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madameadelina · 2 months ago

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Where Love Once Lingered જ⁀➴

(An Angst Adventure ..)

CupcakexWarren

Here is what I've awaited to release! Scenario: What if Cupcake had decided to not forgive Warren? Well, I decided to write my take on it! Hope you enjoy ~

Tags: @the-galaxy-fiend @neptune-cinths thank you guys for your incredibly sweet comments! ~

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿ ❀ ‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Warren leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his posture as casual as if he hadn’t just blown your life apart. “Look, before you even start, we don’t need to talk about it. Yes, I did it.”

Your body feels like it’s trembling with the weight of your fury, but you force yourself to keep steady. Barely. Your voice is low, tight with restraint. “Why?”

You lock eyes with him, and there’s no softness left in your tone when you add, “Tell me the truth, Warren. All of it. Don’t you dare hold back or spin some excuse.”

For once, he doesn’t try to dance around it. His face doesn’t flinch, but there’s tension in his jaw as he answers.

"The master I had before you made a deal,” he begins, his tone sharp and steady, like a blade slicing through the silence. “If I kept winning in the gladiator pits, they’d give me some of that money to make sure my brother was taken care of. He lied. So, I hit him. Hard.”

Your nails dig into your palms, every word fueling the fire inside you, but you stay rooted in place. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t soften.

"Not long after I got gifted to you, I tried going down to the Undercity to find my brother. Nobody had seen him. That was months ago. All this time, he’s still been missing."

He looks you dead in the eyes, his tone cold and deliberate. “So yeah, I stole your stuff and used the money to hire a tracker to figure out what happened to him. Since I couldn’t go alone, I tricked you into coming with me. No, I’m not sorry. Yes, I’d do it again.”

Something inside you snaps.

"You're fucking unbelievable." The words erupt from you before you can think. Your voice shakes the room, raw with fury.

His brows lift—just slightly—but it’s enough to show he wasn’t expecting that.

"Don’t you dare stand there and act like this was some noble sacrifice!" you spit, your hands clenching at your sides. "You didn’t do this because you ‘had to.’ You did it because you chose to. You chose to betray me. To steal from me. To drag me into your mess like I was just... just some pawn for you to use!”

"It wasn’t like that," he starts, but you cut him off, stepping closer, your voice rising.

"Don’t lie to me, Warren! That’s exactly what it was!”

His jaw tightens, his calm starting to crack under the force of your anger. “I didn’t want to involve you, but—”

"Oh, don’t even start with that!" you bark, your voice sharp and cutting. "You didn’t want to involve me? Then why didn’t you leave me out of it, huh? Why not tell me the truth instead of stealing what little I had left? Or was that too much work for you?"

"Because I didn’t have a choice!” he snaps, finally losing his own composure. “You were my only option.”

"Bullshit," you hiss, your eyes blazing. "You always have a choice, Warren. But you chose to screw me over and act like it’s no big deal. Like I don’t have the right to be angry about it."

He stares at you, his usual unflappable demeanor faltering under the weight of your words.

"And you know what the worst part is?" you continue, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. "You didn’t even have the decency to apologize. You just stood there, smug as hell, and said you’d do it all again. Like I’m supposed to just accept that!”

"What do you want me to say?" he retorts, his voice low but edged with frustration. "That I’m sorry? That I regret it? Because I’m not. I needed to find my brother, and I did what I had to do."

"No, Warren, you didn’t ‘do what you had to do.’ You did what you wanted to do. And you didn’t care who you hurt in the process.”

You’re practically toe-to-toe now, your anger rolling off you in waves. He doesn’t step back, but his silence is telling. For once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback or a dismissive quip.

You draw in a slow, deliberate breath, fighting to rein in the storm raging inside you. It takes every ounce of willpower not to slap that infuriatingly smug look off his face. Then, with a voice teetering between restraint and raw fury, you lay it all out—the collar, the speech, the council, the threats. The weight of your words seems to hit him like a sledgehammer. His confidence falters, and you almost do a double-take as his face drains of color, shifting to a pallid, ghostly hue that borders on off-white.

“Cupcake, I’m so sorry.” “Look, I didn’t know.” “I did something dumb, and I’m really sorry, okay?”

The words spill from his mouth, striking you like the snap of an elastic band against bare skin—sharp, stinging, and unexpected. He means it. That much is clear. Yet your expression remains steadfast, unmoving, as though carved from stone. The realization doesn’t soften you; instead, it fuels the flicker of indignation simmering in your chest. Did he truly think his endless groveling would undo the damage?

His eyes dart across your face, searching, pleading for a hint of forgiveness, or at least a crack in your resolve. Finding none, he presses his lips into a thin line, the furrow in his brow deepening as he waits, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap.

"You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone?” you ask, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “You think your pain justifies screwing over the people who trusted you? Well, guess what? It doesn’t. It never will."

His expression hardens briefly, but the fight leaves him as quickly as it came. His voice, usually so steady, wavers. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost too softly to hear. “I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have lied.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you’re sorry? That’s rich, Warren. You didn’t think to be sorry when you were selling my things. Or when you lied to my face. Or when you dragged me down here into this mess. But now that you’re caught, now that I’m standing here—furious and homeless—now you’re sorry?”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t interrupt. His silence feels like both an admission and a surrender.

