#its like...dream death and a fear of death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecreelhouse · 2 days ago

Text

fascination

part two - angels work, and devils play

paring: mortician vampire!Steve Harrington x mortuary assistant!reader (fem)

summary: Steve finally begins to open up about his past, and it’s nothing close of what you anticipated to discover.

WC: 9.2k

includes: language. discussions of death and grief/mourning. mentions of embalming practices. mentions of blood. angst. hurt/comfort. tension and flirting bc we needed more of that heheheh. reader has no physical description, but she has specific personality traits. if any of this bothers you— this is not the fic for you.

masterlist // vampire vibes playlist

A/N: I wasn’t expecting more than a handful of y’all to like this concept, so thank you to anyone who has read the first part so far, and thank you for any comments!! hope y’all enjoy this one too <3 again, please heed the specific warnings before reading! title is from flashback - tbm

‘all you need is want / angels work, and devils play’

———————

The earlier conversation with Steve has you tossing and turning now in bed, glaring through weary eyes at your alarm clock’s glowing red numbers— 1:49 A.M.

There’s still time to get a decent night’s sleep; your shifts don’t begin until the late afternoon, sometimes not until the evening. Steve operates on odd hours for running a funeral home, aside from pickup calls in the dead of night.

Again— your boss is fucking weird.

Still, the weirdness you’re growing a soft spot for. Steve and his strange quirks have already worked their way into your heart, and god, you wish they’d stop burrowing deeper.

A restless mind is something you’ve always lived with, and it seems to get louder, more distracting over time as you grow older. This, though, is something that won’t allow your eyes to close, to finally rest. Whenever they begin to slip shut, your mind replays the sight of Steve, crying blood.

Maybe you should’ve ignored his disdain for help and called an ambulance. He knows himself best… but how could anyone be calm about weeping literal blood?

A few times within the night, sleep almost sunk its grip into you, only for your dreams to plummet into nightmares, imaging the worst for Steve. Awful, horrific images, ones you can’t remember the moment you startle yourself awake, but you just know it’s bad.

Melatonin didn’t work, drinking tea didn’t soothe you to sleep, alcohol is just a bad idea to rely on, same with weed when it makes you anxious; all that’s left is an old sleep medication you don’t take anymore. Sure, you slept well on them, but a little too well; twenty-one hours isn’t an acceptable amount of time to sleep, according to society.

… And okay, alright, fine— maybe you agree with that.

You know where the half-finished prescription bottle is, third drawer down in your nightstand. It’s probably expired by now, but it should help somewhat, right? And it couldn’t be as potent if you only took half of a tablet… right?

God, what if I sleep through my shift? I’ll let Steve down, lose my job, lose credits to graduate, but it’s near impossible to focus on little to no rest.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With a huff, you kick your sheets back, rolling over to the edge of the bed to open the drawer. Reaching in to retrieve your medication, a shrill noise in your ear startles you, causing you to bump your head off the edge of the nightstand as you jolt upright.

“Okay, it’s just the phone, chill the fuck out,” you try reminding yourself, heart pounding as you allow it to ring a few more times.

Who the fuck calls this late?!

Fear molds into pure annoyance by the fourth ring; you yank the phone off the hook, grumbling, “What the hell do you want? ‘Cause I ain’t buying shit. It’s fucking late, and some of us are trying to sleep, you jerk—“

“Whoa, angel, it’s just me.” Steve’s voice is a soothing balm to your ears after the phone scared you. “Are you alright?”

Oh. Fuck.

“Oh my god… Steve, m’sorry! God, this is—“ a nervous laugh bubbles out of you, but it doesn’t relieve your tension. “Y- you’re not a jerk, for the record.” You want to shrink into yourself, hide away forever, because there’s no way you can face your boss now after screaming at him like that. “I- I thought it might’ve been a—“

“A telemarketer?” He chuckles into the phone, seemingly unbothered. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, I really shouldn’t call so late, but I wanted to check in, since you can’t sleep.”

“Oh… you didn’t have to—“

… Hang on.

Your brows scrunch together, resuming with a new thought. “Huh? How’d you know I was still awake?”

Steve drags out an unsure groan, bashfully admitting, “I… I might’ve had to drive past your place after a… um, night call. Your lights were still on when I was returning home.”

At first, your heart flutters; he noticed and cared that much to call? That’s sweet, right?

… Except you’ve never told him exactly which apartment was yours, only the building; how would he know which window was yours?

“Wait, Steve… you don’t even know which apartment I’m in—“

“Angel, aren’t you tired by now?”

His interruption catches you off guard. “I mean… kinda? Obviously not enough to sleep, but—”

“Are you sure? Honestly, you sound exhausted, poor thing.” His words could be considered condescending, but the inflection within them sound heartfelt; you know him well enough by now to know this. At least, you think you know him well enough. “I’ll stay on the line until you fall asleep, if that were to help.”

“Oh… no, Steve, you don’t have to do that! You need sleep too.”

“This isn’t about me right now,” he softly counters. “Though I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

Steve’s voice carries warmth, soothing like a worn, favorite blanket. His tone is smooth like honey, coaxing you to lay against your pillows without actually asking.

“Do you normally struggle sleeping?”

Your bed is the most comfortable it’s ever been in your life, and you’ve had this thing for ages. Falling into relaxation makes it hard to respond right away. “I… um, y- yeah. It’s always been hard for me.” You yawn, excusing yourself before adding, “Sometimes it’s not falling asleep that’s challenging, it’s staying asleep.”

“Honey, there’s more to this that you’re not telling me.” He’s still so gentle, not scolding you, but encouraging you to open up. “I won’t push it, but I bet it’d be relieving to talk about.”

The nightmares. How the fuck does he know about those? You know he knows, and he doesn’t even need to say it—

Wait, whoa, hang on. Did he just call me ‘honey’?

You huff out a laugh, half-assed as you fight to keep your eyes open. The phone’s pinned between your ear and the pillow, uncomfortable, but you eventually relax enough onto your back, leaving the phone to rest right beside your face.

“It’s… they’re just silly nightmares. I’m okay, Steve.” Your words aren’t convincing, but you can feel exhaustion finally weighing you down, unable to continue convincing him.

“Well… I promise if you fall asleep, the nightmares won’t bother you anymore.” He confidently assures you. “At least not tonight.”

A weak snort slips out of you. “Steve, you can’t just tell them they can’t come back. That’s not how this works.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t try for you.”

You’re giggling now, delirious from lack of sleep, finally dancing with your body’s need for rest. “Oh? What are you gonna do? Fight ‘em off for me?”

“Something like that,” he chuckles, amused. “But you won’t remember any of this come tomorrow.”

“Huh? Why not? I’m tired, not drunk.” The longer he talks to you, the more relaxed and amused you are simultaneously. “M’saying this as your friend, not your assistant— you’re so weird, Steve.”

It’s as if the two of you are diverging into separate, one-sided conversations as he ignores your comment, though not completely; it still makes him chuckle more, voice gravelly, vibrating into your ear.

“I bet you’re going to fall asleep any second now,” he states, as if it’s fact. The heavier your eyelids become, though, you wonder if he’s just that good at reading others over the phone. “Sweet dreams, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Attempting to wish Steve the same, you slur out your response into something far from coherent, easily falling into a deep slumber.

—————

Throughout the remainder of the night, you slept, and you slept well.

Every night after the phone call with Steve, you continue to rest more than you ever have at night; it feels as if your body is ready to sleep as soon as it hits 10 PM. That’s never happened before.

Much to your surprise, it continues on like this for several weeks, and without nightmares, too.

Steve, however, is struggling to hide whatever has him distraught as the days roll on. Each day you see him, you gently remind him he can talk to you if he needs; he expresses gratitude every time, but never opens up. Though you’re still not the best at reading his emotions, he’s showing signs that he’ll crack soon. It’s just a matter of when.

The air has been dense with humidity lately, breaking today into a downpour as you park outside of the funeral home.

Figures.

As you’re walking inside, drenched from the rain, Steve’s rushing around his office, frantically throwing on a coat and gathering items haphazardly into his arms. He tosses them into his bag, muttering to himself as he pats down his pockets in search of something.

Cautiously, you step into the doorway, clearing your throat a bit; Steve whips around, face almost lighting up at the sight of you, but something suppresses that little spark of joy. His expression defaults back into worry and bewilderment.

“Hey… is everything okay?”

His shoulders slump as he sighs. He offers a slight, wounded smile as his head shakes no.

“It’s both a blessing and a curse to be an undertaker when we lose a loved one.”

You always knew this is bound to happen, for anyone working in the death industry; there will come a day where you get to care for a loved one’s shell of who they once were. You’ll be the one to carry out their final wishes, be it a traditional burial, cremation, green burial— you’re the one directing their last journey into their infinite place of rest.

What a privilege it can be, to show one last act of love in caring for them, their family, their friends; what a curse it always is, to carry that weight, the details behind closed doors. What remaining loved ones see is the product of your hard work, a long, tireless night, preparing their dearest for their send off. Witnessing this person at their rawest form, exposed from the inside out, all physical evidence and secrets revealed.

Maybe it would’ve been easier striving to become a medical examiner; no emotional strings attached, just medical and mortuary science. Your stomach churns whenever you imagine what it’d be like to care for someone you love so dearly after they depart from this world.

“Where’d you go just now?”

You’re pulled from the wreckage of your internal breakdown, bleary gaze finding Steve standing before you. His hand rests on your arm, cold. Always cold, but comforting.

“Sorry, I—“ Shaking your head, you tense up, feeling absurd for tangling yourself up in such panic. Steve’s the one mourning someone, not me. Get it together. “What can I help with? I can—“

“Don’t worry about the decedent today,” Steve steps closer, gazing into your eyes with his own hurt, distant stare. “I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

“I- I don’t mind doing it alone, I can handle it, no problem.”

It doesn’t register that his hand moved, and now is cradling your face, until you feel the chill of his skin against your own.

Weird.

“I have no doubt you can, angel.” His thumb grazes your cheek. “But I would rather you wait until I return. In fact,” hand falling away, he turns to glance out the window, frowning at the downpour; you find yourself missing the soothing chill of his palm against your face. “You should take today for yourself. You’re more than welcome to wait out the storm here, if you’d like. I’d rather you stay safe than try to drive in this rain.”

You frown, flipping the concern back onto him, “Will you be okay driving in this?”

Through the melancholy, he still manages to smirk, ever so softly. “Eddie will be driving, and we both know that hearse is a tank.”

You chuckle amidst the somber energy, “Okay, only one of those are reassuring.”

Steve shakes his head, huffing a weak laugh as his hand digs into his pocket. He pulls out a key ring, slipping one slim skeleton key off before handing it to you. Brows furrowing, you gingerly take it into your grasp.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for the house upstairs. Feel free to make yourself at home if you choose to stay.” He folds your fingers closed around the key, cradling your hand in his grasp; his touch only lingers for a few seconds. “If not, you can just leave it on the desk before you go.”

That answers your suspicions of him living above the funeral home, but it’s a trivial mystery solved compared to the mystery of his past.

You glance down at the key in your palm, rolling the weighty metal around as you contemplate an answer. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you simply nod.

“Call if you need anything, okay?” Boldly, you reach out for his hand, grasping it in yours; a shiver runs up your arm as his chill meets your warmth. “I… I’m so sorry for your loss, Steve.”

Squeezing your hand back before he pulls away, he gives one more somber attempt of a smile as he backs out of the office. You watch him slip out the door, disappearing into the curtain of torrential downpour outside, deciding you’ll stay.

—————

One emergency years ago was all it took to realize it was worth keeping a bag of necessities in your trunk; stranded in your broken down car within a snow storm, hours from home, wasn’t something you ever wanted to experience unprepared again.

When Steve left, you wrestled with your thoughts, questioning if grabbing the bag with comfortable clothing was a step too far. It’s not like you expected to stay— though, under different circumstances, the thought would drive the butterflies in your stomach mad. But you wanted to be cozy, and the longer you went unproductive on this rainy day, the more you wanted to curl up and read, or watch a movie, maybe nap.

Even enduring the storm to run to your car for a minute, you realized Steve was right; this rain looked near impossible to drive in. It was much safer to shelter in place.

So, you end up in a roomy sweater, comfy sweatpants, bundled up on the luxurious couch— dear god, this thing was comfier than your bed— sinking into the warmth. You nurse a cup of tea, flicking through the channels until you land on one marathoning old Hollywood horror films. Something for background noise, at least, since you can’t focus on the TV. Attention floating around the room, you take in the ornate, intricate design of the house; it truly is a Victorian-style house from the inside out.

The photographs on the gallery wall are what really draw you in. Wrapped in a throw blanket, you shuffle over to the wall, admiring all of the portraits and candid shots. Some look more recent, but others appear dated; very dated.

A portrait of Steve and a stunning woman catches your eye; she’s in an ornate chair, sitting so upright it hurts your spine to think about, in a Victorian era dress. Her wide smile and gentle features are naturally beautiful. Steve stands behind her, hand resting on her shoulder as she poorly attempts to cover her mouth mid-laugh. Though Steve pretends to be annoyed, a ghost of a smile dances across his face; it’s as if they were lost in an inside joke of some kind. The print itself has that silvery sheen, like a gelatin printed photo.

Steve likes old things, vintage aesthetics and antiquities, you’ve noticed. The photo is probably part of that interest.

Maybe this was taken at one of those hokey, old time photo studios. Wonder who the woman is. Is he married? He never wears a ring. Could be his girlfriend? But he’s never mentioned one before.

A clap of thunder startles you away from your thoughts, and the gallery wall, as you seek comfort on the couch once more. You curl up under blankets, diving your head into the softest pillows you’ve ever laid your head on, and attempt to distract yourself with the movie. That doesn’t work, but at least sleep steps up to guide you away from your overthinking.

—————

The muffled noise of the garage door opening stirs you awake; sound travels easily in an old house, even two floors away. It intertwines with the TV, still showing old horror movies; this time, Dracula flashes across the screen. Steve must’ve returned with the decedent. There’s a pang in your chest as you remember how… defeated he looked before leaving, yet refused to crumble in front of you.

You want to give him the space he needs, but you also want to check on him—

Christ, he’s my boss; we’re not close like that.

… but he also said we’re friends now.

It’s been hard to juggle those complex feelings; yes, you’re attracted to him, but more importantly, there’s a strong draw to let your walls down around him, become friends beyond work.

Power imbalance. That’s a damn power imbalance, and you know better.

Steve never treats you as if you’re below him, though. Sure, you’re a mortuary assistant, but he makes it a point to be incredibly equal with you, or anyone he works with. He’s guiding you through the start of this career, but you don’t feel forced into anything; it doesn’t feel like you’re being shoved around.

The summer’s halfway spent, and you’ve only grown closer with him— is it really such a crime to naturally let a friendship grow, even with an employer?

“Dracula, eh?”

You yelp, nearly jumping out of your skin at the sound of Steve’s voice unexpected filling your ear. Clutching your chest as your heart pounds rapidly, you narrow your eyes at him.

“What the fuck, Steve?!” His devious smile falters, concerned he really upset you. That fades as soon as you chuck a down pillow at his head, smacking him square in the face. “You can’t sneak up on me like that!” He lazily tosses the pillow back to you, shaking his head with a breathy laugh.

His hair’s damp, probably from running out into the rain at some point in between transporting the body. Some strands hang in his face, and god, he’s just so gorgeous.

Stop staring, stop staring, you gotta stop staring.

Hands planting onto the back of the couch, Steve leans over it, offering a smile that still won’t meet his eyes. He gives you a once over, and that’s when a tiny spark of light flickers in his gaze. It’s brief, but it’s something.

“Oh, are we having a pajama party? Hm. I believe I wasn’t invited.”

You wrinkle your nose up, “Ew, Steve. Pajama party? Shut up.” His smirk grows with a shrug. “Okay, look, I just keep an emergency bag in my car! After getting stranded in traffic in the middle of a snowstorm, I learned to have comfy clothes on hand. Just in case.”

“Smart girl,” He gravelly declares, tugging at something low in your stomach. The smirk stays put as your breath catches in your throat. “Are you staying over?”

You sit up straight, eyes widening as you stammer, “Uh— I— that’s— I overstayed my welcome, I should head home.”

“It’s terrible out, but I don’t want to influence your decision. At least let me drive you home if you want to leave.”

You study his expression; he doesn’t want to be alone, and really, you don’t want to leave him alone.

“If I stay, you gotta finish the movie with me,” Pointing back to the TV, you watch Steve’s face flatten out of feigned annoyance. “Oh, c’mon, it’s a classic!”

“That’s not a real depiction of vampires, you know.” He’s heading for the stairs— how many floors does this place have?!

“Like you’d know,” You turn back to the movie, shaking your head with a laugh. “Vampires aren’t even real.”

Steve bites his tongue, silently ascending upstairs.

—————

Another movie rolled on after you forced Steve to finish watching Dracula with you. He spent the majority of the movie grumbling under his breath, or scoffing over the vampire’s mannerisms. Every so often, when you’d glance his way, a gleaming pendant dangling from his neck would catch your attention.

A small, heart shaped, glass vial, with something inside— you just couldn’t tell what. All you knew was, your curiosity was eating away at you as time went on.

