#forced to save the world so much so that all they are to the world is a legacy

[zeestarfishalien]

Same goes for writing!!! I get this all the time where people tell me I should go into writing/journalism/etc. As a career and I have to sit them down and explain to them how high school and college English almost killed my love for writing and that if I am forced, have deadlines, etc. It can be nearly impossible for me to have any motivation to write or think of any ideas.

Like I adore writing, creating worlds and characters. I look back and it terrifies me to see how close I came to losing that part of myself because I became convinced that if I hated being forced to write then I must hate all writing.

What probably saved me is that the friend group i got roped into had multiple writers, one of which became my roommate and hyped me up. Writing means so so much to me and I think a huge part of me would have died if I had lost that love.

also we fucked up as a society the moment we started telling teens and aspiring artists to conflate being an artist with building a brand as if the two things are inextricable. the name of the game if you want to share your art is to work a job and sell yourself as aesthetizied content. back in my day we could just POST SHIT. to deviantart! what the fuck!

[lemonsdietcoke]

Dark but just a game - player!230

Dark!Thanos/su bong x fem!reader

Warnings: dv(physical abuse),NONCON/dubcon,toxic/abusive relationship, drug abuse and use,mention of drugs, sick family member, thanos is readers ex, death, murder, gunshots, normally squid game stuff, also thanos is insane

Summary: Desperate to save your sick brother, you join a mysterious competition for a life-changing prize, only to discover it’s a brutal death game that your toxic ex also joined.

MINORS DNI!

A/n: Hey guys I haven’t written in a while but something about this man just inspired me lol but please give feedback and Imk if you guys like it!! (Also this is a new account so we starting from the bottom lol)

Don’t move. (chapter I)

The world feels like a hangover. A dry mouth, a pounding skull, and too much light bleeding through your eyelids. You wake up slowly, your body stiff and heavy, the taste of copper clinging to your tongue.

For a moment, you think you’re still at the hospital. That you must’ve fallen asleep in one of those unforgiving plastic chairs next to your brother’s bed.

But the voices pull you out of that lie.

Too many voices, sharp and overlapping, rising in confusion and panic. You open your eyes slowly, squinting against the too-bright light, and the world tilts.

You’re not at the hospital.

Rows of steel bunks stretch out endlessly around you, packed with people wearing identical green tracksuits. The walls are stark white, impossibly clean, and somewhere above you, a voice over the intercom drones something you’re too dazed to catch.

Your mouth is dry. Your head throbs. You sit up slowly, clutching the edge of the bunk, and glance down at the number stitched onto your jacket: 154

Panic claws at your chest. The memories flood back—

the card, the masked recruiter, his promise of billions of won. You’d taken the gamble, knowing it was reckless. Desperation had been louder than reason.

All for your brother.

“Player 154.”

The voice startles you, sharp and robotic. A guard in a black mask stands at the foot of your bunk, staring down at you with eerie stillness.

“This is your assigned bed. Remain in the dormitory until further instructions.”

You barely nod, your heart racing. The guard moves on, leaving you to sit there in your growing unease. All around, other players are murmuring, asking questions you’re too afraid to say aloud.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name cuts through the noise, sharp and unmistakable.

Your body stiffens.

You don’t want to turn around. You don’t want to know if it’s really him.

But you do.

And there he is.

Thanos.

His hair is purple—loud and obnoxious, like a warning sign you can’t ignore. He’s taller than you remember, leaner too, but he still moves the same way. That lazy, confident stride that makes it look like he’s walking through a world that belongs to him.

Your stomach twists.

“Shit,” he says, stopping a few feet from you, hands in his pockets. His smirk is lazy, familiar. Too familiar. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. The cross necklace around his neck glints under the lights as he moves, catching your attention. You know what’s inside.

“What are you doing here?” he shoots back, his smirk widening.

The question lingers between you, loaded with meaning. You both know it’s been months. Months of silence. Months since everything fell apart.

You shake your head, trying to steady your voice. “I asked first.”

Thanos hums thoughtfully, tapping the side of his jaw like he’s considering how to answer.

“Same reason as everyone else, I guess.” His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the players milling around in their green tracksuits. “Money.”

Your chest tightens.

“And you?” he asks, his voice softer now. There’s something in his tone—something almost curious, like he’s genuinely surprised to see you here.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you glare at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. He’s the last person you wanted to see here. The last person you wanted to see ever.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

But Thanos hears. His smirk falters for a split second, replaced by something sharper. Something darker.

Then he laughs—that same laugh. The one that used to make your heart race.

Now it just makes your skin crawl.

“Relax, baby.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. Too intimate. “Not everything’s about you.”

You flinch at the nickname.

He notices. Of course he notices.

His grin softens, almost playful. “Damn,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on you a moment too long. “I forgot how cute you get when you’re pissed off.”

Your jaw clenches. “Fuck off, su bong.”

“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me.”

You shake your head, turning away. You’re done. You won’t do this.

But his voice follows you, playful and biting.

“Come on, Y/N. We’re stuck here together. Might as well catch up.”

You don’t stop walking.

You don’t look back.

