory had brought you into his life, kept you by his side for nearly ten years. The recognition that you shared her likeness had made you his favorite, the one concubine who had stayed when so many others had come and gone. In some twisted way, Hiromi had paved the path that led you to this place, to this seat below his throne, to the strange, fragile bond you now shared with him.

But living in her shadow—it was a torment all its own.

Every statue, every carving, every whispered prayer to her image reminded you that no matter how close you came to Sukuna, you were not her. And you never would be. The affection he might show you was born not out of love for you, but out of a love that had long since died with Hiromi. You were the echo of something that had ended, a reflection of a life he had lost.

It was a strange, agonizing paradox. Without Hiromi, you would have nothing, no connection to Sukuna at all. But because of her, you would also never have everything. You could never be the woman he truly loved, no matter how long you stayed at his side.

And so, you sat there, beneath Sukuna’s throne, as the statue of Hiromi looked down on you with cold, indifferent eyes, her presence an inescapable reminder of the role you played in his life.

A role you hadn’t chosen, but one you were bound to, for as long as Sukuna wished it.

You snap back to the present as Sukuna’s deep voice rumbles through the hall, breaking through your swirling thoughts. “What do you think?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the kneeling man before him to you. His expression is unreadable, cold and calculating, as always, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his tone.

You blink, focusing on the man who trembles at Sukuna’s feet, eyes downcast, waiting for his judgment. The hall, filled with the murmurs of the petitioners, goes quiet in anticipation.

“What is his crime?” you ask, your voice calm, though you feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you.

“He stole, little one.” Sukuna replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice as if daring you to suggest otherwise. “From one of my temples.”

You sigh softly, leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing slightly as you assess the man. His clothes are tattered, his hands dirty and worn—clearly a sign of the hard times that have plagued the land recently. The famine had hit Hida hard this year. Crops had failed, and many of the people were barely surviving, struggling just to feed their families.

“The famine has been hard on all, my lord.” you say quietly, though there’s an edge of empathy in your words. You weren’t excusing the man, but you understood the desperation that drove people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise done. Hunger was a cruel master, and you’d seen its effects firsthand in the villages.

“That does not mean he is entitled to steal, little one.” Sukuna counters, his tone sharp, though he doesn’t seem angry—more like he’s making a point. “There needs to be justice.”

You purse your lips, knowing Sukuna’s sense of justice could be harsh, final, and unyielding. He ruled with an iron fist, and mercy was not something he granted easily. But you also knew he valued your opinion, at least in his own little ways. After all, you were the one concubine whose voice he truly listened to.

“Then chain him to me, my lord.” you say, your words surprising even yourself. You sit up straighter, meeting Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Let this man serve me in the Vermillion hall. My private garden needs tending. Let him work under my watch so that he may learn a lesson. Let him toil in the hardship of life for his mistake, rather than meet more... final end.”

The man at Sukuna’s feet looks up, his eyes wide with shock, perhaps hope, though he dares not speak. It was almost rare for anyone to be heard speaking with such authority in this hall the way Ryomen Sukuna does.

It was rarer that your voice was heard with such a loud echo. The other woman speaks, they all must think. The rarest words from her lips. Mercy, the virtue of the woman she could never replace, echoing in the stone sight of her.

The hall remains silent, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for Sukuna’s response.

Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, studying you for a long moment. You can feel the weight of his power in his gaze, the way he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. He is not a man to grant mercy lightly, and you know the risk you’re taking by asking this of him.

But after nearly ten years by his side, you’ve come to understand how to navigate his moods, his whims, and his sense of order. You knew when to have him indulge you, even when it was not an occurrence you repeated frequently.

Finally, a slow smile curves at the corners of his mouth. It’s not a warm smile—it never is—but it’s a sign that he’s pleased. “Very well, little one.” he says, his voice carrying the authority of his decision. “Let him serve you in the Vermillion hall. He will tend your garden, as you wish. But if he steps out of line—if he falters, even once—you will bring him back to me. He shall meet his end in the hands of his lord. Do you understand?”

There is no mistaking the threat beneath his words. You nod, accepting his terms.

“Thank you, my lord.” you say softly, turning your gaze to the man who has been spared, for now. He looks up at you with a mix of relief and fear, clearly aware of how close he came to a far more brutal fate.

Sukuna leans back on his throne, watching you both, as if amused by the small victory you’ve won for the man. But you know better than to think Sukuna was softened. This was merely a moment of indulgence, granted to you because of the peculiar bond you shared.

As the guards move to take the man away, you return your attention to the grand statue of Ryomen Hiromi, standing in front of you, her stone eyes as cold and distant as ever.

In the shadow of the woman who had everything, you had won a small victory today. But the haunting presence of Hiromi lingered still, reminding you that no matter what you did, Sukuna’s heart would never truly belong to you. And no matter what – your kindness would never be as beloved by the people who revered the stone that was left.

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YOU ENJOYED THE PRIVILEGE OF PRIVACY. Every day, you enjoyed the distant life you had lived here in the Vermillion hall. The Vermillion hall had been a gift from Sukuna, presented to you on your fifth year in his temple.

It wasn’t grand in the way his own halls were, but it was yours. A quiet, secluded enclave within the sprawling temple grounds, removed from the constant presence of the other concubines and the weight of Hiromi’s looming statues.

In the years prior, you had only been given a selection of rooms within Sukuna’s own quarters, close enough for him to visit whenever he pleased. Though his visits were rare, those rooms had been a symbol of your availability to him, a reminder that you were under his thumb, always within reach.

But as time passed, and your bond with Sukuna evolved into something more complex than mere possession, he decided to give you something more. Vermillion hall became yours. It was a gesture that left the other concubines seething with jealousy.

They already despised how close you had become to Sukuna, how often he lingered by your side, and now they had another reason to resent you. You knew that their hatred ran deep, festered in the corridors of his temple, where whispers of favoritism and betrayal echoed in the dark.

To pacify them, and perhaps to create some distance between you and their hostility, Sukuna had given you the Vermillion Hall. It wasn’t a grand act of love, nor was it some romantic gesture. It was practical. The gift served to ease tensions, to quell your growing discomfort, and to offer you a reprieve from the suffocating dynamics of the temple’s inner court.

In Vermillion Hall, you had your own household. Your own space, away from the eyes that burned with envy. Your own garden, tended by servants who answered only to you. There were pleasantries there, comforts that softened the harshness of your life with Sukuna. The hall was peaceful, serene, and for the first time in years, you had a sense of autonomy, a place to call your own.

You were aware of what the gift truly meant. It wasn’t love, not even affection in the way one might hope. Sukuna had never cared in that way. His gestures, while grand, were always calculated.

Vermillion hall was an offering of peace, a way to keep you satisfied, pacified. It wasn’t an act of affection but of convenience. With your own residence, you were removed from the tensions of the other concubines. You were out of the way, kept at a distance while still under his control.

And yet, you were grateful. Despite knowing the reasons behind it, you cherished the hall because it afforded you something you hadn’t realized you craved so deeply—freedom.

You were far enough from the other concubines, from their petty schemes and cruel glares. Away from the prying, stone-cold eyes of Hiromi’s likeness, always watching you from every corner of the main temple. And, perhaps most importantly, you were away from Sukuna’s immediate reach.

Here, in your quiet refuge, you could breathe without constantly feeling the weight of his presence or his demands. The distance didn’t erase your bond with him—Sukuna could summon you whenever he wished, and you would always return—but it allowed you moments of solitude, moments to reflect and gather yourself.

In Vermillion Hall, you found a strange sort of peace. Away from the tempest of Sukuna’s world, you could finally be alone with your thoughts. And in that space, you realized how much you had craved this separation—how, even in your closeness to Sukuna, you had always yearned to be free from the shadow of both him and Hiromi.

The garden at Vermillion hall was your sanctuary. It had been from the moment you first stepped foot into it, surrounded by delicate vermillion petals, fragrant herbs, and the soft hum of nature’s presence.

Sukuna had forbidden the servants from tending to it, decreeing that it was yours alone to care for, a space untouched by others. It was a strange sort of gift—one that granted you solitude but also burdened you with its upkeep.

In the beginning, you had relished the challenge, pouring your time and energy into every plant, every blossom. The act of tending the garden gave you purpose, something to pour your hands into when everything else in your life felt dictated by Sukuna’s whims. It was an escape, a place where you could breathe and let your thoughts wander.

But as the years passed, you found it harder to keep up with. The garden grew wild, sprawling beyond what you could manage alone. The weight of maintaining it, along with the complexities of your life in Vermillion hall, began to overwhelm you. What was once your refuge now became a reminder of your isolation, each untended leaf and overgrown vine whispering of the loneliness you felt within these walls.

That was when Sukuna granted your request—begrudgingly, perhaps—and allowed you a servant. The man who came to you, your new gardener, was named Hironobu. His name meant “gentle abundance” and it seemed to suit him perfectly.

He was a quiet, unassuming figure, with a calm presence that filled the garden like a steady breeze. He wasn’t like the other servants, who always carried a quiet fear of Sukuna in their eyes. There was something different about Hironobu, a certain calm that put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

At first, you barely spoke to him, unsure of how to navigate the strangeness of having someone else in your once-private space. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, you began to find comfort in his presence. He tended to the garden with care, never overstepping, always leaving space for you to do what you wished. But slowly, you began to rely on him more and more. His hands, though calloused, were gentle with the plants, and you found yourself watching him sometimes, noticing the way he seemed to move with the rhythm of the earth.

Conversations began to bloom between the two of you, small at first—a comment about the soil, a shared observation about a plant’s growth. But over time, you began to talk about other things. Life. The temple. The world beyond its walls, which felt like a distant dream. Hironobu listened more than he spoke, his quiet presence a balm to your often lonely existence.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Not in the same way you were tied to Sukuna, but in something softer, something more human. Hironobu didn’t see you as a concubine or as someone living in the shadow of Hiromi. He saw you as you were—a person. A soul, just like him.

There was no pretense with him. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

In the afternoons, you would find him in the garden, kneeling by the plants, his fingers brushing against the earth as if he were communicating with it. You would sit nearby, watching him work, feeling a peace you hadn’t known in years. It was a strange thing, this growing connection between the two of you.

You weren’t sure when it had started—perhaps from the very first time he smiled at you, or perhaps later, when you noticed that being with him felt different than with anyone else.

With Hironobu, the garden began to feel like a sanctuary again, not just from Sukuna or the other concubines, but from your own loneliness. The space that had once been yours alone became something shared, and in that sharing, something beautiful blossomed—a quiet companionship, a bond that grew in the shadow of the vermillion blossoms.

For the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t completely alone. Hironobu was there, steady and calm, tending to the garden as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And with each passing day, you found yourself growing closer to him, drawn to the gentle abundance of his presence.

One late afternoon, as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, you found yourself kneeling beside Hironobu. He was carefully pruning one of the flowering shrubs, his focus entirely on the delicate task. You watched him for a moment in silence, taking in the way his hands moved with precision, the soft rustle of leaves under his touch.

“You’ve done wonders with this place, Hironobu.” you finally said, your voice breaking the quiet. “I barely recognize it anymore. It feels… alive again.”

Hironobu glanced up, offering a small smile. “It was always alive, thanks to your good work, my lady. It just needed a little bit more care.”

You could feel warmth brush against your cheek as you nodded, brushing your fingers along the edge of a flower petal. “I couldn’t have managed it on my own. I’m grateful that you’re here.”

There was a moment of quiet between you, the air filled with the soft hum of the garden’s life. Hironobu set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth, then looked at you with an expression that was both kind and thoughtful.

“You speak as if you’re alone here, my lady.” he said quietly. “But you’re not. Not anymore.”

His words settled between you, a truth that you hadn’t fully realized until now. The loneliness that had once pressed down on you had lifted, little by little, ever since he arrived.

“I suppose… I’ve gotten used to being alone.” you admitted, your voice softer than before. “It’s been that way for so long. Even when I was with lord Sukuna, surrounded by people, it was always the same. The others… they hated me. And lady Hiromi……” You hesitated, glancing at the distant temple where her statues stood in silent vigil. “She’s everywhere.”

Hironobu’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he sat back on his heels and watched you with a gentle patience that you had come to value. You could tell that he had some fondness for Hiromi.

Who wouldn’t? His parents must have told her of the good deeds of Ryomen Hiromi. You were but a nobody and Hiromi, she was immortal to the people, to the land. You were an outsider to these people.

“Do you resent lady Hiromi, my lady?” he asked quietly, his tone free of judgment.

You shook your head, though the truth of it weighed heavily on you. “No. I can’t. How could I? Lord Sukuna loved her. And she is kind and generous, she was genuine, I am sure. But I…..I’m… I’m only here because I remind him of her.”

Hironobu’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes thoughtful. “And yet, he chose to keep you close. To give you this hall, this garden. That’s not something he does for everyone, my lady. You are important to our lord.”

“Maybe.” You sighed, the weight of your situation pressing down on you once more. “But it’s not love. I doubt it was. Not like it was with lady Hiromi.”

There was a long pause as you both sat in the quiet of the garden, the only sound the soft breeze moving through the leaves.

“Do you wish it was, my lady?” Hironobu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the question. His eyes were steady, sincere. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered that yourself. Would it be easier if Sukuna truly loved you? If you weren’t just a replacement for a woman who was no longer here?

But as you looked into Hironobu’s eyes, the answer felt more complicated than it ever had before.

“I don’t know, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Maybe at first, I did. But now… I’m not sure it matters.”

Hironobu’s expression softened, and he nodded as if he understood. “Love doesn’t always come in the way we expect it to, my lady.”

You met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words felt more like an invitation than a simple observation.

“I suppose not.” you murmured.

A comfortable silence fell between you again, and after a few moments, Hironobu stood and extended a hand to help you up. You took it, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, and for a moment, you stood there together in the quiet of the garden.

“Shall we finish up for today?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. “Hironobu?”

He paused, looking at you curiously. “Yes, my lady?”

“I don’t think I could have done this without you.” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Not just the garden. Everything.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re not alone anymore, my lady. I hope you may remember that.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, a quiet understanding passing between you. As you walked back toward the hall, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted. Not just in the garden, but between you and Hironobu as well. The distance that once separated you felt smaller, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps, in the gentle abundance of his presence, you had found something you hadn’t been looking for. Something that, unlike the garden, wouldn’t fade with time.

══════════════════

YOU STARTED TO ENJOY GARDENING WITH SOMEONE. As the days passed in the garden, you and Hironobu grew closer. His laughter filled the spaces that had long been silent, echoing in the air like a sweet melody that danced among the blossoms.

Each shared moment became a thread weaving into the fabric of your existence, bringing warmth and light into your life. The garden, once a sanctuary of solitude and melancholy, transformed into a vibrant tapestry of color and life under his gentle care.

You found yourself eagerly anticipating his visits, counting down the hours until he would arrive, a basket in hand, ready to tend to the plants that flourished under his skilled touch.

The sunlight seemed to brighten when he stepped through the gates of the vermilion hall, illuminating not just the petals of the flowers but your heart as well. Each time he smiled, it felt as though the world around you bloomed anew, and you began to notice the small joys that had previously gone unnoticed—the way the sun filtered through the leaves, the gentle rustle of the wind, and the songs of birds fluttering above.

Conversations flowed easily between you, often starting with the mundane aspects of gardening—discussing the best ways to prune the roses or debating which herbs to plant next. But as you both shared stories and laughter, the dialogue deepened, revealing layers of your souls. Hironobu spoke of his childhood, his dreams of becoming a skilled gardener, and the joy he found in nurturing life. You opened up about your life in the temple, the challenges you faced as Sukuna’s concubine, and the bittersweet longing you felt for freedom.

“Do you remember the first time you showed me how to care for the orchids?” you asked one day, recalling the way he had patiently guided your hands, teaching you the delicate art of nurturing the fragile blooms.

Hironobu chuckled, a warm, rich sound that resonated in your chest. “You were a quick learner. I think you were more excited about getting your hands dirty than the flowers themselves!”

You smiled at the memory, the image of dirt smudged across your palms and the way his eyes had sparkled with amusement. “Maybe I just liked spending time with you,” you replied, your heart racing at your own boldness.

His gaze softened, and you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that hinted at unspoken feelings. “I like spending time with you too. You make this place feel alive. It’s more than just the plants; it’s the way you see beauty in everything, even in the shadows.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, filling the hollow spaces within your heart that had long been empty. You found yourself blushing, the warmth of his gaze igniting a spark of hope in your chest. In those moments, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift, if only for a while. You felt cherished, seen, and—dare you think it—truly happy.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks, you were reminded of the solitude that lingered beneath this newfound joy. While Hironobu brought a lightness to your life, there was still an underlying ache, a reminder that this connection, as precious as it felt, existed in a world defined by shadows.

One afternoon, as you and Hironobu knelt side by side in the garden, tending to a patch of vibrant marigolds, he paused, his hands resting in the soil. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “it’s strange how life brings us together in unexpected ways. I never imagined I would find such joy in tending a garden, especially one that belongs to someone as remarkable as you.”

You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s not just the garden. You’ve brought joy into my life, Hironobu. I can’t remember the last time I felt this… alive.”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden faded away. The towering walls of the temple, the looming presence of Sukuna, and the whispers of the other concubines—all of it seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you, surrounded by the fragrant blooms and the warmth of the sun.

“I wish I could give you more than this, my lady.” Hironobu said softly, his expression earnest. “You deserve to be happy, to feel free. This garden is a refuge, but I want you to feel that way outside of it too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of longing and affection intertwining within you. “I… I don’t know what the future holds for me, but right now, I’m grateful for this moment with you, Hironobu.”

One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of oranges and purples, you were gathering a basket of freshly picked herbs when Hironobu approached, his expression unusually serious.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, his tone almost hesitant.

You set the basket down and nodded, your heart fluttering with curiosity. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I want to apologize for what I’m about to say, my lady.” he started, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “I know it may change things between us.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Hironobu, what do you mean?”

He shifted his weight, glancing away as if searching for the right words. “I’ve grown fond of you—more than I intended to. I can no longer pretend that it’s just admiration or friendship.” He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours, filled with an earnestness that made your heart race. “I’m in love with you, my lady.”

The world seemed to pause at his confession. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

“I know you are married to lord Sukuna, my lady.” he continued, his voice low and filled with regret. “And I never intended to overstep my bounds. But I had to tell you, because hiding it would only cause me more pain and I would not be fair to you, my lady.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. “Hironobu, I—”

“Please, my lady.” he interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop you. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know how I feel. You deserve to know that you’ve brought joy into my life, more than I could ever have imagined. And if you cannot return those feelings, I will understand. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache. You felt a mixture of emotions—surprise, fear, and an undeniable warmth that surged through you at his words.

“I never wanted to put you in this position, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve enjoyed our time together so much, but I… I’m married to lord Sukuna. You know how he is.”

“Of course, my lady.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. I just thought… perhaps there was a chance you might feel the same way.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a wave. Sukuna was a force of nature, and while your relationship with him was complex, it was rooted in years of shared history—of loyalty and duty.

But here was Hironobu, his honesty and vulnerability laid bare before you. He was a breath of fresh air in your life, and the connection you shared felt like a balm to the wounds of your past.

“I—” you began, searching for the right words. “You make me feel seen, Hironobu. Happy. But this isn’t simple. I can’t just—”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured, my lady.” he said, stepping closer, concern etched on his features. “I expect nothing. I only wanted to be honest about my feelings. And take care of you, my lady. You deserve that much.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions almost overwhelming. “I appreciate your honesty. It means a lot to me, truly. But I can’t deny that this is all very complicated. I never intended for this to happen.”

“I understand, my lady.” he replied, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. I care about you, and I want to help you in any way I can. I will be your servant, for as long as I live.”

In that moment, something shifted between you. The air felt charged with unspoken possibilities, and though the path ahead was uncertain, the connection you had with Hironobu felt undeniable. You might not have the answers now, but there was a warmth in the garden that promised a new beginning.

“I see.” you said softly, your heart pounding. 

“My lady, I adore you. I always will.” Hironobu said, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll always be here, tending to the garden—and to you.”

As he turned to leave, you watched him go, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. You couldn’t help but wonder what this new chapter might hold, not just for you, but for both of you. In the garden’s gentle embrace, you felt a sense of hope begin to bloom, fragile yet persistent.

══════════════════

YOU THINK YOU’VE NEVER BEEN THE PERSON TO PRAY. But in the past ten years, you found yourself finding relief in prayer. It reminds you of your mother’s piety, of your father’s mumbling whispers to the gods, your brothers and sisters sitting beside you.

You haven’t seen them in ten years. But you wish they were well. And even if you don’t see them anymore, this gives you relief.

You knelt in the inner sanctum of the temple, bowing your head in prayer before the statue of Bishamon. Your lips moved silently, asking for a clear mind, but no matter how hard you prayed, you could not banish the thought from your head—Hironobu, your loyal gardener, had confessed his love to you.

It had taken you by surprise. You were Sukuna's concubine. You could not be with Hironobu. And yet, he made you happy in a way you hadn’t known was possible, and your heart was torn. To tell Sukuna was out of the question. If he knew, he could kill Hironobu without hesitation. You shivered at the thought.

The flickering light from the temple’s lanterns cast shadows on the walls, their soft glow doing little to soothe the turmoil raging inside you. How could something so pure—a love untainted by power and possession—be so wrong? How could you feel joy when the very thought of it put Hironobu’s life in peril?

Your mind returned to that moment, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke his feelings, the tenderness in his voice. He had always been gentle, always there with a quiet presence, nurturing the garden you so often found peace in. And now, he wants to nurture you. But you were Sukuna’s, bound to him by fear and something you could never quite define as love. Duty, perhaps. A twisted form of devotion. But love? That was not something you could claim to feel for the man who held you in his iron grip.

