#it's the profound sense of betrayal i think

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Anyways

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Try Again [2]

Pairing: assistant!Jongho x new maid!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Among the many staff members at General Park's estate, Jongho stood out for his dedication, leaving no room for personal indulgence. Convinced that love and marriage would detract from his commitment to serving the general, he had resigned himself to a life of solitude. But his conviction was challenged with the arrival of an annoyingly perfect Miss Kwon, a new maid whose kindness and efficiency began to make him rethink his life choices.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Ugh, he's such an idiot," Seonghwa mumbled, rubbing a frustrated hand against his temple as he entered the House of Lotus that night. His wife smirked from her position on the bed. "Yeah, reminds me of you. Men become utter fools when they develop feelings for someone."

He pouted, shedding the outer layer of his hanbok before carefully joining her on the bed, mindful of her round belly. "Am not," he argued, but she raised a challenging brow. "Are too." He huffed but pulled her close regardless. "Am not."

She glared up at him. "Are too, General Park. You're being one right now." He couldn't resist the grin creeping onto his face at how adorable she was, despite being about to become a mother. "Yes, my love. You're always right. I'm just messing with you, you know that." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "That's more like it," she said, melting into her husband's warm embrace.

"Let him be, Hwa. I know you're frustrated, but he's at a stage where nothing you say will get through. He'll learn on his own eventually." He nodded in defeat, sighing when she pressed her lips against his jaw.

"Now, let us sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

On the other side of the estate, you lay awake in bed, the events of the afternoon replaying in your mind like a broken record. You tried to reevaluate your priorities here, but one memory stood out starkly.

"Don't think, Miss Kwon. Just do your job and leave me alone. And it's Assistant Choi to you."

Those words pierced your heart more deeply than he would ever know. After all those moments and progress, were you a fool to believe you were finally on good terms? Was it naive to assume you were now… friends? A small, hopeful part of you even dared to wish for something more.

But now, you understand.

You had grown up a people pleaser all your life. And if leaving Jongho alone was what he truly wanted, you would grant him your absence. The last thing you ever wanted was to be a bother or annoyance to anyone. You had tried your best, but even a saint has their limits, and you had reached yours.

Feeling a profound sense of betrayal, you replayed his harsh words over and over in your mind. Each repetition cut deeper, shattering the fragile hope you had nurtured. You had seen glimpses of a softer side in the assistant, moments where his stern exterior seemed to crack. Those moments had given you hope—hope that there was more to your relationship than a mere formality. But now, it was clear that those glimpses were just that—brief and fleeting.

You had spent your life striving to make others happy, always going the extra mile to please those around you, to earn their approval and affection. It was in your nature to help, to support, to be there for others. But now, faced with his cold rejection, you were once again reminded that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it will never be enough. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and the sting of rejection was almost unbearable.

It was just like with my parents…

Determined to respect his wishes, you resolved to distance yourself from him. It wasn't easy. Every interaction, every shared moment, had left an indelible mark on your heart. But you had to protect yourself, to preserve whatever dignity you had left. You would focus on your duties, keeping your head down and your heart guarded.

As you moved through your days, you couldn't help but feel a profound sadness. You missed the camaraderie you thought you had built, the unspoken connection you felt. Yet, you reminded yourself that you deserved to be around people who appreciated you and valued your presence. If Jongho wanted distance, you would give it to him, even if it broke your heart in the process.

The assistant had initially been grateful that you had listened and left him alone. He remembered tensing up the first time he saw you after he had told you off so rudely the other day. He breathed a sigh of relief when you only nodded politely in acknowledgement before walking the other way. But as days passed, it became hard not to notice how you were beginning to avoid him like he had first done to you. Whenever he tried to speak to you regarding work, you would dismiss him and redirect him to someone else.

Today was another one of those days.

He straightened up, noticing you heading his way. He cleared his throat, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as he stepped in front of you, intentionally blocking your path.

"Miss Kwon, I'd hate to trouble you, but I'm going to need you to—"

You sighed, bowing. "Apologies, Assistant Choi, but I have more than enough on my plate as it is. If this does not concern maternity or relate to the mistress in any way, please seek assistance from someone else." Without waiting for his response, you walked away.

He blinked in surprise as he watched you go. The indifference in your voice and the quick dismissal stung more than he cared to admit. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and eagerness you had once shown him. His initial relief turned into an uncomfortable realisation that your absence, your avoidance, was affecting him more than he had anticipated.

Whatever, it's better this way.

Jongho tried to convince himself, but it was no use. This treatment affected him more than he liked to admit, yet his stubbornness prevented him from addressing it. Out of spite, he became even meaner to you, thinking that maintaining a cold front would help him regain control.

One day, as he passed by the House of Lotus, he saw you tidying up Lady Park's pavilion, now cluttered with various items. When you felt his gaze, you turned and found him staring. Flustered, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd be careful not to break anything if I were you. Every single item here is worth more than you ever will be." He cursed himself internally after uttering those words, wondering why he had to be so cruel. His fists clenched in regret when you let out a shaky breath and nodded obediently.

"I am aware, Assistant Choi. Please do not worry; I will treat them with the utmost care."

Why didn't you fight back? he wondered. The way you did when he had questioned you and your skills before? He hated that you were giving him minimal reactions, as if speaking to him would kill you. The realisation hit him hard—he was the hypocrite, condemning your distance when he had been the one to push you away.

Jongho's frustration mounted as he realised that your avoidance was cutting deeper than he had anticipated. Despite his best efforts to distance himself from you, each time you turned away, it stirred a pang of regret within him. At the thought, he found himself arranging the books in the general's study with more force than usual.

"Woah, any harder and you'll have to replace them all with new ones. I'm not sure your salary can cover that expense, Jongho. What's gotten your panties in a knot?" Seonghwa's sudden appearance beside him startled the assistant into a cough and a bow.

In truth, the younger man struggled to pinpoint the source of his frustration—whether it was directed at himself, you, or both. He knew he had no right to be angry with you; after all, you had only done exactly what he asked. It was a constant war between his mind and heart, and he was sick of it.

"Nothing, sir. Just a bit... overwhelmed with work," he lied, avoiding the general's knowing gaze.

Seonghwa sighed, crossing his arms. "You know, you're a terrible liar. This wouldn't have anything to do with Miss Kwon, would it?"

Jongho's silence spoke volumes. He continued to arrange the books, each movement more agitated than the last. "It's just... she's avoiding me," he finally admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Seonghwa asked, raising an eyebrow.

The younger man clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I thought it was. But now... I don't know."

"Maybe you should figure out what you really want before you destroy everything around you," General Park advised, his tone gentle but firm. "Including your own peace of mind."

He nodded slowly, the weight of his employer's words sinking in. He realised he needed to stop this war within himself. The constant push and pull were tearing him apart, and he couldn't bear it any longer.

That night, the general returned to his wife's side with a triumphant grin. "Things between those two will be fine now. Just you wait, my love." Lady Park shook her head. "Are you sure? I wouldn't be so optimistic if I were you."

And once again, her intuition proved correct.

Despite Jongho's desire to mend the rift between you, his pride and reluctance eventually held him back. Much to Seonghwa's disappointment, nothing changed. The silent war between Assistant Choi and the new maid persisted, casting a palpable tension over the household, noticed by nearly everyone.

Eunsook sighed heavily as she noticed the usually alert assistant zoning out for what felt like the thousandth time during their weekly inventory check. "What's bothering you, Jongho-yah? You know you can talk to me, right?" the elderly woman asked gently.

The general's aide finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes drifting away from the window where you had been standing moments ago, discussing herbs for the mistress' tonic with another maid.

"I…" He hesitated, tempted to confide in her. Eunsook had been like a mother to him throughout his employment here. But he shook his head, recognising how unprofessional discussing personal matters during work hours would be. More importantly, his pride stood in the way. Admitting his feelings would make them real and expose his vulnerability. He was Choi Jongho, after all. The last thing he needed was to be seen as a lovesick fool.

With a firm shake of his head, he forced a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Eunsook. Maybe just a bit tired, nothing a good night's sleep can't fix. I'll rest earlier tonight, don't worry."

She shook her head in disbelief as she watched the stubborn young man return to work, his usual mask of nonchalance firmly back in place. She could see the turmoil beneath his facade, but he was determined to keep it hidden, even from himself.

These kids are hopeless, I swear...

"Good job, everyone. Go and get some rest for the night." The assistant nodded approvingly at the completed tasks for the day and dismissed the group of estate staff assigned under him.

He watched as the servants dispersed, heading towards their respective quarters. Giving the tidy inventory one last look, he dusted off his hands in satisfaction and began walking towards his own room, ready to retire for the night. All he could think about was the comfort of his mattress. He couldn’t wait to lie down and forget about everything, especially you. Thoughts of you had been making him restless, and he truly loathed it. He chastised himself for being caught by Eunsook earlier. This was bad, and he couldn't keep letting you affect him this way.

As if the world were adamant about ruining his plans, your familiar petite frame appeared in his vision. You were hunched over a basin, scrubbing one of the mistress' hanboks clean. What in the world were you doing out here in the cold of the night? Everyone else was either heading to bed or already asleep. And here you were, performing a chore that could very well make you sick in this weather.

He took a hesitant step towards you, wanting to lecture you, but then stepped back, remembering how awkward things were between you now. Yet, he didn't have the heart to walk away. With a huff, he pushed himself to approach you.

"Miss Kwon, shouldn't this be a task done during the day? Just because you're out here late doesn't mean you're hardworking. If anything, it shows you can't finish your tasks on time during work hours." He mentally cursed himself for always letting such harsh words slip, as if showing that he cared was such a horrendous thing.

You halted your actions momentarily at the sound of his voice before continuing. "Good evening, Assistant Choi," you said, turning slightly to eye him from the corner of your eye, not granting him the pleasure of your full attention. "I understand what you mean, but I hope you also understand that a heavily pregnant woman like the mistress might not always have full control of her bladder like the rest of us and that unplanned mishaps can happen. Do you suppose I should leave the lady in her wet garments? Is it wrong that I am getting things done on my own time? Please do not let me stop you from getting your rest. I am fully capable of managing my own time. Thank you very much. Now, if you'll excuse me," you answered firmly, not paying him any more mind.

Jongho stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and regret. He hated the way he spoke to you, but he couldn't seem to help it. Watching you continue your task, he realised that your dedication and resilience only made him admire you more, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. "Fine."

If he thought that would be the last time he found you out late, he was sorely mistaken. Over the next few days, he noticed a troubling pattern: you were working harder than ever, often staying up late to complete various chores long after the mistress had gone to bed. As if that wasn't concerning enough, you were already up and working by the time he started his day, which was unusually early. He began to wonder if you were getting any rest at all.

Despite his stubbornness, the assistant couldn't help but worry about your well-being. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way you sometimes swayed on your feet from exhaustion and the quiet determination in your every movement. It bothered him more than he would like to admit, but he refused to acknowledge that he cared. The thought of you overworking yourself began to weigh heavily on his mind.

One evening, he stood by the window of the general's study, watching as you meticulously swept the courtyard. The sun had long set, and the estate was bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to go out there and tell you to stop. But his pride kept him rooted in place.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?" he muttered to himself.

Just then, the head maid entered the room with a tray of tea. She set it down on the desk and looked at him with a knowing expression. "Still worrying about her?"

Jongho stiffened, then tried to play it off with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm not worrying, Eunsook. It's just… She's working too hard. It's not good for her."

The elderly woman raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his act. "You know, Jongho-yah, it's okay to care about someone. Even if it's hard to admit."

He scoffed, turning away from the window. "I'm not admitting anything. She's just… being reckless."

Eunsook shook her head with a soft chuckle. "You can keep telling yourself that, but everyone can see it. Just don't wait too long to do something about it."

As she left the room, Jongho's gaze drifted back to you. He knew she was right, but his pride and fear of vulnerability kept him silent. Yet, with each passing day, the thought of you overworking yourself increasingly bothered him, threatening to break through the walls he had built around his heart.

About to retire for the night, the assistant once again spotted you still busy at work. Tonight, you were by the furnace outside the House of Lotus, burning coals in an attempt to keep the mistress warm during the relentless cold weather. What an idiot, he thought to himself as he carefully approached you, not wanting to alert you to his presence. Here you were, busy keeping the lady warm while putting yourself in the cold. You were going to fall sick at this rate. He was amazed that you weren't already ill with the constant work and little rest you'd been getting lately.

He let out a small sigh of relief when he was close enough to see your head propped up on your fist, your elbow resting on your knee, your eyes closed. "You stubborn girl," he whispered to himself, feeling his heart ache as he observed the callouses on your free hand and the bags under your eyes. Your lips were dry and chapped, nearly turning blue from sitting out in the cold for god knows how long. He had to fight the urge to pull you close and carry you back to your quarters.

Instead, he sighed and crouched down beside you, lifting a hesitant hand to your face and gently moving a stray strand of hair. Noticing the slight shiver that ran through you, he quickly pulled off the outer layer of his hanbok and draped it around your shaking form. He froze when you seemed to wake up from the sudden warmth enveloping you.

"Hm— what? J-Jongho?" you muttered groggily before realising who was in front of you. Clearing your throat, you shot up from your seat and bowed. "Assistant Choi, wh-what were you…" you trailed off, noticing his outer layer on your shoulders.

Ignoring his disappointment when you corrected yourself and addressed him by his title instead of his name, he avoided your gaze, standing up as well. "Don't overthink it. I may be strict, but I'm not heartless. After all, who would care for the mistress if you fell sick? If you were responsible, you'd take good care of yourself too." He spoke in his usual icy tone, the mask of nonchalance returning as he turned to leave.

"Wait, your—" you started, looking down at the piece of clothing around your frame, but he cut you off.

"Keep it," he said firmly.

As he walked back to his room, he whispered to the wind, hoping it would somehow reach you, "You need it more than I do."

You stared after his retreating figure in confusion. He was so infuriating. If he wanted to be mean, why couldn't he be mean until the end? Why was he always making things more complicated than they should be? He constantly said one thing and did another. Why was he playing with your feelings like this?

You had been trying so hard to push all thoughts of him out of your mind, focusing on nothing but work, keeping yourself busy, and putting him at a distance just as he had wanted. You wanted to show him that you could be just as good at your job as he was—just as hardworking, dedicated, and capable—to prove him wrong about whatever prejudices he might have against you.

And just when you thought you could finally learn to hate him, he would go and do things like this, undoing all your efforts. You sighed, clutching the fabric around you, pulling it close as tears of frustration welled in your eyes. His scent was somehow… comforting.

"Stop doing this to me, Choi Jongho," you whispered to the night, feeling your resolve crumble once again.

The next day, the assistant resumed his work as usual, though his heart raced at the thought of running into you. Would you still be wearing the piece of clothing he had given you? Or had you already cleaned it and left it on his doorstep? The latter seemed more likely. He couldn't understand his internal dilemma: on the one hand, it felt oddly satisfying to imagine you walking around with his robe draped over you, as if you were his. On the other hand, he wanted to smack himself sober for having these mind-boggling thoughts. He was stuck between wanting to see you in it and knowing the impropriety of it all.