And even as the cheerful voice crackles over the intercom—“Welcome, players! The first game will begin shortly.”—you can still feel his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

~~~~~~~~~~

The room is pink.

It’s not the soft, comforting pink of a nursery or a flower petal. It’s too bright, too artificial, like something out of a twisted candy store. The color bounces off the walls, saturating the air with a strange, suffocating cheerfulness that feels completely out of place.

The players shuffle inside, eyes darting around the room, murmuring quietly to each other. The atmosphere is light—no one knows what’s coming yet.

You move with the crowd, your footsteps echoing off the floor. The pink walls are lined with screen-like cameras, each one displaying the reflection of the player in front of it.

“Holy shit.”

The voice cuts through the room, sharp and excited. You turn toward the commotion, your heart sinking.

“Is that Thanos?”

It’s easy to spot him in the crowd. He strides through the room like he owns it, his purple hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His cross necklace swings lazily with each step, catching the light, and his expression is the same as always—smug, self-assured, like the world is exactly where he wants it to be.

A murmur spreads through the crowd as people recognize him.

“No way.”

“That’s really him?”

He grins, clearly enjoying the attention. Players gather around him, some whispering excitedly, others not even recognizing him or noticing the commotion.

“Yo, Thanos!” someone calls out. “Can we get a picture with you?”

Thanos raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Like a group photo?”

“Yeah! Come on, let’s do it!”

The group presses closer, jostling for space around him. Players laugh, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders, posing like it’s some casual get-together instead of a game with unknown rules.

You stand at a distance, watching with quiet irritation.

Of course he’s loving this. He always loved being the center of attention. Even now, when everything feels wrong, he’s soaking it all in—the admiration, the laughter, the fleeting sense of normalcy.

Then his gaze finds you.

His grin shifts, turning sharper, more playful. He raises a hand, beckoning you over before pointing at you.

Your stomach twists.

“You coming?” His voice is loud, teasing, drawing attention your way. “Come on y/n, we’ve got room for one more.”

The players glance between you and him, their curiosity piqued. Whispers ripple through the crowd.

“You guys know each other?”

You clench your fists, forcing yourself to breathe. He’s doing this on purpose. He always knew how to push your buttons, how to get under your skin.

“Go fuck yourself, Thanos,” you snap, your voice cutting through the chatter.

He laughs, tipping his head back. That laugh.

“Ouch,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Come on, baby. For old times’ sake?”

You glare at him. “I’m not your baby.”

Before he can reply, a guard speaks up. His voice is sharp, commanding.

“You are not allowed to do this.”

The players freeze, the cheerful atmosphere evaporating in an instant. The guard’s presence—silent and menacing—makes the room feel colder despite the garish pink walls.

“You want to get in the picture? Come on.” Thanos smirks cockily gesturing his head towards the screen.

“You must take your photos one by one” the guard explains leaving no room for argument.

As the player others player groan and argue with the guard you take the opportunity to focus on your own picture.

The camera flickers to life, showing your reflection in stark detail. Your face lacked its normal vibrance under the bright lights, your eyes tired, your hair falling messily around your face.

“Look at the camera! Smile :)”, the screen tells you in a cheerful voice.

You hesitate for a moment before letting a soft smile tug at your lips. Not too happy. Not too sad. Just enough to say: I’m here.

The flash goes off.

And just like that, it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sky stretches endlessly overhead, the kind of bright blue, cloudless sky that belongs in childhood memories—not here, not now. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze gentle, carrying the scent of grass and dirt. It feels too perfect. Too normal.

The players around you chat quietly, their voices light with curiosity.

“What’s with the doll?”

“Think we’ll win points for style?”

“This is going to be so easy.”

You take a deep breath, trying to shake the unease clinging to your chest. You tell yourself it’s just nerves—everyone’s nervous, right? But the way the doll looms in the distance, her painted eyes wide and unblinking, makes your stomach twist.

A robotic yet cheerful female voice echos throughout the game room.

“The rules are simple,” she chirps,“When the doll says ‘green light,’ you may move. When it says ‘red light,’ you must stop. Any player who moves during ‘red light’ will be eliminated.”

The word hangs heavy in the air.

Eliminated.

Someone snickers behind you. “They really went all out with the theatrics, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder and catch a familiar figure standing a few rows ahead.

Thanos.

He’s got his hands in his pockets, his head tilted back like he’s enjoying the sun. His purple hair stands out against the sea of green tracksuits, messy and unapologetic.

A woman near him whispers something, giggling as she points at the doll. Thanos glances at her, his lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Green light!”

The voice is sweet, sing-song, and the crowd surges forward like kids on a playground. You take a step, then another. The grass is soft beneath your feet, the sun warming the back of your neck.

This is fine. It’s just a game.

“Red light!”

You stop, your body going still. The doll’s head swivels slowly, her mechanical eyes scanning the crowd.

It’s quiet for a moment. Then—

CRACK.

The sound makes you flinch.

A man near the front falls to the ground.

At first, you think he tripped. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. He’s lying face-down in the dirt, his limbs twisted awkwardly.

Then you see the blood pooling beneath his head.

“What the hell?” someone mutters.

Another crack. Another body drops.

The crowd goes still.

You feel it—the shift in the air. The unease turning to panic.

Then, someone screams.

Chaos erupts.

Players break into a sprint, shoving each other out of the way, their shoes pounding against the dirt. The gunfire comes immediately—sharp, relentless, merciless. Bodies fall mid-stride, hitting the ground with sickening thuds. Blood sprays the grass, staining the dirt a dark, muddy red.

The smell hits you—iron and earth and something metallic.

“Stop moving!”

The voice comes from near the front—Player 456. His jacket is streaked with dirt, his eyes wide with panic.

“If you run, you’ll die! Don’t run! Follow my lead!”

The words barely register over the sound of gunfire. You stand frozen, your chest heaving. You can’t breathe. You can’t think.

Then, movement catches your eye.

Thanos.

Rushing through the crowd like he’s having the time up his life. Running, skipping even jumping in the air like a little kid.

“Red light!”

Then, without warning, he shoves a man in front of him.

The man stumbles, colliding with two others. They fall like dominoes, their limbs flailing as they hit the ground.

CRACK.

CRACK.

CRACK.

Blood splatters across the grass, dark and sticky.

You stare, horrified, as a spray of crimson streaks across Thanos’ face and tracksuit. It drips from his chin, smearing across his cheek.

He doesn’t wipe it away.

He doesn’t flinch.

And then—he smiles.

It’s a genuine, crooked smile. Like he’s done something clever. Like he’s proud of himself.

“Green light!”

Your stomach churns. You force yourself to move, bile rising in your throat. One step. Then another.

You keep your eyes on the finish line, trying not to look at the bodies sprawled across the field. You can’t look.

“Red light!”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

The doll’s head swivels again, her lifeless eyes scanning the field. The silence stretches painfully thin.

Then—

“Green light!”

You lurch forward, your legs trembling with exhaustion. The finish line is so close now.

When you cross it, your knees give out, and you collapse onto the grass, gasping for air.

Your hands are stained red. You don’t even know whose blood it is.

Footsteps approach.

Slow. Casual.

Thanos.

He walks past you, his hands tucked into his pockets. The blood on his tracksuit is drying, darkening to a deep rust. A streak of it smears across his cheek, standing out starkly against his pale skin.

He doesn’t look at the bodies. He doesn’t look at the blood.

But as he passes you, he glances down.

His smirk is sharp enough to cut.

“Guess I’m not the only one with good instincts,” he says, his voice light, mocking.

You don’t respond.

Because all you can think about is the bodies still lying on the field.

And the way he smiled through the blood.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (4)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: theft; Bucky being protective; Bucky being a sneaky little shit; mentions of knives, sexism

Author’s Note: This is a tad shorter, but the next chapter will be the longest so far and quite intense, y’all, so be prepared :) Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The town sprawls out before you, hemmed by rolling hills and thick forest, a cluster of modest wooden homes and stone-built shops that seem to lean into one another for support.

Smoke from numerous chimneys twists into the dusky evening, carrying the combined aromas of home fires and warm bread.

The cramped alleys thrive with activity, merchants shouting their goods in voices worn from years of competing with the noise.

The sensations are overwhelming you, making your head spin after so many days in the quiet of the forest.

You have never set foot in such a place before. Especially, not like this. Not cloaked in a worn brown jacket of the man shadowing your every step.

It likely is a town like any other to him - muddy, loud, alive with barter and chatter - but to you, it might as well be another world.

The actual marketplace is even worse. It is tucked into a wide, cobbled square, flanked by crooked wooden buildings.

Stalls are spread out, some covered in fabric of various colors, others laden with goods that sparkle and shine in the dwindling sunlight.

It is chaos.

People are talking, shouting, laughing. A dog is barking. Children are running, wildly darting through the legs of passing strangers. Everything is haphazard. There is bread next to salted fish, baskets of apples and other fruits, bolts of simple linen, and even knives - rough-hewn and gleaming.

You have to remind yourself to breathe. But your breaths only grow more shallow, afraid to take too much space from air that doesn’t know you’re here.

Your gown underneath Bucky’s jacket is stiff, frayed, and dirty. It’s still a symbol of everything you no longer are. The hood hangs low over your forehead, casting a shadow across your face, but you can’t help but feel like a painted target walking into the open.

Bucky made it clear from the moment you neared the outskirts of the town, that you were to speak to no one unless absolutely necessary. Keep your head down. Don’t look anyone in the eye. And most important; stay at his side. He made you repeat it like you’re some uneducated little girl, though his expression, the way his eyes pierced your own, stopped you from speaking your thoughts.

Bucky walks half ahead of you, half beside you to keep you in his vision. His shoulders are taut and his hand is resting casually - too casually - on the hilt of the dagger at his side. His eyes are sweeping over the stalls - stall to stall, face to face, tracking the movements of the people around you. His shoulder brushes yours every few steps.

You are not naive. You are acutely aware of how risky this situation is. Someone might recognize you. A merchant, a traveler who has once caught a glimpse of you in the palace courtyard, or a soldier who has seen your face etched onto decrees or coins or as a painting on a wall.

But Bucky cannot leave you alone in the forest.

And it appears he also can’t let you stay in that impractical dirty gown that fails to keep you warm each night, for you to lay there shivering and clattering your teeth. He also can’t let you only consuming the tiniest food rations he can find to save something for him.

You feel colder, hungrier, and far more removed from whatever fragile piece of yourself had once existed in the gilded cage of your former life.

The forest is not your friend. Its roots seem to rise intentionally to grasp your already faltering steps. The rustle of the breeze seems to taunt your grumbling stomach and diminishes the thickness of your skin. The trees stand too close, plotting to reach out with their branches and wrap them around you, never letting go.

Bucky, of course, always notices.

The day before, you had glimpsed some berries nestled against the thorns of a bramble bush while staggering through the woods once more. They were bright and glittered in the weak sunlight.

You remembered them from the palace gardens where they grew in neat rows, where servants picked them and cooks used them in summer pies. You’d seen them illustrated in books as a girl, read their names aloud at your tutor’s insistence. Their name you forgot, but you know they are not poisonous.

So you plucked a handful of them off, fingers brushing against the dew-slick leaves.

But before you could bring only one of them to your lips, a shadow fell over you, dark and looming. And before you knew it, a hand shot out to knock the berries out of your grasp. They scattered across the forest floor, rolling into the dirt.

Bucky’s movement was swift, but not violent, yet the force made you stumble a step back.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you tryin’a get yourself killed?” he snapped at you, voice thunderous and blue eyes blazing.

“I am no fool,” you hissed back, but your voice was shaking slightly. “They are not poisonous-”

His glare stopped the words in your throat. “You don’t eat anything unless I tell you it’s safe,” he said lowly, stepping closer. Close enough for you to see the pulse hammering in his neck. “Do you understand me?”

The next morning he told you, you’d visit the next town’s market.

Bucky waited until evening, so you wouldn’t stand out too much since the light of the sun would be dimmed.

Yet, you can’t shake the thought about why he cares.

The cold and the meager food rations don’t seem to affect him much, so why does it matter to him that it affects you?

He’s always been so careful, so paranoid, his caution bordering on obsession.

But then you remember the way his gaze lingered on you these past few days, the way his eyes darkened when observing the sharp lines of your collarbones peaking through your gown or the way you rubbed your arms for warmth in the cold night air but still remained trembling even with Bucky’s bedroll around you or the fire he always alights near you. Or the way his brows came together slightly when letting his eyes fall to the thin leather of your slippers, so unaccustomed for your journey, their once fine embroidery now faded and caked with mud.

Bucky stops abruptly near a stall selling bread, his back moving slightly more in front of you. You nearly collide with him, fabrics brushing together, and his head turns slightly, just enough for you to glimpse the warning in his eyes, the strain in his sharp jawline.

“Stay close.” His voice is a low rumble.

You nod, ducking your head.

The vendor, a small and older woman, exchanges the few coins Bucky hands over for two loaves of crusty brown bread.

He hands them to you, calloused fingers brushing yours for an instant.

His movements show no sign of hesitation, lacking the fear and unease that thrums with each of your heartbeats. He seems confident. Although his shoulders are squared and his jaw is working the whole time, he makes it look so casual. So effortless. Just slipping into the role of a villager, or traveler, just coming to the market to buy some goods.

It frustrates you.

Because the further you walk it feels like an act of defiance against your own instinct. You are not made for this. Not prepared for this. Your refined upbringing, your courtly manners - what value do they hold now?

“Keep your head down,” Bucky murmurs under his breath, eyes staying focused forward.

You do as he says, subtly pulling the hood tighter around your face. The world is narrowed to the cobblestones at your feet, hems of skirts brushing past you, wooden wheels entering your vision as a cart is pushed by. It clatters against the ground.

It is strange, walking through a crowd with your head down, without being noticed. You are used to people looking at you - studying your features, whispering your name and title, bowing their heads. Now, you’re just another person slipping through the throng. A nameless girl in a nameless town.

Nobody makes room for you. Shoulders bump against yours, making you stumble slightly.

You hold the loaves of bread closer to your chest, almost cradling them, as Bucky leads you further into the market, toward a stall displaying cloaks and tunics of rough wool.

The middle-aged woman running it barely glances at you, letting her eyes linger on Bucky.

Without a word, he procures more coins and gestures to a dark, heavy cloak.

You don’t see much of the exchange, still keeping your head down, but you acknowledge the dark fabric in Bucky’s hand he holds out for you to see.

Your hand reaches out to take it and you move to pull it over yourself at the expectant expression Bucky fixes you with.

Bucky watches you as you slip the cloak over your shoulders, trying to hand him back the jacket only for him to tighten it around your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t meet your eyes. There is something guarded about him.

Resuming your stride through the market, Bucky stops again shortly after. This stall is laden with bolts of fabric in so many different hues.

Despite knowing better, you lift your head a little bit to let your eyes roam over the items. There is that soft blue wool that catches your attention. It’s the color of a cloudless summer sky, the color of the scorpion grasses that grew in your palace gardens.

You don’t know why they caught your attention so fast, but for a moment, you let yourself imagine. A gown spun from this fabric, its folds draped across your shoulders like water, its color catching the light when you twirled through the palace halls. The image is so vivid, so painful, your throat closes up.

You blink to find the burn of Bucky’s eyes on you. He’s just watching you. Silently. With an unreadable expression. You meet his eyes briefly and startle for a moment to find the very same color of the fabric you’ve been staring at reflected in his eyes.

But that is just a coincidence, right?

You didn’t look at the fabric because it reminded you of the exact color of his eyes.

Shame grips your chest and you remember with a start, that you are supposed to conceal yourself and show your face the least you can.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, something your father would have chastised you for, and swiftly move your head down, to continue staring at the uneven ground.

It slightly confuses you that Bucky didn’t reprimand you for not doing that sooner. He merely watched you quietly, with a look far too mild and ambiguous to feel anger over your brief mistake.

The cloak over your head obscures any view of what Bucky does, but he keeps standing beside you and you hear the twinkling sound of coins.

And when he prompts you to continue walking, you spot the blue fabric you’ve been eyeing sticking out from beneath Bucky’s arm as you both weave your way through the throng of people.

You try not to let your heart jump. But there is still something fluttering in your chest, something like tiny wings, but they are clumsy, beating against your ribs half in delight for being able to fly, half in warning to better shoot them down.

You take a glance at his profile, running your eyes over the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls over his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes deliberately focused ahead.

Bucky pauses again after a short walk.

You catch sight of boots. Thick-soled and sturdy.

He picks up a pair, turning them over in his hands.

The cobbler standing near, a wiry man with a patchy beard, begins to rattle off the boots’ virtues, but Bucky waves him off brusquely, turning to you.

“These’ll fit.” He holds them out to you.

“Oh, I do not need-”

“Try them,” he orders firmly, taking the bread from your arms and thrusting the boots into your hands instead.

With a resigned sigh you take hold of the boots. They are quite heavy for footwear. Heavier and more robust than anything you’ve ever worn. Their leather feels unfamiliar and stiff against your soft palms.

You slip off your slippers - ignoring the cobbler’s muttered comment about the state of your stockings - and pull the boots on.

“Walk,” Bucky instructs, gesturing to the narrow strip of space beside the stall, and with another sigh, you do as he says.

The boots are clunky at first but you have to admit that they provide a stable and firm base for your sensible feet, protecting them from the hard surface of the ground better than your slippers ever could.

Bucky is watching intently, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t smile. His expression doesn’t change out of his assessment. But he nods slightly. Pursing his lips in satisfaction. He reaches for the coin purse at his belt.

You want to protest - about the cost, about how you don’t want him to pay any more for you, about the guilt in your heart - but he doesn’t throw you another glance when paying the cobbler and leaving your old slippers with the man.

Another relic of your old life gone.

You try hard to remain near Bucky. The sheer crush of bodies pressing around you causes your heart to race and your body to recoil with each bump against you.

He doesn’t glance at you but his hand grazes your arm every so often. His attention is locked on the movement of the crowd, his head turning sharply but subtly every few seconds as if he is cataloging faces and the exits of the market. His presence is grounding but in his own way disconcerting.

He is a blade drawn halfway from its sheath - prepared and anticipating.

Your stomach growls audibly and you flush, wrapping your arms around your middle as if to stifle the sound.

Bucky is carrying the bread but you guessed you wouldn’t have taken a bite even if you still had it. It would feel wrong somehow. Still, more than a week has passed since you felt full, the cold nights and the thin rations eating away the strength you didn’t really have in the first place. It only causes your stomach to crumple inward in contorted shapes as a sign of rebellion.

You watch Bucky’s face jerk to a fruit stall you are about to pass. The merchant is having a discussion with a rather loud customer, which grabs your attention until something small and round appears in your sight.

It’s a red apple that Bucky holds out for you.

You blink at him in disbelief. “Did you just- did you steal that?” Your voice is hushed.

His eyes cut to you. So unfazed. “Do you want it or not?”

Hesitantly, you let your hand reach for the fruit, fingers lightly touching his before pulling away. It looks bigger in your hand.

You hold the apple like you never had one in your hand before, tightening your fingers, and can’t help darting your eyes around nervously, half expecting someone to shout or point.

But nothing happens and Bucky turns ahead again.

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, conflicted between appreciation and discomfort.

You don’t like the way the apple feels in your palm.

Back at the palace, a fruit like this has served as a mere decorative embellishment at all those extravagant feasts and banquets. There were so many of them, all stacked high in golden ornate bowls as if they existed only for beauty. Now it is simply sustenance - limited and precious.

And it fills you with guilt. Shame. You basically feel the muscles around your ribs tightening into knots so complex, you swear they are trying to strangle your heart. Feeling like it hasn’t done enough to justify its effort.

Carefully, you let your eyes catch glimpses of the lives unfolding around you.

A woman with a child on her hip argues fiercely with a butcher over the price of a stringy cut of meat.

A young boy weaves through the strands, his face marked with grime. He clutches a bundle of firewood so large it seems he might topple over any second.

Tucked behind a stall filled with rolls of fabric, a group of women skillfully use their experienced hands, sharing soft, bittersweet laughter while they pass along bits of gossip.

You feel a strange ache watching them. The muscles in your neck strain with the effort of not turning away, causing the fleeting view you get to be both a punishment and a form of wonder.

There is a harshness to their lives, a grit and weariness that is foreign to you. However, they have something you never had the chance to experience. A feeling, something like a community, something they share. They all have a connection.

This is a world of mud and struggle and bargaining, but it is also a happy world.

You don’t recall ever laughing like that before.

You stop walking at one point. And you only realize this because Bucky’s hand is on your arm, urging you to move ahead again, though his hold on you is not forceful.

You blink, again, and stumble back into a walking pace.

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his gaze keeps lingering on you a little longer. Perhaps he sees something in your eyes - in the way you steer clear of meeting his own, rather dropping your gaze to the ground once more - but he falters slightly. Just a single and short delay in the next step he takes. And something twitches in his expression. Only now does he release your arm.

Another few stalls later, Bucky slows, examining a display of gloves and scarves.

While his fingers move over the worn wool and leather, you hover awkwardly behind him, grasping the apple close to your chest and feeling acutely out of place.

The tall woman standing behind the display narrows her eyes at you both and Bucky doesn’t even glance at her at all before he discreetly positions himself more in front of you.

Your gaze is drawn to his back, to the broad set of his shoulders, and the way his hair brushes against the leather at his neck.

He doesn’t belong here either, you realize. Not fully. But unlike you, he is good at pretending.

After a few moments, he turns to you and takes your hand, slipping a glove on, testing the fit. It’s a simple robust design lined with fur.

But unfortunately for you, it’s not the glove that warms your hand, it’s his touch.

You stare down at the way he holds your gloved hand. He nods to himself. “They’re good,” he says gruffly, about to move away but you speak up.

“You really do not have to-”

“We’ll take them,” he states, to you or to the merchant you’re not sure.

After paying and making sure you keep the gloves on your hands, he leads you further down the market.

The sky is getting darker and the shouts around you are starting to turn into a ringing sound in your ears.

You keep your eyes on the ground and on Bucky at all times.

You wondered how he can keep himself so calm and collected but you see the way his hand immediately goes back to hovering over his knife.

He walks until you reach the quieter outskirts of the town, where the air slowly loses the many scents that wouldn’t stop flooding your senses. The streets are less crowded.

“Eat the damn apple,” Bucky tosses over his shoulder without really looking at you. His voice is slightly softer now, almost teasing.

With a glance down at the red fruit in your gloved hand, you sigh and take a bite, sweetness exploding on your tongue. It’s almost immense after consuming mostly bland meals for over a week.

Bucky keeps you on your feet for a while longer. You finished the apple some time ago and now try to ignore the way your stomach still feels hollowed out, the cold is winding up your legs, and the ache in your feet.

Until he stops.

In front of a building with cracked stone walls surrounded by creeping ivy that seems to hold the place together more than the mortar itself. The aroma of damp earth hits your nose.

There is a faint glow of lantern light that seeps through the gaps in the shutters, casting sharp patterns onto the soil trail.

Bucky pushes the door open with a rough shove.

You hesitate at the threshold. This is not the kind of place you ever imagined stepping foot in. Not as a princess. But is that what you are anymore? Whatever title you once held feels like a fading light in your mind.

With a grunt from the man you are traveling with and a hand on your back, you are quickly snapped back to yourself and guided inside.

The inn’s interior is dimly lit, the atmosphere dense with the combined scents of woodsmoke and stale ale and the faintest hint of iron. A fire crackles in a low stone hearth, creating shifting shadows that glide over the rugged tables and assorted chairs spread around the space.

The floorboards creak beneath your new boots, the wood warped and pocked with stains whose origins you don’t care to guess at.

You follow Bucky closely and look around nervously.

The common area is sparsely populated. The patrons are mostly older men nursing mugs of ale. Conversations are indistinct and they don’t care to look up.

Of course, they don’t.

To them, you are nobody.

You probably are. You can feel it. It’s the emptiness in your chest where your title was pinned. There is a hole now. A vacuum where your heart beats softly, uncertain, questioning every pulse, asking permission to exist.

Bucky exchanges a brief word with the innkeeper, a grizzled man with a thin scar cutting across his temple.

You are basically glued to Bucky’s back. And you attempt to avoid the thought that you would feel much more restless without him here.

You don’t even listen to their conversation, only hoping it will end soon.

When he finally turns, key in hand, he briefly glances at you and nods toward a staircase concealed by shadows at the back.

“Upstairs,” he instructs shortly.

Each step you take makes the stairs groan underfoot.

The room is small. Barely more than a box with a bed crammed into one corner, a battered chest in another, a chair, and a single, grime-covered window.

A small lantern burns dimly on the bedside table.

It hasn’t even been two weeks since you have seen a real bed, and still, there is something aching in your chest at the sight of it. The mattress of the bed sags in the middle and the blanket is frayed at the edges.

But it is warm.

Bucky drops his pack along with the blue fabric and the bread onto the chest and leans against the wall, arms crossed as he watches you take in the space. You can’t tell if he is waiting for a complaint or just sizing up your reaction.

You don’t pay him any mind, letting your fingers brush against the rough wood of the window frame and gaze out into the night. The town below is quiet now, the streets empty except for a shadow moving between buildings.

You turn back around to see Bucky unwrapping a small bundle covered in cloth. He takes his time unfolding it and finally reveals a hunk of roasted meat.

You furrow your brows. “Where did you-” You stop mid-sentence, realization dawning as you take in the sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d mind,” he drones out, tearing a piece off with his teeth and pointing at you with the rest. “Guzzled down that apple like it ain’t nothin’.”

