#despite everything it’s still you- how tragic .

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How do you write a positive character slowly being more and more pessimistic? Example: Character is a sunshine at the beginning of the series but after something happened, they became less and less positive. How does the process look like?

Writing Notes: Negative Character Arc

Character Arc - the path a character takes over the course of a story.

A character’s arc involves adversity and challenges, as well as some changes to the character, and ultimately leads to resolution.

Character arcs generally progress in tandem with traditional three-act story structure.

Most protagonist character arcs start with the inciting incident that sets up the stakes and central conflict facing this character.

The way the arc progresses from there depends on what sort of story you are telling and how the character functions.

Negative Change Arc: As the name implies, a negative change arc involves a character starting out as good or benevolent and descending into evil or ill fortune over the course of a story.

Some Related Tropes

Face–Heel Turn: A good guy turns bad.

Fallen Hero: Not all villains are born. Some are made, and none are more tragic than this trope. As the name implies, the Fallen Hero used to be a hero before turning bad. They may even have been an Ideal Hero or another equally optimistic archetype, up until the moment when they suffered something bad enough for them to lose all faith in good and idealism, be it the loss of a loved one, too many good deeds coming back to bite them hard, betrayal by someone they trusted the most, too much distrust from those who should have been allies, or some other faith-shattering event. It might even be a drawn out process of seduction to The Dark Side or fall from grace. What they choose to do about it determines what they become:

If they retreat into themselves and fight evil mercilessly to dull the pain, they become an Anti-Hero, though if this fight is motivated by vengeance, they may run the risk of becoming like the very monsters they have sworn to destroy.

If the loss of faith with humanity and/or society and government makes them decide to do something drastic to "fix" it, they become an Anti-Villain, most commonly a Knight Templar or Dark Messiah.

Alternately, if they just jump off the slippery slope and embrace chaos and the destruction of humanity as the only solution to their pain, they'll become a straight up cackling Card-Carrying Villain. Especially those who only became a hero for fame and glory, rather than for any good cause.

Or they'll be a fusion of the second and third examples and decide that killing/destroying everything is the ONLY way to save EVERYONE from the pain/pointlessness of existence, often becoming a Straw Nihilist and an Omnicidal Maniac.

They might withdraw from society, become a hermit or drunkard, and ignore the ongoing state of the world. If the current generation of heroes meets them, the fallen hero will mock how their deeds are useless. Most likely, however, they will help the new heroes in the hopes that they won't suffer the same fate.

Or they can ditch all of their once good qualities and become a Complete Monster.

The Tragic Hero: A longstanding literary concept, a character with a Fatal Flaw (like Pride, for example) who is doomed to fail in search of a Tragic Dream despite their best efforts and good intentions. This trope can work as a protagonist or an antagonist. As an antagonist, their goals are opposed to the protagonist's, but the audience still feels sympathetic towards them.

The Protagonist's Journey to Villain: A plot in which the protagonist, who starts out well-intentioned, turns into a monster.

Used to Be a Sweet Kid: This applies when a villain or other dark and troubled/troubling character was not so as a child.

Examples

The Shining. It starts off with Jack being a happy family man, albeit with a dark past, until the influence of the hotel drives him to madness and monstrosity.

The Lorax (2012): A good portion of the movie sees the Once-ler telling Ted his backstory, how he went from a kind-hearted, free-spirited inventor to a Corrupt Corporate Executive character trope who causes the extinction of trees due to his greed. However, the Once-ler in the present day really regrets his actions and sincerly helps Ted to restore the trees.

The title character in Carrie (1974, and its film adaptations) is a kind-hearted, but socially outcast teenage girl who spends the first half of the book getting slowly beaten down and pushed to her Rage Breaking Point by her classmates, the school faculty, and even her own mother. The second half is about the massacre she commits as a result when what happens at the Senior Prom makes her snap.

Alexandre Cabanel's The Fallen Angel: Lucifer, once God's brightest angel, lies defeated and resentful after his jealousy toward human beings and power-hungry tendencies drove him to fight (and lose) a war against Heaven.

Arguably the central plot of Breaking Bad, which follows the journey of Walter White across five seasons from sympathetic, kindhearted chemistry teacher and family man suffering from cancer to a fairly loathsome Villain Protagonist. Gets briefly paused halfway through the fifth season when Walt, having reached the top of his empire, having taken his operation global realizes that he has made more money than he could ever hope to spend and far more than he even set out for initially. This leads him to decide he is out of the game, make amends with his former business partner by giving him the money he's owed and try to start over fresh with his family. Then his DEA agent brother-in-law finally figures out he's a drug dealer, causing him to slip back into his criminal ways and his moral degradation resumes. Even if he won't physically harm them, he's perfectly willing to throw his family under the bus to save his own skin like making a false confession tape implicating Hank or in Jesse's case, teaming up with skinheads to have him killed when he becomes too much of a hassle.

The Favourite (2018): Arguably the case for Abigail. She starts out a kind-natured Fallen Princess after her father gambled away both the entire family fortune and herself, so she sets out to join her cousin Sarah at Queen Anne's court in hopes of getting it back. However, as she is sucked into the world of politics and abused consistently by everyone around her, Abigail adapts to their cruel, underhanded ways alarmingly quickly, playing nice around Queen Anne as an antidote to Sarah's personality, faking tears when people push her too far, drugging Sarah's tea, seducing a Lord, marrying him and then all but dumping him once she gets her title back. Her cruelty finally culminates in getting Sarah officially banished from Court and intercepting her letters to the Queen, leaving Anne heartbroken, blatantly cheating on her husband in front of him, and finally stomping on one of Queen Anne's beloved pet bunnies (whom she views as surrogate children) until she nearly kills it. Queen Anne is not amused.

Les Misérables: Inspector Javert is on the side of good and law, but he is so inflated with extreme self-righteousness that, when confronted with Valjean's nobility, he has no choice but to kill himself.

In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Archdeacon Claude Frollo is a compassionate man in the beginning, but after seeing Esmerelda, he goes mad with lust and slowly becomes evil, desiring to either have her for his own or kill her if she won't become his.

The Percy Jackson and the Olympians short story "The Diary of Luke Castellan" shows this off with the titular Luke, a villain-turned-hero who used to be a very sweet kid. Or, as in this chapter of history, a sweet teenager. He's brave, protective, and caring towards his little adopted family, to the point that he closely resembles the later hero of the series, Percy.

In The Witcher as seen by the flashbacks to his childhood with his "Ma" Visenna in the finale episode of Season 1, Geralt was once an adorable little Momma's Boy full of optimism. Completely unlike The Stoic Deadpan Snarker Knight in Sour Armor character trope he is in the present.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

There are so many possible causes as well as directions you can take your story in with this idea. Choose which of these tropes you would like to incorporate into your writing, and also found some examples for inspiration. More information and examples in the links above, hope this helps!

[bougiebutchbinch]

still baffling to me how certain fans heard shen jiu say 'Even if all of this could be redone from the beginning, in the end, the conclusion would remain the same. My heart is full of malice, my insides hatred and resentment. Today, Luo Binghe wishes for me to die horribly, and I only have myself to blame' and.... believed him at face value?????

When he was literally saying that to try and get Yue Qingyuan away from him so he wouldn't be caught up in his mess???

Like - 'Get far away, as far as you can. From now on, never again involve yourself with a thing like Shen Qingqiu.'

This man is an ex-slave overflowing with jealousy and hatred for everyone and everything including himself. He is desperate to be considered an equal with others, but still sees himself (deep down) as a thing. Even when others do see him as one of them, within his own mind, he is always lesser!! He thinks he's continuously being looked down on and has to scrabble like a rat to catch up, because that was his entire childhood! He values his pride above his own life and happiness because pride is the only thing he had left and even that was taken from him! The torment nexus is of his own creation, and it's tragic and beautiful! And he is a lying liar who lies to everyone including himself?????

He thinks of himself as doomed and irreparable! He bites every hand that feeds him for having the audacity to show him pity, but also wishes (as he says to YQY in that one scene!) that other people would show him kindness first. Even if (I think) he wouldn't know what to do with it and would mistrust it terribly!

He is just the most blatant 'problematique abuse victim who pushes everyone around him until they snap and start to despise him because he cannot fathom a world in which he is not loathed and seen as less-than human'.

And he absolutely could have a well-written and believable in-character redemption arc. He's a horrible nasty person who made horrible nasty choices and I think that if just a few things beyond his control had been, um, written differently (i.e., Liu Qingge; Yue Qingyuan actually explaining during the cave scene...) his whole life would've taken a different and much happier track. Despite, yes, him still being a self-sabotaging abusive cunt. That's the FUN OF HIM, dammit.

But alas, he is but a character in a novel within a novel, where he is tragically doomed by his own rancid personality! And that is fun too!

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Wip Wednesday Thursday. Family portrait

Celia and her protege/little brother playing nice cop scary cop on some poor sod. He doesn't have a stand but he does have hell of an overprotective older sister & he's never needed anything more.

Opposite colour pallets go brrrrrrr.

The main humor is how Celia & her squad talk about the baby of the group who's a damn brat but they have to protect him, and how they don't want him involved in stuff... then he turns up and he's not sweet like honey he's sweet like artificial flavoring & the only reason you would think he's harmless is because even a wolf would look weak next to a bear.

Tldr of their relationship is they are half siblings, he's 6 years younger than her and the barstard son of someone powerful. When he's 6 n she's 12 their mother dies and he is taken by his father- who doesn't even know Celia exists. He's treated like shit by the man's wife and he people around him, so she sends him money so he can buy the cloths and textbooks he needs, getting that money from doing odd jobs for the mafia, they see eachother raely but write to each other, eventually when he's 14 he's put as part of the latest group of fresh recruits, but no-one wants him cause they see him as a spoilt brat or a lowly barstard, except Celia.

Unfortunately she's getting noticed and an up and coming pink haired prick decides he needs dirt on her to keep her under control, which ends up being the existence and safety of her dear half brother.

She raised him the best she could, there mother was sick, but only after diavollos death does she let herself call him her brother. While she's his leader he is her protege and the baby of the group, one of two that she's moulding into leaders themselves. She would do fucking anything for him and that's why her third colour is dark red- her love for him has caused the oceans of blood that stains her to her soul.

[jackass-jones]

Girl like. The reason he said "this is how it should be" and faced death with a smile....is cuz he wanted to die. For 2 years he sat there thinking he was worthless and deserved to die. If he hadn’t be shot, his death would’ve been suicide, he was fully planning to die in a gutter somewhere undetected. When saying "this is how it should be" hes literally saying "don’t cry because I’m dying, my death is a good thing actually because I fucking suck and you are better off without me". I don’t think that’s badass even slightly, it’s actually really sad and really shitty. Shinjiro is so convinced that he deserves to die and hates the idea of anyone giving a shit about him because he literally can’t wrap his mind around the idea that he will be missed when he’s gone, that his death is a bad thing actually. And his last words were meant to be comforting because he fully did not intend for anyone to be there when he died, he intended to die alone, so he says them as a reminder that he’s not worth crying over

Personally, if it were me, if I was holding my dying best friend in my arms who was deeply depressed and suicidal and he said "this is how it should be" uh. I wouldn’t admire him for it??? Like am I losing my mind when I say the way this game handles Shinji is bad or is anyone else seeing this too 😰

[grimbonezz]

[oc]

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“I’m not the child you once knew.”

“No. That child would look at you and run…”

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[ ★ ]

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[bixels]

The final TF2 issue really got to me. Spoilers, but it’s the reveal that all of this suffering and murder and war over gravel and shitty land was for nothing but senseless, bottomless hatred. That the administrator can’t even remember where this revenge plot started as she flashes through different false memories of her parents’ deaths. There was never a tragic backstory or justification, only terrible people doing despicable things. And despite how crass and stupid and unserious TF2 is, the story subverts every expectation by showing the survivors and inheritors willingly breaking the cycle. Ms. Pauling lies to the administrator and chooses not to save her, and finally lets her die. (Hurts even more if you read into the subtext that Ms. Pauling is in love with the administrator.) She lets the final cache of Australium go and walks away from the burden and legacy of a century-old bloodfeud. Hale lets Gray’s daughter go and live her life freely. Spy is the first to arrive at Scout’s house and meet his big family, finally takes off his mask, and helps with the kids. Even Merasmus exhaustedly makes peace with himself and Soldier and chooses not to curse him or something. There’s nothing to finish, no promises to keep, and no one to avenge. The only thing to do is break the cycle and walk away.

It feels odd how happy and warm everything is, but it feels so right and earned. These bloodthirsty, awful, violent men were expendable cogs in a machine of endless violence, and they found a way out. It’s a genuinely great message about letting go the past that burdens you and finding the will and a way to hit the bricks, change, and be happy. Maybe they don’t technically deserve happiness, but they’ve got it nonetheless, and they’re not gonna let it go to waste. They’re still all crazy and violent, but on their own terms now and with people who love them! Smiles.

[gundren]

its a peak level of brain rot tohave your no. 1 babygirl be a character from a fanfic

[cross-d-a]

Jod Na Nawood’s backstory is FASCINATING!! And makes SO much sense!!! Order 66 fucked up SO much in the galaxy, it’s so interesting (and tragic) to see what it’s done to the force sensitive children who were unable to be taken into the Temple. It truly supports how GOOD the Jedi Order is. How good the JEDI are. I can’t even fully comprehend everything the galaxy lost and suffered without them. And- Jod’s master. She didn’t have to take him in. He knew that. He knows she was desperate. But she took him in anyway and taught him what she could. We only get a very tiny glimpse of that backstory but it’s utterly gut-wrenching.

Imagine the survivor of a genocide. A Jedi on the run, desperate and hungry and grieving, running into a little kid just as lost as her and seeing that LIFE in him. Feeling the FORCE in him. What would that have done to her after feeling everyone she knew and loved ripped away from her. But here is this kid and he needs help and maybe she does, too. Maybe they can help each other. And so she folds him under her wing just as any Jedi would have done. She teaches him the ways of her people, knowing that their way of life lives on in her and that she is passing it on to a new generation. And that probably hurt. It probably hurt SO much. Because she can’t give him what she could have if the Order was still alive. And he’ll never understand what it means to be part of something so beautiful and long-lasting. But she does what she can, and they maybe never would have met if Order 66 didn’t happen. And it’s an awful thought, the worst kind of thought, but she can’t help but be relieved they found each other. Because she loves this lost little kid and maybe they’re broken together, but they’re more whole together, too. And maybe without Jod she could have run and hid forever. Maybe she couldn’t have, plenty Jedi were caught and murdered. But she knew the risk and she took it- and the way Jod talks about it (“they made me watch”) makes me think that he feels he’s responsible for her getting caught. And it makes me wonder how she felt when she was caught. Knowing she was one of the last of her kind, and that this kid was going to be alone again. Orphaned in a completely new, terrible way.

And I wonder, too, if looking after the kids reminded Jod of his old Jedi Master. And maybe he thought “I can’t get attached because then they’ll catch me too and I’ll die just like her.” And you know what, Jod? It did happen that way. You got caught because of those kids. But only because you forgot what it means to be a Jedi, which is to say that after your Master died you tore out that softness within you. Abandoned love for fear. Exchanged generosity for greed. And it’s true grief and trauma changes people. That a little kid alone in the galaxy does what they can to survive. But Jod isn’t a little kid anymore and it doesn’t excuse the choices you make. It’s a wretched world, one without a Jedi, and Jod suffered all the more for it.

And I wonder, too, what Jod thought when Wim paused in the elevator. When that little kid called out to him, despite everything Jod had done to him. Did Jod look at Wim and think: “Yeah, that’s what a Jedi would be” and then hate himself all the more for it? Well, who can tell. Jod is a fascinating character and I’m excited to see where the show next takes us.

[saintobio]

blank canvas. (3)

in an attempt to rekindle an already fractured relationship, you open your eyes to the harsh reality that some things, once broken, can no longer be repaired.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, degradation, explicit smut, toxic relationship

notes. 8.3k wc. here’s the last part !! although there will still be an epilogue, which will be posted a few days from now (let’s not jinx it lol). but thank you for supporting this three-part fic :’) feedback and reblogs are most appreciated!

part 2 | epilogue

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. 

Sighing, you stood behind the counter of your floral shop, absentmindedly picking on the rose petals like an infatuated teenager. It was almost ridiculous what you were doing out of boredom. And although the sweet scent of the flowers surrounding you were supposed to feel calming, it did little to lift the terrible weight on your chest. 

Two weeks had passed since you had given your virginity to Satoru. Two weeks since you tried to move on from Sukuna.

Others might say you were too irrational with it. Others might say you did the right thing. But honestly, what was so good about having sex with a guy you barely knew when you spent years refusing to do it with your actual boyfriend? 

Yes, you were definitely, undeniably irrational with it. You realized it all too late after you had already given your virginity to another guy. You weren’t even sure what compelled you to ask Satoru to do it with you, but at the time, it felt right. It felt reasonable that you were trying to get over an ex-boyfriend, out of spite, for not setting boundaries with other women while you were still together. You thought it would be fair to play a similar part in this tragic tale, that it wouldn’t be too bad not to set boundaries with other men who showed attraction to you, too. 

After all, Sukuna had countless women constantly latching onto him, while Satoru was the first guy within your past relationship who developed an interest in you. 

Besides, it wasn’t some kind of fairytale scene when you two slept together. Because to Satoru, it was nothing but a casual encounter. He did his best to make sure that you enjoyed it from finish to end, and you appreciated his sincerity in guiding you throughout, yet you couldn’t deny to yourself that all you had been thinking of at the time was Sukuna. You contrasted everything Satoru did with Sukuna—like how Satoru was slow and sensual, while Sukuna was rough and vulgar. Satoru enjoyed cuddling afterward, whereas Sukuna would likely go straight to sleep. Satoru was too clingy and playful, while Sukuna was more reserved and mature.

The worst part was, your heart still preferred one over the other. And it wasn’t the guy with the white hair and blue eyes. 

Satoru was a good guy, and he had genuine intentions, but after being intimate with someone you weren’t in love with, you understood that your potential relationship would never be as good as your previous one. You longed for a man like Sukuna, because despite his typical bad boy persona, he was anything but boring. Being with him was a thrill, and no matter how toxic it was, you were addicted to him.

And that’s wrong. Your lips curled into a frown. 

You glanced out the window for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your eyes drawn across the street to Sukuna’s tattoo shop. The neon sign that once buzzed with life now hung dark and lifeless. Every now and then, you could see some of his old clients passing by the shop, hoping for a chance that their favorite tattoo artist was back in business. But Sukuna still hadn’t reopened the shop in days, for almost a month now as a matter of fact, and his absence filled you with a gnawing sense of worry and longing. 

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, while that was certainly true, it also drove you crazy. Why hasn’t he opened his shop? you wondered, biting your lip. Did he move out? Did he forget about me entirely?

You turned back to your flowers, but your hands stilled as your thoughts consumed you. What would Sukuna think if he knew someone else had taken your virginity? The thought made your stomach twist. You could already hear his voice telling you that you had given yourself to someone else out of desperation, but it clearly didn’t work. If anything, it only made you miss him even more.

Your fingers traced the petals of a rose as memories flooded your mind. The way Sukuna used to look at you, his intense eyes softening just for you. The way his laugh would rumble through his chest when you said something funny. You missed him. You missed everything about him, even the way he could infuriate you with his arrogance.

A sigh escaped your lips as you placed the finished bouquet in a vase. The floral shop was quiet today, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. The city would be busy again during rush hour, but for now, you leaned against the counter, your gaze drifting back to the tattoo shop across. He’s probably with his ex, you thought, feeling a lump form in your throat. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if he still thought about you. Did he miss me too? Or had he moved on completely?

You pressed your hand to your heart. You wanted to be with him. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how much you regretted trying to move on so quickly, how much you wished you didn’t break up with him. You had no backbone when it came to Sukuna. But the fear of rejection, the fear that he no longer cared, kept you rooted in place.

Pushing yourself off the counter, you walked to the front door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” It was best to close off early today. You needed a moment to yourself, a moment to clear your head in the safety of your bedroom. But as you locked the door, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing one last glance at Sukuna’s shop. The light flickered at first, making you wonder whether you had just imagined it, but then your heart skipped a beat when you saw the lights completely turning on inside.

Your pulse quickened, and you found yourself drawn to the sight. If it was him in there, maybe this was your chance to talk and clear the air. Or maybe, it wouldn’t be wrong to simply check on him since he had been away for almost a month. What if something terrible had happened to him during those past weeks? What if he had gotten sick? With hesitant steps, you eventually crossed the street and approached his shop. There, you could see him through the window as you got closer, shirtless and his rib wrapped in a bandage, clearly covering a fresh new tattoo. In seeing your presence, he looked up, but his eyes passed over you as if you weren’t even there.

You knocked lightly on the glass door, and he glanced up again, but his expression remained indifferent, like he was trying to suppress his emotions. He didn’t move to open the door as you expected. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with himself in his head.

“Hey,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “Can we talk?”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away when he wiped his hands on a rag, still not meeting your eyes. Your heart ached from the heavy silence, but before you could say anything more, the sound of a car engine broke the stillness of that scene. 

An expensive McLaren car pulled up to the curb, and you were quick to recognize its owner. 

It was Satoru rolling down his window, a bright smile on his face as he looked at you. His beam was almost blinding, distracting you from the presently awkward situation you had placed yourself in.

“Y/N,” he greeted cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, Jesus. 

The words hung in the air like a bomb, and you felt the color drain from your face as you thought of how dangerous this situation would be for you. When you saw Sukuna’s eyes flicker with interest, his posture stiffened as he finally paid attention, and you realized it was too late. Way too late. 

“Is that guy bothering you?” Sukuna finally asked, his voice unusually calm as he approached the door. The closer the proximity, the more your heart started to race. It was running at 250 km/h like it was on track. 

Satoru’s smile then faltered, now sensing the shift in the atmosphere. It was his first time meeting Sukuna, and based on the stories you had shared with him and Suguru, he was smart enough to recognize that the tattooed man was your ex. 

“I got what you asked for.” Satoru ignored Sukuna and looked back at you, holding up a small bag. “Birth control, right?”

Never in your life did you want to disappear like a puff of smoke. The sudden turn of events was so wild and unexpected. You could see that Satoru was enjoying provoking your ex-boyfriend, but the whole exchange was making you feel nauseous. The tension was so overwhelming that you couldn’t speak, or move, or do anything at all. You were simply frozen. 

It was also at that time when Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his gaze moving between you and Satoru. The pieces began to click into place, and a dark realization settled over his features. “You slept with him?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory.

“Sukuna, I…” Your breath caught in your throat because you couldn’t find the damn words to respond. Should you deny it? Should you say it wasn’t anything like that? There was no way you could get out of this situation even if you wanted to. 

But Satoru stepped out of his car in your defense. “It’s none of your business what she does—”

“Shut up, you douchebag,” Sukuna snapped, his glare turning deadly. He looked at you with sharp eyes, ones filled with a mixture of hurt and fury. With the way he was glaring, you knew he was murdering you in his head. “So this is how you move on?”

Your eyes stung from the incoming tears. You wanted to explain, to tell him that you only did it out of spite, but the words just wouldn’t come. You knew it was still wrong and that it would be a huge slap to his face hearing that you had hooked up with someone else before him. You hadn’t even confirmed anything, yet the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze already made you feel like you were suffocating. 

As the two men stood there, locked in a silent standoff, you recognized it as the loudest silence you had experienced in your life. That was, until Satoru broke that silence by reaching for your hand. “Let’s go,” he said gently, guiding you towards his car.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Sukuna, but the look of betrayal on his face was too much to bear. It was either you turn away and leave him behind or you stay there and explain to him. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the courage to do the latter. 