A soft breeze swept through the temple, brushing against your skin like a whisper, and you closed your eyes, imagining for a moment what life might be like if things were different. If you could run. If you could be free. But such thoughts were dangerous, reckless even, and you knew you would never act on them.

Just then, you heard footsteps behind you, a familiar presence that made your breath catch. Sukuna.

"I didn’t know you prayed," his voice cut through the silence like a blade, deep and commanding, bringing you back to the harsh reality of your situation.

Your heart raced as you slowly rose from your knees, turning to face him. He stood in the dim light, towering over you as always, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

"I did not take you for a pious woman," Sukuna continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing you.

"Piety is a comfort, my lord," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. "It eases the soul to have someone that listens."

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the statue of Bishamon for a moment before returning to you. "Hm," he muttered, unimpressed, though his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. "Then do you pray to me?"

You blinked, taken aback by the question. "What do you mean, my lord?"

Sukuna stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and intense. "Am I not a god?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous. "Your god?"

For a moment, your breath faltered, but then you gathered yourself. You had to be careful. You had to choose your words wisely. A soft, almost bitter smile tugged at your lips. "My lord," you whispered, meeting his gaze with a quiet defiance, "do I not worship you already? Does my entire existence, my suffering, my love for you—" your voice grew quieter, but sharper, "—is it not enough worship for you as my god?"

Sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, and for the first time in your life, you saw something close to uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

But you did not feel victorious. You felt hollow. Because no matter what you said, no matter how sharp your words were, you were still bound to him. Still trapped.

And Hironobu? He would never be yours.

The silence between you and Sukuna stretched on, thick with tension. His gaze remained locked on you, unyielding, as though searching for something deeper within you—some trace of weakness, some sign of betrayal. But you stood tall, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t let him see your turmoil, couldn’t let him suspect that anyone had stirred your heart, least of all someone as lowly as a gardener.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, though there was no amusement in his eyes. “Careful with your tongue, woman,” he said softly, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “There are limits to even my patience.”

You bowed your head slightly, a gesture of submission. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me if my words displeased you.”

He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing through your very soul, before turning away, his crimson robes trailing behind him as he walked toward the temple’s entrance. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, thinking he was leaving, that the conversation had come to an end.

But then he stopped.

“You seem… distant, little one.” Sukuna remarked, his voice casual but laced with suspicion. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could feel his eyes on you, even without seeing them. “Something troubles you.”

Your heart froze. Did he know? Could he sense the conflict within you?

“No, my lord.” you replied quickly, too quickly, the lie on your lips before you could think. “I am merely tired.”

“Tired? This does not seem to be you, little one.” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the way his eyes bore into yours made your pulse quicken. “I don’t believe you.”

Your throat tightened as you scrambled for something, anything, to say. “I—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna took a step closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin with a roughness that made you wince, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I am not someone who tolerates deceit, little one.” he growled, his face mere inches from yours. “If something weighs on your mind, you will tell me. Now.”

The air around you felt suffocating, your mind racing with thoughts of Hironobu. You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The truth would mean death—for Hironobu, perhaps for you as well. But Sukuna’s grip tightened, his impatience growing, and you knew you had to give him something.

“I am troubled, my lord. you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “But it is not something that concerns you, my lord.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still suspicious. “Everything about you concerns me. You belong to me.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “It is only… the weight of my life, my place here. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your chin loosening slightly. “Your place is exactly where I put you, little one.” he said coldly, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that made your skin crawl. “Do not forget that.”

“I haven’t, my lord. You must not have to worry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

For a moment, he seemed to study you, searching your face for signs of rebellion, of disobedience. But then, slowly, he released you, taking a step back. You wonder if it was relief or it was disappointment you truly feel — knowing that he does not ask, that he lets you go. You purse your lips in a tight line. But you know that he does not wish to notice it. 

“Good.” he muttered, turning away once more. “Do not forget who holds your life in their hands.”

With that, he strode toward the exit, his presence leaving the room like a dark cloud finally lifting. You stood there, frozen, the echoes of his words reverberating through your mind. He didn’t know. Not yet.

But how long could you keep this secret? How long before Sukuna’s suspicions became too great, before he began digging for the truth? You had already slipped too close to the edge today, and it terrified you to think of how much closer you might come tomorrow.

And Hironobu… how could you ever look at him again, knowing the danger your feelings for him brought? Knowing that Sukuna’s wrath could fall upon him at any moment?

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not in Sukuna’s world. But in the quiet recesses of your heart, where Sukuna could not reach, the thought of Hironobu lingered—like a fleeting ray of light in a dark, unyielding storm.

══════════════════

YOU HAD EXCUSED YOURSELF FROM DINNER EARLY. And you could not take too much food when you were in Sukuna’s chambers. That had concerned Sukuna, even if he did not want to show it. You were a human being after all. And if anything was wrong with you, it concerns Sukuna. You were his. You were a part of him.

And if a part of him was unwell, he must ensure its settled. Ryomen Sukuna had not meant to stay long when he visited Vermillion hall, your residence. He had come for something trivial, something that now seemed insignificant as his eyes fell upon you.

He stood in the shadows, watching from a distance, concealed by the thick trees lining the garden. You didn’t notice him; your attention was entirely on that servant, that Hironobu. He could feel the air punched out of his chest.

The way you smiled at him, laughed softly at something he said—it was a smile Sukuna had never seen on your face before. Genuine, unguarded, free. Happy. In the truest sense. 

That wretched low life Hironobu knelt beside you, tending to the flowers, his hands moving carefully as he spoke to you. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. No, Sukuna could understand it. It was the tenderness he had when he looked at Hiromi. He looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.It was love. It was adoration. It was devotion. Sukuna’s chest tightened painfully, and his fists clenched at his sides.

What was this feeling? A tug, something sharp and bitter gnawing at him, growing stronger the longer he watched you with Hironobu. He wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost foreign sensation. He knew anger, jealousy, possession. But this… this felt different. More unsettling

He wonders now, if he’s ever seen that smile on your face when you look at him. If you’ve ever truly been happy in the grace of his existence. But somehow, within the depths of what remains in his heart, there was pain. There was jealousy. There was anguish. There was grief. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he felt like this. His heart had long died. Died with his beloved Hiromi and yet….

His face contorted into a scowl, his jaw tightening. He turned sharply on his heel, his robes whipping through the air as he left without a word. The sight of you with Hironobu left an acid taste in his mouth, and though he hated to admit it, it bothered him in a way he could not explain.

That next morning, he summoned you to break his fast with him—even rarer than supping with him.

When you arrived, the room was dimly lit from the shading silk, the atmosphere thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Ryomen Sukuna sat at the head of the long table, his scarlet eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

You felt a cold knot in your stomach as you approached him, the air between you tense and charged. You were not hungry. You could not feel any pleasure knowing that he was staring at you that way.

“My lord, I greet you with fervent devotion.” you said softly, bowing slightly before taking your place at the table. He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze that always made you feel exposed.

The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy, before he finally spoke. “I visited Vermillion Hall last night.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he said it, the deliberate pause—it sent a wave of dread washing over you. “I… I was unaware of your visit, my lord.” you replied carefully, trying to keep your voice steady. “You must forgive me if I had not noticed.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Clearly.”

You shifted in your seat, sensing the trap closing in around you. There was a tension in Sukuna that you had rarely seen, something simmering beneath the surface. You remained in your position, feeling a bile stuck on the edge of your throat.

You could feel the sweat fervent on your palm as you gripped your kimono tenderly, hoping he would not notice the tension and fear in you.

“I saw you, little one.” he continued, his tone low and almost too calm. “With that lowly thief of a servant...what was his name....ah yes, Hironobu.”

Your blood ran cold at his words.

You knew what your husband was like.

You had made a mistake, you knew that well.

“I saw how happy you were with him, little one.” Sukuna said, his voice tightening ever so slightly, though his expression remained controlled. “Smiling, laughing, as if there were no worries in the world. It’s a wonder I’ve never seen you look that way with me.”

His words stung, even though you knew better than to show it. You lowered your gaze, knowing you were walking a very fine line. You knew him too well. He considered you a part of him, the god he is.

And everything, it has to be about him. Your existence was taught to worship him. Loving him was the law, even if he would not give it back. And you could not have the same, you know that. 

“I—he was simply tending to the garden, my lord. We merely… spoke as we often do. It was a mere passing laugh and enjoyment.”

“Is that all?” Sukuna asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Because from where I stood, it seemed more than that, little one.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you clenched them under the table. You couldn’t lie, not to him. But the truth—how could you explain the way you felt with Hironobu without damaging yourself?

“My lord, I beg for your understanding.” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Hironobu is kind and loyal to me, to you. He tends to the garden and offers his company when I walk, to ensure that he could care for you in caring for me. Nothing more, my lord.”

Sukuna’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. “Kindness?” he sneered, leaning back in his chair. “Is that what makes you smile like that? Is that what makes you laugh so freely? How easy are you, little one? Do you offer such a thing to everyone, is it necessary, little one?”

“My lord—”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his voice cut through the air again, sharper this time. “Do you think I am blind? That I cannot see what’s happening under my own roof?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, meeting his furious gaze. He wasn’t just angry. No, there was something deeper, something more dangerous. Hurt. Betrayal. You wonder why he feels this way. He had it clear even ten years ago that his heart had died. And that he was a god.

Because how could that be? Ryomen Sukuna was not someone to feel such things, to be vulnerable to them. And yet, as he stared at you, the fury in his scarlet eyes was laced with something raw.

“Answer me, little one.” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Is he more to you than just a gardener?”

The truth was clawing at your throat, begging to be let out, but you knew what it would mean. Hironobu would die. Sukuna would never allow it, would never tolerate even the hint of disobedience or disloyalty from you. And yet… Could you lie to him again?

“My lord,he is nothing but a servant tied to me to grace your glory.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You know…you know I would never betray you, my lord.”

He watched you for a moment. It was then where Sukuna stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose to his full, imposing height. He stalked toward you, his scarlet eyes blazing, and you felt a cold sweat break across your skin.

“If I find out otherwise, little one.” he growled, his hand grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Hironobu’s kindness won’t be enough to save him. And you—” his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “—you will know exactly what it means to displease me. You know me the best out of those fools in the concubine hall, do you not? You must know what I am willing to do.”

His grip on your chin tightened for a moment before he let you go, leaving you breathless, terrified, and more trapped than ever. You tried to calm yourself, you know you cannot show more. You cannot appear weak, not like this.

Sukuna’s wrath hung over you like a storm, and as he turned and walked away, you were left with the suffocating knowledge that your secret was on the verge of unraveling.

As Sukuna stormed out of the room, the sliding door nearly breaking along the path he left behind him, you remained frozen in your seat. The air was thick with his lingering presence, the scent of incense mixing with the oppressive tension that still hung over you. Your hands, resting in your lap, trembled uncontrollably. You felt the weight of Sukuna’s warning, his threat echoing in your mind.

Hironobu.

The thought of him twisted your heart painfully. You had always known the danger that came with even the slightest hint of affection for another man, but Sukuna had never been this close to the truth before. His suspicion was like a sword dangling over both your heads, ready to strike at any moment.

You rose from the table slowly, your legs unsteady beneath you. The silence of the grand dining hall was suffocating, every step you took feeling heavier than the last. You could barely think, barely breathe. All you could do was replay Sukuna’s words in your mind. The anger, the possessiveness—and something else. The hurt.

Could it be that Sukuna, the mighty king of curses, had actually been wounded by what he saw? You had always believed that you were just another possession to him, another piece in his vast collection of power and control. But tonight, there had been something deeper in his voice, something almost vulnerable.

And that terrified you even more.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, you collapsed onto the bed, your body trembling from the weight of the evening. Your heart raced as you tried to steady your breath, but it was no use. Every time you close your eyes, you see Hironobu’s face, his warm, gentle smile—and Sukuna’s cold, furious gaze.

What were you going to do? You couldn’t abandon Hironobu. The thought of him being killed because of you, because of a love you couldn’t deny, was unbearable. And yet, if Sukuna found out, there would be no mercy. Not for either of you.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly sat up, brushing away the stray tears that had escaped. “You may enter.” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

The door creaked open, and to your surprise, it was Hironobu who stepped inside. His expression was calm, as it always was, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. Tension passes through you as much as fear does. You cover yourself with the blankets, as though to shield you from the vulnerability you feel for him.

“You shouldn’t be here, Hironobu.” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “It is not allowed. This is not…..It’s too dangerous.”

“I know, my lady.” Hironobu replied quietly, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “But I had to see you. I heard that lord Sukuna summoned you and everyone was whispering about him. He was mad, and I was worried that he could harm you, my lady.”

You looked into his eyes, the warmth and sincerity in them a stark contrast to the cold, terrifying presence of Sukuna. For a brief moment, being with Hironobu felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. But the danger was too real, too imminent.

“My lord will not hurt me. You must know this.” You wonder if you were saying the right words. Ryomen Sukuna has hurt you. He always has, even if he does not lay a hand on you. “You must trust that.”

“My lady, still—”

“Hironobu.” you began, your voice breaking slightly. “Lord Sukuna saw us in the garden the other day.”

Hironobu’s face paled, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “What did my lord say?”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. “He’s warned me. He said he saw how happy I was with you, how I smiled while we gardened today. He asked if you were more than just a gardener and servant to me.”

Hironobu’s hand tightened around yours. “And what did you tell him, my lady?”

“I told him I would never betray him. That we are only enjoying the garden together.” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay to keep you safe. He’s watching us, Hironobu. I do not want him to hurt you, over your kindness and friendship and I fear for you—”

“I won’t let him hurt you, my lady.” Hironobu interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ll leave if I have to. I won’t risk your life.”

“No, no.” you said quickly, gripping his hand tighter. “You can’t leave. That would only make him more suspicious. You are bound to me as a servant. My lord will be suspicious.”

Tears finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, but Hironobu cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks softly. “We’ll figure this out, my lady. Do not be afraid.” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “We have to be careful, even in our friendship, but I won’t let him take you away from me.”

The intensity of his words made your heart ache, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, to forget the danger, if only for a fleeting second. Being with Hironobu felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could be free from Sukuna’s suffocating grip.

But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you knew it couldn’t last. Ryomen Sukuna’s shadow loomed over everything, and no matter how careful you were, it was only a matter of time before he would find out the truth. One way or another, even if you had rejected Hironobu, Sukuna will end up being angry. And he would kill him. He would kill him and that would break you.

“I’m afraid, Hironobu.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Not having a life of my own.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, my lady.” he murmured. “We’ll find a way, even if it means we have to run.”

You shook your head slightly. “He would find us. You know he would.”

Hironobu didn’t argue. He knew the truth as well as you did. Ryomen Sukuna’s reach was vast, his power unmatched. There was no escaping him, not really.

But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, with Hironobu beside you, you allowed yourself to cling to the hope that somehow, some way, you could protect the fragile love you had found. Even if the world around you was crumbling.

The door creaked again, but before you could react, a cold voice sliced through the air.

“I told you, little one.” Sukuna’s voice was low, deadly, as he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes burning with fury, “there are limits to my patience.”

Your heart stopped.

You felt frozen in place.

He had seen everything.

The room felt as though it had been plunged into icy darkness the moment Sukuna stepped forward. His presence filled the air, suffocating, his crimson gaze searing into both you and Hironobu. The warmth you had felt moments before vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing dread that clawed at your throat.

You stood up quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. "My lord—"

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to you, and the fury in them made your blood run cold. His face was a mask of controlled rage, but there was a darkness beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

“I warned you, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word like a blade slicing through the air. His attention shifted to Hironobu, who had risen to his feet but made no move to defend himself. There was a strange calm in Hironobu’s expression, but you could see the tension in his body, the readiness for whatever was to come.

“My lord, please.” you begged, stepping forward, your voice trembling. “Please don’t hurt him. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s eyes snapped back to you, narrowing. “Do you think your pleas mean anything to me now?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You’ve lied to me. You betrayed me. And for what? A mere gardener?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to keep speaking even though your heart was breaking with fear. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything wrong, my lord. This is my fault.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Your fault? Oh, I know it’s your fault. You allowed this to happen. You let him think he could take what is mine.”

Your breath hitched. The possessiveness in the god Ryomen Sukuna echoed in his voice was suffocating, and you knew he was on the edge of doing something irreversible. Desperation clawed at you as you stepped closer, falling to your knees before him.

“Please, my lord. Please. This is not….” you whispered, bowing your head, your hands trembling as you reached out, barely daring to touch the hem of his robe. “I beg you—don’t hurt him. He… he only cares for me. It’s not his fault.”

Sukuna stared down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence—an unbearable, suffocating silence that made your chest tighten with fear. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, terrified of what you might see in his eyes.

“I should kill him where he stands,little one.” Sukuna said softly, though his voice was filled with venom. “I should make you watch as I tear him apart, so you understand the price of defiance.”

You gasped, your heart shattering at the thought. “No! Please, my lord, no!”

But before you could continue, Sukuna moved faster than you could react, his hand shooting out and grabbing Hironobu by the throat. The sound of Hironobu’s breath choking in his lungs was like a knife to your heart.

“My lord, please. Please, please—Sukuna!” you screamed, rushing to your feet, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “Please, no! I’ll do anything—anything! Just don’t kill him!”

Sukuna’s grip tightened, his gaze never leaving Hironobu’s face. “Anything?” he repeated, his voice cold and mocking. “What makes you think you have anything left to offer me, after this?”

Tears streamed down your face as you fell to your knees once more, your voice breaking. “I’ll take whatever you impose upon me, my lord—I’ll never speak to him again! Or any one else I swear to you, my lord! Just… please, don’t take his life. It’s my fault. I should have known better. I’ll do anything you ask, my lord. Just spare his life. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s grip on Hironobu’s throat loosened slightly, but his eyes remained locked on you, watching your every movement, every tear that fell from your eyes. His lips curled into a cruel smile, but there was no warmth, no mercy in it. He was enjoying this, owning you.

“Is that what you think will save him?” Sukuna asked, his tone soft, dangerous. “Your submission? Your devotion? Little one, I own you. I do not give your submission. You give it willingly. You know that.”

You nodded frantically, your voice a desperate whisper. “Yes… yes, my lord. But I swear to you. I swear, my lord. I’ll submit to you in every way. I won’t resist, I won’t fight. I would continue to be devoted to you, only you.  Just spare him, please.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze flickered between you and Hironobu, his hand still wrapped around the gardener’s throat. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could barely breathe as you waited for his decision. You feel like you were going to collapse, as you stopped breathing waiting for him to say anything.

For what felt like an eternity, Sukuna said nothing. The silence was deafening, the weight of his power crushing you under its force. You knew that he could kill Hironobu in an instant, with a single flick of his hand. And yet… there was something holding him back.

Finally, Sukuna’s fingers released their hold on Hironobu, and he stepped back, letting the man fall to his knees, gasping for breath. But the danger hadn’t passed. Sukuna’s gaze was still fixed on you, dark and dangerous.

“Get out of my sight.” Sukuna snarled at Hironobu. “If I see you near her again, I’ll tear you apart without hesitation. And there will be no more mercy.”

Hironobu, though clearly shaken, managed to stand, casting a glance at you, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. You gave him a small, trembling nod, urging him to leave while he still could. Without a word, he turned and disappeared through the door.

The moment he was gone, Ryomen Sukuna’s attention snapped back to you, and the full weight of his fury descended upon you.

“Don’t think for a moment that this is over, little one.” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You think I’ll just forget this? That I’ll let you off with a warning?”

You looked up at him, your body trembling. “I know… I know you won’t, my lord.” you whispered. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit. Just… please…”

“Please?” he mocked, leaning down so that his face was level with yours. “You think you can still make requests of me after what I saw today?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I beg your mercy.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he reached out, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. “Mercy, huh.” he repeated, his voice soft, but laced with malice. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying me?”

You shook your head slightly, tears still streaming down your face. “No… I don’t. But Hironobu—he didn’t deserve to die for my mistake.”

For a moment, Sukuna simply stared at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and something darker, something possessive. Then, he released you, standing up straight once more.

“You will never see him again. Never again. And not anyone.” he ordered coldly. “You will stay at my side when asked where you belong. Know your place. And if you ever defy me again, I won’t hesitate to kill him—and you.”

You nodded, your heart breaking as you whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HADN’T TALKED IN A WHILE. Somehow you think you had forgotten what your voice sounds like. Silence has embraced you, as much as the darkness of the once vibrant Vermillion hall.

After that fateful night, everything changed. You isolated yourself in your chambers, the once-vibrant world of your garden now forbidden territory. Hironobu had vanished, leaving only a painful absence that lingered like a wound that refused to heal. 

And there were whispers from the other halls of the temple that Ryomen Sukuna had killed him. You had expected it more or less. But it did not make it any easier. You wept in the silence of your halls.

And you had refused to eat, refused to change your clothes or wash yourself. Days blurred into one another, and the weight of your choices crushed you beneath their unbearable load.

Sukuna did not come to you. He did not summon you to his side. For a time, it felt as though you had become invisible to him, a ghost haunting the halls of the palace. At first, the silence seemed like a blessing; a reprieve from his suffocating presence, from his cruel words and piercing gaze. But as the days wore on, it began to gnaw at you. The solitude was maddening.

The garden that had once been your sanctuary became an unbearable reminder of what you had lost. You couldn’t bear to see the flowers Hironobu had so lovingly tended, the very space where you had felt fleeting moments of happiness. The very thought of stepping outside filled you with dread. You had no desire to face the world, not like this, not without him.

You were trapped—trapped between the suffocating control of Sukuna and the hollow, aching void left by Hironobu’s absence. Every breath you took felt heavier than the last, until even breathing felt like a burden you could no longer bear.

For a time, you thought it would be better to die.

The thought came slowly at first, creeping in like a shadow at the edge of your mind. But the more you dwelled in your isolation, the more it seemed like a mercy—a release from the endless torment of your existence. You had lost everything that mattered. The love you had found with Hironobu was gone, stolen from you by Sukuna’s wrath. And Ryomen Sukuna… he had broken you. His control, his possessiveness, his cruelty had shattered whatever was left of your spirit.