You can only stare at him in disgust.

You don’t know if it is his faulty actions or his terrible manners that make you twist your beautiful face into a grimace. Probably both.

“You stole it,” you accuse then, rather lately.

But he only shrugs, utterly unapologetic. The infuriating twist of his lips carries a spark of something almost boyish. “Not the first time, darlin’.”

You open your mouth to argue but then he simply winks at you - an utterly brazen gesture that makes your hands clench with equal parts anger and something deeper.

You spent your life surrounded by people who carried themselves with poise and restraint, who bent over backward to adhere to rules and expectations.

And here is this man, stealing food like it’s his birthright and then having the nerve to wink at you for it.

The apple rests like a mistake in your stomach, causing it to twist with nausea.

After all, you knew it was stolen and you ate it anyway.

And you hate how it makes you feel. How he makes you feel.

Because there is that part of you that speaks of envy.

And it’s unwelcome. It knows it is. But it doesn’t care. Boldly sneaking into the vulnerable parts of your chest, filling spaces where your breath should be. Every inhale feels like drawing in the bitterness of what you lack.

This man moves through the world with a freedom you can’t fathom. He takes what he wants, consequences be damned. Isn’t that what you have always dreamed of?

Bucky Barnes sits in a dingy room with stolen food in hand and looks so content with it.

And when his boot pushes the creaky chair over to you and he holds the meat out to you with an expression that tells you he knows you’ll take it, you want to resist.

But you do not.

So you sit down.

As you chew, Bucky keeps his eyes focused on you.

His posture actually seems relaxed but his eyes are thoughtful.

And you wonder, not for the first time, what goes on behind that gaze.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You almost choke on the piece of meat in your mouth.

Swallowing hard, you stare at him.

He looks at you so blankly, it’s hard to make out why he would even bother saying that.

You hesitate. “I did not believe you would care about me talking.”

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment before leaning forward slightly. You don’t like how there is only one chair in this room. Because he already looms over you when you are standing.

“I don’t. Ain’t mean I don’t notice.”

“You keep on interrupting me,” you hum, trying to sound as indifferent as he so often does.

His shoulders shake with a laugh. It’s a low sound and it vibrates within you.

“Get used to it, darlin’.”

“Sometimes you think you’re being put in a hard situation but in reality the universe is preparing you for something good. Remember that. And be ready for when it comes.”

- r. m drake

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret

[bwat5-blog]

A Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Progamming

*Arcane Spoilers*

I have certainly been getting sucked in being angry at people who don’t appreciate what we were given in this incredible story lately. And though I’m sure it will happen again as I am in fact a grouchy,sleep deprived ,cave dwelling people avoider. That isn’t why I came here. But! For now, just a quick thought I got excited by. Not a ton of detail here, just some of my favorite moments for a few of our characters.

Jinx- This moment was beautiful. I know a huge part of the story is she and Vi learning who each other are now. But I think this moment shows Jinx starting to believe there is something good in her

Vi- yea yea not for THAT reason. It’s because Vi FINALLY chooses her own happiness in the face of Caitlyn’s complete love and acceptance of her.

Caitlyn- the one i mentioned above was huge for Cait. But all my ranting recently aside I just want to say this. With her money and authority Caitlyn had every resource she needed if she wanted to abandon Piltover to its fate or even just not fight. There wasn’t a single person who force her to do otherwise. Instead she literally put her life on the line and sacrificed her eye to set things right.

Silco- listen. I’ve had many an unkind word for this man and his relationship with Jinx. But his last act was to comfort the daughter he loved all other circumstances aside and that deserves recognition.

Jayce- to say this man went through a lot is a tad bit of an understatement. But his respect, conviction and love for Mel and the matter of fact way he said this in her moment of doubt was fantastic

Mel- It’s probably the simple answer. But god I loved this. The life long politician putting herself on the line for her people even again her own mother. And you have to think she feels some responsibility toward Caitlyn to help her after everything and she literally saves her life.

Vander- god this was so sweet and sad when it all went wrong. He is not a man of words like Silco, but in this moment when vi tried to give herself for the family not only does Vander protect her but tells her how proud he is, and to keep her big heart that will drive her the rest of the show.

Ekko- Lets be clear. Ekko saved the damn world. But this entrance off the top of Jinx’s balloon was SO. COOL.

Vi & Jinx- I know. I know there is still SO MUCH pain after this for them including between each other. The reason I love this moment though is because you see that pure unobstructed love for each other before all that other horse shit ruins it. Vi immediately apologies and reassures Jinx. Jinx immediately accepts the hug and starts crying. They never stopped loving each-other. But the world made it so damn hard.

Anyway see ya later!

[moonysmoothies]

the shadowhunters show is so wild to me for so many reasons but ones of them is that i am so baffled by how they manage to hit most of the major story beats of the books and yet mess them up SO BADLY?

here's every major fuck up i can remember in chronological order because i feel like ranting

they go to the silent city but instead of finding out about magnus's block on her memory, they find out that valentine is clary's father through a conversation that she overheard between luke and her mother

simon is kidnapped by the vampires on purpose instead of accidentally because they want the mortal cup from clary since it can control demons, which is the stupidest thing ever because raziel gave jonathan shadowhunter the cup so that he could make more shadowhunters with the objective to kill demons, not control them

oh and they're not allowed to use the cup to make more shadowhunters, so mundanes can't ascend (do none of them have the sight?) and the cup has no purpose other than to sit there and look pretty

all of them were in on rescuing simon, not just jace and clary and the wolves are not there at all, but for some reason camille is and has a weirdly sexual relationship with simon

they go see magnus to get clary's memories back and they end up having to give up their memories like they did with azazel except it's to this random demon who magnus gave clary's memories to for the plot but then clary kills the demon so she never gets her memories back

instead of getting the cup from madame dorothea, they sneak into a police station to get it while luke is being questioned for MURDER

simon is turned into a vampire except it turns into this whole uprising where everyone turns against camille and it's this whole moral dilemma for clary

they still find out clary and jace are related while at renwick's except the scene is just very different and valentine had been glamoured to look like michael wayland this whole time because there's a shapeshifting rune now!

jace goes with valentine at the end of season one

they wake up jocelyn at the end of season one and she fully believes that jace is her child and tries to kill him

also jace finds out that he "has demon blood" at the very beginning of season two while on valentine's ship from valentine himself

he is imprisoned in the silent city and the attack on the silent brothers happens while he is there, but he is also put on trial and for some reason it is more about his feelings for clary than about his actual "crimes" (which was just being basically forced onto a ship with valentine in order to save his friends from being murdered)

instead of imogen herondale distrusting jace it's a weird british dude, also maryse just straight up equates jace to a cancer that they need to kill and didn't just tell him to leave the institute in an attempt to protect him from the inquisitor like she did in the books

the weird british dude gives izzy yin fen, except its made from vampire venom and not demon poison in what is the worst storyline to ever exist and is basically just shadow world heroin (not a tmi major plot point but i literally cannot not mention how much i fucking hate this storyline)

izzy and clary visit the iron sisters to find out why valentine wanted the mortal sword where they find out that if an angelic being and a bolt of lightning touch it then it will be able to emit a heavenly light that can kill anyone with demon blood (raziel really had no faith in these guys)

they actually imprison valentine and are just using a rune to torture him (idk why they had a rune to torture people considering that all of their runes were given to them by raziel and i don't know if he wanted them torturing each other? also i looked up the rune on the shadowhunter books wiki and it was the super powerful healing rune that clary used on jace in cohf - kind of the opposite of torture)

clary and jace find out they're not related halfway through season two (not entirely objecting to this but it did mean a full climon relationship)

they still go to the seelie court, except it's just simon, jace, and clary and the seelie queen makes jace and clary kiss in order to show simon that shadowhunters always choose "their own kind" over anyone else because she's obsessed with him and his daylighterness

sebastian still attacks max because max tracked him with a single hair from the bottom of the baby jc box except max survives (not really objecting to this either because max was so sweet but like what was the reason for changing this!!)

ok, time to go into the jace + sebastian fight - instead of jace goading sebastian into a fight by making him realize that valentine will find out that sebastian just killed him in cold blood and didn't give him a fair fight and then hate him for it, not by just making him really angry - jace literally passes out several times on the way to where they fight and sebastian just keeps dragging him along. this is just a little change that irks me so much because it shows a lot about their character imo. here, they have a fight on a random bridge where we get the line "care to find out who's the best jc once and for all" which should be considered a crime against humanity. izzy does intervene but she does not get to cut off sebastian's hand and then jace stabs sebastian in the special spot on the back and kicks him into the river, sebastian somehow survives long enough to float all the way to a beach and summon lilith

jace does get possessed by lilith except he's turning into a weird looking demon who possesses mundanes to kill their loved ones and serve lilith and not whatever the fuck was going on with him in cofa that was definitely not turning into a demon and possessing other people

jem is american

instead of maureen being maureen she's another person their age named heidi who forces simon to drink his sister's blood which leads to his mom throwing him out like she does in the books, and then heidi proceeds to try to take over the entire downworld until maia kills her in the same way she kills maureen in the books

clary gets the twinning rune instead of jace and instead of it being an instant thing clary is just slowly becoming more like sebastian except she's not and she still has free will which jace didn't really have in cols - they're more like equals instead of one having power over the other like in the books

instead of raziel giving them glorious because simon was like "if you don't i'll just use my mark of cain to annoy you for all of eternity" izzy has a woman in stem moment and remakes the sword herself with particles of glorious that she extracted from a serum that the weird british dude was using to turn downworlder prisoners into mundanes again in an illegal project

instead of having the two family swords made by wayland the smith, they have one sword that has the ability to open rifts into hell and release demons and getting that sword is sebastians goal for the season instead of making the endarkened

sebastian does have a relationship with the seelie queen but then he kills her

izzy gets the heavenly fire instead of jace even though clary was the one who was stabbed with glorious because izzy gets hit by shrapnel from the sword exploding

they still go to edom but it's to save magnus from lilith because she wants to start a war with him so she can go to earth and he's there because he's holding closed the rift the sebastian opened with the family sword

clary loses her memories instead of simon because making her own runes went against the will of the angels - especially the one that tied shadowhunters to downworlders even though that was literally what won the mortal war in the books

magnus and alec still temporarily break up except it's not because alec was trying to remove magnus's immortality (although they did have issues with that earlier in the season) it's so asmodeus will give magnus his magic back after taking it in exchange for giving magnus the power to free jace from lilith's possession

anyways that's everything i can remember - there's probably more

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 21/?

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: A new part for you all 🥳 It was difficult for me to write this. By the way, I should have written a little more, this part should have included more scenes. But I was forced to replace and post this part as it turned out. Please let me know if you liked it 🥺💜 Because it was so hard for me 🥹

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and LOVE you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 21. The Dance of Souls on the Edge of the Abyss. 

Jungkook hesitates a bit, looking closely at your face, as if trying to catch the slightest hint of what you're feeling. You continue to avoid his gaze, hoping that this will hide your inner storm.  

He nods slightly, holding the boxes of food, and heads over to the table by the microwave. You hear him set them down on the countertop, opening the packages. The metallic sound of the microwave door breaking the tense silence. 

Time seems to slow down. You fight with yourself, with the urge to run away and approach him at the same time. After all, he made you suffer. But now that he's so close, your heart seems to find a peace it hasn't felt in weeks. 

You try to get down to work, ignoring Jungkook's presence, but your eyes keep coming back to him like a magnet. You're standing behind the counter, putting cigarettes on the counter, and you see Jungkook's broad back. He's fiddling with a box of ramen and rustling a package of onigiri. 

You scold yourself mentally for looking at him. You should be concentrating on your work. An hour passes. Jungkook has eaten, but he's not going anywhere.

The store is crowded tonight, you're constantly serving people. It's because it's Saturday. On weekends, there are always people at night in a convenience store. This saves you, because you don't pay so much attention to the presence of a person who occupies all your thoughts. Another hour passes, and Jungkook is still sitting at the table. 

You can't go over and see what he's doing, all you can see is his broad back. He's turned away. You think that maybe he has to meet someone here, so he showed up today. That might explain why he's not leaving. Maybe he didn't even know you worked here and ran into you by chance? 

You made eye contact with him a few times. Jungkook has been sitting with his back turned almost all the time, but now he's sitting with his back to the countertop, which is located near the panoramic window of the store. He was openly watching you work without hiding it. Sometimes you glanced over at him and saw him looking bored, staring at his phone. 

The work went by quickly, and you didn't notice how it was getting light outside. When you felt drowsy sitting at the cash register, you decided to look at your watch. It was seven thirty in the morning. You rounded your eyes. Time had passed so quickly. In half an hour, Sunchol should be here. You yawn sleepily, locking your phone and putting it in your pocket. 

You hear something fall and immediately look up. Jungkook has dropped his car keys on the ground. He quickly picks them up and catches your eye. He smiles an apologetic smile. You look at him and realize that he's been sitting with you all night. You're kind of glad about it, but on the other hand, you wonder why he needed to if he was just sitting there. He could have talked if he wanted to. 

Jungkook walks over to the cash register and you get to your feet. Your heart was calm while he was at a distance, but as soon as he approaches, you're not yourself. 

"Two packs of Black Purple sticks, please?" - Jungkook asks you. You look at him for a second and turn to the showcase of IQOS sticks. You pick up a black pack of cigarettes. 

"Nine thousand won." - You answer. "It’s be payment a map?" - Jungkook nods his head in agreement. You enter the amount on the terminal and hand it over. Jungkook pays and takes the sticks. 

"When do you get off work?" - Jungkook asks you. You are confused for a moment. 

"At eight o'clock." - You answer. But you immediately regret it. You realize that he might want to talk. But you're not sure if you're ready to talk to him right now. 

"Do you mind if I give you a ride home?" - He asks with hope in his voice. You look into his eyes, and you don't want to say “no”. You really want him to give you a ride. Now you know for sure that he stayed up all night for you. 

"I live right next door, so no need." - You answer. Jungkook nods his head a few times quickly, as if to say "I get it." 

"Then I'll just walk you home?" - He doesn't give up. You're glad he's persistent. You pinch your fingers nervously. 

"Don't you have any other plans? Like going home and getting some sleep?" - You suggest. Jungkook smiles. You can see how tired he looks. 

"I don't want to sleep." - He says. You squint your eyes. He's lying to you again. You are a little more silent than necessary. 

"But I want to." - You suddenly admit, which makes Jungkook laugh. For a moment, you forget what kind of relationship you have and feel relaxed. It's like coming home after a long journey. Your phone vibrates and you take it out to see who has texted you. 

07.39 AM | Doohoon: Candy, I'll come get you in 20 minutes. 

You nervously text back, ignoring the way Jungkook is admiring you. He comes as close to the counter as he can to see every detail. To memorize every feature of your beautiful face as clearly as possible. He missed you so much. 

07.40. AM | You: There's no need to go. I've already left because Sunchol came early. I'm going to sleep, so don't come over

You lock your phone and notice Jungkook, who is close by. He smiles playfully when he sees your scared look. You immediately feel embarrassed by that smile. You know it so well, Jungkook often used it when he knew he was embarrassing you. 

"So I'll walk you." - He says, not asking, but telling you. You press your lips into a thin line. This is what you want. Admit it. Why are you resisting? You feel your heart start to beat faster. His voice was soft but insistent, and you found it hard to deny.

"Jungkook..." - You start, but he immediately interrupts you. 

"I know you don't want me here…" - He sighs, looking away, but then back to you. "But I'm just going to walk with you. Nothing more." - You can't find anything to say. Two feelings are fighting in your head: anxiety that he's back and warmth that he's here.

"Nothing will change if you walk me home." - You say, hiding your hands in your pockets. "So there's no point in it." 

"What if I told you that it changes everything for me?" - He replies, leaning a little closer. You look at him nervously again, but try to keep a cool expression on your face.

"You're very stubborn, you know?" - You try not to smile. 

"I know." - Jungkook smiles, unlike you. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to spend the whole night with you without saying a word, and now I'm standing here hoping you'll let me walk these few steps next to you." - You are amazed. He wants to be close to you that badly? It's so exciting. Especially when you feel the same way.

But you can't be fooled. How does he make you forget everything you've been through because of him so easily? Why does just looking at him make you think that the Jungkook you're looking at now is the real one, not the one that was in the warehouse three weeks ago?

"You shouldn't want something like this..." - You say dryly. You wonder to yourself how you can talk to him like that. But you have to do it because you don't want to suffer anymore. You have already left everything to fate once.

"But I want to." - Jungkook says decisively. "There's no way you're going to deny me." - You raise your eyebrows. You really can't say no to him. The thought irritates you. 

"I can deny to you walking me home." - You say, smiling almost triumphantly. 

"But you haven't done that yet." - Jungkook curls his lips. You open your mouth to protest, but before you can answer, Sunchol walks into the shop. 

"Did you see that Mercedes parked outside the store? Damn, that car..." - He freezes when he sees the picture in front of him. You're standing there, annoyed, with your mouth open, and Jungkook is standing close to the counter, leaning on it. "Good morning." - Sunchol greets the two of you and bows. Most likely to Jungkook, because he has never bowed to you. Sungchul walks toward you, and Jungkook steps away from the counter, while you look down and clean up your workspace and prepare it for your partner. 

"Do you like the car?" - Jungkook asks Sunchol, who has come over and is about to go behind the counter to you. 

"Yes." - The guy answers awkwardly. Jungkook notices how he takes a second to study him with his eyes. 

"Do you want me to give you a ride?" - Jungkook asks. You and Sunchol stare at Jungkook. He smiles as if he offered free ice cream, not a ride in his G-Wagon to your partner.

"Thank you, sir." - Sunchol bowed, overcoming the shock of the offer. "But I don't have a driver's license, and I don't know how to drive well." - He replied. Jungkook purrs in understanding and turns his gaze to you.

You roll your eyes defiantly and open the cash register to count the money. Jungkook laughs quietly. Sunchol sees that you two have some kind of relationship. You wouldn't roll your eyes at a normal customer like that. 

"You must be Doohoon? Y/N's friend?" - Your partner asks. You want to answer that Jungkook is not the Doohoon you mentioned to Sunchol in passing, but Jungkook interrupts you. 

"I'm Jungkook, Y/N's boyfriend." - Jungkook was annoyed that he was confused with Doohoon. Did you introduce him to this guy as your friend? 

You freeze up. Who did he say he was? Has he so much insolent? 

"You forgot to add ex." - You said ironically. Jungkook pursed his lips, and you turned your eyes to his mole under his lip. It was your favorite, except for the one on the right side of his neck. 

Jungkook leans forward a little, leaning on the counter, and looks you in the eye. His gaze is a mixture of challenge and insistence.

"I'm not the ex, I'm the present, and I always will be your boyfriend." - His voice is calm but confident, as if he's just made an indisputable statement.

You rest your hands on the counter and lean in closer, keeping your eyes on him too.

"That's a bold statement, but you forgot to ask me if I agree with it." - You say coldly, though your chest is tight.

"I... I think I'll go check on the back room." - Sunchol says, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and quickly finds an excuse to leave the counter. He walks away, and you cross your arms over your chest and keep your eyes on Jungkook.

"Why did you say that? Do you think you can decide what kind of relationship we have?" - You asked angrily. 

"I don't decide of my own, it's the way it is. We're boyfriend and girlfriend." - Jungkook says. You exhale nervously. 

"No, we're not together anymore. I thought you realized that the last time we saw each other." - You say, trying to control your emotions. 

"We just had a fight. That's what happens when people get together." - Jungkook said casually. So he thinks that when you were kidnapped, tried to be hurt because of him, and you heard all the terrible things he did, you had a simple fight against the background of these events? Is it that simple for him? 

"We had a fight? I was kidnapped because of you. They wanted to cut me into pieces. We did not quarrel. I left you so that I could be okay. And now you come here and say you're my boyfriend. What makes you think you can come into my life like this?" - You were irritated. 

Jungkook straightens up a little, taking a step back, and keeps his eyes on you.

"Because I'm already in it. I always have been. And I will be, even if you're trying to deny it now." - He says decisively. For a moment, you remember how good it was when he didn't talk all night. He annoys you, although if you're honest, you liked the way he said it: "I'm already in him, I've always been and I'll always be." You want to believe that Chunguk will always be in your life. You sigh, but your persistence begins to weaken.

"Jungkook... We... we have nothing. It's not going to work. We're strangers." - You say, looking down and counting the money. You have to count it to finish the shift. The boss is coming in soon, but you can't get your thoughts together at all. 

"We're not strangers, baby...and we never will be." - Jungkook says softly. You almost cry at the sweet nickname he likes to call you. Your heart is tightening and your breathing is getting harder. You want to say something back, but the words get stuck in your throat.

"I have to hand in my shift. I need to count the money..." - You want to say that Jungkook should leave because he's interfering with your work, but he knows what you're about to say, so he interrupts. 

"I'll wait. And then I'll walk you home." - You see those eyes in Bambi's and you can't say “no”. 

"Maybe I don't want you to know where I live." - You say more softly. Jungkook is amused. 

"Oh, baby, you know I'm going to find out anyway... or I already do." - Jungkook says. You sigh in frustration.

"Okay..." - You finally agree. He really pressed you. 

You look down at your feet and lose yourself in space. You feel a little tense. In fact, you are tired and want to sleep, but when you realize that Jungkook is next to you, your tiredness is gone. He touches your hand with his own, as if by accident, letting the person who was walking to meet him pass. 

This accidental touch burns in the place where he touched you. You have forgotten what it feels like when he touches you. How his hugs and kisses feel like. How it’s when his naked skin feels like when it's pressed against yours. You burn at the thought of such intimate images with Jungkook. You haven't had sex in three weeks, and you sure Jungkook hasn't either. So even this simple contact makes you think about forbidden things. 

"Do you like living in this neighborhood?" - Jungkook asks to get your attention. You stare at him for just a second, unable to bear his gaze. You pull your arms around the collar of your jacket to keep it from getting too cold. 

"Yes." - You say. Although the real answer to this question is “no”. No, because there is no Jungkook here, annoying Doohoon comes here, it's too far from the university campus, and the apartment is expensive. You don't like living here at all, but how can you say that to him? 

"How are you doing? Have you been sick? Are you eating well?" - Jungkook asks. You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Jungkook doesn't immediately notice that you're not there. After he walks a few steps, he turns around, looking for you. You look at him, a lump stuck in your throat. You cannot speak. You think if you do, you'll cry. If only this fool knew how you've been beating yourself up for the past three weeks. That you couldn't sleep properly, that you had no appetite, and that you even lost four kilograms. 

Jungkook keeps looking at you and comes over. He tries to understand what you are going to do now, whether to cry or scream.

"Tell me why you came, Jeon. I don't want to talk to you like we're old friends who haven't seen each other for a long time." - You say, overcoming the pain in your chest and the lump in your throat. Jungkook exhales in frustration. Your cold and harsh tone upsets him. 

"You know why I came here, baby." - He says quietly. Your heart is fluttering. You probably know, but you need to hear it. 

"Just tell me. Because maybe we don't think alike. I don't really know you." - You say colorlessly. Jungkook bites his lip nervously. You look at his lips for a split second, and you wish you could taste them. Jungkook is silent. The silence seems like an eternity to you, until Jungkook works his fucking magic.He can read your mind and do what you want?

You don't understand how it happened, or where your consciousness was a moment ago, because when Jungkook's lips are on yours, you still don't realize it. Or when he presses down harder on your jaw, and his cold fingers contrast against your skin. Or when his warm, soft lips kiss yours desperately. You finally realize what's happening.

It feels like when you see fireworks go off. This delight. It is the same. It tears your soul apart, makes your heart beat furiously in your chest, and thoughts simply cease to exist in your head. There is only Jungkook and his lips. You respond because you wanted to. You thirst for those lips, you need them.

Jungkook kisses you gently, lovingly. He dreamed of this. He wanted you to respond to this desired kiss so badly, and now your lips are moving to meet his. His insides are trembling. He deepens the kiss when you respond. His tongue slips into your mouth and catches your tongue. They connect and the kiss makes your head spin. 

You instantly feel aroused. You've missed Jungkook, and his passionate kiss, which was apologetic at first, has become demanding. You're in the middle of the street, and people might be looking at you. But you don't care, and neither does Jungkook. He could kiss you even when you're out of air.

But you need to breathe in. You try to pull away. You pull away for a second when Jungkook captures your lips again. He doesn't want to let you go. You take a step back, trying to get away, but Jungkook step forward, holding your face in his hands without even thinking about letting go. 

"Jungkook..." - You call out to him, almost against his lips. He has to let you go, because you can't kiss forever. Although if he wanted to, he would. He would kiss those lips in front of him for the rest of his life. Jungkook is moving away, but not that far. You can see every mole on his face in detail. His obsidian eyes, which seem to look into your very soul. 

"I can't live without you..." - He says, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. "I thought I should leave you alone so you wouldn't suffer anymore because of me. But I'm so fucking selfish..." - Jungkook says. Your breathing is getting faster. You stare at Jungkook in silence, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to escape at any second. "I don't know how to make you come back. You've been in my life for so long, I can't imagine it without you." 