— —

The roar of Sukuna’s bike echoed through the night, slicing through the darkness as he raced down the highway like a motorcycle racer on a professional track. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, jealousy and rage fueling his every movement. With every thought of you, his knuckles felt cold. 

Look, he wasn’t planning to pursue you after you left with that guy, but his ego just wouldn’t allow it. After piecing the situation together, something inside him just snapped. Like a timebomb. A very dangerous one. He couldn’t control his emotions, and he couldn’t just let you go like that. Damn it. Almost two years of forcing him into celibacy, and you suddenly threw yourself at a guy you just met?

He revved his motorbike, scoffing bitterly behind his helmet. He was riding recklessly, without a care to the other vehicles he almost crashed into. Fuck. He had spent nearly a month sulking over your pathetic breakup, he had tried his hardest to avoid you, when all this time, you were out there offering your virginity to some random trust fund-looking guy. How ridiculous was that? How utterly, goddamn ridiculous was it? Maybe you had just revealed your true colors right there. You had always felt uncertain about Sukuna because he had nothing but a tattoo shop and a decent motorbike. Now, you’ve met the picture-perfect guy your parents always wanted for you, so you found it easy to spread your legs open and allow some other guy’s dick inside.

You were worse than a whore. 

The wind whipped against his bare chest, but he paid no mind to the cold. He didn’t care anymore. Even if the police were to chase after him, he didn’t fucking care. His focus was on the red taillights of your new guy’s McLaren car ahead of him. Sukuna pushed the throttle, his bike accelerating with a ferocious growl, causing a scene along the highway. 

He mapped the situation in his head. Who was faster in this highway chase; the McLaren or his bike? While the McLaren 720 had a higher top speed, Sukuna’s Yamaha YZF-R1 was highly agile and could be more maneuverable in tight spaces. In a straight-line chase, the McLaren would eventually outpace his bike, but in scenarios involving a lot of maneuvering, he could have an advantage.

Too bad for you and your new guy though, since this highway was Sukuna’s domain. His superbike had already passed through the tightest of spaces in the midst of traffic during rush hour, so he was a clear winner here. 

And in saying that, the distance between you closed rapidly, and soon he was right behind the car, the bike’s engine roaring like a beast unleashed. With a piercing screech of tires, Sukuna maneuvered his bike alongside Satoru’s car, forcing him to pull over by kicking the driver’s side door. The car drifted and screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, and Sukuna followed suit, cutting the engine and dismounting in one fluid motion. His precious bike, now discarded on the floor, all for the sake of confronting the woman he thought had loved him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru demanded, stepping out of the car with a confident swing. He tried to look tough by using their height differences against him, but he wasn’t intimidating to Sukuna at all. 

“Get out, Y/N,” Sukuna ordered, his voice dangerously low as he ignored Satoru and the countless cars honking behind them. His eyes were locked on the passenger side where you sat, your expression an amalgam of fear and hesitation. “I said get the fuck out!” 

“Dude, chill out.” Satoru tried to put a hand on his shoulder, only to have his hand swiftly rebuffed. “I’m not letting her go with a man who’s clearly upset.”

“Stay the fuck outta this,” Sukuna growled, his fists clenched at his sides. The white-haired punk should take that as a warning. He should back out before his fist lands on his precious face. Plastic surgery isn’t cheap nowadays. “Y/N, if you don’t wanna cause a scene, I suggest you get the fuck outta there.”

**

Your chest rose and fell as you looked between the two men. You knew Sukuna well enough to understand that he wasn’t going to back down. And with a line of angry cars honking at the unnecessary traffic jam you were causing, you had no other choice but to open the door and step out.

Satoru's first instinct was to gesture for you to stay back. “Y/N—”

“Satoru, it’s okay,” you said softly. “I need to talk to him.”

The white-haired man hesitated at first, clearly worried for your safety, but with your insistence, he eventually nodded and stepped back to give you space. Sukuna’s eyes burned with intensity as he watched that interaction between you two.

“‘Kuna, can we at least pull over on the side and not talk in the middle of the highway?” you practically begged, your voice trembling as a few cars managed to squeeze their way between the McLaren and the YZF-R1, throwing harsh curse words towards you and your ex-boyfriend for the road blockage you had caused. Sukuna didn’t even flinch. All you could see was the anger in his eyes, and the pain lurking just beneath his irises.

“I’m perfectly fine talking here,” was Sukuna’s reply, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me why you’re with that douche. I think you owe me a damn good explanation, angel.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. “W-We broke up. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore.”

Beep. Beep. “Get off the road, you idiots! You’re holding everyone up!”

Beep. Beep. “Who do you think you are, blocking traffic like this?”

“Is that so?” Sukuna scoffed, taking a step closer as he cornered you. “You moved on pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

You flinched at his tone, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. You knew you would not be able to escape this situation if you didn’t admit it sooner or later. “Something did happen between me and Satoru,” you finally confessed, feeling uneasy from the lingering eyes of the heated drivers. “I didn’t plan it, it was just…”

Beep. Beep. “This is a highway, not a soap opera set!”

Beep. Beep. “Take your drama somewhere else!”

Sukuna’s eyes were clouded in disgust, the color of his lenses becoming red from the fire of his fury. “So you really gave it to him?!” he demanded, his voice rising. He looked like he could punch someone at this rate. “After everything we had, you gave yourself to someone else?!”

Beep. Beep. “Learn to drive and pull over if you want to argue!”

You could feel your entire body shaking, but you tried to hold your ground. “I-I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would help me forget about you.”

“Forget about me?” Sukuna’s laugh was harsh, almost maniacal, because he was truly losing his shit. “You think you can forget about me by sleeping with some random guy?” He took another step closer, his presence far more overwhelming than the rest of the vehicle surrounding you. “You’re nothing to me now,” he snarled at your face, the reality of his words cutting through your heart like a knife. “You’re just another girl who threw herself away.”

Tears spilled over as you watched him turn his back on you, preparing to mount his bike again. “And what about you, Sukuna?” you challenged, despite his obvious departure. “Do you think you’re any better? You act as if you wouldn’t have cheated on me if I hadn’t confronted you about it!”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his anger and pain warring within him. Then he shook his head, his expression hardening as he pulled down the visor of his helmet. “But I never cheated,” he said that fact coldly, “So, don’t expect me to stick around and pick up the pieces. You’re just somebody’s leftover now.”

He turned away, the finality of his words hanging in the air to wreck you in half. As soon as he sped up the bike, he vanished into the highway, accelerating from 0 to 60 mph in 2 seconds. The roar of his bike was louder than a thunderstorm. He didn’t even care for his own safety. And as you watched him go, you could feel the rain pouring out with your heart breaking all over again, like a vase cracking against the floor, its pieces forever irreparable. 

His words hurt more than his actions ever did. And you were never one to handle it as good as you thought you would be.

— —

“I’m not trying to be biased here or anything,” Choso said, lighting his cigarette as he leaned against his Harley Davidson bike. “But even if you weren’t my step-bro, I still think you did the right thing. I wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing my ex-girlfriend be fucked by some dude after years of not giving it to me.”

Sukuna crouched next to his R1, the polished bike gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the garage. He had his shirt lay discarded nearby, leaving his toned torso exposed as he worked on changing oil. Sweat mixed with grease smudged across his chest and arms, emphasizing the taut muscles and the intricate tattoos that covered his skin. If he had women here, they would have fainted already. The sight of him sweaty and shirtless while working on his bike would have been an eye candy for them, but he didn’t need to think of that now. He merely focused on moving his hands deftly, loosening bolts and draining the old oil into a container. The methodical process offered him a momentary distraction from the chaos in his mind.

“It’s simple,” Sukuna spoke, pausing to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and inadvertently spreading more grease, “The albino guy looks rich. She just proved to me she’s nowhere near being a good girl when a rich guy’s involved.” 

The memory of his ex-girlfriend as she was picked up by another man replayed in his head. He couldn’t stop imagining how your first night went on. Did you let him fuck you raw? Did you let him hit you from the back? Did you let him cum inside? Did you go for round two? Did you choke on his cock like a good girl? 

He remembered what your naked body looked like. How soft your breasts felt like. How sweet your pussy tasted like. Now, another man had a taste of it, and he couldn’t be any more disgusted. It was sickening to think that another man’s cock got to feel you inside before he did. And that you willingly allowed it. 

“Fuck that,” he muttered to himself, tightening the new oil filter. His eyes narrowed in concentration, but his mind drifted back to the breakup. He’d always prided himself on being in control, on not letting himself be caught in temptation. But you had pushed his buttons too far, and even though he still never betrayed you, he was sick in the stomach to see that you were the first one who did. 

“Women,” Choso agreed, grinning as he shook his head. “If she wasn’t Yuki’s friend, I would’ve cut her off.” 

The wrench slipped from Sukuna's hand, leaving it to clatter to the ground. He cursed under his breath, bending down to retrieve it, his movements were fluid and graceful despite the tension in his body. “You don’t need to cut her off. It’s between me and her. She still treated you like a brother.”

The younger man raked his fingers through his raven hair, checking himself out on the bike’s mirror. “Nah. She was closer to Yuuji than me, anyway.” 

Sukuna stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, and poured fresh oil into the engine. The task was almost done, but his thoughts remained tangled. Seeing you with someone else couldn’t stop igniting a fire in him, a possessive rage he couldn’t quite shake. He missed the way you two were before, the way you couldn't get enough of each other when you were together. He missed the connection you shared, because it was something he hadn’t felt with anyone else.

Finishing the oil change, he straightened up, staring at his reflection in the bike’s mirror. The man looking back at him seemed foreign, his usual arrogance tempered by a vulnerability he didn’t care to acknowledge. He then ran a hand through his hair, smearing more grease, and sighed.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to the old times,” Sukuna spoke his thoughts out loud, with his step-brother merely staring at him. “I’m single now.” 

With a final glance at the bike, Sukuna grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, the fabric sticking to his damp skin. He needed a ride to clear his head, to feel the rush of the wind against his face. As he swung a leg over the R1, threw his helmet on, and revved the engine, the powerful roar echoed through the space, drowning out his thoughts for a moment.

“Be careful out there!” was Choso’s last reminder.

He sped off, the world blurring around him, but no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t escape the image of your face or the sting of jealousy that burned in his chest. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, and your face haunted him at every turn. 

As he rode, his anger simmered, his frustration building with each passing moment. The pain of betrayal gnawed at him, further fueling his reckless impulses. You’re such a piece of shit. All this time, you were claiming to be this too good of a girl who was as innocent as a bunny. When, as a matter of fact, you and your new boy toy were fucking each other like rabbits. It was funny, really, how you made him wait two years for nothing. He was your boyfriend, and yet you deprived him of sexual pleasure by pretending you were scared of it. What kind of stupid virgin would throw herself to a random guy when she’s scared to lose her virginity to her own boyfriend? 

Such bullshit. With a growl of frustration, Sukuna veered off course, his bike skidding to a stop in front of a familiar building. The apartment loomed before him as a dark silhouette against the night sky. It had been several weeks since he had seen her, but tonight, he didn’t care.

His fists clenched at his sides as he marched up the steps to her door. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anger and desperation swirling inside him. He was going crazy and he wanted to blow off steam. He wanted to let his frustration out, so he banged on the door, the sound of his fist colliding with the wood echoing through the quiet street.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a stunned Yorozu stood before him, bleary-eyed and disheveled. Surprise flickered across her face as she took in his appearance, his eyes burning with intensity.

“Ryo… What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The last time they spoke, he was very vocal about having a girlfriend and wanting to keep things professional. 

Sukuna, this time around, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need you.”

Yorozu’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you—”

“Please, Yorozu.” He pressed a hand against the door, cornering her in between. “I really, really need you right now.” 

She wasn’t naive. She understood his implication, and he had certainly conveyed that he was no longer with you. And without hesitation, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter without a word. Sukuna felt a rush of adrenaline as soon as he was inside her place, his mind consumed by the need to forget, if only for a moment.

The door closed behind him, and in the darkness of the apartment, Sukuna grabbed Yorozu’s face and kissed her lips, drowning her in the heat of passion. Things were a blur after that, because he wasn’t thinking clearly. Because he wasn’t in his proper mind. He was letting his rage cloud his thoughts, his bitterness driving his every movement. The next thing he knew, they were stumbling into her room, unable to break their intense kiss. He had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, like her mouth was suction that he couldn’t escape. 

And soon enough, she was naked in her room, knelt before him as he forced his cock inside her mouth. He couldn’t get a sense of time. He couldn’t even tell if it was already midnight. All he knew was that his next few hours were spent with Yorozu, this time around, with him burying his digits in and out of her soaking pussy. 

“Haaah!” She arched her back as an intense wave of pleasure hit her insides. “R-Ryo!” 

Fuck. Fuck it. Sukuna, without warning, put his cock inside her cunt. And her fucked her with rage, jostled her body like a sex doll, while her eyes rolled backwards in overwhelming satisfaction. She was grinning in absolute ecstasy, her breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit her sensitive spot before he leaned forward to suck her perfectly round breast. 

Listen, he blacked out after that. So, if you were to ask him what happened after that session with Yorozu, he wouldn’t be able to answer you because he genuinely passed out from exhaustion. All he remembered was them fucking each other’s daylights out, and the next morning, she took good care of him like she was his girlfriend again. 

No, she wasn’t. 

In fact, Sukuna was labeled an asshole for ghosting her. He didn’t contact her after that night, nor did he have any further encounter with her. Instead, he went back to his old life way before you. An addict, an alcoholic, a womanizer. 

For the next few months, that became his life without you. 

He slept with different girls every few nights, especially his clients. It got to a point where he couldn’t even recall their names, and he couldn’t remember having brought them to his apartment the night prior, because he was often too high off his mind. Every girl who came to his tattoo shop for an appointment became his companion during the night. And today, one of those girls was among the many who annoyed him afterward.

“Hey,” the girl spoke in a lascivious manner, running her slender fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure if her name was Rina or Kiko. “You slept throughout the afternoon. Do you wanna go grab something to eat?” 

Sukuna groaned, covering his head with a duvet. “Why are you still here?” 

He didn’t need to see her face to know that confusion settled her delicate features. “But I thought we were…” 

“Leave,” was his harsh reply. “You’re just a one-night stand to me.” 

— —

“So, Y/N,” Suguru began with a playful twinkle in his eye. “Why haven’t you made Satoru yours yet?” 

You rolled your eyes at Getou’s antics. He was clearly on it with his best friend, and their goal today seemed to be to tease the heck out of you. “Maybe I like to keep him guessing,” you retorted with a smirk, though your mind was far from the playful banter. 

“But there’s nothing to guess!” Satoru, on the other hand, protested. He was even displaying a childish pout. “We’ve seen each other naked, you know—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you swiftly covered his mouth with your hand, earning a cackle from Suguru in return. Thank goodness there weren’t that many people in the cafe today, because you were never safe around those two. They were inseparable, like two peas in a pod, sharing one brain cell. Like yin yang.

“Shut up,” you merely replied. 

“Baby, don’t be shy,” Satoru teased again, giggling like an immature child together with Suguru. “You’re an adult who did adult things.” 

You sighed, wondering if you would ever get a break from these idiots. “This is exactly why I don’t date you.” 

It was a joke, of course. The delivery, however, was a bit dry. But nonetheless, your statement caused Suguru to laugh at his best friend who, in his defense, tried to recover his trampled ego by denying your statement. 

“She’s lying,” Satoru denied, as if convincing Suguru was his top priority, “You never told me your cousin’s hard-to-get.” 

 “Yeah,” agreed Suguru, playfully, “Definitely hard-to-get. The only girl who can make Sukuna pussy-less for two years.”

“Hey!” It was Yuki who intervened, knowing full well that Getou was below the belt on that joke. “Enough of that.”

In truth, you felt it was a touchy subject for you. Anything related to Sukuna, especially that aspect of your past relationship, was something you avoided like a plague. You wanted no mentions of him, and of what he did, and of what you didn’t do. He had simply become that person who can’t be named, like Voldemort. 

But the thing was, it was unavoidable sometimes. You weren’t mad at Suguru for bringing him up. You knew that him and Satoru, ever mischievous, were just playfully ribbing at you, but you couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm to banter back. You were just upset because hearing Sukuna’s name reminded you of the very reason why you hadn’t been in the happiest mood today.

If it wasn’t obvious to them, your mind had been elsewhere since this morning, too fixated on the influx of girls you noticed had been frequently visiting Sukuna’s tattoo shop lately. You knew you didn’t have the right to feel jealous anymore, you knew you should no longer care about what he does with his life, but you couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was off.

And Yuki, sensing your distraction, gently pulled you to the side for a private conversation away from the chatter of your friends. 

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” Yuki asked, her tone soft and understanding. She wasn’t forcing you to open up, rather, she was allowing you to share only what you wanted to. 

You did hesitate for a moment before finding it safe to confide in her. “I just can’t stop thinking about him. And those girls at his shop... I don’t know, it’s just been bothering me."

Yuki listened attentively, her expression empathetic. “Y/N, I know this might be hard to hear, but have you considered that Sukuna might be seeing other people?”

Your heart sank at Yuki’s words. You had entertained the thought before, but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real. “Is… Is he?” 

“Well, not exactly,” she admitted reluctantly. “But Choso told me he’s been sleeping around.” Yuki then placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, anticipating your heartbreak from the news she delivered. And she was right. In just a few words, it felt like someone had stabbed you with a knife on the chest. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I agree, you deserve someone who respects and cherishes you. If Sukuna isn’t that person, then maybe it’s time to let go.”

You forced a nod, feeling a mix of sadness and regret wash over you, but you didn’t want to break down in front of Yuki. You definitely didn’t want to cry with Satoru and Suguru around. You knew deep down that Yuki was right, but accepting it was just another matter entirely and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it.

“Listen, why don’t we go out?” she offered, a smile of encouragement spreading on her peachy lips, “Let’s have a drink or something. Anything just to keep your mind off of him. What do you say?” 

— —

It was a mistake. 

You fidgeted uncomfortably on the barstool, feeling out of place amidst the pulsating music and the raucous laughter that filled the rooftop bar. Yuki, Getou, and Gojou seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, chatting animatedly over their drinks like it was a scene that they were used to. But for you, this environment was foreign territory. You weren’t accustomed to the loudness, the crowdedness, the palpable energy that thrummed through the air. Heck, you didn’t even drink alcohol. You couldn’t stand the taste nor could you see the benefit of drinking. 

But you didn’t want to be a party pooper. Yuki did you a favor here, and it was for you to get your mind off the man who kept torturing your soul over and over. If you were to leave now, it would just beat Yuki’s purpose of tagging you along. 

You were supposed to enjoy it. You were supposed to have fun, dancing with them, singing along to the music. They weren’t even the type of music Sukuna listened to. 

“Y/N, bottoms up!” You weren’t sure if it was Satoru or Suguru who said that, but they both offered you a small glass of vodka, urging you to drink it in one shot. 

As much as you wanted to, you had to refuse, speaking over the loud music. “I’m good, thank you.” 

And as you scanned the room, your eyes inadvertently locked onto a figure across the bar. 

Amidst the throng of people. 

The one person you wanted to avoid. 

Sukuna. 

He stood out effortlessly in the crowd, exuding an aura of confidence and charisma that drew your gaze like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t believe it. No, you just couldn’t believe it. You could be hallucinating because it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be here. 

But as soon as his eyes met yours, you knew he wasn’t just a figure of your imagination. Deep in your heart, you knew it was him. You couldn’t be mistaken when those eyes, those lips, those goddamn tattoos, were all him.

Though, as you two locked gaze, his expression told a different story. They were a jumble of surprise, guilt, and bitterness. He seemed just as startled to see you as you were to see him. But beneath it all, there was an undeniable tension, a silent acknowledgment of unfinished business between you.

No, you can’t walk away from me. Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped away from the table, unnoticed by your friends, and made your way through the crowd of people towards him. He was already walking away at that point, ready to avoid your presence as if seeing you was torture for him. But didn’t he know? You were too stubborn for your own good. You relentlessly followed him, squeezing in between a drunken crowd, realizing that Sukuna was heading down. 

In the abandoned part of the building’s parking lot, you finally caught up to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you faced him. 

“‘Kuna,” you called out, “Please.” 

Sukuna turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with dark, intense eyes. “Hey,” he replied coolly, his voice a low rumble in the night air as he walked closer to his bike.

“You’re not supposed to ride when you’re drunk,” you began. 

To which he sneered at. “Why? You think I’m here to offer you a ride back home, angel?” 

Aggravating as ever. He was still that arrogant bastard you knew, and loved. “No, you’re probably doing that to someone else.” 

“Why don’t you go back to your filthy rich boyfriend?” 

“Are you jealous?” you bit back, now feeling a palpable tension transpiring between you, but you tried not to let it stop you from speaking to him. “Whatever happened to me and Satoru was just one time.” 

Sukuna scoffed at your statement. “I didn’t ask, angel.” 

Truthfully, he was the most frustrating man in the world right now. And dealing with him was definitely the hardest job ever, but your purpose of running after him wasn’t to bicker. All you wanted was to confirm something that had been bothering you. So you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “Have you been sleeping around?” 

His expression remained stoic, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of defiance. “Are you jealous?” he mocked, returning the same question back to you. “So what if I am?” 

You couldn’t tell what overcame you more; was it the pain or the anger? But surely, a hundred percent, your frustration was definitely boiling over. “So you are,” you huffed, “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, isn’t it? This is what you’ve always wanted to do! To sleep with those girls!” 

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the tension was crackling in the air like electricity. Then, without warning, Sukuna closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your jaw.

“You don’t get to turn this back around on me,” he spat, swallowing the obvious pain in his voice, “You’re the one who started it all.”  

Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the heat of his body so close to yours, his touch igniting an altogether new fire within you. Despite the anger building inside your heart, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the magnetic attraction that seemed to draw you together like two black holes ready to destroy one another. 

“I fucking waited for you,” he continued, his voice now deepening in a more sincere tone, “I know I was wrong for not setting boundaries, but I never, not once, cheated on you. I never fucking did! But you couldn’t trust me, right? You couldn’t fuckin’ trust me.” His pupils dilated as he raised his voice. “You’re so caught up in being too goddamn insecure about yourself when all I wanted was to have intimacy with you—”

“All you wanted was sex, just admit that!” you yelled back, jerking his hand away as tears began to fill your eyes. “And maybe I was right for giving my first to someone else, because you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it when you’ve always pressured me into giving it to you.”

Sukuna’s laughter filled the air, a disbelieving chuckle that bordered on frustration. He threw his head back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet and hurled it across the floor, the sound of impact startling you.

“I never fucking pressured you!” His voice was raw with emotion as he walked back towards you, frustration and hurt evident in every step. “You’re the only girl I genuinely respected. You think I enjoyed being celibate for two fucking years?! No, the fuck, I didn’t! But I waited. I waited because I didn't want you to feel forced! It was all in your fucking head, Y/N. Your doubts, your uncertainties about me. I’m a man too, damn it! Of course, it frustrated me, but that doesn’t mean I would ever leave you or cheat on you.” And just when you thought it was over, he spoke again, his words now silencing into a painful tone, his eyes shining from the tears blanketing his gaze, ���Did you think you were the only one who was insecure? Every damn day, Y/N, I was scared you were gonna leave me. That you were gonna find some other guy, someone who could give you everything you want—a big house, a nice car, a successful life. I didn’t have all that. And it kills me every single day knowing that that’s exactly the type of guy you went after the moment we broke up.” 

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, as Sukuna’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t find the words to refute his accusations. Because deep down, you knew he had a point. Your doubts, your insecurities—they had clouded your judgment, poisoned your perception of Sukuna. And now, faced with his raw honesty, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

But accepting that truth was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant acknowledging your own flaws, your own role in the breakdown of your relationship. And it meant coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, you had let your fears drive you to push away the person who had truly cared for you.