“Hey, Steve?”

Head resting back on the couch, he slowly rolls it to face you; another weak, unconvincing smile appears.

“Yes, angel?”

Every time he calls you that, your heart pounds.

“What’s the…” Don’t be nosy. Your head snaps back to the TV. “Never mind.”

Steve turns his body towards you, shaking his head softly. “No, go ahead. Ask what you wanted to ask.”

Your stare flickers down to the pendant, giving your curiosity away. He pulls the chain up, dangling it in clear view.

“Is it about this?”

Hesitantly, you nod in silence. Steve gingerly pulls the chain over his head before handing it to you. You cautiously place your palm up and out, eyeing the pendant as it’s set in your hand.

Plucking the chain between your fingers carefully, you hold the vial up to the light, red viscous liquid coating the glass interior.

Half-joking with a weakened laugh, you ask, “Is this blood?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes dart to his, frozen in place as your heart thump, thump, thumps away; not a sign of humor to be found across his face. He’s serious.

“… Yours?”

“No.”

Gulping, you muster the courage to ask, “W- whose is it?”

Steve settles back toward the TV, snuggling down under his blanket. “My late wife’s.”

Well, that’s a two-for-one bombshell to casually drop.

“I’m sorry— what?”

Pointing the remote to the TV, he turns the volume down, facing you again.

“What?”

Why the fuck is he so calm about this?

“Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes.”

It doesn’t feel right to hold the pendant anymore— something so bizarre to you, yet clearly sacred to him— so you carefully hand it back over. Steve’s hand brushes against yours, ice cold.

“I- I didn’t know you were married— why haven’t—“ You continue stumbling over your racing thoughts. What the hell do you even question first? “She was never— did she even live with you?” That’s when it clicks, the second the words leave your lips. “… Your wife’s the person you lost today, isn’t she?”

Steve sighs, fighting the urge to slide closer to you; he’s worried he already has frightened you. If this was too much, you won’t be able to stomach the truth, but he’s wanted to open up for so long now.

“Angel, if we’re going to be close, there’s a lot you should know about me.” He slides the necklace over his head, gripping the vial tightly. “But I’ll let you decide if you want to hear the truth or not.”

“Well you can’t just— just drop that on me and expect me to let it go,” You murmur, breath shallow as you stave off panic.

He reaches out for you, but you tense up. “May I hold your hand?”

“Only if you put some fuckin’ gloves on.” The teasing slips out of nervousness, but Steve takes it seriously, pushing off the couch to fetch a pair. You grab his hand- his cool, yet soft hand- tugging him back to the couch. “I was kidding, m’sorry.”

He forces a weak laugh, but he’s too distracted to put effort into it.

“If we discuss this, you have to let me explain everything. I understand if you judge me, but you have to keep it to yourself until the end. And most importantly, please, don’t run away.”

“Why would I?”

He doesn’t answer, only adds, “I’d do anything to protect you, just so we’re clear. I’d never hurt you, angel.”

Despite the mystery and vague hint of danger, his comment makes your heart flutter. It’s also wrong, because he has a wife. Had a wife, and she just died, today.

“Steve, you can’t say this kind of shit… it freaks me out.”

He wants to come out and say it, admit the truth, rip the bandaid off.

“It’ll either continue to freak you out, or you’ll think I’m trying to be funny.” You shake your head, keeping your lips sealed. “How old do you think I am?”

Brows knitting together, you answer, “I dunno… a few years older than me, right?”

“Define ‘a few’.”

You scoff, growing impatient. “ I don’t know, Steve, just tell me—“

“You were watching Dracula earlier, yes?” His eyes flit over to the television screen, then back to you. “Well… for starters, let’s just say I’m older than that film.”

You tilt your head slowly, opening and closing your mouth a couple times, finally pointing out, “But that came out in ‘31…”

“It did.”

“Stop beating around the bush, Steve—“

“I am technically older than my wife,” His hand presses flat on his chest as he speaks. “Who was 87 when she passed today.”

You can’t be bothered to do the math, waiting anxiously to hear what he has to admit. “… I’m not following any of this, I’m sorry. Are you trying to tell me you’re, like, into cougars or something?”

Steve’s face scrunches up, bemused. “You mean the animal?” He runs a hand through his hair, fraction of a laugh huffing out. “How is that relevant?”

“No, Steve, not the— oh my god,” you chuckle, hand clapping over your eyes. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. I’m still not sure what you’re talking about, though.”

Actually, you do have an inkling of what he could be hinting towards, but… there’s no way.

“You’re a smart girl, you should be able to pick it up by now.” There’s no condescending tone to the belief. He pulls the pendant back out from under his shirt, dangling it in front of you. “When we got married, I gave her a ring, she gave me this. Tokens of forever. She wanted to grow old. I couldn’t, I can’t.”

The only answer you can conjure up seems outlandish, so you keep it to yourself.

“We fought over it quite a bit, because I was selfish. I wanted to be together forever, couldn’t imagine a world without her. She couldn’t imagine a life of immortality. I had to let her go; it would’ve been cruel to persuade and guilt her to stay.”

“So you… you’re…” Again, out of nervousness, you blurt out, “What’s your skincare secret?”

Steve laughs, he laughs heartily, and it’s the first time his smile reaches his eyes all day, continuing on.

“It was always platonic, but I did feel more in the beginning, admitted my feelings… then I had to let that go. Those were short lived anyway, and I was grateful to have her in my life regardless. We never divorced. She was— is, my best friend. If there was ever a time the marriage gave some sort of benefit in a time of need, we’d have it.

“It helped protect her when she had to hide her true self for safety’s sake.” His free hand cradles the vial of blood. “This world is ridiculously cruel to those who don’t fall under certain norms. People should be able to freely love who they want to.”

Now it makes sense; he went above and beyond to protect his best friend under the guise of marriage.

His smile fades off. “When she became ill, the marriage helped with all of that insurance nonsense. Doctors always found it bizarre we were technically married, despite the age difference as she got older. I found I could, um… gently manipulate them to stop asking invasive questions about it, at least.”

You can’t help interrupting him, “Is that why I fell asleep so easily the night you called? Mind manipulation?” Then you remember, “And that’s how you knew exactly what apartment I’m in?!”

“The term sounds much more harsh than it actually is, and yes, I swear it was only to help you. I truly felt awful you couldn’t sleep.” Steve grimaces; you know he meant well, there was no ill will behind his actions. If anything, it was just further proof showing how kind he is towards others. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Frantically, you shake your head, heart aching at how quick he is to blame himself for helping you. “No, no! You have no idea how much that has helped me sleep since then.”

“Well,” his face softens into a gentle, knowing smirk, “I do know… since I made it happen.”

Teasingly, you toss a throw pillow at him, one he dodges with fast reflexes. “Oh, come on!”

Steve begins to laugh, but it doesn’t reach its full potential as he remembers the conversation at hand.

“So, uh, anyway…” he clears his throat, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. “She was the last of her family, too; I was all she had. We had other partners over time, but it’s not like she could marry who she really loved. We just… supported one another in every other way that wasn’t romantic.

“I watched her grow old, watched life change and shape her into a stronger version of herself each and every day. She even celebrated every new wrinkle and grey hair that sprouted, unlike what most humans love to hate about themselves. I began to envy her, not in a malicious way, but just…wishing I could grow old alongside my best friend.”

Your heart aches for him; what a loss it must be to let someone go twice in a life you have no escape from.

“I’m relieved she’s at peace, but there is a certain kind of anger I can’t shake.” Steve gives a short, mirthless laugh. “She didn’t have to suffer the way she did, right until the end, but she refused to— to—“

“Let you turn her.”

“See? Smart.” He squeezes your hand, smiling faintly. “Even though we weren’t partners, I still loved her. Still do love her. She was still my soulmate, in a way.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “But it was strictly ‘Platonic with a capital P’ , that’s what she’d always say.”

You weakly smile, but your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Angel,” his free hand gently wipes a tear off your cheek, one that snuck past your attention. “Why are you crying?”

“You never hear of people loving one another the way you two did, even if it was platonic. You loved her enough to let her go, twice, and you— you were so supportive of her happiness.” You rub the tears from your eyes, groaning. “Sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. If I’m being honest, I was not expecting this reaction at all.”

“Now that I think about it all… makes sense why you were such a grump watching Dracula,” You laugh through your sniffling, but remember a comment you made earlier, hand slapping over your forehead with your eyes screwed shut, shame runs through you easily. “Oh my god, I said vampires aren’t even real! I’m such a dick—“

He laughs again, and it’s music to your ears, coaxes your eyes open, too. You even catch a glimpse of his fangs for the first time; is this is why he’s never allowed himself to laugh fully around you?

God, his smile is so… pretty.

“I’ve been told much worse.”

Mind still connecting the dots, you recall an earlier memory with him. “Is that what that one phone call was about? The day you taught me about cremation?”

He nods, gaze falling to the floor, and you regret allowing curiosity to ask something clearly too fresh to discuss. Yet he answers without hesitation, “Her body started rejecting medication, and they told me it was only a matter of time before she’d decline until the end.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Realizing your hands are still clasped together, you emphasize the sentiment with a squeeze to his hand.

Steve grasps back gently, returning a broken, whispered, “Thank you.”

You glance behind him at the gallery wall, fixating on the portrait you discovered earlier. “Was that her? In that portrait with you?” He nods, smile beginning to fade yet again, but not completely. “She was beautiful. What was her name?”

“Robin.”

“She looks so happy in that photo.”

“Couldn’t even tell she loathed dresses in that shot. And she kept cracking jokes that she would ‘burn the damn thing’ as soon as the photographer left. She wouldn’t stop laughing, kept moving too much for every shot.” He rolls his eyes despite the lopsided grin coming to life. “And that was back when you had to stand very, very still for photographs. God forbid you’d sneeze during portraits…”

“Now you’re just intentionally exposing your age, Steve.” Your harmless jab encourages that smile to stick around. “Thank you for telling me all of this. For trusting me.”

There was much you wanted to learn all about Robin, and her bond with Steve. That would be too personal to ask about right now, though. Another curiosity comes to mind.

“Can I ask something personal? You can tell me to piss off, if you don’t want to answer.”

“Ask away, angel.”

“How do you… y’know, feed? Isn’t hard to be around humans?”

“Why do you think I’m a mortician?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs softly. “Seriously?”

“Well, aside from what I’ve told you early on this summer, yes. That blood would go to waste anyway, you know that.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You inhale sharply, tearing your stare off of his pretty, gleaming fangs, now exposed without concern. “Isn’t it unsafe? And… icky?”

“This isn’t some Anne Rice novel,” Steve teases, chuckling. “As long as it’s not from a decomposing corpse, no.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust, and you giggle. “But this way, I’m not harming anyone directly. I’ve always hated feeding off the living, it never felt right to me.”

“Not even if someone volunteered?”

“I—“ He chokes on air, blindsided by your question, “Sorry, come again?”

“Like, if someone offered, let’s say, not all of their blood, but some, would you be able to do that? And control yourself?”

His pupils blow wide, thoughts racing wildly.

“Well, yes, of course, but it’s not very easy to just… stop. Why do you ask?”

You shrug, because it was just a fleeting, curious thought. But now that curiosity has molded itself into a fantasy of Steve’s lips on your neck, sinking his fangs into your skin and—

“You’re far too calm with all of this.” His observation pulls you back to reality.

“We work with dead people all day, not much shocks me by now,” you tease, noticing the unsettled concern he exudes. “I’ll admit, I’m a little scared, but not of you.” You scoot closer to make your point. “Never of you, Steve.”

“Could say the same about you, angel.” Cautiously, he winds an arm around your shoulders, relaxing when you stay put.

You skeptically laugh, “What? Why are you scared?”

Taking a deep breath, he begins to admit, “You’re special to me, and I’m not trying to—“

A door slams on the first floor, startling the two of you apart, with a hollering voice to follow; footsteps hastily bound up the stairs.

“Steve? Man, you’ll never believe what I found in the back of that freezer we never use. More bl—“ Eddie stiffens to a halt at the sight of you, cradling what appears akin to one of those massive bags they put in boxed wine, only you’re certain now it’s blood inside. “M- more— Fruit… punch?”

You sputter out a laugh, clapping your hand over your mouth; Steve gives a lazy grin, beautifully sharp incisors flashing at you again.

“Eddie, it’s alright. She knows.”

“She…” Eddie turns to you in disbelief. “You know? Are you…Uh …” His voice drops down to a comical whisper, “One of us?”

“Nope, sorry Eddie. I like tea and sweets too much to ever trade them in for a blood diet.”

Steve’s eyes dart to your empty mug. “Speaking of— I’m going to boil more water.”

As he’s getting up, you wave your hands and shake your head, “Oh, hey, don’t feel like— you don’t have to—“

He leans down close, incredibly close, like ‘can feel his breath fan out across your skin and count his eyelashes’ close. Gently, he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, not holding too tight, but it’s a soft command to keep your attention steady on him. You gulp, earning a smirk from him.

“O-kaaaaaay, I’m gonna leave you two alone,” Eddie scrambles out of the room, shielding his eyes with his hand. Neither of you acknowledge him as he mutters under his breath, “Fuckin’ weirdos.”

You’ve always found Steve attractive, but seeing him up close like this is mesmerizing. With a patchwork of golden brown, mossy green, and flecks of coppery red in his eyes, that irresistible, charming smile— one which hides those threateningly sharp, yet captivating fangs— it’s no wonder why you’d never shy your gaze away.

“I take care of my people,” Steve whispers, breath dancing along your lips while searching your dazed stare. His eyes flicker down to your lips, licking his own. “Even those that are human.”

And just like that, he releases his gentle hold, and walks away; you’re left stunned on the couch, your own fingers grazing where his touch lingered.

It’s official: this man is going to be the death of you— even if in the literal sense, it’s a fate you’d happily accept.

What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

—————

The two of you end up on the floor, in a valley of endless pillows and blankets— seriously, how many of either does he have?!— next to the fireplace; you cradle yet another cup of tea, while Steve sips blood from a wine glass. Your body aches to cuddle up next to him, but you repress the desire, appreciating the softness that comes with truly getting to know one another.

Eddie didn’t stay very long, leaving as he sensed you and Steve needed to be alone— but not without talking in hushed tones a room away first. While you tried to mind your business, sometimes your stare would float over to Steve, who never once took his eyes off of you. Even as he talked to Eddie, he’d hold a heavy gaze in your direction.

It only stoked the fire of your curiosity, not just of their conversation, but everything about Steve— his past, his present— you wanted it all.

Yet all you could think to ask while finally alone was:

“Why the hell do you have a whole shelf of tea anyway?”

Steve quirks a brow, snorting, “What?”

You can’t help but stare as he swirls the deep crimson liquid in the glass, so casually. You’re not bothered by it, but it’s very surreal to see the proof before your eyes.

“If you only consume blood…” your eyes linger on the glass a little too long. “Why would you keep something you can’t enjoy?”

“I am friends with other humans, you know.” He smiles softly, turning back to the fireplace. The flickering shades of warmth dance across his pale, cold skin. “Not sure your kind cares to drink blood.”

“Oh, right. Duh.” You shake your head, feeling foolish. “Hey, if I ever say anything stupid about all of this, or ask a dumb question, y- you can just tell me to shut up.”

“Nothing stupid has ever come out of your pretty mouth, angel.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way his words make you squirm. Judging off the smug smirk his smile has turned into, he noticed. “Besides, there’s other ways to shut someone up.”

“Other ways?”

You have a good guess of what he’s alluding to, but you want— no— you need to hear it directly from him.

“C’mon, you’re a smart—“

“Please don’t call me that… it feels patronizing at this point.”

Steve’s expression falls, searching your own before shaking his head. He sets the glass down, leaning in closer. “No, that isn’t— I’m sorry. It’s not meant to be. You really are the smartest woman I know.”

Oh. Well, now you feel like a dick.

“I’m sorry I took it the wrong way.” Taking the chain of the tea infuser, you dunk it a few times, desperate to keep your hands busy and eyes away from Steve. “Though I think that’s far too kind of you to say.”

“You should have more confidence in your strengths.”

“Steve, I barely passed my classes, you know that. It’ll be a miracle if I can graduate.” Concentration wasn’t your strong point lately, mind always running 100 miles a minute, thoughts in ten different directions. If you were being honest with yourself, this is always how your brain has worked, and it’s only getting harder to handle the older you get. “I’m not trying to fish for praise, but I truly don’t know why you even hired me. I’m such a scatterbrained idiot sometimes—“

His hand gently claps over your mouth, shutting you up instantly.

It also makes you throb between your legs, makes your heart race, but you’re ignoring that right now. You swear you see one corner of Steve’s mouth quirk up, just ever so slightly.

God, can he sense that? Don’t vampires have… heightened senses? Or powers, or something?

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re just someone who’s better with hands on studying than with books. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Hand falling away, your bottom lip juts out into a pout at the loss of his touch; you roll it back, embarrassed, but he doesn’t tease you for it. “There’s so much you’re good at, like—“

You sit up, covering his mouth with your hand now, shocked by your bold move. His lips curve underneath your touch into a playful smirk. “You really do not need to make a list—“

Steve grips your wrist, not roughly, but firm, moving your hand aside. Your breath hitches in your throat; these not-so-small touches are driving you insane.