In his constant efforts to both avoid and keep an eye out for you, half the day had gone by, and he began to realise that you had been nowhere in sight the entire time. He told himself not to overthink it, but his mind raced with possibilities of where you could be, trying to regulate the escalating unease he felt.

While he could have simply asked around, he refused to inquire about your whereabouts, prioritising his pride over his concern. Yet, secretly, he was going insane with worry.

As he moved through his tasks, his frustration grew. Every room he entered, every corridor he walked down, he found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of you. The absence of your presence gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the sun began to set, his anxiety had reached its peak. The thought of something happening to you while he stubbornly refused to show concern made him feel a pang of guilt. He clenched his fists, battling the urge to ask someone where you were.

Instead of carrying out his tasks, Jongho ended up spending nearly the entire day searching the estate for you. Every corner, every room, every possible hiding place—he checked them all, growing more distressed with each passing moment.

Where could she have possibly gone?

After what felt like an eternity, he finally found you alone in the Cold Palace. Your figure was hunched, and his heart clenched when he realised you were crying on one of the steps leading up to the vacant chambers. His heart picked up its speed again when he spotted his robe neatly folded beside you. So, you kept it. It was apparent you had come here for privacy, given that this place had been as good as abandoned ever since the mistress moved out.

A part of him told himself he was intruding on a personal moment and that he should leave you be now that he knew you were safe. But the bigger part of him couldn't take it anymore. He wanted— no, needed to know you were okay.

Annoyed yet concerned, Jongho moved to sit down beside you, his presence startling you slightly. "What's making you cry?" he asked, his tone a mix of irritation and genuine concern.

"Assistant Choi?" Blinking rapidly, you shook your head. "I-I'm fine..."

His stern gaze silenced you. "Just be honest with me… please."

You wiped your tears, taking a deep breath before responding. "Fine, if you insist. I'm just… I'm tired of constantly feeling as though I will never be enough for anyone and everyone. You think you're the only one who fought hard to get where you are?" you began, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've struggled, too. I've given everything to prove myself, to show that I'm just as capable, just as dedicated. You have no right to judge me or mistreat me."

The assistant's heart sank with each word. He had hoped, in some twisted way, that your tears were because of him, a testament to his impact on your life. But hearing your frustration, your own story of perseverance, shattered that notion.

When you finished, you stood up, ready to leave. But against his better judgement, he gently pulled you back, his mind racing for the right words. All his usual defences, his pride and stubbornness, seemed meaningless at this moment.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered softly, his voice barely audible.

You looked at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic vulnerability. For a moment, the air between you was heavy with unspoken emotions. Jongho, struggling to find more words, simply held your gaze, hoping his apology was enough to convey his regret.

At those unexpected words, your tears flowed again as you allowed him to gently guide you back into the seat beside him. The chill of the air was gradually replaced by warmth as he once again draped his robe over your shoulders. He didn't say another word, but his actions spoke volumes, conveying his sincerity. This unexpected kindness only made you cry harder.

He moved closer until your shoulders touched, his presence a silent reassurance that you weren't alone. The two of you spent the rest of the evening sitting next to each other in silence. Though he could have left after offering his apology, he realised he didn't want to. There was an unspoken bond forming between you, a quiet understanding that both of you needed.

As the stars began to dot the sky, the silence between you became more comfortable, almost intimate. He felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time. He glanced at you, noticing the way your breathing had evened out, your tears finally subsiding.

"I'm sorry," he repeated softly, feeling the need to say it again.

You nodded, leaning slightly into his warmth, feeling a strange sense of relief. "Thank you," you whispered, grateful for his sincerity.

The two of you remained there, side by side, the Cold Palace no longer feeling so cold with the shared warmth of understanding and newfound camaraderie. The quiet intimacy of the moment made your hearts flutter, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

The next day, Jongho eagerly looked forward to seeing you again. However, as he made his rounds, his anticipation turned to confusion and panic when he couldn't find you anywhere again, not even the Cold Palace. None of the servants had any answers for him, claiming not to know where you had gone.

Desperate for answers, he sought out the general, the head maid, and the mistress. Each of them gave him the same response: "She left, Jongho. She's gone home."

She... left? But why?

Panic gripped him. Hadn't everything been resolved after the previous night? He couldn't understand what was happening. He clearly recalled escorting you back to your quarters after a pleasant stop by the kitchen, where you treated yourselves to some leftover dishes from dinner. There had been laughter, shared stories, and a genuine connection. You had shyly handed his robe back to him at the end of the night, but he had insisted you keep it. Things were going well, weren't they? So, what went wrong?

His mind raced with questions. For once, he wasn't worried about the consequences Seonghwa mentioned he would face if you quit. All he could think about was why you had left and where you had gone. Was last night a goodbye? Why exactly were you crying? There had to be more to it, right?

He needed answers.

Holy crap, he needed you.

As he stood in the empty courtyard, grappling with his mounting frustration and confusion, the general approached, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Jongho...? You okay, buddy?"

The question snapped the assistant from his spiralling thoughts. He turned to face his employer, his face a mask of desperation and determination. The weight of the revelation that you had left, combined with the realisation of how deeply he had come to care for you, pushed him to the brink.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Jongho blurted out, "I need to know where she lives. I need her address—now!"

General Park's eyes widened in surprise. The head maid and the mistress exchanged concerned glances, their expressions reflecting the unexpected turn of events. His outburst revealed a side of him they had rarely seen—a side filled with raw vulnerability and an intensity that spoke of deep feelings.

"You... you were right, I can't be without her," he continued, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and resolve. "I didn't realise how much she meant to me until she was gone. I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I need to bring her back."

Took you long enough, you prideful idiot.

Seonghwa's hand remained on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support. The assistant's declaration of his feelings, so raw and exposed, left him feeling both embarrassed and liberated. He knew now that his emotions were undeniable, and he was willing to face whatever consequences lay ahead to be with you again.

Eunsook stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Jongho, are you sure about this? It's a long journey, and things might not be as simple as you think. Miss Kwon, she was uh... she seemed very troubled."

Jongho nodded, his eyes determined. "Then that's all the more reason for me to be there for her. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I can't let her think that I don't care. I need to see her, to explain… to fix whatever I messed up."

The lady, witnessing his resolve, stepped in with a sympathetic smile. "Very well. We'll get you the address. But remember, you must be honest with her. Be clear about your feelings. No more saying things you don't mean."

He nodded firmly and took a deep breath, the weight of his decision settling in. He felt a rush of relief and fear, knowing that he was about to embark on a journey to find you and make things right. He had come to understand that his feelings for you were more than just fleeting emotions—they were real, and they mattered deeply.

As the information was given to him, the assistant clutched the piece of paper tightly, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He turned to Seonghwa, Eunsook, and the mistress, offering them a sincere thank you.

"I'll make sure she knows how much she means to me," Jongho said with resolve. "Thank you for your understanding."

With that, he set off, ready to face the world and do whatever it took to bring you back. The journey ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he was no longer just an assistant doing his job—he was a man determined to fight for the love he had finally come to recognise.

Your heart felt heavy as you stepped out of the carriage, staring up at the estate you once called home, though it had never truly felt like one. No matter how many people filled its halls, it always remained a cold place, devoid of the warmth you craved. And yet, here you were again, returning after years away. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before entering the Kwon household for the first time in forever.

As you walked through the entrance, the servants bowed in recognition of your presence. "Welcome back, young miss," they murmured. You nodded emotionlessly, your eyes fixed on the altar straight ahead, which held the painting of a person whose affection you had fought hard to earn but never received.

Your brothers turned as your presence was announced. The second eldest furrowed his brows, a sneer forming on his lips. "Well, well, look who finally decides to show up? And here I was thinking Miss Ungrateful would never step foot in this house again. I'm afraid it's a little late to return, little sister. Mother's already dea—"

The eldest grabbed his arm, stopping him from finishing the sentence. "That's enough. Don't start anything. Show some respect. Mother would not want this."

You stood there, feeling a mix of sorrow and resentment. The coldness of the house and the harshness of your brother's words only served to remind you of why you had left in the first place. Yet, as you looked at the painting of the late Lady Kwon, you couldn't help but feel a pang of grief. Despite everything, a part of you had always hoped for reconciliation, for a family that would accept and love you.

Swallowing your emotions, you stepped forward, trying to find your voice. "I came to pay my respects," you said softly, your tone measured and controlled. "Whatever differences we had, she was still my mother."

The second eldest scoffed but remained silent, his gaze shifting away from you. You took another step closer to the altar, feeling the weight of the past and the unresolved emotions pressing down on you. It was difficult to be here, but you knew you had to face it, if not for your own sake, then for the memory of the woman whose portrait now watched over you.

As you stood there, the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken words and buried feelings. Your heart ached, but you remained resolute, determined to find closure in this place that had once been so unforgiving.

You settled on your knees before the altar, the flickering candlelight casting gentle shadows across your face. After lighting your own incense stick, you carefully placed it in the holder before your mother's resting place. Lowering your head, you clasped your hands together, the scent of the burning incense mingling with the bittersweet memories that flooded your mind.

The past few days had been a tumultuous sea of emotions. Upon receiving word of your mother's passing, you had been overwhelmed, retreating to the solitude of the Cold Palace to grapple with your feelings. The cold and empty chambers mirrored your own inner turmoil as you wrestled with the decision of whether or not to return to the place that had caused you so much pain.

As you knelt there, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, thoughts of a certain general's assistant suddenly entered your mind. The memory of his comforting presence the night before, his robe draped around your shoulders, and the sincerity in his voice as he apologised, filled your heart with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coldness of your surroundings.

I wish you were here, Choi Jongho...

His steady presence, his silent strength—it would have been a balm to your aching soul. You longed for his reassuring touch, his quiet support. The thought of him brought a small measure of comfort amidst the sorrow.

Blinking back tears, you whispered a silent prayer, seeking peace and closure. You hoped that, somehow, your mother could hear you and understand the complex emotions you harboured. Despite the years of distance and the unresolved pain, you wished for forgiveness and reconciliation, even if it was now too late.

You took a deep breath, lifting your head to gaze at the portrait before you. "Mother," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I hope you find peace. I hope you know that despite everything, I loved you. And I hope… I hope you can forgive me."

The room was silent, the air thick with the scent of incense and the weight of unspoken words. You remained kneeling, feeling the presence of your elder brothers behind you, the tension still palpable. But in that moment, you felt a small sense of release, as if a part of the burden you had carried for so long had been lifted.

As you rose to your feet and turned, your breath hitched at the sight of your father standing there, your younger brothers by his side. His presence was imposing, yet there was something different in his eyes—a softness you hadn't seen before.

"You're really here… I didn't believe them when they told me you came," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You gulped and bowed deeply. "Yes, I've come, Father."

To your surprise, he broke into a smile, a genuine expression of warmth that took you aback. "Come, my dear, let us have some tea and catch up."

Your heart warmed at the semblance of pleasure on his face. Was he glad you returned? Could he have… regretted not treating you better after you left? The questions swirled in your mind, but the hint of hope blossomed in your chest.

The eldest gave you an encouraging nod. You took a deep breath and followed your father to the living hall, your footsteps echoing softly in the spacious corridors of the house where you spent your childhood.

The living hall was just as you remembered—lavishly decorated yet exuding a cold elegance. But today, the atmosphere felt different, almost welcoming. The elderly man gestured for you to sit, and soon a servant brought in a tray with a steaming teapot and delicate porcelain cups.

As the tea was poured, your father looked at you with a mixture of pride and regret. "I've been thinking, and I believe it's time for you to move back home," he said, his voice steady but with an undertone that made your blood run cold. "You don't have to work so hard anymore. I heard you're out there working as some servant to General Park. You're a lady from House Kwon; you can do so much better. I have a list of marriage candidates that could guarantee you a lavish life, my daughter."

In that moment, the warmth you had felt earlier was sucked out of your being. You should have known better than to believe he genuinely wanted you back for the sake of family. You saw through his motives right away. He only saw a use for you now—to marry and establish another powerful connection for his family. That was all you were ever good for in his eyes.

Your heart sank, and the chill of disappointment wrapped around you. "I see," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The tea, which moments ago had brought comfort, now tasted like ash in your mouth. "So that's why you want me back."

He frowned, clearly not expecting your reaction. "You misunderstand, my daughter. I only want what's best for you."

You stood, feeling a surge of defiance. "No, you want what's best for you and this house. But I am not a tool for your ambitions."

"That's right because she is so much more than that." You gasped, whipping around to find Jongho standing there, a confident grin on his face. "And Lord Kwon, this young lady is far more than just a mere servant for General Park. In case your informant wasn't thorough enough, she is a renowned obstetrician recommended by noblewomen all around Joseon. She is now a valued and cherished member of the Park household. So, it would be great if you could show her the respect she deserves."

Your father narrowed his eyes at the uninvited guest, standing up. "And who the hell are you? Her little secret admirer?"

Before you could turn to defend the assistant, Jongho stepped forward, his voice steady and unyielding. "If you must know, I'm Choi Jongho, General Park's most trusted aide and only assistant. And yes, I am also Miss Kwon's secret admirer, but I don't need your permission to court her. I've come to ask for hers, not yours."

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. Was this a confession?

With a final, stern glare, he took a step forward, placing his arm protectively around you, just as he had when you went to the market. "Now, if we're done here, Lord Kwon, I will be escorting the lady back to where she truly belongs, far away from here."

You let him lead you away, the shock slowly giving way to a warm, comforting certainty. For the first time in a long while, you felt valued, seen, and cared for. As you walked away from the place that never truly felt like home, you glanced up at Jongho, grateful for his unexpected presence and the boldness of his words.

"So, you're my secret admirer, huh?" you teased, biting your lip as you watched the assistant's face flush with a deep, embarrassed red. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure, and straightened in his seat across from you in the carriage.

"Yes, well… I suppose I am," the usually composed assistant stammered, his hands fidgeting nervously. "And I need to apologise for all the times I was mean to you."

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Oh? And why were you so mean to me, Assistant Choi?"

Jongho sighed deeply, his gaze falling to his lap. "I didn't mean any of it. I was bitter because I thought it was unfair that you seemed to have it easy while I had to work so hard. But now… now I see how hard you work and how much you deserve every bit of recognition you get. And your family, if you can even call them that— I... I was wrong about everything, and I'm truly sorry."

His eyes met yours, brimming with genuine regret and admiration. "Most importantly, I've come to realise how much I admire you and how much I enjoy being around you. It's been hard, and I have no one to blame but myself for pretending I didn't want to hold you close, feeling foolish for pushing you away when all I wanted was to be by your side."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his heartfelt words. "And that was why, when I found out you were gone, I had to get you back. I can't lose you without having you know how I feel. I promise that this time, you'll never have another reason to return to the Kwon estate. You'll always have a home here with us… with me."

You blinked, slightly confused. "As sweet as that is… you do know I was planning to return to the general's estate the next day, right?"

He went speechless, his eyes widening in surprise. "Y-you were…?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I was just going to attend the funeral. Besides, who would care for the mistress if I was gone? I promised I'd help her through it, and I intend to. Didn't Eunsook or the general tell you that?"