As Sukuna stood before you, frustration and hurt etched into every line of his face, you felt a pang of regret twist in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to apologize, to admit that you had your wrongs, too. But no words came out, choked by the weight of your own self-doubt.

“I…” you struggled to respond. It was a battle you weren’t ready to fight, so your only option was to run away. To turn away like a coward, and to flee the agonizing reality of your relationship. 

But Sukuna didn’t let you. Instead, he closed the remaining space between you, his lips crashing down on yours in a hungry, desperate kiss.

In that moment, all thoughts of anger and confrontation melted away as you surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Sukuna’s touch. Lost in the heat of the moment, lost in a puddle of strong emotions. You fell deeper into the trap of your undeniable sexual tension, your bodies becoming entwined in a passionate embrace in the empty parking lot. 

His lips were soft against yours, his tongue rolling in the opposite motion as you kissed him deeper. More, more. He was hungry for more. And so were you. 

So when he kissed your neck, you allowed it. 

When he squeezed your breast, you allowed it. 

When he raised your skirt, you allowed it. 

You released a moan into his mouth as he sat you on top of his motorbike, standing in between your legs as he reattached his lips back to yours. Your mouths enveloped each other perfectly. The bittersweet taste of his tongue, now moving south down your neck. 

“Sukuna…” 

While his mouth was busy doing its own work, his hands too were occupied in touching areas he had once explored. One hand travelled to your thigh, squeezing your flesh before he reached your crotch. Two fingers touched your underwear, as if he was checking if you were wet, before he pushed them onto the side to set your cunt free. 

You ended up wrapping your arms around his neck, a gasp escaping your lips as his fingers played with your entrance. Your clit, your sensitive bud, also wasn’t ignored when he began moving his fingers in a circular motion. 

“Mmmh!” 

What was going through his head? You knew he was aroused, but why did his gaze look so dark? It was too grim, to the point where it scared you. But you were far too distracted when his other hand went to grab a hold of your tit, squeezing your mound, and kneading the soft skin. He had pulled down your neckline to release your tits in the air, quickly attaching his mouth onto one breast as soon as they were out in the open. 

“Haaah!” 

You were going crazy, both from the fingers that were entering your cunt, and the mouth that was sucking your tit. You had your back arched into a C, your arms grabbing onto his shoulder as he became more and more aggressive with his touch. 

And you weren’t exaggerating when you said he was being more aggressive with it, because when he pulled himself away from you, it only lasted for a few seconds before he grabbed your waist and twisted your body around. In a blink of an eye, he had you position against his motorbike, with your body leaning against the seat and your ass high enough for his crotch. 

“S-Sukuna, s-someone might walk in—”

He had pulled your underwear down, letting it stay in between your knees, before rubbing your pussy from behind. His breath was warm when he whispered into your ear, “Don’t act like you hate it.” 

He wasn’t wrong with that either. Because while he was touching your entrance, testing if the tip of his cock would smoothly glide in, you became an animal in heat, ready to be devoured by him. You had to cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep your voice down as he finally buried his cock six inches deep inside of you. 

“A-Aah!” your body jerked forward as Sukuna rawdogged you from behind. “S-Sukuna, aah!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he cussed under his breath, feeling a painful stretch on your scalp as he pulled your hair, “Did he fuck you this good?” 

“Mmh—no!” 

The sound of skin-slapping was reverberating across the empty lot.

“Did you let him cum inside?”

“N-No…!”

He was insatiable. He couldn’t get enough of the tightness of your cunt. He, too, was moaning from the feeling of your velvet walls milking his cock like a warm glove. So he continued to thrust inside you, his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as he rammed his cock inside faster, and harder, and deeper. 

Your buttocks were becoming too sore, the stretch of skin on your bum vibrating in waves every time he hit you balls deep inside.

And while you were a moaning hot mess below him, a realization suddenly hit you in the face like a truck. Throughout your relationship, this was all he had ever wanted to do with you. He had always talked about doing it slowly, in a romantic set up with candles lit and petals around, in a place where you can lay yourself comfortably. You dreamed of him whispering I love you’s into your mouth as you two made love. You fantasized about him lovingly looking into your eyes as he reached his high. You used to picture him out, intertwining his hands with yours as he tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

Yet now, you were doing it in the basement parking lot. In a dark, dirty place. Bent over against the uncomfortable seat of his bike. 

And more importantly, he was treating you like a whore. 

Tears welled up your eyes as you felt Sukuna pull out after finishing. For a minute, he gathered himself together, his head pressed against your nape as he sighed. 

“It’s not working, Y/N,” he mumbled against your skin, voicing the exact words you were afraid to hear.

“I know…” You sniffed, pulling the strap of your dress back up and adjusting your skirt back down.

He didn’t need to say anything more. When he gave you one last kiss on the forehead and wrapped you in his jacket, you understood the full weight of his words. It wasn’t just about this moment; it was about everything that had led you here. 

It didn’t work because you had already shattered your perceptions of each other. Both tarnished the way you saw one another. He would never come to terms with the fact that you gave yourself to another guy, just as you could never accept that he had slept with the same girls you had always warned him about. It would only lead to a constant game of back-and-forths, of pointing fingers, of toxic love.

So you watched him mount his bike, rev the engine, and look at you one last time before speeding away. His figure disappeared into the dark like a shadow, like a dream you only once knew. 

That was the last time you ever saw Ryomen Sukuna in your lifetime.

[scarletdreamers]

Still not over the fact that these are some of the most important and intimate lines from the show, yet everyone ignores them like they don't exist:

In the series itself (the final cut), these lines said by Alana and Hannibal while they are dining with Will are delivered a bit differently. In the final take they go like this:

A: ''They love and kill what they love.''

H: ''Then they eat what they love. It's a paradox.''

A: ''Freddie thinks the two of you are a paradox.''

After having said this, Alana suspiciously eyes both Hannibal and Will. Almost as if she knows there's something between them, but she can't figure out what it is. These lines are so important because they give an outsider point of view of Hannibal and Will's relationship. It shows that, at this point in the story, certain characters knew things they weren't supposed to know.

It also adds to their perception of the dynamic between Will and Hannibal. The dangerous pair they make, the desire to kill and even eat each other shows how unconventional and insane their bond is. How, not only tragic, but thrilling and strong whatever they have is. There's always a sense of underlying desires. Sensual danger that even the other characters can feel. They know something isn't right, and Alana's/Freddies take on their bond as a 'paradox' isn't even that far from the truth. It's actually really interesting to think of the feelings Hannibal and Will have for each other during that time in the story that way.

They really do make a very complicated paradox, knowing that they will betray each other, hurt each other, maybe even want to kill each other, but love each other anyway. That they love each other enough to want to ''eat'' each other ('they eat what they love') as a sense of fulfilment they might never reach. Not as long as they stay alive in a situation in which it's quite impossible for them to be together.

After that, we have the scene where they have dinner with just the two of them and 'prepare' Freddie, including this gorgeous shot:

A simple scene where they cook together. Hannibal hands Will a cooking knife (originally a product to use to prepare food, a deadly weapon given the right reason), which is an indirect throwback to the conversation they had with Alana. They merge love, death and eating in this scene. Hannibal's trust when he hands Will the knife. The blade pointed towards himself indicates betrayal and a violent shared history between them, depicted by the way the knife's tip is pointing at Hannibal's pink-ish red and raw scar. This scene is romantic, because Hannibal literally shows Will that he ''trusts him with his life'' by doing this.

Will is also hesitant about accepting the knife at first. His thumb hovers above it before he completely wraps his hand around the handle. He mistrusts himself with something as important and valuable as Hannibal's life, because he abused it before (his numerous attempts to kill or have Hannibal killed). He finally takes it, knowing and accepting that he doesn't want to kill Hannibal anymore for the sake of killing him. When he's given the choice, he wants Hannibal to run, to be free, maybe to join him eventually. He takes Hannibal's dangerous yet delicate life into his hands, that's when he chose Hannibal's side, despite everything he did to make Hannibal think otherwise.

In the dinner scene with Alana she also points out that she thinks they might not be the killers individually, but together. Holding a weapon at the same time for a few seconds too long proves her point. Their sharing of the knife without hurting one another means they are working together when it comes to violence and death. It's a sign of Will's corruption. A reflection of his true self in the silver of the blade. A mirror of violence and his own darkest urges.

Will and Hannibal are a paradox like a knife is a paradox. It nurtures, is used to prepare food which gives life, and is usually a friend, until it's used against you and suddenly becomes deadly. Their love is a double edged knife, being able to cause harm and grant help at the same time. It makes you wonder, do Hannibal and Will desire to kill each other because of their love, or rather in spite of it?

Anyway, I love Naka-Choko because of the insane tension throughout the whole episode. Had to share why I think that this quote is such a heavy yet romantic giveaway of their mutual feelings and bond, it's a shame it's so incredibly overlooked just like a few other really good lines in the show.

[onmyyan]

Yandere Batfam being kind of terrible and over all neglectful to their Batmom darling makes my heart ache ache for angst and the drama that comes with it. It's always so satisfying to see Mrs. Wayne go be at he wits end with the family she is slowly began to loathe, decides to leave them quietly, and start to be selfish for a change by living her best life in with out them and in comforting solitude. It was so easy to get Bruce to sign her one way ticket out her depressing life, via not paying attention to the papers he signed of. Oh well 🙂

This is so scrumptious omfg the angst possibilities are literally endless??

Like her being there for Dick when he arrives as that broken little kid despite the misdirected anger he aimed at her, she'd still ask him how his day at school was or if he wanted to walk the gardens with her, no matter how many times he rejects her, she'd be there for him without overstepping the delicate boundaries surrounding him and his recently departed parents, I can see him opening up just the slightest but then he becomes Robin and since at this point batmom doesn't know about any of that, it drives this wedge between them.

She'd fall in love with being a mom despite its many challenges, when Dick grows up and eventually moves out her heart aches but then Jason comes into their lives and it's like a breath of fresh air in the stagnant house Bruce had cultivated. Then he dies. And everything is grey. Jason would have been close to her before she died but afterwards? She's just as bad as Bruce in his eyes and he's sure to let her know it.

Tim's another tragic case of misdirected anger, his father's murder fresh in his mind, it be impossible to bond with him every attempt would be met with more resistance and bitterness, it hurt when he so clearly thought you were trying to replace his mother, and this distance between you isn't something he grows out of

[championari]

So I’m constantly thinking about Charles and how he could eventually meet Edwin with his feelings.

Here’s something I realized: Charles, despite constantly talking about things he miss, things he wants, he actually has a complicated relationship with desire as a concept.

How I would put it is by taking Supernatural as an example. There’s an episode in Season 5 where the boys meet Famine, a horseman of the apocalypse. However, Dean is not at all affected by him. It’s because due to being the older brother, and a Hunter, Dean was never allowed to consider acting on or even having desire for anything.

You can see where I’m going with this. Charles, like Dean, doesn’t actually believe he should want anything, due to “not being good enough”.

This is something actually touched on subtly in the show through the acting. When Niko says, “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.” Edwin directly looks at The Cat King’s bracelet, while Charles stares off into space. When Tragic Mick describes Angie’s light as enforcing a sense of yearning, Edwin looks at Charles, while again, Charles looks off blankly (can’t access screenshots right now). Edwin knows what he wants but is scared of it, while Charles doesn’t know what he wants because he can’t allow himself to consider it. This gives an entirely new meaning to Charles’ hatred of the Cat King. A supernatural entity who describes his kingdom as being about “want and pleasure”. Thomas is the encapsulation of everything Charles was never allowed to have. Charles chases after things that he knows he can’t have, romancing a living girl despite knowing she will eventually leave. Charles can’t consider returning Edwin’s feelings because that would mean he’s been running away from what’s been in front of him the whole time. That what he wanted was always there, at his lowest point, when he thought he deserved it least.

Returning Edwin’s feelings means he was already enough. And Charles can’t imagine that yet.

While I would obviously adore an interaction between Charles and Desire of The Endless, ultimately I don’t think it would do anything. Like Dean, Charles might be completely unaffected by them because he’s spent most of his existence building walls around his desires. Edwin was completely blindsided by Thomas because he never even considered having to think about Desire due to having no attraction to women and that being the dominant narrative of his time. Charles pursues Crystal because he still wants to feel like he has a chance at “normal life” (which as I said is self-punishment by throwing himself at something he knows he can’t have). To accept that he’s in love with Edwin would mean no longer pursuing a living person. Edwin would be it for him, which he kind of already gets but it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Just like his death

There's also this exchange that drives me nuts:

"You gave up tranquil eternity…for your friend?" "Does that sound like someone who belongs in Hell?"

THIS. MAKES. ME. INSANE. Because Charles, like he always does when confronted with his own wants, completely avoids it. He doesn't respond to The Night Nurse's obvious confusion as to why he ran from Death, and instead turns the conversation back to Edwin. He makes it all about what Edwin deserves, not what Charles saw in Edwin that led him to make that choice. You could say this is practical as time is of the essence, but I think that's the point. Charles throws away the chance to explain his viewpoint on their first meeting, the consequences of his choice to run from Death with a boy he just met and knew for a few hours, and instead remains single-minded on Edwin's safety. Like when Edwin reasonably questioned, "Why are you getting angry?" when he began freaking out over Thomas getting close to Edwin, he says nothing.

There's just so much happening in that head that I can't stop thinking about.

[stllmnstr]

sacred monsters: part four

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers, vampire au, slow burn

part four word count: 15.8k

part four warnings: swearing, more blood and other vampire-y things, dark themes, descriptions of past abuse (non-explicit), even MORE tragic backstories, a little sexiness

soundtrack: still monster / moonstruck / lucifer - enhypen / everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears / immortal - marina / supermassive black hole - muse / saturn - sleeping at last / everybody’s watching me (uh oh) - the neighbourhood

note/disclaimer: EVERYONE DOUBTED ME. I DOUBTED MYSELF. BUT DESPITE IT ALLLLLLL HERE IS PART FOUR!!!!!!! Enjoy my friends, and then tell me about it! As always, happy reading ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

A literature student in your third year of university, you’ve been dreaming of having your writing published for as long as you can remember. With a perfect opportunity dangling at your fingertips, the only obstacle that stands in your way comes in the form of a ridiculously tall, stupidly handsome, and unfortunately, very talented writer by the name of Lee Heeseung. Unwilling to let your dream slip out of reach, you commit to being better than the aforementioned pain in your ass at absolutely everything.

But when a string of vampire attacks strikes close to your city for the first time in nearly two hundred years, publishing is suddenly the last thing on your mind. And, as you soon begin to discover, Heeseung may not quite be the person you thought he was.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

When you wake up, it’s with a pounding headache and a deep wave of something that almost tastes like regret. 

Through the jumble of your sleep-addled mind, it takes you a few moments to locate the source of that uneasy feeling. But as soon as you do, it washes over you in a sweeping tide of sensation. 

Images, sounds, tastes. Feelings. 

You’re lying in your bed. Alone. But your mind isn’t convinced of it. 

For long, heavy moments, if you screw your eyes shut tightly enough, you’re somewhere else entirely. 

Notches of your spine pressed against the expanse of a wall. Long fingers, ones  that don’t belong to you, toying with the hem of your shirt. Tracing the skin beneath your ribs. 

Sighs that you swallow. Lips pressed against your own. Teeth. 

Desperate, heady, sordid.

A brief stinging sensation. The faint, metallic taste of blood. 

The breathy pleas that follow. 

All at once, all over again, you’re lost in it. Drowning in it. Consumed by it. 

It’s a ghost of the real thing, a mere shadow in comparison. But you’re aching with it just the same. 

Through the muddle in your mind, you barely remember getting home. 

Footsteps and movement and other mundane details are lost to memories of a much headier nature. 

Lips against yours in the cover of darkness outside your apartment door. Fervent whispers of words that sound like “Bad idea” and “Not tonight.”

But still. He followed you in. Or at least you think he did. There’s far too much room for error in the recesses of your clouded memory.

It feels real, though. The recollection of gentle fingers in your hair. Soothing this time. With the intent to calm, subdue. Creating distance from desperation instead of adding to it. 

The slow press of lips that you wish you had more time to become familiar with. Against your temple this time, the bridge of your nose, the swell of your cheekbone. 

And a final, quiet command. 

“Sleep,” he’d insisted. 

And you hadn’t wanted to, not really. But no matter how many encounters you’ve had with immortality, you’re still woefully confined to the constraints of your humanity. And exhaustion still has clutches you can’t escape. 

Eyelids flickering, unconsciousness sang to you like a siren song until you were unable to resist its lull any longer. 

And there had been no promises between the two of you, but waking up alone was not what you expected. 

It’s undeniable though, even as you sit up, sheets tangling around your hips. You’re still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. They’re wrinkled – a result of fervent ministrations and a long night of sleep disturbed only by strikingly vivid dreams. 

But even though small remnants of his presence remain, your room is empty, save for you. 

Rolling your neck in a slow circle, you wince at the stiffness, the tinge of pain you feel as it crosses above your left shoulder. 

The rest of your body carries a similar heaviness. As you ease your way out of bed, your limbs feel tight, stiff, overworked. 

Still, you force your feet to carry you to the space outside your bedroom. If you’re honest, part of you is hoping that you’ll find him waiting for you there. But as your eyes trace over the expanse of your apartment, your stomach sinks with disappointment. 

Empty. Just like your bedroom. 

It’s not enough to make you panic. Not yet. There are a thousand possible explanations for his absence. Before you start to decide which one is most likely, a knock echoes against your front door. 

And it’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which you cross your living room. 

But you can’t swallow the immediate sense of relief you feel. Coupled with a sudden swoop that reaches all the way to the pit of your stomach. 

Because he’s here. He’s here and it’s real and the surge of butterflies is enough to have you forgetting any potential complications. 

You know he can hear your footsteps, can certainly tell that your heart has just begun to beat unnaturally fast, but you don’t care. Can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this magnetic pull. It clutches at your heart with a soft touch and pulls at your mind like nostalgia. As if you’re a girl with a crush, writing the details of your affection in the secrecy of a diary and doodling hearts along the border. 

You pause, hand on the doorknob. With your other hand, you flatten the top of your hair, self-consciously tucking a strand behind your ear. 

It defies logic. After all, any remaining mussing is of his doing. But still, you can’t suppress the desire to have him see you at your best. 

After one last deep breath, you twist the knob. A smile is already tugging at your lips, widening along with the door. 

But when it opens fully, your lips fall flat. It’s not Heeseung that stands on the other side. 

From where he lingers in the doorframe, Jake scratches at the back of his neck rather awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

“Jake?” Disappointment colors your voice in obvious strokes. You might feel bad about it if you weren’t so confused. 

“Hey, ___,” he returns. His exhale almost sounds like an apology and it has your stomach swooping again. This time in trepidation. Anxiety. “Can I come in?”

“Is he okay?” It’s probably rude, the way you ignore his question entirely. But suddenly, it’s all you can think of. Why is Jake here? Avoiding your gaze and already sounding regretful. 

“Heeseung’s fine,” Jake assures. Your brow furrows. He’s fine, but he’s not here. You can’t decide if that inspires relief or something far more unpleasant. 

The silence extends for a moment. Jake doesn’t offer any additional explanation. Instead, he requests again, “I have something to ask you, but it would probably be better in private.”

“Right,” you nod, forcing the unease in your gut away. “Would you like to come in?”

Jake smiles, a tight thing, before stepping inside wordlessly. When you shut the door behind him, you keep your back turned for a moment. Inhaling deeply, you try to regain a bit of control over your mounting emotions before turning to face him. 

Jake has already made his way to your couch. Instantly, you're reminded of when another guest of yours did the same. It’s almost enough to send you spiraling again.

Jake, unaware of your inner thoughts, doesn’t let you linger in them for long. Instead he motions to the seat opposite of him. “Come sit.”

You frown, still fraught with nerves. Jake sounds far too serious for this conversation to be anything but unpleasant. Following his request, you slide down into the chair across from him. 

Once you’re seated, he doesn’t waste any time. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got an errand for us today.”

Raising your brow, you wordlessly urge him to elaborate. 

Jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, metal object. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, but once you do, your stomach only sinks further. 

It’s a key. The key. The same one you found last night. Along with someone whose absence is still very much unexplained. 

Jake looks at you, but your gaze is still trained on the object in his hand. “How do you feel about a return trip to New Haven?”

New Haven. You can hardly process his question, much less answer it. 

Because they were together. Heeseung gave the key to Jake. Intentionally passed it along to him. And despite all of the possible explanations, you can only fixate on one. 

He’s avoiding you.

You don't say anything, but Jake reads your expression all the same. Gently, he sets the key on the table between the two of you. Again, he sighs. It’s an apologetic sound, and you hate it.  

A beat passes. Two. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

You don’t answer. At least not with words. But the way your eyes widen is confirmation enough. 

“I—” You can’t decide if lying would serve you any good here. Ultimately, you decide to stick with the truth. You have too many unanswered questions to play any games. “How did you know?”

Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “After five hundred years, you kind of just… know.” He pauses for a moment, weighing his words. And then he adds, “You don’t have to tell me, of course. But you can. If you want to.”

You can’t think of anything you’d rather do less. It’s illogical and frivolous and entirely human, but you’re embarrassed. The things that passed between the two of you hold weight in your mind. Significance. Importance. 

And now he’s deliberately avoiding you. You can’t help but feel slighted. Played. Used, even. Your voice is small when you ask, “Did he say anything?”

Jake shakes his head. “He’s been pretty silent. Even more so than usual.”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t. But answers are still lingering far beyond your reach. Jake might not be privy to the details of your affection, but he does know Heeseung like the back of his hand. 

With a deep exhale, you push your pride to the side. 

“We…” you trail off, searching for the right words. Something that won’t feel too invasive, too intimate to share. “We had a… moment. And I thought— well,” you frown, suddenly unaware of your own expectations, “I guess I didn't know what I thought. But I didn’t expect him to avoid me.”

“Ah,” Jake enunciates carefully. “That would explain why he’s been so moody today.” He nods to himself, pausing briefly before adding, “It’s not because of you.”

You just give him a look, obviously disbelieving. 

“I mean, it’s not because of you specifically,” Jake clarifies. “It’s…  a bit difficult to explain. Heeseung is…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “guarded, as I’m sure you can tell. He’s quiet, reserved. He keeps a lot of himself locked up in his own head, and he ruminates on everything. Predicts a million terrible outcomes of every situation and fixates on them until he’s convinced himself that everything will end in flames.” 

“So a raging pessimist, essentially.”

“Maybe,” Jake pauses. “But I think that you have to consider his perspective, too. That’s the thing about immortality. It’s… lonely. Often unbearably so. We all deal with that in our own ways. Sunghoon and his bed are one extreme end of that. Heeseung’s the other.”

You frown. He’s skirting around the edges. Hinting at something without fully saying it and you’re tired of guessing. 

Jake sighs. “I won’t pretend to know everything that’s happened between you, but Heeseung’s not just acting irrationally.”

Your brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I…” This time it’s Jake that hesitates. A struggle plays out across his features, as if he can’t decide whether this story is one he should share. Finally, he exhales. “It’s not really my story to tell. But Jungwon had a similar situation, I guess you could say. We had only been changed for around twenty years when he met this girl. It was purely by chance. And it was completely innocent at first. She was an apprentice at the tailor shop in the town we were living in. A human one.”

Your stomach is sinking with every word. The story has barely begun, but you call tell from the tension in Jake’s expression that it doesn’t have a happy ending. 

“He never intended for anything to happen, but he met her once and then he kept going back. It wasn’t intentional, but things spiraled from there. Until he was in far too deep.”

Jake is sparing plenty of details, but even the vague picture he paints is enough to have the unpleasant feeling solidifying in your gut. 