"Jungkook..." - You say in a trembling voice. "I've been in your life for as long as you've been in mine. Do you think I can let you go that easily?" - You ask. Jungkook smiles sadly. "But..." - You start, but he interrupts you. 

"I knew you were going to say that. There's always a fucking 'but'." - He says in frustration. He doesn't let go of you, and you stand within touching distance of each other. 

"Yes, there is." - You clear your throat. "For us to be together, you need to stop being who you are." - Jungkook looks at you, studying your expression, and then lets go. He takes a step back. 

"And who I am Y/N? I'd like to hear who you think I am." - Jungkook says, dejectedly. 

"You are not the Jungkook I knew. You've become different, and I don't know who you are. Whether you're a heartless killer or just a hostage to the situation." - You said honestly. Jungkook smiled. But it was not a friendly smile. It was desperate, on the verge of hysteria. 

"I have changed. It's true. But I'm not as horrible as Doohoon made me out to be in your eyes. Yes, I may have done and am doing terrible things, but I have to do this. Because if I don't, it will be done to me, or worse, to those I love." - Jungkook explains to you. You think of the right words to say. While you are thinking, Jungkook speaks for you first. "But I know for sure that my feelings for you are the same as they were. They grew bigger every year until you made me fall in love with you. I do love you. And I will do everything to make you mine forever." - Your emotions are out of control after these words. Your eyes instantly fill with tears. He told you that he loves you. He loves you and you just can't wrap your head around it. He's been your best friend all your life, and you could never have imagined, when you secretly dreamed of him, that he would confess his love to you. 

"What?" - You ask in a trembling voice. Salty tears are quietly flowing down your cheeks, freezing on your face, but it doesn't matter. 

"I love you, my baby." - He says without thinking. He kisses you and tastes the saltiness of your tears. You pull away from each other, but you feel something unresolved pressing on your soul. 

"Jungkook, you don't have to be Namjoon's errand boy. You can leave because it's not your duty." - You say. Jungkook hugs you, and when he hears what you say, his grip loosens, but you're still in his arms. 

"You know why I work for Namjoon. Until all the money is returned, he won't let me go." - Jungkook explains. 

"It's now up to Doohoon to give the money back. He's in Korea." - You saying. It's that simple for you. The reason is that Namjoon wants Jungkook to be the one to pay off the debt, to keep him around as long as possible. Jungkook has no doubt that Namjoon will take care of Doohoon if he needs to. 

"Yes. So let him pay it back." - Jungkook says with a slight teasing edge to his voice. You look up at him, and look up at his beautiful face. He smiles out of one corner of his mouth. 

"Why are you like this? It's not funny, I'm telling you real things. If he's guilty, he should pay for his actions himself." - You say, offended. 

"He will never do that." - Jungkook replies. "If he had been my true friend from the beginning, I wouldn't have ended up next to Namjoon at all. Doohoon did everything he could to make me who I am. He wanted me to come down from the pedestal of my perfection and become the exact opposite. He did a great job. Now I'm not the perfect Jungkook I was in high school and university. I'm a gangster who makes his living in a dirty way." - He says this so calmly, as if it's all just something to be accepted and nothing to be done about. You don't like his tone. 

"Doohoon is a rare shit, everyone knows that. But if I ask him to do it, he'll do it. I'm sure if I ask him to pay back the debt, he will." - You say with hope in your voice. Jungkook laughs shamelessly at your position. You sound like a naive child. You raise your eyebrows, which makes Jungkook laugh even harder. 

"Are you sure you're talking about the same person we know?" - Jungkook asks through his laughter. 

"Yes." - You say irritated. Jungkook shakes his head and tries to calm down. 

"It's not going to happen. He will never payment his debt, that you and I can live happily together. That thing likes you, and I'm ready to grind him to a halt for it. Even it’s seems like he listen you, he wouldn't do it." - Jungkook said serious now. You tense your brows. You pull away from Jungkook and think you should leave. Your legs hurt and you want to sleep. You think about asking Jungkook to come over to your place. 

You suggest that you go on, and Jungkook agrees. You hold his hand, and he smokes an IQOS with the flavor of wild berries and menthol. Sometimes, when the wind blows in your direction, this combination of smells tickles your chemoreceptors. Although you don't like the smell of IQOS sticks. 

"Do you think I won't persuade him?" - You ask. Jungkook exhales the smoke. 

"No. And I would even ask you not to." - Jungkook says. He takes another drag, and you watch his lips cover the filter. 

"Why?" - You ask immediately. 

"Because fuck knows what's going on in his head." - Jungkook explains. You don't understand what he's talking about. 

"Okay. Let's pretend for a minute that he agrees..." - You suggest. Jungkook stops. You stop after him. 

"That's not going to happen. Why even pretend it?" - You hear the irritation in his voice. 

"You didn't listen to me. That's not what I wanted to ask." - You say, however the irritation in your voice is obvious. "If he agrees to pay back the debt. Namjoon will let you go?" - You ask. You see Jungkook tense up at your question. You don't like this. 

"He should..." - Jungkook says in a low voice. His answer sounded so unsure, like he didn't believe it himself. 

"He should?" - You ask. "So it's not a given that he's going to let you go." 

"He promised and he would, but I'm not sure it will be that easy." - Jungkook admits. 

"I can talk to him, however he wants you to..." - Jungkook interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. 

"No!" - Jungkook says sharply. "Don't even think about it. You can't see Namjoon under any circumstances. He's not someone you can just talk to." - He almost yelled at you. You were embarrassed. "You heard me Y/N. Don't even think you can go talk to him. You can't." - Jungkook took your hands, shaking them slightly. 

"Okay, I understand." - You say with bitterness in your voice.

You walk and reach your house. You tell Jungkook in which building you live, but by his expression you realize that he seems to know. You have a thousand and one thoughts in your head. Before you invite Jungkook, who clearly wants to come over, you want to complete the dialog you've been started. One thought triggers you and you want to know the answer to it. 

"Jungkook, the man who stole me...." - You start, but you stop talking because it's hard for you to remember that moment. 

"What about him?" - Jungkook asks you. Honest you want to know if Jungkook really threatened your kidnapper with a child. 

"I wanted to ask you... he told me that you threatened him with the child if he didn't give his capital to Namjoon.... Is it true? Just tell me, I'll know if you're lying!" - You said. Jungkook raised his eyebrows. 

"What kind of nonsense is that? We may be a mafia, but we have a code. We don't touch children, and I don't even threaten like that." - Jungkook replies. You don't quite believe his words. What decent bandits... And you don't like the word "we" either. Jungkook doesn't consider himself one of them. 

"And the women? Do you threatened them? Because you, for example, have been threatened more than once that they will hurt me." - You say. Jungkook froze, which he might tells you that they are not disgusted by blackmail, or even act it.

"It's an effective tool, especially on men who have feelings." - Jungkook says. You're starting to get angry. 

"So your fucking code forbids you to touch children, but you can use a woman or a parent as leverage to get what you want, right?" - You ask ironically. Jungkook doesn't answer right away. You watch for a minute as Jungkook removes the used stick from the IQOS and back it into the box with the others. 

"It happens." - Jungkook answers simply, and you are annoying. 

"So it happen? Then maybe you shouldn't tell me that you have some kind of prejudice. If you don't neglect women and the elderly, why wouldn’t you threaten a children’s?" - You shout. Jungkook sees that you're angry, and he's trying to calm you down. 

"Baby, I would never threaten a child in my life. I'm not that kind of bastard, no matter what I do. This bastard has really messed with your head. I didn't torture him for eight hours, and we wanted to collect the debt because he pawned his securities that he lost in Namjoon's casino. And we took the company because that stupid idiot was gambling 24/7. He owed so much money that taking his little company was his only way out of it." - Jungkook explained to you. You listened to him with an angry expression on your face. It sounded very believable. 

"You guys are so holy that you can't even be called the mafia. Maybe you should call yourselves the Saints Clan?" - You suggested sarcastically. Jungkook looked at you skeptically. 

"I'm telling you the truth. It's up to you to believe me or not." - Jungkook assured you. You were annoyed that Jungkook was so protective of the people who do not neglect blackmail. He uses "we" as if he considers himself a part of them and wants to show them good to you. But the mafia is the mafia. Bandits are bandits. They are not good. 

"Jungkook, if I convince Doohoon to pay off the debt. Will you quit your job at Namjoon's?" - You asked directly. Jungkook exhaled nervously. How can he explain to you that this won't happen? You don't know Dohun well and you don't know Namjoon at all. 

"It's much more complicated than you think and imagine, baby." - Jungkook says, and you're not at all satisfied with this answer. 

"It's simple. It really is. Your wish. His word. Just tell me, do you want to go and live like a normal person?" - You ask. 

"I want to... but..." - Jungkook mumbles, and you're shocked at how uncertain he sounds. 

"But what, Jungkook?" - You ask, almost softly. Jungkook stares at you. 

"I mean, it won't work like that. My desire is not enough...." - He answers. You look at him and your fears are realized. You've thought about it before, but what if Jungkook is so used to this life that he can't go back to normal anymore? Hearing his tone and answers, you see the confirmation of your thoughts. 

You look at Jungkook and can barely contain your irritation. The uncertainty with which he speaks confuses you, but at the same time makes you more suspicious.

"Not enough? Your desire is not enough? Are you serious?" - Your voice has become quieter, but every word cuts like a blade.

"Baby, I can't just walk away. You don't understand how it works..." - He replied, exhaling deeply as if it were obvious.

"You explain it to me, Jungkook. Explain it to me, because I really don't understand how you can hold on so tightly to a life that only destroys you. You like it?" - Your eyes were full of undisguised anger.

Jungkook was silent for a moment, looking at your face carefully, as if he was looking for an answer to his unspoken questions. His jaw tensed, and his fingers clenched the pack of sticks in his pocket so that you could hear the crunch of the packaging.

"I can't just go like you'd like me to. This isn't a movie, Y/N. There's no way out without consequences." - His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you cringe.

"So you're going to keep doing this? You're going to risk your life, let them use you, live in fear and lies? Is that what you want?" - You took a step towards him, your hands trembling slightly.

"I don’t want this…" - He whispered, looking away. "…But I’m already in too deep. There’s too much at stake. If I leave, it won’t just affect me."

You took another step, now you were standing very close.

"You say it won’t just affect you… Jungkook, what about me? Did you think your actions would affect me right now?" - Your words sounded desperate, and he could feel it.

"I know that…" - He finally answered, looking straight into your eyes. "But I’ll try to keep you away. I'll make sure it doesn’t ruin your life." - You laughed softly, but there was no joy in your laughter.

"Keep me away? Are you serious, Jungkook? You're standing here in front of me, talking about all this, and then you say you're trying to keep me away? You already tried that, and it didn't work." - You said. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. "Jungkook..." - Your shoulders slumped, your voice softer. "I want you to snap out of it. If not for yourself, then at least for me..." - His eyes met yours again, and you saw in them something like a struggle-a struggle between desire and fear, hope and reality.

But he knew in advance that it would not be the way you want it to be, or the way he wants it to be. It will be the way Namjoon wants it to be. Jungkook can't leave the mafia, even though he had hope. Maybe in many years, when Namjoon decides that the debt is paid, but Jungkook knows how Namjoon feels about him. He's not going to let him go that easily. 

Jungkook touches your face with his hand. You feel the warmth of his hand and this gesture calms you down. You hope he will accept your proposal. 

"Baby... I've been in this for years and I'm telling you the truth, Namjoon is not going to let me go anytime soon. All I want is for you to be by my side. I don't want you to worry about what I do or who I am. With you, I am real and that's the main thing. I want to be with you because I love you, so I'm asking you to bear with me for a while until I have the opportunity to leave the clan." - Jungkook says it softly, but you can't believe it as you listen.

You can hear him asking you to risk your life between the lines, but you think otherwise. You prioritize peace and a good life over fear and tension. You don't want to worry every night when Jungkook doesn't come back or pick up the phone and think that something happened to him. Or be afraid to walk down the street because some man will want to take revenge on Jungkook for his "activities". This is not for you. You take a step back, moving away from Jungkook and shake your head. Tears well up in your eyes and you make the most difficult decision of your life. 

"No, Jungkook. It won't be like this. I can't wait. I think we should put an end to our relationship and friendship." - You said. 

Jungkook rubbed his hands together nervously, as if trying to find the right words. His voice was calm but hoarse, as if he was struggling inside.

"I can't go back to normal, Y/N, not yet, and you have to understand. Even if I really want to. This is more than just a decision. This is my life now. It's hard for me to say this, but I became who I am because of circumstances. And now I can only change the way I live, but not change myself."  - You listened attentively, not interrupting, even though every word he said was painful.

"Jungkook..." - You began, but he interrupted.

"Just accept me as I am. If you really love me, you can do this." - He said, pressing at you. Your heart was pounding at the words.

"I love you." - You said quietly. "But I can't live in this world, not even for you. I am not like you. I'm scared, and I don't want to get used to what seems normal to you." - His eyes dimmed, but he didn't look away.

"It's obvious now that we can't compromise. We're just too different, our ways are too different. It's not going to work, Jungkook, no matter how much we want it to." - You added, gathering all your resolve. 

You turned to leave without waiting for his answer. He didn't say anything, just stared after you, clenching his fists. 

Doohoon reads your text messages and locks his phone. He's annoyed that you keep pushing him away. He does everything to please you, but you don't even respond to simple things. You respond harshly and coldly. He's annoyed as hell, but he knows he has to be patient. If he perseveres, he will get what he wants in the end. And that something he wants is you. 

It's only been three weeks since the incident with your kidnapping, which Doohoon set up and pulled off so perfectly. He paid a lot of money to the man who agreed to kidnap you. He knows that Jungkook knows the truth about the kidnapping and has probably dealt with Inho (the man's name), but he doesn't care what happened next. The main thing is that it worked, and now you think Jungkook is a real monster. 

Doohoon drives up to the store where you work and notices a Gelentwagen parked not far away with Jungkook's license plate. Did this loser come to see you? He really have the courage to come to you and apologize? 

Doohoon parks his car next to Jungkook's G-Wagon and gets out. He enters the store and looks for you. He doesn't see you or Jungkook. He moves toward the cash register. Behind the counter is a young guy and an older man, who looks like a chief. Both men greet him. Doohoon smiles easily, although he doesn't feel like it. But these are your acquaintances and he has to look good in their eyes. Doohoon bows slightly and returns the greeting. 

"Good morning." - He says in a friendly tone. "I'm a friend of Y/N. I'm here to pick her up. Is she still at work?" - He asks to see if you were telling the truth. The young man behind the counter immediately answers. 

"Oh, she left about five minutes ago. With her boyfriend, I think..." - Doohoon raises his eyebrows. A boyfriend? You couldn't have forgiven him so quickly. "At least that's what he introduced himself as... I think his name was Jungkook." - The cashier says. Doohoon feels a fierce surge of anger in his middle. This bastard thinks he can take you away from him. But Doohoon has done a good job of making you see his bad side. How can you want to be with Jungkook but not him after all that? 

"Okay, thanks. Have a good day." - Doohoon says and leaves the store, not noticing the two men staring at him. 

Doohoon decides to walk to your home. He thinks that either Jungkook will walk with you at your home or you could go to a cafe near your house. He thought that you've walked and made tired, you don't want to go far.

Doohoon is walking the same road you did not long ago. He is walking fast so that if he has the opportunity he can catch up with you. 

He stops when he sees you and Jungkook. You're standing in the middle of the sidewalk kissing. Doohoon almost goes crazy. He's torn to the middle. How could you do this? He was trying so hard to open your eyes to Jungkook's true nature. Aren't your feelings for this asshole so strong that you don't even care that he's a fucking mafia that tortures people and blackmails them with little children? Are you completely stupid or what? 

Doohoon wants to get up to you, but he's in no hurry. He's at a safe distance and the flow of people disguises him well. He watches as you stop kissing, say something, and then keep walking. Doohoon follows. When you come to your house, he dares to get close to hear what you are saying. 

When Doohoon hears your conversation, he is happy, and he scolds himself for worrying about you for nothing. You are still as correct as ever. Even Jungkook's declaration of love didn't convince you to stay with him. And now, Doohoon has a good chance of making you his. 

Half an afternoon passes and Doohoon looks at his watch. It reads 2:30 pm. You had arranged to meet Suyong at about four o'clock to meet at the campus and you have to leave soon to go to the university. 

You still haven't responded to Doohoon's offer to give you a ride, but he doesn't need your approval. He's going to drive you. 

Doohoon parks the car in front of your driveway and dials your number. There is a long series of rings, and almost at the last one you pick up the phone. 

"Hello?" - You say dryly. 

"Hi, candy. Are you ready?" - Doohoon asks you affectionately. 

"Ready for what?" - You ask your question. He can hear how upset you are in your voice.

"We agreed that I would take you to the university." - Doohoon replies. 

"We didn't agree." - You say sharply, and Doohoon feels irritated. There's that tone again, and he's starting to get tired of it. But he restrains himself. "I'll go on my own, I'm not ready yet." 

"Candy, I'm already waiting for you at the door. Don't be so stubborn. I'll wait as long as you need, you don't have to go alone if I'm going to get the same way." - Doohoon says, keeping his tone soft. You don't say anything for a while, and then he hears you exhale into the phone. 

"Okay. I'll be down in 15 minutes." - You say and hang up before Doohoon can even make a sound. 

You leave the house exactly 15 minutes later, looking blacker than a storm cloud. Doohoon notices the black bags under your eyes. You are also dressed in all black. You get into the car and barely greet him. You drive in silence for a while. Doohoon can't wait to talk to you. 

"Candy, how are you? Did you get any sleep?" - He asks you.

"Yes. Everything is fine." - You say quietly and open your phone, showing him that you're not in the mood for a conversation. 

Doohoon looks at you, he needs to know what you feel about Jungkook right now. 

"How did your meeting with Jungkook go? Did you talk?" - Doohoon asks, looking at the road. Hearing Jungkook's name come out of his mouth, you instantly turn your head toward him. Doohoon continues to stare at the road and doesn't look at you. 

"How...?" - You're about to ask if he was following again, but Doohoon interrupts. 

"I wasn't following you. I texted you that I was coming to get you. You'd have to be a fool not to recognize Jungkook's car and license plate." - Doohoon replies, stopping at a traffic light. When he stops, he looks at you and smiles. You look down at Doohoon. 

"I wrote you not to come. Why do you do whatever you want?" - You ask, irritated. Doohoon smiles even wider. 

"I wanted to give you a ride because you work so hard at night. You should just accept my help, you wouldn't have to work at all." - Doohoon says. How you so tired of everyone around you wanting to help you, to take care of you. It makes you sick to your stomach. 

"Listen, Doohoon. I don't need your help or your care. I don't want to communicate with you, I've told you that a thousand times." - You're raising your voice. You're so fucking stressed out all the time. 

"Really? Than who do you want to communicate with? Whose care do you want? Jungkook’s?" - Doohoon asks sarcastically. You choke on his words.

"I don't need any of you. You are dividing me like I am a deer carcass. I want you both out of my life." - You say angrily. You sit up straight and cross your arms. Your breathing is fast and ragged. Doohoon forces you to move. 

"I thought you'd fall for his words and his declaration of love. But, candy, you told him all right. You're two so different." - Doohoon says, and you look at him in horror. 

"You were listening to our conversation?" - You ask and your voice breaks. 

"I had to make sure he wouldn't hurt you...." - Doohoon replies. 

"You're really crazy? Why would he hurt me?" - You yell. 

"He's a gangster..." - Doohoon says. You think you is going to explode with anger. 

"It doesn't matter who he is. He loves me, he won't ever hurt me." - You say it like you're spraying poison. 

"Candy, he's the reason you were kidnapped. Don't you realize that his feelings are only harmful to you?" - Doohoon tries to tell you. 

"Shut your mouth!" - You shout. "I don't need your advice. I don't need you either. Get off me. Let me off now." - You grab the doorknob to open the door, but unfortunately, Doohoon has locked it. 

"Calm down Y/N. Okay, I'm not going to say anything else to you. Just calm down." - Doohoon puts his hand on your hip to make you pay attention to him, turning away from the door. You immediately knock his hand away. 

"Don't touch me!" - You scream. Doohoon's nerves are fraying. He parks not far from the sidewalk and approaches you. Your eyes look up at him in fright. 

"Y/N, listen to me carefully. I have tolerated your harsh words, your stubbornness, because I respect you and care about you. But if you think that you can talk to me as if I were some random stranger, then you are very much mistaken. I will not allow you to speak to me in that tone." - His voice is sharp, but he tries to remain calm

"What are you going to do, Doohoon? Are you going to follow me again, eavesdrop or spy on me? Do you think I owe you anything? You just want to control me!" - You say with a challenge. 

"Control? No, candy, I just want to protect you. But if you don't stop treating me like I'm the enemy, I might change my approach. You know I can be kind, but I can also be tough. Is that what you want?" - Doohoon ask you. His smile is dry, but his eyes are sharp. 

"What are you going to do, Doohoon? Are you going to threaten me? Fine, go ahead, show your real face!" - You say sarcastically. Doohoon leans closer, his voice low and cold. You're disgusted by his closeness, even though he smells nice. 

"Careful, Y/N. You won't like my 'real face'. I've always been good to you, even when you didn't deserve it. But if you keep provoking me, I might show you what it looks like when I lose my patience." - He returns to his seat behind the wheel, takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "But I don't want that. I want you to understand that I am not your enemy. I just want you to make the right choice. Think about your behavior, think about who really cares about you. And decide who is more important to you." - He unlocks the door. "And now you can go. But remember what I said. You have time to think about it." 

You're angry and a little confused, but you still have your pride. You open the door and say on the way out. 

"Don't think you can tell me what to do. Go to hell. I never want to see you again." - You get out of the car, slamming the door loudly, but deep inside you feel disturbed by his words and behavior. 

Doohoon starts the car and nervously grips the steering wheel. Your stubbornness is really getting to him. 

"Let's see how long you can stay stubborn, candy." - He mutters under his breath. Why don't you want to be his voluntarily? He's trying so hard for you. Doohoon is going crazy. He doesn't want to take any drastic measures yet, but if you keep acting like this, he'll be forced to. Because you'll be his anyway. 

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[hrizantemy]

Nesta hadn’t expected to notice so much about Taryn. It wasn’t in her nature to observe people in such detail, to catalog the small things about them, but Taryn… Taryn made it impossible not to. She didn’t know when it started, when her gaze lingered just a little too long, when her mind began picking apart every nuance of Taryn’s presence, but now she couldn’t stop.

There was the way Taryn smiled—never too wide, but just enough that her eyes crinkled at the corners, like she was holding back something bigger. It made Nesta wonder what kind of laughter Taryn saved for when no one was looking, what kind of joy she kept just for herself. That smile was bright but never blinding, warm but never overbearing. It was a smile that drew people in without demanding anything from themselves.

Her voice was another thing. Low and even, the kind of tone that calmed rather than commanded. It was soothing, soft as the sound of pages turning in a quiet room. Taryn never raised her voice, never snapped or barked an order, but there was a firmness in the way she spoke that made people listen. It wasn’t authority—it was trust. People trusted her voice, her steadiness, and Nesta wondered when she had started to as well.

And then there were the small, unintentional things. The way Taryn tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought. The way her nose wrinkled when she didn’t agree with something but didn’t want to say it outright. The way she fiddled with the rings on her fingers when she was nervous, spinning them endlessly until she found her composure again. Nesta noticed it all, these tiny, fleeting moments that seemed insignificant but somehow weren’t.

Taryn had a way of carrying herself that spoke of quiet strength. She wasn’t the tallest, wasn’t the loudest, but there was a steadiness to her presence that anchored everything around her. Even when she was rushing out the door, hair a little messy, coat thrown on haphazardly, she still seemed composed in a way Nesta envied. There was something magnetic about her, something that Nesta didn’t fully understand but couldn’t help being drawn to.

And her scent—Nesta hated how much she noticed it. Taryn smelled faintly of lavender and something earthy, like freshly turned soil. It wasn’t perfume, at least not entirely, but something natural, something intrinsically her. It clung to her clothes and lingered in the air after she left a room, a subtle reminder of her presence that Nesta found herself searching for more often than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t just how Taryn looked or sounded or smelled, though. It was the way she existed, the way she made space for others without shrinking herself. The way she moved through the world as if she belonged in it, and yet still found ways to carve out room for people like Nesta, people who didn’t quite know where they fit. Taryn made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t before, and Nesta was starting to realize how much she liked that. How much she liked her.

Most of all, Nesta noticed how Taryn didn’t like when she brought up her sisters. Taryn never said it outright, never stopped her from talking or tried to steer the conversation in another direction, but there was a shift every time. A tightness in her jaw, the faintest flicker in her gaze, like she was forcing herself not to react. The first time, Nesta thought she’d imagined it. The second time, she wondered if she was projecting her own discomfort. But after the third, the fourth, the fifth time, Nesta began to see the pattern.

It wasn’t dramatic, nothing obvious—Taryn didn’t glare or sigh or tell her to stop. No, it was subtler than that. Her hands would fidget more than usual, her responses would grow clipped, and sometimes she’d stare into her tea like it held an answer she couldn’t quite find. It was almost as if Taryn was trying to seem unaffected, trying to be supportive, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Nesta, ever curious and prone to pushing, began testing her theory. She’d bring up Feyre or Elain in casual conversation, slipping their names into anecdotes or comments just to see. Every time, Taryn’s posture would stiffen, her shoulders drawing ever so slightly inward, as though the mention of them carried a weight she wasn’t prepared to hold. She never snapped, never told Nesta to stop, but the shift was unmistakable.

At first, Nesta thought Taryn disliked her sisters outright, though that didn’t quite sit right. Taryn wasn’t the type to hate someone without reason—at least, not from what Nesta had seen. Maybe it was something else entirely, something more complicated. But what? Taryn had never met Feyre or Elain properly, not beyond a polite greeting at solstice, and yet there was something there, something unresolved and heavy.

It gnawed at Nesta more than she wanted to admit. She’d never cared much for what people thought of her sisters—too many people had opinions about them already. But with Taryn, it was different. She wanted to know why. Why the mention of them brought that subtle tension to Taryn’s frame. Why her eyes would cloud, just for a moment, before she schooled her expression into something neutral.