One night, the darkness in your mind swallowed you whole, and you couldn’t fight it any longer.

You had waited until the moon was high, the Vermillion Hall silent. You like to think that Sukuna had ordered everyone to leave you to your loneliness. But it was too late at night. No one came to your chambers anymore. No one would stop you. With shaking hands, you found a length of silk, soft and delicate, and tied it to the ceiling beam. 

The precious gold and vermillion silk had been a gift from Ryomen Sukuna long ago. It was the very name of the hall he had gifted you. One of the hardest silks to find and make. It was a symbol of his wealth, his power. And he gifted it to you, a small echo of ownership to you. How ironic, you thought, that it would be the instrument of your final escape.

Tears blurred your vision as you fashioned the knot, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You stood on the edge, your heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, you hesitated. But the pain in your heart, the unbearable ache of everything you had lost, pushed you forward.

In the cold stillness of that moment, you stepped off the edge.

You woke in a haze, your body weak and aching, the dim light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You weren’t dead. Somehow, impossibly, you were still here. Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to move, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat raw.

And then you saw him.

You weren’t sure the first time.

But you let yourself look again.

Ryomen Sukuna was sitting beside your bed, his presence unmistakable even in the pale morning light. His expression was unreadable, his dark crimson eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You couldn’t speak well anyway. Your throat hurts.

You had never seen him like this before—silent, unmoving, almost still as a statue. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the dark bruises around your neck, the evidence of your desperate attempt to escape.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned your head away from him, shame and sorrow overwhelming you. You force yourself to speak, even if it hurts. “Because… I can’t live like this anymore, my lord.” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’ve lost everything.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something passing over his face. “Everything? Do you think I would allow you to take your life without my permission?”

A pained bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it hurt to do so. “I can’t even die on my own terms?”

Sukuna leaned forward, his hand gripping the edge of the bed with barely controlled rage. “You think death would be an escape from me?” he hissed. “You belong to me, even in death, little one. Running away, it will not save you from me.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I belong to no one!” you cried, the words tumbling out in a flood of pain. “Not anymore. Not after what you’ve taken from me.”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his expression dark and unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened, though it remained cold. “You’re a fool.”

You turned to face him, your eyes red and swollen. “Why? Because I dared to want something else? Because I dared to love someone else? Even as a friend? My lord, I suffered for your sake. Being devoted to you like it is a law. It was…it was just a friend. A friend. And I cannot even have them. What am I to you, my lord? More than…more than someone who suffers worshiping you.”

He stared at you, his gaze penetrating, but he didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against the bruised skin of your neck, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away. There was a strange, almost possessive tenderness in his touch.

“You think this makes you free?” Sukuna murmured, his voice low. “You’re more mine now than you ever were before, little one.”

You shuddered, his words striking deep. “Why?” you whispered, barely able to hold back the sob in your throat. “Why do you care?”

Sukuna’s eyes burned with an intensity that made you tremble. “Because you’re mine, little one.” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And I do not let go of what is mine so easily.”

There was no warmth in his words, no comfort. But for the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. You swallowed hard, your throat aching from both the bruises and the tears. 

“Then why did you come?”

Sukuna’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something like regret, though he would never admit it. You know that too well. Ten years of marriage to this cruel soul, this cursed man turned god — you would never hear those words of comfort. Not even if you asked.

“Because I won’t let you die, little one.” he said, his voice steady but quieter than you had ever heard it. “Not like this.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with too many conflicting emotions to name. In that moment, you realized something. You were trapped, not just by Sukuna’s power, but by the strange, twisted bond that tied you to him. He would never let you go. Not in life, not in death.

And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

══════════════════

YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HIM. You weren’t fully recovered from your injuries just yet, but the healers had let you return to your daily life. You had just finished attending to your lord Sukuna in the audience hall. You stopped as he appeared before you, as you changed into more leisure clothing. 

And you were unsure what he was saying to you. But the weight of Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, his gaze as piercing as ever as he stood before you, his expression unreadable. He was not giving you anything, but orders. And you’re curious. As much as you were surprised. 

“You will take care of the child, little one.” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Your breath caught in your throat. “A child? I know nothing about children, my lord.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of amusement in the corner of his lips. “You will learn.”

For a moment, you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of the usual cruelty, but there was something different this time. This wasn’t a command born purely from spite or possessiveness. It felt heavier, more deliberate, as if he had considered this for a long time. You felt the familiar helplessness rise within you, the sense that you were powerless to refuse him.

“I… I will do as you ask, my lord.” you whispered, defeated. The words felt hollow, but they were the only ones you could manage. Sukuna merely nodded, his expression hard, before turning and leaving the room.

Days passed, and the dread settled deep in your bones as you waited for the child to arrive. You didn’t know what to expect, but Sukuna’s commands were absolute. There was no running from this.

And then, one morning, the child was brought to your chambers.

You stood at the door, frozen, as the small figure stepped forward. Your breath hitched in your chest as you looked down at the little girl before you. Her features were delicate, her long hair falling softly over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, but there was something far older in her gaze.

The child looked up at you, her eyes startlingly familiar—crimson, like Sukuna’s. They stared into you with a haunting intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But it wasn’t just Sukuna’s eyes that made you pause. No, there was something else, something that chilled you to your core.

The girl’s face, though youthful and innocent, bore the unmistakable likeness of someone you thought you’d never see again.

Ryomen Hiromi.

Your heart clenched painfully, and the room seemed to spin for a moment. It was impossible, and yet… the girl standing before you had Hiromi’s face—her soft features, her kind eyes, but mixed with the piercing gaze of Sukuna. You’ve seen enough of her statues all around the temple palace that you’re too certain. 

You swallowed hard, struggling to comprehend what you were seeing. Your chest felt tight as memories of Hiromi flooded your mind, of the woman you had once known, the one who had been so important to Sukuna.

Ryomen Sukuna entered the room behind the child, his presence like a storm cloud looming over you both. He regarded you with cold detachment, though there was something in his gaze that suggested this was not a simple matter for him either.

“This child…..” Sukuna began, his voice calm but commanding. “is Hiromi’s daughter. The child she lost long ago.”

You stared at him, shock rippling through you. “Hiromi’s… child?”

Sukuna nodded. “I found her soul.” he explained, his voice low and steady. “It was not easy, but with the help of a… trusted friend, I was able to bring her back. Her body grew anew, and now, she is here. Alive. For me to keep, as her father.”

Your mind raced, struggling to grasp what he was saying. Sukuna had brought the child back from the dead—had found her soul and, through some dark means, restored her. And now, this little girl, this child with Sukuna’s eyes and Hiromi’s face, stood before you. 

And to be her father? Not only that, but to force you to be a mother. To raise her, knowing how much the ghost of her mother haunts you already. You do not know what to do. You could feel your lips still reflect a gaping hole, wide open in shock.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why have you given her to me? Her mother’s kin still lives, my lord. Would they not want to know—”

Sukuna’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It does not matter what they want. You will raise her, little one.” he said simply. “You will care for her as if she were your own.”

You took a step back, overwhelmed by the weight of his demand. “But I don’t know how to care for a child, my lord I—”

“You will learn. You are not half–witted, aren’t you?” Sukuna interrupted, his voice sharp. “There is no other choice. I have willed it. And you shall follow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to argue, to refuse, but you knew it was futile. There was no escaping Sukuna’s will. He had given you this child, and there was no turning back now.

The girl stood quietly between the two of you, her small hands clasped in front of her, watching the exchange with an unnerving calmness for someone her age. Her eyes—her father’s eyes—bore into you, as if she already knew more than you did, as if she carried the weight of her past life with her. Her mother’s face haunted you already. Why? Why must you be haunted like this?

“This was Hiromi’s child. And I cherish her.” Sukuna said again, more softly this time, as if the words held a deeper significance for him. “Now, she is mine. Mine own daughter. You will raise her for me.”

You could only nod, the enormity of it all crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Sukuna’s presence was suffocating, but the child’s gaze was what unsettled you the most. It was as if Hiromi’s spirit lingered within her, a ghostly reminder of the life Sukuna had shared with her, of a woman who had meant more to him than perhaps you ever could.

And now, you were tasked with caring for the last piece of Hiromi that remained in this world—a child born from tragedy, resurrected by Sukuna’s dark power.

“What is her name?”

He stops for a moment.

“Chiharu.” He says in response. “Ryomen Chiharu.”

“Very well, my lord. I will… do as you ask, my lord. I shall care for your child.” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked down at the little girl. She met your gaze with those unnerving eyes, and you felt a strange chill creep up your spine.

Sukuna lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between you and the child before turning to leave. As he walked away, his parting words echoed in your mind.

“Do not fail me in this.”

Days turned into weeks as you adjusted to the new rhythm of life with Chiharu, the little girl now under your care. At first, it felt surreal to be responsible for someone so precious yet so fragile, a living reminder of a past life you could barely comprehend. But as time passed, the weight of your circumstances began to feel lighter, replaced by a sense of purpose you hadn’t expected to find.

Young Chiharu was a curious child, with a spirit that seemed undaunted by the complexities of her existence. She often wandered the halls of the palace, her footsteps soft against the cold stone floors, exploring every corner with wide-eyed wonder. It was in those moments that you found yourself drawn to her, your heart softening as she chartered away, her laughter ringing like music in the otherwise somber atmosphere of the palace.

Every evening, you would sit together in the garden in the Vermillion hall—the one place you had once avoided. Underneath the lush foliage, you would share stories, and slowly, you learned more about her.

Chiharu would speak of her dreams, her favorite flowers, and the little things that made her smile. She spoke of animals she wished to have, tales she had heard of distant lands, and the kindness she hoped to find in a world that had been cruel to her before.

As you listened to her, you found yourself revealing bits of your own life, your own fears and desires. With each passing day, the bond between you grew stronger, entwining like the vines in the garden. You shared laughter and quiet moments, and you began to feel a warmth blossom in your heart—a sense of family you had thought lost to you forever.

It was during one of these serene afternoons that Chiharu turned to you, her bright scarlet eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Mama.” she said softly, her small hand reaching for yours. 

The word felt foreign, yet sweet on her lips. Her mother was someone that she will never get to know again. You knew were not her mother, you knew that too well. But you felt a swell of warmth in your chest at the sound, as if she had bridged a gap that had long remained unfilled. You were not born to be a mother, you knew you would never be one. And yet, in her eyes — you were. You were born to be her mother.

“Yes, my sweet little flower?” you replied, your heart fluttering at the connection that had formed between you.

“Why did lord Sukuna name me Chiharu?” she asked, her gaze steady and curious.

You paused, contemplating how to answer her question. “Chiharu means a thousand springs, little flower.” you explained gently. “It’s a beautiful name, one that speaks of new beginnings, renewal, and growth.”

The little girl tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “But why did he choose that name for me?”

Your heart ached at the thought of Sukuna’s motivations. “I believe he saw something special in you. Perhaps he wanted to honor your connection to your past, to lady Hiromi. You are her child, Chiharu. And in a way, you are also a part of your lord father.”

“But you are my mother.” You hear little Chiharu whisper. 

You did not know what to say. 

You try to recover from her words.

You smile, for her sake, you think.

But you smiled for your sake too.

“We are both your mother.” You whispered back to her, putting her stray hair against the back of her ear. “But I am the one here at this moment, little flower.”

You watch her eyes brighten at the thought. “Truly?”

“Truly.” You smiled wider at her.

“What about my father?”

“Hm, what about my lord, little flower?”

Chiharu’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he loves me?”

The question caught you off guard. “I know he cares for you. That’s what I believe. In his own way, he has love.” But none for me.

Her small face lit up with a smile, though it was tinged with innocence and uncertainty. “I want to make him proud.”

A lump formed in your throat at her words. “You already make me proud, sweet flower. And that is what matters most.”

The connection between you and the young girl continued to deepen, woven through shared moments and quiet revelations. You discovered that Chiharu had a talent for painting, her little hands creating vibrant images that brought life to the entirety of the Vermillion hall. And you could not help but find joy in such revelations.

You encouraged her to explore her creativity, and soon, the once-dim walls of your home were adorned with her colorful drawings, depicting flowers, animals, and fantastical creatures. Even if the servants were concerned, you waved such words away. The Vermillion hall looked brighter with the scarlet flowers she drew everywhere.

Ryomen Sukuna would occasionally visit, his presence like a thunderstorm that cast shadows over your peaceful existence. When he did, Chiharu would run to him, her bright scarlet eyes sparkling with delight.

Despite the tension that accompanied his visits, you could see that he had a soft spot for her—a fleeting warmth that illuminated his otherwise cold demeanor. He adored this young girl, more than you know. He had given her such warmth more than anyone you had ever seen. 

One evening, as dusk settled over the Vermillion hall, Ryomen Chiharu presented one of her paintings to Sukuna, her little hands trembling with excitement. “Look, lord Sukuna!” she exclaimed, holding up a vibrant depiction of a cherry blossom tree, the one standing in the middle of your never–ending gardens. “It’s for you!”

Sukuna studied the painting, his expression inscrutable, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes. Perhaps pride, perhaps surprise. “You’ve done well, little blossom.” he said, his tone low and steady. “You had captured the lady’s cherry blossom with exquisite likeness.”

The child beamed at his praise, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Do you like it?”

“It is… acceptable, little blossom.” he replied, and though the words were blunt, there was a hint of approval lingering in his gaze. “I am certain that you will make more.”

You had wished that this was your life.

That you live forever in this moment.

But you knew better than to wish for that.

As the night deepened and the shadows in the grand hall stretched longer, Sukuna rose from his seat, his presence overwhelming as always. You called for Chiharu, who hesitated, her tiny face scrunching up in a pout. She clung to you, reluctant to leave, her voice soft, "I don’t want to go. My lord doesn’t come often anymore… I want to tell him about my day."

You knelt down, brushing your fingers through her hair and smiling gently. "He’ll come tomorrow, just like he promised, little flower." you reassured her, though a small part of you doubted the certainty in your words. She needed that hope, even if it felt fragile.

With one last glance toward Sukuna, Chiharu allowed herself to be led away by the servants, her footsteps fading down the hall. Silence settled between you and Sukuna, thick and awkward at first. He didn’t look at you immediately, instead gazing out into the night through the open windows, as if lost in thought.

“You take good care of her, little one.” Sukuna finally said, his tone gruff but softer than you expected. It was strange hearing thanks from him—it sounded unnatural coming from the King of Curses, yet there was sincerity in the rough edges of his words. "For that… I thank you."

You blinked, the weight of his gratitude sinking in. It felt strange, almost surreal. Sukuna, of all people, expressing appreciation. You inclined your head, accepting it quietly. "It’s nothing, my lord. She deserves the best care."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time, though. Instead, it felt like a mutual acknowledgment of the one thing you shared—a fondness for Chiharu.

You’ll never love me. you thought, the truth of it sitting heavy in your heart. But you didn’t need to say it aloud. You already knew. Still, the small moments like these, where his walls slipped just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more, were what you held onto. You treasured whatever you could get, however fleeting.

Sukuna’s gaze finally met yours. It was sharp, piercing as always, but there was something softer lingering beneath his usual coldness. "I’ll come tomorrow. Like I promised."

And for tonight, that was enough.

After he departed, you drank a little. 

It was better to mourn what could not be early.

When Chiharu returned, well bathed and dressed for the night, the two of you sat together beneath the cherry blossom tree in the garden. She had to dry her hair before she could get some rest. Her small hands clutching the other painting she had made tightly. 

“Do you think he really liked it?” she asked, her voice soft.

You smiled gently at her, cupping her face in your hands. “I believe he did. He may not show it, but he cares for you in his own way. You are a light in his life, little flower.”

Her eyes sparkled with hope, and for a moment, you felt a sense of unity in your small family, a connection that defied the darkness surrounding you.

As the petals fell around you like confetti, you realized that despite the chaos of your circumstances, you had created a sanctuary for both yourself and Chiharu—one filled with laughter, art, and the promise of new beginnings.

And in those moments, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a piece of happiness amidst the shadows.

══════════════════

IT WAS JUST ANOTHER NIGHT. But it was still something that caused you grievance. As night fell and the palace was shrouded in silence, you found yourself restless, wandering the dimly lit halls, your thoughts heavy with the weight of your circumstances.

Chiharu slept peacefully in her little room, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window, casting soft shadows on her innocent face. You paused to watch her, a smile tugging at your lips, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar ache in your chest.

The truth was inescapable: no matter how much joy Ryomen Chiharu brought into your life, the shadow of Hiromi loomed over you like a specter. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she represented was a constant reminder of your own insignificance in Sukuna's world.

Hiromi had been the one to hold Sukuna's love, the one whose memory seemed to linger in every corner of the palace. She was the woman who had given him a child—a child who was now the light of his life, while you remained in the dark, clinging to scraps of his attention. It was a bitter thought that twisted in your mind, gnawing at your heart.

As you lay in bed, staring up at the intricately woven patterns on the ceiling, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Hiromi. She had everything: his love, his devotion, a child who would carry a piece of her with her always. And what did you have? Nothing but the remnants of Sukuna’s affection, which felt more like an obligation than anything else.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the thoughts that haunted you. But the more you tried, the louder they became. You could still hear the echoes of his voice from earlier, the way he had looked at Chiharu with an intensity that made your heart clench.

He was a monster, but he was her father—someone who had chosen to resurrect her from the depths of despair. He had given her a life filled with warmth, while you were left with the remnants of a hollow existence.

“Hiromi has everything in my lord Sukuna.” you whispered into the darkness, your voice trembling. “A dead woman, and I have nothing.” Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking the fabric of the pillow. “She gave him a child, love, and he keeps it. And nothing of me.”

You couldn’t understand why it hurt so much. You had wanted to be close to Sukuna, to carve out a space in his heart that felt like home, but every time you looked at Chiharu, you were reminded of your failure. You were the one who existed in the shadows, the one who couldn’t compete with the memory of a woman long gone.

You closed your eyes, squeezing out the tears that felt like a dam breaking within you. Each drop felt like a piece of your heart spilling out onto the floor, a tangible reminder of your torment. You were grateful for Chiharu, but the bittersweet reality of your situation consumed you.

After what felt like hours of battling your own thoughts, you finally rose from your bed and made your way to the garden. The night air was cool against your skin, and you could hear the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As you stepped into the moonlight, you were enveloped in a quiet stillness, yet it did little to ease your turmoil.

You found yourself standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals fluttering like whispers in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You remembered how Chiharu’s eyes had sparkled with excitement when she painted that tree, how her laughter had filled the air like music.

But even as you admired its beauty, you couldn’t escape the lingering shadow of Hiromi. “Why do you haunt me?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you gazed up at the stars. “Why can’t I escape your memory?”

You sank to your knees beneath the tree, your fingers brushing against the cool earth. “I don’t want to compete with you.” you whispered, your heart aching with the weight of your confession. “I just want to be enough… for him, for Chiharu.”

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and in that moment, it felt as though the world held its breath. You could almost hear Hiromi’s laughter, see her warm smile—a gentle reminder of the life she had once lived.

A tear rolled down your cheek, and you let it fall, feeling the weight of your grief and jealousy wash over you. You had tried so hard to be strong, to forge a bond with Chiharu, but the reality of your situation loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf you.

As you knelt there, surrounded by the whispers of the night, you could feel Sukuna’s presence looming in the back of your mind. He was a force of nature, a tempest that left destruction in its wake, and you were caught in the storm.

“Will I ever matter to you?” you asked softly, the question lingering in the cool night air. The silence answered you, an empty echo of your unfulfilled desires.

The moonlight bathed the garden in a soft glow, but no matter how beautiful it was, the ache in your heart remained. You rose to your feet, wiping the tears from your face, knowing that you had to keep moving forward—for Chiharu’s sake, if not your own.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and you would face them with the strength you found in your love for the little girl who had unexpectedly entered your life. But tonight, in the shadow of a woman you could never compete with, you allowed yourself to grieve—grieve for what could never be, for the love that felt so far out of reach.

As you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of Hiromi’s legacy still pressed on your heart, but you clung to the hope that perhaps, one day, you could carve your own place in this world—one that belonged to you, and to Chiharu.

══════════════════

YOU WERE EXHAUSTED FROM THE WORK ALL DAY. But as the lord summoned you, you were inclined to attend to him. That is just how it was. It has been two years now, since Hironobu, since Chiharu had come to live with you.

And a lot had since changed with the way you and Sukuna existed together. Perhaps, it is what it is. This is all that is left. You think you would like to be content with that.

The evening was cloaked in a haze of amber light as you and Sukuna sat across from each other in the dimly lit chambers, the air thick with tension. A selection of fine spirits lay on the table between you, remnants of a night that had spiraled into a blur of laughter and inebriation. But the laughter had faded, leaving behind a bitter residue that clung to your heart.

You raise your glass, your hand slightly unsteady as you downed another shot, the liquid fire coursing down your throat. It was supposed to be a moment of camaraderie, an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. Instead, it felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustrations that had been building within you.

Sukuna watched you with a bemused expression, but there was a glint in his eyes—something predatory, something that made your heart race. Fueled by the alcohol and the raw emotion coursing through you, you slammed your glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the silence.

"You took everything I have!" you slur drunkenly, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out. "I gave you everything I had, and I am miserable because of it!"

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, the playful smirk slipped from his face, replaced by a flicker of confusion. But you pressed on, the anger and despair and somehow bitter laughter mingling in a toxic blend that fueled your fury.

"You made me miserable with you! The one shot of joy I have in my life—someone who could care for me—and you take him away from me? What have I done to you to make me suffer like this, my lord?"

The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in around you as the weight of your words settled heavily in the air. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, cascading down your cheeks as you fought against the sorrow that threatened to engulf you.