Jongho shook his head, a mix of relief and frustration washing over him. He silently cursed Seonghwa, his wife, and Eunsook for making him look like a fool.

You sighed, a light laugh escaping your lips. "And here I was, worried that the lady's water might have broken because of how suddenly you appeared to take me back."

He softened, a sheepish grin slowly replacing his earlier tension. "Well, I guess that makes me look a bit like an idiot. But I'm glad I could finally be honest with you and with myself. I promise I'll be good to you and make up for all my past mistakes… if you'll let me."

You reached out hesitantly for his hand, then nervously retreated, feeling unsure. But he was quick to hold onto your hand firmly, cradling it against his chest, letting you feel his heart racing for you. Heart fluttering in your chest, you smiled warmly. "Jongho, I never wanted anything more than for you to be honest with me. I forgive you. Let's... let us try again."

His eyes lit up with relief and joy, his grip on your hand tightening with earnestness. "Thank you," he whispered, leaning in slightly. "I won't let you down."

As the carriage continued its journey, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, a new bond beginning to weave itself between you. For the first time, you felt a deep sense of peace, knowing that the future held promise and that you had someone who truly cared by your side.

Arriving back at the general's estate, Seonghwa greeted you both with a teasing smile and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Ah, Miss Kwon, you're back a day early!"

Jongho shot the older man a flat, unamused look but couldn't hide the blush and adoration in his eyes as he watched you. You suppressed a laugh, noting the general's knowing grin.

"Yes, sir," you replied with a grateful smile at Jongho. "Assistant Choi was kind enough to bring me back early. Now I should probably get to work—I'm sure the mistress could use my assistance."

Giving his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, you turned to head towards the House of Lotus. The assistant stood there, rooted to the spot, his gaze following you with a lovesick grin, already missing you.

I can't believe she's really mine...

Observing the scene with amusement, Seonghwa clapped him on the shoulder. "I told you I'd help you find a wife. Perfect, isn't she? Just wait until I tell Miss Kwon all about your speech on how you'd be a terrible husband."

The younger man cleared his throat, irritation on his face. "Sir, need I remind you that you were once just as hopeless as I am?"

Seonghwa fell silent, his smile fading as he remembered his own awkward past.

"Look at you now, all grown up," the general teased. "Now get back to work if you're so free to stand around. It's not a honeymoon until you ask for her hand in marriage, and I expect that to happen soon!"

Jongho's face turned a deep shade of red. He stammered, "Y-yes, sir. I need to, um… get something done."

In a flurry of flustered haste, he dashed off, muttering about urgent tasks. Seonghwa chuckled, watching his dedicated assistant with a sense of satisfaction. It was heartening to see that even the stubborn Jongho had finally found love. General Park couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, knowing that all his friends had found their own happiness. His thoughts then drifted to a certain fourth prince, wondering how he was faring these days.

Aaand we're finally done with baby bear's love story! Hope it was decent! Are y'all ready for Prince Yeo's spinoff? One last story to go before wrapping up this universe! I am, of course, open to doing more TWTHH bonus content but we'll see hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[ghcstao3]

(cw mcd but not in like? a sad way? bittersweet/ambiguous ending at worst but it’s overall hopeful and happy i swear)

(also cw for descriptions of death/dying. not very graphic)

-

Simon Riley dies alone, buried six feet deep in a Mexican desert. He had scrabbled at his coffin lid until his fingers were raw and bloody and stuck with splinters, then there had been a growing tightness in his chest, and then there had been nothing.

A month ago, Manuel Roba had made the mistake of leaving another soldier buried with the rotted corpse of their former CO, and they had escaped, just barely, with the help of a broken jawbone—until, of course, they were shot point blank once the soil loosened, because Manuel Roba would never be far.

So Simon does not get the same opportunity. Simon does not get to succeed in getting out.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Wanders until he comes upon a town whose name he can’t quite discern in the strange, phantasmal distortion that clouds his senses. But he can hear the buzz of chatter and music, feel the emotion of bodies alive, and so he decides to stay in this unnamed town, wandering, at least until his undetermined eternity runs out.

-

John MacTavish dies alone, in a Mexican town by the name of Las Almas. He had fought tooth and nail to survive, until blood loss had made him too sluggish, then there had been a second bullet, and then there had been nothing.

No one had predicted Graves and Shepherd’s betrayal, and it had stung. Then with Rodolfo nowhere to be found, Alejandro captured, and no one to help with his escape, John had been left on his own, with nothing. He had nothing to staunch the bleeding of the bullet wound in his bicep, had no weapons to protect himself from the droves of Shadows roaming Alejandro and Rodolfo’s home town, had no way of knowing the church would not serve as sufficient refuge.

He killed the Shadow sitting in wait, but not before they managed to lodge a bullet in his abdomen, and he had realized, then, that it was hopeless to think he could still get out. So, with what little was left of his strength and adrenaline, John deposited the Shadow outside, barricaded himself in, and slumped into a rickety pew until the world faded from around him.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Las Almas becomes John’s home, though it always remains unfamiliar through the otherworldly haze that dilutes his senses. They’re a strong people here, and they rebuild after the Shadows’ brief but cruel rampage, and it’s enough for John, feeling infected by their resilience, to be satisfied with spending the rest of his unknown eternity floating through the town.

-

At first, neither Simon nor John understand how or why they meet.

It isn't as if they are the only two spirits roaming Las Almas—really, the town is chock full of ghosts, as are most towns and cities and even individual buildings, but paths seldom cross. The afterlife is lonesome, and though it really isn't so terrible, that isolation is only inherent to the nature of death, and so it truly shouldn't be possible that they should ever encounter one another.

And yet, one night—a date they are both unsure of, as time becomes mostly indecipherable once departed from the land of the living—it’s like that fog disappears, that veil lifts, and suddenly the world has become clear once more, clear like both John and Simon had forgotten.

Las Almas seems to be brimming with more life than usual, music and dancing, food and gatherings. John is in awe—despite the festivities, however, he’s also filled with a profound sense of melancholy, mourning everything he’s missed since his passing; since his perception had been reduced to something murky, like he was underwater, looking up and hearing sounds but never quite able to make any of it out. He doesn’t know how long this might last, so he takes advantage of every second—that’s how he eventually stumbles upon Simon Riley.

Simon—he’s heard of Día de los Muertos before, but never quite understood the tradition. His experiences in Mexico were limited, culturally and otherwise, and so it comes as a surprise when he finally feels like he’s living again—but walking through Las Almas, as he finally learns its name, it only takes seeing some ofrendas and listening into conversations to understand what this is, and that it’s only temporary. He is not really a physical being anymore, but he can at least pretend like he is, and that’s how he eventually comes across John MacTavish.

John feels lost, though he’s been haunting these streets for some time now. He spots Simon hanging back in the shadows, notices for the first time that’s it’s someone actually looking at him, not through or past him, and he all but runs up to the man, afraid that if he were to take too long, John might lose his only chance at company.

“You can see me,” John says, breathless.

“I can see you,” the man agrees, the weight of his gaze solid and unwavering.

John wishes to melt alongside the honey-gold flecks in the man’s warm, brown irises, and endeavours to memorize their colour in case he should never get this opportunity again.

“Are you also…?”

A curt nod. “I am.”

John shifts awkwardly. “Do you know what—“

“Day of the Dead,” says the man, not unkindly, though he isn’t necessarily being friendly, either. Obviously, he’s not one for talking—that, or he’s gotten too used to being alone. John doesn’t really care either way. “That’s why there’s so many… people.”

Spirits, the man means, just like the two of them. John feels stupid for not having noticed sooner, and feels his face tingle with a blush. It’s odd, realizing that that’s something he missed about being alive.

“So…” John drums his fingers on either of his thighs, the only thing he’s been able to touch all evening. “You come here often?”

When the man barks out a laugh, John thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, dead and alive. He hopes, somehow, some way, to carry it with him throughout the remainder of his non-existence, however long that may be.

“Are you really hitting on me?” The man asks with incredulity, smiling, and John feels a grin growing on his own face, involuntary and so very welcome.

John shrugs. “Why not?” He surely looks like an idiot right now. He honestly thought he’d forgotten how to smile. “Didn’t think I had any loved ones here, but guess I was wrong.”

It’s dumb and cheesy but John guesses that it works, because suddenly he’s learning the other spirit’s name is Simon, and suddenly Simon is asking if Johnny would like to take a walk with him, and suddenly John finds himself saying yes.

So they wander aimlessly, chat about everything and nothing, and it’s nice, so nice, to get to feel like they’re real again. Even bittersweet as it is, once the sun starts to rise and crowds seem to thin, and John realizes he can’t quite recall the colour of Simon’s eyes anymore.

It’s in a church, the church, where they finally decide to settle and accept the inevitable. Simon still doesn’t understand why they also got to reunite with the living while being strangers to Las Almas, but he doesn’t voice this concern, instead choosing to focus on imagining the warmth of John’s presence beside him as the world starts to fade again, piece by piece.

“I think I’ve been ready for a while now. To move on,” Simon murmurs, staring ahead at the altar, the swathes of glowing candles. “If that’s even how this works. I think I’m just… afraid of what else there might be.”

“I’m not sure,” John admits. He wishes he were able to lean his head on Simon’s shoulder, or intertwine their fingers. “I’ve never thought about it. Don’t think it’d be so bad.”

They’ve only known one another for a few hours, certainly, but John can still sense Simon’s inner turmoil as he nods and hums and stares off into the distance. John wonders if, maybe in another life, they might’ve had a proper chance to have a thousand more conversations before this one. A proper chance to actually build something between them before they find themselves clinging to the dregs of almost-corporeality, just wishing for more time, or maybe something better entirely.

“I’ll go with you,” John adds unthinkingly, feeling his phantom heartbeat jumping in pace. “I don’t really have anything to stay for. That way we’d at least have something familiar.”

“I don’t know if I’d call you familiar,” Simon teases, a faint smile on his lips. “But I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” John says. “Because I wasn’t really giving you a choice.”

Simon laughs quietly, and John grasps desperately onto the sound as he closes his eyes and allows himself to be submerged again. When he opens his eyes, as he expected, the world is as it was before, blurry and distant and incomprehensible.

But this time, it isn’t nearly as lonely.

[seungminsbaldspot]

Six Years, Five months and Two days | FIVE X READER

pairing: five hargreaves x reader

Word Count: 3805

Genre: angst

General Notes: Lila x Five did happen here folks :/, sexual themes, crude language, this does not correlate with whatever happens during seasons 4 other than Lila and Five jumping into a different timeline together for seven years, Reader is referred to as female and wife

Trigger Warnings: Infidelity and Betrayal: References to an affair and its emotional fallout, Emotional Turmoil: Repeated cycles of using others for support followed by pain, Unwanted Pregnancy: Discussion of a potential pregnancy with uncertain paternity, Conflict and Blame: Arguments and blame related to the affair and its effects,Intense Conversations: Emotional discussions filled with guilt, regret, and frustration, Relationship Breakdown: Decision to take a break from a relationship due to ongoing issues, and Self-Destructive Patterns: Seeking comfort in a way that leads to more distress.

Author’s note: I think if I could give this fic a song, I think it would be 'don't speak - no doubt’

Taglist:(comment if you wanna be added) @fate-posts

Spoiler: All you get is, there will be a part 4

Click here for part four !

Click here for the previous part two!

It's been a few weeks of this cycle: you using Five whenever the loneliness and anger become too much to bear, then pushing him away, crying in the aftermath, and repeating the cycle. Each encounter is a mix of bitterness and need, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by his betrayal while simultaneously punishing him for it.

Every time, you find solace in his presence, yet the relief is fleeting. The passion you once shared has become a battleground, where your emotions clash and your pain is laid bare. Afterward, as you watch him leave, you are left with a profound sense of emptiness, the tears you shed a stark reminder of the unresolved hurt that still lingers.

Even though this cycle is far from ideal for either of you, it has provided a certain measure of relief. Diego and Lila seem to be finding their way back to happiness, and as for you and Five—well, you’re not divorced, but it's hard to say if what you share can still be called a marriage.

It’s more of a fuck-buddy system now, with you being the only one reaching out. You start to wonder if Five ever gets tired of this arrangement. A flicker of sympathy for him crosses your mind, but it quickly fades when you remember the betrayal. He cheated on you—with his brother’s wife.

A knock on your bedroom door reels your out of your thoughts.

You open the bedroom door to find Lila standing there, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. She’s dressed casually, but there’s a seriousness in her posture that catches your attention.

“Hey,” she begins, her voice tentative but steady. “I was wondering if we could talk.” You nod, stepping aside to let her in. She walks into the room, glancing around as if taking in the remnants of your own turmoil. You close the door behind her, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Lila takes a seat on the edge of your bed, her eyes meeting yours with a searching look. “I know things have been... complicated between us,” she starts, her voice gentle. “And I know that everything with Diego and Five has been tough on you. But I think it’s time we had an honest conversation.”

You sit down across from her, your mind racing with the possible reasons for her visit. Her sincerity and the weight of her words prompt you to brace yourself for what’s to come.

“First off, I want to say I’m sorry,” Lila begins, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry for allowing what happened to happen.”You throw your hand up, shaking your head in frustration. “It takes two to tango, Lila. It wasn’t just you. It wasn’t just him.”

She nods, her eyes reflecting a mix of guilt and regret. “I know, but still…” She trails off, lost in thought for a moment. After a deep breath, she looks at you with a conflicted expression. “I’m not sure if telling you this is going to be a good idea.”

Your eyebrows furrow, curiosity and concern mingling in your gaze. “What do you mean? If there’s something you need to say, just say it.”

Lila hesitates, her eyes darting away, and then finally meets your gaze again. “I think I’m pregnant.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken fears and uncertainties. You stare at her, your mind racing as you try to process what she’s just said. The room feels suddenly smaller, the tension could be cut with a knife .

I—” You start, but no words come out. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Are you sure?” Lila nods, her expression a mix of fear and resignation. “I’ve taken a few tests, and they’ve all been positive. I haven’t told Diego yet. I wasn’t sure how or when to bring it up.”

You run your hand through your hair, sitting in silence and shock. The room feels like it’s closing in around you. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how far along I am. And there may be a slight chance… that… Five could maybe be the father.”

The weight of her words lands heavily on you, the implications sprawling out in every direction. Your mind races through the possibilities, each one more tangled and complicated than the last.

“Five?” you repeat, trying to grasp the full extent of what she’s saying. “You think… there’s a chance this could be Five’s baby?” Lila’s eyes are filled with a mix of regret and uncertainty. “I don’t know for sure, but I dunno, with the timing of everything, It could be his.”

You sit in stunned silence, struggling to process the revelation. “This is... a lot. I mean, Five and I, we’ve been—”

“Using each other,” Lila finishes for you, her voice barely a whisper. You sigh, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the revelation. “This—this is a lot, Lila. I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, feeling utterly defeated.

She nods, her eyes reflecting her own fear and regret. “I know... I’m sorry. I just wanted to be honest. I’m terrified of what this means for Diego and me, and for you and Five.”