The question slipped out before Nesta could think better of it. “Do you dislike my sisters?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

Taryn was mid-sip of her tea, the porcelain cup poised delicately between her fingers, when the words landed. She blinked, raising an eyebrow as if Nesta had asked her something absurd. Slowly, she lowered the cup to the table, her movements measured, almost too controlled. “Of course not,” she said evenly, her tone steady, but not without a trace of something else—a note Nesta couldn’t quite place.

“Liar,” Nesta said immediately, her gaze fixed on Taryn’s face, searching for cracks in her composure.

Taryn didn’t flinch, but her lips tightened just enough for Nesta to notice. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I don’t dislike them,” Taryn said after a moment, her words slower now, more careful. “I don’t know them well enough to feel anything that strong.”

Nesta tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not an answer,” she said coolly, folding her own arms in response. She could feel her pulse quicken, not out of anger but curiosity—curiosity sharpened by years of mistrust and a need to understand. “You tense up every time I mention them. You get quiet, avoid looking at me. So, if it’s not dislike, what is it?”

Taryn sighed, a long and drawn-out exhale as if the weight of Nesta’s persistence pressed on her. She reached for her tea again but didn’t drink it, just held the cup between her hands, staring down at the steam as though it might give her the words she needed. “It’s not about them,” she said finally, her voice softer this time, almost tentative. “It’s… complicated.”

Nesta snorted, the sound harsh in the stillness. “Everything’s complicated,” she said flatly. “Try harder.”

That earned her a sharp glance, but Taryn didn’t snap back, didn’t argue. Instead, she put the cup down again and pressed her palms against the table. “Fine,” she said, meeting Nesta’s gaze head-on now. There was something raw in her eyes, something unguarded that made Nesta sit up straighter. “I don’t dislike your sisters, Nesta. But when you talk about them… it’s hard not to see how much it still affects you. How much of your life still seems to orbit around them, even now.”

That caught Nesta off guard. She opened her mouth to respond, to deny it, but no words came. Taryn pressed on, her tone gentler but no less firm. “And maybe,” she added, “there’s a part of me that doesn’t understand how they could let you feel like you were never enough. That doesn’t understand how they could sit by and let you carry so much alone. So, no, I don’t dislike them. But I’m angry for you in ways I know I probably don’t have the right to be.”

For a moment, Nesta didn’t move, didn’t speak. She felt like Taryn had stripped something bare inside her, laid it out between them for inspection. She hadn’t expected that answer, hadn’t expected to feel a tightness in her chest at the quiet conviction in Taryn’s words. “You think they’re the reason I am the way I am,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

“I think they’re a part of it,” Taryn said, her gaze steady. “And I think you’re still figuring out how to be you without them defining every piece of it. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

Nesta swallowed hard, looking away, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. She didn’t know what to say, what to feel. So she settled for silence, letting Taryn’s words hang in the air, heavy but not unwelcome.

Nesta leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded Taryn with a sharp gaze. The weight of Taryn’s words lingered, and she didn’t know if it was anger or confusion curling in her stomach. Maybe it was both. “Then why did you agree to go to Solstice?” she asked, her voice quiet but edged with something brittle. “Why didn’t you say anything if you felt that way? If it made you angry?”

Taryn’s expression softened, but there was no hesitance when she answered. “Because it wasn’t about me,” she said simply, her tone calm and unwavering. “My feelings don’t matter when it comes to this. Not when it’s about your family and your choice to see them. Solstice isn’t about how I feel. It’s about you and what you needed to do, even if it was hard.”

Nesta blinked, startled by the simplicity of the response. She had expected defensiveness, maybe even irritation—something to latch onto and push back against. Instead, Taryn met her confusion with clarity, as though the answer had always been obvious.

Taryn leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table, her hands clasped loosely together. “It’s not my place to stand in the way of you making peace with them,” she continued, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Even if I don’t understand all the history or all the pain, I know it’s there. And if being at Solstice was what you thought you needed—if it was your way of trying, of healing—then my feelings didn’t matter. I went because it mattered to you.”

Nesta stared at her, unable to speak for a moment as the words settled. She didn’t know what to do with them, with the sudden understanding that Taryn had always been so careful, so steady, even when Nesta herself had been unsure. “You didn’t say anything,” Nesta murmured, more to herself than to Taryn. Her hands tightened in her lap. “You should’ve said something.”

Taryn smiled faintly, a small, bittersweet curve of her lips. “Would it have changed anything?” she asked gently. “Would you have stayed home if I said I didn’t want to go?”

Nesta opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat because she knew the answer. No, she wouldn’t have stayed. She would’ve gone anyway, because it wasn’t about Taryn’s feelings—it wasn’t even entirely about her sisters. It was about proving something to herself, about trying, about making some semblance of an effort. And Taryn had known that, had seen it, and had chosen not to stand in her way.

“I hate how calm you are about this,” Nesta muttered, looking away, feeling something uncomfortable and warm twisting in her chest.

Taryn’s soft laugh broke the tension, lightening the air between them. “I know,” she said, not unkindly.

For once, Nesta didn’t have a biting remark ready. She just nodded, her throat feeling strangely tight as she reached for her tea.

Nesta fiddled with the handle of her mug, her fingers tracing the edges absently, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her tea. The warmth seemed to settle into her, but it couldn’t ease the unease curling in her chest. She hadn’t been able to shake it all day. There were things she needed to say, things she needed to work through, and Taryn’s steady presence was the only thing grounding her.

“I think I made up with Feyre,” she said quietly, as though speaking the words out loud would make them more real. “We talked. We forgave each other. It wasn’t perfect, but I think… it was a step. It feels like a start.” She paused, trying to understand the strange sense of calm that had settled in her heart after their conversation. It was the first time in a long time that Nesta felt as though she had done something right—something real—when it came to her sisters. But even with that, there was still a part of her that wasn’t sure it would last. The damage ran deep.

Her fingers tightened around the mug as her mind shifted to Elain. Her heart twisted at the thought of her sister, the distance between them, the unspoken words. She looked up at Taryn, her gaze lingering on her for a moment, almost as if trying to gauge how to say what was next.

“Elain, though,” Nesta muttered, the weight of her thoughts heavy in her voice. “I don’t know where I stand with her. Things are… complicated. It’s like we’re strangers, even when we’re in the same room. I know it’s partly my fault. I pushed her away, didn’t I? I didn’t know how to handle her… I didn’t know how to handle any of it, and I guess I was just angry. I’m still angry, but she’s… she’s different. She’s so different from me.”

The words felt clumsy, unformed, but they were all she had. Elain’s quiet sweetness, her gentleness—it was almost too much for Nesta to take in, too much for her to understand, and it had pushed her further away. The thought that her sister had gone through so much, that she had her own pain, just as Nesta did, but somehow it hadn’t drawn them closer—it hurt in a way that Nesta didn’t know how to express.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Nesta admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, but I don’t know how. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Taryn was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant as she seemed to be weighing her words carefully. She looked at Nesta, her expression thoughtful, like she was piecing together something fragile. Her fingers gently curled around her tea cup, her eyes softening as she met Nesta’s gaze.

“You know,” Taryn began slowly, her voice measured but kind, “that is a step, wanting to try. It may not feel like much, but it is. And sometimes, those small steps, those quiet ones—those matter the most.” She let out a small breath, looking down at her hands, before continuing. “I don’t have sisters, so I can’t say for sure what you’re supposed to do, what’s right for you and Elain. But from what I’ve seen in the way you’ve handled things with Feyre, I think… you’re doing the right thing. It’s not about rushing in, or forcing things, or trying to fix everything all at once. It’s about the small things. Setting boundaries. Being open when you’re ready. I think that’s a start.”

Taryn took a long sip of her tea, her eyes studying Nesta intently, as though trying to understand her on a deeper level. “You’ve made progress, Nesta,” she said quietly, her words steady, almost like a promise. “It’s okay that things aren’t fixed yet. I think… being willing to try, to open yourself to the possibility of change, is the most important thing. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Not with your sisters. Not with yourself. Just… one step at a time.”

For the first time in a long while, Nesta felt something other than the overwhelming weight of guilt or the tightening of old wounds. Taryn’s words hung in the air, a quiet reassurance. She wasn’t rushing her. She wasn’t telling her to force the healing, to push forward when she wasn’t ready. She was simply offering support, letting Nesta know that it was okay to take the time she needed, to go at her own pace.

And for Nesta, that felt like enough. Maybe that, too, was a step forward.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She leaned back slightly, studying Taryn as she took another sip of her tea. “I don’t know much about your family,” Nesta remarked casually, her voice light but laced with genuine interest. She could feel the faint stir of her own discomfort as she realized how little she actually knew about the woman she had come to care for. “Why is that?”

Taryn didn’t immediately answer, her eyes flickering to the window for a brief moment before she set her cup down on the table. Her shoulders gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug as she met Nesta’s gaze. “Because I never told you,” she said simply, her tone soft but matter-of-fact.

Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “But… why not?” She had to ask, the question rolling off her tongue without hesitation. She had always been open with Taryn, shared pieces of herself, however broken they might have been. It was strange to think that Taryn might be holding back from her, keeping something guarded, especially when they had gotten closer in so many other ways.

Taryn leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest as she sighed lightly. “Because there’s nothing to tell,” she answered after a beat, her voice quiet, almost distant. “My family… they’re not really a part of my life. I’m not close with them, never have been. There’s no need to talk about them, Nesta. It’s just easier that way.”

For a moment, the silence hung heavy between them. Nesta felt a flicker of understanding deep within her. She didn’t need Taryn to explain any further. She could sense there was more to the story, but it wasn’t something Taryn was ready to share. And for the first time, Nesta recognized the boundaries that Taryn had set around herself.

It was a strange, quiet thing—knowing that Taryn had her own walls, just like Nesta did. But for some reason, Nesta didn’t feel upset by it. She just felt… something. Maybe a quiet kind of acceptance. Something unsaid but understood, just between the two of them.

Nesta tilted her head, the words lingering in the air for a moment before she asked quietly, “Would you tell me? About your family, I mean. If you’re ready.”

Taryn was quiet for a long while, and Nesta almost thought she wouldn’t respond. But then, with a small sigh, Taryn set her tea down once again, her fingers tracing the edge of the cup as she looked at Nesta with a faint, unreadable expression. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “I’ll tell you, if you really want to know.”

Nesta nodded, her curiosity still simmering, but her tone gentle, not pushing, simply waiting. “I do.”

Taryn’s gaze seemed to drift for a moment, her thoughts far away. Then, finally, she spoke. “They’re from the Dawn Court,” she began, her words slow, almost measured. “My mother was a healer. She helped people, mostly with potions and remedies—things that kept the court running smoothly. My father… he was a soldier, but I don’t really remember much about him. He left when I was young.”

Nesta listened quietly, sensing the weight of the words between the lines. Taryn spoke with a sense of detachment, as if the memories weren’t painful, but simply distant and faded with time. She didn’t press for more; Taryn had given her a piece, and Nesta understood that it was more than enough for now.

“They lived… fairly normal lives,” Taryn continued, her voice a bit lighter now. “We had a house, a garden, the kind of life that doesn’t really stand out. Nothing grand. Just… ordinary. It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t anything special either. We were just… there.”

There was a pause, and Nesta felt a subtle sadness in Taryn’s words, a quiet yearning for something that had been lost. But Taryn didn’t linger on it, didn’t indulge in what-ifs or the could-have-beens. Instead, she met Nesta’s gaze with an expression that was as calm as it was firm.

“That’s all there is, really. It’s not much, and there’s not much more to say about it.”

Nesta sat back, taking it all in, realizing that this was Taryn’s way of showing trust. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was enough for Nesta to understand a bit more about her—about her past, her life before, and maybe, in some strange way, who Taryn was.

Nesta could feel it, the subtle tension in Taryn’s words and the quiet way she held herself back, but she didn’t point it out. There were things that Taryn wasn’t saying, things Nesta could sense but had no desire to pry into just yet. Instead, she took a slow sip of her tea, savoring the warmth as the silence stretched between them.

Finally, after a moment of contemplation, Nesta asked softly, “Would you go with me? If I went to see my sisters?”

Taryn’s gaze flickered, a slight hesitation in her eyes, but then she gave a small, genuine smile, the kind that made Nesta’s heart skip a beat. “I want to be there,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “If it means that much to you, of course I’ll go.”

Nesta’s smile deepened, a warmth spreading through her chest. It was more than just Taryn’s words; it was the fact that Taryn was offering herself—her presence—without hesitation, supporting Nesta in a way that felt natural, without making her feel like a burden or an afterthought. It was different from everything she had known before, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for it.

“I’ve received a letter,” Nesta said quietly, her voice lighter now. She met Taryn’s gaze with a glint of something soft in her eyes. “From Feyre. She invited me to the House of Wind. And… I’ve accepted.”

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[viiivxxvixvii]

Bound by Weakness (Gojo Satoru)

Minors DNI

You had been nothing more than a contradiction to his life. A weakling.

Satoru Gojo had always believed in absolutes. In strength. In the solitude that comes with standing at the peak of power. Only the strongest can understand the weight, the burden, the endless expectations pressed against their back. That’s why he had always been alone. Alone the moment Amanai Riko had died in his arms. Alone the moment Suguru Geto had left him. Alone, because the alternative was weakness, and weakness was dangerous.

But then there was you. You, the quiet, shy underclassman who had never amounted to much in the Jujutsu world. A utility sorcerer with limited combat ability, someone who should have been crushed by the brutality of their shared world. Yet somehow, you remained. Not just physically, but emotionally—untouched by the cynicism and cruelty that consumed almost everyone else. You were soft. Kind. You smiled in a way that felt unearned in a world so vicious. And no matter how many times he dismissed you, brushed you off, or pushed you away with his sharp words and colder demeanor, you never let it break you.

He used to hate you for that. Maybe he still does.

He used to envy you. You, with your unshakable kindness, your persistence. You didn’t belong here, in this blood-soaked world of curses and cruelty. You went against everything he believed in: that only the strong survive, that kindness was a luxury no sorcerer could afford, that emotions were a weakness he couldn’t allow himself.

And yet, despite everything, you survived. Longer than most. Longer than some of the strongest. He still remembers that day, the one when you should have died. When you were broken and bleeding, your cursed energy drained and your breaths shallow, your eyes fluttering closed. You were supposed to die.

He should have left you. He should have turned his back, let you succumb to the inevitable.

But he didn’t.

He carried you himself, his hands stained with your blood as he ensured you would live. Even now, he doesn’t fully understand why.

Why had he fought so hard to save someone he had always told himself he hated?

The truth clawed at the edges of his mind, sharp and undeniable. He hated you because you reminded him of everything he thought he could no longer be. Everything he thought he had lost. You were weak, yes, but in a way that made you strong. You were selfishly selfless, always choosing others over yourself, even in a world that punished such softness. And you unlocked emotions in him that he had long since buried.

And now, here you were. Beneath him.

The contradiction of it all—of you—had never been more vivid than in this moment. Your skin was flushed, lips parted as you gasped for breath. Your hair splayed messily across the sheets, framing your face in a way that made you look almost otherworldly. Your arms were pinned above your head, held in place by his hand, your body utterly vulnerable and open to him.

The marks he’d left on your skin—the bites, the bruises, the evidence of his possession—burned against your softness, a stark reminder of how much he wanted to ruin you. To claim you, wholly and completely.

You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, unfiltered want and desire shimmering in your gaze. You should be afraid of him. He was the strongest, the untouchable. He had shattered countless enemies with a flick of his wrist, crushed curses beneath the weight of his immeasurable power. And yet here you were, meeting his gaze without hesitation, offering yourself to him completely.

It made something inside him snap.

Satoru Gojo had spent most of his life holding back. Restraining himself, because the full force of his power—of who he was—would break anyone who dared to come close. But with you, the urge to hold back warred with the desire to let go, to see just how much you could take before you shattered beneath him.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. “What you make me feel?”

You didn’t answer, but the way your breath hitched, the way your body arched beneath him, told him everything he needed to know.

You had been nothing more than a contradiction to his life.

And now, you were his.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, consuming, a silent declaration of everything he couldn’t put into words. His grip on your wrists tightened, holding you in place as he devoured you.

Your taste was intoxicating, sweet and familiar and utterly addictive. He wanted to drown in it, to drown in you.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” he whispered against your lips, his voice trembling with something raw and unguarded. “You’ve ruined me.”

And yet, as he looked down at you—at the way you gazed up at him with such trust, such unfiltered emotion—he realized the truth.

You hadn’t ruined him.

You had saved him.

The strongest, brought to his knees by the weakest.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Satoru Gojo felt whole.

[earthlybeam]

Would you mind writing Haldir and Legolas being saved from captivity in the same vein as the Elrond, Círdan, and Gil-Galad piece you wrote? Maybe being rescued by their significant others though? Up the stakes a bit 😏

I absolutely loved those, and I would love to know how you think those two would react to that situation!

Thank you so much in advance! I absolutely adore your writing. I always know I can coped your blog and find something that will brighten my day

Thank you so much for your kind words! 😭❤️‍🔥I’m so glad that my writing brings some brightness to your day. 🥺🙌 It means a lot to hear that, and I’m always here to share more whenever you need it. If there’s anything you’d love to read or talk about, just let me know! ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

how would the elves react to this?

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Haldir, Legolas Version below (you are their lover)

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The forest was dark, the shadows of the trees stretching long and ominous under the pale sliver of moonlight. The air was damp with the scent of moss and earth, and the stillness was broken only by the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Somewhere deep within these woods, Haldir of Lórien was fighting for his life. The ambush had come without warning. Orcs, hidden beneath the veil of the night, had swarmed his patrol. Though he fought valiantly, his skill with the bow and blade unmatched, the sheer number of his foes proved overwhelming. Haldir’s heart burned with frustration as he swung his sword with precision, but even he, the Marchwarden of Lórien, could not hold them off alone. His brothers had been separated from him in the chaos, and he now found himself surrounded. A sharp blow to his side sent him crashing to the forest floor. The impact jarred his body, his head snapping to the side as pain lanced through his ribs. His sword was knocked from his hand, clattering uselessly beyond his reach. Haldir’s breath hitched, coming shallow and fast, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm he couldn’t control. The metallic taste of blood tinged his mouth, and for the first time in countless battles, doubt crept into his mind.

Above him, the Orcs loomed, their guttural laughter cutting through the silence of the forest like jagged blades. One of them sneered as it gripped his shoulder and pinned him down with brute force, its claws biting through the fabric of his tunic. Haldir’s muscles burned as he fought against the iron grip, his pride flaring hot despite the pain that seared through him. His silver-grey eyes burned with defiance, daring his enemy to see him as anything less than the Marchwarden he was. Yet even as his body tensed with effort, even as his mind worked furiously to find a way out, his heart began to sink beneath the weight of the inevitable. He was not afraid of death. That fear had long been banished, tempered by centuries of duty and the understanding that every life in service of Lórien was one spent in honor. But tonight… tonight, the thought of leaving his home unprotected, his brothers unguarded, and you… The pain of that thought struck deeper than any blade ever could. He could not bear the image of your face, of your voice calling his name in anguish when he was no longer there to answer. The weight of all he had left undone pressed upon him, and for one fleeting, bitter moment, a flash of helplessness crossed his proud heart.

Just as the Orc’s jagged blade was raised, ready to strike, a blur of motion tore through the clearing. A sound like thunder rolled in Haldir’s ears—the clash of steel meeting flesh—as the Orcs’ guttural cries rose in confusion and pain. Haldir’s breath caught in his throat, his sharp eyes widening despite the haze of pain clouding his vision. The shadows seemed to part, and there you were, moving through the clearing like a tempest. For a heartbeat, the world stilled around him. Relief crashed over him, mingled with awe and something far deeper, something unspoken yet undeniable. His chest tightened, his racing heart pounding louder than the fading battle cries. You were here. Against all odds, you had come for him. And in that moment, the weight of despair was lifted, replaced by the fiery spark of hope.

Your blade gleamed like a shard of starlight, a deadly brilliance that pierced the oppressive darkness of the forest. The fluidity of your movements was mesmerizing, every step purposeful, every strike calculated with lethal precision. The silver edge of your weapon flashed in arcs of light, slicing through the shadows with an artistry that belied the violence of the moment. You moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, your strikes clean and unrelenting, a storm given form. Each Orc that came near you met its end swiftly, their snarls turning into startled cries that were silenced as quickly as they rose. The air was thick with the clash of steel and the sharp tang of blood, but you were unshaken, your focus unyielding, your resolve unwavering. Haldir lay on the forest floor, his chest tightening as he watched you carve through the chaos with a ferocity that stole his breath. Relief flooded his veins, a tide that washed away the despair that had begun to weigh him down moments before. But it was not just relief—no, what filled him now was far greater, far deeper. Awe rippled through him, raw and unguarded, as his sharp eyes followed every movement you made. The disbelief that had briefly flickered across his face was replaced by something far more profound. You had always been strong—he knew this, admired this—but seeing you now, standing between him and the darkness, fighting for him with a passion that defied the odds, struck a chord so deep it left him shaken.

His heart, so long steeled against the perils of the world, swelled with emotions he could scarcely name. Gratitude, admiration, love—each surged within him, intertwining with the pounding of his heart. The sight of you, fighting with such unrelenting resolve, was more than a testament to your skill; it was a reminder of what he had fought to protect all his life. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Haldir felt vulnerable—not from his injuries, but from the overwhelming realization of how much you meant to him. One by one, the Orcs fell before you, their numbers dwindling until the last of them crumpled lifeless to the ground. The echoes of the battle faded, leaving only the sound of the wind brushing through the trees. The silence was almost deafening after the chaos, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves. The pale light of the moon filtered through the canopy, illuminating the scene in an ethereal glow.

You stood among the fallen, the pale moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on your brow, your chest rising and falling from exertion. Your blade hung loosely in your hand, blood dripping from its edge as your sharp eyes scanned the clearing one final time, ensuring there was no lingering threat. Only when you were absolutely certain the danger had passed did you turn toward Haldir. Your gaze landed on him, slumped against the forest floor, and your breath hitched. “Haldir!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp with worry as you rushed to his side. Dropping to your knees beside him, you immediately began inspecting him with the efficiency and care of someone used to patching him up after battles. Your hands hovered over his arms, his chest, his face, searching for injuries, your brows furrowed in deep concentration. “Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” you demanded, your voice thick with concern.

Haldir blinked up at you, momentarily too stunned to respond. Relief mingled with a flush of embarrassment as your hands brushed his shoulders and neck, searching for wounds with single-minded determination. “I… I am unharmed,” he muttered, his pride prickling slightly at the frantic way you fussed over him. He tried to shift away, but you caught his chin with gentle but firm fingers, turning his face toward you. “Stay still,” you said, your tone brooking no argument. “Let me see.” “I told you, I am fine,” Haldir grumbled, his voice low and a little strained as you tilted his head to examine a bruise near his temple. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away, though the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. “Fine? You call this fine?” you retorted, brushing a few strands of his silver-blonde hair away to make sure there were no cuts hidden beneath. “I thought I’d lost you, Haldir.” Your voice softened, and your hands paused, resting lightly against his shoulders as you stared at him, your concern plain in your eyes. The weight of your worry hit him then, and for a moment, his pride faltered. “I was not in that much danger,” he mumbled, trying and failing to sound convincing.

You snorted, already running your hands down his arms to check for any breaks or hidden injuries. “Not in danger? You were surrounded by Orcs and on the ground, weaponless. Forgive me if I wasn’t convinced you had it under control.” Haldir’s jaw tightened, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he endured your inspection. “I would have managed,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “Oh, really? Managed to bleed out? Or managed to have an Orc drag you off? Which one?” you quipped, your tone light but underpinned with the lingering fear that had seized you when you saw him surrounded.

Finally, satisfied that he was, in fact, uninjured, you exhaled a shaky breath and sat back on your heels. “Thank the Valar,” you murmured, pressing a hand to your chest as the tension in your shoulders eased. “You’re really not hurt anywhere?” “No,” Haldir grumbled, averting his gaze as he shifted to sit up straighter. “Not that I haven’t already told you.” You narrowed your eyes at him, recognizing the slight edge of grumpiness in his voice for what it truly was—embarrassment. “Well, forgive me for worrying about the elf I love,” you said pointedly, crossing your arms. Haldir froze for a moment, the faint flush on his face deepening until it reached his ears. “I… you…” he stammered, before scowling faintly to hide his flustered state. “There’s no need to fuss so much. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“Oh, you’re handling yourself so well I had to cut down half a dozen Orcs to save you,” you shot back, though your tone was more teasing now. Haldir gave you a sharp look, his lips pressed into a thin line, but the faint twitch of his mouth betrayed him. “I appreciate your… intervention,” he said stiffly, clearly unused to being on the receiving end of such mother-hen levels of care. “But you don’t need to hover over me like an anxious bird.” You arched a brow at him, clearly unimpressed. “Haldir, you were surrounded. You could have been captured—or worse. Let me fuss if I want to fuss.” He huffed, crossing his arms as if to shield himself from your unrelenting care, but his silence betrayed his surrender. The faint flush still lingered on his cheeks, his pride clearly warring with the warmth that your worry stirred in him.