“Hear me out, please?”

Slowly, you sit back as he releases your wrist. This time, you keep your disappointment internal.

“Your restoration technique is some of the closest I’ve ever seen to recreating one’s appearance. You’ve stayed late some nights to perfect what is possible, just to comfort grieving families a little more. It’s hard to find genuine empathy and sympathy in this field sometimes, but you always carry that, put it first. That must be heavy on your heart at times, but it never goes unnoticed.

“You care for everyone here, too. And I—“ A fond smile peeks through his expression. “— I’ve never worked so well with anyone else before. We flow so well as a team. Your work alone speaks for itself more than some nonsense exams do— ”

“Steve, I need those to graduate, to legally work.”

“I know, but I was terrible with just studying on paper, too. If I could finish school, I’ve got no doubt in my mind you can too.”

It’s a kind sentiment, but then you remember, “Aren’t you like, 300 years old? When the hell did you pass boards? Did that even exist when you finished school?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He side eyes you playfully. “Where was I? Oh, right, yes— you’re smart, sweet funny, you’re able to use a trocar without getting squeamish— do you know how many morticians I’ve met who still get all grossed out with that process, even years after they started their careers? Like, it’s your job, you need to grow up—“

“Ew, Steve.” You cringe and giggle simultaneously. “I thought we were having a moment, then you gotta go off on a bitchy rant about… morticians that hate… draining fluids. Okay.”

“What? Can’t a guy honestly compliment and flirt a little over a light conversation about embalming?”

He begins to grin, and you can’t hold back your laughter; it’s a soothing tune to his ears, and your smile is a sight for sore, weary, undead eyes.

“Guess we’re both pretty gross if that’s considered light conversation.” You replay his words in your head, catching what you missed. “Hang on— did you say you were flirting with me?”

Steve locks eyes with you, taking a wavering breath.

“What would your reaction be if I said I was?”

There’s a flutter of excitement in your stomach, but it doesn’t take flight with reality weighing it down.

“You’re my boss,” you bluntly state, frowning as the words leave your lips. Frowning at yourself, for being such a stickler for professionalism. Yet… at this point, you’ve crossed barriers you shouldn’t have; maybe you’re not so stuck to the rule book after all. “That’s— isn’t it—“

“A power imbalance? It could be,” he answers honestly. “But I’d never force anything, or persuade you into anything you wouldn’t want. Wouldn’t let this affect your career, either. It’d be all up to you to decide on.”

You stare off into the smoldering embers of the fireplace, uneasy to answer right away.

“Steve, your wife— best friend? Ugh. Look, Robin just died today… I know it was platonic anyway, but something feels so…”

“Wrong?”

You nod slowly.

“Not that it’s you or I that’s wrong, but the whole situation, and the timing— it’s a lot.”

“I understand. We can forget about this, it’s alright. I want you to be comfortable and happy for as long as you like working here.” He clears his throat, checking if the space between your bodies is adequate enough. “If you still want to, that is. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you decide to leave.”

“N- no, I want to stay, I really do like working together.” You feel your heart deflate; how could you just shut him down like that? Unsure of what to say, you hope the question is enough, “… Is it okay if I still stay the night, too?”

Maybe Steve will get it. He’ll catch on and coax you into opening up about your feelings, encourage you to not be so afraid. Maybe you can build up the courage to ask to fall asleep together, or—

“Of course, angel, I wouldn’t ever make you leave. I’ve got a spare room you can take tonight.”

Well, fuck.

A pang of disappointment hits you, and it’s not like you have the right to be upset; you turned him down to begin with. Still, you do wish you could cuddle up with him, fall asleep to the sound of the storm in his arms.

“I think we should call it a night. You need the rest.”

Steve went from fixated on you, to avoiding even the possibility of a glance your way.

You hide away in that empty room, feeling colder than you had sitting beside him, while the storm outside rages on.

————

In all fairness, you give sleep an honest attempt, but it’s useless.

You toss, turn, groan in defeat as your mind races. This might be the coziest bed you’ve ever laid in, with sheets heavenly soft, and what feels like an endless supply of pillows. It’s not enough. Over and over your mind replays the conversation of feelings, and unfortunate timing, and it only leaves you wondering what you said or did wrong.

What was enough to turn Steve so cold?

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, throwing the sheets off and rolling out of bed. Making your way down the hall, you stop about a foot outside of Steve’s bedroom door. A dim light sneaks out from underneath the door; he’s awake, at least, but now that you’re here, doubt floods through you.

Turning to walk away, you pause again, sigh, turning back to face the closed door. It’s an internal struggle, back and forth between the desire to get to the bottom of this, and giving him space. On your fifth turnaround, the door opens, but the doorway is empty. You freeze in place, spooked until Steve’s voice calls out to you.

“You’re going to wear a ditch into the floor pacing like that.”

Goddammit.

Hesitantly, you make your way inside. Bathed in a warm, faint glow from candles, the room feels both inviting and forbidden. Especially when you find Steve in his bed, shirtless and reading. “Don’t get all shy on me now, angel.” He shuts the book and sets it aside on the nightstand, next to another glass off blood, giving you a spent yet understanding glance. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Of course, the first night you can’t fall asleep with ease is the night you finally spend at his place.

“What is this?” You blurt out, finding the courage to walk closer. You’re at the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “What are we? What the hell have we been this whole summer?”

Steve throws the covers back, gesturing to the vast, empty spot beside him. “Angel, you should sit—“

“No, don’t ‘angel’ me. Also I am not getting in a bed with you while you- you’re half naked! That’s an unfair advantage.”

“How so?”

“You’d distract me!” Your eyes wander down his chest, admiring every detail. Scrunching your eyes shut, you sputter out, “Oh, goddammit, you’re already distracting. You know what you’re doing.”

Steve exhales slowly, sliding out of bed to grab a black cardigan draped over a chair nearby. He throws it on, arms out to his sides as he models the slouchy sleeves. “Happy?”

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “No.”

“Would you like to discuss this, or not?” Though his patience thins, he’s got no problem keeping calm. It just upsets him to see you upset. Gesturing to the bed, he climbs back in, waiting for your next move. “Or would you rather go somewhere else?”

Grumpy and exhausted, you sit on his bed, facing away from him, arms crossed over your chest.

“Okay.” Steve clears his throat, then takes a deep breath before speaking with sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you ask, “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“All of this. Tonight wasn’t the time or place to admit how I feel.” He sighs, falling back against the pillows as he rubs a hand over his face. “There’s probably no time or place that’s appropriate for anything I opened up about, and I wish I could take it back.”

He’s really tearing himself apart over this.

You lean against the headboard, glancing over at him, fidgeting with the edge of the covers. “Steve, I’m not upset that you were honest with me. If anything, I admire it and feel honored you trust me enough to talk about your past. Your confession threw me off, but it didn’t upset me.”

“Then what did?”

Leaning against the ornate headboard, your eyes flutter shut as you sigh.

“Meeting you this way. I wish it were under different circumstances, ones that aren’t so complex.” He shifts to his side, studying your expression. “Because it’d be easier to admit how I feel without all this guilt hanging over my head.”

“What is there to feel guilty about?”

You take a deep breath, exhaling your answer quickly, “Allowing myself to fall for you.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment, before huffing a soft laugh, shaking his head.

You’re annoyed, “Wh— what’s so funny about that?”

“That it’s not my age, or the fact that I’m a vampire that is keeping you at bay.” Even with a smile, there’s a hint of disappointment in his observation. It’s quickly shadowed as he adds, “It’s your good girl morals and ethics.”

The ‘good girl’ comment makes your stomach flutter, eyes averting his own while he sips from his glass. “Well I was trying to be professional and respectful, but someone certainly makes that a challenge.” You find the courage to boldly quip, “Besides, what can I say? I’m into older guys.”

Steve nearly spits out the blood in his mouth, choking down nervous laughter. He sets his glass down on the nightstand, wiping dribbles of crimson away from his lips.

“Didn’t take you for the type to yearn after 130 year-olds.”

Not once tonight have you bothered with the math, shrieking, “You’re what?!”

“You’re the one who said you’re into older men!” Chuckling, still trying to gain composure from seconds ago, he asks, “Why is that shocking?”

“I didn’t mean that old!” You side eye him, “Okay, so… you’re gonna tell me you’re older than dirt—“

Steve grasps his chest dramatically, “Ouch—“

“But you have way nicer skin than me?”

“That’s what you’re still hung up on?” He laughs. Every time he does, or even when he smiles wide, his fangs show, and you’re absolutely positively now he’s been avoiding expressions of happiness to hide his secret from you.

“Sorry, I think I’m deflecting.” You sheepishly admit with an apologetic shrug. “Just kinda… really actually sorta nervous.”

“Kinda really actually sorta nervous?” He lightly teases. You side eye him with a huff, so he reaches out in a comforting gesture, hand on your arm. You’re beginning to love the cold his touch offers. “Look, we can forget about this, or discuss it another time— whatever you want. Nothing has to happen right this moment.”

Oh, you want this so bad; you want him so bad.

Crossing a line like this one could be too dangerous, for the both of you. It’s already risky, walking this flimsy, thin tightrope between a professional relationship, and one with the potential for romance.

Or lust, at the very least.

… I can’t allow myself to get caught up in this.

Nodding, you take his hand in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Steve.” He can see right through you, can tell there’s more on your mind that you’re keeping buried. “Can we… would it be okay to talk about it in the morning? Or sometime? Just… not tonight.”

Steve finds it odd that earlier your racing thoughts urged you to talk things over with him, but now, you’re ready to scurry away; he won’t push it, though.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.” He gives your hand a squeeze in return before you pull away, shuffling away to the door. “Sweet dreams, angel.”

“Y- you too.” You reply; earlier, you would’ve caught yourself, asking if vampires even dream when they sleep. Or if he even sleeps at all at night. With your mind spiraling into worry over all of this, you just want to be alone.

Steve already knows you’re going to leave. He already knows you’ll feel guilty for leaving in the dead of night, for slipping out without saying goodbye. You’ll leave a note, apologizing in a hurry for ending this so abruptly, with an added, half-assed, letter of resignation that you’re certain will bite you in the ass later in your career. You’ll regret it before walking out the door, but commit to your mistake with a broken heart, because this has to be the best decision for the both of you, right?

He already knows how ridiculous that is, but he lets you leave regardless. Just as he’s learned in the past with Robin— when you love someone, you respect their wishes, even if they’re not what you want.

When you love someone, you let them go.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #my fics #fic: fascination #ok second time posting let’s try this again lmao

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transusopp · 3 hours ago

Text

usopp, sanji, and robin and how their relationships to abandonment, insecurity, trauma, pain, reunion , love, and devotion make one piece beautiful. and in turn, how their bonds make the sunny a wonderful place to call home

(word count: 6k words. WAY more under the cut. get ready for a needlessly long one)

one piece, of course, is famously about friendship and liberation. every single animanga canon arc from romance dawn to elbaf have been repeated demonstrations of the themes of devotion to morals, causes, ideals, people, wishes, and dreams.

however, one piece also touches on another extremely important side of this hypothetical coin of love and devotion. it touches on selfishness, attempts at self sacrifice and distance to spare others trouble. as well as to, subconsciously, spare oneself the trouble of seeing people one loves get severely hurt or weighed down by your actions, or inaction, or peril, or otherwise… unworthiness. to be alive, to have their respect, to be in their graces, to be loved. and how, despite how the circumstances these feelings show themselves in the story are often strikingly different, they are all meant to be a reflection of the other, a thematic and narrative parallel of how and why love is shown.

of course, in arlong park, we see our first member leave the crew. but nami’s storyline in arlong park has a little less to due with her personal insecurities, and a lot more to do with her trauma and general fear.

while absolutely interesting in its own right for analysis (and i might have to come back and write something about franky in w7 and nami in arlong park sometime), arlong park isn’t one of the arcs i’ll be touching upon here.

the main arcs that i am interested in discussing today are water 7, enies lobby (& post-enies lobby), and whole cake island. in addition, we are going to be dividing the parallels into three sections. one for parallels between enies lobby and whole cake island, one for water 7 and whole cake island, then the last for water 7 and enies lobby. they will also be categorized by what i personally find to be the most striking means of delivering the similar themes each arc shares.

robin and sanji’s hope instilled by a personal savior

(enies lobby and whole cake island spoken/written parallels)

when robin escaped the buster call on o’hara when she was 8 years old, she was told by saul, who rescued her from certain death that she would be “alone for now, but [she]'ll definitely meet friends who will protect her!!"

when sanji escaped germa when he was 8 years old, he was told by reiju, who guided him to safety from a life of abuse that "the sea is broad, [he]’ll definitely meet some kind people one day!"

both of these statements carry the same weight, and the same implication. the people who loved robin and sanji, were convinced that one day, they wouldn’t be the only ones who’d carry the title of their loved ones anymore. of course, worded differently to reflect their specific circumstances (which will end up a recurring theme here), but the idea remains intact out of both reiju and saul’s mouths.

see, this is where our analysis becomes the most interesting to me. we read reiju tell sanji he’ll find “kind people,” and read saul tell robin she’ll find “friends.” what does this mean in their personal contexts?

sanji had already known kindness, sora was the most overtly kind to him in a cruel world ruled by an iron fisted patriach, but she’d been dead for a while at this point. reiju wanted to make him believe, she wanted to remind him, that kind people still existed. it wasn’t just sora, with so many people on the planet, he’d find people like sora again! and that, of course he did. we see it happen exactly in whole cake island, where luffy smiles eating sanji’s cold, stepped on, wet bento he’d made (accidentally with the crew in mind), exactly like sora would’ve. an obvious visual representation of the hope that reiju not only instilled in sanji, but what she herself hoped would happen for him, and how their hope became a truth.

robin had already known friendship. sanji knew familial love through sora, but robin had known friendship, more notably. all her friends and loved ones died in the buster call. she lived and they (mostly) didn’t. saul wants her to never forget she would know friendship which would save her life again. she spent so many years alone and in her own head, in the unwelcoming houses’ of strangers, in persecution. the next time we see robin involved in a buster call, not only does she live, but she proclaims she wants to do so. this time, she’s not a scared lonely 8 year girl watching a bloodbath with no one by her side and powerless to stop it. she has her friends.

actually, the spoken parallels do not end there. luffy’s own dialogue in their times of devastating emotional turmoil in which they make excuses as to why they have no interest in, why they can’t, return to the straw hats, is, too a spoken parallel.

luffy shouts to sanji “tell me how you really feel!”

luffy shouts to robin “say it! say you want to live!”

another two pieces of dialogue which are actually nearly identical in sentiment, but take on completely different wording due to the circumstances. sanji, during the events of whole cake island and in his childhood in germa, was never allowed to feel anything. or, at the very least, he was expected to behave like he never had and never would. so, luffy’s act of radical love was to allow sanji the opening to do what he had never been permitted to do as a child. he left sanji to state his own feelings. which, of course, were the culmination of the emotional moments of the arc for many. sanji wanted to return home, with the straw hats, on the sunny.

translation note: in japanese, sanji uses the verb "kaeru" which does, in fact, mean "to return [home]," this is the official translation from shounen jump, but its not the one widely accepted by the general one piece translation community, i believe.

in contrast to allowing sanji an opening by asking him a question, he leaves robin an opening by making a demand. she truly could have said she wanted to die again, that she had no interest in living, that the straw hats could’ve left her there. but she remembers what saul told her. she remembers the hope to find friends. and thus, in turn, she thinks maybe… just maybe, this time it will be okay to agree, to follow along, to trust someone after years and years of hatred and despair. she screams her heartbreaking wish that she wants to live! she wants the straw hats to take her away from the site which became a buster call location.

in her remembering of saul’s hope, and trust in the world, despite it all, robin finds her own hope and trust in her world, her friends, shining through. in his remembering of reiju’s genuine conviction, sanji finally allows himself to express his true, open, genuine raw emotion, right on his sleeve, to the people who actually valued it.

yet another point to be made about dialogue and parallels brings us to the attention of sanji and robin’s (at the time) living parents' lack of desire to disclose a mother-daughter and father-son relationship.

when robin tries to leave o’hara, she infamously cries to her mother if she knows her, if she remembers her?! olvia doesn’t even turn around, and informs robin that she must be mistaking her for someone else

as viewers, we can see olvia’s thoughts and intentions. she is thinking to herself that she doesn’t want robin associated with her to avoid robin’s incoming death if she were to do so.

however, that is how we as viewers read it. to a little 8 year old nico robin, all she hears is that her mom doesn’t want to remember her, or maybe doesn’t care for her at all. we see this on the proceeding pages where robin begs olvia for her acknowledgment as olvia’s daughter. she sobs that she knows she's grown up, but it's still her! it's her, its robin!

there is, of course, a twisted version of a scene similar that occurs in whole cake island between sanji and judge, shown to us during the flashback of sanjis childhood. as 8 year old sanji is running out of the dungeon to scramble to leave, judge is the one who catches him running upstairs to freedom after reiju let him go.