You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around the enormity of what Lila just shared. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, Lila.” Your voice is steadier than you feel, masking the chaos that’s erupting inside of you.

Lila takes a deep breath, her hands twisting in her lap. “Because you deserved to know the truth. I thought... maybe if we’re honest with each other, we can figure out what to do next.” Her voice wavers, but there's a glimmer of determination in her eyes.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “And what exactly is there to figure out, Lila? We wait. We wait for this child to grow enough to get a paternity test, and then we deal with whatever the hell happens afterwards.”

Lila flinches at the harshness of your words, her expression a mix of guilt and resolve. “I know it’s not that simple,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But what else can we do? I just wanted to be honest with you, to try and make things right somehow. I don’t want any more secrets between us.”

You shake your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “You think being honest makes up for any of this? You think it undoes the fact that you two fucked?” Your words come out sharper than you intended, the anger being unable to be contained.

Lila's face crumples, her eyes welling up with tears as she looks down, unable to meet your gaze. “No,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I know it doesn’t make up for it. I know it won’t change what happened. But I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t happen, either. I’m trying to face it, to deal with it... even if it means facing you like this.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair as you try to keep your emotions in check. “You want to face it? Fine. But I can’t pretend this makes us friends or whatever. You broke something—something that can’t just be fixed with a sorry and some honesty.”

Lila nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I know. I’m not asking for forgiveness... I’m not even sure I deserve it. I just wanted to be truthful, to at least try and do the right thing for once.”

You look at her, seeing the raw emotion in her eyes, the genuine remorse etched across her face. For a moment, your anger softens, replaced by a heavy, painful understanding. She’s just trying to figure everything out too, struggling to navigate the chaos and consequences of her actions, just like you. But it doesn’t erase the fact that she played a big part in all of this, that her choices have led to this mess that now binds all of you together.

Still, there’s a part of you that wants to hold onto the anger, to use it as a shield against the hurt and betrayal. Yet, seeing her like this, vulnerable and regretful, you can’t help but feel a flicker of empathy. Maybe she doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but neither of you deserve this situation either.

You exhale slowly, trying to push away the conflicting emotions that swirl inside you. “Look, Lila,” you say, your voice more steady now, “I get that you’re trying to do the right thing. And I get that you’re scared. Hell, I am too. But I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay because you decided to come clean.”

Lila nods again, swallowing hard. “I know,” she whispers. “I don’t expect things to be okay. I just… I need you to know the truth. I thought it was the least I could do.”

You let out another sigh, feeling the weight of her words settle over you like a heavy blanket. “Yeah…” you murmur, trailing off as the enormity of the situation sinks in. Lila takes a deep breath, her gaze shifting nervously before she speaks again. “Do you think you could... tell Five for me?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Why in the hell would I do that?” you snap, unable to hide your frustration.

Lila bites her lip, her eyes filled with a mix of desperation and vulnerability. “Because I’m scared,” she admits softly. “I don’t know how he’s going to react, and I don’t think I can handle another confrontation right now.”

You stare at her in disbelief, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re scared?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. “Lila, I’m barely holding it together myself. You think I want to be the one to tell him that there’s a chance he might be the father? That’s your issue to deal with.”

She flinches at your words, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I get it, I do,” she says quietly, her voice trembling. “But I thought... maybe he’d take it better coming from you.”

You shake your head, frustration boiling over. “That’s because I’m his wife, Lila. Or at least, I was before all this happened,” you snap. “But I’m not your messenger, and I’m certainly not going to be the one to clean up your fuck-ups.”

Lila flinches again, your words hitting her like a physical blow. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, but she blinks them back, trying to hold herself together. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I know this is my mess. I just… I thought maybe… since you know him better…”

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, your frustration reaching its peak. “Don’t you dare put this shit on me,” you snap, your voice cold and unyielding. “I didn’t cause this mess, and I’m not going to be the one to clean it up for you. You made your choices, Lila. Now you have to deal with them.”

Lila’s face crumples, her composure breaking under the weight of your words. “I’m sorry,” she says again, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve hurt you. I know I’ve hurt Diego, and now this… I just don’t know how to fix it.”

You feel a mix of anger and pity as you look at her, sitting there so lost and broken. Part of you wants to scream at her, to make her feel the full weight of the pain she’s caused. But another part of you, a quieter, more compassionate part, recognizes her remorse and the fear in her eyes. She’s struggling, just like you are, caught in a situation that has spiraled out of control.

“Lila,” you say more calmly, though your voice still holds a steely edge, “I’m not the one who can make this right. You need to talk to Diego. You need to talk to Five. You need to deal with this. I can’t do it for you. I won’t.” She nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll… I’ll figure it out. I just… I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause, the silence between you heavy and loaded with unspoken emotions. Finally, you sigh, feeling some of the tension leave your body. “Just… be honest with them,” you say softly. “That’s all you can do now.” Lila nods, her expression a mix of determination and fear. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “For listening. For… for everything.”

Without another word, she turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind her. You stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door, feeling a whirlwind of emotions—anger, frustration, sadness, and a tiny, flickering ember of hope. Maybe, somehow, things could start to heal. Maybe, with time, you could all find a way forward. But for now, all you can do is take it one step at a time.

A little while later, another knock breaks the silence, pulling you from the depths of your thoughts. You’ve been sitting alone in the quiet room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You feel drained, the emotional toll of the last conversation still fresh, and the last thing you want is another confrontation.

With a weary sigh, you stand and cross the room to open the door. On the other side, Five stands there, his expression tight with worry. His eyes quickly scan you, taking in your disheveled appearance and the exhaustion etched across your face.

"Hey," he says, his voice unsteady but low. He looks you up and down again, as if searching for some clue to your state of mind. You sigh, “What hell do you want?” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, “Lila told me.”

You stand there, feeling the weight of his words. “She told you?” you echo, trying to keep your voice steady. Five nods, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. “Can I come in?” he asks quietly.

You sigh, stepping aside to let him in. As he crosses the threshold, you can’t help but feel a lingering, complicated affection for him, despite everything that’s happened.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and you sit down beside him, the space between you feeling both intimate and charged with unresolved tension. Five runs a hand through his hair, his eyes meeting yours with a pained expression. “I have no fucking idea what to do,” he admits, his voice heavy with frustration.

You stifle a laugh, the sound coming out more like a bitter chuckle. “Welcome to the fucking club,” you reply, your tone laced with a mix of sarcasm and resignation. The absurdity of the situation is almost too much to bear, and yet, there’s a part of you that appreciates his honesty and vulnerability.

Five’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “So what now?” he asks, his voice quieter. You chuckle again, “Who’s ‘we,’ Five? Last time I checked, it only takes two to make a baby,” you reply, your tone reflecting the harsh reality of the situation. The words hang between you.

Five looks down, clearly grappling with the weight of your words. “I know,” he says quietly, his voice heavy. “I just... What if it is mine?”

You shrug, the gesture feeling as heavy as the conversation. “Then you’d be the father,” you reply coldly. Your tone is blunt, a reflection of the emotional exhaustion you’re feeling—tired of crying, tired of being upset.

He groans, “No fucking shit. What the fuck am I supposed to do? What are we going to do?” He gestures between the two of you, his frustration clear.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your own emotions in check. “Look, Five,” you begin, your voice firm but weary, “The only thing you, Lila, and Diego can do is wait. Wait for the baby to be old enough to take a paternity test.

He sighs but nods, “Sorry for getting angry at you.” You shrug. unsure of what to say. At this point, words seem inadequate. The situation is so far beyond simple apologies and explanations. You just nod, acknowledging his apology without feeling the need to respond.

The silence that follows is heavy, charged with the weight of your shared pain. Five’s eyes linger on your face, his concern cutting through the tension. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice betraying a genuine worry despite the strained circumstances.

You almost laugh, the irony and frustration bubbling to the surface. “Yeah, I’ve been so fucking good,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since the day I learned my husband cheated on me with his brother’s wife, and now that said wife might be carrying said husband’s baby.” You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head. “Everything’s just perfect.”

Five's face tightens with guilt and sorrow as he processes your words. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I never wanted any of this to happen. I know that’s not enough, but I’m trying— Fuck, I’m trying so fucking hard to make you forgive me.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his movements.

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his voice rough and strained. “I’m trying, alright? I’m here, doing whatever fucked-up shit you need me to do. I thought maybe I could help in some way, even if it’s just by being here for you. But it feels like nothing I do is right. I don’t know how to fix this or if I even can. I’m just fucking lost.”

He pauses, his eyes searching yours for any sign of redemption or understanding. The frustration and self-loathing in his voice are palpable. You can see the weight of his guilt and regret hanging heavy on him, his attempts to fix things feeling futile and exhausting.

You look away from his intense gaze, the depth of his pain hitting you hard. “I just really fucking love you, alright?” he says, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek and turning your face towards him. The touch is tender, almost desperate, as if he's trying to hold on to the last remnants of what you once shared. His eyes, filled with a mix of hope and anguish, search yours for some sign that his words have made a difference.

You feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, the contact both comforting and excruciatingly painful. The depth of his plea and the sincerity in his touch make your heart ache, caught between the love you still feel and the hurt that's been inflicted. His gaze is unwavering, his desperation to mend what’s broken evident in the way he holds your face, as if afraid that if he lets go, he’ll lose you completely.

You sigh, your eyes closing briefly as you gather your thoughts. Slowly, you grasp his wrist and pull it away, creating a necessary distance between you. “Five,” you begin, your voice weary but resolute, “I can’t keep doing this. This is too fucking painful.”

He looks at you, confusion and hurt mixing in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words amidst the storm of emotions. “I think we need to take a break," you say, your voice quiet but firm. "This situation... it's too complicated, too messy. We both need time to figure things out, especially with everything that's happening with Lila." You pause, meeting Five's gaze, "I can't keep letting myself be hurt by you."

His expression shifts, a mix of shock and sadness settling in. “A break?” he repeats, his voice barely audible. You nod, your resolve firm despite the emotional weight of the moment. “Yes, a break.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

He looks at you, confusion and hurt mingling in his eyes. “We’ve never done anything like this before…” he states, his voice trailing off as he searches your face for some hint of a different solution.

You nod, unable to meet his gaze. It hurts, it hurts really fucking bad. You love this man—or loved him? You aren’t too sure anymore. You’ve been through so much together, and the thought of putting distance between you feels like a stab to the heart.

You finally look up, your voice breaking with raw emotion. “I think it’s— it’s for the best.”

You can see the pain in Five's eyes, the way his shoulders slump at your words. He takes a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he struggles to hold back tears. “If that’s what you need...” he begins, but his words trail off, unable to complete the thought. The weight of your decision hangs heavily in the air between you.

You look away, unable to bear the sight of him in such distress—the man you love - broken by your own choices. It’s a painful reminder of the betrayal that brought you to this point, and your heart aches even as you try to stay firm.

Five sighs deeply, gathering himself as he rises from the bed. He walks slowly toward the door, each step heavy with resignation. “I guess I’ll keep you updated on anything that happens with Lila and the baby,” he says, his voice a whisper, almost like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

You nod, the gesture feeling hollow as you wave him off. “Yeah, okay,” you reply, your tone subdued. As he exits, the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

[kiame-sama]