“And there was nothing dramatic, really. No big fight or fall out.” Jake sighs. “But she got older. And he didn’t. For the time they had, they made each other happy. In a lot of ways, they were perfect for each other. Except for in the one way that mattered.”

His immortality. Her humanity. Jake doesn’t say it, but the truth is there all the same. 

“Their love fell apart in a quiet way. Slowly, steadily. Five years had passed, and Jungwon looked the same. She started getting suspicious. He was running out of excuses and had to cut contact just to keep us all safe.”

A part of your heart breaks for him, for the love that he lost, for the circumstances that were always going to dangle just outside of his reach. 

“He couldn’t help it, though. He kept tabs on her. And she did what every human does. She nursed her broken heart, and then she moved on. She fell in love and found a family. Including a daughter.

“But for Jungwon… It broke him. For almost two hundred years, he felt like a shell of himself. And we all watched it happen, but I think it hit Heeseung the hardest. Out of all of us, he was always the romantic, although you’d never guess that now.” 

Jake smiles wryly and the dread in your stomach hardens into a rock. 

“He might not have to hide what he is from you, but that will only buy you so much time.” Jake meets your eye, imploring you to understand. “No matter what happens between the two of you, you’ll always have something he doesn’t: the ability to move on. To forget. To find someone that fits into your life in all the right ways. He’ll never have that, no matter what he wants. No matter what he feels.”

Jake’s gaze settles on the side of your neck. The bite has already begun to fade, scar tissue covering what was once an angry red wound. 

“And he’s already led to you getting injured once. I can’t imagine the kind of guilt he’s probably feeling over that.”

You’re quick to protest. “But that wasn’t his fault—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jake shakes his head. “That’s how he sees it.”

Lips tightening, you search for holes to poke in his logic. “Isn’t it better to take that risk? You can’t avoid a chance at happiness just because you’re worried it will lead to sorrow in the future.”

“That’s a nice perspective,” Jake agrees. “But it’s a human one. If you want to understand him, you have to consider what it’s like for him. His regrets and sorrows aren’t like yours. They don’t have an end date. They’ll live forever, just like him.”

“But so will the good memories—”

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “They won’t. Time will warp them, eat at them, until the good memories hurt just as bad as the awful ones. Maybe even worse.”

You flinch as if you’ve been scolded. Jake’s features soften. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I know he doesn’t either. He doesn’t expect your understanding or patience or forgiveness. He wouldn’t ask that of you, because he knows it’s not fair. Because he knows that it’s different for you.”

It’s selfless. It’s considerate.

You hate it regardless.  

Carefully, Jake adds a final suggestion, “For you and him, for the sake of your own peace, it might be best for you to do the same.”

His words settle heavily into the air. 

Do the same. It’s vague enough to be open to interpretation, but no matter how you warp it, there’s always one striking similarity. 

Jake is encouraging you to move on, to forget about last night and everything that led to it. To let memories fade and moments die before they can grow into anything stronger. 

And in the grand scheme of things, even in your limited mortal lifespan, it really hasn’t been that long. The first time you saw Heeseung was only a handful of months ago, and the taste of his name was bitter on your tongue for the majority of it. 

There have been so many versions of him. A rival classmate. A pesky annoyance. A savior. A guardian. A lover. 

A vampire. 

You don’t know him. Not really. You’ve seen parts of him, and the remaining pieces feel like something that would be all too easy to want. To love, even. 

And maybe Jake is right. He has the advantage of perspective. He’s seen history unfold and recognizes the patterns. He’s terrified that tragedy will repeat itself. 

But it doesn’t make it any easier – the thought of letting him go. 

Your feelings might be mortal. Your days may be limited, but that doesn’t make them any less significant. 

Amidst all the uncertainty, you know one thing for sure. It’s not a conversation with Jake that will give you any kind of closure, that will lead to any final decision. 

You need to talk to him. To Heeseung. Need to hear his thoughts and fears and desires in his own words. Need him to listen to yours. 

You’re not sure how to go about it. If he’s hellbent on avoiding you, there’s little you can do. 

But there must be something. Some way of getting to him. 

Before you have long to linger on it, another knock sounds against your door. It’s much sharper, more urgent than Jake’s was. 

Immediately, your eyes flicker to the vampire across from you, widening in surprise. 

Jake just sighs, shaking his head slightly. “I apologize in advance.”

Although slightly cryptic, it’s confirmation that whoever is on the other side poses no threat. Slowly, you stand, making your way back to your front door. 

Opening it, you find five overeager faces crowded in your doorframe. 

“Morning, ___,” Sunoo beams. “Hope you slept well.”

 “I don’t know,” Niki whispers, “Those look like some pretty serious dark circles.”

“Dude,” Sunghoon elbows him. “You can’t just say that.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s super rude.” Turning to you, he gives you a wide smile. “You look great, ___. Not tired at all.”

In the center of them all, Jungwon just sighs. “Sorry to intrude like this.” Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck. “Is there any chance you could invite us in?”

Two minutes later, the sight that greets you would be enough to make you laugh out loud if the surrounding circumstances weren’t so dire. 

Your couch is far too small for the five vampires crowded onto it, elbows flying into ribs every time someone adjusts too far in one direction. Next to the chaos, Jungwon leans against the arm of the couch, eyes trained on you. 

His gaze feels assessing, almost. As if he’s trying to decipher the events of the previous day. Under his scrutiny, you do your best not to flush. 

From his seat at the far end on the couch, Jake’s lips pull into a flat line as another scooch sends him squished up even further against the armrest. “What are you all doing here?”

Jay smiles, nodding at you. “We came to check on our favorite human, of course.” 

“We heard you even snuck into your evil professor’s secret lair.” Sunghoon adds, nodding appreciatively. “Badass.”

“Plus we had to get out of the house.” Niki grimaces. “Heeseung is still in one of his moods.”

Despite yourself, you can’t quite help the expression that crosses your features as soon as his name is mentioned. 

As if that weren’t mortifying enough on its own, of course all six of them pick up on it. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Sunghoon waves his hand dismissively, entirely unaware of why you’re so affected by the sound of his name. “Being in a mood is just a regular Tuesday for Heeseung.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jay shudders, clutching at his neck. “When I mentioned that Jake was planning to go with ___ to New Haven so she could go back into the secret evil jail, I thought he was actually gonna throttle me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so–”

“Anyway,” Jungwon interjects. He might not have been privy to your conversation with Jake, but he is a bit better at picking up on the subtleties. “We did want to form a plan for your return to New Haven. I apologize for the sudden intrusion, but since you and Jake were already here, we thought this might be the best place for all of us to talk.”

Jungwon’s words barely register. He’s there. Heeseung is at their shared home. Of course he is. It makes sense. It’s the most likely place for him to be. 

But he’s there. They’ve all seen him. Talked to him. And now they’ve come here without him. 

“Right,” you nod, forcing a tight smile. “Well, we have the key from the professor’s university office now. And we don’t know for sure, but it just might open the chest I found last time at New Haven. As soon as we know that the professor is away from the building, I think we need to return and try to open it as soon as possible.” 

The thought of going back into that place fills you with a distinct sort of dread, but you need answers. You all do. 

Jungwon nods thoughtfully. “We can do that. We’ll get eyes on him first and establish a warning system for you and Jake.” Reaching into his back, he pulls out a pair of walkie talkies. “Heeseung also mentioned that there’s no cell service down there. The two of you can use these so that you’re not going in blind.”

Reaching forward, you take them from his outstretched hand. “These will be perfect,” you agree. 

“And ___,” Jungwon adds, suddenly serious. “Thank you. Truly. We know that none of this has been easy.” Five heads nod in near perfect unison. “But what you’re doing will save lives. There was another attack last night–”

“What?” You can’t mask your shock.

“A few miles outside of the city,” Jungwon confirms, lips pulled in a tight line. “In an area we hadn’t been patrolling. There were two victims.” Jungwon pauses, his words weighing heavy in the air. “High school students.” 

High school students. In recent weeks, death has become a familiar theme. But youth has it feeling brand new. You suddenly feel like crying. 

High school students. Kids. Children with their whole lives ahead of them. Dreams and plans and goals for the future. All lost in one tragic, horrific moment. 

Your heart hurts for their families, their classmates, their teachers. So many lives affected, changed, darkened. 

Teenagers whose worries should have extended only to homework and exams and finding a date for the prom. Not becoming headline news in an ongoing series of tragedies. 

Wait –

Headlines. News. 

Frantically, your eyes flick towards the clock on your counter. Last night really did do a number on you. You slept well past mid morning. If your clock is accurate, it’s dangerous close to one in the afternoon. Ignoring the fact that you can’t remember the last time you slept so late, you return to the more urgent matter at hand. 

Panicked, you turn to Jungwon. “We might have another problem. I’m supposed to have my first article for Professor Kim written in the next two hours. I don’t know if I–”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s already done.”

“What?” A confused frown pulls at your lips. “What do you mean? I haven’t written anything yet.”

Reaching for the bag he set down by his feet, Jungwon pulls out a small stack of papers. “He gave these to me this morning before we left,” he explains before handing them to you. 

Wordlessly, you reach out, accepting them. 

Fingers shaking slightly, your eyes trace the first handful of lines. 

It’s jarring – there’s no other way to describe it. 

You have no idea how he’s done it, but reading Heeseung’s writing feels a bit like looking into a mirror. It’s unsettling, just how easily he seems to be able to emulate you in his writing. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you wrote this yourself. 

Everything is perfect, down to the last detail. Words you’ve been scolded by past professors for overusing are scattered throughout. Unique turns of phrases that are hallmarks of your style are intricately weaved between paragraphs.

And it only solidifies your determination.  

You have to see him. You have to.    

Writing has always felt like an extension of your soul, a physical manifestation of your very being. And anyone that can capture you this intimately, this intricately, is not someone you can just forget. 

Jungwon, unaware of your inner turmoil, must mistake your silence for scrutiny. “Is it okay?” He asks, an edge of concern in his voice. “We still have some time, so if there’s anything you need to change–” 

“No, it’s…” you trail off, unsure how to describe the writing in front of you. “It’s exactly what I would have written. 

“Oh,” Jungwon nods. “Okay. Well… Good, then. I have the digital copy too. I’ll send it to you and you can pass it along to the professor.”

You nod, a bit numbly, still shaken by what you’ve just read, still brimming with the urge to confront Heeseung about it.  

Logically, you know that your visit to New Haven can’t be delayed for something as selfish as this. People, lives, an entire city, are hinging on answers you might find hidden there, after all. But as soon as you’ve finished, you know what you’ll do next. 

You decide, in your living room, surrounded by a group of six immortal beings, that it doesn’t matter if Heeseung has senses and skills for evasion that far outmatch yours. You will find a way to see him, to talk to him. You have to. 

But then your gaze shifts, lands back on Jungwon. There’s a slight frown that pulls at his lips as he talks to the others, assigning patrol duties and discussing potential complications for your upcoming mission. 

The longer your gaze lingers, the more you see it. The unmistakable weariness. Telltale signs of exhaustion. Jungwon might have lost the physical need for sleep, but the exhaustion that clings to him comes from a different source. And it runs deep. 

All at once, you can’t help but wonder what Jungwon was like, all those centuries ago. Before he met her. The human girl Jake told you about less than an hour ago. You wonder if he still thinks of her now. You know he must. 

You wonder if it hurts just as bad, if the sting is just as sharp every time. And that sends your thoughts spinning to a different, far more dangerous place. 

In five hundred years, when the only memories of you that remain are left in these seven boys, you want them to remember you with fondness. The kind that aches with affection instead of regret. 

If Heeseung wants to prevent an inevitable heartbreak, then you suppose you can’t blame him for it. But to you, his avoidance is cowardice. Distance won’t undo what’s already passed between you. 

If he wants space, then so be it. You have a key in your hands and pressing matters to attend to. Heeseung will only stay hidden so long, and it’s best to do what you can in the meantime. 

You owe it to them, to him, to everyone whose lives have been touched by recent tragedies, to do everything in your power to change the trajectory of current events. 

So, with a new determination, you push Heeseung a little more firmly into the back corner of your mind, tucking all of the loose edges and pressing thoughts into a neat, tidy box to be revisited later. 

Pulling out your phone, you open the digital version of the article Heeseung has written under your name. You give it one more once over, and it’s just as uncannily you as before. 

Tucking away every feeling that inspires for later, you turn back to Jake.

“So,” you venture, eyeing him as he turns the key over between his fingers. “Are you ready to do this?”

…..

New Haven feels only slightly less ominous in full daylight. Although the remnants of winter still cling to the air like a bad omen you can’t quite shake, sunlight streams through the clouds with the steadiness of a sure thing. 

At your side, Jake appears equally uncertain. 

“Your professor has interesting taste.” It’s a joke, something meant to lighten the mood, but you hear the wariness all the same. 

“Wait until you see the inside.”

Jake picks the lock with nearly as much ease as Heeseung had the night prior, and then the two of you are inside. 

Despite his initial uncertainties, Jake handles the looming hallways and odd shadows of the publishing house rather well. Knowing that the other boys have eyes on your professor and are protecting you from afar helps to abate some of the anxiety, even if you still have to force away a handful of unpleasant memories that threaten to rise. 

When the two of you reach Professor Kim’s office, you don’t bother to hesitate. By now, you know what you’ll find on the other side of the door. 

Jake, however, does give a double take at the massive painting you and Heeseung put back into place just one short night ago. 

Gauging his reaction in your periphery, you decide to play dumb. 

“Is something wrong?”

Jake just takes another long look at the painting of the open field, filled with flowers. He tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you think he rather resembles a curious puppy. 

“No.” Jake shakes his head. “Sorry, I just…” He takes one final look at the painting. “That painting just looked weirdly familiar for a minute.”

“Celedis, right?” You turn to face the vampire. “I thought the same thing, but Heeseung said it’s slightly different. Something about the flowers.”

At that, Jake doesn’t bother to mask his shock. “He told you about Celedis?”

“Showed me, actually. You know,” you reach your arm out towards him. “With the whole physical contact astral projection thing.”

You’re about to ask Jake to help you move the painting, but he’s still stuck in the details you’ve just revealed. 

Jaw nearly slack, he asks, “He showed you Celedis?”

“Yeah,” you frown. You didn’t realize this was new information. “I thought you knew. Back at your house, after I was attacked. He told me – er, showed me – about you guys.”

Remembering the water tower, you add, “And he’s used it, his ability, I mean, to show me other things about his past.” A memory surfaces, one of a young boy sneaking pastries from a medieval kitchen. Your heart gives a sudden lurch. “About Celedis.”

“Fuck, Heeseung.” Jake swears under his breath, but you hear it all the same. 

“Was he not supposed to?” Despite your current feelings of frustration towards Heeseung, your intentions aren’t to get him in trouble or create any sort of rift between him and the others. Suddenly, you’re scrambling to backtrack. “It was really only a couple of things to help me understand, I promise. He would never compromise your safety or–”

“It’s not that.” Jake shakes his head, interrupting. “Heeseung just… his ability isn’t one he uses often.”

At that, your brow furrows. That strikes you as odd. All things considered, it seems like a rather useful gift that should have found several practical applications over the past five hundred odd years. “Why not?” you ask. 

“It’s not…” Jake trails off, hesitating. Trying to decide how much he should share. “It’s not exactly something he takes pleasure in doing.”

Your brow creases further. That only leaves you with more questions than answers. You can’t remember him being particularly bothered either of the times he exercised his ability with you. “What do you mean?”

Again, Jake hesitates. His teeth worry at his bottom lip like that will prevent words from spilling out. “It’s not really my story to tell.”

“What story?” The corners of your lips pull downwards. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment, Jake just takes a long look at you. And then he sighs. “Heeseung explained Celedis to you?”

You nod.

“Including our origin story?” Jake pauses. “Our families?”

Again, you nod. “You were all nobles.”

Jake hums in agreement. “Yeah, we were. After peace was forged, the kingdom had to reorganize itself a bit. Our families were allies now, partners instead of enemies. Eventually, it was decided that each of our families would spearhead one sector of rulership, if you will.” Pausing for a moment, Jake gauges your reaction from his periphery. He asks, “Did he tell you about this?”

Deciding honesty will serve you best here, you shake your head. 

Much to your gratefulness, Jake just sighs again. “My family primarily dealt with the management of food resources. My father tracked annual crop production, rainfall, resources allocation, things like that.”

“Okay…” you nod, trailing off. The picture he paints is a logical one, but you don’t see a connection to Heeseung’s strange supernatural ability yet. 

Jake continues, “Heeseung’s father, on the other hand, always had a knack for strategy. It was decided that his family would be the de facto head of defense and protection of the kingdom. We were allies, but there was still worry that enemies from outside Celedis’ borders might arise. Although, his father’s methods were always a bit more… aggressive than you’d expect in peacetime.”

Frowning, it's hard to imagine. You suppose that hter may be sides to Heeseung you haven’t yet seen, but it’s difficult to think of him as anything but patient. Gentle. Hearing that his father was the complete opposite doesn’t sit well with you. Quietly, you wait for Jake to continue. 

“Even though we kept aging until we were twenty-one, our abilities manifested when we were just kids. And Heeseung, at ten years old, did what any child would do when he suddenly realized he could project his consciousness through touch.” Jake sighs again. “He told his mother.”

The memory comes rushing back unbidden. Heeseung isn’t here to project any visions, but all of a sudden, you feel like you’re back in that field anyway. Watching silently, helpless, as a tiny version of Heeseung accidentally makes his friend ill after his ability manifests for the first time. All over again, your heart hurts for him. Too small to understand what was happening, too frightened to do anything but seek consultation from his mother. 

“His father, of course,” Jake says, “eventually found out, too. And like any great strategist, he saw this newfound ability first and foremost as a tool. Heeseung wasn’t just a heir anymore. He was a weapon. And he was brought along to things no ten-year-old should have to see. War meetings, strategy sessions. Prisoner interrogations.” Jake’s eyes drop to the floor. “Torture, mutilation, executions. He was made to watch all of it.”

The small gasp you let out is involuntary. 

Jake’s eyes find you again. “And then, afterwards, he was forced to relive it, over and over and over. His hand on top of his father’s, so that the kingdom’s leader of defense could analyze every detail. Construct the perfect strategies, devise the best methods for extracting information, for making others bend to his iron will.”

Your stomach rolls with a fresh wave of nausea. 

Jake finishes with, “I’ve known Heeseung for five hundred years, and I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ever utilized his ability with me. Every single one of them has been out of sheer necessity.”

And explaining Celedis to you, sharing pieces of his long lost childhood, are decidedly not. The gravity of it all sinks in with full force, and you suddenly feel as if your knees might buckle under the weight of it all. 

You have to see him. You ache with it now, the overwhelming urge to just say fuck it and run until your feet have carried you all the way to their shared home. Until your fist connects with the outside of his bedroom door and the only barriers that exist between the two of you are easily breakable. 

But Jake has a key in his pocket, and you have the fate of a city resting in the liminal space between you. Selfish desires, no matter how strong, will have to wait. 

“I…” you hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words. “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. For trusting me.” 

Jake nods. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is. Even Jungwon, although he might never admit it out loud. It’s been a while since we’ve spent so much time around a human. They’re all really fond of you, you know.” Jake grins, something just a bit devious entering his eyes. “It drives Heeseung insane.”

“Well,” you return, “For what it’s worth, I’m quite fond of you all, too. Definitely my seven favorite vampires.”

“Aw,” Jake brings a hand to his heart. “You’re too kind. I’m honored, truly.”

Turning back towards the painting, it’s a sobering reminder of why you’re here, what you still need to do. Looking towards Jake at your side, you request, “Help me move this?”

Nodding, a refound sense of determination enters his gaze. “Let’s do it.” 

Painting aside and key in your hand, you find yourself once again face to face with the small opening that separates Professor Kim’s office from that horrifying dungeon of a room that sits just below it. 

Jake hands you a walkie talkie, and you eye it warily for a moment. “We’re sure these things work?’

“Positive,” Jake nods. “We tested them this morning. Oh, and I brought you this, too.” Reaching out, he hands you a headlamp. “He mentioned that it’s pretty dark down there.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Clipping the walkie talkie onto your belt loop, you take the light from Jake, securing the headband around your temple. Even though the gravity of the situation isn’t lost on you, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. Giving your front pocket a final tap, you confirm that the key is tucked away safely. “Well,” you turn back to Jake, “see you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” he nods. “And if anything, and I do mean anything, feels off, use that to talk to me, okay?” He just his chin at the walkie talkie at your waist. 

“I will,” you promise. 

And then, with just one final glance over your shoulder, you’re suspended into darkness just as surely as the previous night. For a moment, you consider igniting your headlamp. But you decide against it rather quickly. It’s probably best that you don’t see just how far beneath you the ground is. 

This time, thankfully, your decent feels much shorter. With some of the uncertainty stripped away, your feet are touching solid ground before you know it. 

Once you’re firmly planted, you reach for the light on your forehead. 

It ignites, shooting a strong beam of light straight out in front of you. 

Again, you fight the shiver that traces the length of your spine. It is quite cold down here, with a certain dampness that permeates into your bones, but that’s not why you shudder. 

WIth light revealing their secrets, the cells that line the passage are even more ominous. Dark, rusted iron lies in wait on either side of you. 

Handcuffs, chains, spare pieces of metal you’re sure you don’t want to know the purpose for, line your path as you force your feet forward. Even if you wanted to take a closer look, that’s not why you’re here today. Mission in mind, you continue down the long, dark path towards the opening where you know you’ll find the chest.  

Finally, after a few long minutes, you’re face-to-face with the locked chest again. The desk is still there, too, undisturbed. 

Taking a deep breath, you reach into your pocket, retrieving the key from Professor Kim’s university office. Forcing away any other lingering memories of the previous night that threaten to rise, you bring the key to the lock. 

Your hands are shaking. The cold, the fear, the anticipation. They all settle heavy in your bones and leave you with tremors you can’t quite stop. 

“C’mon,” you whisper out loud to the darkness, with no one but you and the faint sound of dripping water to hear. “Come on.”

Finally, the key aligns just right. 

Despite the tremble in your fingers, despite the improbability that this key even matches this lock, it slides in with ease. 

And when you turn it to the right, you hear a telltale click. 

In your shaking grip, the lock falls open. Sliding the key back into your pocket, you pull the lock out of the loop of the front of the chest. Setting it down at your feet, you take one deep inhale. 

And then, with hands that still tremble, you push the heavy lid of the chest open. 

You’re not sure what you expect. Something horrific, maybe. Some damning evidence of evildoing. Something soaked in blood, something so explicitly terrible that there’s no guesswork to be done. 

But the chest contains only two things. 

The first is a massive stash of what you assume must be distilled moonflower. Organized neatly into rows upon rows of tiny small vials that look terribly similar to the contraption he used to shoot you in the neck the first time you came to the publishing house.

This, in and of itself, feels like a revelation. According to Heeseung, moonflower is rare. And knowledge on proper distillation processes is even more obsolete. To have this much of it distilled and on hand… it must mean something. 

The chest is nearly overflowing with the small vials, save for a small space, just in the middle, where a book sits nestled amongst the moonflower. 

A book that looks nearly identical to one you’ve seen before. To one that still sits forgotten in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to your bed. 

Hands still unsteady, you reach for it. 

At first glance, it’s an exact copy of the strange book you found in the university library all those weeks ago. But as you lean closer, you notice one key difference. The title. 

The one you found tucked away on a library shelf was called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. 

But it must be part of a set, an anthology of sorts. 

Because the book between your shaking fingers stares back at you with the title Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction. 

Book in your hands, you realize you have a dilemma. The volume is far too thick to take pictures of every page, but removing it from the chest to bring with you feels risky. 