"I regret you, sometimes! Everything of you, I regret!" you cried, the confession tearing from your lips like a wounded animal. A laugh escapes you. “Ah, I am driven mad. I thought….I thought to be content but somehow, I kept thinking and thinking. The questions of what if I had chosen some other path.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your words. You could see the tumult of emotions playing across his face—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. But he didn’t speak, and the silence hung heavy between you.

“You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted to hurt you?”

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “You have no idea what it’s like! To live in the shadow of someone who came before me! To feel like I’m constantly competing with a ghost!”

The bitterness of your words filled the room, and you could see the flicker of something deep within him. A flicker of regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. What could there be left between two people who don’t talk? What could be left between two people who don’t understand each other well, and yet pretend they do?

“You think I don’t suffer too?” he challenged, his voice rising little by little. “You think I don’t care about you?”

You paused, the anger momentarily dissipating as you searched his face for any hint of sincerity. But all you saw was the monster—the god, the force of nature that had swept into your life and turned everything upside down.

“Then why do you make me feel like this?” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the tension. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? With Hironobu… with Chiharu… with anyone?”

A shadow crossed Sukuna’s face, and for a moment, it felt like you had struck a chord. But he quickly masked it, his expression turning cold once more. “Hironobu is nothing to me. He is weak, a distraction.”

“That ‘distraction’ makes me happy!” you yelled, frustration spilling over once more. “He cares for me in a way you never could! He makes me feel like I matter!”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but beneath that facade, you could see the conflict churning. You took a step forward, your heart racing. “I don’t want to be your pawn anymore. I don’t want to be a part of your world if it means losing everything I love!”

The air crackled with tension as the two of you faced each other, the weight of your words hanging between you. And then the dam broke. You collapsed into tears, the alcohol amplifying your emotions as you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. The tears spilled unchecked, your heart breaking under the weight of it all.

“I hate this!” you cried out, your voice muffled by the floor. “I hate feeling like this! I hate you!”

Sukuna stood frozen, a statue of power and control as he watched your breakdown unfold. But as your cries filled the room, something shifted within him.

He took a step closer, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud, and yet, despite the turmoil, you felt a flicker of something more—something like concern.

“Get up, little one.” he commanded softly, his voice low and steady. “You’re stronger than this.”

But you shook your head, your heartache spilling over. “I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to be free.”

There was a moment of silence as you both stood at the edge of a precipice, and for the first time, you could see the weight of your shared pain reflected in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he said finally, the words heavy with unspoken understanding. “You know it well, little one. I will never set you free.”

You didn’t know if he was apologizing for Hiromi, for Hironobu, or for the pain you both carried, but it was a start. You slowly rose to your feet, wiping your tears, though the hurt still lingered in your chest. You think that it doesn’t matter anymore. It never does.

Sukuna stood before you, an imposing figure, but in that moment, you could see the man behind the monster. The flicker of vulnerability lingered in the depths of his gaze, an acknowledgment of the bond that tethered you both to a past neither of you could escape.

“I may never be what you want me to be, little one.” he murmured. “But I won’t take away your happiness again.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity, and for the first time, you felt the hope of a fragile truce forming between you. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless, one that could lead you both out of the darkness and into the light—if only you could find the strength to keep moving forward.

The air was thick with unspoken emotions as you and Sukuna stood facing each other, the weight of your words still hanging heavily in the silence. His gaze bore into yours, a mix of intensity and something softer that made your heart race. You felt as if you were standing on a precipice, caught between the fear of falling and the desire to soar.

“I want to believe you, my lord.” you said quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of emotions still raging within. “But you have to understand… every time you pull me closer, it feels like you’re pushing me away. I can’t live like this—constantly afraid of losing everything.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted, a flicker of regret passing over his features. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he replied, his voice low. “But my world is not kind, and I can’t…..I can’t be what you want me to be. I cannot be kind to you.”

“But that’s just it!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling up once more. “You’re so powerful, yet you let this darkness consume you! You wield it like a weapon, and I’m the one left in the crossfire! Why am I always suffering for your sake?”

He took a step closer, the space between you diminishing as he searched your face for understanding. “I am a monster, little one.” he said, his voice raw. “I have done terrible things—things that haunt me. But I never wanted to drag you into that darkness. You deserve to be happy. But….it is not meant to be. And we are…we are stuck together, whether you like it or not, in this cage.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re the one who keeps me from it?” you challenged, your heart racing. “I’m so tired of living in your shadow, of feeling like a mere afterthought in your life. Every time I see you with Chiharu, it reminds me that I am just a placeholder—a ghost of a memory that doesn’t matter.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you feared you had pushed too far. But then he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you.

“I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “You’ve brought something into my life I never knew I needed. But it terrifies me. And I just….I will not let you go.”

You felt your breath hitch, a rush of emotions swirling within you. “Then show me, my lord.” you pleaded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that I matter to you. Don’t make me feel like I’m just a convenience. I want to be more than that.”

His gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the god before you was just a man—a man struggling with his own demons, much like you. “I don’t know how anymore, little one.” he admitted, vulnerability lacing his words. “But I will try.”

The sincerity in his eyes pierced through the haze of your hurt and resentment. You had spent so long fighting against the current, desperately trying to find your footing in a world that seemed intent on pulling you under. But standing here, facing Sukuna, you realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for something more, something real.

“I’m scared too, my lord.” you confessed, your voice trembling as the weight of your emotions threatened to crush you. “Scared that you’ll change your mind, scared that I’ll lose everything again. Or maybe you would kill me. But I can’t keep hiding from you. I cannot keep finding ways to escape you.”

The sincerity in your admission hung in the air between you, a fragile thread woven from the strands of your broken heart. Sukuna’s expression darkened as he processed your words, his usually confident demeanor faltering just slightly. He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in contemplation. 

“I know that too well, little one.” He brushes your hair away from your face. “I know it all.”

His voice was steady, almost soothing, but the underlying tension crackled like static in the air. You took a deep breath, a sense of resolve building within you. “I want to believe you, my lord.” you said softly, each word laced with the weight of your doubt. “But you know that you are not speaking true… you lie as easily as you breathe.And I drown loving you like its law and hating you for how you taught me to love you.”

The admission feel like a heavy stone between you, and you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps anger. But you didn’t back down. You needed him to hear the truth, the raw, unvarnished reality of your existence.

“It’s as if you’re a tempest.” you continued, your voice rising with the heat of your frustration. “One moment you’re this powerful force, sweeping me off my feet, promising me the world, and the next, I’m left to drown in the chaos you create. You wield your power like a weapon, and I’m the one caught in the crossfire.”

His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal struggle etched on his face. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he said, but the words felt hollow, echoing through the chasm of pain that separated you.

“And yet you’re the architect of my suffering.” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “You brought me into your world. And all I’ve known…is misery. You say you want me by your side, but you torture me. You kill me, everyday.”

The vulnerability in your voice cut through the tension like a blade, and you saw his expression shift. There was something there—something that hinted at the turmoil he carried beneath his godlike exterior. 

“You’re not just a concubine to me.” he said, his tone softer, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. “You mean more than you know.”

“More than what?” you spat, your anger flaring up once more. “More than a passing fancy? A moment of respite from your endless hunger for power? I am not a toy for you to play with, my lord. I’m not just a distraction from your demons, your misery. You want me to believe that I matter. You’re using me to fill the void left by Hiromi.”

The name hung in the air, heavy with the ghosts of the past, and you could see the shift in Sukuna’s expression—a flicker of pain, a crack in his facade. “You don’t understand…” he started, but you cut him off, needing to vent the storm of hurt and betrayal swirling within you.

“Understand what?” you cried, your voice breaking. “That I’m just a shadow in the light of a dead woman? That every moment I spend with you is tainted by her memory? You keep her close, a constant reminder of what I can never be. She gave you a child, love—everything I yearn for from you these past few years but can’t have. I feel like I’m drowning in your past while you expect me to be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you throw my way.”

For a heartbeat, the silence swallowed you both, the air thick with tension and unshed tears. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, a tempest of emotions raging beneath the surface—frustration, desire, regret. “I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, the words almost a whisper.

“And yet you keep pushing me away, my lord.” you shot back, your heart aching with the truth. “You think you can keep me at arm’s length, and I’ll just accept it? You can’t keep pulling me in with one hand while pushing me away with the other. I need to know that I am more than just a fleeting moment for you!”

“I’m trying!” he shouted, his voice rising, but the urgency in it didn’t mask the vulnerability. “You don’t understand the things I’ve done, the things I’m capable of! I’ve been alive for a long time, and you are the first to accept what I am. I am trying to keep you, little one. I need you.”

His raw honesty pierced through the fog of your emotions, and you felt your heart crack a little more. “Let me go, my lord.” you whispered, the weight of your own words settling heavily on your chest. “Let me be free of this burden you’ve placed on me. I want to be happy, but I can’t find that happiness in the shadow of your misery upon me.”

“I can’t.” he replied, desperation lacing his voice. “I won’t. You’re a part of me now, whether you want to be or not.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation sank in. “But I’m not sure I want to be part of this… this nightmare anymore.” you said, your voice breaking. “I’m tired, my lord. Tired of fighting for a love that feels more like a battlefield than a sanctuary.”

With every word, your resolve crumbled a little more, and you felt the exhaustion wash over you like a tide. The weight of your feelings, the burden of past traumas, and the constant strain of navigating the unpredictable depths of your relationship with Sukuna were too much to bear. You wanted to be strong, to stand your ground and fight for something better, but fatigue was clawing at the edges of your consciousness.

You could see the struggle reflected in his eyes—an intense mixture of determination and sorrow. But even in the heat of your argument, you sensed that his heart was also heavy with burdens he carried alone. You took a shaky breath, desperate for release from this tumultuous cycle of emotions.

As the exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, the fight within you slowly extinguishing. “I just—” you started, but the words faded as you succumbed to the comforting darkness that beckoned you.

“Just rest.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “You need to let go for a moment. I’ll be here when you wake.”

His voice wrapped around you like a cocoon, and despite the turmoil of your heart, you found solace in his presence. With one last shuddering breath, you finally surrendered to the pull of sleep, the weight of your burdens slipping away as your consciousness faded into the comforting embrace of oblivion.

In the morning, you know that nothing will change.

In the morning, you will still be miserable with him.

In the morning, you’ll love him like he is the law.

In the morning, you’ll worship him as religion taught.

In the morning, you’ll never be able to be free from him.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Little surprise

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot inspired by the recent news, you should have seen my face yesterday when the first thing I saw was the photo on insta, I just know that Max is going to be the best dad :) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

You’d been carrying the secret for days now, and it felt as though your heart could burst every time you looked at him. Max, with his carefree smile and bright, sparkling eyes, had no idea that your world had shifted entirely. Every night, you’d lie next to him, your hand resting protectively over your stomach, wondering how you’d tell him that the two of you were about to become three.

It had to be perfect.

The idea came to you one quiet morning while watching a race replay. Max had barely opened his eyes when he muttered something about karting, his first love, before pulling you close and falling back asleep. That was it. You’d tell him in a way that connected to the thing he loved most—apart from you.

For days, you planned in secret. You found the tiniest little kart online and had it shipped as quickly as possible. When it arrived, you giggled as you placed it carefully in the living room, tying a big red bow around it for effect. It was perfect.

The hard part was waiting for the right moment. You wanted it to be a day when you were both relaxed, away from the chaos of the world, just the two of you. So, one sunny afternoon, you suggested lunch at your favorite café.

The day was as perfect as you could have hoped. Max was in an especially good mood, teasing you about how you always ordered the same thing and stealing fries from your plate like a mischievous child. He talked about an upcoming race, his plans, and how much he missed the simpler days of karting.

“You’re quiet today,” he noted, nudging your arm gently as the two of you walked back to the car.

“Just enjoying the moment,” you said, slipping your hand into his.

He grinned, lifting your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. “I like that.”

The drive home was filled with soft music and the kind of comfortable silence you loved. As you neared your apartment, your nerves kicked in. Was this the right way to tell him? What if he didn’t react the way you imagined? What if—

“Hey, you okay?” Max’s voice pulled you from your spiral. He parked the car and turned to look at you, his blue eyes filled with concern.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

Inside the apartment, you stayed a step behind him, your heart pounding. As he kicked off his shoes and walked into the living room, he froze.

“Uh…” His head tilted, his gaze locking on the tiny kart in the middle of the room. “Did you… buy a toy kart?”

You stepped closer, biting your lip to keep from laughing at his confusion. He circled the kart, inspecting it like it might suddenly explain itself.

“Why is there a bow on it? Did someone send this to you?” He turned to look at you, his brows furrowed.

You took a deep breath, feeling your chest tighten with anticipation. “No, it’s for you.”

“For me?” He looked even more puzzled now. “What am I supposed to do with this? It’s tiny!”

“It’s not for now,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you struggled to contain your emotions. “It’s for later.”

Max’s confusion deepened. He stared at you, the kart, then back at you. “Later?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “Max… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide as he tried to process your words.

“What?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled at him. “We’re going to have a baby.”

The shock on his face slowly melted into something softer, more tender. His eyes glistened, and a disbelieving smile spread across his lips.

“You’re serious?” he asked, stepping closer to you, his voice filled with awe.

You nodded, unable to speak as emotions overwhelmed you.

He let out a soft, breathless laugh before pulling you into his arms, holding you so tightly you thought you might break. “A baby,” he murmured against your hair. “We’re having a baby.”

When he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I can’t believe it. You… you’re incredible. How long have you known?”

“A few days,” you admitted with a small laugh. “I wanted to find the perfect way to tell you.”

He glanced back at the kart and chuckled, shaking his head. “This is perfect. It’s… amazing. You’re amazing.”

His hands dropped to your stomach, his fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress. “There’s really a baby in there?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.

“There really is,” you confirmed, placing your hands over his.

He was quiet for a moment, just staring at you, before a grin broke across his face. “I can’t wait to meet them. I can’t wait to be a dad.”

His excitement was contagious. You laughed as he scooped you up and spun you around, his joy filling the room like sunlight.

The rest of the day was spent talking about everything—the future, names, the nursery, and all the ways he wanted to be the best dad in the world. Max couldn’t stop touching your stomach, even though he knew it was too soon to feel anything.

That night, as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped protectively around you, he whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice sleepy.

“For giving me this,” he said, his hand resting gently over your stomach. “For making me the happiest guy in the world.”

You smiled, feeling his love radiating around you. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Max.”

“And you’re going to be the best mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that your little family was already filled with so much love, and you couldn’t wait for the journey ahead.

[goldfades]

PROTECTIVE P──BUECKERS⁵

request!

─ summary | paige finds you in tears after watching stepmom and, misunderstanding the reason for your distress, instinctively comforts your with her protective nature.

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | omg nothing, so short and sweet. paige is being slightly overdramatic, but reader is crying sooo... yeah. literally nothing at all it's so sweet.

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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Tears blur your vision, the dim light of the room making the screen in front of you seem like a watery painting. You quickly swipe at your cheeks, though the attempt is pretty useless considering how soaked the tissue in your hand already is. The closing credits of Stepmom roll in a soft melody, tugging at your chest like a string you can't sever. You take a shaky breath, hugging your knees tighter to your chest, the weight of the movie's ending pressing down on you in waves.

The room feels oddly still, like even the air is holding its breath alongside you. The last few scenes play in an endless loop in your mind: the bittersweet embrace, the tearful goodbyes. It all claws at you, pulling at emotions you hadn’t prepared for. Your heart aches in that way only a well-crafted story can make it—like you're mourning something personal, something real. And as much as you want to pull yourself together, the lump in your throat only grows, tightening with every labored breath.

You stare blankly at the dark screen now, the credits long gone, but the emotional storm inside you rages on. The empty room echoes with the quiet sniffles you fail to hold back. A part of you feels silly for crying over a movie you've seen a million times, but to be completely fair, you were about to get your period.

Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Before you can react, the door creaks open, and in walks Paige. The look on her face shifts instantly as she takes you in, sitting curled up on the couch, your tear-streaked face lit only by the soft glow of the television.

"Baby?" Her voice is low, gentle, but you can hear the edge to it, like she's holding something back. Her eyes—those sharp, intense blue eyes—narrow as they sweep over you. She's scanning, assessing, the same way she does when she’s reading a defense on the court. "What happened?" she asks, her tone both concerned and commanding, demanding an answer even as her voice stays soft.

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, unable to explain through the wave of emotion still crashing over you. You know you don’t look great right now—puffy eyes, blotchy skin, a crumpled tissue that’s no match for the tears—but Paige doesn’t care about that. No, she’s laser-focused on the fact that you’re upset, and that’s all she needs to see.

In a heartbeat, she’s crossing the room, long strides eating up the distance between you. She drops down beside you on the couch, her arm sliding around your shoulders in one smooth motion, pulling you in against her chest. Her grip is firm, possessive, like she needs to protect you from whatever caused this. Even if she doesn’t know what ���this” is yet.

"You don’t have to talk," she murmurs, pressing her cheek against the top of your head. Her voice is like velvet, low and soothing, but underneath it, there's a quiet storm brewing. Her protective instincts are flaring up, you can feel it. She’s always been like this—fierce when it comes to you, like you're something precious she’d fight the world to keep safe.

Her hand gently cups your cheek, turning your face up toward hers. Paige’s eyes are intense, practically burning with emotion, the warmth of her palm grounding you despite the whirlwind inside. "Whatever it is, I got you," she whispers, and you believe her. You always believe her.

But the softness in her touch contrasts with the edge in her voice. There's a possessiveness there that makes your heart race, a deep need to fix whatever has you so broken right now. She tightens her hold on you, like if she hugs you hard enough, she can shield you from whatever hurt is eating at you.

"Baby-"

"No, it's okay. Shh..." She interrupts before you can finish, and you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. She looks ready to go to war, to tear apart anyone or anything that could have possibly made you cry.

You try to pull away slightly, to create some distance, but Paige isn’t having it. Her grip tightens, drawing you back against her chest as if she’s physically unwilling to let you go. "Don’t do that," she says, her voice low but firm. "Don’t hide from me." Her fingers trail down your arm, her warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and you feel the goosebumps rise in response.

You open your mouth, ready to explain, to tell her it’s nothing serious, just a movie, but the way she’s looking at you stops the words before they can even form. There’s something fierce in her eyes, a protective edge that goes beyond simple concern. It’s possessive, almost primal, like she’s ready to tear down anyone or anything that might hurt you—even if that thing is your own emotions.

"Paige, really, it’s not—"

"I said shh..." She cuts you off again, her voice dropping lower, more insistent. Her other hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, gently pressing your face into the curve of her neck. She smells like fresh sweat and a hint of soap—probably from the quick shower after practice—and the familiar scent makes you relax a little more, even if your heart is still racing.

"Just let me take care of you," she murmurs, her lips brushing your hair. "You don’t have to explain anything. I’m here, okay? I’m here." There’s a soothing rhythm to her words, each one a steady beat that matches the rise and fall of her chest.

You can feel her heartbeat under your cheek, strong and steady, grounding you even as you’re still battling the emotional aftershocks of the movie. It’s almost overwhelming—the way she’s holding you so close, her arms wrapped around you like she can shield you from everything, including yourself. And maybe that’s exactly what she’s trying to do.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp with slow, deliberate strokes, and despite the embarrassment still gnawing at the edges of your mind, you can’t help but relax into her touch. Paige always has this way of making the world disappear when she’s near you, like nothing else matters as long as you’re in her arms.

"Who hurt you, baby?" she whispers, her voice darker now, and you feel the intensity of her question deep in your chest. It’s not just a question—it’s a promise. A dangerous one. You know she’d go to extremes to protect you, to make sure nothing or no one ever makes you feel like this again.

"It’s just... a movie..." you manage to mumble into her neck, but even as you say the words, you can feel Paige tense beneath you.

"A movie?" she repeats, and though there’s a hint of relief in her voice, there’s still a trace of suspicion, like she’s not quite ready to believe it. "You’re crying like this over a movie?"

You nod against her, the heat in your cheeks returning in full force. "Yeah. Stepmom."

Paige lets out a long breath, and you can feel her relax slightly, her grip on you loosening just a little. But even then, she doesn’t let go entirely, keeping you close like she’s not ready to fully release you from her protective embrace.

"Baby, you scared me," she finally says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. Her gaze softens, and a small, almost sheepish smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "You know I can’t stand seeing you like that."

"I’m okay," you whisper, though the way her eyes linger on yours tells you she’s not entirely convinced.

"Next time, just tell me," Paige says, her thumb brushing your lip in a feather-light touch. "I’m here for all of it—the good, the bad, and the sappy movie tears. You don’t ever have to hide from me. Got it?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you," you let out a teary laugh as you look at her. She rolled her eyes, her lips quirking up in that sweet smile you love so much. Paige presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, her lips warm and gentle against your skin.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[parkitrighthere]

ASHES OF A PROMISE

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 15.3k

• GENRE: Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, Smut, Slow burn, Fluff (?), Tragic Romance, werewolf au, Royal au

• TRIGGER WARNING: The following content contains themes of emotional distress, manipulation, rejection, and verbal abuse, including emotionally charged arguments and hurtful dialogue that could be distressing. There are references to violence, power dynamics, and trauma. Additionally, there are moments of self-doubt, intense emotional breakdowns, and interactions involving possessive and hostile behaviors. Please proceed with caution if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you.

• SUMMARY: You were a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a mate who would love you as fiercely as you loved him. But when you finally meet your mate, you discover he’s no ordinary wolf — he’s the Lycan king, the alpha of all alphas. Worse, he neither wants you nor is willing to reject you, leaving you trapped in a loveless bond in his kingdom. As queen to a king who resents you, the mate bond grows stronger, making you more vulnerable with each passing day. Now, you must break through the walls around his heart and make him love you, because staying in this bond without love is unbearable, yet leaving isn’t an option he’ll allow.