Soulful Jewel- (Yandere!Sesshomaru x Reader) pt 3

Warnings: yandere relationship, yandere temper, yandere behavior, hurt, betrayal, confrontation, rage, aggressive behavior, yandere behavior, blood, fighting, arguing, not proofread (I probably should get a proofreader at some point)

~~~~~~~~

"So, do you have a big animal form, Lady (Y/n)?"

You glanced over at the little girl that sat on the back of Ah-Un as your group of mismatched ends traveled together. Rin had always been good company during your travels and always seemed to know when you got too lost in your mind and needed a way out. Ever since your mutual Lord both claimed and showed his interest and power over you, you had found yourself feeling more attached to the dog demon.

Despite the less than kind way he had approached you about the subject, you felt an inherent need to stay near him. It felt as if you were bound to him in more ways than one even as you traveled with him and his group. From returning you to life after your sacrifice, to teaching you how to be a demon in feudal Japan, Sesshomaru had done more to help you than hurt you overall.

Now you were pulled from your thoughts by the innocent enough inquiry of the little girl you sacrificed your old life for. It was a good question, did you have an animalistic form? She had spoken about Sesshomaru's dog form several times prior and it made you wonder if you would have a similar fox form. There was also a chance that your form could become less human as you aged and the animalistic features would show through your humanoid form then.

"I don't know, Rin. I think it could be possible."

"Well, why don't you try it now? I'm sure if you try, you could-"

It was then Sesshomaru actually spoke up, Rin quickly silencing herself to hear what he had to say.

"It is still too early in her growth as a demon to attempt such a thing. Should she try and actually succeed she will likely become feral with power and instinct. It is not something to attempt lightly and without good reason."

"Oh," Rin started, "okay, M'Lord!"

It was while Rin was turned to look ahead that you caught a scent on the wind that stopped you in your tracks. Something was painfully familiar about this scent and it made a mixture of emotions well up inside of you, bringing with it a rush of energy that seemed to hum within you. memories came unbidden to the front of your mind as they flashed and played in short clips.

Kagome smiling at you by the campfire.

Songo polishing her giant boomerang.

Shippo curled up against Kirara's side.

Miroku cooking up fish.

Inuyasha training fiercely.

Each memory sent emotions flooding your senses, but they were all overshadowed by pain and with that pain came anger. A burning and broiling rage filled you as you remembered all the injustices done against you by the group and that rage poisoned your mind. The faintest of burns came from where you keep your soul made jewel as you felt a change overcome you.

You heard a voice somewhere near you, but that seemed to be so distant from your mind that you couldn't even focus on what it was saying. All you felt was rage and all you could hear was the blood pounding in your ears. Nothing mattered beyond reaching the source of your pain and putting an end to it.

It wasn't long before you were racing through the forest, headed towards those familiar scents with nothing more than rage on your mind. There was little sound that met your ears other than the profound snapping of branches from your vicious flight forward. A clearing was coming closer as you raced forward, but the moment you burst into the opening another creature slid before you.

A white dog-demon with a purple crescent moon in the center of his forehead snarled at you in warning, his fangs bared and head low. Beyond the dog demon's figure stood a surprised group and their simple presence made a furious growl erupt from within. The dog demon looked over at whatever it was you were snarling at and some kind of understanding seemed to dawn upon him as he turned back to you.

"Enough, (y/n), the human woman isn't worth this rage."

"That bitch left me for dead! I have a right to confront her!"

"As your mate I am demanding you stand down. Back off, (y/n)."

"Never."

He actually seemed surprised at your snarled response and refusal to back down, his demonic aura lessening as his form began to shift back. The group behind the two of you actually reacted now to Sesshomaru who still stood with his back turned to them. Inuyasha was first to draw his blade and prepare for a fight with his elder brother.

"Stand down, half-breed. The vixen doesn't need you or your human pet angering her further."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

It was then you cut in, your voice raw and full of pain. Now the group could hear you as well and it was clear the sound of your voice unsettled them.

"It means you killed me! And when you were done you bastards just left me there! You all deserve the same treatment you gave me!"

"Why the hell do you sound like (y/n)? Answer me damn it!"

"Because I am (y/n)!"

It was then a blue flame surrounded you and you easily leaped past Sesshomaru, ready to dig your teeth into Inuyasha. But as you snapped your fangs, another weight pulled you back. Sesshomaru was back in his dog demon form and was preventing you from letting your rage take control. Even as you struggled to free yourself and felt all of your frustrations mounting, you couldn't escape the larger and more experienced dog demon.

Despite how he didn't seem to believe you at first, Inuyasha took a quick sniff and as the scent registered to his brain the blade fell from his hand. His response told the others that your words were true as they all now looked at your angrily struggling form, trying desperately to snap them with your fangs but unable to move beyond the limited range Sesshomaru gave you. Even as you struggled and cried out, you began to exhaust yourself.

"She's a demon..? But how? That doesn't even make any sense, she died-!"

"Inuyasha," Kagome now spoke, her eyes wide with sorrow and disbelief, "her chest. She- she has the full Shikon jewel!"

"Wait, but what about those shards you have? How does she have them?"

"I still have them right here! But how can she have..?"

You continued to struggle against Sesshomaru's hold, finding yourself unable to break away from the demon dog. Eventually your form began to melt back into what it had been prior. Were you had seen paws with the same white-prismatic color fur that your hair now was, they returned to hands. The muzzle you could see clearly in your peripheral sunk back into the form of your regular nose. Even the size that you had gained began to lessen until you were easily pinned by a paw from Sesshomaru's dog form. He too returned to his other form, continuing to keep you down and preventing you from reaching the group you once called your friends.

"Wait," Songo now spoke, her boomerang falling from her hands as she refused to try and fight you, "do you think she did the same as the first priestess who created the Shikon jewel? Could it be possible she created one too the day she died? It could make sense, but it doesn't explain why she is a demon now..."

"It doesn't matter, we can take it now."

Even as your will to fight receded, your rage still burned poisonously as you growled and snarled towards the group. Before they could react, Sesshomaru snapped at them, his tone more irritated and enraged than you had ever heard it before.

"Keep your filth-covered claws off, Inuyasha. She created that jewel with her sacrifice, it is not yours to freely take. I am keeping this vixen from slaughtering those she valued as a human, do not think for a second I will not allow her to act on her justly formed rage should you try to take what is not yours."

Inuyasha almost seemed like he was going to try and argue or fight with Sesshomaru, but a quick glance at you made him pause. He had been the cause of your untimely demise and his need to chase down Naraku was why he hadn't even noticed what happened. When Kagome told him later about the fact that you had been caught in the wind-scar, he truly felt he was to blame for your death.

Inuyasha had killed you. The others had left your body behind. Kagome had decided to leave you where your body lay in order to help the others. They had abandoned you and you were rightfully furious with them.

"Try to calm yourself, my mate. These humans and the half-breed are not worth being so upset over."

"They killed me and left me behind. I have the right to be as upset as I want to be!"

Kagome- upon hearing your words- burst into tears and hid her face, shame weighing upon her heavily. The others struggled to look at you, even as you fought against Sesshomaru's hold and continued to rant angrily at them. They all were to blame and everyone knew it.

A quiet part of you recognized that leaving you behind was the best move, as Sesshomaru was the only one you knew of who could reunite a departed soul and their body. That quiet piece also understood that you had entered the wind-scar voluntarily in order to save Rin from the same fate. Despite how that logic existed in your mind, you knew you still had a right to be angry.

Still, it was obvious Sesshomaru was not going to allow you to kill the ones that killed you. That fact alone cooled your boiling rage to a simmer and as you stopped fighting, his hold on you lessened. Eventually he was the one helping you up to your feet, keeping himself between you and the group you once called friend.

Your hand rest where your jewel sat, feeling it thrum in response to your light touch against the smooth surface. Even though your rage had calmed, you still held the burning hate inside of you. Perhaps it had been that hate and resentment paired with the roaming Kitsune soul that turned you to the demon you were now.

"If I ever see any of you again, I will not hesitate. Sesshomaru won't always be there to hold me back from my vengeance, so sleep with one eye open."

[devilevlls]

Chapter 16 spoiler (?)

MC, consumed by a burning desire for revenge after being killed by Belphie, stealthily creeps into his room in the middle of the night. With silent determination, they approach the slumbering demon's bedside, their hands trembling with suppressed rage, Beel wasn't there either, that was the perfect opportunity. With a fierce resolve, they reach out to choke him in his sleep, their fingers tightening around his throat with a visceral intensity. It's a chilling moment of retribution, fueled by the pain of betrayal and the unyielding thirst for justice. As MC's hands close in on Belphie's throat, a sudden sense of danger prickles at Lucifer's senses while he was working on his papers. With a swift and decisive motion, he teleports inside the room and intervenes, seizing the human and dragging them away from his slumbering younger brother's bedside. His expression is a mix of stern resolve and simmering anger, his grip firm as he prevents the MC from carrying out their deadly intent. At that moment, Lucifer's protective instincts override any other consideration, ensuring the safety of both his brother. "What in the hell do you think you are doing?" His hand squeezes the human's arm with force.

Belphie awakens with a start, his eyes widening in alarm as his demon form materializes instinctively, reacting to the perceived threat, his tail swaying defensively. He gazes at the scene before him with disbelief, unable to comprehend the notion that the human—whom he may have considered a friend even after all that happened—was moments away from attempting to end his life. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, stirring a mixture of fear and betrayal within him. "I... I thought you had forgiven me." As the gravity of the situation sinks in, Belphie's eyes begin to well up with tears, his heart heavy with the weight of the consequences of his actions. The realization dawns on him with crushing clarity, stirring a profound sense of regret and remorse within his soul. Now he understood the magnitude of his mistake, understanding that the repercussions of his actions extend far beyond what he had initially anticipated.

Masterlistɞ

[vaguely-concerned]

listen I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore but on this playthrough of DA2 I found myself once more entranced and heartbroken to see hawke reenact their relationship with their mother with the entire cursed city of kirkwall. you can never do enough for leandra, and you can never do enough for kirkwall. leandra is proud of you, and kirkwall uplifts its champion, but no matter how hard you try for them you can't fix everything there that's broken, no one could, and even the fact that anyone would feel the burning responsibility to take that task on is a huge warning sign on its own. leandra will easily allow you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of the family's continued well-being again and again, even when she'll beg you to spare the twins from the same thing. it's such a sad, painfully realistic thing because I truly don't think leandra meant to fuck up her kids, and yet she primed her oldest for an abusive toxic codependent relationship with an entire ongoing dumpster fire of a city state better than she ever could have if she had meant to.

I think what leandra actually, deep down wants from you is something you can never ever give her and that is cruel to ask of anyone, but especially your kid -- to bring her back to a time when she was happy. to reclaim when you were all happy, when nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed, before malcolm died, before you had to leave behind bethany or carver's broken body on the ground. to get her childhood back from where she left it and found it all gone and in ruins when she returned. 'this is all your fault'. this is the tragedy of parenthood sometimes I think, that capacity to define a life: she said that once, in a moment of profound pain, and she probably wouldn't have said it under other circumstances and she apologizes later, but now hawke has to live with that forever. leandra can't bear her own emotions without letting them spill over onto someone else so she won't have to hold the discomfort of them anymore, and hawke is left to shoulder that burden and responsibility again and again, handed the impossible task of making it all okay again, somehow -- of stopping anything bad from ever happening again in the Nr 1 Bad Things Constantly Happening capital of thedas.

and then at the same time there's the mirror of how varric's whole family wants orzammar back (and to him orzammar is just a ghost he's seen in their eyes -- there's something in his voice when he says 'That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him' that gets me every time, how much he understands that he doesn't understand and how lonely that makes him among them, and on top of it all he's frustrated and ashamed and sad that he just doesn't get it and can't meet them on it -- like it's a betrayal that he actually belongs up here, when varric wants so badly to be loyal), just as the hawkes want happiness back. (I don't think it's Lothering in itself that longing is for, it's for being together. Lothering was just the place they stayed the longest.) they're all in exile, even as they try to make a new home out of that exile.

(varric and hawke's real 🤝 quality across all personalities, affinities and choices is 'parentified child' lmao. so much of varric's character makes perfect sense once you know he grew up supporting a mother who was an emotionally volatile alcoholic, honestly. between varric, the hawkes, isabela, seb if you have him and merrill's whole Situation with marethari I feel like DA2 covertly is to mommy issues what ME2 is to daddy issues fjsdjfa)

basically I think I'm trying to pick apart exactly why the fact that leandra is clearly proud of hawke and tells them so several times doesn't feel like it helps at all, almost feels more like a cage even though it's clearly meant well? and what I'm getting is that it's because my sense of what hawke actually needs, in general but especially from a parent, isn't admiration or approval but to be loved and supported and understood. I don't believe leandra ever quite understands them, and it scares her because it makes her think she maybe never even understood malcolm. (that's the subtext of a lot of what leandra will say about him in legacy, at least. he's slipping away from her as the years pass after his death and she fears she never really had him in the first place, if he had secrets like these.) she consistently treats her oldest more like a partner or peer than as her child, which considering hawke is always described as being very similar to their father… I mean I totally see how that could be easy to slip into for her after he died especially, but it doesn't make it any less fucked up or unfair.

the real leandra in legacy is. she is SO absurdly self-centered, if you really pay attention. I don't want to keep dunking on her because I don't think she's like this on purpose, but it boggles my mind. if you do the quest in act 1 she gets so upset and overwhelmed that the kids just sort of sit there like :( at the end, which adds to the trend that through the game you constantly see hawke comforting leandra, and you pretty much never see leandra comforting hawke, beyond some light vaguely encouraging comments in passing. if you do legacy in act 2 while she's still alive hawke comes to her, tentatively asking if malcolm ever spoke to her about any of it -- clearly requesting some sort of emotional support or help to make sense of it. she then expresses her side of it, but never once does she say anything to the effect of 'hey that was a lot to go through, are you okay after all that?'.

instead she essentially hands them the responsibility of having a good life, to repay what malcolm did for all of them. and in theory that's not the worst takeaway I suppose, malcolm probably would want them all to be happy, but in the moment it only feels like more expectation heaped upon you somehow? especially since you don't really get to express anything about how it made you feel before she goes to the 'ah no use complaining' zone (after SHE got to express her grief at feeling like she's losing more and more of that old life, and hawke barely got to say anything fhsfalkjfs). in general she really doesn't do much like. parenting, does she haha. there is so much love there in that relationship, and yet so little comfort. Oh, those days. All of us, in that simple place. Well, that's neither here nor there, is it. This life, we have to make the best of it. And thanks to you, and him, I will. Oh well, mum, I'm uh. I'm glad you feel better after that, at least. Nice to be of service.

it's varric's ghost-leandra who actually acknowledges what a burden hawke has taken on, that shows an understanding of why they're doing it, acknowledges the loss they've been through and also reassures them in their sense of belonging that still can't be taken from them, despite it all -- The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It's what makes you try so hard. You'll always have that. We'll always be family. (you can't take 'loved' away, huh.) you get a bit more of a reconciliation/reconnection between hawke and their dad's memory by being reminded he got like this too, you know (implicitly you're not alone). varric through leandra is the one who tells them what they probably would have wanted and needed to hear from a parent right then -- It's going to be alright. that's what Hawke, The Champion means to everyone else, and for once they get to be the one to hear it. except only in a kind dream that never really happened. I. it. hmmmmmm. crushing. that is crushing. but also so incredibly tender from varric's side, and so moving to me that he's seen all this stuff and so desperately wants to give them that comfort. anyway DA2 is about love in some of the realest and thus messiest and most human ways I've ever seen and it makes my brain go wild it's my favorite game of all time goodnight