At least this time, you think as you reach for the walkie talkie at your waist, you don’t have to make all of your decisions alone. 

Pressing the button on the side, you speak into the receiver. “Hey Jake, you there?”

A handful of seconds pass before his response filters through. It’s crackly but perfectly audible. “I’m here. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I found something. A book. It’s pretty hefty. I won’t be able to take pictures of all of the pages. Do you think I should bring it with me or just take a few photos and leave it here?”

“It was in the chest?” Jake asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think it might be too risky to bring with me.”

“I agree,” Jake confirms. “Just take a few pictures, and then get out of there.”

“Will do,” you agree. “See you soon.” You secure the walkie talkie back on your belt loop. 

Setting the book down on the cold ground, you sink to your knees in front of it. Reaching for your phone, the first picture youtube is of the front cover.  

Deciding that they’ll want evidence of the moonflower as well, you reach up to angle your camera towards the open chest. 

And then you return to the book. Opening it to the first page, the similarities are uncanny to the one you found in the library before. The font, the slight discoloration, the ink smudges lost to time. It’s too overwhelming to just be a series of unlikely coincidences. It must be connected to the other Sacred Monsters. 

Taking quick photos as you flip through the pages, you force yourself not to linger, no matter how much curiosity eats away at you. You’ll have time to review the pages later, you tell yourself. Right now, the best course of action is to get in and out as quickly as you can. 

Still, a handful of phrases and words jump out at you as you photograph the pages. 

Moonflower distillation…

Degeneration…

Test subjects…

Nightshade…

And finally, just as you’re drawing to the end of the book, a phrase catches your eye. 

The Kingdom of Celedis. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, body going cold.

He knows. You’re not sure how much. You're not sure exactly what. You have no idea why. But your professor has a book locked away in a secret underground prison beneath his publishing house. A book that mentions a kingdom lost to time, forgotten by everyone, preserved only in the minds of seven immortal beings. 

Professor Kim knows. And somehow, that’s more terrifying than anything else contained in this dark, decrepit place. 

Taking a photo of the final page in the book, you let it fall shut once again. Placing it back in the chest just as meticulously as you found it, you close the lid again and slide the padlock through the hold. 

The key goes in just as easily this time, locks as easily as it opened. Despite the obvious age of everything else in this place, the lock has no signs of rust, no hint of disuse. 

It’s been opened regularly, you assume. And likely by your professor. 

As that realization begins to settle, the walkie talkie on your hip gives another disconcerting crackle. Immediately, your heart leaps into your throat, mind spinning with the worst possibilities. 

You’re at the very end of the passage. It will take you at least ten minutes to be back in the office and another three to be out of the publishing house. More than that if you account for the potential of your professor’s heightened senses. 

After a moment of extended silence, Jake’s voice filters through. 

“Everything still okay down there?”

Your mind swims with relief, but your pulse doesn’t slow. 

Bringing the device to your mouth, you press the button on the side. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just finished. I’ll be back up soon.”

Another beat of silence passes. And then, “Glad to hear it. I’ll be here.”

But you can’t help but confirm, “They still have eyes on Professor Kim?”

Jake answers quickly, “Yeah. Sunghoon and Niki have eyes on him. He hasn’t left his house.”

Tucking the key back into your pocket, you begin the journey back, your quick footsteps echoing against wet stone. “Good. See you soon.”

Down the narrow passageway, your phone feels leaden in your pocket, weighed down with evidence you’re not sure how to parse. You want to be out of here as quickly as you can, back in your apartment where you can compare the two books. Where you can show them to the others. 

Thankfully, again, the way out feels shorter. Despite the ache in your muscles as you pull your body up the ladder, time passes quickly as you ascend back to the publishing house. 

True to his word, Jake waits for you just outside of the narrow entrance. He reaches out a hand to help pull you back into the small room. 

Giving you a quick once over, he frowns. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You practically have. Celedis. But this isn’t the place. 

You shake your head and tell him as much. “Not here.”

Despite the brevity of your words, Jake understands. Instead of pressing you further, he helps you slide the mural back into position, once again covering the opening to the room below. 

Giving the painting a final look, you’re sure of it now. It is Celedis. It has to be. Even if some of the details are slightly wrong. 

But your head is spinning and your thoughts are jumbled and you can’t be the only one with the weight of so many revelations weighing on your mind. 

As the two of you make your way back down the hallway towards the front door of New Haven, Jake tells you, “We’ll reconvene at our place. We can go over everything there.”

You shake your head. “Tell everyone to meet at my apartment instead.” 

“What?” A flicker of confusion creases his brow as his head tilts to the side. “Why?”

“It’ll make sense soon, I promise,” you tell him. “There’s something there I need to show you. All of you.”

Jake glances at you, but he doesn’t question you further. His earlier words echo in your mind. “For what it’s worth, we all do. Trust you, that is.”

At your side, he pulls out his phone as you pull the door to New Haven shut behind you. “Jungwon,” you hear him say. “Change of plans. We’ll meet at her apartment instead.” 

Again, the questions must be short lived, and Jake is ending the conversation just as quickly as it started. 

…..

When you arrive back at your apartment, Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo, and Niki are waiting for you in the parking lot. 

Stepping out of the driver’s seat, Jake nods at Jungwon. Then, after glancing around, he asks, “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Keeping an eye on the professor,” Jungwon answers. “We thought it would be best to have at least one of us tailing him still.”

Jake nods. 

Jungwon turns to you. “I take it you found something. And there’s something here at your apartment you want us to see?”

You nod. “Yeah. A… well, a book. Two books, actually,” you amend. “Let’s go up,” you nod at the staircase, “and I can show you.”

Jungwon hesitates for a moment. A meaningful glance that you can’t quite decipher passes between the five of them. 

“Okay,” he finally acquiesces. “Lead the way.”

Phone heavy in your pocket, you climb the two flights of stairs with the five of them trailing behind you. The distance they put between you is slightly odd, but you don’t have much space left in your mind to think much of it. 

That is, until you reach your doorstep. And find it already occupied. 

“Heeseung,” you breathe. A force of habit more than anything. 

He’s already looking at you. Heard your conversation in the parking lot and your footsteps on the stairs and your heartbeat in your chest. He knew the exact moment you would round the corner and the number of breaths it would take you to reach him. 

His dark eyes reflect afternoon sunlight in a way that looks all too much like stars, and you have no idea what to do with any of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if his words are anything more than a bandaid on a bullet wound, as if the five boys behind you can’t hear the words that pass between you. 

And you’ve been stewing in it since this morning, thinking of all the ways you could beg him, plead with him, convince him to let whatever lies between the two of you to blossom, to grow wings. 

But now, with his eyes on you and the fate of a city in the pocket of your jeans, words fail you. 

Finally, your lips part. “I have something to show you.” And now you’re the one putting up walls, building barriers. For now, he’s not a boy that kissed you until your head was spinning and you couldn’t make right from left. He’s a vampire, and the two of you have a job to do. 

Your hurt, your desires, your wounded pride still sit heavy in your gut. 

But you owe it to him – this boy that was born a prince and sharpened into a weapon and cursed with a blessing he never asked for – to bring an end to this particular bout of suffering. 

To let the tragic kingdom of his youth rest once and for all, even if you have to reopen wounds in the process. 

Across from you, Heeseung only nods. 

Stepping to the side, he lets you be the one to open the door. He doesn’t need to linger outside; he’s already been invited in, more than once. But he does anyway. He waits for your words, for your approval, and then he follows you inside. Behind him, the other five exchange long, sideways glances. 

Just like this morning, the sight of the six of them crammed on your small couch is almost enough to inspire a smile. Under any other circumstances, you’d be laughing out loud. Now, however, you just give a long exhale. 

“They key worked,” you begin. “It opened the chest.”

Five hundred years, and they all have yet to perfect their patience. 

“And?” Jay is practically tripping over himself to get the question out. 

“It was full of distilled moonflower,” you tell them. Vials like the one the professor used to inject me in the neck. Hundreds of them.”

“What?” Sunoo gasps.

“How?” Niki frowns. 

“Moonflower is rare,” Jake shakes his head. “There’s no way he could have that much of it.”

“Well, he must know some secret place where it grows or something,” you suggest. “Because he does.”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t understand. It’s not only a matter of knowing where it grows. Moonflower is a magical substance, and magic is finite. It simply doesn’t grow in abundance. In order for someone to have a stash that large…”

“He’s been collecting it,” Heeseung finishes. “For a long, long time.”

“He’s been a vampire for twenty years,” you remind them. “Maybe he’s been collecting it just as long.”

Again, Jungwon shakes his head. “Hundreds of vials isn’t something that can be achieved in twenty years. Hundreds of vials is hundreds of years.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” You frown, wheels in your brain beginning to spin. 

“There are two possibilities,” Jake says. “Either your professor is lying about how old he is…”

“Or he’s not the only one that’s been collecting and distilling moonflower,” Jay finishes. 

Sunoo shakes his head. “We haven’t seen any evidence of him working with others.”

“Either way,” Niki frowns, “Something's not quite right.”

“The moonflower.” Jungwon looks at you again. “Was it the only thing in the chest?”

You shake your head. “No. There was also a book.”

“Right.” Jake nods. “The one you took pictures of.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I left it in the chest, obviously, but I took photos of the pages. I didn’t have a chance to look too closely while I was there, but I think it talks about…” you trail off for a moment, eyes flickering to Heeseung, despite yourself. “I think it talks about Celedis.”

“Celedis?” Jake balks. 

“That’s impossible.” Jay shakes his head. 

But Jungwon just looks at you. “Earlier in the parking lot, you said you had two books to show us.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I do. I was in the university library a few weeks ago, and I found this book. It was about vampires, but it was… I don’t know. It was strange. It wasn’t vitriolic or propaganda. It was almost like a diary. The reason I wanted you all to come here is because I checked it out. I have it here, in my bedroom. But the weirdest part is the title.”

“The title?” Sunoo prompts. 

“It’s called Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality. And the book I found in the chest today, it looked really similar. And it was called Sacred Monsters: Cures for the Affliction.”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

“That,” Niki finally says, “Doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

Standing, you nod. “I don’t think so either.” Walking to your bedroom, you open the bottom drawer of your dresser. With the events of the past weeks, part of you expects the book to have vanished mysteriously. To have been nothing but a figment of your overactive imagination. 

Despite your musings, Sacred Monsters: The Origins of Immortality lies undisturbed just as you left it. With careful hands, you pull it out of your dresser and bring it back to the living room, setting it on the coffee table in front of the boys. 

“This is the book from the library?” Jungwon asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “And I don’t have a printer or anything, but I’ll send you the photos I took of the book from the chest today.”

Scrolling through the files you send him, Jungwon pauses on the cover, glancing between it and the book on the coffee table. “I see what you mean. These must be related.”

Reaching for the book, Jay flips open the front cover, frowning. “There’s no author or publication date.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s all so odd. It wasn’t even in the library system,” you add, remembering that night at the library. “The librarian had to manually check it out to me.”

“Jesus,” Sunoo grimaces, glancing at some of the pages over Jay’s shoulder. “This is super depressing.”

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “I see what you mean. This is definitely about vampires, but it’s nothing like other human-written vampire literature. 

Next to them, Jungwon scrolls through the images you’ve sent him, enlarging photos to read pieces of text. With each and every passing image, his frown grows deeper and deeper. 

“We have a problem,” Jungwon finally says. Looking back at the photo, he amends, “Several, actually.” 

You assume he must have drawn the same conclusion as you. “He must know about Celedis, right? The professor, I mean.”

“Yes,” Jungwon confirms. “I’m sure he does.”

“But how?” Jay presses.

“I don’t know.” Jungwon’s mouth pulls into a grim line. “But that’s not all.”

“This page,” He holds up his phone. “It’s a guide. Explaining in excruciating detail how to harvest, store, and distill moonflower. It also discusses its side effects. On humans and vampires.”

Scrolling to the next photo, he adds, “It looks like they studied these side effects. Through experimentation. Most of these pages are entries. Data. Experiments.” Looking at all of you, he lets the weight of that sink in for a moment. “Whoever wrote this book tested moonflower and its effects. On humans and vampires.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “The professor tested moonflower on vampires?”

“Not the professor, necessarily,” Jungwon shakes his head. “But yes, whoever wrote this book must have.”

“The cells,” you breathe, a sickening realization beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. “The cells beneath New Haven. It wasn’t just a jail.”

“It was a lab,” Heeseung finishes, locking eyes with you. 

Jungwon holds up another photo. “I think you’re right. Look at this.” You all squint as he enlarges the photo. There’s a date at the top – September 13, 1942. And next to it, a number V029.

Beneath it are a series of notes too small to make out from where you sit. Jungwon reads them, “Dosage: 8 milliliters. Injection site: Lower throat, right side. Time of effect: 2 minutes, 19 seconds. 

“V029 continues to exhibit strange behaviors under the influence of Moonflower. Although dosages have varied, the results remain consistent. Today, she spoke again about “Celedis.” When prompted with the addition of pain, she requested drawing paper. Upon refusal, she would not speak. A second dosage was administered (6ml) and further infliction of pain was utilized. V029 did not respond audibly to any given prompt or stimuli.”

“Celedis,” Jake echoes. “One of his… test subjects,” he spits with vitriol, “was the one to mention Celedis.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Jay points out. “It doesn’t matter if his test subjects were vampires. We’re the only ones that know about Celedis. Every other vampire in existence is a descendant of the eighth son. None of them should have any idea that Celedis ever existed.” 

“And we don’t know that these were the Professor’s test subjects,” Niki points out, echoing Jungwon’s earlier words. The page is dated for 1942. If he is telling the truth about when he was turned, he wasn’t even alive yet.”

“There must be some way to corroborate that,” you frown. “He said that he was turned the same night his entire family was massacred. Obviously, it wouldn’t have been reported as a vampire attack, but there should be something about it. Some kind of public record of their deaths, at least.”

Heeseung nods, pulling out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find anything.”

“Um,” Sunoo interjects, holding up the original Sacred Monsters book, the one you brought home from the library. “We might have another problem.”

Six pairs of eyes turn to look at him. 

“Most of these entries just seem like personal writing, like you said,” Sunoo nods at you. “But this section towards the end, here…” He trails off for a moment. “It’s called Blood Moon Ritual.”

“What?” Six voices echo in unison. 

“ There’s only one entry,” Sunoo continues, frowning. “And it doesn't really make sense. It’s a poem, like the others,” Sunoo explains. “Here, I’ll read it.

“The Origins of Immortality

That which was lost can be gained. 

The requirements are the same. 

That which was gained can be lost.

The sacrifice goes unchanged. 

Every life can end.

Every life can endure.

Fate is always determined

By what the wish is for.”

For a moment, your living room is silent. 

Jay breaks it by asking, “What the fresh hell does that mean?”

“Literature majors,” Niki glances between you and Heeseung. “Either of you want to pipe in on this one?”

“I mean,” you start, “without context, it kind of just sounds like a bunch of nonsense.” 

Before you can turn the words around in your mind again, Heeseung speaks up from where he sits. “I think I found something,” he says, holding up his phone. 

“Really?” You ask, just at the same time as Jay presses, “What?”

“There is a record from,” he double checks the date, “almost exactly twenty years ago. It’s anonymous, but it gives ages. A nine-year-old child and her forty-three year-old mother. The official cause of death is listed as an animal mauling.”

“That matches, then. That’s exactly what the professor told me.”

“There’s more, though,” Heeseung frowns. 

“More?” Your brow creases. 

“Another death.” Heeseung matches your gaze. “The child’s great grandfather, age ninety-one. And the location of death… Didn’t Professor Kim tell you that he was visiting family outside of the city?”

You nod. “He said it happened in a remote cabin. A group of nomadic vampires attacked them there.” 

Heeseung shakes his head. “The location listed here is the city. This city.”

Your frown deepens. Heeseung sticks the final nail in the coffin. “Their bodies were discovered near a row of abandoned buildings where there have been past instances of mountain lion activity. It’s on the far side of the city. Just a few blocks away from New Haven.”

You echo his words. “His family died near New Haven?” It’s odd, the way the truth seems to mingle with lies. The way your professor seems to have chosen strange pieces of the story to be dishonest about. “Why would he tell the truth about his family dying from a vampire attack twenty years ago but lie about where it happened? And not mention a grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” Heeseung says. The reality of just how much you have yet to uncover begins to settle uncomfortably in the air. Every discovery seems like it only leads to ten more mysteries to solve, another dozen dead ends. 

“I’m still stuck on Celedis,” Jay says. “We need some way to figure out who this person was and how they knew Celedis. We need–”

“We need the whole book,” you finish. 

It’s not a question or a matter of opinion. It’s the obvious conclusion to be drawn. 

Jungwon nods. “Sunghoon should still have eyes on the Professor. I’ll confirm that he’s still home, and then we can–”

“Are you insane?” Heeseung isn’t looking at his phone anymore. His search for more information on the tragic deaths of Professor Kim’s family are forgotten for the moment. “She was just there twice, and you want her to go back again? Now?”

“Heeseung…” Jake warns, taking care to guard his tone. 

“I know it’s not ideal,” Jungwon tries to placate him, “But that book has answers that we need. Right now, all we can do is speculate. If your professor has a massive stash of distilled moonflower and knows about Celedis, who knows what else he might have access to? What else he might know? People are still dying, and he’s connected to it all somehow. I’m sure of it.”

“I know that,” Heeseung bites, visibly frustrated. “But why does she have to be the one to–”

“And how exactly are you planning to get one of us down there?” Jungwon sighs, running an open palm over his features. “I don’t want to argue with you, but unless you have a plan for getting Professor Kim to invite you into his secret vampire torture chamber, ___ is the only one of us that can get this book.”

“It’s okay,” you finally interject. Something about the two of them arguing over your fate while you sit and watch doesn’t quite sit right with you. More than that, something about him always speaking over you, acting as if it’s all in your best interest, while also not bothering to give you the time of day, is all too reminiscent of the other decisions he’s made on his own. 

Still, you choose to be gentle. “I debated with Jake, actually, about whether I should bring the whole book or not. We thought this would be safer for now, but I knew it was a possibility that I would have to go back for it. I was prepared for this.”

Heeseung looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to argue, but something in your expression has his words dying on his lips. 

“I’ll get ready,” you nod. Retreating to your bedroom, you add, “Just give me a minute to grab my jacket.”

In all honesty, your jacket is the least of your concerns. Because despite your resolve, despite the will that you’ve forced yourself to steel, Heeseung is right. 

Even at a distance, he can still read you like the back of his hand. Like an open book with nothing but pages for him to peruse at his pleasure. 

The thought of going back to New Haven, of going back into that cold, dark, empty expanse of horror sends your mind spiraling. Walking into the bathroom adjoined to your bedroom, you place both hands on the counter on opposite sides of the sink. It’s an attempt, a feeble one, maybe, at grounding yourself. 

Forcing your gaze upwards, you match your own eye in the mirror. A million emotions are reflected back at you. Determination, weariness, resolve, fear. 

You’re scared. No matter what you tell them, no matter what you tell yourself, you feel it. Swimming in your mind, nestling in your bones. A terror rooted so deep you’re not sure you’ll ever get it out. 

You don’t want to go to New Haven. You don’t want to descend down that ladder. You don’t want to risk your life or your comfort or your sanity. You don’t want to have feelings for an immortal being that needs blood to survive. 

But reality doesn’t bend to the whims of frightened girls, and ignoring the things that scare you won’t make them go away. 

Bravery, you think, as you watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s not just reserved for moments that feel grand in scale. It’s also here, in places like this. Where there’s nothing but you, your reflection, and all of the things you wish you could avoid waiting for you just outside the door. 

So with a final inhale, you force your features into something neutral, something that at least five of the boys waiting for you outside will believe. And then you walk back to your bedroom, making sure to pull your jacket over your shoulders before stepping back out into the living room. 

Jake stands from his seat on the couch when you enter the room again. Heeseung avoids your gaze. 

“You ready?” Jake asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you nod, forcing a false sense of cavalier lightness into your tone. 

“Good thing I left the headlamp in the car,” Jake jokes, pulling on his shoes. 

“And the walkie talkies,” you agree. 

Despite yourself, you can’t quite stop your eyes from wandering back towards your living room one last time. 

Jungwon is dictating new assignments while the others listen attentively. Well, three of them anyway. 

Heeseung just sits there, his eyes still trained on the ground. 

You’re sure he can feel it, the way your gaze settles on the side of his face, traces his profile and then does it again. But no matter how long your gaze lingers, he won’t return it. 

And maybe this is it, you think. Maybe you’ll just have to make peace with the fact that all you’ll ever get from him are closed doors and avoided eye contact. 

He’s had his teeth in your neck and your blood on his lips, and despite it all, the only thing he has for you now is a cold shoulder disguised as concern. 

And if this self flagellation is some kind of atonement, an apology for a crime he’s convinced himself he’s committed, then that, you think, is where his true selfishness lies. 

He can call it altruism and immortal wisdom all he wants. But caring for you from a distance will never be something you thank him for. 

It’s not a declaration you can make in front of an audience, so with a final sigh, you turn towards your front door and follow Jake’s retreating figure from it. 

As it so happens, you can be selfish too. You pretend you don’t feel Heeseung’s eyes on your back the entire way out. 

However, you must not be as good at disguising your fear as you thought, because Jake is nothing but apologies while the two of you walk side by side down the stairs. 

“I really am sorry,” he breathes into frigid air. The warmth of his breath creates a visible cloud. “I shouldn’t have told you to just leave the book there, but I was worried–”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head. “I thought it would be best to leave the book, too. And it’s okay, really. I’ll be just fine.”

“Still,” he reiterates. “I’m sorry that it has to be you. It can’t be fun going down there all alone. And especially since we know what it was used for now…”

Your lips flatten. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Sorry,” He laughs, apologizing again. “You’re right. No more gloomy talk. We’ll just get you in and out as fast as we can, and we can worry about the rest of it later.” 

“Works for me.” You force a tight smile, reaching for the car door. If it’s any consolation, you’re glad that it’s Jake you’re with. His presence is steady, carries a certain kind of lightness that helps to chase away some of the lingering storm clouds, even if just for a moment. 

But just as you move to slide into the passenger seat, you hear the telltale sound of footsteps on pavement over your shoulder. They’re rapid, loud. Whoever it is, they’re running. 

Turning over your shoulder, your brow creases in confusion when your eyes land on Heeseung. Again, it’s not you he’s looking at. 

Heesung is talking to Jake when he says, “Change of plans. Jungwon wants you down by the river.”

“What?” Jake frowns. “But what about–”

“I’ve got her.” Heeseung’s words cut through the air like an arrow, pierce through your uncertainties like a knife. 

“I…” Jake trails off. He’s looking at you, not Heeseung when he asks, “You sure?”

“Go,” you nod. “I’m sure Jungwon has his reasons.” It’s flimsy reasoning, and between the three of you, no one is convinced that Jungwon is responsible for this change. 

But they’re switching places all the same. Jake gives you one final glance over his shoulder, and you swear you see him shake his head before he heads back up the stairs to where the other boys still sit in your apartment.

And Heeseung still won’t look at you, even as he walks around to the other side of the car and slides into it, sitting only a handful of inches away from you. 

It’s a reflection of this morning, an echo of earlier as the car turns out of your apartment parking lot and sets course for New Haven. Only this time, it’s Heeseung in the driver’s seat, not Jake. 

The silence between the two of you extends for long minutes, nothing but the gentle hum of the car heater to fill the empty air. 

Finally, with nothing but road ahead of you, Heeseung exhales a long sigh. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You say the word, and I’ll turn this car around. We can go back to your apartment or to my place or somewhere else entirely. I’ll get you on a plane out of the country, if that’s what you want.”

You raise a brow. His meager attempts at kindness have started to lose their shine. “And the book?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Fuck that stupid book.” 