Finally, you smiled, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline to soothe him. “Don’t act so grumpy. I know you secretly enjoy the attention.” Haldir’s eyes narrowed at you, though there was no real heat in his gaze. “I do not,” he said firmly, but the way his lips twitched upward ever so slightly made you laugh softly. “Of course, you don’t,” you said with a knowing smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his brow. “But that won’t stop me from worrying about you anyway.” For all his bluster, Haldir didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a soft sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing as he gave in to your care. Slowly, his free hand reached out, and before you could react, he gently took your hand in his. You blinked in surprise as he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His gaze lifted to meet yours, a rare vulnerability shining in his eyes. “For being here. For saving me. For… always seeing me as more than the Marchwarden.” Your heart melted at his quiet, heartfelt words. Smiling softly, you gently squeezed his hand. “Always,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. Though Haldir’s pride made him grumble and resist your fussing, his quiet kiss on your hand spoke more than words ever could. Beneath the stoic exterior, his love for you shone brightly, and for the first time in the chaotic night, he allowed himself to rest in the warmth of your care.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

Legolas might react to the reader/you swooping in to save them from a perilous situation like being captured by orcs.

The cold wind swept through the dense forest of Mirkwood, carrying with it the faint, guttural cries of orcs. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the skeletal branches above, casting shadows that danced eerily across the forest floor. Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm, stood amidst the chaos, his bow in hand and his sharp, cerulean eyes scanning the battlefield. The fight had begun suddenly, the ambush perfectly executed by the orcs who knew the forest’s every shadowy crevice. They’d swarmed him and his small band of scouts, overwhelming them with sheer numbers. Legolas moved with the grace and precision of an elf born to the hunt. Each arrow found its mark, and his twin blades danced with deadly elegance, but even he could not hold them all at bay. The jagged blade struck against his guard, forcing Legolas back with every blow. He moved with a desperate elegance, each step a calculated retreat, but the sheer force of the orc’s relentless strikes began to wear him down. The forest around him blurred into a tapestry of shadows and chaos, the cries of battle ringing in his ears like the relentless toll of a bell.

Then came the sharp crack against his temple. The impact was sudden and brutal, sending a searing pain through his skull. His vision fractured, the forest spinning in a nauseating blur of dark shapes and pale moonlight. His balance faltered, his knees hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. The ground beneath him felt cold and unyielding, the coarse leaves scratching at his skin as he struggled to regain focus. For the first time in years, Legolas felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel: helplessness. It was a fleeting sensation, quickly buried beneath his pride and determination, but it lingered enough to unnerve him. He had faced countless foes, endured countless dangers, but this… this was different. His blades slipped from his grasp, the familiar weight of them gone, and a cold emptiness filled his hands.

As the orcs closed in, their jeering laughter grated against his ears. Their foul breath filled the air, mingling with the stench of blood and sweat. He felt their rough, calloused hands seize his arms, their grip bruising as they forced him upright. The ropes they bound around his wrists bit into his skin, coarse and unforgiving, and no amount of twisting could loosen their hold. Frustration flared in his chest like a hot ember. How could this happen? He had been trained since he could walk, his every skill honed for moments like this. And yet, here he was, captured like prey caught in a snare. Shame burned alongside the anger, though he fought to suppress it. His father’s face flashed in his mind—stern and proud—alongside the countless warriors of Mirkwood who had looked to him for leadership. What would they say if they saw him now, bound and dragged through the forest like some hapless novice?

But beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, something darker stirred—a flicker of fear. It crept through him like a shadow, cold and unwelcome. The orcs’ voices rose around him, a guttural cacophony of malice and cruelty, and he could feel their delight in his capture. His sharp ears picked up their muttered plans—how they would present him to their master, how his humiliation would serve as a blow to his people. The thought twisted his stomach, but he pushed it aside, clinging to the pride and resolve that had carried him through so many battles before. Even as his legs dragged beneath him, even as the edges of his vision swam with pain and disorientation, he refused to let despair take hold. He focused on the feel of the ropes, testing their strength, memorizing the rhythm of his captors’ steps. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, a steady reminder that he was still alive, still capable of fighting. And yet, doubt lingered at the edges of his thoughts. Was this truly the end? Would he be led into the darkness, lost to the shadows of Mirkwood forever?

A sound, subtle yet distinct, reached Legolas’s ears—a barely perceptible twang of a bowstring. His sharp Elven senses were still clouded by the dizziness of the blow to his head, but even in his disoriented state, he recognized the sound. It was the unmistakable note of an arrow in flight. Before the first orc even had a chance to react, the arrow found its mark, burying itself deep into its throat. The orc let out a choked gurgle, its eyes wide in shock, before it crumpled to the ground, dead before it could make another sound. Chaos erupted immediately among the group of orcs. Through the shifting shadows of the trees, you appeared. At first, it was a blur—a streak of movement, too fast for the orcs to follow, but Legolas could see it clearly. Your form was graceful, fluid, as you moved through the underbrush, swift and deadly as a shadow in the moonlight. Your blade gleamed with a cold, deadly light, a streak of silver as you descended upon the orcs with a vengeance. The very air seemed to hum with the force of your strikes as you cut through the ranks with an elegance and ferocity that even the orcs couldn’t match.

They reacted too late, their growls turning to panicked yelps as they turned their attention to you. You moved like a whirlwind, a tempest of lethal grace. One orc lunged toward you, its filthy blade raised, but you dodged beneath its swing, slipping under its guard with ease. In one fluid motion, your blade drove deep into its side, and it fell with a gasping cry, its weapon clattering to the ground. Another came at you, its teeth bared, but you met it head-on, your strikes flowing like water as you cut down the creature in a series of precise, lethal movements. Legolas watched, his head still spinning, but his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that burned through the fog of his disorientation. The way you moved, the fierce determination in your every step—it took his breath away. In that moment, everything else faded—the pain in his temple, the mocking voices of the orcs, even the cold wind rustling the leaves above. There was only you.

Even as he struggled to stay conscious, a wave of something deeper surged within him, something stronger than mere admiration or gratitude. It was love. The fierce, unyielding love that had always burned quietly in his heart, but now—now it felt like a fire, brighter and hotter than ever before. You were here, fighting for him, saving him when he had been certain he was lost. There was no fear in his heart, only awe at your strength, your courage, your unwavering dedication to him. The last of the orcs fell with a thud, its body crumpling to the ground, and the silence that followed seemed to settle over the battlefield like a heavy fog. You turned to him then, your chest rising and falling with exertion, your breath coming in soft gasps as you scanned the area. The moonlight caught your face, framing it in a soft, ethereal glow. For a moment, you seemed not of this world, like a guardian spirit sent to him through the very heart of the forest itself.

Legolas blinked, his vision still unfocused, but when his eyes met yours, there was no mistaking the feeling that swept over him—a deep, unshakable relief. His heart stilled, the chaotic, wild rhythm of the battle fading into the background as he locked onto your gaze. In that brief, perfect moment, time seemed to slow, and the world seemed to disappear around you both. It was only you, standing there in the moonlight, looking at him with such unwavering love and concern. And to Legolas, in that fleeting moment, you were the embodiment of everything he had ever loved about the world—strength, courage, and an unbreakable bond that even the darkness of the orcs could not sever. You had come for him. Not as a prince, not as a warrior, but simply as Legolas, and that, more than anything, filled his heart with something he had long forgotten—hope. You rushed to his side, dropping to your knees with a single-minded focus that left no room for hesitation. Your hands trembled slightly as they worked at the coarse ropes binding his wrists, your voice firm but filled with concern. “Legolas,” you breathed, the worry in your tone unmistakable. “Are you hurt? Did they wound you?”

The ropes fell away, and Legolas flexed his hands, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. “I… I am unharmed, meleth nin,” he murmured, his voice soft and a little dazed. But the moment those words left his lips, your hands were already on him, inspecting him from head to toe with a meticulousness that bordered on frantic. Your fingers brushed over his arms, shoulders, and chest, searching for cuts or bruises beneath his tunic. “Are you certain?” you asked, your brow furrowed as your gaze darted over him. “You fell hard—I saw it. You could have cracked a rib, or—” “(Y/N),” Legolas interrupted gently, his voice steadier now. His hands reached up to cover yours, stilling them as they roved over his torso in search of unseen injuries. “I am truly unharmed. You came in time.” But you weren’t convinced yet. You cupped his face, tilting it to examine the side of his head where the orc’s blow had landed. “You’re bleeding here,” you fretted, brushing a thumb near the faintest trace of dried blood along his temple. “Does it hurt? Is your vision blurred?”

“It is nothing,” he assured you, his lips curving into the faintest smile at your mother-hen-like concern. “It will heal before the night is through.” Still, your worry refused to abate entirely. “Nothing?” you huffed, sitting back slightly but keeping your hands steady on his shoulders. “Legolas, I thought I lost you. Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?” Your voice broke slightly, and your brow knitted with frustration—not at him, but at the thought of how close he had come to being taken. His expression softened, his heart swelling with a profound tenderness as he watched you fuss over him. “Meleth nin,” he said softly, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I am here. I am safe, thanks to you. Please, do not distress yourself.”

Finally satisfied that he was, in fact, unharmed, you let out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank the Valar,” you whispered, leaning forward until your forehead rested lightly against his. Your hands slipped down to hold his arms, grounding yourself in the solidness of him. “If anything had happened to you…” He closed his eyes at the contact, letting the comfort of your presence wash over him. “Nothing did,” he murmured. “And it is because of you. You saved me, (Y/N). You always do.” You pulled back just enough to look at him again, your eyes glimmering with both love and lingering worry. “You have no idea how much you scared me,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Seeing them take you… I thought I’d lose you.”

His hands rose to cradle your face, his touch gentle but firm. “I would never leave you,” he said, his voice resolute. “Not while there is strength in me to fight. And with you at my side, I am stronger than I have ever been.” Your lips parted, but no words came. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace that spoke louder than anything you could say. He sank into your hold, the warmth of your body against his easing the lingering ache of the fight. For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, the quiet of the forest broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.

When you finally pulled back, your hands lingered on his arms, and your gaze searched his face one last time. “If you ever scare me like that again,” you said, though your tone was lightened by a teasing lilt, “I swear, Prince of Mirkwood or not, I will tie you to the trees myself.” A soft laugh escaped him, the sound rare and full of affection. “You have my word,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I will endeavor to be more careful.” You gave a small huff but smiled in return, your love for him shining clearly in your eyes. And as you stood together beneath the moonlit canopy, Legolas knew with every fiber of his being that he was the luckiest elf in Middle-earth—not because you had saved him, but because you had chosen to love him with such fierce devotion.

[dewitty1]

Hii! I was wondering if you could rec fics where either Draco or Harry have to do some serious groveling. Like, they fuck up, and they have to make it up to the other. It’s my guilty pleasure 😅

Thank you!

Hi @albondiguilla007! Thanks for your ask!

Let me just say that I have not read all of these, and I don't know if they will fit your criteria specifically.

Calico Skies by Fate_and_folly

Draco’s voice shook. “You don’t know what it’s like to have you. No one knows what it’s like to lose you.” A sob fled from him. “Please don’t make me be the first.” Harry’s face crumpled, looking away, and Draco knew then it was over. “It’s my past, it must be. I asked before and you said –” “I have forgiven you –” “I am a person!” Then quieter, “A person; not just something to be forgiven.” ~ With his family’s name and misdeeds laying heavily upon him, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for a torturous eighth year. He finds himself unrequitedly in love with Harry Potter and at odds with everyone around him, even the bricks. While navigating the post-war world, he is forced to decide both who he is and what he wants.

Sometimes It Lasts In Love (But Sometimes It Hurts Instead) by bryoneybrynn

Despite the fact their relationship has been over for years, Draco finds himself standing at Harry Potter’s front door one winter’s afternoon…

Cassiopeia Lily Malfoy by GallaPlacidia (find the Archive drive HERE)

In eighth year, Harry had a toxic fling with Draco Malfoy. Ten years later, a little girl shows up, begging for Harry's help. Could the two be connected? And did Harry misunderstand what Draco was trying to tell him, the last time they spoke? Feat. angry 8th year Harry being truly horrible to Draco, Draco writing a lot of letters he never sends Harry, and the most Gryffindor-Slytherin hybrid ten-year-old you've ever seen.

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by hiimcibee

Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved! So Draco decides to boldly go where no one has gone before: to put himself through scrutiny; their friends’ teasing and pranks; unsound romantic advice from a house-elf; wearing pretty clothes; all to try and win Potter’s heart through courtship. (An unnamed ginger bastard can be heard yelling from afar: “This is actually a detailed guide on how not to court someone!”) But who cares about the opinions of redheads? Literally no one.

Such Great Heights by aideomai

Draco Malfoy, wide-eyed and pale and in a decidedly ragged shirt, was crouched next to the pile of whatever the dragon had been eating. Harry threw himself to a halt and yelled, “Merlin, how many times do I have to save your life?”

Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

[sherewrytes]

Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

Previous

Chapter 8: Breaking point

I felt numb as Erwin led me out of the room, away from the chaos. My mind was racing, still trying to process everything I had just witnessed. The last few hours felt like a blur—one moment I was dealing with the shock of seeing Eren and Ony so close to killing each other, and the next, I was being dragged into a hell I never signed up for.

I glanced over at Erwin, who kept a steady pace, his presence calming despite everything around us. The weight of the situation settled deeper into my chest as I realized how much danger I was in, how much I had been pulled into this world of violence, drugs, and lies.

Erwin stopped outside the door of the warehouse, looking back toward me. His eyes softened slightly as he spoke. "You’re safe for now, Yn. I need you to stay away from this mess. For your own good."

I swallowed hard, the words not reaching me fully. Safe? How could I feel safe when I knew my life was tangled up with these people? When I knew what was happening back inside, what might be happening to Ony, to Eren... to me?

"I don’t belong here," I whispered, more to myself than to Erwin. "None of this is my fight."

Erwin gave me a look, his lips pulling into a tight line. "It’s not your fight, but it’s been made yours. Now, you need to be smart. Don’t let yourself get dragged deeper than you already are."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise. The pull of this world, of Eren and Ony, felt like a gravitational force I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I tried. But I had to try.

Erwin sighed, looking around cautiously before turning back to me. "I’ll take you home, but you stay low. Don’t reach out to them. Not now."

I opened my mouth to say something but stopped myself. What was there to say? That I was scared? That I didn’t know how to escape? Instead, I just nodded again, more to him than anyone else. I had no other choice.

As Erwin started the car and we pulled away from the warehouse, I glanced at my phone, a mix of texts from Ony, from Eren, from people I didn’t even know. And yet, none of them mattered as much as what was happening right now. How much farther could I go before it all shattered?

And then the thought hit me: What would happen if I did choose a side? Would it save me or destroy me?

When the car pulled up to my house, my heart sank as I saw my mom and aunt standing by the door, their expressions serious. But it was the figure beside them that made my stomach drop—my father. I hadn't seen him in years, and the last time I did, things were far from good between us.

I stepped out of the car, still in shock. "What is he doing here?" I muttered to myself, though the question was clear. I didn't expect him to be a part of this situation, especially not after all this time.

My mom looked at me, her face strained with worry. "Yn, your father wants to talk to you. We... we need to figure out what’s going on. This situation is dangerous, and—"

"You really think I want to be involved in this?!" I cut her off, the frustration bubbling over. "I didn't ask for any of this! I don't need his help now!"

My father stepped forward, his face hardened but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—concern? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. "Yn, we need to talk. About everything," he said, his voice low but firm.

I took a step back, shaking my head. I hadn’t prepared for this. Not today. Not with everything that had happened, with the chaos, the violence, the lies. "What’s there to talk about?" I shot back. "You’ve been gone for years. You don’t get to come back now and act like everything’s fine."

My father’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at my mom and aunt, as if silently asking for permission to continue. My aunt was quiet, her eyes scanning me with a mix of sympathy and concern, while my mom stood by, wringing her hands nervously.

I wasn’t sure how to feel anymore. The weight of the past few hours, the violence I had seen, the decisions that had been made without my consent—it was all crashing down on me. And now, my father... He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make it go away.

“I’m not part of this world, Dad,” I finally said, my voice breaking. "I don’t know what you think you’re here to fix, but I’m not going back to any of it."

My father opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. I could see the frustration in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Regret, maybe. But it didn’t matter now. He wasn’t going to be able to change anything, not when everything had already spiraled so far out of control.

I turned away from him, walking inside, hoping the distance would help me clear my head

"My dad glanced at me, his face unreadable, before asking, 'Is Levi running shit?'

I froze at the mention of Levi's name, my heart skipping a beat as my dad described him in that all-too-familiar way. It was like the world had shifted again. "Excuse me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My dad's eyes narrowed at me, his tone stern.

"Short guy, white, temper—shorter than he is..." My father continued, his gaze flicking to the car still parked outside.

My mother, who had been standing in the background, sighed in resignation. "Yes, that’s the man who was here earlier," she said, sounding almost defeated.

I turned to look at my mom, then back at the car, and that’s when I saw it. Erwin. He’d opened the door and stepped out, strolling over to my dad like it was no big deal. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my mind was racing. This was impossible.

"Erwin, get yuh mother cunt out here, man." My dad’s words were harsh, but there was something about the way he spoke that made me feel like I was missing a huge part of this story.

Erwin didn’t even seem phased. He just walked up to my dad like they were old friends, a casual smile on his face. "Reggie, what’s good?" he said as if it were any other day.

This was a nightmare. I couldn’t process it. I had known Erwin for years, sure. But him being connected to my dad, to them, this—this was a whole different level. My world felt like it was turning upside down, and I couldn’t breathe for a second.

What the hell was going on here?

I stood there, completely frozen, unable to speak, as I watched my dad and Erwin interact. The realization slowly dawned on me: this wasn’t just some random group of criminals I had gotten involved with. It was bigger. So much bigger. My father knew them—had worked with them. Erwin knew my father. I was in deeper than I’d ever realized, and I had no idea what to do next.

Was I even safe anymore?

I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to believe what was unfolding before me. My dad and Erwin talked like old friends catching up after years apart, completely ignoring the turmoil brewing inside me.

Erwin reached into his pocket, pulled out a joint, and passed it to my dad like it was a regular Sunday afternoon. "Like old times," Erwin said with a smirk.

My dad took it without hesitation, lighting it up and taking a long drag. The way they were so casual about it all made my stomach churn. How could he sit here and act like this when my life was spiraling out of control?

"So, what’s the deal with Ony?" my dad asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I hear his name mixed up in this mess."

Erwin raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the car. "What’s the deal with Jarmark?" he shot back.

My dad rolled his eyes, his tone heavy with frustration. "He’s in jail, Erwin. You know this."

Erwin’s gaze shifted to me, and my heart sank. The look he gave me wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t comforting, either. It was assessing, like he was trying to figure out what I’d do next. "Reggie," Erwin started, turning back to my dad, "she’s on Levi’s radar. And you know he’s crazy as fuck."

That statement hit like a sledgehammer. I clenched my fists, fighting the wave of panic threatening to take over.

"On Levi’s radar?" my dad repeated, his face darkening. He looked at me then, his eyes narrowing as if seeing me in a new light. "What the hell did you get yourself into, girl?"

I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. How was I supposed to explain? That I hadn’t gotten into anything? That it was all Eren? That I was just trying to live my life, but these men kept pulling me into their chaos? My dad wouldn’t care. To him, it wouldn’t matter how it happened, only that it had.

"Don’t look at her like that," Erwin said, flicking ash from his joint. "This ain’t her fault. Blame your nephew and that stubborn-ass Jaeger kid for dragging her into this."

"Jaeger?" my dad muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. He shook his head and took another drag. "I should’ve known. Levi’s favorite little psychopath."

"Exactly," Erwin replied. "And now she’s in the middle of it. Levi’s been watching her like a hawk. You know how he gets when he sets his sights on something."

My dad cursed under his breath, pacing in front of the house. He stopped abruptly, pointing at Erwin. "You tell Levi to back off. That’s my daughter, and I won’t let him use her to settle his shit."

Erwin shrugged, his expression neutral. "You think I control Levi? If I could stop him from being Levi, the world would be a better place."

I couldn’t hold back anymore. "What does he want from me?" I snapped, my voice shaking. "Why can’t you all just leave me alone?"

Both men turned to me, my dad looking surprised while Erwin simply raised an eyebrow. My dad stepped closer, his tone softening slightly. "You’re mixed up in something bigger than you know, baby girl. I’ll fix this. Don’t worry."

His words were meant to be reassuring, but they felt like a lie. How could he fix this when he was part of the same world that was tearing my life apart?

My mom’s voice cut through the tension like a razor. "How exactly do you plan on fixing this, Reggie?" she asked, arms crossed, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.

My dad sighed, rolling his eyes in irritation. "I told you to keep her out of this neighborhood," he shot back. "You didn’t listen, and now I gotta clean up a mess I didn’t even start."

"Don’t you dare put this on me!" my mom snapped, stepping forward. "You’ve been absent for years, and now you wanna play the blame game? No, Reggie. This is on you, too."

They locked eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around their argument. I wanted to disappear, to pretend I wasn’t standing there listening to my parents argue over my life as if I wasn’t even present.

Erwin, leaning casually against the car, watched the exchange with a bemused expression. My dad turned to him abruptly, his frustration spilling over. "Where the fuck is Ony’s ass, anyway?" he demanded.

Erwin shrugged, taking another drag of his joint. "He’s with Levi," he said nonchalantly. "Handling the aftermath of all this bullshit."

My dad frowned, his jaw tightening. "Handling it how? What’s that short bastard doing to him?"

Erwin smirked, but there was no humor in it. "What Levi always does—making sure no one steps out of line again. Ony’s in it deep, Reggie. You might wanna have a word with your nephew before Levi does something permanent."

I felt my stomach drop at his words. The thought of Ony suffering because of this made my chest ache. Despite everything, Ony had always tried to protect me, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

"You better not let Levi go too far," my dad warned, pointing a finger at Erwin. "That boy may be my nephew, but he’s still blood. I won’t let Levi take things too far."

Erwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You don’t let Levi do anything, Reggie. You know that better than anyone. The best thing you can do is stay out of his way and hope he doesn’t decide Ony’s too much of a liability."

My mom gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Reggie, do something! You can’t just let this happen."

"I’m working on it," my dad snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn, woman, give me a minute to think!"

I wanted to scream at all of them, to tell them to stop talking about me and Ony like we were chess pieces in their game. But I stayed silent, my heart pounding as I tried to process everything.

Erwin finally stood up straight, tossing the joint onto the ground and stomping it out with his boot. "If you’re serious about fixing this, Reggie, you better move fast. Levi’s patience is already razor-thin."

He glanced at me, his gaze softening just slightly. "You might wanna stay out of sight for a while, kid. Things are gonna get uglier before they get better."

With that, he turned and walked back to the car, leaving me standing there with my parents and a thousand questions swirling in my head.

Ony’s mom started pacing the yard, her hands wringing as she muttered under her breath. “My son... turning out just like his father,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I raised him better. I thought—”

“Stop it,” my dad, Reggie, cut her off, his tone sharp. “This ain’t the time for this.” He turned to me, his intense gaze pinning me in place. “Tell me, Y/N. Why? How the hell did you even meet this boy, Eren?”

I froze, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. My dad stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Answer me. How’d you meet him?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “It was on the porch... here,” I admitted reluctantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Reggie’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime. “This porch? Right here?”

I nodded. “Yes... I had just come back from class. Ony was out here... smoking with Eren.” I hesitated, unsure if I should continue.

“And?” Reggie pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What else?”

I glanced at my mom, who looked as if she wanted to interject but didn’t. I took a deep breath and finished, “They were cleaning guns.”

The yard went deathly silent. My dad’s expression darkened as he took in my words, his jaw clenching. Ony’s mom froze mid-step, her hands flying to her head. “Cleaning guns?!” she shrieked. “In front of my house?!”

Reggie held up a hand to stop her, his eyes never leaving mine. “So you saw him, what? Thought he was charming? Thought he was a nice guy?” His voice was dripping with disbelief.

“I didn’t think anything at first!” I shot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “He was just... there. I didn’t know who he was or what he was about. Ony introduced us, and that was it.”

Reggie let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That was it, huh? That was enough for you to get mixed up in all this shit?”

“It’s not like I asked for this!” I snapped, my voice rising. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Dad! I didn’t ask to be dragged into your world or Ony’s world or Eren’s world. I just... I just wanted to come home from school, and then—”