[deliciousangelfestival]

Shattered Echoes || B. Barnes - Part 2

Character: Bucky x Reader Summary: Bucky confronts the aftermath of her actions.

Warning: Angst, heartbreak.

Thank you for the fantastic response to "Echoes of Revenge." Many of you have asked for Chapter 2, and here it is!

Part 3: All The Lies

Part 4: Sweetest Dreams

This chapter is full of angst and heartbreak. I hope you enjoy it!

Author's Note: Would you like this to be continued?

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

The night hung heavy with the weight of unspoken words as Y/N stood at the threshold of her small, now somber home.

She hesitated momentarily, her hand hovering over the doorknob, a harbinger of the impending confrontation awaiting her inside.

As the door creaked open, a chill swept through the room, amplifying the palpable tension in the air.

Bucky stood in the doorway, his presence both familiar and unnerving. Once a source of warmth, his eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions.

Y/N, facing him with sorrow and determination, met his gaze head-on. The room seemed to shrink, closing in on them as the weight of their fractured connection bore down.

Y/N, standing her ground, met his gaze with a calm composure. The fear that had once lurked in the corners of her mind now took a backseat to the reality of the numbers.

"I've made you more money than you could have dreamed of," she retorted, her tone laced with a hint of defiance. "I don't care if you think I stole from you."

Bucky, however, chuckled, a sound that masked the turmoil brewing within. Deep inside his heart, he felt like he was being stabbed – the wounds of deception cut more profound than any monetary loss.

"This heartless woman," he mused, the words escaping in a whisper as he wrestled with the conflicting emotions coursing through him. The realization that she had orchestrated a grand deception left him grappling with why she would lie.

Money, it seemed, was not the primary concern for Bucky. He didn't care if she stole from him – wealth was a fleeting thing for someone born into opulence. The betrayal gnawed at him, the breach of trust that struck deeper than any financial loss.

"Why, Y/N? Why lie?" Bucky questioned, his voice holding a hint of desperation.

Y/N, in response, offered a single word that carried the weight of her motives – "Karma." She wanted him to feel her family's pain when his father betrayed their friendship.

Bucky, despite his composed exterior, felt a knot tighten in his chest. "You used me," he accused, the pain seeping through his words.

A smirk played on Y/N's lips, but her eyes betrayed a hint of remorse. "Just like your father used my father, Bucky. It's a cycle, isn't it? A dance of betrayal and payback."

His frustration bubbling to the surface, Bucky demanded, "Why didn't you tell me? Why go through this elaborate charade?"

Y/N leaned back, her expression unapologetic. "Would you have believed me if I told you the truth from the beginning? No. I needed you to feel what my family felt when your father betrayed his own best friend."

Bucky, realizing the depth of her vendetta, shook his head in disbelief. "So, this was all about revenge?"

A bitter laugh escaped Y/N's lips. "Lives were already destroyed, Bucky. I just made sure the perpetrators paid for their sins."

His anger simmering beneath the surface, Bucky questioned, "And what about us? What about the connection we had?"

Bucky, despite his initial calm, felt the ground shift beneath him. He wanted to understand, to comprehend the motivations behind her calculated actions.

Yet, the revelation that she had manipulated him for reasons beyond financial gain left him grappling with a sense of vulnerability he hadn't anticipated.

As the room's atmosphere thickened with the unspoken tension, Bucky's mind raced, grappling with the dualities of anger and betrayal.

The room seemed to close in on them, the air heavy with the weight of broken trust and unspoken apologies. Bucky, grappling with the revelation, demanded, "And what about us? Was any of it real?"

Y/N, unwavering, confessed, "There was a time when I thought it could be. But the truth caught up, and I couldn't keep living a lie."

Bucky's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he implored, "Why can't you just accept it? We had something real, Y/N. I don't care about the past; I just want us."

A bitter laugh escaped Y/N's lips, piercing through the heavy atmosphere. "Us, Bucky? There was never an 'us.' It was a facade, a carefully crafted illusion. We're not meant for each other."

The room echoed with the shattering of illusions and the realization that some fractures ran too deep to heal. As they stood on the precipice of an irreversible separation, the echoes of their once-intertwined lives resonated, leaving behind the harsh truth they both had to face.

Unable to contain the tumult within him, Bucky erupted, "You talk about lies, Y/N, but you've been lying too! You made me believe in something that never existed. Was it all a game to you?"

Y/N's eyes once filled with determination, now flickered with a hint of regret. "It was never a game, Bucky. I wanted you to feel a fraction of the pain my family endured. To understand the consequences of betrayal."

Bucky's frustration transformed into a silent plea, "Can't we move past this, Y/N? I don't care about the revenge. I care about us."

A bitter edge returned to Y/N's smile as she replied, "There's no 'us,' Bucky. We were never meant to be. I'm sorry for the collateral damage, but some wounds can't be avoided."

Bucky's gaze dropped to the floor, and as Y/N observed, she noticed a rare vulnerability in his usually confident demeanor.

Usually filled with mischief and charm, his eyes now bore a hint of red, betraying the emotional turmoil within. The realization hit her – she had never seen him this sad, and she was the reason.

"So, we can't be with each other, huh?" Bucky's voice trembled slightly, the weight of their tangled history evident in his words.

The air seemed to thicken with unresolved emotions as he continued, "I guess this is goodbye then."

Y/N felt a lump forming in her throat, an overwhelming regret settling in. She had expected resistance, anger even, but the raw sadness in Bucky's eyes cut more profound than she could have anticipated.

The silence followed was punctuated by the weight of unspoken words, a farewell hanging in the air like a heavy curtain.

Bucky's words lingered in the air, a harsh echo of accusation. "You're really heartless, you know that."

Silence enveloped the room as Y/N remained wordless while standing amidst the remnants of a shattered connection. His accusation hung heavy, a painful acknowledgment of the irreversible damage inflicted.

Without another word, Bucky turned and left, leaving Y/N alone after their disintegrated bond. The door closed with a definitive click, echoing the finality of their separation.

As the reality of their parting sank in, Y/N crumpled to the ground, the cold floor offering little comfort. Tears, long held back, streamed down her face as the ache in her heart intensified. 

The sobs that racked Y/N's body echoed the desolation within, a symphony of heartbreak and regret. In that solitary moment, the weight of the revenge she had sought bore down on her, a heavy burden she couldn't escape.

She cried not just for the loss of what could have been but for the inevitability of their paths diverging. The ache in her chest mirrored the pain of a connection severed and the realization that they were never meant for each other.

As the tears continued to fall, Y/N grappled with the conflicting emotions within her. The loneliness of the empty room mirrored the emptiness that had settled in her heart. The jagged edges of their broken connection left wounds that would take time if ever, to heal.

Walking away from the door, Bucky felt a different kind of agony. The weight of his heartbreak bore down on him with each step. He had expected answers closure, but what he got was a brutal revelation that the past they shared was a minefield of pain. 

Still grappling with the aftermath, Bucky couldn't shake the heaviness that settled within him. It was a melancholy symphony, a haunting melody that played out in the silent recesses of his fractured heart. 

The door closed behind him, leaving Y/N and Bucky to navigate the wreckage of what was once a fragile, hopeful connection. The pain, now tangible and raw, had etched its mark on their souls, leaving them to confront the aftermath of a love that slipped through their fingers like sand.

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Hey everyone! 🌟 Your input means the world to me.

If you've got any cool ideas or prompts, whether for this fluff series or any other series, feel free to share them with me!

Just drop them in my ASK/SEND REQUEST box.

Can't wait to hear your awesome suggestions! 🚀💬

[virtues-end]

Absolutely stellar writing conveying intense and distinct dynamics between intriguing characters... I am hooked. Spoilers obviously, but the latest update was perfect from start to finish, and the uncovered "betrayal" following what I figured to be one of the most profound internal struggle filled kiss ever written in an IF had me absolutely delighted I went for the "friendly" option with Shea, I very much hesitated with hostile but it made sense to me, after so long on the road... ( p1 )

I don't quite know what to say to such a kind message! Thank you, of course, first of all. :-) It's truly such a delight to read your thoughts!

Second, to answer your question, it will have a lasting effect on the MC, and their relationship with Shea, regardless of what you've chosen prior. Hostile and friendly and indifferent helvlings alike, they've all had to place their trust in Shea at some point (or were forced to, in order to survive), which is why this particular kind of betrayal cuts so deep, I think.

And it also shows that Shea is a flawed being, with their own secrets and motivations, that friendly helvlings in particular, I think, might've been too trusting, or too blind to see.

[crystalandbow]

YOUR STRENGTHS v/s WEAKNESS

Pick a pile↓

Welcome back to crystalandbow 🤍 I hope y'all are doing great! Today let us dive into your greatest strengths and weaknesses. Pick a pile intuitively and check the corresponding message!

This is a general reading, only take what resonates :)

What pile are you choosing? Do let me know!

PILE 1 -

Everything In Time

Strength: I think your biggest strength is resilience in the face of adversity. Despite experiencing setbacks and betrayals, you possess the ability to rise above them. You refuse to let past failures define you instead you use them as lessons to fuel your growth and determination. Your strength lies in emerging stronger on the other side. You understand that setbacks are temporary and believe in your power to shape your own destiny, no matter the odds against you. you know when to disconnect. You guard yourself well & you always try to protect your peace and the moment you feel something is fishy you try to leave the situation asap. You cut off people if they don't vibe with you anymore. "Moving on" is a word that I picked up on, it could suggest that you are always trying to move on, (in a sense of growing) like leave behind things that don't serve / match with you anymore.

Weakness: you have a tendency to be overwhelmed by worry and anxiety. You may struggle to manage your fears, allowing them to cloud your judgment and hinder your ability to move forward. You might need to work on finding healthier coping mechanisms and strategies for dealing with stress and uncertainty. You might also tend to give up soon? Or even have trouble falling asleep because of those constant thoughts. Also mental instability/ lack of "peace"maybe?

PILE 2-

Better Is Coming

Strength: omg the way you just carry yourself 😭 your fierce eyes, your personna, your hair everything about you screams professionalism. you possess the intellectual prowess, communication skills, and ethical integrity necessary to navigate challenges successfully and lead others with confidence and wisdom. You believe in the principles of justice and fairness and make decisions from your brain rather than the heart. Your leadership can be characterized by discipline.the way you express yourself with honesty and precision helps you earn trust and credibility from those around you. Great speakers/diplomats/ presenters also good for politics honestly.

Weakness: fear of change or fear of the unknown. You have a deep seated fear or resistance towards change and transformation. You might find yourself clinging to the familiar/known, even if it no longer serves you well, out of a sense of discomfort or uncertainty about what lies ahead.confront your fears and resistance towards change, allow yourself to embrace the natural cycles of life and trust in the process of transformation instead of viewing it as something to be afraid of or to avoid, see it as a catalyst for personal growth and evolution. You will unlock something special

PILE 3-

Choose What Chooses You

Strength: you have the ability to draw upon the wisdom of the past, whether through religious or spiritual teachings, cultural customs, or personal philosophies. you are a natural leader and mentor, capable of guiding others on their spiritual or moral journey. You offer support, wisdom, and guidance to those who seek it or you like to gain wisdom, inspiration and guidance from your role models and teachers. You listen to your intuition and have a sense of profound understanding of spiritual truths, which serve as a source of inspiration and guidance in your life. Your ability to tap into this higher knowledge empowers you to lead others with wisdom and compassion, offering support and guidance along their spiritual journey.

Weakness: Impulsivity and haste in your actions and decision-making process! You may feel a strong urge to rush into situations without fully considering the consequences, driven by a desire for quick results or a need to assert your dominance. This impulsiveness can lead to a lack of foresight, where you fail to assess potential risks or take into account the feelings and perspectives of others involved. Your eagerness to charge forward with single-minded determination may blind you to important details or alternative viewpoints.You may find yourself easily triggered by perceived obstacles or challenges.

PILE 4-

Enjoy The Now

Strength: a boundless enthusiasm and passion for exploring new ideas, projects, and opportunities! You are absolutely unafraid to step outside of your comfort zone and pursue your dreams with determination and zest.You have the drive and confidence to take bold action and seize opportunities as they arise. Your willingness to follow your instincts and trust in your creative intuition enables you to break through barriers and overcome obstacles on your path to success. You have a natural talent for innovation and originality/ thinking outside the box.

trust in your abilities to manifest your desires and achieve your goals!

Weakness: imbalance in nurturing and caring for oneself versus others! While it's essential to attend to practical matters and provide for your needs, neglecting your emotional or spiritual well-being can lead to feelings of emptiness or dissatisfaction. It is important for you to cultivate a more balanced approach to life that honors both practical concerns and deeper emotional fulfillment. Practice mindfulness & / or self-reflection to identify areas where you may be overly fixated on material possessions or security, and explore ways to nurture your emotional and spiritual well-being. Seek out for opportunities for growth and personal development. By adapting a more holistic sense of abundance and security, you can overcome these limitations that lead you to feel unfulfilled despite the goodness around you.

[pearlprincess02]

sour by olivia rodrigo (album astrology)

gemini sun in 4th house

as a gemini sun in the 4th house, olivia rodrigo's sour radiates a core identity centered around emotional vulnerability, exploration of duality, and introspection. gemini’s influence brings a dynamic, multifaceted energy to the album, allowing olivia to express a range of emotions, from heartbreak to anger, often through witty, sharp lyrics that resonate with the listener on an intellectual level. in the 4th house, the focus shifts inward, drawing on personal experiences, home, and the deep emotional roots of relationships. sour becomes a reflection of her inner world, expressing the emotional turbulence of adolescence and the growing pains of self-discovery. the album’s central creative focus lies in balancing vulnerability with clever self-expression, as olivia explores the intimate, often conflicting sides of love, betrayal, and identity in a way that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable.

"you talked to her when we were together / loved you at your worst, but that didn’t matter."

virgo moon in 8th house

with a virgo moon in the 8th house, the emotional depth and mood of sour is rooted in raw, analytical vulnerability, creating an intense atmosphere of emotional exploration and transformation. virgo’s meticulous nature brings an introspective and self-critical tone to the album, as olivia dissects her feelings of heartbreak, betrayal, and insecurity with precision and honesty. the 8th house amplifies this emotional journey by delving into themes of loss, power struggles, and deep inner change. the album connects to the listener’s inner world by expressing pain and vulnerability in a way that feels both relatable and cathartic. there’s a subtle, yet profound undercurrent of emotional healing throughout sour, as olivia's lyrics navigate the complexities of emotional wounds and personal growth. the album’s mood is intense, reflective, and transformative, inviting listeners to confront their own hidden emotions and experiences of heartbreak with a sense of clarity and raw honesty.

"it's bittersweet to think about the damage that we do."

capricorn rising with pisces jupiter & aquarius saturn in 1st house

as a capricorn rising, sour presents itself to the world with a serious, mature, and somewhat somber image, giving listeners the impression that the album is grounded in emotional realism and life lessons. capricorn rising influences the way sour is marketed—its branding leans into a minimalist, polished aesthetic, with visuals that evoke a sense of emotional weight and vulnerability while still feeling structured and deliberate. the vibe is one of quiet strength, as olivia channels her heartbreak through a lens of resilience and self-awareness. with pisces jupiter in the 1st house, there’s also a touch of dreamy emotional depth and empathy woven into this public image, adding a layer of artistic sensitivity and spiritual exploration to the album’s identity. meanwhile, aquarius saturn brings an unconventional edge, signaling that sour isn’t just a typical breakup album but one that challenges norms and reflects olivia's personal rebellion against expectations. this combination shapes the album’s first impression as deeply emotional yet disciplined, appealing to listeners who are drawn to both the rawness of youthful heartbreak and the wisdom gained from it.

"but if you're out there, i hope that you're okay."

gemini mercury in 5th house

with a gemini mercury in the 5th house, the lyrical content and communication in sour are marked by clever, playful wordplay and dynamic storytelling that reflect youthful creativity and emotional expression. gemini mercury thrives on sharp, quick-witted lyrics, which is evident throughout the album as olivia delivers lines that are both poignant and biting, capturing the complexity of heartbreak, jealousy, and self-reflection. in the 5th house, mercury's energy becomes more theatrical and expressive, making her storytelling deeply personal yet accessible, as if each song is a dramatic scene from her emotional life. the album's lyrics balance lightness and heaviness, often juxtaposing biting sarcasm with vulnerable confessions. this placement gives olivia a strong voice that resonates with her audience, connecting through her ability to articulate complex emotions in a way that feels authentic, youthful, and bold.