• a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

•a/n: Hey, everyone! How’s it going? I hope you’re all having a blast! So, here we are—Chapter 1 is finally up, and let me just say, it’s a masterpiece of disappointment! Honestly, I think I might hate it even more than the prologue, which is saying something because that was basically my attempt at literary self-sabotage. I’m pretty sure you’ll read this and wonder if I’ve lost my mind—or my talent, if I ever had any. But hey, if you end up hating it, I totally understand; I’ll just be over here, crying in a corner and contemplating my life choices. So, enjoy this train wreck of a chapter… or don’t, because either way, I’ll be doing the same!

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER 1: THE MATE'S LAMENT

You pressed a trembling hand against your chest, the ache inside sharper than any wound. What did this mean? What had you done to deserve this crushing weight?

The thought pierced through you like a knife, and a ragged sob tore from your throat, scraping the walls raw as it escaped. Your whole body shook with the force of it. How could someone so beautiful be so cruel? How?

Maybe you didn’t deserve any of it. Any of the love.

Your spiral was interrupted by the soft creak of the door. Startled, you lifted your tear-blurred eyes just as a small figure stepped inside. Her footsteps faltered as soon as she saw you, eyes wide and doe-like, her breath catching in her chest. One hand gripped the doorknob, knuckles white, while the other clenched into a tight fist at her side. She hesitated, before she finally let go of the door, letting it close with a soft click.

"Luna," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a step toward you, then another, her deamnour unsure, almost hesitant, as if the space between you and her was filled with something fragile, something that might shatter if she came too close. Her small frame seemed to shrink even more as she neared, her shoulders hunched as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear. In three careful steps, she stood in front of you, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she wanted to leave but couldn’t. Her fingers nervously twisted the fabric of her sleeves, her gaze flickering to your tear-streaked face, then away, unable to hold it for too long.

"Hi," she started again, her voice hesitant, as if unsure of what to say, what to hold back. You could see the confusion in her eyes, flickering across her face as she tried to make sense of her own presence here. She didn’t look like a maid or servant, nothing about her carried that air. Her gaze flitted around the room, nervously taking in everything but you—never you, not for longer than a fleeting second.

"His Majesty mentioned you were injured... and insisted someone should tend to you immediately?" Her words came out like a question, not a statement. Her eyes finally, really, landed on you, sweeping over your body as if searching for visible wounds. But you said nothing, offering her no comfort or explanation. You could see her stiffen, her shoulders drawing up, tension coiling through her body. Her fingers twitched at her sides, clenching and unclenching. Was it anxiety? Or was she angry? You couldn’t tell. Angry at you? Angry at the situation?

She stood there, rigid and uncomfortable, like she was trying to hold back a storm raging inside her.

"You don’t... you don’t look physically hurt," she said at last, her voice faltering despite the firmness she was trying to inject into it. Her tone was small, unsure, like she was afraid of overstepping.

"I’m not," you replied, finally breaking the silence. She let out a soft, breathy exhale, her lips parting slightly in relief. For a moment, the tension seemed to leave her body, but only briefly. Her hands still shook as she moved closer, taking a seat beside you on the bed. She tried to appear composed, confident even, but her worried eyes betrayed her. They darted over your face, as if searching for something she didn’t quite understand.

Her posture was straighter now, but her fingers were knotted together in her lap, betraying her own emotions, she was feeling. She was doing her best to stay in control, but the way her hands trembled gave her away.

You didn’t understand what had her so on edge, not fully. Maybe deep down, you knew, but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You could feel it—the pull. You were her Luna, and her wolf was bound to you, connected in a way she couldn’t resist. She was loyal to the core, and now that you were hurting, her wolf could feel it all. It was written in the way her breath hitched, in the tightening of her jaw, in the way her hands trembled despite her outward composure.

Even if you didn’t know her exact role within the pack, you could tell she was someone important. The weight of the connection was pressing down on her, forcing her to share the burden of emotions that weren’t her own. She had no choice in the matter—her wolf was loyal, whether she wanted it or not. And here she was, sitting beside you, a silent, anxious witness to the pain you carried inside.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her left hand landing on your shoulder with a slow, soothing touch. But the question felt hollow to you—meaningless. Even she knew the answer. It was as if she didn’t want to hear the truth, didn’t want to face it. She wanted the lie. She wanted you to say you were fine, that everything was manageable. But you couldn’t.

“No,” the word slipped from your lips in a breathy whisper, unplanned, unwelcome. It was already out before you could pull it back, and the floodgates opened. “I’m not.” You shook your head slightly, your voice cracking as you turned to her, eyes wide and raw. “Nothing’s okay. Nothing!” The confession ripped out of you, trembling and desperate, like a wound finally exposed.

She didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into her arms, wrapping them tightly around you, holding you like she could shield you from everything that had broken you. Her embrace was warm, her hands gentle as they pressed against your back, but it still didn’t reach the cold emptiness inside. You were like a traveler lost in a winter storm, seeking shelter but finding nothing, standing on an endless, frozen street with nowhere to go. The comfort she offered felt distant, as if you were too far gone to feel it.

"It will be okay," she murmured into your hair, but you knew better. You weren’t naïve. You had seen the truth—felt it. How could it ever be okay when the weight of everything had already crushed you? There was no hope, only more pain ahead. You could feel it in your bones, in the ache that refused to let go.

“I am sure of it,” she continued, pulling back slightly to look at you, her hands gently wiping the tears from your face. Her touch was tender, but her words stung. “You’re his mate, Luna. He’ll come around. You just have to hold on. Don’t cry, please. My wolf… she’s going crazy.”

Her voice broke, and you realized it wasn’t just her trying to comfort you—it was her wolf, the pull of the bond making her feel everything you were going through. Her desperation was palpable. At least she was here, trying, when the one person who should have been with you had left you to cry alone.

You nodded, your head bobbing violently, avoiding her eyes. You didn’t have the strength to argue, not now. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, the sleeve of your white dress smudging black as your mascara mixed with the salty wetness. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept coming, rolling down your cheeks as if they had a life of their own, and you were powerless to hold them back.

“Come, let’s go.” She stood up, brushing her hands nervously over the front of her gown, before turning to look back at you. Her soft, innocent eyes locked onto your face, but you didn’t move. You just stared up at her, perplexed and still too disoriented to understand.

“What happened, Luna?” Her voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

“Go where?” you asked, blinking slowly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh… to your room,” she said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. Her fingers twisted around the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. “His Majesty told me to prepare it for you.” She hesitated, watching for your reaction, her gaze flickering from your face to the floor, as if unsure whether she should continue. “He chose it himself,” she added, more hesitant now, her words hanging awkwardly in the air.

The statement only deepened your confusion, and your brow furrowed. You had known he wouldn’t let you stay with him in his room—that much had been clear. But why did he bring you here in the first place? What was the point of it all?

“Then why did he bring me here?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice sharper than you intended. It was absurd, the way he had toyed with your heart, made you feel vulnerable, only to discard you like you were nothing. What was he thinking?

The girl fidgeted, her hands wringing together nervously. “I fear only His Majesty holds the answer to that, my Luna,” she whispered, casting her gaze down, avoiding your eyes, as if she could feel the weight of your frustration, your confusion.

“But why not here?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent, as your instincts clawed to keep you rooted in this room. His scent still lingered, that familiar mix of ocean water and coconut, wrapping around you like a lifeline. It was strange, undeniably so, but to you, it felt like home. Your body refused to let go of what little remained of him here, as if holding onto it might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

The girl shifted on her feet, her eyes wide as she struggled to find the right words. “Luna, this is the royal chamber,” she began, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides.

You frowned, glancing around the room. “Isn’t the whole palace royal?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion. You finally rose to your feet, taking in the grand space around you. It was beautiful—majestic, even. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but admire it. A part of you loved this room, wanted to stay here just a little longer.

“That’s true,” she admitted, her voice hesitant. “But…” She trailed off, biting her lip as if weighing whether she should continue. You looked at her, curiosity sparking in your eyes, though the confusion still lingered. “This chamber… it’s reserved for the king and queen. They stay here after the mating ceremony with the pack. It’s tradition.”

She was speaking quickly now, as if nervous about how much she was revealing. Her feet shuffled anxiously beneath her, her gaze darting from you to the door. “What tradition?” you asked, stepping toward her, your voice edged with frustration.

She hesitated, wringing her hands before finally speaking again. “The first time the king brings his mate here, it’s only to…” She paused, glancing up at you, clearly uneasy. “To mate. If they don’t, they must wait for two full moons before… before they can try again.”

“Huh?” The word fell from your lips, flat and disbelieving. It made no sense—if this room held such significance, why would he have brought you here only to leave you feeling like you didn’t matter? You stared at her, trying to piece together what was happening, but the more you thought about it, the less it made sense.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as the weight of it all pressed down on you. Nothing about this felt right, and yet here you were, standing in the middle of a hall staring at a room that wasn’t meant for you—not yet, at least.

“Luna, please walk ahead,” she urged softly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. “If His Majesty finds out you were walking behind me, he will have my head. And… well, my mate being the royal general probably won’t help much in this case.”

You blinked in realization, your mind connecting the dots. Her mate… Neil. The royal general. You remembered their story well—how it had caused an uproar just a few months ago. She was an omega, and he was a powerful, high-ranking general. It was unheard of, taboo even, for someone of his rank to mate with someone so low in status. But Neil had fought for her, tooth and nail, defying tradition for the love of his mate.

Back then, when you heard about their story, it had filled you with hope. You had dreamed of a love like that—someone who would fight for you, who would stand by your side no matter what. But now, you weren’t so sure. You had the king himself as your mate, but did you really have him? You had everything… and yet, nothing.

As you nodded at her request, you moved forward through the empty halls, your feet heavy with each step. The silence between you both felt oppressive, weighed down by unspoken questions. One question above all lingered in your mind, echoing with every step: Why did he bring me here?

Everything had seemed fine at first. But as soon as you reached the royal chamber, something had shifted in Jungkook. His whole demeanor changed—cold, distant, like he didn’t want you at all.

Your thoughts churned as you walked, your hands brushing against the fabric of your dress, your fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidery. You remembered the way his jaw had tightened, how his eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Fear? Disgust?

“Luna, here we are,” Patricia announced softly, her voice warm and welcoming as she opened the door to your room. It wasn’t as grand as the royal chamber, but it had a certain charm. The crimson walls immediately caught your attention, the color soothing and familiar—it was a shade you loved.

Patricia stood by the doorway, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Do you like it, Luna?” she asked, her voice bright, almost chirping with excitement. She clasped her hands in front of her, shifting slightly from foot to foot, clearly eager for your approval.

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you glanced around the room. “Yes,” you replied, your gaze settling on a vase in the corner. Its intricate design and deep red flowers seemed to echo the mood of the room. “It’s lovely.” You turned back to her, your smile softening, but something felt off. “Thank you…” You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know her name, despite spending so much time with her.

She giggled, the sound light and carefree, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can call me Patricia,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

“Patricia…” you repeated softly. She smiled wider, pleased with your response.

“Well, Luna,” she said, stepping back toward the door, “I’ll leave you now. You should rest.” Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. She turned to leave, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you heading back to the gathering?” you asked, your voice catching just slightly as you remembered the night’s events.

Patricia paused, glancing over her shoulder. “No, it’s over.”

“Over?” you frowned. “But wasn’t it important?”

She shrugged, her tone light, dismissive. “Not really.”

Her casual response left you with more questions than answers, but before you could say anything else, Patricia moved toward the door, and the only sound that escaped your lips was a quiet, “Oh.”

Patricia’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the moment. “Please excuse me, Luna. My mate must be waiting for me,” she said gently, her voice tinged with warmth as she spoke of her mate.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and watched her leave, the soft click of the door sealing you in the quiet room. Alone.

You slowly made your way to the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Just as you were about to lie down, you paused, realizing you didn’t have anything comfortable to wear for the night. The realization hit you like a dull thud in your chest—Patricia had taken care of everything, yet this one detail, your clothes, had been forgotten.

You let out a long, tired breath, shoulders slumping as you gave in. "What could I have done, anyway?" you muttered to yourself. There wasn’t much choice left now. You flopped onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath your weight, cradling your tired body.

The room was bathed in a soft silver glow, the moonlight filtering through the open window. Its light danced gently on the floor, casting a peaceful glow over the room as you reached over to turn off the switch. The curtains fluttered, brushing softly against the windowsill, swaying with the rhythm of the cold night breeze. Each gust sent a shiver through the room, a subtle reminder of the world outside, yet it felt so far from where you lay.

You stared out of the window, eyes tracing the outline of the moon hanging bright in the dark sky. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but your mind was elsewhere. Too much had happened in the past few hours, too many changes for you to grasp. Your life had flipped upside down in the blink of an eye, and you still didn’t know if it was for better or worse.

Your chest tightened with the weight of everything—the uncertainty, the confusion, the aching loneliness that sat heavy inside you like a stone. The whirlwind of thoughts swirled in your mind, twisting and turning, never settling long enough for you to catch your breath.

You didn’t even realize when your eyelids began to droop, when the tiredness finally pulled you under. Your last thought, tangled and blurry, was of him—of the cold distance between you, of the things left unsaid. And then, sleep claimed you, taking you away from the chaos, if only for a little while.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

���Luna,” a soft, melodic voice broke through the fog of your deep sleep, coaxing you gently. You stirred, rolling to your side, trying to escape the harsh sunlight now streaming through the windows and landing directly on your face.

“Luna, wake up,” the voice came again, more insistent. You groaned, forcing your eyes open, blinking against the light. Patricia was standing beside your bed, crouched slightly, shielding you from the sun with her body. Her lips curved into a smile when she saw you stirring, and she backed away as you groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes.

The groan in your throat grew louder as you tried to shake off the heavy weight of sleep, your body protesting. "What time is it?" you muttered, rubbing at your face, a wide yawn slipping out before you could stop it.

“Seven,” Patricia replied, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as a giggle escaped her. She didn’t seem to understand why you were asking.

“Seven?” you repeated, eyes widening. “It’s so early!” you whined, dragging out the words as you slumped back against the headboard.

Patricia’s eyes went wide in shock, her mouth hanging open as if you had said something utterly ridiculous. “What?” she nearly yelled, making you flinch. Realizing she’d startled you, she quickly apologized. “You must be teasing me,” she said, her voice softer now, though still filled with disbelief.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Why would I do that? Why are you so shocked?” you asked, slowly crawling out of bed, stretching your stiff limbs as you yawned again.

“Luna, it’s past seven, actually,” Patricia said, her tone matter-of-fact as she crossed her arms. “Everyone here wakes up at four!”

Your mouth fell open, and you froze mid-stretch. “Four?” you repeated, staring at her as if she had just said something in another language. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide with sincerity, clearly baffled by your reaction. You stood there, at a loss for words, trying to process the absurdity of it all. Four in the morning? That was barely even night!

“Why?” was all you could manage to ask, your mind racing with disbelief. You wanted to scream, “What the hell do you guys do at four in the morning?”

“It’s just how it is here,” Patricia replied, her voice calm now, though her eyes were still fixed on you with a hint of curiosity, as if trying to understand your reaction. “Just bath and get ready. His Majesty wants to meet you.”

“Me?” You pointed incredulously at yourself, your index finger hovering in the air as disbelief washed over you. Why would he want to see you, especially after everything that had happened last night? A cold sensation crept through your bones, traveling up your spine. You took a shaky breath as your wolf stirred at the back of your mind, sensing the mere thought of your mate. She hadn’t spoken to you since last night, and you had been too wrapped up in grief to even consider reaching out.

“Yes. I also brought you some clothes.” Patricia gestured to the edge of the bed, where a beautiful red satin dress lay. You nodded silently, trying to calm the swirl of emotions in your chest. As you took two hesitant steps toward the bathroom, you froze, suddenly unsure.

Patricia seemed to read your thoughts. She pointed to a door on the left side of the room, and you nodded gratefully, giving her a small smile before darting inside.

The bathroom was nothing short of breathtaking, with marble tiles and a large shower that seemed to beckon you. You didn’t have time to admire it, though. You quickly turned on the shower, letting the water warm up as you glanced at your reflection. Your heart raced, knowing you needed to hurry.

As the water cascaded over you, you joked aloud, “If I bathe any faster, I might just become a fish!” You scrubbed yourself quickly, wishing you had more time to enjoy the luxury, but the thought of Jungkook waiting propelled you forward. “Okay, speed bathing, world record, here I come!” you teased, rinsing off and turning off the shower in a rush.

With a swift motion, you slipped into the red dress. It hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating curves you didn’t know you had, the fabric silky against your skin. You spun around, admiring your reflection for a brief moment before your thoughts turned back to the meeting. You took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Luna, we’re already late!” Patricia knocked impatiently on the door, her voice pulling you from your trance. The aroma of food wafted through the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, but it felt too early for you to consider eating.

“Luna, here, have something before we leave,” she urged, holding out a plate as you emerged.

“I’m not really hungry,” you replied, shaking your head slightly, feeling your stomach churn in nervous anticipation. Patricia’s gaze narrowed slightly as she assessed you for a moment, then she took your hand gently, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I suggest you eat. Believe me, you'll need it," she said, her tone firm, emphasizing the word need. Although hunger wasn't gnawing at your stomach, her earnestness made you feel the weight of her words. You quickly found yourself nibbling on whatever was piling up on your plate, each bite more rushed than the last, as if the food would somehow fortify you for what lay ahead.

After you gobbled down the last bite, you shot up from the bed, the urgency in her demeanor making your heart race. Patricia had gone from bouncing on her tippy toes to sitting next to you, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap, her nervous obvious. You felt her eyes on you, a silent request pushing you to eat faster without her saying a word.

“Let’s go,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling in your stomach. She nodded vigorously, her eyes brightening as she stood and led the way out of the room.

“Where are we really going?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“To your his majesty's study room,” she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You could only blink in her as she sprinted down the hall. You followed her, feeling a bit like a lost child trying to keep up with an overly eager parent.

“Luna, please walk beside me, not behind me,” Patricia said, glancing over her shoulder, her voice tinged with silent frustration. You noted how her fingers twisted together, betraying her emotions.

You quickened your pace, taking two long strides to match her side, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you caught up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to lag behind,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though a small part of you understood her worry and frustration.

Soon, you found yourself standing in front of a closed door, a chill of apprehension creeping down your spine. Patricia halted, taking a deep breath that seemed to stretch in the air, oppressively. You watched her knuckles turn white as she knocked, each rap echoing through the silence.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

A gruff voice came from behind the door, “Come in.” As she pushed the door open, she gestured for you to enter first. You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing in your chest, then nodded and stepped inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the moment felt surreal. Your wolf stirred at the sound of his voice, an unsettling mix of yearning and pain washing over you, but the overwhelming grief she carried held her back. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced around the edges, but your focus was solely on him. Jungkook sat behind a massive desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours the instant you entered. They seemed to deepen, filled with an intensity that made your stomach drop, and a cold, menacing smirk crept across his softly thin lips.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you approached him, each step a battle against the swirl of emotions inside you. His brow arched as you stood before his desk, a silent provocation hanging between you. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you had to fight the urge to bare your neck to him.

From your left, you caught a glimpse of Patricia standing close to Neil, their heads bent together as they whispered something to each other. Neil gazed at her with an expression that made your heart ache—adoration shimmering in his eyes. Their fingers intertwined behind their backs, a quiet intimacy that made your chest tighten. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, for the warmth of shared affection, and it tugged painfully at your heartstrings. You wanted that too.

With a determined look, you turned back to Jungkook, narrowing your eyes in defiance. He was still watching you, a predator relishing the hunt, and his smile widened at your glare. His lips stretched slightly before he caught himself, the playful facade melting into a serious demeanor. You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something mingling with intrigue in his gaze.

"What urgent business made Your Majesty summon me here?" you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. The taunt in your voice hung in the air like an electric charge, sparking a reaction in him. His expression shifted, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he absorbed your words, but he quickly masked it.

“I appreciate your time. There’s an important matter I wish to discuss with you—one that requires your attention.” His tone was unnervingly calm, as if your irritation were merely a nuisance to be brushed aside. It ignited your anger further.

“What matters?” you demanded, your voice edged with defiance as you crossed your arms, refusing to back down from his piercing gaze.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression unreadable. “Now that you are here, and this will be your home, it is time to leave behind the ways of your old pack. There are rules you must follow, and you shall learn them in due course,” Jungkook stated, his voice steady, but the words hit you like a slap.

You straightened your spine, glaring at him. “And, may I ask what rules I need to follow?” The irritation in your voice was clear, though you fought to keep it even.

“First, you’re not allowed to leave the palace without my permission,” he replied, his tone calm and unwavering. The calmness only ignited the fire of rebellion inside you.

“What? You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes, your hands curling into fists. “That’s absurd.”

“very,” he said, brushing off your defiance as if it were a passing breeze. “Second, you won’t form close relationships with the staff or low ranking pack members. And third, you're not to attend pack meetings.”

“You’re isolating me,” you accused, each word sharpened by the rising heat of your frustration. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t possibly expect me to follow this nonsense.”

“You’re also restricted from certain areas of the palace, especially the the king's quarters.”

“Is this just another way to keep me locked up like one of your pets?” you spat, sarcasm dripping from your words as you crossed your arms.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed with a brief flicker of irritation, but he masked it quickly. “You’ll present yourself formally at all events. And you’re not to mention our mating bond to anyone.”

Your laugh was bitter, mocking. “This is pathetic. Do you hear yourself? You want me to pretend to be your perfect little queen while you strip me of every ounce of dignity.”

His expression didn’t change, which only fueled your anger more. “You’ll follow a strict schedule, including etiquette lessons, and did I mention, no physical training.”

“No physical training? You can’t stop me from fighting.” You took another step forward, daring him to try. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I just did,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing as he looked down at you. “You're not to challenge me in front of the pack. You will dress appropriately, as befits a queen."