sanji fully anticipates some kind of resistance, going so far as to have a small blade prepared to possibly fight, but judge has no qualms about letting sanji leave germa. as a matter of fact, he is quite mockingly thankful, reminding sanji, as always, that he sees the kid as nothing more than a blemish on an accomplished scientific career and reputation.

his only condition to give sanji the key to the psychological and physical trap on his head is for sanji to never tell anyone that judge is his father. he’s embarrassed of his child.

it is noteworthy here that this is the only time, in the entirety of whole cake island from past to present, that we ever see judge refer to sanji as his son behind closed doors.

he is doing the inverse of what olvia did for robin. olvia’s goal was to save robin and the only way she knew how to do so was to outright deny her motherhood of her. she made her own public stand against being robin's mother, for a noble cause, but she still denied it. yet she denied it herself. she never made robin do it for her.

judge’s only goal, on the other hand, was to save some face and maybe a bit of reputation, he makes sanji not say he’s his dad. if sanji had asked judge publicly if he was his dad, like robin asked olvia, from all we can gather and understand from judge’s public relationship to sanji, he would’ve said yes, of course he was. despite this, he didn’t even value sanji’s life enough to consider his disdain for him to even slightly tarnish his public reputation, so of course the only logical thing he could think to do was to make sanji do all the dirty work for him.

an archeologist saving her daughters life by denying their history herself, and the king of a fascist empire making his son save him some ego by forcing him to denying theirs for him... its an oddly fitting in-text commentary on some of the most common themes of the series as a whole, isn’t it?

possibly one of the most interesting and valuable moments in robin and sanji’s character arcs post-whole cake island and far, far past enies lobby, is sanji begging for robin’s help in wano. he asks her to help him!

this does two things for their characters and actions, and how they evolve and change and grow as people. how to be loved is to be changed, fundamentally.

the first is that this is one of, if not the only, time we see sanji ask for anyone’s help. the fact it is a woman’s help, who he always treated like and believed he needed to be the protector and savior of, tells us so much about what this means for him. this is life or death, he asks robin to help him because he trusts her.

on robin’s end, it's less explicit, and this is more a personal reading of the arc. but, how would she have felt being asked to help someone? again, recall that robin was mistreated and not trusted by anyone until she met the straw hats. people notoriously thought she was a traitor for trying to survive, that she had no ideals or semblance of morals. so, for anyone, especially someone who has never asked for help, to trust her enough to plead for her assistance, had to have impacted her deeply.

both of them thought all these actions were completely and utterly selfish, so they took the route they believed to be noble. they chose self-sacrifice. but the true selfless action, as luffy made them realize, would be to allow others to help them when they needed it, and make them feel appreciated and wanted. the true selfless action would be to allow their friends to help so they could all continue to enjoy each other's company.

usopp and sanji’s trials in the cold

(water 7 and whole cake island visual parallels)

whole cake island has some of my personal favorite and visually and narratively interesting manga panels in the entire series. and water 7, another parallel of whole cake island, the same as enies lobby, has so many visual parallels to whole cake island.

first, let’s discuss the obvious, the gloomy weather. usopp and luffy infamously dueled in dark, foggy weather, and sanji infamously told luffy he wanted to come back in the rain.

this is extremely interesting to me. these two scenes are some of the most striking, visually, and noteworthy times we see rainy and/or wet weather be associated with sadness or despair in one piece. usopp cried and sat on the ground in the fog, after a performative fight to leave the crew, while sanji sat in the rain while giving performative excuses as to why he can’t join back. sanji ultimately ends up confessing what he really wants in the rain, but usopp doesn’t get that closure here.

to usopp and his narrative, the fog and wet of the night is associated with performative, frustrating, “fights” that no one wanted to see, but with associated genuine feelings of upset anger. to sanji and his narrative, the rain is associated with performative arguments, and ends in genuine feelings of upset, angry, and deeply sad and yearning feelings.

the weather is not their only notable visual parallels here. another is their fights with their captain, their fights with luffy.

usopp’s fight was clean, more evenly matched. luffy directly consented to it, he agreed to usopp’s challenge to a duel. however, sanji’s fight with luffy was less of a fight and more of a physical attack. luffy didn’t fight back, he took the hit and made his decision, right then and there.

of course, there is more to be said here. in particular, during sanji��s emotional betrayal to his own feelings. he and usopp are actually extremely similar in their actions, but with different stakes.

chopper, after trying to help usopp, comes back crying to nami that usopp told him they weren’t crewmates anymore, and that chopper needed to leave him alone and go back to the ship, with the crew.

when sanji starts fighting the sanji retrieval team, nami asks him what the hell gives? sanji answers her question with a demand. sanji demands the crew to leave him alone, that they’re beneath him as pirates. this is a statement he has no belief in, which of course we all know. however, sanji’s eyes in this panel specifically look dead. he looks like he’s out of it, like he’s trying so hard to look like he believes it despite the fact he does not at all.

while not exactly a whole cake island specific parallel, the important proceeding context is, and it gives contextual visual comparison, so i will humor it here, somewhat briefly (as i’ve spoken about sanjis part of this in this post)

sanji and usopp, notably for our purposes, share two distinct visual character poses. touching upon sanji’s first, he bows deeply to zeff, to his father, and thanks him for taking care of him for so many years. of course, this scene is bittersweet and emotional during baratie, but the knowledge we receive in whole cake island makes it all the more painful and moving. he makes a final statement of the true nature of his and zeff’s relationship, right then and there.

in juxtaposition, when sanji iconically pulls down judge by the tie of his cape, to be able to look each other eye to eye, he denounced their relationship. he yelled that judge was not his father! so intensely that we see him sweating and breathing heavily after the declaration. due to the nature of their literal, physical height difference, but more importantly, how sanji felt judge’s eyes always looked at him with shame.

usopp, too, had a moment of shirt pulling. however, his moment of shirt pulling was a reflection of tragedy and insecurity.

it is made clear in water 7 that usopp believed his role on the crew was somehow inherently tied to the going merry. he makes it obvious by continuously speaking of how he repaired her. he loved her, she was their crewmate. how dare they let her go.

so, when faced with the reality that the merry’s beyond repair, that she needed to be let go even if she was their friend and loved her…

…who’d they let go next? this is the core question which is often neglected and disregarded in this argument. he quite literally states it, if they’re abandoning weak crewmates, naturally he has to go too.

during their heated argument, there is a moment where we see usopp try to pull luffy down by his shirt as well. despite the fact they are the exact same height, and have been looking at each other at the eye level for months at this point, usopp feels as luffy is looking down upon him. he feels the need to bring down his captain, who he idolized and admired, down to look at him.

in contrast, at the end of post-enies lobby, when usopp apologizes to luffy and the crew (which is a conclusion i have personal opinions on as a writing choice, but i digress) he too is seen deeply bowing. he is sobbing his eyes out while groveling to luffy and the crew to apologize for being mean, for being stubborn. inadvertently, he is also thanking them for letting him on the crew despite all of this. he hopes he would be able to come back. he wants his crews desire to welcome him back. he longs for their desire to love him.

at the end of the day, thats what both he and sanji desire from their scenes, the freedom to be loved, and the desire for people to want to love them. sanji grovels to zeff because zeff wanted him, he wanted to love him, he made sanji feel important when he’s felt like a sad waste of a human being for his entire life. zeff’s kindness, sanji feels, is what allowed him to survive and join the straw hats, who’d come to be his best friends. and of course, sanji’s scene with judge is another demonstration of respect toward his father, toward zeff. he’s thanking zeff for raising him and instilling true morals in him.

usopp grovels to the crew to show his sorrows and regrets about his actions and how what he did was wrong, disrespectful. he sobs his apology, and of course luffy immediately forgives him. yet, he pulled down luffy’s shirt to make them look eye to eye, even if they’d done that this entire time. he wanted his desire to be respected taken seriously. but more importantly, he wanted his desire for love to be taken seriously, even if unspoken directly in the text.

lastly for this section, there are two panels from sanji’s performative fight in whole cake island, and of course two parallel panels in water 7, i’d like to point out as interesting.

the first, is luffy’s face getting hit by two things associated with heat. rendering him briefly unable to fight back. usopp’s hit is much less deadly, of course, but the parallel stands. sanji kicking luffy in the face with his leg on fire, and usopp getting luffy in the mouth with the deluxe pepper sauce star, could be understood as two different means to the same end. they didn’t want luffy to win, they didn’t want him to fight back, they were trying to achieve a goal to prove they weren’t respectable or worthy. they were trying to fulfill a prophecy they’d created.

the second, is the parallel image of usopp and luffy’s battle, and yonji’s comment to sanji about luffy becoming hunted down.

usopp tells luffy he has an army of 8,000, a classic and signature lie of his. it’s an intimidation tactic usually, but here it’s a distraction. he’s trying to distract luffy as a part of the strategy to beat him. however, sanji doesn’t lie to luffy about power in numbers, he simply lies to him about his opinion of pirates and those who the vinsmokes believe are beneath them.

so, when yonji informs sanji that there is an obscene crew of people going to find luffy, its disturbing to sanji and the reader. it’s like usopp’s lie come true, but its flipped on sanji, with the crew of people finding luffy having full intention of killing him.

so, what do the panels here tell us? in water 7, we see luffy and usopp in extremely similar panel sizes, directly next to each other. however, when yonji informs sanji of the team whos going out to kill luffy, we notably see both of them at the top of the page. however, the page focus is not on them. its on the team whos trying to go out.

usopp believed in luffy so deeply and they were (are) such fantastic friends, that even in their fight they are, more often than not, framed as equals. in contrast, yonji believed in luffy so little, and sanji had pretended to believe in luffy so little, that the panel shows us them at the top, despite not being the focus of the page. why would they get their hands dirty dealing with straw hat, right? they’re royalty, they’ll leave the simple bloodshed to the people beneath them, literally here.

sanji and usopp held beliefs about themselves, their role on the crew, their usefulness, and how they didn’t belong. they did everything in their power to make everyone believe they didn’t deserve to be with their friends in fear of being a burden or easy target. and, throughout both arcs, for a while, this seemed to have worked.

monkey d luffy, despite all his idiocy and recklessness, is a guy full of compassion and emotional intelligence. their lies appeared to have lasted, but luffy had no intentions to allow their prophecy to be condemned to a regretful life of sorrow to be fulfilled.

they thought regaining their invitation to the crew would be selfish, so they chose to lie and leave so no one would miss them when they were gone

however, they didn’t realize that their invitation to luffy’s friendship was never revoked.

robin and usopp's cowardly “facing of the facts,” and their brave acceptance of truth

(enies lobby and water 7 parallel timeline occurrence, and what it meant for robin, usopp, luffy, and the crew)

of all the so-called straw hat “desertion” or “betrayal” arcs, it is noteworthy that enies lobby is the only one piece arc where two straw hats abandon the crew simultaneously. in fact, it is so important to the crew and the story, nami herself points it out. she feels like the crews falling apart, she quite literally says this exact sentiment in the text.

this idea is shown to be shared at least among chopper and sanji, who have vastly different approaches. chopper, of course, is sincere and shows genuine outward deep care for usopp. the rest of the crew does as well, but sanji’s hardass mentality about it is clearly disregarded when his friend is at his lowest and no one is helping him.

in any case, the entire crew (usopp included) were deeply concerned about robin’s whereabouts and status. we come to know as readers exactly whats happened to her and what shes about to experience, but for right then, the straw hats were in the dark themselves.

robin and usopp’s narratives come down to be only truly different by the stakes involved. they had the exact same motivation, they wanted to rid the crew of dead weight, they wanted to rid the crew of targets on their backs. they have a selfish desire to avoid seeing their friend suffer, even if they want to help, even if others are helping them to settle things cleanly. robin and usopp wanted something weird and messy to leave behind, so they were never welcome back, even if that wasn’’t their true wish.

the moment on the sea train where usopp is badly injured and dripping blood onto the ground, and speaks to robin, is one of the most important sogeking scenes in enies lobby. usopp briefly stands from the ground and reminds robin to believe in luffy.

usopp, as we know, didn’t seem to believe in luffy during their argument. he didn’t believe in himself, but he projected that belief onto his relationship with luffy.

robin really didn’t believe in luffy. she had no desire for him to come rescue her, she thought she was a lost cause, an evil and despicable woman beyond saving. she’d been told this constantly from the day she’d escaped the buster call to when she joined baroqueworks, but more importantly when she joined their crew. her crew, a crew which loved and appreciated her and wanted her back as their friend. she wasn’t just a tool for them to use, she was a friend who they valued.

therefore, when usopp of all crewmates, comes to inform her that luffy needed to be trusted in, that he would come save her, because no pirate is permitted to desert their crew without their captains permission. she must hold hope in her heart that crews love for her was never withdrawn. even as he informs her of this, she simply turns around and walks away. its a sentiment she should not believe, cannot believe, because it would mean she’d have to come to terms with the fact she was loved.

we’d seen usopp do this in water 7, obviously. in robin’s absence, usopp deserted the straw hats. yet, he’d come back for robin too. why? why would usopp come back to the crew to save a member, despite the fact he felt disrespected and inferior to them?

it was an act of revolutionary devotion. it was a demonstration of true love for his friends. he never stopped caring about them, and they never stopped caring about him. even robin’s turning around in the scene where usopp tells her she must believe in luffy is a demonstration of love and care. she is doing exactly what her mother did, she refuses to put a crewmate in danger. its her radical act of love and devotion.

usopp’s show of love for robin is to repeatedly acknowledge her worth, and her importance, and her genuine love which she is full of and surrounds her. he puts himself in harms way, despite his anxiety, despite his fear, because he loved her. robin’s show of love for usopp, and the crew in general, was to avoid causing them fear, to avoid causing them fights, to avoid causing them any trouble.

although, on the sea train on the way to enies lobby, robin must’ve known sogeking was usopp. there was no way she didn’t, the only crew members who didn’t realize were luffy and chopper, which is mostly played as a gag.

despite the fact she didn’t directly witness luffy and usopp’s fight and subsequent duel and usopp’s separation. she does know one thing about usopp, as a guy, as her friend.

usopp is anxiety ridden, easily scared, and sometimes so frightened he nearly appears cowardly. she knows this about him from their time spent together. she knows and never seems to mind, she loves him anyway.

this is why sogeking, this is why usopp, shooting down the world government flag is one of his most beloved and respected moments in the entire series.

usopp, who robin knows has a major flaw of being easily frightened and had a tendency to run away when faced with danger… that usopp, that scared little 17 year old kid? he was the one who shot down the flag. sure, luffy commanded him to, but he did it with no hesitation, or so much as waiver in his voice. luffy commanded him to shoot, and he said got it, declared the power of his new weapon, a remarkable reflection of his power, drew back the slingshot, and struck down that damn flag as if it was nothing.

this leaves an absolutely stunning impression on both robin, and the intended viewer. this was easily the scariest moment usopp had faced up to that point, yet he did it anyway, seemingly without fear. it was beautiful and wonderful and a true demonstration of devotion to his friends, because he was not a member of the crew at the time. he didn’t care about his current status on their crew, robin was his friend before his crewmate. all the straw hats were his friends, which was more important than his arbitrary status on a pirate crew.

robin has an equally important brave feat of revolutionary love. luffy demands her to say she wants to live. she briefly pauses, beginning to cry. one of the most meaningful parts of this sequence is her remembering usopp’s words to her on the sea train. believe in luffy, he told her to believe in luffy. so, if she can utter what she truly desires just one time, because she should trust in luffy then…

maybe its okay to want to live. maybe its okay to say that. it is an act of revolution and political defiance, the same as sogeking shooting down the flag. devil child nico robin wanting to live, wanting to be loved, wanted to be saved, and willing to scream that in front of the entirety of enies lobby is just as much as a demonstration of friendship and her belief in her friends as it is an act of disrespect to the government which wishes to condemn her for being alive.

sniper island is in robin’s heart, and on the sniper island in her heart, lives usopp.

luffy and loss and inferiority and selfish self sacrifice and tragedy and hope and love

in terms of character arcs, there is one glaring major arc which is often ignored in wider discussions of this topic. luffy’s character arc from water 7 to whole cake island ends up progressing so slowly most just don’t consider it.

luffy has had four narrowly avoided losses in the present events of canon. he has also had one major loss, the loss of his brother, the loss of ace.

ace’s death, as we all know and is made abundantly clear, impacted luffy deeply. for the first time in his life, he witnessed someone beloved to him go through with the plan of not just death, but of self sacrifice.

ace always felt unworthy of being alive, like robin, and unworthy of respect or status, like usopp. even if he promised luffy he wouldn’t die, even if he was a member of an extremely powerful and important pirate crew, he still ended up doing very thing luffy had prevented a loved one from doing once before.

upon hearing slander of his now deceased fathers name, ace turned around. he took a hit, which was reckless. but he didn’t care. the man who loved and took care of him was dead, his true father was deceased, and if anyone spat on his legacy like that without intervention from at least one of his children, what would that say about the honor of their crew, of his family.

he chose the route of self sacrifice for the sake of their honor.

luffy, in water 7, is reckless and emotional and doesn’t think things through. yes, its true he often doesn’t think anything through. but he was being mean by not thinking things through. he was being as stubborn and inconsiderate as usopp was. even when they both were repeatedly told to knock it off by nami and sanji.