Easy to say, maybe. But both of you know it’s not true. Besides, “I don’t want to leave the country.”

“Really?” You can’t tell if he’s serious when he adds, “I hear that Costa Rica is lovely this time of year.”

“I’m sure it is,” you concede. If he wants to skirt around admissions, you’ll run headfirst into them. “But I’d be worried about you.”

Heeseung only sighs. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re sure he knows it, but being difficult on purpose isn’t new to either of you. “And we’ve had this argument before. My mind hasn’t changed, and clearly yours hasn’t either. If you get to decide how to live your life without any input from me, then I expect the same courtesy from you.”

“It’s different,” he insists. Now, at least, he’s talking. Even if it’s only to beg for a bit of your understanding. “I’ve already lived a life. Too many lives. Five hundred years worth of life with no sign of any end coming soon.”

You have to disagree. “Have you, though? You know, when people talk about having lived a life, they’re not just talking about years. They’re talking about family, friendships, community. Achievements, accomplishments.” The last word dangles from your lips. Oh, fuck it. “Love.”

Next to you, Heeseung is silent. You press on, “I understand that you’ve made up your mind. That with all your five hundred years of immortal wisdom, you’ve decided you get to make decisions for the both of us. But you know what else is a normal part of life? Kissing someone and regretting it. You can just avoid me at parties, you know. You don’t have to threaten to send me to Costa Rica.”

“It wasn’t a threat–”

But you’re not done. “I liked it, by the way. In case you were wondering. I don’t care if you regret it.” Your pride feels like something forgotten, discarded long ago. Maybe it’s a facade or false bravado, but you find it easy to bare your secrets here in the passenger seat. “I liked it when you kissed me. I liked the way it felt when you put your hands on me. I liked the way you lost control with my blood in your mouth. I went home and I laid in bed and I thought about it. All alone in my bedroom, with my hands on my skin everywhere you touched me while I pretended like it was you. I dreamed about you. I woke up thinking about you.”

Heeseung whispers your name. A warning, a plea. He might as well be shouting in your ear. 

“You can avoid eye contact and pretend it never happened all that you want. I’m not going to. In fact, I’m probably going to think about it again tonight. Do what you want. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you, and I’m not going to avoid New Haven,” Your chest is heaving now. Between words, it’s easy to forget that you need to breathe, too. “And I’m not running away to fucking Costa Rica.”

“You think I enjoy this?” Heeseung’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel. “You think I like having this… this war in my brain? This constant struggle? You think I’m playing with you? Toying with your feelings because I can’t make up my mind?” He shakes his head and sends your thoughts scattering. “I’m not. You used to glare at me across the lecture hall, and it would be the highlight of my day. I looked forward to every assignment Professor Kim gave us, because it meant I’d have another chance to read something you’d written. I’ve been alive for five hundred years, and I don’t think I’ve ever found anything that makes me feel the way your words do. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone else could take what I was feeling and put it into words.”

That gives you pause. He… thought about you? Even then? He read your writing?

“And it didn’t stop there. I used to go home from class imagining, praying that I could be like every other person in that stupid class. That I could be just another kid in my twenties worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. That I could waste my afternoons staring at the pretty girl in my literature course that couldn’t be bothered to give me the time of day. Fantasizing about asking her to study with me at a coffee shop or share a workroom in the library.”

Your eyes are wide now, and they’re trained directly on him. Heeseung is still looking out at the road in front. 

“You think I don’t think about you too? That I want to pretend none of it ever happened? You’re wrong. All I do is think about you, and all I do is want. But they’re things I can’t have, things I can’t be. I wish I could fall asleep dreaming about you. I wish I could wake up with you on my mind and know that I only have so many days to do something about it.”

He shakes his head, as if that will clear the errant thoughts that have clearly begun to consume him.

“But I can’t. I can’t sleep. I can’t shut off my brain, even for a second. All I do is think. All I do is remember. You think I didn't like it? You think I didn’t go home with the feeling of your skin on my hands and the taste of your blood in my mouth? You think I don’t spend every waking hour with the sound of you whimpering burned into my mind? I’ve wanted things before, but never like this. I made peace with myself a long time ago. I know what I am and I understand that ultimately, my existence is a burden to this world. I’ve learned to stop wishing for impossible things. But every time I look at you, I just… I just want.”

Your voice is small. You don’t know how to respond to any of it. “It’s okay to want things.”

“It’s not.” Heeseung shakes his head. “Not when they’re impossible. Not when it will only bring pain to the people I care about. I don’t want to be someone you avoid at a party. I don’t want to watch you move on with your life when this inevitably ends. But all of those things you talked about earlier, all of those parts that make up a life – friendship, family, community. I can’t give you any of that.”

It’s hard to hear. It hurts to see how visibly upset he is about all of it. 

“It doesn’t matter if I live for another five hundred years or a thousand years or until the end of time itself. I already know I’ll spend all of it thinking about you.  I’ve made peace with it before, and I’ll learn to do it again, but I can’t take your life from you. And even if I wanted to, I can’t watch you grow to resent me for it.”

In front of you, the road appears endless. With sunlight reflecting in the rearview mirror, the day is dying, and your hopes are going with it. 

“When I tell you that I’ll send you to Costa Rica if that’s what you want, it’s not because I’m trying to get rid of you. It’s because I want you to make the choices that are best for you. Not for me, not for the boys, not even for this city. I don’t expect you to take me up on it. Your moral compass will be the death of me, I’m sure. But the offer will always be there.”

Your emotions feel frivolous. Your desires feel petulant. Still, you can’t help but counter, “And what if I resent you now? For not even giving this a chance?”

Heeseung smiles, a wry thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll take comfort in knowing you have a whole life ahead of you to get over it.”

It’s a stalemate that has the car stumbling back into silence, even as your head spins. He noticed you, he thought about you, long before you ever thought you were even a blip on his radar. 

He read your words and connected to them. As a writer, it feels as if he’s admitted to seeing your soul and finding it beautiful. As a human, it makes you want to fall in love, despite all of the ways he’s thoroughly and entirely erased that possibility. 

You’re not sure how long you sit in the quiet, mind reeling. It can’t be more than a handful of minutes, though, before the scenery around you begins to take a familiar shape. You’re close. 

Early evening has just begun to close in. Around you, shadows are growing longer, street lights flickering on as the last rays of sunlight fade from the day. 

Still a few blocks away, Heeseung pulls into an empty parking lot. 

You frown. “Surely we can get a little closer than this?” It’s seamless, how well the two of you slip into your roles. You have a job to do. In the face of that reality, it’s as if the past twenty minutes don’t exist at all. The only evidence is the lingering tension that simmers in the air. 

“It’s not that.” Heeseung pulls his phone out, frowning at the screen. “Sunghoon’s not responding.”

“What?” Your eyes widen. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Heeseung assures you. “He was responding to Jungwon just fifteen minutes ago. But that means we haven’t heard from anyone with eyes on the professor since then.” Weighing his options mentally, Heeseung finally suggests, “Why don’t we drive by New Haven first? We can make sure everything looks okay. If Sunghoon still hasn’t responded by then, we can make a decision.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

Back on the road, it takes you less than five minutes to reach the publishing house. Immediately, you can tell that something is wrong. 

“There’s a car,” you whisper, even though you’re still inside the safety of the car, still driving down the road. “There’s a car parked out front.” 

“I see it.” Heeseung’s lips pull into a tight line. 

“I think it’s his car.” Your eyes widen. “The professor’s.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung confirms. “I think so too.”

“Why is he here now?” You wonder. “Didn’t you say Sunghoon had eyes on him at his house just fifteen minutes ago?”

“Something’s not right,” Heeseung agrees. “I’m going to turn around. We’ll head to the house and figure things out there.” He maintains an even tone, but you can sense the hint of panic in his voice, the slight tremble as he turns the car around and starts to head in the opposite direction. 

“Sunghoon…” You trail off. 

“Try calling him.” Heeseung passes you his phone, jaw tight. 

Taking Heeseung’s phone from his outstretched hand, you press the call button. The phone rings. In the quiet, each shrill ring sounds like thunder, burns like terror. 

“He’s not answering.” Your voice is quiet as you state the obvious. The call drops from lack of response. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung swears beneath his breath. But then he reasons, “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just occupied at the moment or–”

The sound of a ringtone suddenly fills the car. 

“Is that him?” A wave of relief washes over his features. But it’s premature. 

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the dark expanse of Heeseung’s screen. “It’s my phone. Hold on.” Digging it out of your pocket, the caller ID only makes the dread in the pit of your stomach intensify further. 

Again, your phone rings, the sound cutting through the car like a knife. 

“Who is it?” Heeseung asks. “Your heart just jumped like crazy.”

“It’s Professor Kim.” Your words are barely a whisper. 

“What?” Despite the task at hand, Heeseung takes his eyes off of the road and turns to you. 

“I should answer it, right?” You frown, fingers trembling. “He’s probably just following up on the draft I submitted earlier.” You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince – Heeseung or yourself. 

“Fuck,” Heeseung repeats. “I… yeah, you should answer.”

“Okay, just,” you sit up a little straighter, as if your professor can somehow see you. “Just don’t make any sounds.”

Sliding your thumb across your screen, you accept the call. 

“Hello? Professor Kim?”

“Hello,” he greets from the other end. Oily slick as always, but there’s something ragged in his voice, too. As if he’s recently exerted himself. At the very least, he doesn’t leave you wondering for long. “I had a chance to review your article.”

“Oh,” you reply, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “What did you think?”

“Outstanding work,” he praises. “Truly. You are one of the most gifted students I’ve ever come across.”

Under any other circumstances, you’d beam with the praise. Now, your anxiety only heightens. Twists knots in the pit of your stomach. “I… I appreciate that, professor. It means a lot coming from you.”

“I’d like to discuss my suggestions for edits, of course.”

“Right,” you nod. “Could I call you back? I don’t have my computer at the moment, and–”

“I’d like to discuss with you in person, actually.”

“Oh,” you force neutrality into your voice, even as your heart gives a sudden lurch. “Okay. I’m available tomorrow, if there’s a time–”

Again, he interrupts you. “I would like to speak with you tonight. And I have something to show you. It’s quite urgent, I’m afraid.”

“Tonight?” You echo. And ‘something to show you’? At your side, Heeseung stiffens. “It’s a bit late. I’m not sure…”

“With the recent deaths in mind, I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence. The sooner we can publish your work, the sooner the victims can be avenged.”

You turn to Heeseung, a question in your eyes. Matching his gaze, you see the way his head begins to shake. His silent disapproval of the idea. But then he stops, sighs. 

In the driver’s seat, next to you, Heeseung silently mouths three words. 

It’s your choice. 

It almost makes you want to cry. His small adjustment. His trust in your ability to choose for yourself. 

Into the receiver, you ask, “Where should I meet you?”

“The publishing office,” your professor responds, approval in his voice. “How soon can you be here?”

Mentally constructing an alibi, you settle with, “I’m not too far away, actually. Probably twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”

The line clicks dead. 

“I don’t like this,” Heeseung’s voice is dripping in unease. 

Yours is no better. “I don’t either, but it’s all part of earning his trust, right?”

“He said he had something to show you. I don’t like all of the possibilities that could entail.”

“I’m sure it’s just something to do with the article,” you try to reason. “He’s probably prepared it as a mock publication or something and thinks I’ll be thrilled to see my writing in an official format.”

Under any other circumstances, you would be.

On the topic of your article, you’re reminded that the words in question aren’t actually yours at all. If this car is a place for revelations, you decide to add one more to the list. 

“How did you do it, by the way?” Your gaze traces Heeseung’s side profile where he looks out at the road ahead. “How did you write that article just like I would have?”

Heeseung just sighs. “I told you,” his voice is low, quiet, “your writing means a lot to me. I’ve spent a lot of time with it. I suppose that made it easy to emulate.”

“Well, thank you.”

“For stalking your writing?” Heeseung teases. 

“For reading it,” you correct. “For taking the time to understand it.” To understand me. 

“You act like it was torture for me.”

“Well, I do remember you calling one of my pieces ‘nauseatingly vitriolic.’” It feels like a lifetime ago, that evening in the writing workshop. 

“That was one piece,” Heeseung defends. “And it wasn’t really you.”

“No,” you agree, “it wasn’t.”

Heeseung glances at you, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it too. A world where he’s just Heeseung and you’re just you. 

Two humans that met by chance, worried about disappointing their parents and picking the wrong major. Arguing over semantics and vying for attention from their professor. Stealing glances across the lecture hall that start to linger just a little too long. Meeting outside of class and pretending it’s nothing more than a terrible coincidence every time, even if you never fail to slide down into the seat next to his. 

Stealing kisses outside of your professor’s office. Sharing a cup of warm tea at a sporting event both of you are only pretending to understand. Falling in love. 

Simple moments. Quiet moments. Human moments. 

Heeseung reminds you just how far away that version of reality is when he asks, “Should I turn around, then? It’s already been five minutes.” His voice is quiet, like there’s a fantasy he doesn’t want to disturb, too. 

You shake your head. “Take a right at the next light, and drop me off at the bus stop. There’s a group of cafes a couple stops down that are popular with students. If he asks, I’ll say I was at one of them when he called.”

Heeseung doesn’t bother to protest. He follows your directions until the two of you are parked on the curb of the bus stop. Bidding him goodbye, you step out from the passenger seat. “I’ll meet you back here,” you tell him. “I’ll take the bus this far, just to be safe.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “but message me before that. As soon as you can.”

“I will,” you promise. The moment lingers for seconds longer, a million words and promises and declarations dying on both of your lips. You sever them all with the shutting of the car door. 

Heeseung doesn’t drive away, not until the bus arrives. And even then, you swear it’s his car you get fleeting glimpses of in the rearview mirror. 

But a handful of minutes later, Heeseung and his car are nowhere to be seen as you exit at the stop closest to New Haven. With the absence of the sun, there’s a biting chill in the air. Grateful for your jacket, you pull it a bit tighter around your body, suppressing a shudder. 

Glancing down at your phone, you send one final message before taking your last few steps towards the publishing house. 

Going in now. 

Heeseung responds in milliseconds. 

Be safe. 

Raising a fist, it feels a bit odd to knock on the same door you’ve broken into twice in the past twenty-four hours. The irony doesn’t have long to linger. Professor Kim is quick to answer the door and even quicker to usher you inside. 

Tonight, he looks every bit the well-kept professor you grew used to in your classes. With a creaseless button down tucked into dress pants, he might as well be back at the front of the lecture hall.

“Thank you,” he reiterates as he leads you down the hallway. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.” 

“Of course,” you nod, trying to look as enthusiastic as he wants you to be. “The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. I’m excited to review your edits and get my article published as soon as possible.” 

“Right,” he nods, a bit apologetically. “You’ll have to forgive me, then, but I have something rather important to show you first.”

That makes your brow crease in confusion. Is what he’s showing you not related to your writing?

“What is it?”

Your professor just shakes his head. “I’m afraid words won’t do this justice. Follow me.” 

Beckoning you forward, he leads you to the same room you were poisoned in the first time you visited New Haven. Suppressing a shudder at the memory, you force your footsteps forward, even as your senses start to scream at you in protest. 

Pausing at the door, he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “You’ll be pleased to know that I believe I may have been wrong about Lee Heeseung.”

That sends ice spinning through your veins. You don’t like the sound of Heeseung’s name in his mouth, hate the idea that he’s been so fixated on him. “What do you mean? Wrong in what way?”

“See for yourself,” your professor grins. And then, he opens the door. 

The room is as dim as it was the last time you were here, but this time, your professor is quick to turn on the overhead light. 

But the absence of darkness only reveals a horror much worse than anything you imagined the darkness concealing.  

Because on the opposite side of the room, hunched in the corner, there is a figure illuminated under the harsh fluorescent overhead lighting. 

His system is infused with so much moonflower essence that he can hardly do so much as lift his head. But when he finally finds the strength to do so, you make direct eye contact with Park Sunghoon.  

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Hello my loves! I am so happy to finally be able to share this with you all. I know I mentioned before that part of the reason it took so long was because of some recent changes in my life outside of tumblr, but if I'm honest, part of it too was that I was just having a really hard time continuing this story in a way that felt like it did justice to the first three parts.

There are so many moving pieces and things going on, and I really want to make this story come to life in the best way possible. Thank you for being patient with me while I agonized over that internally lol. I hope that this part was worth the wait. Love u all ♡♡♡

[totallynotmina]

SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC.

❝ kiss me, try to fix it. could you just try to listen? ❞

info. re6 leon 𝔁 fem reader. i wanna say reader is like helena's age maybe? it doesn't really matter. established relationship. very angsty with a bittersweet ending. leon's a mess ok but he swears he loves you. mentions of alcohol consumption/alcoholism. sfw, spare for a handful of somber, desperate kisses.

notes. i don't listen to taylor like i did when i was thirteen but this song is so ugh. reblogs & comments are always appreciated. <3

wc. 3.9k | ao3 link

You’d tried to fix him, as if stitching together the frayed edges of his soul could silence the storm inside him. But every attempt only left you more hollow, more desperate. His misery seeped into your home like an uninvited guest, a shadow that devoured the light, eroding the fragile moments you used to call happiness. Leon had become a ghost of the man you’d fallen for—present in body but distant, unreachable, and haunting in his silence.

The walls between you grew thicker with every passing day. Words, once tender and easy, had become brittle and sharp. No matter how far you reached, his touch always seemed just out of grasp, his warmth slipping further from your fingertips.

Your mother always said: never give more love than you receive. But she’d never prepared you for how impossible that would feel when the person you loved most was unraveling before your eyes. The weight of it all dragged you to new lows, a kind of emotional exhaustion that made your chest ache and your mind wonder when the dam would finally break—when you’d either stop loving him or lose yourself entirely.

The rain pattered insistently against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder shaking the silence. When the front door clicked open, your heart jolted despite yourself. His heavy footsteps echoed in the stillness, as familiar as they were foreboding. You tried to focus on the book in your hands, but the words blurred, forgotten the second they hit your mind.

You didn’t need to look up to know. The way the air shifted, the subtle tension of his presence—it was Leon. You could already feel it, the simmering frustration he carried like a second skin.

Figures.

His keys clattered onto the console table, a metallic sound that cut through the quiet like an accusation. His bag followed with a dull thud, then the sigh—low, heavy, resigned. You looked up in time to catch the way his hair clung to his rain-soaked face, his boots kicked off haphazardly by the door.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you thought—hoped—he might smile. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn't even be bothered to spare you, his sweet girlfriend, a single glance.

“You’re home,” you murmured, stepping cautiously closer, your voice barely louder than the rain.

Leon hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came. The silence was a knife, sharp and cold, carving through the fragile hope you hadn’t yet managed to smother.

He flinched when you reached for his arm. That hurt most of all.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice rough and distant, as if it was a chore.

“You didn’t,” you replied softly. “I couldn’t sleep. Not until I knew you were okay.”

His jaw tightened imperceptibly, baby blue eyes darting away in shame. Leon didn't want you to see how tired he looked, how the weight of his missions—or maybe the weight of everything—had stretched him thin.

"Is everything—"

"I'm fine." The words came too quickly, too curt. They were meant to end the conversation, but all they did was light a fresh spark of frustration in your chest. He brushed past you, his worn leather jacket hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

You picked it up with a quiet sigh, hanging it on the coat rack as if that small act of care might bridge the growing chasm between you. "You don't look fine," you said, keeping your tone gentle, almost cautious. Talking to your boyfriend shouldn't feel like tip-toeing around glass. Was it so wrong to be concerned about the man you loved so hopelessly?

Leon didn't answer. He collapsed onto the edge of couch, his elbows on his knees, calloused hands running through his semi-damp hair. His silence, albeit suffocating, spoke louder than words—another wall, another barrier he so intricately placed between the two of you.

"Leon," you tried again, siting beside him, voice trembling with the heavy load of everything you wanted to say. Trying to get a single, meaningful sentence out of Leon these days felt like pulling teeth. "Please, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." His tone was clipped, but underneath the surface, you heard the slight crack, the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks. You could see it in the way Leon's eyes were half-lidded, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, his fingers digging into his eyelids. The exasperated sigh he let out was the cherry on top.

You replied softly, equally as exhausted, "I'm not an idiot."

Finally, Leon snapped, like a rubber band pulled taut, "Why do you always have to push?" His tone was sharp enough to make you flinch—and you did. Regret flickered in his eyes almost instantly, but it wasn't enough to stop the sting. The slap had already been left on your poor cheek.

Why do you always have to push? His words repeat over and over again in your mind, like a broken record. 

That wasn't fair, you always gave Leon the space he deserved after his long, taxing missions, but tonight you were struggling to stay afloat. It wasn't fair to you, constantly playing nice even when he showed zero signs of changing any time soon. He had to realize that this wouldn't slide, not anymore.

And as much as it troubled your lovesick heart, if Leon wasn't willing to let you in, then he wasn't ready for a relationship. A healthy one, at least.

"Because I love you!" you cried, the words bursting out before you could stop them, raw and desperate. "Because I'm here, Leon, and I'm fucking trying, but you just won't let me in, no matter how hard I try. You just—" You stopped, swallowing thickly, trying to steady your cracking voice. "Y-You just keep shutting me out like I'm some stranger you couldn't give a damn about."

His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him just as quickly as it had been triggered. Leon looked at you then, really looked, and for a moment, you thought he might finally say what you needed—no, deserved—to hear. But instead, he shook his head, sullen gaze falling to the carpeted floor.

"You don't get it." he said, barely above a whisper. "You couldn't."

Honestly, you'd prefer if Leon had kept his mouth shut. Not a single word of reassurance, or an I love you too, baby. The sickening, heavy weight of his cruel sentiment settled deep in your bones, nearly rattling you in place.

"That's not fair," you bit down on your bottom lip, a poor attempt at keeping your composure. "Maybe I don't understand everything you've been through, but I'm here for you because I love you," pathetic, so pathetic, "and I want to help. Why won't you let me? Why do you insist on wallowing in your own misery?"

Leon stood abruptly, his movements sharp, restless. "Because it's not that simple." Just the way he said that made you feel stupid. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Every time I leave, I don't know if I'll come back," he stared directly at you, burning holes into your own eyes, "And when I do, I'm not the same. I can't give you what you want. I don't know how."

Tears dewed your lash line, "Then learn," you pleaded, standing up and grabbing ahold of his hand. "If you love me, if you really care...then try. That's all I want." If only he knew how much it killed you to watch him fall apart while he kept you at an arm's length.

With a sharp sigh, he scowled, "I am trying," his tone was terse, cold. "Can't you see that? Can't you see how hard it is for me to come home and pretend everything's okay when it's really not?" Leon scoffed in disbelief. Fucking fantastic. After a barely surviving a demanding mission that sucked the soul out of him, now he was arguing with his girlfriend that didn't have the slightest idea of the things he witnessed.

The look of pure anguish on your pretty face tugged at Leon's heartstrings. The little pout, most of all. Poor you looked so shaken up, unable to utter a single word in response. "You deserve someone who can give you something better than this, baby." He freed his hand from your grasp, and brought it up to your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively.

But you still relented, "You don't get to decide that for me, Leon. You don't get to push me away because you think it's easier." Your hand clasped over his, moving it away from your cheek and back down to his side. His lips part.

“Is this about her?” you then asked, the bitterness oozing into your gentle tone before you could stop it.

As if his night couldn't get any worse...He knew exactly who you were talking about, and it made his blood boil.

Leon blinked, his brows furrowing. "What?"

Feigning ignorance. Classic. An insult to your intelligence, really.

“Ada.” You hated the salty way the name tasted on your tongue. “Is that why you’re like this? Because she’s still in your head? Or because you think I’ll never measure up to her?” 