You clenched your jaw, a white-hot rage bubbling under your skin.

“You’ll attend all royal ceremonies, whether you want to or not. And there will be no emotional displays in public,” he continued, his voice like iron.

You advanced on him, fury swirling in your veins. “And what if I do?” you dared, eyes gleaming with defiance. “What if I make a scene? What if I let the whole pack know who I'm and how you treat me?”

“There will be no physical intimacy between us, unless I say otherwise.”

That statement landed like a blow. For a second, you couldn’t respond, your heart hammering in your chest. But you recovered quickly, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile.

He remained unmoved. “You will not voice your opinion on pack matters, nor will you challenge the council.”

Your eyes burned with a fierce light. “I’ll challenge anyone I damn well please,” you snapped, stepping even closer. “You can make all the rules you want, but I'll do what I wish.”

“Thats all! I trust that’s clear?”

“Crystal clear,” you growled, sarcastically, your fists shaking with the need to lash out. “But don’t expect me to just obey like one of your trained wolves.”

“patricia will accompany you back to your room,” he said, gesturing toward Patricia, who stood dumbfounded, her mouth agape, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook.

“Ye-yes, Your Majesty,” she stammered, clearly as shocked as you were.

She stepped closer to you, grabbing your hand and tugging gently as if to coax you away, but you couldn’t help throwing daggers at Jungkook with your eyes.

“Luna, please,” Shina pleaded, pulling at your sleeve.

But you weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

You turned sharply, locking eyes with Shina, who was pale and clearly terrified, but before she could speak, you whipped around to face him one last time. “I’m not your possession, and I never will be. One way or another, I will make my own choices.”

His lips twisted into a tight smile. “We’ll see,” he said, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“I guess we will,” you shot back, your voice steady, daring, as you stormed out of the room, Patricia scrambling to follow.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the floodgates of your emotions burst open. “He is a bastard!” you yelled, the words echoing through the room. Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock as she darted a nervous glance at the door.

“Luna, he can hear you!” she hissed, but your anger had already ignited a fire within you, consuming all rational thought.

“I know!” you snapped back, a defiant spark igniting in your chest as you started walking like some deranged animal.

“Wait!” she called, scrambling to catch up to you. “Where are you going?”

“To my room! Duh!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s on the other side,” she said, pointing right with an urgency that made her look almost comical. “And don’t say ‘duh!’”

“Whatever!” you shot back, heading in the direction she indicated, arms swinging at your sides.

As soon as you reached your room, you let out a primal scream of frustration, your voice ricocheting off the walls. You began to roam the room, while Patricia watched you with concern, her brow furrowing.

Just then, a sharp knock interrupted your spiral. You turned to Patricia, who nodded at you, her eyes wide as if to say, “Brace yourself.”

“Come in!” you called, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart raced.

The door swung open, revealing Shina, the beta female, stepping inside with a bright smile. “Shina, FINALLY!” Patricia exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. You felt a flash of offense bubble up inside you—was it really that bad with you?

Shina let out a light laugh before turning her gaze to you, offering a small nod. “I’ve been told to serve as your etiquette teacher,” she said, executing a playful curtsy that made you giggle. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at her eagerness, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. ���Fun? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I thought she would be provided with a real teacher,” Patricia chimed in, throwing Shina a side-eye that was dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you doubting me?” Shina asked, feigning offense, a hand on her hip, her expression a mix of mock indignation and amusement.

“No, of course not!” Patricia replied, forcing a sweet smile that barely hid her skepticism. “I’m just doubting your etiquette. Do you even have any?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. You’d never seen Patricia like this; she was usually a bundle of nerves. But now, a smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

“Excuse me?!” Shina gasped, placing a hand on her chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know that I can differentiate between a salad fork and a dessert fork!”

“Yeah! And, I eat water. But seriously, why you?” Patricia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Shina simply shrugged her shoulders, a nonchalant gesture that only fueled your suspicions. You knew the answer all too well: he didn't want anyone to know you were his mate—just the people who had to be in the loop.

“Shall we start?” Shina asked, breaking the tension as she clapped her hands together. Patricia flopped down onto a nearby chair by the window, her movement unceremonious as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, be ready. But let me warn you, she’s the same woman who once called the duke ‘Dukie.’”

“Don’t mind her,” Shina said, waving her hand dismissively as if brushing away a fly. “She’s just a whiny ass.”

“I heard that!” Patricia shot back, her voice sharper than a knife, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I wanted you to hear it,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh at the bickering.

“It’s fine then,” Patricia said, crossing her arms defiantly, her chin tilted up as if she were accepting a challenge.

The two of them were practically squabbling like an old married couple, and you couldn't help but feel amused. Shina leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, Luna—”

“Call me Bee,” you said, cutting her off as a genuine smile breaking through the heaviness in your chest. The nickname, a sweet remnant from your mother. Since her death, no one had used it, and it stung to remember how alone you felt without your wolf at your side after Jungkook had left you. It was as if a gaping void had settled in your mind.

“Are you sure?” Shina asked, glancing at Patricia, who wore an expression of surprise that mirrored your own.

“Yes,” you affirmed, nodding your head fervently.

“Okie!” Shina chirped, bouncing on her feet.

The next few hours dissolved into a whirlwind of laughter and playful jabs from Patricia as Shina animatedly imparted lessons on royal protocol and warrior ethics. You found yourself gasping for breath between fits of giggles at their banter, the absurdity of their comments lightening your mood. Shina was undeniably fun, and you noticed how Patricia relaxed, the rigid lines of her discipline softening in Shina’s presence.

“Finally, we are done!” you screeched, flopping onto your bed like a rag doll, your limbs sprawling out. Patricia, who had been perched on the edge of the bed for what felt like an eternity, looked over at you, a mix of concern and amusement on her face.

“Bee, that wasn’t very queen-like—” she began, her tone teasing, but you shot her a playful glare.

“Shut up!” Shina interjected, her laughter ringing out like a bell. Patricia merely shook her head, a smile breaking through her feigned exasperation. You found it funny how their relationship worked; Patricia was the serious one, and Shina was the carefree one. You couldn't help but wonder how the two of them got along so well in a world that felt so strange to you.

“Bee, now we gotta go,” Shina said, her voice dropping slightly as she held out her hand to Patricia, their fingers interlacing.

“Where?” you asked, a flicker of disappointment gnawing at your insides. You didn’t want them to leave. They had become your lifeline, distracting you from thoughts of Jungkook and the confusion he left behind. Without them, the looming silence would creep back in, suffocating you to no end.

“I’m sorry, Bee, but we have urgent matters to address,” Shina said, her smile tinged with sadness. “But you can come with us if you want to,” she added, her expression brightening as hope glimmered in her eyes.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! I want to come!”

The three of you made your way out of the room, and a big smile spread across your face. Life in your old pack had been tough, each day a struggle to find your place, but it was different here. Despite Jungkook’s coldness and the constant feeling of not being enough, you were grateful for the friendship blossoming around you. You didn’t know if Patricia and Shina considered you friends, but you sure did. Patricia still maintained a hint of formality, but you sensed she’d warm up eventually, just like Shina had.

“Where are we heading to?” you asked, glancing between the two as they shared a conspiratorial look, excitement dancing in their eyes.

“To the training field,” Shina answered, her voice light and cheerful. She looked at you with a soft smile that made her cheeks flush. “she is the general’s mate, so she is responsible for training the female wolves.” she said pointing at Patricia, as she also blushed for the reasons unknown to you. Her shyness was endearing, but the way her smile faded a bit as she added, “And we also need to train,” hinted at the challenge ahead.

Unfortunately, Jungkook had forbidden you from training—an order that left you feeling more like a caged bird than ever. You didn’t understand why he loathed you so much; his harshness felt like a wall between you. But deep down, you knew this couldn’t last. You couldn’t keep stewing in sadness and anger while he remained a closed book, hiding his emotions from you. You needed to confront him soon; you needed your mate, and he needed you, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Oh! So you mean you’re going there to train and not to eye-fuck the beta?” Patricia piped up, her voice teasing, a wide smirk lighting up her face and a laugh bubbled from your throat.

Shina’s eyes widened in mock horror, her mouth forming an exaggerated “O.” “Patricia! You can’t say that! We have to keep it professional!” She feigned scandal, a hand pressed dramatically against her chest, yet the laughter dancing in her eyes betrayed her.

“Professional? Please!” Patricia rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a flourish. “The only thing you do professionally is blushing every time beta Kian walks by! I am like woman, he is your damn mate. Get a grip!”

“Oh, and what about you, Miss ‘I Can’t Stop Staring’?” Shina shot back, playfully bumping her shoulder against Patricia's as they walked side by side. “If I recall, you nearly drooled on Neil the other day!”

“Hey! He’s just so—” Patricia started, her cheeks flushing a deep red, “—dreamy! I can’t help it!” She huffed, crossing her arms defiantly but couldn’t hide her smirk.

“Dreamy? More like a heartthrob disaster waiting to happen!” Shina retorted, throwing her head back in laughter, their voices filling the hallway with warmth.

“Will he be there too?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly as both of them paused their bickering to focus on you. Shina’s eyes lit up with a knowing smirk that made your heart race, while Patricia's expression softened, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. She smiled gently, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she whispered, “Yes.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of her understanding hanging in the air. Patricia knew the ache of longing all too well; she had fought her own battles to be with her mate. Neither of you spoke further on the subject as you continued walking toward the training ground. It felt like a long trek, the palace sprawling before you.

As you entered the training field, the chaos hit you like a wave. The air buzzed with energy as female wolves sparred, fists flying in a flurry of movement. Grunts of exertion and the thud of bodies colliding filled the space. It was a sight to behold, but not the prettiest—some faces were twisted with concentration, others were flushed with effort, while some were twisted in pain.

Shina and Patricia quickly motioned you to take a seat in one corner, a quick nod from Shina signaling for you to stay put while they dashed off to change into their training gear.

You took a moment to absorb the scene before you. The female wolves fought with determination, their bodies glistening with sweat under the warm sun. The breathy grunts hanging heavy in the air and... you wanted to join too.

Yet, as you sat on the sidelines, you felt a pang of frustration at Jungkook’s orders. Why had he insisted you stay away from training? You glanced toward the empty side of the field, the male wolves’ training area—silent for now, but you knew they would be there soon. Would Jungkook be among them? Your heart raced at the thought, and your wolf stirred again.

Soon, both Shina and Patricia came sprinting toward you, their bodies clad in sleek training gear that hugged their athletic frames. Shina practically leaped into your space as she exclaimed, “Bee, she will measure the performance of them all! You can wait here while I go help her.” The brightness in her eyes was contagious, and you nodded in agreement, feeling a little like a lost puppy trying to keep up.

They dashed away toward the combat pit, and you watched as Patricia's voice rang out like a bell, instantly commanding attention. “Listen up, everyone!” she called, her tone firm yet encouraging. The warriors immediately fell into line, forming neat rows as Shina moved among them, dividing them into teams with an air of authority that surprised you. It lasted only a moment before the clashing of fists and feet began, filling the air with a rhythm of combat.

You leaned back against the cool wall, eyes wide as you observed the spectacle. The warriors displayed impressive skills, each move fluid and powerful. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of inadequacy—there was no way you could compete, even against the weakest here. This was the royal pack, after all, and they were warriors forged from years of dedication and strength.

Still, you found a sliver of enjoyment in the chaos. Watching them fight was far better than sitting alone in your room, staring at the walls that felt like they were closing in on you. And soon the other training area began to fill up. You spotted Kian entering first, his presence commanding. Shina’s eyes lit up, practically sparkling as she stared at him, her focus wavering. “Shina, focus!” Patricia called out, exasperation lacing her tone as she tried to bring her back to reality. But Shina’s gaze kept drifting back to her shirtless mate, who seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on everyone around him. Kian was not just hot; he was undeniably hot hot, the kind of hot that drew attention without effort.

You let out a soft chuckle at their antics, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a dark figure emerging from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as a chill raced down your spine. The air around you shifted, crackling with an intense energy that sent heat biting through your bones. A deep, primal desire ignited in your core, wrapping around your heart like a vine.

He was here.

Jungkook.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him without being obvious, and there he stood in the farthest corner of the training ground, shirtless. Jungkook's eyes were locked on you, igniting a fire deep within your chest. His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in a way that made your heart race. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only his intense gaze that set you ablaze.

With a deliberate slowness, he strode toward the combat pit where Kian waited, a devilish glint flashing in his eyes. Neil, the general, stood off to the side, focused on the other male warriors, a commanding presence that left no room for doubt. But all you could think about was Jungkook. Your breath hitched as he casually began to unbutton his white shirt, each button giving way one by one, exposing more of his chiselled torso. You let out a low whine before you even realized it was your wolf reacting to the sight of him.

Out of all the times for your wolf to make her presence known, she chose now? But who could blame her? Your mate was standing there in low-hanging trousers, his bare skin catching the sunlight and highlighting the contours of his muscles. The sight was intoxicating, and a primal urge surged through you as your wolf growled in your mind, a low rumble of frustration mingling with desire.

“Look at him, Bee. He is so hot,” she purred, her voice sultry and teasing. “Bee, why doesn't he want us?” You could feel her longing vibrating through your very being, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As Jungkook and Kian circled each other in the pit. Kian lunged first, throwing a sharp right hook aimed at Jungkook’s jaw, but Jungkook sidestepped with lightning speed, barely lifting an eyebrow in acknowledgement. Kian was quick to recover, spinning on his heel and throwing a swift jab to Jungkook’s ribs, but it was met with nothing but air. Jungkook had already ducked low, his body moving like it had anticipated the strike long before it happened.

Kian came in harder this time, eyes blazing with determination, throwing a barrage of punches. Jungkook dodged the first few easily, his movements fluid, then caught Kian’s wrist mid-punch with a grip like iron. For a second, they stood there, locked in place, the power struggle evident. Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening just enough for Kian to wince.

Without warning, Kian yanked his arm free, pivoting low and sweeping Jungkook's legs out from under him. Jungkook hit the ground hard, but before Kian could press the advantage, Jungkook rolled out of reach, popping back up to his feet with the same effortless grace.

Kian charged again, this time aiming a vicious uppercut. Jungkook ducked just in time, feeling the brush of Kian’s fist pass over his hair. Jungkook countered immediately, his fist slamming into Kian’s gut with a dull thud that echoed in the pit. Kian grunted, staggering back a few steps, but he didn’t go down.

Jungkook didn’t let up. He stepped forward, driving his elbow into Kian’s side, a brutal strike that sent him stumbling to his knees. For a moment, Jungkook paused, chest rising and falling steadily, his eyes locked on Kian. It was like he was waiting — giving him a chance to get up, to fight back. There was no malice in his eyes, only dominance.

But Kian wasn’t finished. He sprang up, swinging wildly, desperate now. Jungkook blocked the punches with ease, his forearms absorbing the blows like they were nothing. When Kian threw a wild hook, Jungkook sidestepped, grabbed the back of his neck, and yanked him forward. They collided, chest to chest, Jungkook’s lips curling into a smirk as Kian struggled to free himself from his grip.

In one smooth motion, Jungkook twisted and slammed Kian to the ground, hard. Kian gasped, the wind knocked from his lungs as he hit the dirt with a heavy thud. Jungkook loomed over him, his knee pressing into Kian’s chest, pinning him in place. The fight was over — Jungkook didn’t need to say a word. His body, his presence, declared victory.

He stood slowly, letting Kian catch his breath, but his gaze never once wavered. He rolled his neck, muscles flexing as he looked down at his fallen opponent, then turned away without another glance.

Your heart sank, disappointment washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your wolf, however, was undeterred.

“He doesn’t even looked at us,” she sulked, her voice a mix of longing and frustration.

As you watched him turn away, the heat in your core only intensified as you unknowingly pressed your legs together. Your gaze lingered on his retreating figure, every step he took echoing in your chest. You couldn’t help but think of how strong he was, how much power he radiated, and how desperately you wanted to be close to him.

The combat pit was still bustling around you, but all you could see was Jungkook, the way he carried himself with a confidence that made your heart race. “Why won’t you look at me?” you thought, frustration bubbling within you as you watched him leave.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself wandering back to your room. Shina escorted you, but you could sense her eagerness to leave as she still had to bath and wash away the sweat of training. After a brief goodbye, she left you alone, and the silence settled heavily around you.

At night dinner came and went, delivered by a maid who whisked in and out with a tray of food that you barely touched. The sheets cool against your skin felt nice, but sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning only brought frustration, and after hours of restless thoughts, you resigned yourself to the fact that tonight would be a long one.

With a deep sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the cool floor grounding you. You stepped out into the empty halls of the palace, the quiet amplified by the vastness of the space. The air was thick with a stillness that made every sound seem sharper.

As you walked, your eyes drifted over the majestic paintings that adorned the walls. Each one was a reminder of the lineage that loomed over you. You paused before a portrait that caught your attention—a striking depiction of Jungkook’s father, the late Lycan king. His strong features were chiseled in a way that demanded respect, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Jungkook. He had lost so much at such a young age, thrust into a role that should have belonged to a father, a king. You could only imagine the weight of that responsibility, the expectations that came with it.

Taking a deep breath, you continued down the hallway. The corridor opened into the royal garden, where the moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery light over the landscape. You stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around you like a soothing balm. The moon was full, its glow reflecting off the petals of the flowers and illuminating the leaves of the trees.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the serenity wash over you. This was the time when werewolves felt most connected to the world, to each other, to the wild magic that flowed through your veins. You could feel the pull of the moon, urging you to embrace your true nature.

As you gazed up at the night sky, a sense of calm enveloped you. The moon was a reminder that even in darkness, there was beauty to be found. You longed to share this moment with Jungkook, to let him see the side of you that yearned for love and understanding. The thought made your heart flutter, igniting a flicker of warmth within you.

“What brings you here?” The voice came from behind you, deep and resonant, causing you to turn around, startled. There he stood—Jungkook, the moonlight casting a silver halo around him. For the first time since you met, his expression was calm, devoid of the anger and confusion that usually clouded his features. In that moment, he looked almost ethereal, and you felt your heart race.

“Nothing,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I wasn't able to sleep, so I was just wandering around and found myself here.” You shrugged, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

He motioned for you to follow him, and without hesitation, you fell into step beside him. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound accompanying the stillness of the night as he led you deeper into the garden, the fragrant scent of blooming flowers enveloping you both.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Indeed, your majesty,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. The night was enchanting, each star twinkling like diamonds against the velvet sky, but an unsettling feeling clung to you.

Suddenly, he halted, turning to face you, his gaze intense. His eyes widened slightly, and the soft pout of his lips drew your attention. “You can call me by my name; you’re my mate,” he stated, a hint of authority in his tone, as if there was no room for argument. Before you could respond, he resumed walking, leaving you momentarily stunned.

His words, sweet yet loaded with expectation, he himself was unable to fulfill, left a bitter taste in your mouth. A sharp retort bubbled on your tongue, a protest against the very idea that he could command you so easily. But instead of voicing your anger, you chose silence. You swallowed hard, forcing down the instinct to lash out. Instead, you fell in step behind him, your heart racing, a storm of emotions swirling inside you.

As you walked, the tension hung heavy in the air, a force that wrapped around you both. His broad shoulders were relaxed, yet you could sense the underlying power that radiated from him with each step. You stole glances at his profile, the way the moonlight danced along his sharp jawline, the faint shadow of stubble framing his lips.

You soon found Jungkook stopping, settling down on the soft grass beneath him. He motioned for you to join him, but you shook your head, a sudden shyness washing over you. “I can’t sit on the ground,” you said, gesturing toward your clothes. “It’s expensive.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his dark hair catching the moonlight.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I come from a low pack. We don’t wear things like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never owned anything so fancy.”

For a moment, you braced yourself for his reaction, expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, to your astonishment, he shrugged off his coat, laying it down on the grass. “Here,” he said, his voice steady. “Sit on this.” He extended his hand to you, palm up, inviting you to take it.

Your heart raced as you hesitated, then slowly placed your hand in his. A low, breathy moan escaped your lips as a tingling sensation flooded through your body. His eyes widened for a brief moment, and you could see the flicker of surprise before he masked it, helping you lower yourself onto his coat.

“But,” you murmured, your heart pounding. The warmth of his hand lingered in yours, and you didn’t want to let go. “Is it really okay?”

“It’s just a coat,” he replied, though the intensity in his gaze suggested otherwise. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you decided to break it, curiosity nudging at you. “So… what’s it like being a king?” As soon as those words skipped your lips you internally cringed, this was embarassing, you wanted to take, but not like this.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. There are expectations, duties—lots of politics.”

“Sounds boring,” you said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Do you ever get to do anything fun?”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Occasionally. But mostly, I have to focus on the pack. It’s a lot of responsibility.” His tone turned serious, and you could see the weight of his role pressing down on him.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to gauge his reaction. “Being king and all, with so many people around but no one really understanding you?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, looking away into the distance, his jaw tightening slightly. “But I have people I trust.”

You didn't said anything after that and a calming silence enveloped the two of you, as peaceful as the soft glow of the moonlight overhead. Unable to resist, you broke the stillness, once again. “Jungkook?”

“Hmmm?” His voice was low and gentle, his eyes fixed on the moon, reflecting a light that felt almost ethereal.

“Do you dance?” You asked.

You hesitated, then spoke again with a mix of hope and vulnerability. “Do you know… when I was young, I always dreamed of dancing under the moonlight with my mate.” You paused, gauging his reaction as the words hung in the air, thick and heavy. "Do you dance?" You couldn't help but ask as you braced yourself for the rejection.

His gaze shifted from the moon to you, and for a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. “No,” he admitted softly, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. But then he added, “But I might,” and something in his tone sent shivers down your spine, a hint of something deeper glimmering in his eyes.

Your heart raced as you felt a warmth blooming in your chest, something dark yet lovely igniting within you, making your pulse quicken. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, and you couldn’t look away from him.