in enies lobby, luffy gets his shit together and seems much more composed. the situation is life or death, there is no time for in-fighting. the rest of the crew knows this as well, they love usopp regardless and of course they let him fight alongside them, thats their best friend! luffy’s still just as reckless as ever, but the recklessness has thought behind it now. he asks robin to say she wants to live, and he asks sogeking to shoot down the flag. these are what most would consider completely irresponsible actions in terms of the crews general safety, but none of them mind. all they care about is their beloved friend robin, so who cares if they all die? they’d rather do that than abandon robin to be executed. however, they certainly have no intention of dying while freeing her. they fought tooth and nail just to get her back from hell, they were gonna drag her out even if all their bones were broken and their bodies tired and bruised.

this brings us to whole cake island, the first and only arc of the timeskip to have a straw hat desertion. sanji leaves the straw hats, and refuses to rejoin the crew, even when luffy wants him back on that rainy day. he tells luffy one of his three reasons he cannot return is his fathers life, his father zeff’s, legacy would not only be disrespected, but he would be killed. therefore, he must comply with the demands of the man whose evil blood is running through his veins.

it would sound familiar to luffy, wouldn’t it? a man who luffy loves believes he needs to abandon him, to die, because he feels unworthy of his love and time, despite being grateful for receiving it at all. he believes he is cursed by the simple luck of the draw of his parents. he only wants to defy, his loved one’s, luffy’s commands and help because he refuses to let his true father’s life and legacy be destroyed.

luffy wouldn’t like that. of course he stands in that rain, on that lonely island that's full of people, of course he doesn’t leave until sanji comes back with him.

what kind of captain would he be if he left sanji there? what kind of man would he be if he abandoned his crew? what kind of pirate king would he become?

he wouldn’t be able to, he decides, in order to be king of the pirates he cannot leave sanji there. in order to be the pirate king, he needs his crew. he still has them, he needs to be dedicated to them at all times. he needs to save them, he needs them to know they are loved.

concluding thoughts

one piece, as discussed in the opening section of this essay, is about love, devotion, care, compassion, and unbreakable friendships.

the narrative of one piece, as well as the thematic framing, make the themes of dedication to friends even more evident. yet, it is not entirely a “power of friendship” story per se, as much as it is a story about interpersonal freedom.

freedom from self hatred, freedom from oppression, freedom to be loved, freedom to be cared for, freedom to be appreciated and beloved and have people around who give a damn if you left and would do anything for you to be saved from the chains which bound you to an inability to accept you are loved and worthy of love.

monkey d. luffy is a symbol of liberation, and liberation begins on an interpersonal scale.

#my meta #one piece #nico robin #usopp #sanji #luffy #monkey d luffy #one piece meta #whole cake island #enies lobby #water 7 #portgas d ace #<- shout out GOAT whos here mentioned briefly but its cause the fact hes dead is plot relevant </3 #shout out all my friends who beta read this shit. crimson and sam ily. stop glazing.#please read this post if you ever want to say to me that the parallels aren't there.#not even aren't obvious but just aren't there.#one last thing I CAN'T BELIEVE IVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE TALK ABOUT THE OLVIA AND JUDGE THING THATS INSANE???#what the fuck ever man.

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wolfwarrior142 · 11 months ago

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Callum has asked Rayla twice now to kill him if he's ever corrupted again. This time as like a barter. And this time, despite looking devastated, she finally (begrudgingly) agrees. And later this season, Callum is cleared of his dark magic corruption, but it also warned that if he does dark magic again it'll overwhelm him.

Man my dreams have already been haunted enough by death foreshadowing I can't take much more of it for these two.

#listen i know many many fans adore the angst of one or both of them dying. especially if its the other that caused the killing blow #i get that. i do #but i just wouldnt be able to take that kind of heartache.#if any of the main characters die by the end of the show - ESPECIALLY rayla callum or ez - i will lose my mind. especially if they do it to #each other. either intentionally or not. simply wouldnt be able to take it im too emotional and attached to them to be able to take that #i like angst. but not death angst. i cant take that. especially not for characters i adore so much #they better NOT have either of them kill each other by the end of the show i will not be able to handle it #this better just be some foreshadowing of it 'they said over and over that theyll do it for each other but in the end they love each other #too much to do it and love fixes it' or some sappy bullshit like that. anything but killing each other please i cant handle that #fuck. shits gonna haunt my dreams even more now than before #they wouldnt kill off their main characters that are the faces of their show right? ....right?? please??? i beg?????#please think if the children #me im the children #tdp #tdp s6 #tdp s6 spoilers #that scene where they argue about callum doing dark magic again was so very needed but still oof. and the way callum is so much more firm #this time and rayla looks so devastated but knows he means it even more now. god. end me. i just finished that episode on my rewatch btw #also like. can we talk about how she loudly slapped her hands together right in their faces to get her point across. damn id have jumped #back too. she uh. really wanted to get her point across huh. shes never done that before.#oh oof man this episode has no many emotions. giggles and funnies and sadness and sweetness and heartache and fear and worry #thats probably not even all of em #rayla #callum #rayllum #also they really choose random times to use that slightly different animation style huh. that makes their faces look more loose and the #expressions sit differently. looks a little more animated. and like. goofy but not in a bad way? i noticed it blatantly in s5 in at least #one scene (while in the market in 506) and maybe even other spots in s5. and some less obvious spots in s4 too. now here during their #argument and when callum asks rayla to promise again. its not bad its just starkly different and throws me off. wonder if like. a different #person animated those parts and they somehow did it differently. idk it hardcore sticks out to me every time now when i see it.

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seafoam-taide · 9 months ago

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dream king Wandersong you will always be my number one pathetic asshole character in my heart and in my mind

#tide of consciousness #Stars I fucking love that guy he's the best #He's a coward and an asshole and it's so based . He's so awesome #I love characters 💕 I love characters that don't like the status quo but can only prolong it*#Guy who runs away until it eats him alive 💕 i have to put him on the nonexistent list of Entropy inspirations #I LOVE DREAM KING FOREVER !!! YAAAY #I looove the deterioration of his theme 💕 i love how he would rather get his peers killed then face death himself 💕#* and by this I of course mean has the power to change it but fear stalls his hand and he excuses his actions bc change is so impossibly fa #Dream king is like when people don't vote bc they're “just one guy what can they do”#He's so awful he's my favorite character #There's so many good characters in wandersong and I feel awful for choosing a favorite but it HAS to be him #He's such a fucking. Oouuhgghmrhhj #The story a little bit revolves around him not as in its about him but he's kind of at the center of every pivotal moment #He's such a. Whatever. Dream king thoughts in my brain I gotta replay wandersong again

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hashem19798 · 9 months ago

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On this day a year ago, my children were on their way to school and suddenly they heard the sounds of missiles and continuous explosions. They returned home scared and terrified. None of us knew what was happening. We felt like we had lost our lives, and that is what happened. We lost our home and everything we owned in a moment. It was the beginning of the nightmare. The house disappeared with all its details and their dreams. Even their toys turned to ashes. They destroyed their childhood!!

Since that day until now, we don't know how long we haven't had a day of rest. Death follows us all the time. We have escaped death many times, but I fear loss. All I want is your donation, even if it is small, to help save my children's lives. I don't want us to continue our lives in tents without rights.

#free palestine #gravity falls #gaza #save palestine

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potatobugz · 10 months ago

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*t-shirt that says "ask me about my bfdi high fantasy au*

#bfdi #bfb #battle for dream island #battle for bfdi #tpot #the power of two #bfdi au #pie bfb #tree bfb #black hole bfb #marker bfb #fanny bfb #lightning bfb #remote bfb #death pact again #NOT TO BE CONFUSED W THE D20 SHOW I LIKE.I MEAN THE GENRE #SLASH GENUINE I HAVE TONS OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS AND ITS NOT JUST CHARACTERS IN DEATH PACT EITHER #ID RAMBLE ABOUT IT HERE BUT I FEAR IM RUNNING OUT OF TAGS #i plan on doing more with this either drawing wise or... or... writing wise #generally having so much fun just having an amazing time/gen #bfdi high fantasy au #<- for tagging #i normally dont like when characters do those “well that just happened” quips but i think pie is cute and her apathy is charming #shes not a marvel character and i like her. so she gets special treatment #also its sometjing i feel like shed say #as always please let me know if i need to fix any of these image IDs; sorry!!#tptbu

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dollgxtz · 5 months ago

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Shattered Birdcage

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sylus loses control due to the Frenzy Enhancer and you don't find the activater in time...causing him to become sexually aggressive and desperate to claim you for himself :3

Tags: praedator!Sylus x fem!reader, predator x prey, noncon, intense choking, rough sex, forced orgasm, degradation, biting, blood, injury, cunnilingus, creampie, threats, mentions of breeding, nicknames like little bird, near death experience (no one actually dies don't worry!!), fluffy ending to soften the blow :33

Taglist: @magpie-the-goblin-girl @sxremmie @lem-hhn @silverbrain @sizzlingtigerkitten @msslytherin00 @letharue @yu-irene @poptrim @monster-effer @ditsynddotsy @size0forhollywood @its-regretti @queenofstresss @reiheis @valentinared

AN: Hiii guys!! Are we enjoying the new banner? I AM! This is literally a dream come true for me. So I decided to write a fic based on it with a little twist hehe. Please heed the warnings guys, this is a very intense fic and I tagged it accordingly. This is legitmately straight up noncon, not cnc. If you asked for a tag and weren't tagged its cause I couldn't find your age on your profile anywhere, sorry! Enjoy!

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the movie tickets still tucked in your pocket before letting them go. The paper crinkles softly, a fragile reminder of something almost normal. But it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did.

Then, the world shatters.

The fire alarm shrills, a piercing, agonizing wail that erupts through the hospital like a banshee’s scream. Panic spreads instantly, as sudden and violent as a tidal wave crashing over an unprepared shore.

The chaos begins.

Screams.

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder down the halls. The sterile walls of the hospital, once cold and quiet, now tremble with the desperate energy of fear. The mechanical beep of heart monitors, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all of it drowns beneath the raw, unfiltered sound of survival.

Somewhere outside your room, a woman’s voice splinters the air.

"Fire! Help!"

Her cry is swallowed by the deafening roar of the alarm, by the clatter of overturned medical carts, by the stampede of bodies flooding the halls. A shadow streaks past the glass window of your door, her silhouette vanishing into the growing plumes of smoke curling along the ceiling.

Then—movement behind you. You turn, locking eyes with Sylus. He doesn’t flinch.

He leans casually against the wall, utterly unbothered by the pandemonium unraveling around you. Smoke licks at the edges of his leather top, but he remains still, red eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing, entertained. The ghost of a smirk plays at his lips.

"They’re right on schedule," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unaffected, like this is nothing more than a carefully executed performance.

He extends his hand toward you, as if inviting you into a dance.

Your pulse kicks up, but you don’t hesitate. You take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours—strong, steady, warm despite the growing heat. With a single pull, you propel yourself forward, slipping past the threshold of the hospital room and into the chaos beyond.

Smoke greets you first, thick and curling, its acrid tendrils slithering into your lungs like a living thing. The air is already changing—heat warping it, bending it, making it heavier. The moment you inhale, your throat burns. You clamp your sleeve over your mouth, but the effort is futile. The stench of burning plastic and antiseptic chemicals invades your senses, clawing at your eyes, your nose, your lungs.

Outside, the scene is worse.

Patients in hospital gowns stumble through the smoke, their movements disjointed, frantic. Some clutch at IV stands like lifelines, others trip over their own feet, disoriented by the blaring alarms and the thick, suffocating haze.

Doctors and nurses shout over the chaos, their voices lost in the hurricane of fear. Someone grabs your arm—a patient, her face streaked with sweat and panic, begging for help—but you pull away. You don’t have time.

You aren’t here to run.

You and Sylus move against the current, pushing past the flood of bodies surging toward the exits. The sheer force of them is overwhelming, a sea of desperation crashing around you, dragging you under. A body collides with yours their fingers tangling in your sleeve—but you break free, heart hammering as you surge toward the stairwell.

"We’ll lead them to the rooftop!" you yell, the words raw in your throat.

Sylus doesn’t answer, but he’s right beside you, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

The stairwell looms ahead, doors thrown open as black smoke pours inside, bleeding into the emergency lights like a living shadow. The second you reach it, you don’t hesitate.

You take the stairs two, three at a time, Sylus still close behind you.

The heat is worse here. It rises from below, clawing at your legs, your back, the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, your lungs searing, aching, screaming for fresh air. Each step feels like an eternity, each turn of the stairwell winding tighter, suffocating.

But you don’t stop.

Then—light.

A final shove against the rooftop doors, and you break through.

The moment you stumble outside, the temperature drops violently.

The cold slaps you across the face, stealing the breath from your lungs, shocking your overheated body into momentary stillness. The wind howls, slicing through the thick sweat on your skin, tangling through your hair, but it does nothing to mute the screams below.

And these screams are different.

Not panicked. Not desperate.

Dying.

A sickening weight drops into your stomach. Sylus steps up beside you, his stance tense, rigid, watchful. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

Ever’s assassins are here.

Your skin prickles as you scan the rooftop, the smoke too thick, the night too quiet. You can feel it in your bones—something is waiting.

Then—a shadow moves.

Then another.

Then—

Gunfire.

The first shot splits the air like a knife through silk.

You react instinctively, twisting your body out of the way as the bullet slams into the concrete near your foot, sending a sharp spray of dust and shattered stone into the air.

Another shot.

Sylus shoves you sideways, his movements lightning-fast, the force of it throwing you just out of the bullet’s path. Another impact—a bullet embedding itself into the rooftop behind where you had been standing only seconds before.

A crack split the air, followed by another. Sparks erupted as bullets ricocheted off metal pipes and rooftop vents, spraying embers into the night. Instinct kicked in before thought—you dropped low, rolling to the side just as a round zipped past your ear, embedding itself in the wall behind you.

Sylus moved with effortless precision, dodging fire as if it were choreographed. His jacket billowed as he twisted, reaching for his blade. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. One assassin crumpled before he even realized he was dead.

You pivoted on your heel, raising your own weapon. A pull of the trigger—a sharp crack through the air. The man before you barely had time to react before the bullet found its mark. His body jerked violently, blood misting into the wind before he collapsed.

Another shot. Another fall.

They kept coming.

More shadows emerged from the darkness, gunfire tearing through the night in an unrelenting onslaught. You both wove through them like ghosts, striking fast, striking first. Your heart pounded as you ducked beneath a swing, countering with a sharp jab to the ribs, twisting your opponent’s wrist until his own weapon turned against him. A single shot. A final breath.

Sylus barely broke a sweat, his movements fluid, brutal, decisive. He drove his blade into one assassin’s chest, twisting just enough to make it agonizing. The man gasped, a short, choked sound before Sylus wrenched the blade free and let him drop.

"Pathetic," he muttered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

More gunfire. More bodies dropping.

Silence.

The last assassin twitched once, then stilled, his fingers curling in the pool of blood spreading beneath him. The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder, metal, and death.

And then—sirens.

A chorus of wailing alarms grew louder in the distance, flashing red and blue bleeding into the night sky.

The battlefield of bodies lay still, the chaos settled into an eerie quiet. The stench of gunpowder and iron filled your lungs, coating your throat with the acrid tang of death. The last spent cartridges hit the concrete, rolling in slow, uneven circles before finally resting among the carnage. Smoke lingered in the cold night air, twisting in delicate tendrils around the lifeless figures strewn across the rooftop.

You pushed out a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline still burning in your veins. Your fingers flexed around the grip of your weapon before you finally holstered it. The police would be here soon, their sirens growing louder in the distance, but they weren’t your concern. These bodies—the nameless, faceless pawns of Ever—would be cleaned up. Their presence erased. Their deaths categorized as classified in some sealed document, buried beneath bureaucratic nonsense.

"Sylus, we're clear! Let's move!" your voice came out sharper than you intended, urgency overtaking you.

He didn’t respond right away.

He was standing unnervingly still, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something unreadable. His expression was neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a glint of something dark that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His movements were slow as he wiped away the smear of blood on his cheek, his fingers leaving faint streaks of red against his skin. The way he stood—too relaxed, too quiet—set off alarm bells in your mind, though you couldn’t yet pinpoint why.

Something in his expression made your gut clench. His usual amused arrogance was absent, replaced with something darker. His pupils were slightly blown, the faintest edge of something feral lurking in his gaze. The air around him felt charged, electric. Wrong.

Then a sound.

A wet, strangled cough.

You both turned.

The last assassin—one you had assumed was already dead—was still moving. Barely. He lay twisted on the ground, one arm stretched toward you, his fingers twitching, curled like claws. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath rattling, wet, his lungs failing him.

But his lips—coated in blood—were curled into a grotesque smile.

"Even though..." he wheezed, a broken chuckle rattling out from somewhere deep in his ruined throat. "We can't kill you or him..." He spat a thick glob of blood onto the ground, his grin stretching wider, his yellowed teeth bared like a rabid dog. "Both of you...can rot in hell!"