“And then you made a choice,” Reggie interrupted, his voice hard. “You chose to let him into your life. You chose to let him pull you into this mess.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” I said quietly.

Reggie sighed, running a hand down his face. “Of course, you didn’t. None of you kids ever do. And now look at where we’re at. Ony’s in Levi’s crosshairs, Eren’s a damn loose cannon, and you’re... you’re caught in the middle of it all.”

My mom finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “Reggie, stop blaming her. She’s just a girl. She didn’t know—”

“She should’ve known better!” Reggie snapped, cutting her off. “But now it’s too late for that. The question is, how the hell are we gonna get her out of this?”

Reggie paced the yard, his frustration radiating off him in waves. He turned back to me, his finger pointed like a dagger. “You might live in the hood, Y/N, but you ain’t from it. Do you even know what kind of shit the 6ixx gang is up to? Do you even know where all this started?”

I stared at him, unsure how to answer. His words stung because they were true. I didn’t know the depths of it all—only fragments, bits and pieces from overheard conversations and Ony’s cryptic warnings.

Reggie tilted his head back, letting out a bitter laugh toward the night sky. “Lord Father, help me here tonight,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath before looking back at me. “You think this is some petty beef, Y/N? Some schoolyard bullshit that’ll blow over? You’re playing with fire, girl. And the worst part is, you don’t even know how hot it burns.”

“Dad, I—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “You don’t get to talk. Not yet. Let me tell you what you’re tangled up in.” He gestured wildly toward the street, the porch, everything. “This ain’t just about Eren or Ony or whatever little drama you think this is. The 6ixx gang? They’re in deep—drugs, guns, money laundering, you name it. They don’t play fair, and they don’t forgive.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. The weight of his words settled on my chest like a brick.

Reggie continued, his voice rising. “And you? You’re just some college girl to them. You’re a pawn. A pretty little pawn they’ll use to get what they want. Do you understand that? They don’t care about you, Y/N. Not like I do. Not like your mom does.”

I glanced at my mom, who was standing silently to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Reggie,” she started softly, but he wasn’t done.

“No, don’t ‘Reggie’ me,” he snapped, turning back to her before focusing on me again. “You think Levi gives a damn about your degree? About your future? He’ll chew you up and spit you out, just like he’s done with everyone else who’s crossed him. And Eren? He’s no better.”

I flinched at his harsh tone, tears prickling at my eyes again. “I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But you’re in it now,” Reggie shot back. “And you need to understand what’s at stake. This ain’t just about you anymore, Y/N. It’s about your family, your future—everything.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eren's pov 

I was exhausted, every part of my body aching from the endless assault. The pain was sharp, brutal, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. All I could think about was Y/N—her face, her voice, her refusal to choose between me and anyone else. She was the only thing that kept me grounded in the chaos.

I stole a glance at Ony. He looked just as defeated as I felt. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes empty, like the fight had drained him of everything. I could feel his pain, the weight of everything that had led to this point. And then there was his mom—her reaction had hit me harder than I expected. The way she slapped him, the way she let him go so easily. She had always treated him like the problem, like he was the one who’d brought all this mess into their lives.

I didn’t get it. Ony was just trying to protect what was his, just like me. And yet, here we were, being punished for things that weren’t entirely our fault. I hated how she treated him, hated how she kept pushing him away when all he was trying to do was survive. The look in his eyes when she slapped him—it was a mixture of hurt and resignation. He wasn’t going to fight her anymore. But I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t let go. Not yet.

As I stared at him, I started to understand a little more of what drove him, what drove me. We were both stuck in this endless cycle, bound by loyalty, by love, by the need to control something in a world that constantly felt like it was slipping away. And Y/N... Y/N was that thing for me. She was my reason to keep fighting, even when everything else was falling apart.

Levi had been right about one thing—if she wasn’t part of my world, I’d have nothing left. But I couldn’t let that happen. Not with her. Not when I knew she was the only thing that could give me a sense of peace, even if it was fleeting.

The room was silent except for the occasional grunt or mutter. My head was pounding, but I couldn’t shake the thought that everything was spiraling. Levi had pushed me to my limit, and I had barely managed to hold onto my sanity.

I looked over at him, leaning against the wall with that smirk plastered on his face, like this was all a game. And maybe to him it was. But not to me. Not to Ony.

And especially not to Y/N. She deserved better than this mess. She deserved peace.

But I wasn’t sure I could give her that anymore. Not with how things were going.

Levi’s smug face made my blood boil, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t have the energy to snap back at him anymore, not when my body was already broken and my mind felt like it was teetering on the edge. I glanced at Ony again, his head hanging low. His silence was unnerving, and it made me wonder if he was giving up entirely.

But giving up wasn’t in me. Not yet. Not while Y/N was still out there, dragged into all this chaos because of me. Levi might’ve been trying to make a point, but I wasn’t about to let him win. Not when it came to her.

Levi finally stood straight, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Well, this has been fun, but I think you two have had enough for today.” He turned to Reiner and Jean. “Get them cleaned up and back to their places. We’ve got bigger shit to deal with tomorrow.”

Reiner gave a curt nod and moved to grab me, but I pulled away, struggling to my feet. My legs felt like they were about to give out, but I wasn’t going to let them see me weak. Not now. Not ever.

Ony slowly stood too, his movements stiff and deliberate. He didn’t even look at me as Reiner helped him walk toward the door. I could feel the tension between us, thick and suffocating. We were both pissed—at Levi, at the situation, at each other. But there was something unspoken in the air, a shared understanding that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

As Jean shoved me forward, I couldn’t help but think about what Levi had said earlier—about Y/N being the source of all this chaos. It wasn’t true, not entirely. This wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I brought her into this world, made her a part of something she never asked to be part of. And now, she was paying the price for it.

When we got outside, the cool air hit me like a slap to the face. It felt like freedom, even if it was temporary. I looked up at the night sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze. For a moment, I let myself breathe, let myself feel the weight of everything that had happened.

Jean shoved me again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Keep moving, Yeager. You’re lucky Levi didn’t put a bullet in you tonight.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? He was right. I was lucky. But luck wouldn’t last forever.

As we approached the cars, I caught sight of my reflection in the side mirror of Reiner’s jeep. The bruises, the dried blood, the swelling—it all stared back at me, a painful reminder of how far I’d fallen. My face didn’t even look like mine anymore, just a mess of pain and regret.

I stopped in my tracks for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away. The person staring back at me wasn’t the Eren Yeager I knew. He looked weak, broken, defeated—everything I swore I’d never be. It made my stomach turn, the bitter taste of failure sitting heavy on my tongue.

Jean noticed me lagging and shoved me hard. “Move it, Yeager. You don’t have time to admire yourself.”

I almost snapped at him but caught myself. What was the point? I had no fight left for Jean, for Reiner, for anyone. All I could think about was the reflection, the bruises, the way Levi’s words echoed in my head. You like breaking things, don’t you?

Maybe I did. Maybe I always had. But looking at myself now, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to put the pieces back together. The more I stared, the more the reflection felt like a stranger—someone I didn’t want to know, someone I didn’t want Y/N to see.

Reiner yanked open the jeep door, and Jean shoved me inside. The cold leather pressed against my back, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes to block out the reflection. It didn’t help. It was burned into my mind, just like everything else.

In the silence of the car, I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven. My ribs ached with every inhale, my arm throbbed with every beat of my heart, but none of it compared to the weight in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d already lost everything. And the worst part? It was all my fault.

I glanced at Ony sitting on the curb outside the warehouse, his head hanging low as he toyed with the gravel beneath his feet. He looked like a ghost of himself, a man who’d just been gutted and left to figure out how to piece himself back together. His shoulders were slouched, his usually sharp gaze now dulled, and I could tell the weight of everything that happened was crushing him.

I thought about his mom throwing him out, the slap she’d landed on him echoing in my mind. Sure, he had his own spot, but anyone could see being with his family meant something to him. He carried them in everything he did. It was obvious. Hell, it was probably why he’d even tried so hard to keep Y/N out of this mess in the first place.

For a second, a flicker of something like pity tried to surface in me. But I shoved it down as quickly as it came. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. Not when I was sitting here just as broken, just as beaten—physically and mentally. And definitely not when Y/N was at the center of it all.

This wasn’t some accident, some random twist of fate. Ony and I both knew the risks, knew the game we were playing. And if he thought he could keep someone like Y/N away from me, he was wrong. She wasn’t his to protect.

I leaned back in the seat, my gaze still locked on him as Reiner started the car. Ony didn’t look up, didn’t move. Maybe he was as lost in his head as I was, running over all the ways we’d screwed up to get here. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t sure which one would’ve been worse.

Connie sauntered over to Ony and plopped down beside him on the curb, stretching his legs out in front of him with a groan. The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the night and the occasional shuffle from inside the warehouse. Connie tilted his head back to glance at Ony, whose face was blank, eyes fixed on a patch of gravel as if the weight of the world had been buried there.

“Yo,” Connie said, breaking the silence. “You wanna crash at mine tonight? Or I can drop you back at your spot if you’re feelin’ it.”

Ony didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge the question. His fingers idly pushed at the small rocks near his boots, but his focus remained distant, somewhere far from where Connie sat. It was like talking to a wall.

Connie frowned, shifting a bit to lean closer. “Hey, man. You hear me? I said you wanna come back with me or what?”

Still nothing. The silence stretched so thin it felt suffocating, like even the night itself was holding its breath. Ony’s chest rose and fell steadily, but his expression didn’t flicker. He looked more like a statue than a man, trapped in his own mind.

Finally, Connie sighed, running a hand over his buzzed head. He pulled out a pack of rolling papers and a small baggie from his pocket, shaking them in Ony’s line of vision. “Alright, how about this? I roll you a blunt instead. That sound better?”

Ony’s fingers paused for the first time. He blinked slowly, his jaw tightening as if he were weighing the offer. A long moment passed before he finally shifted his gaze toward Connie, his voice low and hoarse when he replied.

“Yeah,” Ony muttered. “Roll me a blunt.”

Connie nodded, glad to get any kind of response at this point. “Aight, bet. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.”

He set to work, spreading the rolling paper out on his knee with practiced ease. The weed was already ground up, and Connie’s fingers moved deftly, sprinkling the green evenly across the paper. The rhythmic movements of his hands felt calming, almost therapeutic, and he wondered if Ony felt the same way watching him.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Connie asked casually, glancing at Ony as he started to tuck the paper and roll it up.

Ony snorted softly, shaking his head. “What’s there to talk about, Connie? It’s all fucked.”

“That’s fair,” Connie said with a shrug, licking the edge of the paper to seal it. “But, like, I’m just sayin’, gettin’ it out might help. You been bottling shit up all night.”

Ony didn’t answer, just leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead. Connie didn’t push it. Instead, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, sparking the blunt and taking a quick hit before passing it over.

“Here,” Connie said, holding it out to Ony. “This’ll do the talkin’ for you if you don’t wanna.”

Ony took it without a word, his fingers brushing against Connie’s briefly before he brought the blunt to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing bright as the smoke curled up into the cool night air. For the first time since Connie had sat down, Ony’s shoulders seemed to loosen, his posture relaxing just a fraction as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

“Thanks,” Ony muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Don’t mention it,” Connie said, leaning back on his palms with a smirk. “You’re not the only one who needs to chill out after all this shit.”

They sat there like that for a while, passing the blunt back and forth, letting the silence between them grow comfortable instead of heavy. Neither of them needed to say much. The weed was doing its job, and for now, that was enough.

Jean, ever the instigator, leaned against the wall of the warehouse with that signature smirk of his, the one that promised trouble. He let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between Ony and the blunt in his hand.

“So,” Jean drawled, his tone thick with mischief. “What’s Yn think about all this? Bet she’s got a lot to say, huh?”

Ony’s entire body stiffened at the mention of her name. His hand froze mid-pass, the blunt hovering in the space between him and Connie. For a moment, it seemed like Ony hadn’t heard him—or maybe he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t. But then, without warning, Ony shot up from the concrete with such force it startled even Connie.

In a split second, Ony was in Jean’s face, his movements swift and aggressive. His jaw clenched tightly, and his nostrils flared as he stared Jean down. Jean, for all his usual bravado, looked momentarily caught off guard, his smirk faltering as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Yo, chill, Ony,” Jean said, his voice laced with a nervous chuckle. “I was just messing around.”

“Don’t.” Ony’s voice was low, dangerous, like a growl that seemed to rumble up from the depths of his chest. “Don’t bring her into this. Ever.”

For a tense moment, it seemed like Ony might swing. The air between them was charged, the kind of thick that made everyone else nearby tense up instinctively. Even Connie, who usually stayed out of these kinds of things, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the two.

But then, just as quickly as he’d snapped, Ony stepped back. He ran a hand down his face, letting out a long, controlled breath as if he were physically forcing himself to calm down. His gaze flickered toward the warehouse for a brief second, then back to Jean. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but the edge hadn’t entirely disappeared.

“Watch your mouth, Jean. That’s family.”

Jean nodded, swallowing hard as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Got it, man. My bad. No harm meant.”

Ony didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention toward Eren, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with a knowing look. Ony’s eyes locked with his, and the intensity in them was unmistakable. It wasn’t just a warning; it was a promise. Then Ony glanced back at the warehouse door, his jaw tightening for a brief moment, before looking directly at Connie, who held the now-limp blunt.

“Roll another one,” Ony muttered, sinking back down onto the curb.

Connie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pulling out the rolling papers again as Jean slunk off, muttering under his breath. The tension lingered in the air, but Ony seemed to retreat into his own thoughts, his fingers tapping against his knee as he stared off into the distance. Whatever was running through his mind, it was clear the storm inside him was far from over.

I leaned against Reiner's jeep for a moment, watching Ony sit stiffly on the curb. His posture screamed tension, the kind that was tightly wound and ready to snap at any moment. A lesser man would’ve backed off, but I wasn’t one to shy away from poking a bear—especially when it was this particular bear.

Reiner had been trying to talk me down, something about picking my battles and how Levi would have both our heads if he caught wind of this. But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I peeled myself away from the jeep and sauntered over to Ony, feeling Reiner’s heavy sigh follow me like a shadow.

Sliding onto the curb next to him, I made myself comfortable, deliberately invading his space. I felt him stiffen the second I sat down, his body going rigid as if bracing for whatever nonsense he knew was about to come out of my mouth. I waited a beat, letting the tension simmer, before I finally spoke.

“I’d call a truce,” I said casually, my voice low and edged with amusement. “But the thing is, I want Yn for myself. And you already know that.”

I watched as Ony’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. His silence didn’t deter me—it only fueled me.

“So how about,” I continued, leaning in slightly, my tone dipping into something dangerously close to a taunt, “you drop this whole big brother act and let me have her?”

The air between us grew impossibly heavier, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. Ony’s head turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a look that could’ve burned through steel. It wasn’t anger—not fully, at least. It was something deeper, something primal, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of unease.

“What did you just say?” Ony’s voice was low, steady, but it carried a weight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“You heard me,” I said, forcing a smirk to mask the tension crawling up my spine. “She’s wasted on you. I’d treat her better. You know it, I know it, hell—she probably knows it.”

That did it.

In a flash, Ony was on his feet, towering over me with an intensity that made even the shadows around us seem to shrink away. His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, but he didn’t swing. Not yet.

“You’re walking on thin ice, Jaeger,” Ony said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was laced with so much venom it felt louder than a shout. “And you don’t want to see what happens when it breaks.”

I stood, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as my pulse quickened. “Maybe I do,” I said, my smirk widening, though it felt more like baring teeth.

Before Ony could make his move, Reiner’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder, pulling me back with a force that made it clear I’d crossed a line.

“Enough,” Reiner said sharply, his eyes darting between the two of us. “This isn’t the time, and it sure as hell isn’t the place.”

Ony didn’t take his eyes off me, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice like a low growl before turning on his heel and walking away.

Reiner shot me a look that could’ve rivaled Levi’s in its intensity. “Do you ever know when to shut up, Jaeger?”

I shrugged, my smirk returning as I watched Ony disappear into the shadows. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Connie suddenly stood up, stepping into my space with a fire in his eyes. "I thought you guys were chill. Like, is Y/N really worth all this, man?"

His words hit like a punch, but I wasn’t about to let him see how much they stung. "Ony’s not gonna forgive you, man. You know how he is about his family. He’s only doing all this shit for them. Your shit’s got him and his mama on ends."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth I couldn’t deny. But instead of letting the tension break me, I threw my head back and laughed—a sharp, bitter sound

I couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up, low and dark, as Connie's words hit the air. His face was scrunched up in that mixture of confusion and frustration, but all I could think about was how badly I’d just rattled Ony. Not just him, but everything around him. Family, loyalty, everything he thought he had a grip on—I was ripping it all away, piece by piece.

I leaned back, giving Connie a look that practically oozed smugness. "You think I care about his forgiveness?" I asked, letting the amusement settle in my tone like a bitter taste. "What the fuck does forgiveness even mean in this world? This is about power, and right now, I hold it. Ony? He's just a pawn in this game."

Connie's eyes narrowed, and I could see his frustration bubbling. He probably wanted to be the peacemaker, the one who made sure everything didn't go off the rails, but that wasn’t going to happen—not on my watch.

"Man, you’re playing a dangerous game," Connie muttered, shaking his head. "Ony’s loyalty runs deep, and you’re testing that line. He's not gonna back down from this."

I shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of my words heavy in the space between us. "Let him try. He knows who I am, and right now, I’m everything he can’t handle." My gaze flicked over to where Ony had disappeared into the distance, no longer looking back. "He’s too tied up in his little 'family' to see what’s really going on. It’s cute, in a way."

Connie looked like he was about to say more, but I cut him off, unable to resist. "And as for Yn? She's mine. No one else gets a say. If Ony’s too caught up in his feelings to protect what’s his, that’s on him. But Yn's not gonna end up like him. She’s gonna end up where she belongs—next to me."

Connie looked ready to snap, his face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could say that would change what I was going to do. I'd already decided, and no one, not even Ony, could stand in my way.

"You really think she’s gonna fall for your bullshit?" Connie pressed, his voice rising just a bit.

I let the laughter roll out again, louder this time. "We’ll see. I always get what I want, Connie. Always."

[dunzella]

I really loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee your yandere series and absolutely need more! Can you please do The Little Mermaid next? And the yandere could be a Merman or something to add a twist to the story! : D

Tyyy, and coming up ♥︎

Poor Unfortunate Soul

Yandere! Dark FairyTale

The Little Mermaid

He just wants to be part of your world

contains: teratophilia, forced captivity, manipulation, brainwashing, non-con, to dub-con, sadistic behavior, abduction, dacryphilia, nsfw themes

"You're crying again, love," he murmured, voice soft but dripping with sick amusement.

His comment only made the tears come faster, tears of frustration and unbridled fury. Who could have known that the "merman" who saved you from the wreckage of your ship would turn out to be a monster?

He hummed as though enjoying your anguish, his cold, slightly webbed fingers tracing your tear-streaked cheeks. When his tongue darted out to lap at your tears, you recoiled, disgust evident on your face.

A low, guttural moan rumbled from his throat as he savored the taste, his icy blue eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. "Mmm… such bitterness. Such despair," he sighed, his lips curving into a contented smile. "I could live off this forever."

You tried to pull away, pressing yourself further into the corner of the cavern, but there was no escaping him. His tail flicked in the water, sending faint ripples across the pool beneath you as he leaned closer, caging you in.

"Get the hell away from me," you spoke, attempting to shove him off you, but he was way too heavy and strong.

"Do you know how beautiful you are when you cry?" he purred, his lips pressing kisses alongside your neck as his hips pressed against you, the slick, cool surface of his skin grinding against your clothed crotch.

"Do you know how revolting you are when you—" you hissed, raising your knee in a desperate attempt to push him away. Before you could finish, he caught your leg with ease, his grip firm but not painful, as if he were humoring your resistance.

“Such defiance,” he tutted, shaking his head as though scolding a child. “So ungrateful…”

Before you had a chance to throw another insult, he cupped your face firmly, his touch deceptively gentle. Just as you were about to scream, His lips crashed into yours, stealing not just a kiss, but something far more precious.

A searing coldness spread through your throat, and a golden light flared between you. When he finally pulled away, you gasped, clutching at your neck. But no sound came.

Eyes wide with horror, you tried to scream, to curse him, but nothing emerged. Your voice was gone.

Grasping your throat, you looked back up at him with fury in your eyes, tears beginning to gather again. "Ah," he said, his smile stretching unnaturally, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. "Much better. Now, you’ll listen."

Your heart raced as he pressed closer, his hands roaming your body with unsettling ease. His slick, scaled tail shifted, revealing something long and throbbing sliding out between you. The sight made your stomach churn.

"You have no idea how much I crave you," he growled, his voice deep and reverent, as though speaking to a deity. "Every tear, every shudder, every inch of your body. I need you, little one. I need to feel you under me, to keep you here where you’ll never leave."

His haunting song began to fill the air, wrapping around your mind like a fog. The sound was beautiful and maddening, eroding your thoughts until your limbs felt heavy, feeling yourself becoming docile.

"Don’t worry," he cooed, scoffing as his fingers slipped under your waistband, tracing the now sensitive skin below. "You’ll get your voice back when you learn to love me. And you will, my dear. In time, you will."

A twisted smile spread across his face leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You poor unfortunate soul," he whispered, his tone dripping with mock pity. "But don’t fret. I’m here. All you need is a little... help."

[gldrushh]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚.TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚.GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚.BLURB: When curiosity takes Aurora Beckett from cupcakes to creeping into a mansion, she stumbles upon a world she’s not ready for. Sneaking around is one thing; getting caught by a business mogul is another.

🧁✧ ˚.TAGS: oc is a little impulsive(maybe a lot), oc makes a dumb decision what's new, KIM TAEHYUNG makes an entry, he's a sly bastard but we love him for that

🧁✧ ˚.WARNINGS: Mild Violence/Threatening Behavior, mentions of paranoia/ anxiety.

🧁✧ ˚.A/N: thinking I'm gonna make a masterlist for this series 🤔🤔

🧁✧ ˚.TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie @eshieslovemaze

CHAPTER 9: AURORA

Cheeto was still planning on running away.

His sharp nails scratched in a irratible manner against the soft wool of the lavender hued sweater as he continued to make constant attempts to wriggle out of Aurora's arms, clearly displeased with being escorted back to his "prison."

"Stop it, cheets. I really like this one." She mumbled to tabby, readjusting him in her arms.

If the landlord of her apartment, Mrs Jung was any better of a person and not a stone heart lady in her fifties who acted like any movement of fur was a national emergency, maybe cheeto and her sweater wouldn't have to go through this.

But since that wasn't the case, Aurora just hoped her little troublemaker would get the sweetest of homes even if that came in the cost of never seeing him again.

Until then, he'll have to do with his prison.

The jingling of the door bell on the animal shelter's door was familiar to Aurora and so was the purrs and barks that came along with it the instant she pushed inside.

"Morning, Eunji!" the brunette called out as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of cedarwood and pet shampoo filling the small lobby. "Look who's here to make it good." She joked, putting the orange tabby with a permanent scowl on the front desk.

Eunji glanced up from the front desk, her dark hair falling messily from her ponytail. "Ah, this little demon!" She laughed, taking him in her arms to press a kiss to his head that softened his mood a little. "I swear he does it on purpose to piss us off."

Aurora couldn't agree more.

"Thank you again, Aurora. He and I really do trouble you a lot."

She shook her hand in front of her dismissively. "Oh, no, it's alright. I found him hanging around the back of the bakery for some reason. It wasn't much trouble."

Aurora couldn't have lied more even if she tried.

"Still, thank you. You took care of him for the night." A smile, speaking of gratitude spread on her face to which Aurora smiled back in response. Eunji placed him back on the floor, letting Cheeto saunter to his personalized bowl that Aurora had gifted, filled with cat food. "He'll be fine here for now," she said, but there was a flicker of concern in her voice.

A concern Aurora felt all too well. leaning against the counter, she asked. "How are things going here?"

Eunji's smile faltered for a moment, and she let out a soft sigh. "It's... fine. For now." Her voice trailed off as she glanced around at the animals. "I'm doing my best, but the deadline is getting closer."

"I know." Aurora nodded quietly, her voice soft but resolute. "And I've been doing my best to save up some money to help. I promise we'll find a way."

Eunji's expression turned into a softer one. "I really appreciate all that you do for this place, Aurora. You've been a huge help really but I can't help but worry. I don't want them to loose their homes."

"Hey, we'll figure something out," Aurora cut in, trying to sound more optimistic than she felt. "The fundraising event is also around the corner. Don't lose hope." Aurora glanced around the shelter, her heart squeezing as she thought of this place closing down.

"We'll make sure they have a place to stay."

Eunji smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I hope you're right."