Without warning, he rose to his feet, extending his hand towards you. You smiled brightly, your heart soaring at the gesture, and without hesitation, you grasped his hand. The familiar tingling sensation surged through your body, igniting a warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting, and you felt your breath hitch as you stood beside him. He gently pulled you closer, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, guiding you into a slow sway.

But as the dance slowed, reality crept back in, and he gently pulled away, his hand still clasped around yours. “I should escort you back to your room,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of the king, though the warmth in his gaze lingered.

You nodded, a hint of reluctance creeping in. “I guess it’s late,” you replied, your heart still racing from the dance.

As you walked side by side, the silence was comfortable. Jungkook led you back through the garden. When you reached your door, he turned to face you, his expression softening once more. “Goodnight,” he said, a hint of something deeper in his voice.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you replied, you wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but instead, you simply smiled.

As you closed the door, you made your way to the bed, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The cool sheets felt inviting against your skin as you slipped under the covers, your heart still racing from the dance and the fleeting touches. You closed your eyes, as you smiled softly. Maybe, just maybe everything was finally falling back to it's place. You were not to lie, you liked Jungkook and mate bond was thickening every second every minute, it was only strengthening your feelings and was making you more vulnerable to him. And, who are you to deny the truth that you desperately needed that doe eyed king. You let your thoughts drift, a soft smile spreading across your face. In the quiet of your dreams, you found him again, lost in a world where he was as desperate for you as you were for him. You dream of him, you dream of him dreaming you as desperately as you were dreaming of him.

In the middle of the night, you jolted awake. The room around you glowed with dancing shadows, moonlight slipping through the curtains like whispers, casting silver patterns on the walls. You blinked, it was past midnight and you were unable to go back to sleep.

Cocooned in warm sheets, you took a deep breath, the scent of something sweet and salty wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You quietly slipped out of bed, the soft pad of your feet brushing against the cool floor. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of what to do, scanning the darkness that enveloped you. Your instincts kicked in, sharpening your senses as you stepped out of your room, the shadows swallowing you whole. Each step felt instinctual, as if an invisible thread tugged at your heart, beckoning you forward. It was a magnetic pull, calling your name, compelling you to follow like a desperate devotee.

Suddenly, you heard a low murmur. It was coming from a room. You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t intrude, but that voice broke something inside you. With trembling hands, you slowly opened the door, and the sight before you shattered your heart.

There lay Jungkook on his bed, thrashing about, his face twisted in distress as he murmured incoherent whispers. His brow was furrowed, and his lips trembled, as if he was fighting against some unseen torment. You didn't even realised you had come all the way to price chamber. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you called softly, reaching out to gently shake him. “Wake up.”

His eyes flew open, wide and confused, the fear in them piercing through the haze of his nightmares. For a brief moment, shock flickered across his face, and then he froze, taking in your presence.

“Why are you here?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I heard you,” you whispered, your heart racing.

"What were you doing tiptoeing around my room?" He practically screamed screamed at you, pushing you away.

"N—no. I—I wasn't," you said, shaking your head trying to reach out to him.

Anger flashing in his eyes. “You think you can just come in here and play the savior?”

“Jungkook, what? What are you even say? I just wanted to help!” you pleaded, stepping closer, desperate to reach him.

“Help? You think you can help? You think you’re the solution to my problems?” he sneered, his expression hardening. “I hate you! You think this is love? I will ever love you? Never!”

The pain in his words felt like a physical blow. “That’s not fair!” you cried, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to intrude. I just want to—!”

"I don't care," he growled, glaring at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can understand what it’s like to be me? To have everyone around you suffer because of your existence?”

You felt your heart sink further, but you were unable to understand his words. It was like they were written in a foreign language and although you did know the alphabets, were unable to make sense of a whole sentence. “I’m not trying to do anything! I’m here because I care about you!”

“Care? Is that what you call this?” he shouted, his voice rising with frustration as a low whimper left your throat. “Oh! Sweet mate, do you really think a weak voice and sad eyes would help you? Do you think you get to be all fragile now?”

Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. “But I merely intended to help!” you insisted, desperate for him to see the truth. “You don’t have to push me away!”

“Why would I want you around?” he hissed, his gaze piercing through you. “You’re nothing but a reminder of everything I can’t have, everything I shouldn't have, and I’m here to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

With each word, your heart broke a little more, the weight of his rejection crushing you. “I thought... I thought we, toge—,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Together?” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn. “You think that’s what this is? You’re wrong! The moon goddess has cursed you, and now you have to deal with it."

"But—"

"Leave!”

Without another word, you dashed down the hall, the world around you blurring as you pushed the door to your room open and locked it behind you. Sliding down against the cool wood, you let the tears flow freely. You couldn’t believe this was happening. For years, you had dreamed of having a mate. After losing your parents at such a young age, you had felt all alone. Life had been hard, but the thought of having someone to love, cherish, and adore had kept you going. But how had it all come to this? After praying to the moon goddess for years, you finally had a mate, and he didn’t want you. Was it true what your pack members always said? Were you really cursed? Were you really destined to be nothing but an abomination?

Now, it felt like you truly were cursed and unlovable, an abomination. You called out to your wolf, reaching for her, but she felt so distant, drowning in the loss of a mate she never really had. Jungkook’s words echoed in your mind, and the pain of his rejection was nothing compared to the hollow ache of losing your wolf.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice cracking, but silence filled the empty corners of your mind. A shrill sob escaped your throat, a sound of desperation and grief. You cried, each sob tearing through you as you let the waves of sorrow wash over you. You cried until you couldn’t anymore, until your tears ran dry, and exhaustion pulled you under like a heavy blanket.

Finally, the weight of it all became too much, and you fell into a deep slumber, your heart still aching but momentarily free from the torment of reality.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Bee." A soft voice pulled you out of the fog of sleep, nudging you back to consciousness. You groaned as the sunlight filtered through the window, the brightness bouncing off the walls and stabbing your eyes like tiny needles. You turned your head away with a low whine, squeezing your eyes shut tighter against the overwhelming light.

"Bee?" The voice was closer now, more insistent. You blinked your eyes open reluctantly and saw Shina crouched beside you. Concern was etched deeply into her face, her brows furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. Her hand reached out, gently gripping your arm, and she slowly helped you sit up from the cold floor.

"Why were you sleeping on the floor?" she asked, her voice gentle, though her worry was unmistakable. Her eyes, wide and searching, bore into yours, trying to find an answer you weren’t ready to give.

You blinked at Shina, still dazed, feeling like you were floating in a fog. The memory of last night twisted in your chest, squeezing tighter with every second that passed. His words, so sharp and cold, cut through you again, making it hard to breathe. You had tried to push them away, but the hurt clung to you, pulling you down.

"Bee, what happened?" Shina asked again, her voice low but urgent, her grip on your arm growing tighter. Her eyes searched yours, wide with worry, but you could barely meet them. You tried to speak, to say anything, but your throat was tight, and the pressure behind your eyes made your vision blur. She was so close, her concern so raw and real, that it only made you feel more fragile. You felt like you could break at any moment.

The weight of it all pressed down on you—her worry, the memory of his cruelty—and you felt the tears threaten to spill over. You blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them fall, and forced yourself to speak.

"I'm okay," you murmured, though your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. It wavered, weak and uncertain, but you straightened your shoulders, trying to sound firm. Shina's eyes softened, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, but she held back. Instead, she nodded, though you could tell she didn’t believe a word.

"Right..." she said, clearing her throat. "Ahrm, I came to call you for breakfast." She tried to sound cheerful, but there was a hesitancy in her voice, the usual bounce missing.

"Breakfast?" you repeated, like the word itself didn’t make sense.

"Yeah," she nodded, motioning toward the bathroom. "You should get ready."

"Oh." You nodded slowly, as if on autopilot, and grabbed the yellow dress sitting on the edge of the bed. Shina had bought it for you, and you knew it meant something, but the significance felt distant now. Your body moved without thought, heading to the bathroom like it was just another day.

Inside, you let the water run hot, scalding almost, trying to feel something other than the ache that had settled deep in your chest. The steam wrapped around you, clouding your vision, but it couldn’t chase away the storm swirling in your head.

When you finally stepped out, Shina was waiting, her smile soft but cautious. “Bee, you look pretty,” she said, handing you a small box wrapped in delicate paper.

You took it, staring blankly at the box in your hand. "What’s this?"

"Jungkook asked me to give it to you." Her eyes flickered with something—excitement, maybe—but you weren’t sure. You nodded, barely acknowledging her as you tossed the box onto the bed without a second glance.

"I’m not opening it," you said flatly, your voice cold and distant.

Shina hesitated, her lips parting to say something, but she closed them quickly, offering a half-hearted nod. "Okay... Let's go."

The walk to the dining hall was quiet, too quiet. Shina glanced at you from time to time, but you were lost in your thoughts, diving deep into the darkness that had settled in your heart. Last night had been a dream—Jungkook had been so kind, so sweet, so real. For the first time, you had believed there might be a chance. But the way he had pushed you away so harshly afterward… it shattered everything.

“Bee, this way,” Shina said, guiding you through the doors and into the hall. The massive dining table stretched out before you, with Jungkook seated at the far end. His eyes were focused on his plate, avoiding your gaze entirely. Kian sat beside him, his arm casually dropped over the table. The other seats filled quickly with Neil, Patricia, and several others you barely registered.

Shina nudged you gently into the seat beside Jungkook, her smile forced, trying to ease the tension. "Come on, Bee. It’s just breakfast. Nothing too dramatic, right?" She chuckled awkwardly, but it fell flat in the heavy air. She glanced at Kian, who gave her a small, supportive smile, but you could tell even she felt the weight of Jungkook’s presence, of his silence.

You sat stiffly, your back straight, eyes locked on the table in front of you. Jungkook’s hand gripped his fork tightly, knuckles white, but he never looked your way. Not once.

Shina, trying to break the ice, leaned forward. "Bee," she started, forcing a grin, "Why don't you try pancakes? It's really good. Right, Kian?" She wiggled her eyebrows at Kian, trying to coax a smile out of you.

You glanced at her, offering a weak, polite smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Kian smirked, shaking his head. "Yes, this beautiful beside me loves pancakes!."

Jungkook’s fork clinked against his plate, the subtle sound sharper than it should’ve been. His jaw clenched, and for a second, his gaze flickered to you, something raw and almost vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

You felt the knot in your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. There was no apology, no acknowledgment, just silence.

"Bee?" Shina’s voice broke through the fog, her hand gently resting on yours under the table. Her touch was warm, grounding you in the moment.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Do you want me to take you out after breakfast? You know, just the two of us? We can talk... or not talk, whatever you want."

Jungkook’s shoulders tensed, his breath catching for just a second. But still, he said nothing.

You met Shina’s eyes, her genuine worry for you reflected in them. You gave a small nod, even though your chest felt heavy. "Yeah, sure. I’d love that," you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

Jungkook shifted beside you, his fork clattering against the plate as he finally spoke. "You guys should probably go out. Take Patricia with you too." His voice was steady, but cold, distant. He still didn’t look at you, directing his words toward Shina.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The sound made him go rigid, though he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. It was ridiculous, really, how he could be so close yet feel so unreachable.

Breakfast ended in uncomfortable silence. You stood up quietly, your chair scraping the floor as you excused yourself. Jungkook’s eyes followed your movement for a fleeting moment, but when you looked back, they were fixed on his plate again.

Alone, you made your way back to your room, each step feeling heavier than the last. You lingered by the window, staring out at the world beyond. It was strange—Jungkook suggesting you go out, as if it made any difference. As if letting you walk through town would somehow patch the holes he left in you.

But of course, he didn’t care. He made that clear last night.

A knock echoed through your room, loud against the silence, snapping you from your thoughts. Reluctantly, you crossed the room and opened the door to find a man in a black uniform standing there, his posture rigid.

"His Majesty has assigned me to escort you outside the palace, for your protection.," he said with no introduction, his tone all business. The man was imposing—broad-shouldered, with a no-nonsense expression. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. "Please, come. Beta female is already waiting."

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do, and followed as he motioned for you to walk beside him. His steps were measured, precise, and soon you were outside, seated in a car heading who knew where. Kenji, as you later learned his name was, drove with Shina beside him, her usual chatty demeanor subdued, while Patricia sat next to you in silence.

"Kenji, stop by The Velvet Pheasant," Shina said, her voice firm but distracted, not even glancing at him.

"Sure, beta female," he replied, his deep voice steady as he turned the wheel. The car came to a smooth halt outside an extravagant boutique, the kind that screamed prestige from the way it gleamed in the afternoon sun. The building’s grand façade loomed over you, polished and perfect, and you felt a wave of reluctance wash over you.

Stepping out of the car, Patricia told Kenji to wait outside, and he responded with a curt nod and a surprisingly warm gummy smile. You followed the girls inside, feeling the cool air hit you as soon as you entered. An older woman rushed toward Shina with surprising speed, her arms flung wide for an embrace.

"Shina, you’ve completely forgotten about me. Don't come to visit aunt anymore" the woman cried, clutching Shina tightly. "I haven’t seen you in ages! I even asked your mother, and she just said, 'Oh, you know Shina is busy these days.' Busy, huh?"

Shina stiffened in the woman’s arms, her face scrunched up in what could only be described as pure agony. You stifled a laugh but quickly regretted it as the woman released Shina and turned toward you and Patricia, her sharp eyes locking onto you.

Before you could react, Patricia shoved you forward and darted toward Shina, leaving you in the crosshairs. The old woman’s grip was strong, pulling you into a hug that felt more like a bear trap than a greeting. You could hear the two girls giggling behind you as they escaped her clutches, leaving you alone at her mercy.

For what felt like hours, you were trapped in a whirlwind of fabric, as Shina and Patricia pulled you from one section of the boutique to another. Dresses, shoes, accessories—Shina practically bought the whole store for you, her way of making the day brighter despite everything.

As the sun began to set, you all piled back into the car, exhaustion settling in. Kenji, who had been nothing but stoic all day, had softened slightly, sharing small bits of conversation with you along the ride. He was one of the royal warriors, you found out—highly respected, and one of the deadliest. Yet, despite his fearsome reputation, there was a kindness to him that you hadn't expected. You also found out that he was yet to find his mate.

The drive back to the palace felt quieter, more solemn, and the closer you got, the heavier your chest became. The fun you’d had during the day was slowly slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of where you were heading. You stared out the window, watching the world outside blur past, feeling the tightness return to your throat.

As the palace gates came into view, you couldn’t help but sigh, the happiness from earlier fading entirely. You didn’t want to go back. You didn’t want to face him again.

But you had no choice.

The car rolled to a stop, and with a deep breath, you stepped out, the weight of the palace settling back on your shoulders.

You stepped out of the car, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The girls had already been swept up by their mates, leaving you alone with Kenji, who gently helped you with the bags. His kind smile softened the growing pit in your stomach, but even Kenji, as sweet as he was, kept his distance. When you reached your room, he handed you the bags, his hands lingering for only a moment before he stepped back, eyes cast down.

"I can’t enter," he said, almost shy. "It’s not right to be alone with an unmated she-wolf."

You nodded, appreciating the respect, even though it only reminded you of your isolation. “Thank you, Kenji,” you murmured.

He gave a small wave before disappearing down the hall, leaving you to the quiet hum of your empty room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the silence.

You tossed the bags onto the bed, your eyes drifting over to the box you’d been avoiding all day. That damn purple-wrapped box. With a sigh, you grabbed it, tearing off the wrapper without care. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate heart-shaped necklace, the same shade of purple that always reminded you of him.

But instead of the warmth it once might have brought, a bitter taste rose in your throat. He thought this would fix everything. That after the things he said, the coldness he showed, a necklace could make it all go away? Your fingers tightened around it until your knuckles turned white. The bastard knew—he knew—how much it meant to you when you told him you’d never owned anything expensive. And now, it felt like a cruel joke, like he was throwing your words back in your face.

Without thinking, you stormed out of the room, the necklace clenched in your fist. Your feet carried you down the long corridors to his chambers, each step fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care who saw you, or how fast you were moving. You just needed to see him, to confront him.

As you reached his door, hand raised to knock, the sound of voices froze you in place.

"No," Jungkook’s voice boomed from behind the door, the rage in his tone making your breath catch. "I refuse to be tied to her. I didn’t choose this. I don’t love her. I don’t want any of it."

The necklace almost slipped from your grip, the metal cutting into your palm as your heart cracked.

"You need to understand, Kian," Jungkook continued, voice harsher now, "I’m not willing to do this."

"But even the elders want this," Kian replied, his voice softer, almost pleading. "Today, you were lucky she wasn’t here, but how long can you really hide her from the world? One day, you’ll have to accept her."

"Never," Jungkook spat, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Kian's next words were too quiet to make out, but they were followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps heading toward the door. Panic surged through you, but before you could move, the door swung open.

There he was, standing before you—Jungkook. His face paled when he saw your tear-streaked cheeks, his eyes widening in shock. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words died in his throat.

He reached out, the apology already forming on his tongue, but you didn’t wait to hear it.

Without a second thought, you hurled the necklace at his chest, the metal clinking as it hit him and fell to the floor between you. His eyes flicked to the necklace, then back to you, his expression one of helpless guilt.

But you didn’t wait for an explanation. Your feet carried you away, heart pounding, vision blurred by tears. You didn’t stop until the corridor twisted out of sight, and even then, the weight of his words echoed in your mind, breaking you all over again.

As soon as you got to your room, you sank to the ground, your body trembling as you wrapped your arms around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face, each sob tearing through you like a knife. A different ache settled in your heart, a hollow emptiness that expanded with every breath you took, leaving you feeling more lost and abandoned than ever.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Jungkook sat rigidly in the chair beside the window, the moonlight spilling over him like a soft embrace, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. Shadows danced across his face, mirroring the chaos swirling within him. He stared out into the darkness, eyes unfocused, lost in thoughts he couldn’t bear to confront. The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. A soft knock broke through, and he turned slightly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Come in.”

Kian stepped inside, his usual calm demeanor replaced by an unsettling gloom that weighed on him like a storm cloud. He crossed the room slowly and settled into the chair beside Jungkook. The air thickened with the weight of their unspoken fears.

“What brings you here, Kian?” Jungkook asked, his tone flat, gaze still trapped in the shimmering night sky. He could feel Kian’s eyes on him, probing, searching for answers.

“Why would you do that, Jungkook?” Kian’s voice trembled, breaking the stillness like a fragile glass shattering. He leaned forward, his brow knitted in worry. “why are you doing this? How could you sit here like this? Like nothing happened? She is your mate. You can’t just push her away like that. That’s not how things work, especially not with a mate bond.”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s gaze snapped to Kian, sharp and defensive. The flicker of vulnerability quickly masked by anger. “What about her?” he demanded, an edge creeping into his voice, the tension coiling tighter in his chest.

“Shina told me Luna has been crying since evening.” Kian’s words were low, heavy with concern, sinking into Jungkook like stones in water. A silence enveloped them, punctuated only by Jungkook’s ragged breaths, as the gravity of Kian’s words settled in.

“Why?” Jungkook found himself asking, the question slipping out before he could stop it, though they both knew the answer. A suffocating heaviness settled in his chest, a mix of guilt and soul crushing swirling within him like a tempest.

“Jungkook, why not just accept the bond? Why—” Kian started, but Jungkook cut him off, frustration bubbling over. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glinting with an intensity that betrayed his inner turmoil.

“She scares me, Kian,” Jungkook admitted, his voice tight, his jaw clenching as he turned away again. “She’s everything I—” He stopped himself abruptly, the words hanging in the air, unfinished. His fists clenched on his lap, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought to maintain control.

“What?” Kian pressed, leaning forward, desperate to understand. “Everything you what, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s face hardened, eyes darkening as the vulnerability retreated behind the walls he had carefully constructed. “Forget it,” he snapped, his voice cold. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Kian shook his head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He leaned closer, his voice growing intense. “Love hurts above all, but we must never cease to do it. It’s painful, but you can’t run from it, Jungkook.”

“Love?” Jungkook scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him, but it sounded hollow. “It’s not meant for me, Kian. I hurt everyone. I’m my father’s son, after all.” He leaned back, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, shutting himself off from Kian’s words.

“You’re not him,” Kian insisted, leaning forward, voice filled with passion. “You’re not your father, and she isn’t your mother. She won’t leave, and you won’t end up like him. Jungkook, don’t let bad memories of past ruin the possibilities of your future.” He reached out, almost as if to touch Jungkook’s arm, but hesitated, sensing the emotional wall between them.

“That’s the problem with memories, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a whisper, eyes darkening. “They never go away. They stay with you, and they eat you alive. I can’t forget, and I can’t love.” His words were cold, final, as if sealing his fate.

Kian’s frustration boiled over, his hands clenched into fists as he tried once more. “It’s not just about you, Jungkook. It’s about her too. You can’t keep pushing her away—”

“Leave, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice sharp, commanding. His back straightened, the gesture almost regal, but the pain behind his eyes betrayed him.

“But Alpha—” Kian’s protest faded as he sensed the finality in Jungkook’s tone. He sat back, his shoulders slumping, disappointment and worry etched into his features.

“I said leave,” Jungkook repeated, turning his back to Kian, the room growing colder as the shadows deepened around him. The moonlight faded into darkness, mirroring the hollow ache in Jungkook’s heart.

Kian stood up slowly, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the conversation. He glanced back at Jungkook, his face tight with concern. “I just hope you don’t regret this, Alpha,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of finality. Without waiting for a response, Kian walked to the door, the soft click of it closing behind him echoing in the heavy silence left in his wake.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Luna, for how long will you keep crying like this?" Shina's voice was gentle, laced with concern as she knelt beside you, offering a plate of food. She watched as you stared blankly at the untouched meal. Tears streamed down your cheeks, an endless waterfall that had begun with the dawn.

“Please, eat something,” she urged softly, but you could only shake your head, the words lodged in your throat like a stone.