You didn’t need Leon to answer that; the thought alone was enough to unravel you. Ada was everything you weren’t—dangerous, intoxicating, unattainable. She moved through the world like she owned it, all sharp smiles and quiet confidence, the kind of woman who left destruction in her wake but made you thank her for it anyway.

She didn’t ask for love; she demanded it, consumed it, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. How could you, with your soft edges and wide-open heart, ever hope to compare? You weren’t a storm—just the aftermath, picking up the pieces she’d shattered. If anything, you felt like some naïve, wide-eyed child who had no perception of the real world—you could never hold a candle to her.

Leon's face twisted, a flicker of anger lighting his tired eyes. "Don't even go there," he seethed, "This has nothing to do with her. This is about me, and my problems." Funny how he'd gotten so defensive all of a sudden.

"Isn't it, though?" you challenged, matching his tone. "Because it feels like I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met. I don't— I don't even know if you're really here with me, or if part of you is still chasing after her."

You got him there. "That's not fair," Leon said, his voice low but icy. He wasn't outright denying anything, much to your dismay. Nausea churned in your stomach at the thought him truly still loving her. The fact that you couldn't even blame him either made it all the more painful.

"Fair?" you echoed, frustration coursing hotly through your veins. "No, you know what isn't fair, Leon? Loving someone who's too scared to let me in. Someone who would rather run far, far away from me than let their guard down." It was getting harder and harder to suppress your tears, and Leon noticed.

God, Leon felt so sick. How the fuck was he supposed to fix this now?

Before he got the chance to say something in response—as if he had anything to say—you continued your siege, "You don't get to keep doing this. You don't get to keep pushing me away and shutting me out and then expecting me to stay with open arms." And legs.

His lips parted, but whatever words he had to say succumbed to their death, strangling his throat, before they could even reach you. A single tear rolled down your cheek, finally slipping free.

"I can't do this right now." you whimpered, shaking your head in disbelief and backing away from him.

"Wait—" But you were already retreating towards your shared bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you, quiet but final. Leon stood frozen in the middle of the dimly lit living room, staring at the empty space where you had been pouring your heart just moments ago.

And you were gone. Out of sight, but the sound of your sobs and cries echoed throughout the small apartment.

Leon ran a shaky hand through his hair, letting out a shuddering breath. He felt deflated, even more drained and tired than he initially had when he first stepped through the front door. The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling in the distance, but the silence that enveloped the place felt heavier. Suffocating.

His gaze drifted towards the kitchen, eyeing a specific cabinet. Leon knew he shouldn't—knew you hated it when he turned to the bottle instead of you—but the ache in his chest was unbearable.

He needed something, anything, to dull the edges of his agonizing guilt.

His hands still trembled as he poured a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the lamp. Leon stared at it for a long moment, trying to find the strength to resist—and he almost did, almost poured the poison down the drain.

But then, like always, he brought the glass up to his lips, and took a slow, deliberate sip, swallowing it down neat. The burn was familiar, grounding, but it did little to quell the thoughts racing through his mind. He'd never felt so pathetic, so miserable in his entire life.

You deserved better than this. Better than him.

"I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met."

You were right. Damn it, you were right. Leon had been so caught up in his own head, caught in a quicksand of despair, that he didn't even realize he was doing exactly what he feared most—dragging you into his own mess. He was tearing you apart at the seams, stitch by stitch, without even realizing it.

That wasn't even the half of it, though. Ada. He hated that her name had come up, hated that she still lingered like a dark, looming shadow, haunting the spaces between you with a coy smile on her red lips. But the thing is, you weren't her. You weren't some fleeting, elusive dream. You were real, here, and you loved him despite all the reasons he thought you shouldn't.

The drink wasn't helping. If anything, it only heightened the feelings of remorse. With a frustrated sigh, Leon set the empty glass down with a thud, and scrubbed a calloused hand over his face. He decided doing some paperwork might do a better job at keeping his mind off things.

Fast forward an hour, and it in fact, had not helped him. Not even in the slightest. He groaned, slumping over his desk and burying his face in his hands, an air of weariness surrounding him like a thick, stormy cloud. Leon sat in the quiet, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him until he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up from his swivel chair, and head straight over to the sweetest girl he knew.

His steps were slow and prudent, as if each step towards the bedroom door was a battle in itself, a march to the guillotine. Leon hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before swallowing his pride and finally knocking softly.

"...It's me, baby." Who else would it be? He mentally chastised himself for sounding so pitiful. "Can I come in?"

There was a long beat of silence from your end. Leon almost thought you might not answer. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't. But then came your precious voice, muffled and tired. "The door's not locked."

Cautiously, Leon pushed it open, his heart was pounding in the confines of his chest—like he'd drunk an entire pot of coffee—as he stepped inside the bedroom. You were sitting on the floor cross-legged, back against the foot of your bed. Your arms were wrapped around your body, as if you were holding yourself together, afraid of collapsing like a house of cards caught in a gust of wind.

Christ, the sight nearly tore Leon apart; he couldn't even begin to imagine how you were feeling.

"Hey, sweet thing," he said softly, unsure of where to begin. He strode towards you, kneeling down to your level, and brought a hand up to stroke your tear-stained cheek. You grimaced. "I...I wanted to talk. Apologize."

You, however, didn't say anything in response, didn't lean into his touch like you always did. You even refused to meet his gaze, unsurprisingly. It hurt Leon nonetheless, but at least you weren't frantically kicking him out. He took that as permission to continue.

"I'm sorry," his voice was thick with remorse and shame, "For what I said earlier. For...everything, really. I didn't mean any of it."

"You didn't mean it, or you didn't mean to say it out loud." Ouch.

Leon winced, the words hitting him harder than he expected, like a bitch slap right across the face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he pleaded, "Jesus, I could never. I was—" he stopped himself, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "I've been an ass. Taking all my shit out on you when you've done nothing but try to help me."

Finally, your bloodshot eyes meet his, sharp but wounded. "You think an apology fixes this? Think it erases the way you've been shutting me out, making me feel like I'm not enough for you?" you hissed bitterly, swatting his hand away from your face like an obnoxious mosquito. Leon swallowed thickly, backing up a bit.

"No, of course not," he shook his head. "I know it doesn't. I just...I just don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" you asked. "Let someone love you?"

"Yeah," Leon admitted, feeling like an open wound. "That. Letting someone in, it...it scares me, baby. I can't help it."

You stared at him for a long moment. He could see the war in your eyes—the hurt battling against the love you still hopelessly felt for him. "I don't need you to be perfect, Leon. I just need you to try. To meet me halfway." It was the least he could, wasn't it?

"I want to. I will. I just...I need you to know that I love you, even when I'm too much of a coward to show it. I love you. And I'm sorry for making you feel like that isn't true."

For a fraction of a second, Leon thought he'd won you over, mended your shattered heart, and that things would go back to normal, like when you first started seeing each other. However, that hope crumbled the moment you didn't kiss him back, his chapped lips lingering awkwardly over yours. He pulled away in shame.

"No, Leon." You wiped at your eyes, frustrated by the tears you couldn't hold back, streaming hotly down your cheeks. "You don't get to say you're sorry and just expect me to forget how much this has been hurting me." The lovelorn, sick part of you just wanted to accept his semi-sincere apology and move on with your life, but the more self-respecting half had overpowered that desire.

"You kiss me, try to fix it. But you never listen." you swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather your restless thoughts. "Don't tell me you're scared, or that you're broken, or whatever excuse you think I'm going to forgive this time. Because I know you're hurting, Leon. I know you've been through hell. But I'm here," your voice cracked, embarrassment crawling up your neck, "I always have been."

"Just please...stop making me feel so fucking stupid for staying. Like I'm wasting my time loving someone who doesn't even want to be loved."

Leon didn't even know what to say in response to that. His mouth dried uncomfortably, paralyzed by the impact of your desperate words. Again, like always, you were right. He didn't have a single thing to defend himself, because he really was in the wrong, trapped in a mire of hopelessness. It was oozing its dirty self into his relationship, tainting the one good thing he had in his godforsaken life.

So, he could only whisper, "You're right." His arms wrapped around your frame, caging you in effectively. You didn't protest against his embrace, making the most of the warmth and comfort it spread through your frigid bones. "I am so, so sorry," he mumbled, his hand cradling the back of your head, holding you close to his chest.

"I need you, sweetheart, more than I've needed anyone. You're the light of my fucking life, I just...I don't know how to be the man you deserve." Leon pressed desperate, frantic kisses against your forehead, then to your cheeks, tasting your salty tears on his lips.

"But I'll try, for you. I swear to God, I'll try." The crack in his voice was unmistakable. It tore you to shreds.

Against your better judgment, against all the hurt and anger that simmered beneath the surface, you pulled back a bit, enough to see the forlorn, crestfallen look that etched itself into Leon's jaded features, then to notice your tears that had stained his t-shirt. You bit the corner of your lip, a feeble attempt at suppressing your sobs, you then leaned in, lips capturing his in a kiss that was neither soft nor forgiving.

It was desperate, messy, and filled with everything the two of you couldn't say. All the love, the pain, the hope you somehow hadn't given up on yet. His tongue slipped past the crack of your lips, hands roughly gripping onto your thighs and coaxing you onto his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist. Teeth clicked against one another, noses bumping into the other's cheek, foreheads pressed tightly. His stubble scratched your soft skin deliciously.

"You're all I have left," Leon murmured breathlessly between kisses, his voice thick with a maelstrom of emotions, the rawness of his confession hanging heavily in the charged air. His hands smoothed up your figure, finding purchase in your hair as he pulled you closer; he thought you might vanish if he let go, even for a moment.

You melted against him, like butter, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, trying to tether yourself to this moment—to him. Leon's lips tasted of something bittersweet—maybe cinnamon—the kiss holding a desperation that bordered on aching, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken apology and feeling into it.

A single tear rolled down Leon's flushed cheeks as you pulled away for air, forehead resting against his. His breath was warm against your lips, a sign he was real and right next to you. That this wasn't some dream, but reality.

Probably not the time, nor the place, but Leon was so fucking pretty when he cried.

You brought your hand up, the soft pad of your thumb stroking it away. He leaned into your gentle touch like a kicked puppy, pressing a soft kiss against the tip of your thumb as it brushed over his bottom lip.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, the words barely audible but so full of meaning it made your chest ache, "but I don't know how to let you go."

[seven-oh-four]

okay i NEED to talk about something that's been driving me INSANE since the very first episode of the amazing digital circus.

okay so. in the first episode, when caine snaps his fingers to bring Ragatha back to normal, the scene places a strange amount of emphasis on the fact that this action also causes pomni's hand to go back to normal even though caine didn't know anything was wrong with her.

why?

well, y'know the gloink queen? she never actually... dies. kaufmo falls on her, causing her to spit out zooble, beats her up, glitches her out, but she's never destroyed. even as the gang leaves the gloink caves, you can hear her screaming.

she glitches out, but she's never destroyed.

and when caine snapped his fingers, everything stopped glitching, and they wanted to make sure you'd notice that.

but like. she's the gloink queen. she's just a tutorial boss. she's obviously not gonna come back, right? how would that even work? twist reveal that she was the mastermind all along?

then episode two came out, and my suspicions grew. episode two has a whole scene introducing a new character, The Fudge. The Fudge then dies via a truck from the sky, something that tragically happens all too often. The Fudge is never relevant again.

at the end of the episode, it's revealed that Jax left the gate open anyway, the Fudge survived, and he is now terrorizing the kingdom...

but... this is of absolutely no consequence. it's completely irrelevant. the gang just leaves.

okay so that's TWO big gloopy monsters that have a strange amount of emphasis placed on the fact they survived despite the fact that this never winds up addressed in the episode.

okay. so how about episoOh My God.

AGAIN. they have two whole shots dedicated to showing you that the creature survived, with scare chords and everything, and yet this STILL never comes up again!!!!!! what!! the hell!!! and fuck!!!!!

we've also had an entire episode focused on the concept of NPCs, and NPCs becoming self-aware.

so these monsters are obviously going to come back at some point. they HAVE TO. it'd be utterly ridiculous for them not to!

i just needed to get this off my chest. i need SOMEONE to know this.!!!! okay, bye!

bonus note: Gloink Queen says "GOD will be gloinks!" at the end of her evil monologue. we didn't know this at the time, but all of the NPCs refer to Caine as God.

[vifilms]

≛ LONELY IS THE MUSE!

❝ ABBY!CENTRIC ONE SHOT ❞

feat. bodyguard!abby x famous actor!reader

warnings. eighteen+, suggestive nsfw content: reader fell first nd and abby fell harder, some angst, fluff, slightly coded fem reader, personal trainer!abby, just two idiots pining. i saw the discourse for some romance and i wanted to do my part. enjoy friends.

LONELY IS THE MUSE, entangled in an endless web of a high profile life, everyone waiting on you hand and foot, hollywood’s star in their prime — everyone needing a piece for themselves. yet the mysterious blonde who has not a clue to who you are catches the eye of the lonely muse.

wc. 8k

“You know you don’t have to stand this close to me.” Abby counters, but her words didn’t make you move an inch. Not that she really thought they would. Secretly, she enjoys your gentle touch. She likes how comfortable you feel around her. The downpour in New York has your arm entangled with her own, your hand gripping her bicep as she holds the umbrella.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to ruin my hair.” You replied gently, as you rested your head against her relaxed bicep.

“God, forbid your hair be in ruin, sweet girl.” Abby’s wet lips look inviting, especially when she’s smirking at you. Delectable, enticing, desired seeping underneath your soul as you try your best to keep them at bay. 

“Now that would be positively tragic, wouldn’t it? Just a paparazzi’s wet dream. Need my hair in ruins for them to get a handsome payday.” Abby shakes her head, the budding smile threatening to reveal itself. You can see how it grows, despite the effort she makes to disguise it. 

“I think you do enjoy my company. Paid or not, I bring some light into your life.” You play with the ends of her hair. The blonde feels a tingle pricking at her skin. She ignores it. 

“I can see that smile.” 

Better than anyone, Abby knows the gleam in your eyes is too dangerous to entertain, so she looks forward. It’s what she's paid to do, to keep you safe. Not to entertain some weird crush that will soon pass when you move on to the next actress, artist, or producer. She doesn’t need a reminder of how different your world is, she’s already abundantly clear on where the both of you stand. Worlds apart from each other, even if you’re leaning against her, the greedy hands of the public grab onto you first, mercilessly sucking the life out of anyone who enters your life. 

All it does is isolate you, making your life incredibly lonely. Trapped on the throne you built with your raw talent, but the industry is a double edged sword, as much as it appears to lift you up, it impales any sense of normalcy at a private, peaceful life. You take pride in these little moments you have with her. It’s the only time you get to have a taste of normalcy, even if you did have a bodyguard, which wasn’t entirely normal. Yet, Abby is a gentle reminder of a life she wishes to have. Someone who is kind, and loving; a soul that exists for no selfish gain, greed, or selfishness. 

Sometimes, you take advantage of it. 

Abby knows you crave physical affection. Ever since your messy break up, you’ve been finding any little excuse to justify it. Abby didn’t really mind at all. Even if she tried to deny it in her head, she’d miss it if you stopped. The incessant need you have to be close to her at all times, your essence bleeding on to her, suffocating her with everything she wants, but knows she can’t ever let herself dip into the deepest edges of you. 

Especially, not when you are still attempting to decode the wreckage of your last relationship. 

Abby hates seeing you like this, but she knew there was little she could do to help. All she could do is let you ride the wave of heartbreak, take in the silent tears hitting full cheeks, and hope it would all end soon for you. For now, she would allow immediate proximity.

You’re hurting. You need it.  

The first few weeks, even a couple months after, she expects it. Now it’s month four, and you were still touching her all the time. Lame excuses falling from your lips daily and Abby was sure you didn’t even believe them. She thought about bringing it up to you, establishing healthy boundaries before she crosses a line.

Yet, it feels…nice.

It felt good to be needed. The reason she had taken this job in the first place. It wasn’t what she had imagined for herself – a bodyguard of a famous musician. She jokes about it now, but it's a twisted fate for the two of you. Your eyes shine bright whenever someone asks, and you always take the lead.

Abby has always been more reserved, and your personality is as bright as the sun. She liked Abby the second she laid eyes on her. Not because she was beautiful or the most gorgeous human she’d ever seen.

Which she is.

No.

Her stupid pounding heart, the one she felt beating violently out of her chest, loves you, has no idea who she is.  She had thought possibly the blonde stranger was putting on a front, some did. They liked to conceal their intentions behind greedy eyes and malicious intent.

But Abby turned out to be different.

When a blossoming friendship turned into a job opportunity, it took Abby through a loop. It was the very last thing she was expecting from you. You’d kept her in the dark and when you announced exactly who you were, Abby really didn’t know. Never was she really a fan of social media, didn’t really partake in it unless someone was showing her the latest trend going around. She’s a little old fashioned but she likes it. It worked in her favor when it came to you. Unknowingly, for the first time since your fame struck as quick as lightning, you had the pleasure to befriend someone who had no idea who you were. 

As fresh as breathing your first breath of air, you took pride in the circumstance. Someone enjoying your company for who they are and not just for your social standing, fame, or most importantly the money. Before either of you could really even fully come to it, Abby has become such an influential person in your life, and then you were attempting to entice her with a job opportunity, and she accepted. 

You thought it would take longer and knew from the moment you had asked. But her life was uprooted by you, and she felt guilty about how much it fills her up with glee. 

In the last year, Abby became the only person worthy of your trust, the only one who would keep your confessions confined, not letting the secrets drip like cheap wine down the drain. Rather more as if she was out in the vineyard, carefully hand picking the grapes for the wine as she crafts it herself. Giving it the love, care, and attention it needs to flourish into fine beverage. From one sip alone, knowing she would crave for the taste. 

Getting to know you in ways some would dream of. Often, the mass of the public did, but you’re more selective who you let in your life now. Swiftly, you noticed how easily Abby listened. 

Listening and seeing you for who you are, not some strewed version the media made you out to be.  

She understood why you felt the need to and maybe why you felt comfortable with her. You spent time with her more than anyone. After two years together, she had learned every little detail about you. Where you liked to get your morning coffee, your favorite brunch spot, which bar you like to frequent when you had a night to give, which gym was your favorite, and to not speak with you until you’ve had said coffee. 

It’s these little things Abby remembers, constantly getting her in trouble.

When paparazzi are around, you always accept her hand as she guides you through the swarming crowd. Abby knows you despise it. How inhumane it makes you feel. You feel like an attraction, an object the masses had come to see rather than being viewed as an actual person. In these moments, you cling onto Abby the most. While she’s intimidating to all, there leaves a small exception for you, never has she once been anything to you more than just a sweet, gentle giant she wants close to her at all times. 

Her stature is standing a little over six feet tall. Her arms always looked too good against the tight fabric of her shirt. The one you grip onto as she is navigating through a crowd with you in tow, she’s always focused. The remainder of your team was behind you, while she was always in front of you.

At all times, protecting you.

But it was moments like today, you were grateful for. You blended with the hectic life of the city. You were just two people waiting at a crosswalk, waiting to get to your next destination.

Abby tries not to pay too much attention to how you’re squeezing her bicep, with a strong grip further indication you weren’t letting go anytime soon.

She supposes it’s better than feeling your hand in hers. There were times when Abby deemed it necessary. She would grab it whenever she needed to get you through from point a to point b, quickly. It made you follow her pace instead of lingering behind. She didn’t even know how she was supposed to feel with your head resting against her arm, your body so close to hers.

How was she supposed to act normally?

The rumors were already getting bad. You denied them when asked, and you did gracefully each time.

All Abby could think about if this moment was captured, it would be perceived as intimate. It felt like it was, but she didn’t want the entire world to see. Not when she felt the two of you walking this very nimble line of friends, something professional, and something more. She didn’t need thousands of eyes giving their two senses in a situation she didn’t even fully understand yet. All it took was one person to snap a photo if she gets too close to you. If her touch stayed on you for too long, or if she let the love reach her eyes. The ladder was the most difficult to control. It’s a part of her just as much as the air in her lungs.

This life is new to her. At times, Abby wondered if she’s biting off more than she could chew.

The only reason she’d left was for you. She had a small, quiet life. Abby’s life was very average, a cloud of normalcy hovered above her before the two of you met. A personal trainer full time and she resided in a cabin about half an hour from where she worked. She chopped wood to relieve stress, Her girlfriend liked it at the time, and she did too. She had her two dogs, and a darling kitten. 

She enjoyed the privacy. The isolated countryside her sweet family could reside in. Abby had built this life she was proud of, and it made her happy. For a time, it worked. She was genuinely content with where she was. There wasn’t a need to stress or control where her life was going. It felt like a huge relief. She tended to live inside her own head, not be present in what she has right in front her.

It had been months since she felt like that. It’d felt good and she was proud of herself for not succumbing from within and really coming to terms with what she had built around her. This was the most difficult route for her to take. To allow herself to be open, even if there was a chance of her falling.

Abby really should have felt remorseful for leaving it all behind.

Nora was sweet. The most caring partner she ever had, but there wasn’t much she could compare it to. Besides her, there had only been two, and she didn’t even count Owen. A long misstep until she landed where she needed to be. He did care for her, and he seemed to be more kind-hearted than most men, but the bar was set so low, he should’ve exceeded expectations.

And he did, in some areas.

Others, he fell more than flat but there was little to nothing he could do about it. Abby likes girls and he wasn’t one. Her sexuality shattered their relationship into a million pieces – leaving neither of them any option but to move on.

Nora felt real. This genuine connection she’d never experienced before. Abby knew it one year into their relationship. The pair had built this life together, one where she didn’t feel trapped in, and one Abby could be proud of. She felt acknowledged and loved Nora. There wasn’t a sliver of a doubt in her mind this where she needed to be.

She tells Nora when she needs space, and she isn’t ashamed of it. If she didn’t want to go out, Nora wouldn’t guilt trip her into it. Abby didn’t feel pressured to intertwine her identity with Nora just because they were together. Nora hardly ever gave Abby a reason to be upset. She showed up like partners were supposed to, even when Abby didn’t.

But it was a heavy weight to carry for Nora. Being her first serious queer relationship, Abby was left stunted in areas where Nora had to lend a helping hand. She never made Abby feel bad about it, but the two of them could feel the string keeping them threatening to snap.

Often, it frustrated Abby. To always be the one receiving help and never giving it. She didn't blame her partner, but she was left at a crossroad. 

She never understood Owen more and it really pissed her off.

To no fucking end.

But Nora was far more patient than Abby had ever shown. Maybe it was the testament to love or maybe Nora was just a good person and Abby is shitty. She had more patience than Mother Thersea herself, and it amazed her. Always guiding Abby with a gentle hand, never getting upset with her even when she let her anger shine through.

It makes her feel undeserving of a love she could never earn.

This pure and untainted love had never touched her before, and she’d never fallen this hard. Abby didn’t want to be anywhere but here. She really thought this could be it. Nora could be the one. They could get through those hardships together, right? 

Then you came and overwhelmed her like a tsunami.

She was running late, which was completely out of the ordinary for Abby. Instead of her neat braid, her sun kissed-blonde hair was in a low bun. Underneath her eyes was evidence of her lack of sleep. She hadn’t been getting any as of lately and the bags only seemed to get deeper.

Abby wouldn’t call the fights constant, but it sure did feel like it.

The back and forth, having the same fight consistently. Abby was more than frustrated. The biggest efforts she made were dismissed by Nora, even making her upset at times. She was trying too hard and being annoying, or not doing enough and then it meant she wasn’t present in the relationship.

Abby felt her stuck at a wall, Nora on the other side of it and she couldn’t hear a damn thing.

So, she was running late.