His fingers twitched, curling weakly around something small, something you hadn’t noticed before. Then, in one sharp motion, his fist clenched, and a sudden crack rang out. Glass shattered, the sharp snap almost lost in the cool air, but the moment you heard it, your stomach dropped. A dark, viscous liquid seeped between his fingers, mingling with the blood pooling on the rooftop floor.

Then you caught the scent.

It was faint at first, nearly masked by the coppery stench of death, but the moment it hit the back of your throat, your entire body locked up in realization. The chemical tang was sharp, bitter, something that curled into your lungs like acid. It was distinct. Familiar.

Your body reacted before your brain fully processed the danger.

"No—!"

Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The Frenzy Enhancer.

A biochemical compound designed for one thing: triggering an uncontrollable transformation in Praedators. The LCBI had confiscated hundreds of these vials from underground labs, tearing them away from illegal deals before they could be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter how much of it was taken off the streets, more always surfaced. It was unpredictable. Uncontrollable.

It worked fast—too fast.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest. Sylus had gone rigid, his muscles locking as though every nerve in his body had seized up at once. His breathing was deep, too deep, pulling in the scent like his body was craving it against his will. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, a shudder running through him from head to toe.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, barely human.

Your blood turned to ice.

His pupils dilated until the irises nearly vanished, red pools swallowing the color in his gaze. His lips parted slightly, sharp, elongated canines catching the dim rooftop lights. He was salivating. A slick sheen of moisture gathered along his lower lip, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself together.

But he was losing the battle.

The Frenzy Enhancer wasn’t just a stimulant—it was a detonator. It bypassed control, restraint, morality. It didn’t just enhance what he was—it unchained it.

And right now, it was unraveling him.

"Sylus," you said carefully, your voice firm but measured. He twitched at the sound of his name, his head snapping toward you with a sharp, unnatural movement. His muscles trembled as if barely keeping himself together, but his gaze was locked onto you now—not as a comrade.

As prey.

You had seen this before as an Enforcer, watched it unfold in others who had been exposed to the drug. The Frenzy Enhancer didn’t just bring out what they were—it unchained them. It severed the link between logic and instinct, driving them into a state of raw, uncontrolled bloodlust. But this wasn’t just any Praedator—it was Sylus. He was already dangerously close to the edge even on a normal day, always teetering between control and destruction. Now, with the drug coursing through his system, you weren't sure how much time you had before he lost himself completely.

You had to move.

Reaching forward, you grabbed his arm, fingers locking tight around his wrist. His skin was hot, too hot. His entire body was trembling with need, his breath shuddering against his clenched teeth. The growl rumbling in his chest vibrated beneath your palm, every muscle in his arm wound taut like a spring waiting to snap.

"Come on," you gritted out, pulling him forward with force. He resisted, his stance firm, as though something inside him was battling whether to follow or attack. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Then he staggered.

It was slight, barely a misstep, but you used it. Yanking him forward, you dragged him across the rooftop, forcing his unsteady body toward the stairwell. His breath hitched in a ragged snarl, his movements twitchy, erratic, but he followed.

For now.

Each step was a battle. He stumbled against you, his balance skewed, his instincts fighting him at every turn. By the time you both reached the underground corridors of NightStrix HQ, his breathing had become ragged, his body burning up from the inside out. His restraint was slipping fast.

You shoved open the heavy steel door, dragging him inside. Deep within the base, hidden away from the rest of the world, the reinforced cage ready to hold the beast that was about to be unleashed.

Sylus grunted against you, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as you dragged you both into the containment cage. His body was burning up, his muscles twitching violently under your grip, every fiber of him trembling with the overwhelming need to break free. Each second that passed was a countdown to catastrophe. The Frenzy was about to take full hold, and if you didn’t restrain him now, you might not get another chance.

You fumbled with the heavy iron chains, fingers slick with sweat as you worked to loop one around his thrashing limbs. The muzzle. You needed to get the muzzle on first. Your heart pounded as you grabbed it from the steel hooks on the wall, forcing it over his mouth while he snarled, his body lurching violently against you.

"Sylus, stop—!"

He thrashed hard, nearly knocking you to the floor. His strength was unnatural, monstrous, and it was only getting worse. With a final shove, you managed to secure the muzzle around his face, locking the metal straps tightly at the back of his head. But before you could reach for the second chain, he bucked with terrifying force, sending you stumbling backward. You barely had time to clasp the restraint around one of his legs before you were forced to scramble out of the cage.

The second you slammed the heavy door shut, he lunged.

The impact rattled through the metal bars as his shoulder slammed into them, the force sending vibrations into the floor beneath you. You jumped, heart hammering in your ribs, your breath coming too fast. He slid down slightly, panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven gasps.

Then, without warning, he laughed.

A dark, guttural chuckle, low and mocking, twisted through the air like poison. His pupils were blown slightly wide now, black swallowing the color of his irises as he tilted his head toward you. Even through the muzzle, his teeth gleamed, sharp and lethal.

"Won’t you help me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something twisted—half-growl, half-seduction.

You froze.

He was still partially unrestrained. That single remaining chain wasn’t enough—if the Frenzy fully took hold, he could snap it in seconds. If you waited too long, he would be too far gone.

You had to finish restraining him now.

Swallowing the tight lump in your throat, you slowly stepped forward into the cage. Your pulse roared in your ears, your body screaming at you to run, but you forced your limbs to obey. You kept your eyes on him, watching every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of movement. You knelt, reaching for the second chain, moving with deliberate slowness so you wouldn’t startle him.

"I’m not going to watch you turn into a monster, but I—"

You never got to finish.

Sylus lunged.

A blur of motion—heat, strength, raw power.

You barely had time to react before white-hot pain exploded in your neck.

A strangled scream tore from your throat as his teeth sank into your flesh, piercing deep, his jaws locking down like a predator making its first kill. Agony shot through your nerves, the sharp burn of torn skin flooding your senses. Your vision whited out for a second, pain so intense it nearly stole your breath.

Then instinct took over.

You snarled, swinging your fist up hard, your knuckles cracking against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head snapping sideways. The impact jarred his teeth free, a sharp burst of pain ripping through you as he tore away from your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and wet, seeping between your fingers as you clutched your neck in blind panic.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe through the pain.

The air was thick with the scent of your own blood, sharp and metallic, mixing with the sweat and heat that clung to you both. Your hands trembled as you pulled them away from the wound, your fingers smeared crimson. The realization sent a sickening chill through you.

He had bitten you.

Not just attacked. Bitten.

Your gaze shot back up to him.

Sylus was licking his lips.

He ran his tongue slowly over the blood staining his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as though savoring it. Then his pupils snapped back open, razor-sharp hunger gleaming in them.

"You taste delicious." His voice was thick, dripping with need, his words slurred with the edges of something inhuman. His breath came in heavy, fevered bursts, chest rising and falling as his restraint frayed further.

A shudder ran through his body, muscles twitching beneath his skin. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the concrete floor as his entire frame shook with the need to consume more.

"Come...just a little more..." he purred, voice dropping to something low and lethal.

Then he lunged again.

You dodge just in time, barely avoiding the brutal force of his lunge. The heat of his breath scorches the space between you as he snarls, his entire body moving like a coiled beast just barely restrained by human skin. The instant he gets too close, you strike—your fist colliding with his cheekbone in a sharp, jarring impact that sends a jolt of pain radiating up your arm. The force of the hit knocks his head to the side, his body twisting under the sudden blow, but even as he stumbles, something in your gut tells you it isn’t enough.

Your heart pounds wildly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next. But Sylus doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even cry out. Instead, he slowly turns back to face you, a sluggish, almost lazy motion, as if he’s savoring the sting of your hit. And then—he smiles.

“Oh…I like when my prey puts up a fight,” he purrs, his voice slithering through the air like something alive. His eyes gleam with raw, unhinged hunger, pupils swallowing what little color remains. The way he tilts his head, the way his lips curl over the metal of his muzzle—it sends a sickening chill down your spine.

The Frenzy has him now. Completely.

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shudder threatening to wrack your frame. Every inch of your body is screaming at you to run, but you plant your feet firm against the cold concrete, refusing to let fear consume you. If you let him see weakness, if you let him smell it, you’ll lose control of the situation entirely.

"Sylus! Stop it!" you shout, willing your voice to be strong. "Please, I know you're in there somewhere! I just need to—"

He lunges again.

The movement is blindingly fast. One second he's still and the next, he’s twisting, lunging toward you with a violent, predatory force. You barely manage to throw yourself to the side, feeling the rush of displaced air as he snaps at the space where your throat had just been. You seize the opening, grabbing hold of the second restraint with trembling hands and slamming it onto his other wrist. The sharp clank of metal follows as his chains yank him back, keeping him from reaching you—but only barely.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. If you don’t finish this now, he will get free.

His body writhes violently in front of you, hot with fever, drenched in sweat, trembling with animalistic hunger. He’s caught. Fully restrained now, arms suspended in place, unable to do anything but snarl and thrash.

Your arms shake as you stumble backward, breath ragged. You barely register your own hands drifting to your neck, fingers pressing against the torn skin where his teeth had sunk in only moments ago. The wound is deep, hot, raw, but you won’t die from it. Your body is immune to a Praedator’s venom—it’s one of the only reasons you’re even still alive right now. But that doesn’t stop the sick wave of nausea that rolls through you as your fingertips come away stained with more blood.

Sylus laughs.

The sound is low, rough, and dangerously amused.

"You scared?" he murmurs, voice still ragged with the aftershocks of his transformation, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His eyes flicker over you, roaming your body from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every tiny tremor in your stance.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t answer.

His gaze lingers at your neck, at the place where his teeth had torn you open. His lips part slightly behind the muzzle, and his tongue flicks out, running along the bloodied edge of his mouth as if tasting the remnants of you still clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if trying to restrain himself, but there’s something else lurking behind his eyes. You watch as his eyes roam up and down your body, seemingly lost in thought. He's thinking about something.

Something dark.

"Your idea of help is heartwarming," he muses as he staggers towards you a bit, his voice softer now, mocking, but no less dangerous.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breathing refuses to steady. Even as something deep in your gut tells you that Sylus isn’t as trapped as he looks.

Because despite the chains, despite the restraints keeping you apart, he’s still in control.

And he knows it.

"When you approach your prey, you must ensure your own safety first. You taught me this, Sylus."

Your voice is calm, controlled, but the pain radiating from your neck betrays the lie. Each breath you take feels like a blade dragging against raw flesh, a sharp pulse of heat throbbing beneath your skin. You try to ignore it, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the rising tide of fear that threatens to anchor itself in your chest. There’s no time to waste. You need to find the activator—now. It’s buried somewhere in his body, a trigger designed to override the Frenzy and pull him back from the brink. If you don’t locate it soon, he’ll break free, and there will be no reining him in after that.

Sylus lets out a low scoff, but there’s no real amusement behind it. His breathing is heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts as though he’s barely holding himself together. Sweat beads at his temple, strands of hair clinging to his skin, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s any part of him left fighting from within, if the Sylus you know is still buried somewhere beneath all that raw, seething hunger.

"Prey?" he murmurs, rolling the word slowly across his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. His voice is hoarse, thick with something not quite human, something that sends an instinctual shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he said that definitely indicated that he is not the prey here.

Instead, you move carefully, methodically, circling behind him. His arms are still suspended above his head, iron restraints locking him in place, but you know better than to let yourself feel safe. Chains mean nothing to him. They’re a hindrance at best, a mere delay in what will happen if you fail. Even now, his muscles flex, the sharp ripple of movement beneath his skin a silent warning of what he’s capable of. The heat coming off him is unnatural, feverish, almost suffocating.

You steel yourself, steadying your breath as you press your fingers lightly against his back. Your touch is slow, deliberate, barely there as you search for the small, embedded activator. It should be beneath the skin, nestled somewhere between the shifting planes of muscle. But finding it means keeping your composure, means moving carefully enough that you don’t trigger a reaction.

Your fingers glide along the ridges of his spine, trailing lower, feeling for anything out of place. Every shift of your hand feels like balancing on a razor’s edge. Sylus flinches under your touch, his body tensing hard before he exhales, a low, guttural sound vibrating through his chest. You feel it under your fingertips, the tremor of restraint, of struggle.

A bead of sweat slips down your temple. Nothing. No scar tissue, no ridge of foreign anything beneath the surface that you can find.

“It’s not here…” you murmur under your breath, your stomach twisting as unease settles deep inside you.

Sylus lets out another breath, but this time, there’s something different about it. A chuckle—slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the thick air between you.

"Do you think I’m putty in your hands?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, laced with something dangerous.

The sound sends a flicker of unease racing up your spine. He’s getting antsy. The patience he had been holding onto—if he had any at all—is unraveling quickly. His muscles are shifting beneath his skin again, his fingers twitching, testing the strength of his restraints. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

Your heart stutters. You need to hurry.

Just as you reach toward his ribs, he jerks violently.

A metallic snap rips through the air.

One of the restraints—one of the goddamn chains—breaks free.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping up just as Sylus rolls his newly freed wrist, fingers flexing as if he’s testing how much control he has left. Slowly, his head tilts toward you, his eyes burning like fire in the dim lighting.

The smile he gives you is chilling.

You don’t think. You react.

With a burst of adrenaline, you tackle him, shoving him hard enough that it sends you both tumbling to the ground. A low, reverberating growl rumbles through him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as his body tenses against yours.

The struggle between you and Sylus is a mess of tangled limbs and desperation, your bodies locked in a frantic battle against the cold, unforgiving floor. Every shift of his body beneath yours is like wrestling with something barely restrained, a predator on the verge of breaking free from its chains. Heat radiates off his skin, far too intense, far too unnatural, as if his entire body is burning from the inside out. The feverish warmth seeps into your own skin, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Your hands move over his chest, urgent, searching, pressing against the hard muscle beneath you in a frantic attempt to find the activator. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be. Your fingers skim the ridges of his abdomen, feeling for anything out of place, a small foreign lump beneath his skin, a sign that the override switch is still there. But the longer you search, the more panic digs its claws into your ribs.

Your wound throbs, a dull and persistent ache pulsing from your neck, sending sharp spikes of pain through your senses with every movement. The smell of blood—your blood—is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and something deeper, something primal that radiates from Sylus like a caged animal ready to tear through steel.

"Tell me—" You swallow hard, ignoring the dryness in your throat, trying to suppress the fear that’s creeping into your voice. "Is the activator here?"

Sylus doesn't answer immediately. His breath is coming heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts beneath you. Then, slowly, he grins.

The sight of it sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

"Don’t…" he growls, his voice low and guttural, slipping between clenched teeth. His body tenses beneath you, coiled muscle flexing, veins prominent beneath the sweat-slicked skin of his arms. His hands twitch rhythmically, fingers curling like claws ready to rip you to shreds.

"Don’t press it."

You ignore him.

You have to.

You shift, dragging your hands lower, pressing over his ribs, smoothing your fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, searching for any change in texture, any break in the muscle that could indicate the activator. Your fingertips glide over his skin, past the deep ridges of his abdomen, dipping lower—

A sharp, ragged exhale.

Sylus’s entire body jerks beneath you, his spine arching suddenly, pressing into you before falling back against the ground. His breath stutters, his hands clenching into fists as a sound rumbles deep in his chest—low, guttural, something between a moan and a growl.

Your movements falter for the briefest second.

Did you find it? Did you hurt him?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs. Your hands remain pressed against him, frozen mid-motion, fingers still splayed across the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. You can feel the way his body shudders, tense and coiled, every fiber of him locked in place, the warmth of his skin searing against your palms.

You don’t know if the reaction is pain or something else, and the uncertainty sends unease coiling in your stomach.

Sylus exhales another uneven breath, his chest vibrating beneath you. His head tilts slightly, red eyes flickering open, dilated again and dark, and he looks straight at you. Not through you, not past you—at you.

The grin he gives you is slow, deliberate.

"That-," he murmurs, voice edged with something dark, something lustful. His lips curl at the corners, his teeth flashing between parted lips as his gaze flickers lower, trailing over the places where your hands are still pressed against him. "That feels...good".

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you like a freight train barreling down the tracks. Your eyes widened as you lowered your head and took in the unmistakable bulge of his erection, straining against the confines of his pants, a tangible proof of the pleasure you were unwittingly providing.

This isn’t pain.

The second he senses your moment of shock, Sylus strikes.

With terrifying ease, he yanks you upward, your feet leaving the ground for a brief, weightless second before he drives you downward. The world tilts violently, your stomach dropping as you’re thrown forward, your body twisting midair before—

Impact.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you hit the cold, unforgiving floor, your stomach smacking against the hard surface with enough force to send a sharp shockwave through your ribs. Your arms instinctively splay out, palms slamming against the ground to steady yourself, but the weight that follows keeps you from moving.

Sylus presses down against you, his entire body covering yours, his hands locking around your wrists before pinning them flat against the floor beside your head. His hips press firmly into yours, locking you in place, trapping you beneath him.

Panic seizes your chest.

You try to twist away, to jerk free, but his weight is unmovable, pressing down hard enough that every shift only grinds you further against the floor. The heat of his body seeps into your back, feverish and all-consuming, the ridges of his toned chest molding against your spine.