“Why? Can’t he just accept the bond, Shina? Why?” Your voice cracked. Frustration bubbled within you, mingling with the heartache that had you feeling hollow.

Shina placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off, the gesture feeling too heavy to bear. “Please leave, Shina,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She hesitated, searching your face for a glimmer of hope, but all she found were shadows of despair. “No matter how much love you give to a bird with broken wings, it won’t ever make it believe it can fly,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm, her eyes filled with empathy. “And even if it did, isn’t it just death, Luna?”

Her words wrapped around you like a cold shroud, leaving you confused and raw. You opened your mouth to respond, but the weight of her statement silenced you. She rose slowly, the sadness in her eyes mirrored by the heaviness in the air, before she turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at the food plate, your heart aching with the reality of it all. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as you fought to suppress the next wave of tears. Each breath felt like a struggle, the silence around you amplifying the sorrow that threatened to drown you.

Okay, so first of all, if you’ve made it this far, wow, congrats on surviving whatever mess I just threw your way. I mean, let's be honest, this is probably one of the most questionable things you've ever had the misfortune of reading. And for that, I truly, sincerely apologize—well, kinda.

But hey, if you're sitting there thinking, "Wow, this is absolute garbage," you're not alone. I get it. I hated it too. So, feel free to tell me just how much you despised every single word of it. I mean, go on, rip it apart. I'm mentally prepared...sort of. Probably. Okay, not really. But let's pretend I am, and we can bond over how truly awful this was. Thanks for sticking around, though. You're a champ.

Taglist @freyaniobe @piercidh34rts @furioustrashlover @lola75111 @pitchblack0309 @whoa-jo @teeheewhy13 @gojoscumslut @emanyd @sassy-snassy @jksusawife @nnnnmmmuuiu @jiminismine4ever @runariya @btspurplesky

[harryspet]

well kept [epilogue] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, kidnapping, NONCON/DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: a little wrapup of the story!

word count: 3.7k

In which you begin to question whether submission is the only escape.

well kept masterlist

8 months later …

Monotonously, you brought a wet rag across the large, rough-hewn wooden dining table that dominates the space of the dining room. It took you nearly thirty minutes to clean it thoroughly, wiping away every speck of dust before meticulously arranging the plates, napkins, and glassware with care, making sure everything was just as it should be.

It’s perfect when you get done. With a soft sigh, you flick off the chandelier of large glass lanterns, letting the natural light filter in through the tall windows, casting a gentle, golden glow across the room. You turn toward the kitchen, pulling off your cleaning gloves, ready to move on with your routine.

Then the doorbell rang.

You make your way through the downstairs of the expansive cabin, towards the front entrance. Glancing through the floor-to-ceiling windows as you make your way to the front door, you spot the culprit: a gray van parked down by the lake road. The sight feels out of place, a reminder of the outside world you rarely encounter.

Unlocking the front door, you huff as you pull the large piece of solid wood open. It always feels like it weighs a thousand pounds though you can’t recall Rafe ever having any difficulty with it. Still catching your breath, you greet the grocery delivery man, Connor, with a small smile. Before you, four-hundred dollars worth of groceries sits in plastic bags and you place a hand on your hips as you examine the challenge before you. 

“Let me help you carry them inside,” Connor offers kindly but you’re already shaking your head, “Mr. Cameron always tips so well, really, it’s the least I could do.”

“N-No worries, this is mmm-my workout for the day,” You reply, momentarily, taking in the fact that this was one of the few contacts you had with the outside world. Truthfully, Rafe had never explicitly said that Connor wasn’t allowed to carry the grocering inside but everytime you imagined Rafe coming down the stairs and spotting the two of you together.  If the young man wanted to keep receiving handsome tips from Mr. Cameron, he’d keep his interactions with you brief.

“Okay,” He seemed to shrug, confused, “I never see you in town … you work from home too?”

“Yeah,” You lie without hesitation, voice steady, “We’re just … homebodies.”

“What do you do for work? … Sorry if that’s intrusive. It’s just … this house is insane. You guys must be loaded.”

You laugh, and Connor shifts on his feet, smiling shyly back at you. To anyone else, the house in all it’s grandeur and isolation, must seem like a dream come true, “I help manage some stuff for Mr. Cameron’s business. I just help out where I can.” You hope it’s enough to end the conversation.

He still looks impressed, gaze wandering back to the cabin’s towering windows. As the silence stretches, you grab a few bags from the ground. He doesn’t immediately notice your discomfort, “I get it,” He adds, “Ya’ll are living the dream up here. Away from all the craziness.”

“Something like that,” You keep your face neutral until it falters. The slightest creak of floorboards from upstairs. Your heart skips a beat and you force yourself to grab a few more bags of groceries, “Well, I should get the ice cream inside before it melts. Thanks again, Connor.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, Mrs. Cameron,” He replied, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, “See in you two weeks. Take care, alright?”

You nod silently, turning on your heels, determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic thud of footsteps descending the stairs grows louder, but you force yourself to keep moving, your eyes locked on the kitchen ahead. With a small grunt, you heave the bags onto the kitchen island, the plastic crinkling as you place them down.

Just as you spin around to grab the rest of the groceries, you collide hard with a solid wall of muscle, Rafe’s chest, unyielding like a brick wall. The sudden impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you stagger slightly, instinctively looking up to meet his piercing gaze.

“Everything okay?” He asks, most likely taking in your wild eyes. 

Wearing a button-up checkered shirt that tucked into well-fitted trousers, you assumed he’d been taking some video calls and wanted to look presentable. 

“Yeah … groceries,” You said, gesturing to the kitchen island, “Uhm, C-Connor just dropped them off.”

“That kid knows how to linger, huh?” Rafe placed his hands in his pocket, tongue poking at his gums as he thought something over. 

Kid. Rafe was probably only a handful of years older than him. “He’s just doing his job,” you said quietly, your heart racing as you busied yourself with the grocery bags, hoping to avoid further scrutiny. Rafe followed closely behind, a silent reminder of his constant presence, his need to control even the smallest interactions.

It wasn’t like Rafe was resistant to helping around the house. He cleaned after himself for the most part. Honestly, you’d expected just being a house wife to be easier than being a personal assistant, especially easier than being a barista. However, Rafe’s mountain estate was enormous, and Rafe decided against keeping the full staff he had at his Charlotte mansion. It was like he wanted you to handle all of it, to be completely busy, and maybe you wouldn’t get any ideas about wanting more for your life. 

He hadn’t realized that you stopped wanting more for your life when you woke up, drugged from whatever he had slipped you, and found him tucked between your legs, mouth wet from tasting you. The memory hit you as you leaned down to grab the next load of grocery bags. 

Not able to separate you dreams from reality, you weren’t immediately sure whether Rafe was really in between your thighs. Eyelids heavy, only your mouth opened, a strangled moan left your lips. Lifting your head, you looked down with blurry, hooded vision. You never slept in anything silk yet underneath your fingertips you could feel the fabric covering your chest. Your right thigh was hooked high over your hip, Rafe’s hand firm in the crook of your knee, holding your leg in place as he kept you open. 

Even in your weakest state, his touch was commanding, and controlling. You were barely awake and the pressure he was creating didn’t fully register until you were close, the orgasm fully bringing you to consciousness. 

Reality came crashing donw like it always did when you woke in the morning. Your life wasn’t your own anymore. Usually, you’d at least have a moment alone, a moment that was still yours before you were back on his routine. But now, even sleep seemed like a choice you no longer controlled, another thing he had taken from you.

You started to register your own breathing, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, just as he crawled on top of you. Shirtless, his eyes still sleepy but focused enough on the task at hand. He easily pushed inside of you, and as your breathing calmed and you came down from your orgasm, he pressed his chest into yours. Your noses touched together as he sheathed himself inside you further, “You’re getting so good,” He murmured, voice smooth and full of praise, “Taking all of me. Squeezing me so tight.”

You had no choice but to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his, accepting the intimacy forced upon you.You wouldn’t cry this time, you’d remain stoic, and numb. Mentally, you could try to feel nothing, no matter that you felt him across every nerve on your skin. His praise hung in the air, and his presence consume you. 

It occurred to you then that you had no idea how you’d gotten here. Sure, you knew the mistakes you’d made that led up to this point. You knew the lengths Rafe was willing to go to, the power he was willing to yield, lives he was willing to ruin. 

You turned your head to look around the room just as Rafe settled into the side of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin. Your lips parted to yelp at each deep stroke, each time he pushed against your cervix, but your eyes darted around the space. You’d been here before, your crotch pressed against a pillow, when Rafe forced you for the first time to make yourself orgasm. 

Usually, Rafe was relentless. But as soon as you could put together that you were in his house with no idea how you’d gotten there, his thrusts became sloppier, rushed, and he nestled against the side of your face. His lips brushed your ear, his breath uneven as he spilled inside of you. The intimacy of the moment felt strange, almost out of place, as if he was in a hurry to finish before you fully pieced together what was happening. His weight sagged against you, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. 

He collapsed beside you, though he kept an arm draped over your stomach. Slowly, you lowered your leg until you were laying straight. 

You didn’t dare move. 

Rafe’s hand brushed against yours and you turned your head quickly to see a concerned look on his face, “Here, let me do it,” You felt that numbness that had been clouding you ever since you realized you controlled nothing. He easily procured the bag from your grip and you watched as he easily took the rest of the bags into his arms. 

When you both retreated back inside, you heaved the massive front door shut again, locking yourself back into your gilded cage. Surprisingly, he helped you unpack the groceries. It would’ve been faster to do on your own, you had to direct him a few times about whether certain items belonged in the fridge or pantry but you tried to be thankful for the help. 

You were putting up the canned goods in the grocery, neatly stacking them on the shelves of the bedroom-sized pantry, when you felt his eyes still watching you, “He sure does talk a lot though, doesn’t he?”

Better not to use his name, “The grocery guy?” You swallowed, speaking slowly in order to keep your voice steady. 

“Connor,” He said, voice dripping in malice. 

“He’s j-j-just being friendly,” You said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Friendly,” He repeated, his tone mocking, “... You know, I don’t like him talking to you.”

“I-I didn’t encourage it,” You said softly, knowing whatever words you had would be a mistake, “If you don’t like him …I-I c-c-could g-g-go to the store from now on.” 

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t respond, and you found yourself just trying to maintain your composure, canned goods forgotten in your hands, as you waited for his verdict. 

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

You were forcing his hand, asking for too much when you knew he couldn’t give it to you, “Thh-Thhh-That you’ll think about it?” 

Lately, you’d been testing his boundaries. Not answering everytime he called. And when you did answer, your tone was flat and indifferent. Wearing clothes from your wardrobe you knew he’d deem unflattering. Yoga pants or shorts were okay, never sweatpants. He wanted to see your every curve. Every inch of what he believed belonged to him. You were his wife after all, he’d paid a handsome price to get you here. 

Your obedience occurred in waves. A few weeks on and a few weeks off. It was the best way your brain could cope with the control. He’d grow happy, content with your behavior and that’s when you decided to flip a switch. Sometimes, Rafe was almost reluctant to punish you. 

A thought crossed your mind. A way to gain a small ounce of control. Though it came at the high cost of satisfying his urges. You decided to beg. He loved to hear you grovel and degrade yourself. It’s one of the only ways he gets himself off.

“Please,” You whispered, your voice trembling. In your baggy flannel and sweatpants, braids tied back in a messy bun, you stepped forward. You wanted to sound weak. Even weaker than your stammer usually made you sound, “I’ll go with a bodyguard. I-I’ll wear my ring. I won’t t-t-talk to anyone.”

It surprised him. You saw it in the way he shifted on his feet and his head tilted to the side curiously. It was in the way he watched you carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The words were poison on your tongue but it didn’t stop them from filling out. 

“Is that right?” His voice was low and dangerous, how it usually was when he was calculating a devious plan in his mind. 

When the silence decided to stretch again, you filled it, “I’ll be better. I-I know I–I-I’ve been dissapointing you,” You closed the distance until you were inches from him, letting him look down at you, as you turned your eyes downcast. 

“Hmm,” You felt his hand raise and press into the side of your neck, large thumb caressing your jaw, “Then you know that’s the kind of privilege like that you’ll have to work towards?” 

Being trapped here with him felt like you’d fallen to the bottom of the totem pole. Somehow being his assistant, hanging on his arm like arm candy, and keeping his cock warm underneath his desk was better than what you were now. At least then you could see your friends. You could interact with people other than Rafe, Topper and Eleanor. Then you had a job. You were a real human.

“Yes,” You began, “I’ll d-do anything.”

Rafe’s eyes turned down as you reached one of your hands into the waistband of your sweatpants and then beneath the fabric of your underwear. 

“Y/N…” His voice deepened and you looked up at him with big, wanting eyes. 

“Can I please touch myself, Sir?” You asked, “I-I want to shhh-shhhow you how good I can be.”

He kept as still as he could. His eyes were answering your question. He didn’t need to verbally give you permission.Maybe he stayed silent because if he spoke, the desperation in his voice might betray him. Rafe didn’t need his own release in that moment—what he craved more was the sight of you undone, vulnerable, completely under his control. Watching you touch yourself, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure, was enough to satisfy him. 

You bit down on your lip, moving your fingers over your soft folds. Gently, you rubbed yourself, teasing yourself. His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw the the way his nose flared, as he tried to keep his composure. 

“Please,” A soft moan escaped your lips as you worked yourself up, the motions becoming smoother as you grew wetter, “P-Please, Sir?”

Rafe inhaled sharply and watched as you reached further, towards your aching hole. He couldn’t see it exactly but you showed him with your eyes, with your parted lips and soft expression, that you dipped a finger inside of your aching hole. 

Despite how you feared him, how he’d ruined your life, you couldn’t help but enjoy the twisted way that you could control him. The tension in the room was thick and you saw the way he was fighting against exerting his control over you, over taking over. Even in a small way, you could make him bend to your will, you saw it in the way his fist clenched at his side. 

Your pace quickened in a way that brought you closer to the edge, the friction sending waves of pleasure over your skin. 

He reached out suddenly, grabbing ahold of your arm, his grip strong but not painful. He pulled your fingers away from underneath your waistband, “You don’t get to finish until I say so,” he murmured, his voice low and authoritative. You kept your expression neutral, though every muscle in your face tensed with the effort to hide your frustration, resisting the urge to press your lips into a thin line, “Take off your clothes for me, sweetheart.”

Your body frustrated, you hurriedly pulled down your sweatpants, exposing your lacy black underwear. Next, you removed the flannel, Rafe’s eyes fixed on your newly exposed skin. You would never admit it, but deep down, you always felt comforted by the fact that never seemed to bore of seeing you. Though you’d never had a traditional honeymoon period, now that you’d lived together for so long, you thought he might lose interest at some point. Everytime he saw you it was like he was seeing you for the first time. 

Every glance he gave you was filled with that same insatiable desire, as though you were still something to unravel. The thought made something flicker inside you, a mixture of fear, and something far more complicated.

You hesitated when it came to your bra and underwear, suddenly hyperaware that Rafe was fully clothed. There he stood in his work attire and part of you wanted to hold onto those inches of fabric, “All of your clothes,” Rafe added, sensing your hesitance, and he didn’t let you stall any longer. You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, swinging your body onto the cold, marble countertop of the kitchen island. Determined, his fingers pried your underwear down your thighs and you watched them fall to the floor. Your thin bralette was next, and you raised your arms obediently, letting him tug it over your head. 

As soon as you were bare and freezing, Rafe’s lips curled into a devious smirk, “Finish,” He said, “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

His eyes were dark and hungry, watching every movement, every breath you took. Your instinct was to resist, to deny him, but you were too far gone. This is what you wanted in the first place. A trade. Your submission for a chance at freedom. You didn’t test his patience, knowing this was a better option than being bent of the counter. You complied, your hand slowly sliding down your stomach, until they were back between your legs. 

Slow, deliberate circles. 

You were so used to the feeling of shame, the heat you’d feel in your cheeks, the tears that would sting your eyes. Freezing, like a puppy out in the rain, you trembled. The shame was almost ritualistic, something to expect everytime you were intimate. Your body always seemed to respond, anyways. Maybe it was time for you to fully accept your part in this. Maybe you were beginning to crave that feeling. 

Your pace quickened, your fingers moving in urgent circles, and you felt your release building. 

“That’s it,” He said, “You’re already close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, fully aware of the smugness in his tone. Your fingers worked and your moans became louder, “Please,” You begged, that pressure between your legs growing unbearable.

“Please,” You heard yourself say over and over, feeling yourself come undone. His hands slowly move to rest on either side of you, trapping you between the cold marble and his towering figure, “Please, Rafe.”

“Come, sweetheart,” He finally said, “Let me see you fall apart.”

A whimper escaped your lips as your orgasm hit you almost painfully. Your release was inevitable, you’d practically perfected getting yourself off, and your body responded to his commands like a pupper on a string. Your body tensed, your back arching, as you gasped over and over. Your fingers faltered, slowly, but soon there were fingers brushing against that sensitive area again. 

You tried to scoot your body away but Rafe pressed your thigh with his large palm, keeping you pinned. Slowly, he moved his fingers, prolonging that sensation, drawing out your orgasm, “There it is,” He whispered, “Such a good girl when you want something from me, huh?”

You nodded weakly, agreeable. 

As you realized he was trying to work you up again, you panicked, “P-Please.”

“Hmm,” His fingers pressed harder, “Look at you. You know what? If you give me one more, I’ll let you go shopping next week. How’s that sound?”

“I-It hurts,” You whispered, voice braking. A tempting offer that you were now too overwhelmed to even consider. His fingers didn’t relent, rubbing against you harder now, dragging you toward another release whether you wanted it or not.

“That’s not an answer,” Rafe teased, his tone almost playful. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, “Come on, one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your body betrayed you again. The buildup was slower than your first orgasm, so torturous that tears began to fall down your cheeks. When your body was convulsing again, it was not as sweet as the first, but just as powerful. You came for him again despite how much it hurt, how raw and exposed you felt.

His grip on your thigh relaxed and you body went limp against the counter. You throbbed between your legs, so much so you weren’t sure if you would be able to walk without a limp. You felt his thumb brush over your cheek, wiping your tears, “Good girl. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Too tired to do anything but lay there, Rafe finally stepped back, leaving you shivering on the cold countertop. A coldness returned to his expression. You’d asked for this. Wanted something from him. Somehow, it felt like you hadn’t won anything at all. Now you were realizing this was a punishment, most likely for your behavior over the past weeks. 

Rafe turned his back on you, as if he hadn’t just pushed your body and mind to the brink, “Maybe I’ll take you shopping after all.” 

The promise of being let out of the house felt hollow. A reminder that your independence was something he could grant, or take away, on a whim. 

You lay there, motionless and speechless, trapped in the swirl of shame, regret, and anger. Then, without warning, a dangerous thought crept in, slipping through the cracks in your resolve: Maybe if I’m good enough, if I do everything he asks, I’ll get more freedom. More moments of escape.But before you could push that thought away, another surfaced, darker and heavier: Maybe I deserve this.

i hope you enjoyed this series!!

[yoomiwrites]

We won²

Summary: The war is won, yet you lost too much. And well – how much can you still win? Read the first chapter here: We won

Note: I felt the rush and wrote more chapters for Ekko (5 or 6, depends on where I'll "cut" em). So yeah, more Arcane on my feed! I also wrote a Mel story which I'll probably post later.

Life after the war was a slow, aching process. The streets were littered with reminders of what they’d lost—buildings in ruins, empty spaces where loved ones once stood. Amid the chaos of rebuilding, you found purpose in small acts: patching walls, tending to wounds, and, most of all, looking after Ekko.

He threw himself into the work, determined to rebuild faster than his body could manage. You often found him at the break of dawn, still tinkering or sketching plans, dark circles under his eyes.

“Ekko, you need to sleep,” you’d say, gently prying tools from his hands.

He’d protest, insisting he was fine, but you didn’t budge. You made sure he ate enough, often sitting beside him with your own plate to ensure he didn’t skip meals. It was a rhythm you both fell into—one that kept him going and kept you close. Even if your heart ached to be more than his friend, you knew this was what he needed.

One morning, you found Vi at Powder’s grave. She stood there alone, her shoulders tense, her jaw tight. You hesitated before approaching, unsure if she wanted company. But when she glanced over and gave you a nod, you joined her.

The grave was simple, adorned with flowers that had started to wilt. Vi’s fingers traced the edge of the stone, her gaze distant.

“She was a mess, you know,” Vi said suddenly, her voice rough with emotion. “But she was still my sister.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. You thought of all the times you’d seen Powder and Vi together as kids—the way Vi had shielded her, protected her.

“I think she knew you loved her,” you said softly.

Vi scoffed, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Maybe. But I spent so much time hating her, it’s hard to forgive myself for that.” She paused, then added, “But Cait… she helped me. Helped me forgive myself.”

Her words carried a weight you recognized—the struggle of moving forward when the past still clung so tightly. You swallowed hard, thinking of your own burden.

“I’m trying to move on too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He… he doesn’t need me to love him like that. He needs a friend. And I want to be that for him.”

Vi turned to you, her sharp gaze softening. “You’ve been through hell and back for him. That counts for something, even if it’s not what you want.”

“I know,” you said, blinking back tears. “It’s just hard. Letting go.”

Vi’s hand landed on your shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said. “And if it gets too much, you know where to find me.”

Her words weren’t poetic or grand, but they were exactly what you needed.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself letting go little by little. You stayed by Ekko’s side, but your heart began to heal. You threw yourself into the work, into helping Zaun rise from the ashes. And on the days when the weight of it all felt too heavy, Vi’s rough but steady presence was a reminder that you weren’t alone.

Ekko didn’t notice the shift in you, and that was okay. You didn’t need him to. It was enough to see him smile, to know he was still here, and to know you had a place in his life—even if it wasn’t the one you’d once dreamed of.