After waving goodbye to her friend, Aurora made her way to her bakery, considering the opening hours are gonna be starting soon.

A unease in her steps rather than a usual quiet energy, as if she was walking on clouds, free of the earth's pull when she was walking to her bakery.

A hesistant look crossed over her face rather than something speaking of characteristic familiarty as she entered in and her eyes instantly searched for the back room, her feet pulling her towards the space with a calculated carefulness because her mind was a little tease and was imagining pictures of the men from last night doing some satanic ritual there to call the Satan. She wouldn't question it if shadow man appeared instead.

But instead, the room was... normal. Everything was in its place, nothing suspicious lying around. No mysterious boxes. No blood rituals. Nothing.

She sighed in relief, shaking her head at her own paranoia. Of course, there was nothing. Smooth work, though, she had to admit.

Still, something gnawed at the back of her mind.

No. Hell no.

Before any sly ideas could worm their way inside, Aurora pushed them shut as she did with the door.

She would just take shadow man for his words, even if it's as crazy as it's sounds and mind her own buisness. She doesn't need to get involved in whatever this is.

୨ৎ

Days passed, and Aurora found herself clinging to small highlights and distractions. Sometimes it was the video calls with her parents, where her dad proudly showed off the progress on his classic. Other times, it was late-night strolls with Lia, searching for tteok-bokki shops that were still open to pair with cheap soju. She'd spend time hanging out with Cheeto at the shelter, helping Eunji with the animals. And when she wasn't doing that, she was getting the hang of her new crocheting hobby.

But it was the time when she'd start to close the bakery for the day as well as start to run out of distractions. It was the stillness in the moment that would make her thoughts run wild.

So she'd feed the gnawing curiosity little crumbs by lingering just a little late to keep an eye out of for any whispers of the shadowy world she'd glimpsed but it was like these men were robots, programmed to do one thing without a mistake and sound expect the heavy shuffles of their shoes.

That'd make her dare a little bit more where she'd try to creep around the alley, clearly learning nothing from the experience she had with that pervert who was somehow gonna show her a cat other than cheetoo, last time.

But then again, she had not catched the sight of that creep or his boss since that encounter, in the group of the black clad men.

Hyunsoo though, often spotted her lurking but would only offer a curt "Go home," blocking any attempts she made to learn more. And when she'd try to make progress in their blooming friendship in the nights he'd feel the necessity to walk her home, he'd just give his signature silence.

This night, she had enough with all the attempts gone in vain.

The nagging thought kept getting louder: she couldn't just sit by and let whatever shady business was happening around her continue unchecked.

I need to know what's going on, she thought, tapping her foot restlessly against the floor of her apartment as the clock approached midnight but still keeping mind of the people living in the floor beneath.She didn't had the time to deal with a noise complaint.

That's when the plan took root. Not a well-thought-out one, but she was getting desperate. And desperate times called for...well, stupid measures.

She slipped into an black hoodie she had borrowed from lia and jeans, her version of a "stealthy" outfit, and tied her hair back. She even grabbed some dark eyeliner and smeared it beneath her eyes for an extra layer of concealment.

Looking back into the mirror, she rather saw her 14 year old version who had stepped fresh into her emo phase because a guy she had a crush on mentioned he liked emo girls and not a woman who was gonna be putting her life on line.

Atleast they had one thing in common- both were comically absurd.

Determined, she stepped into the night with a box of blueberry cupcakes in her hand.

Her feet still bouncing in an anxiety that seemed to peak as her eyes stayed glued to the rearview mirror as the cab trailed behind the two black SUVs ahead that took off after packing up their work.

"Follow that car," she had told the cab driver, a request that earned her an odd look before he agreed. Ever turn and twist, she kept reminding herself- this wasn't some fun spy game; she was following people who might kill her if they noticed.

-But if she could just figure out what they were up to, maybe she'd stop feeling like a puppet in a dangerous game.

"Miss, this area is pretty out of the way. You sure you want to follow them all the way out here?" the driver asked, his eyes flicking between the road and the retreating taillights.

Aurora gulped. "Yeah, I'm sure."

They drove for another ten minutes, winding through the city until the buildings thinned out into sprawling estates, each bigger than the last. She felt the weight in her chest grow heavier, but she couldn't back out now.

When the black cars finally slowed down and turned into a massive iron gate, Aurora's breath caught in her throat. Holy hell, that's a mansion. She slouched lower in her seat, trying to avoid being seen.

"You want me to stop here?" The cab driver slowed down the car at a distance and asked with doubt.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Just... pull over."

The car eased to a stop at the side of the road. Aurora peered out the window, her heart racing as she watched the two cars disappear past the gates. The mansion loomed beyond, a monstrous structure of dark stone walls and glass, practically glowing under the moon light.

She hadn't expected this. This is where they're going?

This had to be something far more important and..sinister than she thought. And she was gonna find that out. Without overthinking, she handed the driver some cash with a thank you and slipped out of the cab, keeping to the shadows as she surveyed the metal gate that shut as soon as the cars got inside.

Although one thing stood out. There were no other men in black. No other guards surrounding or on duty in front of this place that looked like the home for royalty.

It looked more like a trap than mere carelessness.

She wasn't sure if she should be getting closer to that. But after a few moments of pacing and chewing her lip, she noticed an old side entrance near the back far from what looked like the main one, small and rusted. Now that was carelessness on their part.

A quick glance around. No one in sight.

Taking a deep breath, Aurora sneaked in through the gate and slipped onto the estate grounds, clutching the box in her arms like some kind of weak alibi as if her plan of serenading the shadow man with them if she accidentally stumbled upon him would actually work. He could use some sweetness in his system anyways.

She crept along the side of the well trimmed bushes, trying her best not to think about how this was possibly the worst idea she'd ever had. But she was committed now.

The garden was more of a massive lawn, perfectly manicured with tall hedges and sculptures that looked far too expensive to be touched, let alone damaged. Slowly, she began moving further into the garden, sticking close to the hedges and keeping her steps light. She couldn't help but glance around, half expecting some hidden security camera to zoom in on her at any moment. Her breath came out in small puffs of air as she pressed herself against the side of a large stone sculpture, listening intently.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Aurora's heart rate spiked as she heard the low murmur of men's voices not too far away. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they were getting closer, and that was all that mattered. Crap.

She darted towards the nearest shadowy corner, hugging the side of the mansion's tall, imposing walls. The soft moonlight glinted off the sleek black stone, and for a moment, she felt small, like she had just stepped into a world far too big for her to understand.

As the voices grew louder, her pulse pounded in her ears. Aurora ended up practically pressed against the cold stone of the building, trying to stay hidden

Then, she heard it.

"Didn't expect to see a little mouse wandering around here." A deep smoth voice spoke out from behind, the edges of the words lilting with amusement.

Aurora recognized the voice before she even turned around. It was the same one she and Lia tuned in the buisness channels for.

Aurora's heart jumped into her throat at the realization, and she whipped around. Her eyes widened as they locked onto the tall, well-dressed man who was the finest one to walk on earth according to 6 mainstream magazines ever year.

She blinked. Then blinked again.

Holy. Crap.

Standing before her was Kim Taehyung-the Kim Taehyung. The one and only heir to Kim corporations- a ridiculously powerful family with buisness lineages that went beyond the borders of South Korea. The one that was always somehow in the top 10 trending topics. The one she and her blonde haired best friend may or may not have fangirled for in several occasions

Her brain short-circuited for a moment, processing the fact that the most handsome and recognizable man was looking down at her, and she was wearing a hoodie and extra eyeliner for gods sake.

Aurora's grip tightened on the cupcake box, as if it would save her from whatever was happening.

"KimfreakingTaehyung!" she gasped in one breath. Some part of her wished to lia to be here so she could validate this moment because Aurora didn't think anyone's going to believe her.

"What-how-I mean, what are you doing here?" she blurted next, half in awe, half in panic. Her attempt at being inconspicuous was completely blown. "Oh my God-- is this your house?"

Taehyung chuckled, "Kind of." Oh God, kill me.

His eyes then glanced down at the cupcake box in her arms, making the amused look get replaced by something else. But it was only for a second before his usual expression was back on with a greater intensity.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Ms Beckett." He spoke again and she almost fainted hearing her name come out of his mouth. Aurora had expected mystery, maybe even a little danger, but Kim Taehyung knowing her name was definitely not on the list..

Her mind reeled and words got caught in her throat. "Y-You know who I am?" The question "also can I touch you to see if you're real?" tried to escape from her mouth but she pushed it back down.

He smiled that million dollar smile of his, that made headlines. "You do buisness with a close friend of mine. Of course I know."

Aurora's brain screeched to a halt. Business? Friend? She replayed the words in her head, trying to connect the dots, but none of it made sense. She didn't know anyone in his circle-or at least she didn't think she did. Her wide-eyed stare must've been a dead giveaway because Taehyung's amused grin grew wider.

"You seem confused, Ms. Beckett," Taehyung said, his voice teasing. "Considering my friends leaves... quite the impression." His eyes flickered with something, like he was dropping a secret into her lap.

The realization hit her like a freight train.The shadow man. The man who owned her bakery and all the danger in her life. He was Kim Taehyung's friend? Why would a man with elegance like his would ever be acquaintances with a man like him?

Unless... there was not much difference between elegance and elusive.

"I... didn't know," she whispered, feeling like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. "I had no idea."

"It's alright. Most don't." He cooly said.

Despite his confirmation, she found it hard to imagine the polished business heir, always in the public eye, charming his way through interviews and dazzling the media with... that man who lurked in the shadows of alleyways and backdoor deals.

She glanced at Taehyung, the question burned on her tongue.

Taehyung, meanwhile, was studying her with mild amusement, clearly enjoying the way her mind was spinning. His gaze flicking to the cupcake box in her arms again. "I've also heard you're quite the baker, Ms Beckett. Just not that you did late night deliveries by sneaking around."

Aurora flushed, suddenly very aware of how out of her depth she was. "I-well, I don't usually... I mean, this isn't exactly a delivery!" she stammered, her voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "I was just... taking a walk and... you know, ended up here. As for the box it's like a emotional support. "

Her mind scrambled for something less ridiculous to say, but all she could focus on was the fact that Kim Taehyung was standing in front of her, smirking like he'd caught her in the most awkward situation possible-which, of course, he had.

"A midnight stroll in guarded grounds? Are you lying, Aurora?"

Aurora's cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red and she was grateful for the dark the night provided at this moment.

Focus, she scolded herself again. This is not the time to act like a school girl with a crush in front of Kim Taehyung.

"Guess I got a little curious." She slyly managed although it leaned more towards awkward and I want the ground to swallow me in.

Taehyung's smile returned, but there was a subtle shift in his expression-something darker, though still controlled. "Curiosity is fine, Ms. Beckett," he said, his voice smooth as ever and now echoing in her ear as he leaned closer. "Just be sure you know when to stop." He added, the last being a deep whisper.

Aurora shifted uncomfortably on her feet as he leaned in and his rich, intoxicating colonge that clung effortlessly to him crashed onto her senses like a truck with a drunk driver, making the flush travel down to her neck.

Oh she needed to get out of here.

"Right. Well, I should... probably get going," Aurora managed to say, her voice slightly breathless. "Before I... accidentally let my curiosity get the better of me again." She gave a weak laugh, trying to will her face back to a normal color.

He maintained that smile on his face with a grace and smoothly took the cupcake box from her before she could disappear from here and most probably the face of the earth after the embarrassment she had put herself through, in front of Kim Taehyung, no less.

"I'll be expecting one of those boxes for me next time."

→ To be continued..

→ Previous chapter.

[darklinaforever]

It makes me laugh when I see people saying that Orlok can't be Ellen's soulmate, because apparently it would obviously be Thomas. Under one of the pretexts that destiny, what Orlok is to Ellen, does not necessarily mean soulmate. We will discuss the other points that apparently would make Thomas Ellen's soulmate at the end because that is another subject...

But honestly, who, between these two men that Ellen loves equally, is more likely to be her soulmate ?

Orlok, technically her fiancé, the one who like Ellen does not belong to the world of the living, is not human, is a supernatural creature, knowing that Ellen is herself throughout the film compared to various supernatural creatures, the one who accepts her true nature and pushes / forces her to embrace him, the only one capable of understanding her, the only one with whom Ellen nourishes a real true connection, the only one also capable of satisfying her sexual passions, who precisely represents on the symbolic level Ellen herself, more precisely the parts of her not accepted, judged and demonized by Victorian society, a world that rejects Ellen and that Orlok mistreats, the one who is her destiny, with whom she unites her soul forever at the end of the story and therefore with whom she ends up ?

Or Thomas, her husband who loves her sincerely (and in a more or less pure way) and with whom their marriage is a sacred (since it is a Christian marriage), who accepts the society in which he lives without questioning it and desperately wanting to correspond to the perfect patriarchal male model of the time in the same sense as his best friend Harding, that is to say by accessing wealth and having the perfect cliché of the perfect Victorian wife with their beautiful children, but to which he technically conforms precisely already since he doesn't listen Ellen, doesn't take her seriously, constantly sees her as a damsel in distress, and thinks he knows better than her do what's best for her, who a part of him dismisses her because he is incapable of understanding this supernatural part of elf, who, yes, still loves her despite the demonstrations of her dark aspects but he is still horrified by it, therefore still not in complete acceptance, and who also isn't capable of fucking Ellen properly as an aside, therefore of satisfying her passions, him who blocks for a time Ellen's innate magical abilities when he meet / married her, therefore fundamental aspects of her person as an individual, which he is not her destiny and with whom Ellen does not end ?

Seriously ? There's really a debate about who is better for Ellen in this situation even if she loves them both equally ?

Also, apparently for some, the fact that Thomas & Ellen are the true soulmates of the story would be because Thomas is apparently her sanctuary against the great evil (which I guess translates into the fact that Ellen's magical abilities are restricted once she meets Thomas and marries him, and also that he tries to protect her), and that Ellen sacrifices herself to save Thomas her love at the end.

Except that, first, Thomas tries to protect Ellen but fails, so I don't see how that would make him Ellen's soulmate. Wanting to protect someone is a classic thing when you're in love normally. It's not exceptional. Unless they try to make a parallel with the fact that Ellen sacrifices herself for him and therefore they are the same in that sense except that... I already said it... but...

She is not only doing this to save Thomas because she loved, but also the city / the world, as much out of kindness / altruism as obligation because she brought Orlok into this world, and she is the only one who can take him away. But also and above all embraced and accepted who she really is in her union with Orlok (they get married in a specific ritual that binds their souls forever in the spirit world), while succumbing to her desire and feelings for him by uniting body and again especially soul with him forever in the spiritual world. So no matter where they go now, it will always be together. She is essentially taking advantage of her "sacrifice" to give free rein to her desires and love for Orlok.

That's the real reason for Ellen's sacrifice at the end, and not so much for her love for Thomas and the desire to save the world.

There is also this excellent post that talks in depth about the true meaning of Ellen's sacrifice in the 2024 version, which has nothing to do with the 1922 and 1979 versions as many are absolutely trying to claim to avoid the reality of the new version of Ellen, namely that she is not the embodiment of purity :

So we'll go back to this soulmate argument just because Ellen would sacrifice herself out of love for Thomas and it would serve as a parallel to Thomas' failed attempts to save Ellen... 😂

And I've already talked about this too, but no, Thomas partially blocking Ellen's abilities after he met and married her is not a good thing. To get your answers go here :

So, once again, we will return to Thomas' two-bit argument, apparently being the sanctuary of Ellen against the Great Evil.

Knowing that this Great Evil literally symbolically represents his wife...

Oh and she dies looking at thomas so he's apparently the one she would really love. Not like she's already half gone by then and she's bound to be with orlok forever anyway... And anyway, Ellen loves both of them equally. It's not a competition on this point.

But apparently according to the person who commented under one of my posts "to love is to understand and SACRIFICE. That sacrifice happened when Ellen decided to give in if only to protect her love ; Thomas" (although we've already established in this post that Ellen's sacrifice isn't really about Thomas centrally speaking at all).

In fact, I also just remembered her saying :

"Even after seeing Ellen become completely possessed, violent and then breakdown, he holds her in her arms and calms her down. That man is literally her sanctuary from the great evil."

Although I don't see why Thomas deserves a medal for comforting Ellen and staying by her side while she was being possessed by a being who hurt him too ? When you really love someone, it's logical behavior again. But the Thomas & Ellen fans are trying to turn this into something exceptional and incredible from Thomas when it's the bare minimum he has to do for me ?!

Not to mention I love how they always forget to mention the super awkward, performative sex scene that is almost filmed as a form of rape (even though I know that Ellen technically says yes, but the way of filming remains very particular) that happens before Thomas makes this big, super romantic gesture towards Ellen according to these people. They always forget to mention that Thomas initially acted on his wounded male ego for being judged as less good at sex than a vampire with a rotting body, and so decided to prove how good he was sexually, and in the end, he was nothing but pathetic, once again failing to satisfy Ellen.

Not even able to kiss her on her heart like she asked him to, which Orlok on the other hand will do during his own wedding night with Ellen without her asking him to.

By the way, notice how the sex scene between Ellen & Thomas lacks intimacy and romantism compared to Ellen & Orlok's ?

So this is what shows that Thomas would be Ellen's great sanctuary against the great evil ? Because of this very disturbing scene ? When he doesn't help in any real way during Ellen's possession, other than comforting her at the end which is... the normal thing to do ? Okay...

Again, this is a real glorification and romanticization and simplification of Thomas and his relationship with Ellen. They are not the great pure and perfect love that these people want them to be. They don't even really work together ! But they loved each other and try to be good for each other in the way society has educated them to do it, but finaly fail in this sense. And especially because Thomas manages to conform but Ellen doesn't, because she don't really like this way of do things.

Also... saying that love is understand and sacrifice... Doesn't that remind you of Ellen & Orlok, ironically ?

They understand each other, and both make a blood sacrifice at the end to unite their souls, something that Ellen has always wanted deep down with Orlok (cause she desires him, loves him and he represents the buried aspects of herself etc), even if she also does it for the other reasons that I have already stated. But the fact is that it is with Orlok that she checks both aspects. Understanding and sacrifice. Not with Thomas where there is no understanding between the two. They have never really understood each other, and Thomas is again far from being the main reason for Ellen's sacrifice. It's more about herself and Orlok than anything else.

The fact that we always come back to the same truth. Ellen loves Thomas as much as she loves Orlok. But only one really suits her, and that's the one she'll end up with.

And don't come and talk to me about the fact that the Ellen & Orlok relationship is toxic. I know it. We're talking about a vampire who embodies death, a demon. Obviously there's also toxicity in this relationship like with Thomas (but that doesn't change the fact that Orlok is a better fit for Ellen). It's a gothic romance.

But the fact is that the symbolic heart of Ellen & Orlok's relationship is not really based on this toxicity, at least not in the way people would classically understand it. Really go read @apoloadonisandnarcissus analysis to really understand all that (the movie and the relationship of Ellen & Orlok), she does a wonderful work.

[wizardinrhyme]

Summary: Sometimes you just gotta read the End User License Agreement instead of taking the System at face value.

Just a little something for Genuary 2025 :)

“So I see here in this Agreement there is a section about point conversion. What points can I convert and how?”

[System can convert Earth’s Karma Points to B-Points. Karma Points will be lost on transfer if not converted. Convert all points? Yes/No]

“Yes. Now, I see there is a shop. How do I access it?”

[System Shop is available at Save Points. Would you like to access the Shop now?]

“Yeah, show me what you’ve got.”

A virtual store popped up, looking like a games shop with shelves of cartridges, disc cases, books, and miscellaneous tchotchkes. Shen Yuan strolled through the aisles, having no basis for what was or wasn’t a good deal.

“What’s my balance and how do I get more points?”

[Shen Yuan Account currently has 0 Protagonist Satisfaction Points and 19,836 B-Points. Points are awarded for improving Protagonist and Reader satisfaction. Further point types may be unlocked by user actions.]

Okay, that didn’t really give him any idea how easily replaced these points were, but you can never go wrong with a permanent income booster. He grabbed a cartridge marked 'B-Point Multiplier x4' off the shelf and continued shopping.

“How frequent are Save Points? Can I just save whenever? And can I reload?”

[System will auto-save before and after key story events. Saves will only be used as a backup in case of System Error.]

“So useless to me, then. What’s up with this?” He waved at an empty display marked ‘Special Offers’.

[System may offer scenario specific rewards at any time by its own discretion. Offers are nontransferable, non-refundable, and offered for a limited time only.]

“Are there rewards that are transferable or refundable?”

[Insufficient access]

“Are there other users?”

[Insufficient access]

“I see. You said my role now is to improve the original story; how much can I change?”

[Key events must occur; Protagonist must participate in key events. System will issue quests as appropriate.]

“What happens if I reject a quest?”

[Rejecting a quest may result in punishment up to and including account termination if System determines you have failed to comply with the Agreement.]

Hm. Shen Yuan had never been in danger of inheriting the family business, but he had certainly learned a few things about contracts. He leaned against the shop counter and made a few edits to the Agreement (which he had forced the System to create a physical copy of), initialing and dating each change.

“I will sign if you agree to my updates.”

[…]

[Processing…]

[Agreed]

On the signature line of Shen Yuan’s copy “SysAdmin02 (Authorized System Representative)” appeared in a stereotypical console font.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Shen Yuan promised, leafing through to make sure each edit had been initialed before adding his own signature.

Fast forward and he’s standing in front of a portal to the Endless Abyss, Luo Binghe is freaking out, and the System is threatening to send him back home.

“This goes against our Agreement.” He says, face and tone dark.

[Correct. User has failed to comply with the Agreement. Account will be terminated in- two… minutes… if not brought into compliance.]

“No, you’re the one breaking the Agreement. You stated that 10,000 points would be lost if I didn’t push the protagonist into the Abyss; I have 30,000 points which is well over enough even after you tried to double the penalty. I didn’t reject the quest and I have the means to pay the fine for not completing it. In what way have I not been compliant? You on the other hand are saying you’ll send me back to my original world- which is in clear violation of the conditions. Look under ‘Terms and Termination’. See where it says ‘previously purchased Content will remain available to You’? Now how is that going to work if I’m in another world?”

He jabbed a finger at his purchase history.

“What about this body?” He had purchased quite a few power-ups, not to mention the back-up clone waiting in stasis. “What about all of my artifacts? My custom skins (so much easier than getting ready every day)? My exclusive pets? Can you send those with me in a usable state? Would I even be able to use them after being sent back to that body?”

He was prepared to keep going, but the System beeped in protest.

[Error. This condition is not part of the Standard Agreement.]

“You agreed to my edits. You signed the updated contract,” he smiled, all teeth and no warmth. “I think you should direct your attention to the ‘Arbitration and Compensation’ section where you’ll find you owe me recompense for attempting to unjustly terminate my account.”

And that is how Shen Yuan, now Shen Qingqiu, got away with doing whatever he wanted for the next few years until the System got too frustrated and terminated the Agreement, paying a hefty fine and leaving everyone to their own devices.

[camcorderrevival]

i am being normal about the inherently vampiric narrative of doctor who season 5. the constant themes of undeath and hunger. the references to biting (amy and her psychiatrists, the doctor biting amy in flesh & stone). characters who pass through time chronically and linearly and are unaffected by it. all of vampires in venice. literally the first thing eleven does upon crashing is eat everything in sight. the first adventure he takes amy on they are both nearly eaten. amy pond and her psychic connection to the crack in her wall a la ellen and orlok. amy and rory and the doctor all die and undie. they are all undead. they do not come back to life they simply undie. there is so much more i could say but i am already clogging your inbox. i am so normal.

s5 elevenamy think they are in a whimsical fairytale while every other sign points to them being trapped in a vampire story.

a nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. the most feared being in all the cosmos. and nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. one day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.

amy prays for someone to save her from the crack in her wall and gets the dr. spends the rest of her childhood haunted not only by the memory of him but by the physical markers of his presence - prisoner zero, who escaped through the cracks that were inadvertently caused by 11, through the silence's attempts to stop him.

(and zero is loosely vampiric: sharp teeth, feeds on amy's childhood, lurks in the house)

(and while we're here, that the crack is caused by the silence in their bid to stop the dr means amy's childhood is shaped by the forces that will later abduct her and keep her as incubator for a child she shown no desire for. and that's not even considering what the presence of mels suggests in this vein.)

he comes back on the eve of her marriage, whisks her away into a universe of queens who don't age (and don't remember that they don't age), bracewell who believes himself human and becomes suicidal when he finds that he isnt (which amy expresses a familiarity with)(the suicide is one of the most likely cases to become a revenant), and weeping angels (again, a loosely vampiric design - teeth, claws, gravemarker angels)(the idea of death in life). and river. where the doctor is haunted by her death, amy is haunted by her birth, even if she doesn't know it yet.

and then when amy propositions the doctor she reveals that she believes he only came back for her for sexual reasons (and possibly only waited till she was an adult for those same reasons). and then right after we get the vampires of venice. in which young women are slowly drained and refilled with saturnyne blood with the express intent of turning them into wives. which could mean nothing.