"You could’ve come to me," you continue, your voice steady and sharp as a knife. “You could’ve trusted me, told me what was going on, asked for help. And you know what? I would’ve helped you. I would’ve done whatever it took to find your brother, because that’s who I am.” Your voice rises, cracking slightly with emotion. “But instead, you decided to treat me like an obstacle. Like someone to manipulate and use.”

His eyes flicker with something—guilt, maybe shame—but it’s not enough.

"I didn’t know what else to do,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

"No," you snap, your tone icy. “You didn’t know what else to do that didn’t involve swallowing your pride. Instead of treating me like a partner, you treated me like a pawn. And the worst part? You didn’t even think twice about it. Goddess, I could almost feel sorry for your lack of critical thinking skills.”

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you see the cracks in his composed exterior.

The fire of your anger dims slightly as exhaustion washes over you, but your words are no less cutting. “You broke my trust, Warren. You didn’t just take my things—you took the belief I had in you, and you smashed it to pieces. And the worst part is, I don’t think you even realize how much you’ve destroyed.”

His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

You take a step back, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, putting distance between you. The silence stretches unbearably until you finally break it. “I’ll help you find your brother.”

He looks up sharply, surprise flickering in his eyes, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

"Not because of you," you say, your tone cold and unyielding. “Because I know what it’s like to lose someone. And I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone—not even you.”

He exhales slowly, but before he can speak, you take another step back. This time, your words are quieter, but they land like a dagger to his chest.

"I trusted you, Warren. I cared about you. And you... you made me feel like a fool for it." Your voice shakes slightly, but you don’t stop. “That’s what hurts the most—not the things you took, not the lies, but the way you made me question every good thing I thought I saw in you.”

You turn toward the couch, picking up a blanket from a nearby chair, your movements brisk and deliberate. “I’ll take the couch,” you say without looking back. “You can have the bed. At least this way, one of us gets to sleep without being reminded of how much they screwed up.”

With that, you lie down, your back to him, shutting him out entirely. And though the room falls into silence, the weight of your words lingers, leaving him to sit alone with the raw sting of regret.

જ⁀➴

Warren stood frozen, the words she had just thrown at him ricocheting inside his head like bullets. His chest felt tight, his throat like it had been scraped raw. He hadn’t expected her to react like this—he hadn’t expected any of this.

She’d always been so composed, so steady, so... kind. And yet, in that moment, he saw something in her eyes that shattered him. She wasn’t the sweet, forgiving woman he’d relied on. No. She was someone else entirely—someone he hadn’t wanted to see. Someone who had been hurt beyond measure, and was ready to destroy him with nothing more than her words.

“You broke my trust, Warren.”

Those words echoed in his mind, repeated on an endless loop. He could hear the quiet fury in her voice, the raw pain she was struggling to keep inside. She had every right to be angry, every right to lash out. And yet... hearing it from her, seeing how she’d built her walls higher, had hit him harder than anything else.

He ran a hand through his hair, a shaky breath leaving his lungs as he stared at the door she had walked through. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, and the worst part was—he couldn’t fix it.

“I’ll help you find your brother.”

Her words had surprised him, the softness there almost cruel in its way. She wasn’t doing this for him—she was doing it for her own reasons. Because that’s what she would do. She would always do the right thing, even if it killed her. Even if it meant she had to suffer more.

He could feel the sting of her words settling deep in his gut. “I trusted you, Warren. I cared about you. And you... you made me feel like a fool for it.”

That was the part that cut the deepest. Not the betrayal of his actions. Not the lie. No, it was that she had trusted him—actually trusted him—and now, he had ruined that. He could see it in the way her eyes had hardened, the way she turned away from him without a second glance.

And then, when she’d told him where she’d sleep—the couch. Like a damn stranger.

It was a slap in the face. And he couldn’t blame her.

Warren paced the small room, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He had made a mess of everything. He had a thousand excuses, a million reasons why he’d done what he did, but none of them mattered now. She wasn’t going to care about his reasons. She wasn’t going to forgive him.

He stopped in front of the window, staring out at the dark sky, his breath fogging up the glass. There was a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t loosen, and it had nothing to do with the worry over his brother.

It had everything to do with the fact that she had trusted him. And he had shattered it beyond repair.

The silence in the room felt suffocating. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alone. It had always been like this—he’d been on his own for so long that it had stopped bothering him. But now, now that she wasn’t there with her bright smile and warm energy...

Now, it felt like he had nothing.

With a heavy sigh, he finally turned away from the window and walked over to the door. But before he could open it, he paused, his hand on the handle.

She wasn’t going to forgive him. Not now, not anytime soon. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make things right.

Or at least, try.

He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, his mind racing. There was something he had to do. Something to show her—something that might, just might, bring her back. Because no matter what happened, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her completely.

Did she give a single fuck at this point? TBD.

જ⁀➴

#random ranting #desmond asmr #warren the gladiator #cupcake (listener)#cupcake (oc)#attempt at writing #fic writing #much love #audio roleplay #asmr roleplay #angst to the tea

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