"it’s brutal out here."

gemini venus in 5th house

as a gemini venus in the 5th house, the aesthetic and harmony of sour are vibrant, expressive, and emotionally charged, with a playful yet complex approach to beauty and love. gemini venus brings a duality to the album’s sound, allowing for a mix of contrasting elements—delicate melodies paired with raw, angst-driven moments. this creates an ever-changing, multi-layered experience for the listener. the 5th house amplifies this with its focus on creativity and self-expression, making sour not just an album but a bold performance of personal emotions. venus’s influence adds a romantic and sensual touch to the music, making each song feel deeply intimate, whether it’s the bittersweet softness of tracks like "enough for you" or the fiery passion of "good 4 u." the melodies are often catchy and accessible, drawing listeners in with olivia's ability to blend beauty with emotional authenticity, creating a sound that feels both polished and raw, reflecting the album’s exploration of young love and heartache.

"do you get déjà vu when she's with you?"

cancer mars in 6th house

with cancer mars in the 6th house, the energy, drive, and intensity of sour is emotionally charged and deeply personal, yet grounded in everyday struggles and self-reflection. cancer mars brings a fierce yet protective energy to the music, with olivia channeling her emotions—particularly hurt, anger, and vulnerability—into passionate, assertive tracks like "good 4 u" and "brutal." while cancer is a sensitive sign, mars gives it a defensive edge, so the album feels like a cathartic release of pent-up emotions, particularly around themes of emotional betrayal and self-worth. in the 6th house, which governs routine and work, this mars placement emphasizes the dedication and emotional labor involved in processing heartbreak. olivia's intensity shines through in the balance between emotional outpouring and the meticulous effort to communicate her pain. the pace of the album alternates between raw aggression and more reflective moments, but there’s always an underlying assertiveness, making sour bold, relatable, and a testament to the emotional resilience born from everyday battles with heartbreak.

"well, good for you, i guess you moved on really easily."

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

[baiwu-jinji]

Still nowhere near finishing Yuwu but just some random thoughts - I said in a post a while ago that I find the dynamic between Yuwu's main couple (Mo Xi & Gu Mang) similar to Wangxian's, but more and more I'm thinking about them in relation to Hua Cheng & Xie Lian, and how their relationship appears flawed and marred compared to Hualian's highly idealized one.

Hua Cheng was there for Xie Lian every step of the way as far as he's able and was right beside Xie Lian during all his most harrowing moments; Mo Xi couldn't be there for Gu Mang at his lowest, didn't fully comprehend Gu Mang's suffering, and hoped Gu Mang would pull through on his own. Hua Cheng is completely non-judgemental towards Xie Lian's actions and their moral implications and accept whatever choices Xie Lian makes; Mo Xi judged Gu Mang bitterly for his supposed treason and saw it not only as a betrayal of their country, but as Gu Mang's self-betrayal. Hua Cheng's commitment to Xie Lian is unwavering since day one regardless of the outcome of such commitment or any personal price he has to pay; Gu Mang is afraid to commit and keeps pushing Mo Xi away because he sees no future in his relationship with Mo Xi due to the disparity in their social status, and is also afraid of the emotional devestation and loss he'd have to suffer should Mo Xi decide to move on from him and their romance come to nothing.

The list could probably go on and it sounds like I'm trying to put Mo Xi and Gu Mang in a negative light - but the point is, their love for each other isn't rendered lesser or shallower than Hualian's due to their failings, and their deep empathy and care for each other is just as poignantly moving despite their negligence and misgivings towards each other. Love could be profound and undying though the actions aren't perfect and the results wretched - Mo Xi and Gu Mang's relationship feels tragically realistic in this sense. Although I'm only half way through the novel, I find Yuwu's view on romance grimmer, more sober and more realistic even compared to Meatbun's previous novel 2ha.

[explosionkatsu]

Just some random drabbles lol (Bakugo's too OCC in here, I think?)

Every weekend, people flocked to this place to enjoy good food, great company, and of course, the incredible live performances by the resident band, "The Serenite Band."

At the lead of this talented band was their charismatic leader, Bakugo. He was not only an exceptional singer but also a gifted songwriter. Bakugo poured his heart and soul into his music, and his lyrics resonated with the audience on a profound level. 

However, behind the scenes, Bakugo was going through a painful breakup. His partner, whom he had trusted and loved deeply, had betrayed him by cheating on him with someone else. The pain and anger he felt were consuming him, but instead of wallowing in self-pity, Bakugo decided to channel his emotions into their new album.

The band members, who were like a family to Bakugo, were aware of his heartbreak and fully supported him. They encouraged him to use their music as a means of catharsis and healing. They spent countless hours in their small studio, pouring their creativity into the songs that would make up their new album.

As Bakugo penned the lyrics for each track, his anger and frustration transformed into powerful melodies. His voice echoed with raw emotion, expressing the betrayal he had experienced. The band's music became a reflection of Bakugo's journey through heartache and the process of moving on.

The night of their album release arrived, and the resto bar was packed with eager fans. The Serenite band took the stage, and the energy in the room was electrifying. As Bakugo sang the song from their new album, the audience could feel the intensity of his emotions. His voice carried the weight of his heartbreak, captivating everyone in the room.

The band delivered a performance that was both cathartic and empowering. The crowd cheered, danced, and sang along, connecting with the raw vulnerability in the music.

By the end of the night, it was clear that The Serenite band had created something extraordinary. Their album resonated with people who had experienced similar heartbreaks, giving them a sense of solace and empowerment. Through their music, the band had transformed their own pain into something beautiful and relatable.

--

Y/n found herself seated alone at the bar, surrounded by the joyful sounds of her friends dancing on the vibrant dance floor.

She, as well, had been going through a painful breakup after discovering that her boyfriend had cheated on her. The wounds were fresh, and the weight of betrayal weighed heavily on her heart. Seeking solace and an escape from her pain, she turned to alcohol to drown her anger and sorrow.

As Y/n sat there, her gaze fixed on her glass, the band on the stage began to play a haunting melody. The lyrics spoke of heartbreak, betrayal, and the pain of being cheated on. Intrigued, she looked up and glanced toward the stage, her eyes meeting those of the lead singer.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and in that instant, Y/n felt a connection. It was as if the singer understood her pain, her struggle, and the turmoil that had consumed her since the breakup. But overwhelmed by emotions, she quickly averted her gaze and returned her attention to her drink.

As the band continued to play, the song resonated deeply within Y/n's wounded heart. The lyrics seemed to echo her own experiences and struggles. She felt a mix of sadness and relief, knowing that she was not alone in her pain.

With each verse, Y/n's emotions intensified. The anger, hurt, and sadness she had been trying to numb with alcohol bubbled to the surface. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she quickly wiped them away, determined to keep her composure.

Despite her inner turmoil, Y/n realized that drowning her emotions in alcohol wouldn't solve anything. She knew she needed to face her pain head-on, no matter how difficult it might be. 

--

After the final song, the band members stepped off the stage, sweaty and exhilarated. They hugged each other tightly, proud of their musical journey and the bond they had formed. However, amidst the celebration, Bakugo couldn't shake off the pain of his recent breakup. His heart still ached, and he longed for solace.

Feeling the weight of his emotions, Bakugo made his way to the bar and took a seat. He ordered a strong liquor, hoping it would numb the pain, if only for a little while. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, he noticed a woman sitting beside him, quietly sipping her drink.

Curiosity piqued, Bakugo glanced at her and noticed the sadness in her eyes. It was as if he could sense her own heartache, mirroring his own. He avoided glancing for a moment before striking up a conversation. "Breakup?" he asked.

Y/n looked up, startled by his question. She sighed and replied, "Yeah." Her voice trembled with a mixture of sadness.

Bakugo nodded, understanding the pain all too well. "Cheers to that," he said. As they continued to talk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for years. They strangely found comfort in each other's presence, offering a listening ear and understanding words.

As the night unfolded, the rest of the band members joined in the revelry, dancing and laughing with the crowd. But Bakugo and Y/n remained at the bar, finding solace and connection in their shared experiences.

In that moment, Bakugo realized that this unexpected encounter brought a random connection. The pain of his breakup still lingered, but he somehow no longer felt alone.

As the night drew to a close, the Serenite Band bid farewell to the resto bar and their fans.

Bakugo hesitated but decided to bid goodbye to Y/n.

Y/n, however, feeling the connection, wanted to stay in touch but it felt like its too soon

[neverpathia]

fuck this shit again

have the voice of the opportunist, and this is really making me realise how much I suck with colouring in my drawings. the lineart looks like this

oh, there's a little teaser for para in the corner. oops.

though I think I've probably made oppy just as slimy and sleazy as he was meant to look. so that's a point in the drawing's favour, I guess. he probably looks like a dilf if you squint hard enough.

broken's done so now there's like nine more to go hoooo boy.

by the way the thing I'm doing where I cover their right eyes with their wings isn't just a cheap cop-out for me to avoid drawing said right eye. it's symbolism (oh totally). because they can only experience a very specific point of view. it limits their perspective. in the end, the voices can't always truly see the right thing, and the way they are restricts them into seeing only what's left behind. so their left eye remains uncovered.

now i don't have anywhere as much to say about the opportunistic bitch but I do have a bit. for one, I'm not part of his massive hatedom. he's such a charming little rat bastard and I'm here for it

he's so horrible (affectionate)

no but I really love how each and every one of the Voices is just like a defense/coping mechanism. individually, they were developed by TLQ to make sense of the situation and adapt to whatever bullshit he's being forced through at the moment, right? but in excess, or even when the situation takes the smallest unexpected turns, they can get pretty unhelpful pretty quick.

oppy in PatD perfectly encapsulates this. (wow, what a profound insight, captain obvious. who could've guessed. not like every third post about pristine cut says this already.) fine oppy in PatD was peak

okay but let's face it I just can't hate the guy he's such a flip-flop girlfailure.

well it's kind of interesting how, in a way, this dude also exhibits another potential reaction to fight or flight situations. there's freeze but we're not talking about that today. and then there's fawn. the opportunist wants power, but that's not just what there is to it. in the end, this desire for power stems from an underlying need for control. often, he's manifested by a taste of control for the first time. control spawned from betrayal spawned from fear. from apprehension. from the need for autonomy, met with a lack thereof (thanks narrator you son of a gun), but then regained in triumph.

the opportunist clings to each sorry sliver of power he can get. because once he's tasted it, he requires it so deeply it's become something he just has to have, like an addiction. and he may appear kind of pathetic, or risk everything else for each new taste of power. and he may stop himself from letting himself stray too far, may force himself away if he must. and affection, or kindness, or connection, or trust- they cannot exist, not for this control he craves so much. yes, he's selfish. but being anything else that's not selfish isn't even a choice at all in the face of this power, this control, this sheer craving of his.

but in the end all the opportunist wants is belonging. he wants a purpose and he wants meaning, especially to others. he wants to matter. and having control is surely a way to show that you matter, right? being at the top has to show that you mean something. that you're not pointless. that you exist and have a right to exist.

even if all the actions you take, vile and scheming and despicable, tell everyone else that you shouldn't.

then again, his perspective blinds him. as with all of the other voices.

now it shouldn't be too much of a hassle to figure out the symbolisms in his design but in case it wasn't obvious enough his tie brooch was supposed to be an ouroboros. I thought it was neat when I first designed him. I'm having second thoughts now. plus, I tried to steer his design in a different direction from most others, who tend to stick with "tumblr twink in a nice suit". um...well, I don't know if it worked.

and GOD why did I choose this specific shade of green. I mean, it's unnecessarily tacky? and bright? and way too obvious like him? hopefully it matches? oh well.

[wisteriasymphony]

I have a feeling that you secretly hate this show and all the writing choices . I just do .

I mean, without this show we wouldn't have the fandom, ergo I wouldn't be able to mess around with the characters and put them in situations, so... no?

My opinions on the show are untraceable and entirely irrelevant, and I tend to agree on a take-to-take basis with people on all sides of the fandom. Were there some things that could've been done differently? Yes of course. But Miraculous is what it is and if it were something Emmy-worthy, I don't know if I'd be so enthralled with it as I am.

Think of it like this:

Most people in the fandom play with the ideas in mlb like Barbie dolls. You dress them up, take them through soap opera plots and (as the wonderful asukiess so eloquently put it) cocomelon tragedies where they're all screaming and crying and kissing and you have a grand old time with it.

What I have been doing, over here in my own little world divorced from reason and sense, is chewing on all of the Barbie dolls' hands, cramming their heads in jars of finger paint, and scribbling on the walls. (And occasionally, just occasionally... my unpredictable scribblings will form a coherent word or thought that might even be approaching something profound about... the human condition or struggles with self-actualization or whatnot. But it's not a guarantee.)

Can you say the latter really... 'hates' the dolls? Hates the way they were made? No. To hate the dolls is to refuse to engage with them altogether, or to make YouTube Essays treating the Barbie dolls like real people with real culpability for their actions and calling them Mary Sues. That's not what I'm doing, not by a long shot.

It's also worth mentioning that a lot of what I do would be lost without the context of the show itself and its decisions.

- Kuro Neko was the catalyst in why I started writing TWEOS, and a lot of the impact of how characters act in that is because you need the prior context of both the show and the fandom to back it up.

- Adrien Agreste as Byronic Hero has much less weight to it unless you're used to seeing a version of him that is so clearly not that. The lovesquare in that fic absolutely falling apart by every conceivable metric—down to things as minuscule as Marinette the baker's daughter pursuing Adrien who secretly hates the taste of sweets—feels like less of a betrayal if you haven't seen the way they are supposed to be.

- Adrien and Marinette being presented as a cruel inevitability of a universe that does not care what they have to say in the matter... in because in 37,847 universes and counting, they will be together. In canon, they must be together.

tl;dr Maybe I'm dodging the question, and maybe my actions in changing so much about how the characters act/the world works in my fic speaks louder than my words... But I can't bring myself to hate this show. Percussive maintenance is still maintenance.

[cephei-ea]

The Constant (Geto)

CHAPTER TWO

Warnings: angst, descriptions of vomit, derogatory behavior, foreplay, fingering, possessiveness

Genre: angst, smut (<400 words)

Word Count: ~4.0k

╭─────────────────.★..─╮

As the days passed, the summer heat melted into fall and the air began to nip at your skin instead of warm it. It was the strangest, almost absurd feeling of not having Suguru at your side.

If you’d spoken to yourself from just four months ago, you would never believe what had happened. Suguru, in all of his righteous, vengeance seeking glory, nearly went looking for Gojo, his best friend in the world. It was many weeks, maybe a month or two of enduring the feel of misplacemnt in your shared home before you decided that the consequences of staying by Suguru’s side, as well as the affects on your mental and physical health were dire enough to finally leave.

No doubt, it demanded a level of self control and will you weren’t sure you had.

You love Suguru Geto.

You love Suguru.

How could you leave him? How was it possible for you to go out of your way,

to put in all of your effort to blatantly leave behind and give up the very last piece of your heart that resided with Suguru?

The man you had revolved your world around, your love, in all honesty, was too far gone. Though his view hadn’t changed much, the one constant in his morality was his love for you and the devotion he held for Gojo as his best friend despite their separation. It took months, and Suguru proposing new ideas that shook you to your core in order to convince yourself that you were better off without him.

And that he was better off without you. Whatever sense of normalcy you could help Suguru hold onto following his defection, you would accept.

You love Geto Suguru.

He made you one.

He made you whole

Together, you belonged.

___

So you spoke. “He was-..” a melancholy in your voice that wouldn’t likely vanish without considerable time, or the right puzzle piece in your existence. “He was going too far. He said how he was going to come find you because you disrespected him so badly by seeing me.” A guttural but quiet moan spilled from you. “I couldn’t let him.” Your brows furrowed, a thick ball of saliva in your throat that wouldn’t pass down. “I love him, Satoru.” The can of beer in your hand sloshed, your hand loosening around the metal. Gojo mirrored you, his own can in his hand, but almost filled to the top. It was rare that he got drunk off of the alcohol from convenience stores. He would have them specially crafted for himself if he wanted to beat his tolerance. Still, he sat with you as you drank your sorrows away, the empty that Geto had left in your chest was irreplaceable, a thick and profound melancholy blanketing over your soul as you blabbed about all the things you didn’t say when you were sober.