You thrash, breath coming hard and fast, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react—except for the slow, deep inhale that shudders through his chest.

Then, he breathes against your skin.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, voice low and silken, curling around your ear like smoke.

Your entire body locks up.

His lips are too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosts along the side of your face, his nose grazing the edge of your jaw before dipping lower, hovering over the sensitive skin of your throat. Your pulse races, hammering so violently beneath your skin that you know he feels it.

His grip tightens.

"And something...sweet," he muses, dragging the words out slowly, tasting them like something decadent.

Your struggles escalate, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Sylus! Stop! No!"

Your fingers claw against the floor, legs kicking, desperate to throw him off, but Sylus doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his hold only grows firmer, heavier, more absolute. The pressure of his body against yours makes it impossible to move, to breathe properly, to think.

Then—he lowers his head.

The brush of his lips against your ear is featherlight, teasing. A sharp contrast to the overwhelming, inescapable strength of his grip.

And then—his teeth sink in.

A sharp, precise nip to the outer shell of your ear, quick and fleeting, followed immediately by the slow, deliberate glide of his tongue. He slides all the way down to your neck, lapping up the still dripping blood from your wound. He alternates between licking and nipping, as if feeding himself and claiming you all at once.

You flinch violently, a shudder ripping through your limbs as heat explodes beneath your skin. Your breath catches, fingers digging into the cold floor as a rush of pure, primal panic flares through your nerves.

Sylus hums. A deep, satisfied sound.

"Something very sweet," he repeats, his voice edged with amusement, hunger, something else entirely. His fingers flex against your wrists, nails pressing into your skin—not enough to break, but enough to remind you of the power imbalance.

"Makes me want to devour you whole."

A violent shiver wracks through you, your entire body locking up in terror.

Move. Move. MOVE.

Desperation surges through you like wildfire. You snap your leg back, aiming a blind, vicious kick toward his leg, his thigh—anything that will make him falter, make him let go—

But he’s faster.

Before you can even make contact, he moves. His weight shifts, his grip flexes, and suddenly—you’re being crushed, pressed even harder into the ground.

Your breath chokes in your throat as his body presses flush against yours, one of his hands releasing your wrist only to grip your hip, pinning you down even harder. His fingers dig in, securing his hold, ensuring you have nowhere to go.

"Nice try," he murmurs, voice dipping into something thick and sultry, rich with amusement. The warmth of his breath trails lower, sweeping along the side of your bloodied throat, down to the nape of your neck.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips, and you feel it—feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way he’s drinking in every panicked breath, every tremor, every racing heartbeat.

"You should know better," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing growl. "Prey that struggles only makes the hunt more exciting."

His fingers flex against your hip, nails pressing in just enough to send a sharp, prickling sting through your nerves.

"Why resist me now? You made your choice when you stepped inside," Sylus taunts, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoes ominously in the confined space. Your skirt! You cry out, trying to lunge forward, to escape, but his grip is relentless, fingers suddenly tightening around your throat with a firm command.

"Stop. Moving." His growl is a sharp command in your ear, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground with an unyielding force. The air is forced from your lungs in a rush as he yanks the remnants of your skirt away, tossing it aside carelessly. The room's cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your legs, and you shiver, fear and vulnerability intertwining as you plead with him.

"Sylus...this isn't you. Please—" Your words are abruptly silenced as he tears your underwear away, his actions speaking louder than any words could. The chill against your bare skin draws a sob from your lips, a desperate sound swallowed by the room's oppressive silence.

He's going to take you right here on the cage floor. Claim you. And there's nothing you can do. This isn't Sylus you know anymore.

"My my...this was what you were hiding underneath that skirt?" he growls, a feral edge to his voice. He leans forward, trailing his tongue along your back, the sensation a disconcerting mix of heat and cold that leaves you trembling beneath him.

"Please...snap out of it! Don't do this...!" you scream, your voice raw and desperate as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your pleas are met with a soft, almost soothing "Shhh..." as if he's trying to calm you, but the sharp sound of his zipper coming undone is a jarring counterpoint, a grim reminder that he's too far gone.

This is it, you think, swallowed by a tide of helplessness. It could be worse...right? A gasp escapes your lips as you feel something large, hot and throbbing press against the middle of your ass. Sylus moans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, sending shockwaves of dread and involuntary ache coursing through your veins. He spits, the wet warmth landing on your skin, slicking the path as he rubs his cock between your cheeks, each movement deliberate and unhurried.

"You looked divine in that uniform when we met again," he murmurs, his voice a silken thread of temptation and threat. "Would it be awful of me to say that I've been wanting to tear you apart with my cock ever since I saw you again?" His words are accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the warm, wet sensation that overwhelms your senses. No...this isn't the real him, you remind yourself, clinging to the hope that somewhere beneath the Frenzy Enhancer's influence, the true Sylus still exists. He's still in there, right? The question echoes in your mind, a desperate mantra as you hold onto the sliver of hope that the man you know will resurface, that this nightmare will end.

The moment of hope you had was shattered in an instant as you felt a sharp, piercing pain between your folds as he grips the skin of your ass, a large intrusion attempting to force its way inside you. You screamed, your voice raw with agony, as you tried to pry his hands away, your nails digging into his skin. "It hurts! Stop, please!" you begged, your pleas desperate and frantic.

Sylus grunted and moaned, his body a contradiction of pleasure and annoyance as he struggled to push his cock deeper into your tight folds, his tip breaching your entrance only to retreat, the pain searing and hot. "Hmm..." he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and desire.

You shook, your body trembling from the pain, your lower half throbbing, the intrusion gone but the ache still spreading. Suddenly, your hips were gripped and your lower half was raised up, your ass raised in the air, your hands bracing against the floor, your body now positioned for his taking.

"You just need a little...preparation," Sylus whispered, his voice low and dark, belying the wicked intent behind his words. Before you could protest, his hot tongue was sliding down your cunt, his skilled mouth working to prepare you, his touch both electrifying and unwittingly arousing, a wicked precision that left you trembling, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

"Mghn! S-stop...please, Sylus!" you pleaded, your voice hoarse and desperate, your fingers clawing at the floor as you tried to escape the pleasure-pain he was inflicting. But his death grip on your hips was unyielding, holding you firmly in place, his tongue a relentless force, licking and slurping at your folds with primal hunger. Like a beast that hadn't eaten in weeks.

If he doesn't stop soon you'll definitely-

"Those cute noises you make drive me wild" Sylus growled, his voice a low, guttural sound. You can't see his face, but you can feel his eyes roaming up and down your now soaked cunt, no doubt wishing he was deep inside you right now. "Reminds me of the sound a rabbit makes just before its eaten."

You gasp and shiver at the depraved sentence that leaves his mouth before something wet and long enters your hole, making you cry out. Sylus's tongue, hot and insistent, buried itself deep within you, his mouth working in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your core.

Sylus's grunts and moans escalated into a primal chorus as he delved deeper into your folds, his tongue a relentless force, his hands digging into your hips with increasing urgency. Your body was a tempest of sensations—pain, pleasure, and ecstasy—a melting pot of conflicting desires. You tried to hold on, to keep yourself from succumbing, but your body had a mind of its own, and you went limp, surrendering to the pleasure he was delivering.

"Mghn!" you cried out, your body shaking, your hands gripping the floor as you fought against the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't cum... don't cum..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your lips bitten to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.

But Sylus found that sweet spot, that spongy part inside you, and twisted his tongue, sending you over the edge. You bit down harder on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds of your climax, but it was no use. The pleasure was too much, and you came undone, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the cold cage as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus lapped up your essence, his tongue working feverishly, his grunts and moans a testament to his own pleasure as he reveled in the taste of your orgasm, his primal satisfaction evident as he continued to lap up your juices like a thirsty dog.

"This taste..." Sylus groaned, his voice thick with greed, as he brushed his tongue against your inner thigh, catching the drippings of your pleasure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You gasped for breath, your body still trembling from the orgasm, your mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Your scent has filled the room now...its driving me mad. I can't wait any longer".

Your thoughts turned to the activator, the key to your freedom. You needed to get turned around, to find it somehow. "Sylus, w-we should—" you started, but your words were cut off by the sudden, sharp intrusion of his cock slamming into your cunt with a force that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your body.

"Agh!"

The initial penetration was rough, but easier than before, his cock sliding into your wet hole, stretching you, before he pulled back slightly and sheathed himself completely inside you, his grip on your waist tightening as he began to thrust, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

"Ahh...it hurts..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his grip, trying to escape the pain of his thrusts. But Sylus chuckled, his voice dark and amused. "Keep squirming, little bird. It only makes it feel better."

His words were a taunt as he continued to plunge into you, his cock pistoning in and out, his body a cage of pain, his grip on your waist unyielding, his thrusts relentless, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and agony, your cries and moans filling the cold cage with a symphony of raw, primal sex.

You begin to try and dissociate from everything by focusing on the concrete floor, but Sylus primal grunts and growls as he slams into you, using your body for his own pleasure, makes it hard to escape reality. Think! Just think! You've been in worse situations before, what can you do to get turned around?

A lightbulb goes off inside your head. Its risky, but at this rate...

"F-for a Praedator...I honestly expected this to be much better. A little disappointing after waiting all these years Sylus" you spat, trying to sound more confident than you truly felt. Sylus momentarily slows his thrusting, not completely stopping but definitely enough to ponder your words. You shiver as you hear a deep chuckle.

"Is that so?"

Your entire world flips around as he grabs you, spins you around and pushes you roughly against the concrete floor. Before you can continue speaking, his hand slams into your throat, squeezing slightly. Not enough for serious harm, but its a clear warning.

Sylus's gaze is dark, beastly and terrifying as he leans down to your face, as if trying to look deep into the depths of your soul. Your heart aches as you recall your last encounter with him earlier that day, when he gave you the movie tickets. He had looked so soft...unlike the beast that was in front of you now.

"I can give you rougher, if that's what you crave," Sylus purred, his voice laced with dark humor, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I quite like you in this position, that look of fear in your eyes turns me on" He began to laugh, a low, menacing sound, as he pushed his still-hard cock back into your aching hole, his hand never leaving your throat.

Sylus's other hand, strong and sure, reached out, tearing your top with effortless ease, the fabric ripping as he exposed your breasts to his hungry gaze. Your nipples hardened in response to the sudden exposure, the cool air on your sensitive skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with each powerful movement of his hips, the motion causing a mix of pain and fear, your body a canvas of sensations, your mind struggling to process the whirlwind of physical reactions.

You whimpered as pain, pleasure, and fear mingled within you. His hand squeezed harder with each thrust, cutting off your air supply, and you clawed at his fingers, desperate for breath, your nails digging into his skin.

"C-can't...breathe..." you gasped, your voice hoarse, your heart hammering in your chest, sensations blurring together. Despite your struggles, your body began to respond to his relentless thrusts, your muscles squeezing around his cock, a reaction you couldn't control.

"Oh, you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna cum while you can't breathe, little bird? I could've given you this pleasure sooner if I'd known. I'd have gladly delivered your demise, one way or another."

His words sent a shiver through you as your body betrayed your mind's resistance, succumbing to the pleasure he was inflicting, your climax building despite the pain and the fear, a testament to the twisted game he was playing with your body and mind.

Were you truly going to die this way? After everything, after fighting for so long to see him again? This is how things end between the two of you? You look into his eyes. His rabid, feral eyes and feel tears begin to prick them. You look past him, your eyes resting at the revolver still strapped to your leg.

You still have one more option.

"I-it won't be me succumbing to my d-demise" you choke out, staring into his eyes. He doesn't stop thrusting into your body, but his eyebrow does raise. "Even if you make it out of here, what do you think they'll do with you when they realize the only immune person is also pregnant with a Praedator's baby?"

Your eyes widen at his words, your brain barely processing their meaning as your vision begins to blur. No! No! You begin to thrash as the sounds of his evil laughter fills your ears, and his thrusts pick up relentless speed.

"D-don't cum in me! Please!" you choke out, your voice hoarse and gravely as your forced to continue take the relentless pounding of Sylus's cock. He's ignoring you, he doesn't care. He only has one goal now. You feel your lower half begin to ache and pulse, evident that you just orgasmed beneath him. But you barely register it, as your top half begins to hurt.

Your lungs burn as if set ablaze, the oxygen in your body dwindling, your chest seizing with every desperate attempt to inhale. A thick, suffocating haze fills your head, making your thoughts sluggish, disjointed, slipping between the cracks of fading consciousness. Your body betrays you, limbs losing strength, muscles growing weak as an unbearable heaviness creeps into every inch of your skin. Your fingers, once clawing at the iron grip around your throat, are failing you now, slipping away, no longer able to fight against the pressure stealing your air.

A dull ringing overtakes your ears, growing louder, drowning out the world around you. Your vision narrows, dark spots creeping into the edges, threatening to swallow everything whole. A strange lightheadedness overtakes you, a weightless, dizzying sensation that makes it hard to remember where you are, what you’re doing. Your body is shutting down, giving up, preparing to surrender to the void clawing at the edges of your mind.

No. No, no, no. It can’t end like this.

A spike of panic jolts through your fading awareness, but your body refuses to listen, sinking deeper into helplessness. You strain, forcing your head up just enough to look at him, to plead, to beg, but the words won’t come. Your throat is locked, crushed beneath his grip, and no matter how much you try, no sound escapes past your lips. Sylus barely seems aware of you now, his expression dazed, half-lidded, his breath uneven as he lingers on the edge of his own orgasm. His fingers twitch slightly, tightening then loosening, but he isn’t paying attention, isn’t thinking, isn't entirely here. He’s too close to the edge, too lost in wanting to finish inside you.

That’s when you see it.

A flicker of red, faint but undeniable, flashes in one of his eyes. It’s barely noticeable, a fleeting pulse of color in the red of his irises, but it’s there. Your slowing mind struggles to process it, to make sense of what it means, until the realization slams into you like a shock of ice water.

The activator?!

Adrenaline floods your veins, shoving back the creeping darkness threatening to pull you under. The sheer, primal will to live surges through you like a lightning strike, reigniting every dying nerve, forcing your limbs to respond even as they scream in protest. With the last of your strength, you move.

Your fingers twitch, barely managing to form a fist. Gritting your teeth, you summon every ounce of energy left in your failing body, pull your arm back, and slam your thumb directly into his eye.

A guttural, animalistic roar rips from Sylus’s throat as his grip on your neck vanishes, his entire body jerking back in raw, instinctive pain. The instant pressure is released, air floods your lungs, rushing in so fast that your entire chest seizes from the force of it. A sharp, shrill gasp tears from your throat as you suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, the burning relief almost as unbearable as the suffocation had been.

Your vision, once clouded and swimming, sharpens in an instant, the murky haze lifting as the world snaps back into terrifying clarity. Every nerve is raw, every muscle trembling, but you’re alive. You can breathe.

Sylus's eyes widened for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise as all the Frenzy enhancer seemed to leave his body, and then, just as quickly, the feral intensity left his gaze, his face softening. But it was too late for his body to catch up, as his hips froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching inside you, releasing a hot flood of cum against your womb.

You gasped, your body trembling from the unexpected climax, the sensation of his release filling you, an intense mixture of warmth and fullness.

Sylus’s eyes met yours, the fire in them flickering unsteadily as the weight of what just happened crashed over him. The frenzied hunger that had gripped him moments ago had drained away, leaving behind something raw—horror, confusion, and something close to regret. His breath came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what he had just done to you.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. His red eyes, now normal, darted across your face, lingering on the deep red imprints, blood, and bruises his fingers and teeth had left on your throat. His grip, once unrelenting, had been torn away, but you still felt it there—the phantom sensation of his hands crushing the air from your lungs.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse, like it physically pained him to speak. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, your throat burning, the rush of oxygen still too sharp, too overwhelming. But you managed to nod, your limbs still weak, your entire body trembling from the shock. You could feel the marks he had left, the lingering ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, but you were alive.

Sylus was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—guilt, realization, something heavy and unspoken pressing down on him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“Why didn’t you press it sooner?” His voice was quieter now, filled with something vulnerable, almost desperate. “The activator… you could have stopped me before—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, frustration with himself evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Before I did this to you.”

The look on his face—haunted, shaken—was so unlike him, so different from the Sylus you knew, that something in your chest ached. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened. He was horrified by himself.

You forced a small, reassuring smile, even though your throat still ached, even though your entire body was still reeling from the ordeal. “Because I couldn't find it. But I knew you were still in there,” you whispered, voice raspy but steady. “And I was right.”

Sylus let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to convince himself you were telling the truth. Then, without another word, he moved.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours in a way that was nothing like before. This wasn’t dominance or power. This was desperation. He was still inside you, but neither of you cared to address it at this moment.

His grip was strong, but careful this time. His hands, which had moments ago been your greatest threat, now held you like you were something fragile, something breakable. His fingers curled against the back of your head, as if grounding himself, as if he needed to feel that you were real, that you were still here.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough, low, and laced with something unspoken. “I wasn’t…I couldn’t—” He exhaled, tightening his hold. “I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the embrace. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped to the concrete floor. Your hands gripped the leather of his top, grounding yourself in him, in the fact that he was back now. His heartbeat, still fast, thrummed against your own, and for a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but not empty.