One of the many fights  they’ve had with each other as of late. Nora is tired of dealing with a “baby gay” as she likes to remind her in the heat of their arguments. Abby gets offended, her lips forming into an even deeper pout, her porcelain skin flushed in anger before she gives them both space. 

Contemplating about the future of their relationship in the shower, causing her to be late to work in the process. 

Astronomically behind – her client arrived at the gym she worked at half an hour ago. The most recent argument with Nora plagued her morning. All they seem to do is argue, trapped in what they both need from the relationship, but all the two of them could do is argue, argue, argue.

But neither of them makes a move. They are still as the eerie silence that carries them into questioning. 

It’s when she’s too inside her head, fearing about the future, when she violently bumps into you. Body colliding with yours, Abby’s stone-like build causes you to crash into the pavement, your belongings scatter along with Abby’s. 

“Fuck. Are you alright? Sorry, I’m in such a hurry, I’m sure I wasn’t even paying attention.” You let her pick you from the ground, she does with ease. She looks right through you and you expect the excitement, the excited tears, or to be asked for a picture but it never comes.   

“For a moment I thought I ran into a wall—” You giggle to yourself. “Really, I’m alright.” You spoke softly. You pick up both of your belongings that had slipped from both of your grips, returning it to its owner. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Abby asks again. 

You think it’s cute how much lace of concern is conveyed in her cerulean eyes, full of light and wonder, so beautiful it stops you in your tracks. 

“No no! I’m fine! Really don’t worry about it.” 

Honestly, you’re still in amazement she has no idea who you are. It makes your fondness of her grow even more. The two of you depart quickly, go about your day, and you think nothing of it until you go to unlock your phone to message your manager and it’s not a picture of the moon you’d taken during the eclipse, it’s the mysteriously hot and kind woman you’d run into before. 

Shit. She has my phone. 

Lucky for you, Abby was coming to the same realization. Ready to bring out the workout she had planned out for her first client, opening her phone to access where she had written everything out only to find this isn’t her phone. Well, fuck. 

Abby hollers at Dina to take over the client for a moment, excusing herself for a moment before retreating into the office to call from her direct line. 

Idiot Anderson. Now you get to make an idiot of yourself, twice. 

Way to go. 

She calls her phone and it rings a few times before the familiar voice chimes through the speaker, the one she heard this morning during her fit of anxiety. 

“Please tell me this is the woman I ran into earlier or else I’m going to be even more embarrassed for answering a stranger's phone.” 

“Well you’re in luck.” 

“Oh thank fuck—” You curse yourself before being so vulgar with someone who you didn’t even know. “Sorry! God, this is all my fault. I must have swapped our phones when I picked them up and didn’t even realize.” 

“It’s okay, really, if I was paying attention where I was walking this morning it never would have happened. Did you wanna meet?” 

“No! Let me. Please, this is all my fault. I should at least be the one who makes the drive.” 

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m really sure.” 

Abby offers the address of work, thinking once after she does if it’s a good idea, a total stranger knowing where she works but she’s already giving the street name and suite number before she can even make her mind. Abby usually doesn’t get nervous but this situation has sent her into a frenzy, thinking about how dumb she could have been. Nora will get a good laugh out of it she thinks, then she is reminded of the fight the two of them were still in. She wonders if she’s even tried to reach out to her yet or if Nora’s just waiting until Abby’s anger rolls over. 

More favorably, the ladder. 

Until the two of them have the comfort of their lives, the cushion they have between their shared friends and the home they share twenty minutes out of the state, until it comes up again and they’ll be contemplating it all over again. Anxiously, the front desk girl, Bevs, the younger girl who has a crush on her, shyly comes up to her. 

Bevs says what she assumes is your name, confusing Abby in the process. 

“You know her?” 

“How could you not? She’s one of the most famous actresses ever.” Abby is stunned to say the least. Truthfully, she had no idea. Her lack of social media keeps her out of the loop and as much as her friends tease her about, if Abby knew who you were the first time around, she’s sure she wouldn’t have been able to say more than two words. Clearly, you’re a fresh face to her. Already, Abby knows Manny is going to have a field day when Bevs lets this information spill in her sheer excitement. 

Great, she thinks. 

“Oh.” 

“I put her in your office. Some of the clients were already starting to have questioning looks, putting the pieces together. Hey! Maybe they're as clueless as you.” 

“Bevs, go back to the front desk.” With a curt nod and realizing she has pushed too far, with a tail between her legs she retreats back to her post. 

Okay, Anderson, let’s get this over with. 

Abby smells you the minute she steps foot in her office. It’s not the usual pinewood scent the candle in her office radiates. There’s a lingering smell of lavender with just a hit of vanilla. It’s sweet as it engulfs her nostrils, she finds herself sniffling slightly, a silent beg for more of it. You’re standing the minute you’re aware of her presence. Painfully, Abby is aware of her lack of clothing. The tight sport jacket is left unopened, her black sweatpants, accompanied with her sports bra, abs on display as she watches your eyes examine her carefully. 

She’s not sure how to feel about it. 

There is a moment, a short one where your eyes go to her chest, the silver barbells constricting against the small fabric, clear as to what lies beneath. 

Abby does smirk at that. She’s only human. 

You keep staring at her for a minute longer, well it feels like one but Abby deems it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

“It’s really not a problem.” The more time goes on, the sweeter you are. “It’s pretty close to where I live.” 

Abby didn’t know it then but you were lying straight through your teeth. The trainer didn’t know you moved around your entire day to make the phone swap or the butterflies swarming your stomach from just how attractive and nice she seemed to be. There was something about her that sent your caution flying to the wind, drifting in the leaves with the rest of your pride. 

“Well I appreciate you coming out this way, even if it’s in your area. I really wouldn’t have minded taking the drive.” Abby pulls out your phone as she hands you yours. It’s simple, transactional, and it should have just been left at that but you had a fondness of putting your foot in your mouth. 

“Are you a trainer here?” 

“Uh, yeah. Been doing it for a few years actually. I spent so much time here already, now I get paid for it. Can’t really complain.” 

“Do you ever do private sessions?” 

“Um-” Abby scratches the back of her awkwardly, not sure if you’re asking her genuinely or if you’re trying to insinuate something else entirely. 

“Oh fuck no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just have a….job opportunity I have to get in shape for and you just look like you know what you’re doing.” Abby thought you might as well point to her physique but if anything she was flattered. It was always nice knowing something she’s been working on for years, her longest standing commitment besides Nora, is appreciated. 

“Sure, we could work something out.” You slightly smile before you exchange phones, this time on purpose, to put in the other’s number. Normally, she didn’t give out her number to clients, but Abby makes an exception for you that day. To this day, she’ll never outwardly admit why she did, not even to herself. 

- 

Two years later, she’s single from her life being turned upside down by you. The casualty being her own relationship, leaving Nora behind was one of the hardest decisions she’s made. Nora never agreed on Abby taking the job. As much as Nora wished for Abby to be more open about their endeavors, as soon as she accepted an offer that could drastically expand the trajectory of their life, Nora couldn’t be asked to compromise another thing. 

That was that. Not even two months into Abby working for you and Nora had called it quits. Abby never talked about it, only you knew she had a girlfriend she used to talk about when you began training with her, and then it was just silent. Back then, you didn’t know her well enough to pry, so you didn’t. 

Even as time passed, the two of you became friends through your employment, spending all your time with her during press season for your upcoming film, Lonely Is The Muse, together. Today was the only day you had off, even if it means Abby technically had the day off, you insisted that both of you leave the hotel and go out for the day. It's the most peace you felt during the European leg of the tour. Only one more day of dealing with your sensory issues, people in your face telling you when and where to go, or the distasteful question regarding your past public breakup instead of the work you were promoting. 

Some interviewers were kind enough to let the drama go but some wanted to get their own viral moment, waiting for you to say the wrong thing. As the industry likes to say, any publicity is good publicity. 

When you’re America's sweetheart actress of the century, such luxuries can’t be afforded. 

As your manager likes to remind you, there’s a reputation you have to protect. 

“Would you like to head back now? Long day tomorrow. Last day of interviews and then your flight leaves first thing in the morning.” 

“Did Stassie put you up to this?” 

“Maybe.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.” 

“Mhm, your definition of fun is letting you do whatever you want.” 

“And the problem with that is?” 

All Abby can do is chuckle. 

“What do you want to do then?” Abby asks. She takes note of the sparkle in your eyes, as blinding as the sun but obtaining the serenity of the moon. “I’m all ears sweetheart.” 

It’s how the two of you end up here, a rooftop party, a friend of a friend you said. The party was lowkey, more than the typical ones you would get invited. Maybe because you weren’t in Los Angeles, Miami, or New York — but tucked away on another continent — or perhaps everyone here is just discreet. 

There’s only two fans that come up to you instead of twenty. You’re thankful for some sense of normalcy, one night where you can just feel normal. It still never gets old, people coming up to you as they confess the impact you’ve had on their life. It feels unbelievable at times but you’re grateful for the luxury life you’ve been granted. 

“Here. No liquor tonight.” Abby hands you a glass of red wine, your favorite beverage of choice when you couldn’t have tequila. 

“Yes Ma’am.” You playfully salute her. More than anything, you enjoy the not so subtle chuckle. “Not that I don’t love your company but isn’t Stassie supposed to boss me around?” 

“She felt under the weather. Plus, we both know you don’t listen to her.” 

“And I listen to you?” Your hand plays with her loose blonde hair, smoothing out the white button she’s wearing. 

“Yeah, you do. I wonder why that is.” Abby is playing with fire tonight. Possibly due to the fact that you wouldn’t leave her side, not even for a moment, keeping your body close, practically gluing yourself to her. Yes, she’s charged with keeping you safe and protected but it seems you find enjoyment bringing it to another level entirely. 

“You’re much nicer to look at, that’s all.” It’s light, a quiet whisper, not meant to be heard by anyone — not even for Abby to hear. “Don’t wanna make my handsome bodyguard upset.” 

Faking your pout as you let the words leave your lips, Abby chuckles as you get closer to her, her body standing strong as you push your weight onto her. Stoic as always, while you lean on her, she keeps her eyes peeled. Ensuring your safety at all times. 

“Flattery isn’t going to get you a shot tonight.” 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

Abby chuckles, again. She’s delighted you’re enjoying yourself, even if it comes at her expense. There’s a soft jazz song playing outside, couples dancing to the music, you zone out for a moment as you look upon one in particular. 

They are older, possibly in their forties, raven hair beginning to gray, fine lines crinkle when they smile at each other but it’s hard to take note of anything else but the way the couple looks at each other. Your mind wonders how long they’ve been together, if it’s been for years, months, a couple weeks. 

It doesn’t really matter. You just want that. 

The feeling isn’t lost on you, especially when you’re in the arms of the woman you love. For her, she’s being protective, doing her job but you wish it was different. A bubbling desire dripping off your tongue, a need to have her close to you but because she wants. Not because she’s paid to. 

“If I can’t have any tequila shots, god forbid, you have to dance with me.” You down the rest of your wine, placing the empty glass on the bar. “C’mon, you can give Stassie an earful later.” 

Pulling her towards the makeshift dance floor, Abby leads as your head rests against her chest. The steady, soft heartbeat soothes you, a reminder of the safety you feel with her. Caught in the riptide of her kind eyes and heart full of gold. It’s what makes her so unique, so loved, so her. With a surprisingly good tone, Abby sings to the music softly before twirling you around and spinning your body back to her. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Your hand rubs lovingly on her lower back as she holds you in her arms. You take pride when it doesn’t feel transactional. When she holds you and it feels as if she was meant to. There’s nothing else comparable to it, her frame melting into yours as your soul finds solace in her warm embrace. 

“There’s plenty of things.” Playfully, Abby smirks. 

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” 

The sarcasm practically drips out of you as her smirk grows wider. 

“Can I ask you something?” You hesitate for a moment as you find her beautiful blue eyes staring into your soul. It’s only then does everything troubling might dissipate while she holds you — secretly hoping it’s forever. 

“You can ask me anything.” 

You give yourself a moment to collect your thoughts as you move to the delicate beat. “Do you ever wish for a life where you could have had a normal life? I wonder if things could be different.” 

Immediately, Abby answers. 

“Not anymore, no, not for a second.” 

If it was even possible, Abby pulls you closer to her, not urging a word more. It’s how she is, cold and distant to some but they don’t feel the stutter in her breath when you’re near or the soft pad of her thumb rubbing soothingly on the back of your hand. Or the soft words of encouragement when you’re having a difficult day. 

They hear none of it. 

She dances with you for a couple more songs, before you find solace on the couch. You lay beneath the moonlight, your body cuddles into her side as you stare up at the sky. 

It’s lost on you how you’ve ended  with her, someone as kind and untainted as her, wanting to spend her free time with you, but you’re grateful for it. Whatever god you have to thank, you’ll get on your knees to praise their alter for bringing Abby into your life. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you and she doesn’t even know it. Albeit, she hardly knows the extent of how wonderful she is. 

“Why here?” 

“It’s a good night, nice weather. Why not?” 

A question with a question. It’s the most straightforward answer you’ll ever give her. Innuendos for the sweet girl to piece together, but with the soft circles being drawn her stomach with the pad of your finger leaves little to nothing to decode. 

“It’s nice, yeah.” 

Abby always has so little to say but her mind swarms with a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea and a million of why this is where the constellations in the jaded sky have led to you. Straight into the pits of innocence, a heart that’s been hurt more times than she can count but still as golden and whole as one could be. 

“What do you think of Italy?” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Nice? That’s all I get?” 

Abby smirks but her body stills when you play with the waistband of her trousers before gliding back to the security of her abdomen, carving the liner of her defined abs. The ones she tries so hard to cover up, but you saw on the very first day you met her. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, an eyebrow raising in suggestion. Abby knows it’s a double edged sword, one she doesn’t want to be injured with. 

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.” Cautiously, Abby warns. “I’m not sure that last drink was a great idea.” 

You rest your head on her sternum, sapphire eyes looking down at you as her hand finds home on your waist, the blunt of your nails scratching softly at her stomach. 

“They always seem like a great idea at the time, don’t they?” With a gentle hand, you caress her scarred cheek, the pad of your thumb gently tenderly kissing the freckled skin. Outlining the softness of her jaw with your left, while your right one refuses to leave her stomach. 

“I don’t see how anyone would ever want to leave you.” Abby hums, not giving you much to go off of, tight lipped as she’s always been. The Nora situation has always been on your mind. One day, Abby’s speaking of her like she’s the love of her life and the next? Abby stiffens so tight when you bring up her name you promise yourself to never speak of it again. Until now, almost two years later, you’re more curious than you have ever been. The fatal ending, not belonging to you, but still you paw for the answers with your greedy palms. 

“You can just ask me if you want to know. I can see the look in your eyes.” 

“What look? I don’t have a—” 

Abby tilts your chin with your palm, leaning into her touch as you often do. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“How do you know this look?” 

“Hm.” Her thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “You’re just trying to get me in trouble now.” 

Your tone shifts, your eyes become transcendent, more crystal clear than they’d been all night. 

“What happened between you and Nora?” You ask, treading lightly on the ground you’re skating upon, in fear the ground beneath you might just crack if you apply too much pressure. 

“Why is it so important to you?” 

“It’s not that it’s—” You face plant into her chest, giving yourself a moment to breathe. Fuck, even her chest smells good. 

“You don’t ask about anything unless it’s of value to anyone. You don’t waste time, you’re very adamant about it. Painfully so.” Blonde eyebrows relax as she closes her eyes for a moment, but her touch on you soothes you. It’s gentle; a somber comfort bleeding into blissful joy. 

“But I’ve spent a lot of time with you.” 

“Yes, you’ve spent a lot of your time with me.

Abby opens her eyes to see you, your head tilted to the right, as you look upon each carve of her angelic face, the one that could only be carved by the gods above, resembling an angel on earth. As pure as the snow with the biggest heart of gold you ever have had the pleasure of knowing. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” You smile slyly. 

“We didn’t break up because of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abby sighs, “You’re not some homewrecker. My home with Nora was already wrecked before we met.” 

“Are you just saying it to make me feel better?” 

“No, I’m not.” You play with the ends of her golden hair, it hurts to be this close to what you want but knowing it’s so clearly out of your reach, league even, all of it will end the same. “Nora wasn’t fond of her being my first relationship with a woman. It caused a ripple effect, me feeling like I wasn’t good enough and her feeling like she has to carry me in the relationship, emotionally anyway.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” 

“No.” 

“It was because of me.” You state, as a matter of fact, knowing there is no other truth to be known. With tears welling up in your eyes, an ache  in your heart, one that made you ache all over. The dread of the guilt weighing heavily on your heart, time and distance still isn’t enough for you to run from it. 

“It was a job that was a great opportunity. Alright? It wasn’t you, even if I hadn’t, we both wanted different things. I didn’t even realize it until after but I wasn’t happy. I promise, it has nothing to do with you.” 

What Abby didn’t know, you needed to hear her say those words. In the back of your head, a monstrous demon unleashes in your mind, telling you crashed her relationship. You were the problem and her inevitable doom, but she’s assuring you it wasn’t the case. 

“We hardly knew each other back then.” 

As pathetic as it sounds, Abby can’t imagine her life without you. 

“Yeah hardly.” 

There’s that look again, pouring into Abby’s soul as it eats her up whole, the gleam in your eyes begging for more. It’ll complicate things if Abby gets involved, she knows this, but it already seems like she is despite her best efforts not to be. 

“Did I do good? You always say you miss stargazing with your brother back home. I know it’s not as quiet as the cabin you have, but I thought it would be okay for now.” 

“The view isn’t bad, not one bit.” She admits as she lets you rub her abdomen, the goosebumps crawling upon her skin the more Abby lets you touch her as if she’s yours to hold. “Lev would like it. I’m convinced the kid likes you more than me now.” 

“As he should. I’m pretty damn amazing.” 

“He asks too many questions though.” 

“About what?” 

“I dunno…..things.” Abby retreats back into her shell, the layer of protection she uses to protect herself from getting hurt. Most of all, out of everyone the gods could torture her to be confused about, of course it has to be you. Everyone in your life is always begging for pieces of your time, pieces of your affection and bits of your time to suck you dry. Abby has always wondered how you juggle it all. It feels cruel to even think you would put her in the mix. 

Painfully, there’s nights like tonight, where she sees the desire swarming in your eyes — every part of her pleads to give in to the temptation. Give into something she’s never even let herself think about until the last few months. As thick as drywall, there was a barrier keeping her heart from you, one she kept to protect you and herself even. 

The absolute last thing she wanted was to wreck everything this has to offer. If she makes the wrong move, all of it can come crashing down on you…it’s the last thing she wants. Make you a martyr in her story, one she thinks and dreams of often but knows you’re too big for her to exist in your life. The circles you run in don’t even exist in the same planet, the same fucking universe if Abby’s being honest. 

“What things?” You pout, your hand traveling south, caressing her thigh with a familiarity Abby wishes you didn’t have. She wishes for a lot but they never come true, that’s all you can be, a dying wish Abby curses upon a fading star.  

“It’s just stupid shit, not worth mentioning.” 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” You take a deep breath, your voice already shaky and you haven’t even told her yet. “I don’t think you even know how much you mean to me.” Abby isn’t sure where you’re going with this, terrifying her instantly. 

Have you finally had your fill of her? Were you gonna fire her? Now? 

“Lev doesn’t just talk to you about us.” 

“Us?” Nervously, Abby stomach clenches, unprepared for where this conversation is heading. 

“Why are you so scared?” 

Abby visibly and loudly gulps, almost making you giggle slightly. 

“I-I’m not.” 

The stonewall she attempts to hide behind but you won’t let her, not tonight. Slumping in the shadows, waiting for you to find someone else to love as she watches your happiness from a far, that’s what she allows herself. Nothing more and nothing less. 

“Abs, look at me.” She meets your eyes, away from the constellations in the sky, afraid if she looks for a moment too long she’ll be stuck here forever. “Talk to me, m’right here, not going anywhere unless you want me to.” 

Instantly, Abby grips your hips, keeping you in your place. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“What?” 

“I’m not what you want. I’m surely not what anyone needs. Hell, I’ve only been with one woman which is deemed to be for not being enough, right? I’m the girl who came out too late, who doesn’t have enough experience but because I’m built like some fucking adonis I need to know whatever the fuck I’m doing but I don’t. I never know what I’m doing. The only thing I know how to do is protect you, that’s all I’m good for and I’m not gonna screw that up just because I—” 

“Because what?” Your pelvis is on top of hers, your face coming closer to Abby’s, watching as you are irrevocably close to her, closer than you’ve ever been, wet lips ghosting over her pouty pink lips. Abby doesn’t even know when you moved, how you got so close, too lost in her own head to register your movements. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Abby puffs out. 

“It matters to me.” You sink into her, further, if it's even possible. “No one matters more than you, alright?” 

“But there’s people.” Abby looks for an excuse to get up, she comes up enough so she’s sitting up against the armrest of the patio couch, holding your lower back as she does so, leaving you straddling her hips. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is you.” You push a piece of blonde hair away, seeing her beautiful cheeks more clearly, her shining blue eyes finding its unique path to your heart, the one especially made for her. “Here just let me talk, alright? You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.” 

Abby is nearly crying, practically purring as you run your fingers through her cascading blonde hair. It’s too much but not enough. Although she is sure of one thing, the one thing she wants more than anything. 

“I’ve always been one for pretty girls. I had a reputation around Hollywood, always chasing one after the next, never reaching my fill or as the tabloids like to say.” You chuckled half-heartedly; the wound cutting deeper than you would have liked. “My publicist having to pay paparazzi an obscene amount of money to get these photos from ever hitting online, month after month, it was pathetic really. Just trying to fill a hole, one I didn’t even know how to fill.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“It’s not something I’m proud of and I never wanted you to see me differently but I’m not ashamed anymore though. I’m not that person anymore. I haven’t been since I met you.” Abby falls silent, her cheeks turning crimson before she can try to hide it “You not knowing how I was, it's just the humbling I needed. Not to mention you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen— you still are— but you had a girlfriend so I kept my feelings silent. Something just felt different with you and then you were single and I was afraid of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you so I made a promise to myself. I would never start anything with you, not unless I was in love with you.” 

“You love me?” 

“It’s impossible not to.” You sigh into her, forehead pressed against hers, her strong hold not letting go. “You don’t have to say anything or do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just can’t live in a world where you think because you’re not experienced as some, you think you’re less than people who are.” 

“It’s true, I’m not there with everyone else and it shows.” 

“Abby, you’re not getting it.” 

“Well, no shit. I’m not good enough for any of this, you especially.” 

“It’s not…” You bite your lip as you reach for her hands on your waist, intertwining them with your own. “Abs, it would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” Your lips ghost over her lips again, but this time Abby inches closer, her breath warm as it hits your mouth. 

“What?” 

“If I was a patient person and waited for you.” 

More than before, Abby’s breath is heavy as the rise and fall of her chest is rapid, trying to calm herself down but it’s impossible when you’re this close. It’s a lot for her, maybe she’s overly sensitive, but your touch is practically lighting her on fire. Abby wonders if it will ever be able to be put out or if your magnetic touch will leave her scorned. 

Puppy eyes inwardly pleading for an ounce of your touch, so sweet as she supports your weight with her strong thighs, anchoring you to her — never quite letting go. A single glance detrimental to the layer of protection she built around herself. 

“There’s no more waiting, m’right here.” Abby closes the gap indefinitely, lips connecting with yours as they move in perfect harmony, as if this is what she was made for. Involuntarily, she whimpers in your mouth as you gently tug at her bottom nibble at her bottom lip, your tongue sliding in as it dominates her own. It happens too quickly — the way her very being melts into you. 

Like honey to a bee, there’s nothing that’s ever been so sweet. 

This is all you need. 

“Abby?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“Let’s get out of here.”

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