Satoru was over for a visit, knowing how much you’d been struggling with the breakup; he said he had alcohol and a shoulder to cry on. It was an offer that was hard to pass up.

The sorcerer was surprised to find that it was the same apartment you lived in prior to moving in with Suguru after your defect. You explained how despite being on the market, the fact that the two strongest curse users once lived in this apartment was enough to drive tenants away. Even the neighbors had moved out.

“I don’t want to side with him but it makes no sense why you would have followed him. He left of his accord.” You quickly shook your head, placing your face between your palms, unable to keep still. Suguru and Satoru had a friendship that should not and could not have been cracked by anything, not even his defect. Not even the years they spent apart. To think that you’d gotten in the way of something so beautiful and strong, to think that it was your fault that they would fight. All because you were selfish enough to meet with Satoru during Suguru’s absence— it heart breaking. A form of betrayal not quite prominent, yet still deep enough to cut your love. Satoru had to stop himself from reaching out to you and gripping your hand in his own, as though to take the pain from you and bear it for himself. He was the strongest, he could take it.

“That bastard.” your voice cracked, involuntary gasps from your heavy lungs erupting suddenly, your hiccups interrupted your speech. “He keeps texting and texting and calling over and over again I can’t bear it anymore, I can’t keep doing this. It’s tearing me apart to ignore those texts. He���s genuine, I know he’s genuine.” The beer in your hand clanked to the ground, empty. Your head pounded, your stomach churning with bile that would surely amalgamate into a ball of sickness in your throat in due time. “I don’t even know why I did this. Toru, I’m not even sure if I did the right thing. Did I make things worse by leaving? Or was I enabling all this chaos by staying? I mean-”

Gojo clicked his tongue and he turned to you. “Don’t start with that shit. I hate the blame game.” He complained, unlike his usual upbeat self. “If your going to wallow in self pity, don’t do it in front of me.” His words were harsh, but the sadness in his eyes almost betrayed him. “I can’t help you.” A surge of frustration ripped through your limbs.

“Well I’m sorry I couldn’t be miss perfect jujutsu sorcerer, okay?? If you loved someone like I love him, you would understand.” Your voice was a deep cacophony of mental maladies unable to be interpreted. Gojo almost looked upset, a look he rarely sported, or maybe he easily masked with jokes and giggles. “I dont know what to think. Or do. Or..” the ends of your words began to meet the beginnings of the next ones, slurs and inaudible mumbles riddling your speech before Satoru was standing up and sitting beside you. “It feels like I knew every- was so sure of everything with him. What do I do with my extra time? There’s no one to cook a meal for, no missions or jobs to take, there’s no Nanako and Mimiko to teach math. Is this,” Gojo found that for the first time in ages, he was holding back the lump in his throat when he placed his large palm over your head and pressed your face into his chest. “meaningless?” Your voice was nothing but a short squeal that echoed in your empty living room. Gojo heard as you sniffled, and instead, let liquid drip down the bow above his lips from his nose, and he let his tears soak instead of wiping them, in fear you would notice.

It was maybe another 20 or 30 minutes before Gojo was releasing your sorrow soaked face and instead, placing a hand slowly and tentatively over yours, on your thigh. The movement was almost inperecptible, but a light touch encompassing your ice cold hand shocked you to gaze up at him. His eyes were just barely streaked with tears. A small but bright streak of light dotting his eyelashes a give away. Satoru looked at you in a way you knew you’d seen before, the same way he looked at Suguru before his defect. Gojo felt as his heat transferred into your hand and yours cooled his skin, and then his hands were interlacing with yours, every indent of his long fingers tying together with yours as he held you tightly. The hold was almost comforting, an insufficient but meek substitute for the hold you yearned for.

“I don’t understand you. All of this. All of this could have been avoided.” He spoke. Your ears were trained on the rain pattering at the windows, hardly picking up the inquiry that came from just beside you. “He couldn’t hurt me. I’d win. You didn’t need to do that.” The volume of his insistence increased, a cold bucket of water over your already trembling frame. Gojo was desperate when he looked at you and squeezed your hand in his, white hair loose and shadowing the usual glow of his blue eyes. Still, the darkness of your living room was not match for the brightness of the six eyes. Not when he could sense and nearly take on all your pain, his senses acute and on point with every movement you made.

Suguru Geto was different. His eyes did not shine like Gojos. Rather, they entranced and penetrated with an abyss of darkness that offered no rival. His hair was not white and short like Gojos, it cascaded down his back in a beautiful waterfall of shadows and deep, black water; soft and velvety to the touch. Suguru’s touch was not like Gojos cool ones; his skin was hot, feverishly warm enough to counter the ice of yours. Geto Suguru was nothing like Gojo Satoru. Gojo was upbeat, naturally understanding with his six eyes, and talkative. However, Suguru was quiet and pensive. He held true and raw understanding in a profound manner of skill he obtained from being considerate, kind and tempered.

In an instant, the lukewarm touch of Gojos hand was off of yours when you pulled away and stood, looking away so as to not progress a moment with him you had no interest in sharing. So instead, you explained.

“You don’t understand. It’s not about who would win.”

___

You sat by that same dam, hearing the loud crashing of water through its holes and the swaying of trees behind you. It was becoming warmer outside when you finally left Suguru that day. Now, the trees were green again and the water was still chilly but slowly warming from its prior frigid temperature.

April 27

It was your passcode and the first date in your series of journal entries in a while. You didn’t have too much to write about. When you did, you would talk to Sugu. He wasn’t here now, not since April 27th.

Two days after you left, probably when Suguru realized you weren’t just mad at him, and that this wouldn’t be so easily fixed, that was when you received the missed calls, the spamming texts, the location requests.

April 29

Suguru realized that your relationship

was not salvageable.

You weren’t being petty or throwing a tantrum, you’d left him. So when he called your phone and you didn’t pick up, he called another 15 times.

16 missed calls, 49 unread messages. Of course, they all consisted of similar complaints. Asking where you were, if you were being serious, if you were safe, to please answer, what happened? He’d even come to your new apartment a few times, though you were uncertain of how he found out the address. A month later, 47 missed calls and 78 unread messages. Suguru now sent you updates on his days, any big events; but most of all, when he missed you. When, similar to you, the ache in his chest grew unbearable and he took the risk of texting you knowing you would not respond.

And every Sunday, just like while you were together, he would send you a bouquet of flowers, your favorite kind. The ones with the petals soft enough to resemble clouds, color soft enough to relax you and scent warm enough to remind you of Suguru.

<<<

“Angel,” Geto begins, arms held loosely behind his back as he approaches you, nearing you by the stove as you prepare dinner. A quiet smile splits your face, eyes shining, it feels like days since Geto left for work. Although it’s only been a few hours, you turn on your heel and embrace him immediately, feeling cellophane and tissue paper beneath your touch. You back up immediately, eyes wide and staring up into his narrow ones; Suguru smiles. “You’re not supposed to ruin the surprise.” His even smile beams down on you from above, his arms swinging out in front of him and displaying the large bouquet of flowers he’s picked up. For a while, you can’t speak, only watching as he pushes your hair back and steps forward, pushing your back against he counter. You glance back, ensuring the stove was not behind you; Suguru beats you to you, his arm caging you from the right, blocking your access to the hot metal where your meal cooks.

“Baby..” a ball in your throat threatens to make you sob aloud so you press your nose into his chest and circle his lats with your smaller arms. His immediately comes to encircle you, pulling your body taut against him and pressing a loving kiss to your head. “I don’t remember telling you my favorite flowers.” You beam up at him, turning against his chest to the flowers and using both hands to haul the bouquet.

“Well, I do. The old couple selling them even gave me something for you.” He explains, rounding the corner of the kitchen and grabbing another flower from next to his belongings. He hands it to you, a single rose. The flower is gorgeous, made of rose tinted glass and a shiny green stem, the petals bounce rays of light and color off of them. Your jaw drops at the sight, staring between him and the crystallized flower. “Did he sculpt this??” Wonder and awe grace your features and Suguru places a large hand beneath your jaw, tilting your head up and placing a deep, enamored kiss against your lips as his body encases yours.

>>>

The scale must’ve been off. Everything seemed to be breaking these days. You step off the glass plate after holding your breath, a bit of air to make yourself heavier, maybe? Or maybe it was in anticipation of the weight displayed, knowing it would be lower than it should. 42 kilos. Far too below your average weight. Frighteningly so— you didn’t show Shoko, or Gojo, or Nanami, quickly hiding the plate in your closet when they would visit to check on you. You refused a therapist; they wouldn’t understand, not now. You swallowed upon glancing in the mirror, your eyes stung and your bottom lids were tinted red: exhaustion. A proper nights rest wasn’t something you came across lately, not since Suguru held you in his arms as you slept, not since before April 27th. You huffed a laugh of embarrassment, almost looking away before a familiar shadow tickled your back. And as you looked back to the mirror, there stood Suguru, his chest hovering just behind your back and his hands on your arms.

Bile.

His long, layered hair dripped down his shoulders, his bare torso exuding heat you would never forget the warmth of. He was leaned slightly over your shoulder, his face tilted toward your ear as the smell of his musk and cologne violated every pore of your body. The sweet embrace of his muscle corded arms and the capture of his scent made you the world tilt and you almost melted into the scent, the familiar comfort. But then a sharp sting of memories invaded your every pore. Sweet, sour, beautiful and everything you would never have again.

Stomach.

A pounding in your chest formed, you gripped your shirt, watching in a mind boggling mix of horror and elation as Suguru’s bare arms reached for the straps of your tank top. The smooth skin on hard chest rippled with every gentle, smooth and effortless movement he made to run the straps down your arms, allowing the airy garment to fall to the floor.

His gorgeous features did not twitch with judgement or anything except love and adoration when, through the reflection in the mirror, he displayed your bare chest to the both of you. You were so thin. Thinner than you should be. He should look away from the mirror before you, he should step away and dress himself and walk away forever when he sees the thin limbs you sport. But Geto didn’t even look away from the reflection of your eyes. Even the feeling of obligation to look down at your ugly body hurt your eyes and ushered tears to your eyelashes, he remained steady in his gaze on yours. Surely, he noticed your tears when they gathered. Surely, he felt your awfully cold skin tremble beneath his feather like touch, but his warm smile did not falter.

Churning.

You did not dare look away from mirror when the dangerous man behind you inched to the hem of your panties and slowly dragged them down the shapes of your thighs. You did not dare move when you felt his delicious, warm and familiar hands drag up to just below your breasts. This moment felt strangely familiar. Seven, three, two and then one inch from your nipples and you felt like you’d been here before. The tears, the sting in your eyelids and the sudden palpitations of your heart at the erotic scene in the mirror before you forced a few blinks out of you. Back to back, your eyes opened and closed to rid of the salty liquid threatening your cold skin. One, two, three, seven blinks and the tears were gone, taking Suguru with them as he disappeared from behind you when you opened your eyes.

You whipped your head around, finding the space behind you entirely empty and untouched, your clothes were removed but held within your own grip. The bile churning in your stomach came suddenly and unforgivingly as it demanded release from your confining belly, your body rejecting it just as much. In your toilet, tears, vomit and snot all expelled from you, leaving their host in a heaping mess of whimpers and sobs as your body rejected the memory of Suguru Geto.

___

It felt as though you’d swallowed a ball of emotion, your throat constricted by the feeling of sorrow overcoming you. The first night that you received a bouquet from Suguru prior to your separation, you were alone in your apartment. And somehow every time you received another set of flowers, Suguru managed to read your mind and send you a color or a fragrance that was particularly on your mind that week. That’s another reason why you loved Sugu, he knew you almost too well. With his blue flowers came a calm, melancholy mood for your week that whispered into your ear that you would never recover from him, late at night as you lay curled up beneath your feather filled quilts and blankets.

With the orange bouquets came anger, crashing out and breaking things around the apartment in a fit of disbelief and utter hysteria. With red came intense longing, an ache in your abdomen and the red hot desire to feel his enormous hands press you into the mattress. With green came a feeling that maybe one day, these feelings would pass. A hope in the back of your head that allowed you a moment or two, or even a day or two, of salvation from your eternal heartbreak.

Maybe one day, however far in the future, the bouquets would mean nothing to you, your anger toward him, yourself and your situation would dissipate, and the feeling of an empty existence would fade. One day, you would move on.

Yet still, time passed and the hefty feeling of displacement was prominent in your chest and still leaked into your fingertips, where your skin went cold with the changing weather. It was weird to lay in an empty bed. The blankets never made up for the scorching heat that accompanied Suguru Geto, they never came close. The nights spent accompanied by your friends didn’t make up for the lack of his presence, the night could always be more fun if Sugu was beside you. The meals you made whenever your hunger got out of control did not replace those you made with Sugu, the flavor he brought was much more potent. An ingredient you no longer possessed, one only he could add, and one you would not find ever again. The alcohol did not serve as a distraction, nothing made up for the way Suguru could quell the raging emotions inside you.

Nothing was working.

<<<

Suguru’s arm stretched from above you, reeling you from your deep slumber and tenderly wrapping around your slender frame. The touch was immediately welcomed as his skin molded with yours and your differences in heat melded to create a perfect combination of warmth that settled deep in your tummy. You smiled eagerly as a deep groaned escaped his yawn, curling into his burly side and resting your head against his hard chest early in the morning.

“Angel,” he began, illiciting a churning of your gut, a warmth in your cheeks and a liquid between your bare legs that really only he could instigate. You purred against his skin, feeling his muscled arm press against your waist and into his chest. He wasted no time in lowering his head to your cheek and pressing a few tender kisses into your skin before pulling you even closer, his other arm assisting its brother in pulling your legs over his waist and urging you to straddle him. You never had to put in the work, Suguru effortlessly lifted you with the mere tips of his fingers to lay you above him, an easier position in which to hold your naked frame against his. He was quick to lift the covers and settle them over your body, running his palms over the course of your skin and memorizing every indent of your body as though he were studying for an important exam. Always the intellect.

“You were made for me, Angel.” He whispered into the crevice of your shoulder, your head resting gingerly against his chest and completely blanketing him with your body. “This, and only this, is real. Only for me.” His hands find your ass and his gripping the flesh there, dragging his fingers tightly up your sides to brush across your breasts. “This body was made for me.” And then his voice is a guttural groan, his finger dashing down to your legs across his waist to tickle the flesh soaked between them. As your lips part and his skin delves into the wetness between those legs he’s claimed as his, they plunge to meet your insides and open them up for him. He always knew how. How to will your leg apart with just his words, how to pry your walls open with just his fingers and how to use his other hand to press your arched back hard into his chest, forcing your legs further apart to where it stung in your cunt.

His fingers are so, so, so fucking long, and his skin is so, so, so hot as it splits you open for the nth time, preparing you for yet another session of body crippling love.

“I love you, Angel.” He whispered against your skin and you felt him hard against your abdomen. “I love you-“ and then his so, so, so long fingers were plunging endlessly into your cunt, ripping moans and screams from your lips. He swallowed each one with passion, his lips never leaving yours unless it was his own name on them. The only sound he allowed was that of his name on your lips, so long as it was loud and accompanied a tight squeeze around the two, three, four fingers he lodged up into your cunt. Those fingers that easily curled into your bowed body.

“Suguru-“

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

>>>

And then an orgasm ripped through you, a sorry excuse for a substitution for the ones he scorched your body and branded your uterus with. The fingers he would expertly press into your body as though he were a starved man, as though he could die without your contact, were now replaced meekly by your shorter, thinner ones. The soft lips he kissed you with, that he bit hickeys into your neck with, were now gone. The hips that rocked into yours and the thick, muscle corded thighs that smacked heavily against yours were now but a memory. The body that once offered you night after consecutive night of unmatched pleasure and deep, rough, aggressive love, was now a distant flicker of your past as your fingers slipped away from your panties and moved to remove your covers.

No amount of alcohol, partying, or men were ever— would ever be enough to replace Suguru. Or even pretend to substitute him.

╰─..★.─────────────────╯