“It’s okay,” you whispered finally, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re back now.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but the second your lips met his, Sylus shattered.

His grip on you tightened even more, arms pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back like he had been waiting for this, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. There was nothing controlled about it—it was desperate, messy, full of every unspoken thing he couldn’t bring himself to say over the years. His fingers slid up your back, then tangled into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, to claim more of you, to drown in you.

You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, still racing, still alive. You weren’t sure who was shaking more—you or him—but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still pressed together. His lips hovered just over yours, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

It was all going to be okay.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Sylus let himself believe it.

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gotta-bail-my-quails · 1 year ago

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woah did not realize 3 inches was that small

#not a pp joke im ace #measured my ponytail circumference because im constantly worried im balding and it comes out to about 3jn #which is apparently medium hair density #although my hair is thin af so...?#apparently eating eggs almonds fish squash spinach broccoli and citrus help...#most i already consume in some way except for fish #yall have no idea how much i fear balding #im not even 20 yet too #i have nightmares about this shit #like. not even the horrific death shit scares me its balding 💀💀#they say what you see in mirrors in dreams are the scariest things you can imagine...#I SEE MYSELF BALDING #genuinely.#i just rly like long hair. this is evident in my taste in men #except for toland 👉👩‍🦲 bald ass mfer #his hair fell out when he got powers lol

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supportgaza · 5 months ago

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Another Talk at my Irish College About Gaza and my Family There Reopened My Wounds

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List].

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

Giving a recent guest talk at my Irish college about the horrors my family and I have endured, the war, its aftermath, and the hellish conditions of life in Gaza, was beyond heart-shattering. Speaking about it felt like performing surgery on myself without anesthesia, reopening wounds, and bleeding in the process.

What pains me the most is the unimaginable suffering my family continues to endure—living in constant fear and uncertainty, unsure whether the war will resume or if the people of Gaza will be forcibly displaced from Gaza.

Some of the slides I displayed:

I also spoke about how the war has left Gaza in ruins, where the bones of Palestinian victims lie scattered across the land. My family, like so many others, has been living without a single hour of electricity for months, their lives completely shattered.

As I spoke to Irish students, my heart ached for my family. All I wish for is to reunite with them here in Ireland, where we can finally live a peaceful, normal life. And I remain determined to make this dream a reality.

But I cannot do this alone—I am only human. I urge you to support my campaign in any way you can. Whether by donating, sharing, or simply spreading the word, your help can save my family’s lives and future. That is my ultimate number one mission.

As of 15/2/2025, we are almost at 70% of our final fundraising goal, and we expect the Rafah crossing into Egypt to reopen in the coming weeks. This could be our last chance.

Unfortunately, funds have slowed down at a critical time, and the future of Gaza looks bleak and uncertain.

Please share, donate, reblog, and help us reunite in Ireland where we can Finally live safely.

Tagging for reach! Please reblog my post and help reach our final goal and finally reunite. <3

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil

@transmutationisms @timogsilangan @buttercuparry

@sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor

@akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka

@tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides

@kordeliiius @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda

@tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural

@northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things

@camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner

@sygol @junglejim4322 @ankhisms @communist-ojou-sama

@ghosthoodie @rickybabyboy @etchif @fromjannah

@catamaurrr-star @chronic-lesbian @wormzandgutz

@postanagramgenerator @toasty-self-shipping @butchfeygela

@puppyizm @pulsingvoid @poetrylesbian @skunkes

@danijaci @girl-biter

@cupiidzbow @junkirat @maybuds @beetlebongos

@littlegermanboy @dykentery @itwashotwestayedinthewater

@fishfingersandscarves @sunshinetomorrow @thetyrannosaur

@worm-suggestion @nyaskitten @ibtisams

@fairuzfan @fallahifag @humanvoicebox @plomegranate

@commissions4aid-international @ghost-and-a-half @troythecatfish @rebecca-levin-art @ana-bananya

@mangocheesecakes

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dawngyu · 5 months ago

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THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was��Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip.

All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better.

Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.soobinbunnie5 @.pagelets @.yoseicour @.baekberrie @.blossommi @.younbeanz @.soohashits @.brrytears @.shycreationdreamland @.notevenheretbh1

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soaps-mohawk · 8 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here?

Summary: Things aren't going as smoothly as anyone would like. Maybe they can fix it. Maybe they can't.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,723 words

Warnings: Angst, discussion of nightmares, PTSD, discussion of death and killing people, emotions, so many emotions, angst, a little sliver of comfort

A/N: And it is back!! not super proud of this one but I'm starting out on a filler so...yeah. Really just setting up for the next part where some action starts again. You'll see. Anyway, glad to be back at it and I hope you enjoy!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

John stands at the door, gazing out at the yard. It’s pouring rain, dumping buckets on the roof. The water has pooled on the planks of the deck, splattering with every big drop that pours from the sky. The weather once again mirrors your mood, your sobs audible from your room over the pounding on the roof.

John holds his mug in his hands, staring at the reflection in the window. Kyle and Johnny are sitting on the couch, both looking like kicked puppies. They’re itching to enter your room and go comfort you, but they’ve been kicked out for now. You’re not in the state of mind to be around any of them right now, no matter how badly your sobs tear at their heartstrings.

You haven’t been in that state of mind for a few hours now.

Whatever nightmare had plagued your mind last night, it was particularly awful. You’ve been up since the early hours, waking from a nightmare with a terrified scream that had continued until Kyle finally got you to stop and breathe. His ears are still ringing with it, his mind still pulsing with that fear. Something happened. Someone got in. Someone hurt you.

Nothing happened. No one got in.

The only threat was still just in your mind.

Graves.

He knows that’s at least part of your nightmares. Christine had disclosed that to him quietly on the side. Even she doesn’t know everything that plagues your dreams, but Graves seems to be a common specter in the darkness of your mind.

It makes his blood boil, and not just out of anger for what Graves did to you.

It boils with anger at himself too.

It’s his fault you’re in this state in the first place. He should have known, he should have seen, he should have suspected. He should have never left you there. You should have been his priority over anything else.

How badly he’s failed you.

He lets out a sigh, turning away from the window to move over to the couches. He sinks down with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. The little progress you’ve made has regressed with this new string of nightmares, the fear pushing you further and further back into your mind. He’s resolved himself to only get worried when Christine is worried, and right now she’s beginning to look worried. If you regress back again, the chances of bringing you out of that are slim. Sure, there are plenty of options to help, but you have to want them to help.

He knows exactly what will help, you just don’t want it.

He runs a hand through his hair as your sobs begin to quiet. It’s longer than he’s let it get for a long time. They’re all a bit scraggly and ragged looking, worn down and lazy now that there’s no strict rules guiding their lives. None of them quite know what to do outside of the regulations they’ve spent the better parts of their lives living under. He’s been in the military longer now than he hasn’t, and he’s been finding himself itching for that structure again. He can never bring himself to relax and put the job aside even on leave. He only takes it when he has to and usually spends it training and keeping his skills sharp.

Now...now things have changed.

They have no return now. There’s no clear, set time that they have to return to base. They can’t return to base. It would leave them too open to a possible retaliation from Shepherd. They were betrayed by one of their own already, who's to say someone else wouldn’t be just as eager to become a traitor for a chunk of cash? They’re not even truly safe here.

How are they going to go back to base after this? Can he bring himself to take you back there, a place you never felt comfortable in the first place?

Where do they go from here?

He’s been trying not to think too much about it. That’s a dilemma for a different day. That’s thinking too far ahead. Day by day is as far as he dares to take it now.

The door closes quietly, John’s head lifting to watch Christine as she approaches the couch. There’s a slump to her shoulders, something that’s been getting lower and lower as the days have progressed. She’s struggling with this just as much as they all are.

She sinks down on the couch, letting out a long breath. Your sobs have quieted, no sound coming from the room now. The silence is almost eerie after days of constant sounds, good and bad, from your room. You were doing better. You were looking more alive and well.

Then this happened.

“She’s asleep.” Christine says, her voice strained. “Finally calmed down enough to nap.” She covers her eyes with a hand, sitting there still for a moment.

“The nightmares?” John asks, glancing at Christine out of the corner of his eye.

“Worse.” She says, her gaze far away. “She's remembering what happened.”

John stares at Kyle and Johnny for a moment, the betas returning his worried gaze.

“Those shadows she killed...” Johnny says.

Christine nods. “She's, uh, not taking it well.”

John runs a hand over his face. He knew it was possible you'd start to remember what happened during the time your omega took control. It wouldn't remain a dark spot forever, though he hoped it would. The things you were forced to do are coming to light now, the things you did to survive because they failed you. Taking the life of someone who deserves it is nothing to them. Taking the life of someone who would take yours just as quickly isn't so much as a second thought.

You're not like them.

You've never had to face that reality before, and you shouldn't have had to.

“One of us should talk to her.” Kyle says.

“I don't think that's the best idea right now.” Christine shakes her head. “She's...regressed a bit. Pushing that on her, while well intentioned, might do more harm than good...” she trails off, her gaze still far away.

The three of them sit there, waiting for what she’s going to say next. He’s not even sure Johnny or Kyle are breathing as they wait patiently for whatever solution Christine might be able to come up with, whatever move she thinks is the best one to take next.

“I want to take her out.” Christine says.

“What?” John asks in surprise.

“She needs to get out of the house. It’s not doing any of us any good sitting in here all day.” She rubs her eyes. “She expressed interest in going for a walk a couple days ago. She needs to get up and moving, start regaining some of her strength.”

John lets out a breath leaning back against the couch. He’s tempted to say no. His knee jerk reaction is to refuse. The world outside isn’t safe. If anyone is watching, if anyone sees them...

There’s always going to be that risk though, and Christine is right. Sitting in the house all day isn’t doing any of them any good. They’re at the mercy of the rain, but even then, he doubts it will keep any of them trapped inside for long.

“When the rain clears up.” He finally says. “We'll discuss it more. But, I think that might be a good idea.”

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, staring at Christine.

She lets out a sigh, covering her eyes with her hand. “I don’t know. I’ve helped hundreds of omegas in crisis and yet I don’t know why this case is so hard.”

“This has become more personal than those cases.” John says.

Christine’s shoulders slump even more. “I know. I try so hard but she’s just so...different from other omegas.”

“This entire situation is different from what you’ve done before.” Kyle says.

“You’re right.” Christine sighs. “The best we can do is let her lead. Do what she needs, give her what she wants. The worst thing that can happen right now is regression. If she regresses too far, we might never get her back.”

“What is it? Tell me what ye need.”

“Can you make me forget?”

“I wish I could.”

“Hit me hard enough on the head I might forget everything. Then we can all just start over.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Kitten,” Johnny sighs, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I wish I could make those thoughts go away. I wish I could make them mine.”

“I killed people.”

“I know.” He reaches out, touching your hand. “I wish ye didnae have to. Ye were just defending yerself. Those Shadows would have done worse to ye if ye hadn’t.”

You curl up in your chair, turning away from him. “That’s not helpful.”

“Sorry.” He says, letting out another sigh. “We just want to help ye.”

You’re silent for a moment, sitting there listening to the waves. It’s cold this morning, not even the thick blanket draped over you offering much respite. It’s the first morning it hasn’t poured rain in days and you were determined to take full advantage of it despite the objections of your pack.

“I know.” You finally say, staring out at the grey clouds looming on the horizon. The rain will return, just like the dark thoughts constantly swirling in your mind. They make you sick, nausea constantly churning in your stomach and threatening to rise.

Johnny wraps his hand around yours, his palm warm against your cold skin. “Should head inside. Gonnae catch a cold.”

“You know that’s a myth right?” You say, tilting your head to stare at him.

“No it’s not.” He says, pulling your hand between his. “It’s not good for ye being out in the cold.”

“I’ll live.” You say, trying to pull your hand from his, but he holds you firm. He’s stubborn, but so are you.

“Kitten...” He says, almost whining at you. “Go inside please.”

You let out a sigh, staring out at the horizon again. The clouds promise more rain soon, another downpour on its way. You hate it, how much it’s been raining. You just want to be outside, down at the beach, going on walks. Your pack won’t let you though, not while it’s raining, even though they often leave no matter the weather.

It’s not fair.

You’re not a fragile flower and you’re tired of being treated that way. Even though your brain feels like it’s in a blender constantly. Even though the pain of what happened still drives into you like a knife, you just want to be treated like a normal human being again.

“Fine.” You sigh, pushing yourself up to stand. “I’ll go inside.”

Johnny grabs your arm before you can head back in the door. “Ye know we just want the best for you.”

You stare at him for a long moment, emotions swirling in your mind. They are trying. You’ll give them that credit. They’re trying, but not hard enough. “What you think is best and what’s actually best isn’t always the same.”

He looks like a kicked puppy as he lets you go. You turn away before you can feel guilty, heading back inside the cottage.

You pull the blanket tighter around you as you stare at the flickering flames in the hearth. The heat is intense so close, but it’s warming the chill under your skin. It’s getting colder at night, foretelling the upcoming winter. All the blankets in the world couldn’t fight off the chill that’s settled in you at night. You know what might help, but you’re not brave enough to approach that solution.

The footsteps on the stairs don’t startle you in the otherwise silent house, the creak of them audible over the crackle of the logs in the fire.

“I’d add another one.” A voice says from behind you.

“I’m going to.” You say, reaching for the stack next to the fireplace.

“Careful. Put it on the side.”

“I know how to make a fire, thank you.” You snap, shoving the log in before moving it into place with the poker. “I’m not useless.”

“Didn’t mean to imply you were.” It’s silent for a moment as you settle back into place. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m cold.” You answer simply, not feeling up to giving an entire expose on your current state of mind to the person you want to speak to the least right now.

“We can turn the heat up more.” John says. “Whatever you want to be more comfortable.”

I want you to leave. You bite your lip, suddenly not brave enough to say it out loud.

They are trying.

“Why are you down here?” You ask instead.

“Couldn’t sleep so I came to get a snack.” He says. “You want anything?”

“No.” You say quickly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “I’m alright.”

“You sure?” He presses, standing off to your right.

You hesitate for a moment, curling your toes under the blanket as one of the logs snaps. It’s not food you need from him. Your appetite has decreased again with this new wave of horrible things plaguing your mind. You want answers.

“I want to know why you decided to leave, why you went on that mission and left me when you knew things were not right.”

John shifts on his feet behind you, the wood floor creaking just slightly. He’s silent for a long moment, so long you almost think he’s walked away.

“I was too trusting. I got caught up in the mindset of a soldier and chose to trust my superiors when I knew I shouldn’t have. I wanted to send you somewhere else, to stay with Kate, but things didn’t work fast enough to make that possible. I shouldn’t have just left you there, even with Johnny and Simon. It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare into the fire. At least he knows he made a mistake. At least he thought up other plans, but that doesn’t excuse the fact he did nothing and just left you there so easily.

Another question burns at the forefront of your mind. You think back to that conversation with Dr. Keller just a few days ago. You want to trust her, you know you can trust her. She’s given you no reason not to. She wouldn’t lie, even if the rest of your pack did.

“You really didn’t leave me with Graves?” The words slip out before you can stop them, spilling forth from your lips, revealing part of those inner thoughts that have plagued you for the last few hours.

“I would never have left you with him.” John says, the floorboards creaking as he takes a couple steps forward. “As soon as we found out we turned around and went to Kate’s safehouse. She was already looking for you. We did everything in our power to find you as quickly as we possibly could.”

The tears start sliding down your cheeks as you sit there, taking in his words. They’re spoken with such conviction and match what Dr. Keller had told you. Some deep, dark part of your brain wants to think it’s all a lie that they’ve conjured to try and make you feel better about everything, to try and jumpstart the healing process. Yet, at the same time you want to believe they are telling the truth.

Your other option is to trust Phil and what he said to you. For all you know, everything he said was a lie. Some sick justification to torture you as some kind of revenge towards your pack. Maybe it was all about revenge.

Who can you trust more? Phil, or your alpha.

Maybe if you had just held on a little bit longer. Maybe if you hadn’t believed Phil’s lie, you could have saved yourself the terror of letting your omega take over. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to take that risk and corrupt yourself with blood-stained hands. From what you can remember and have managed to weasel out of Dr. Keller, they were right behind you. A few more minutes and maybe none of it would have had to happen.

Maybe you did do the right thing in the end. Phil might have ordered his men to kill you as soon as they arrived. Maybe they would have done it as soon as Simon and Johnny entered the room. Saving yourself might have been your only option.

Those men would have killed you or worse. You did what you had to do.

You’re shaking. The tears are cascading down your cheeks, warmed by the heat of the fire. You’re crying, your breaths nearly hyperventilating as you sob quietly.

“Talk to me.” John says as he kneels down beside you.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, your knuckles white where they’re gripping the edges of the blanket. The words are coming out and you can’t stop them. Maybe it’s because deep down you remember the better times, when he was a comfort. Someone you could trust to catch you when you fall. “I keep seeing them, seeing what I did, what happened. I killed people.”

“People that would have killed you without a second thought.” He says. “You were defending yourself in a situation where that was unavoidable. It’s not your fault. None of it is.”

“She scares me, my omega.” Your inhale stutters. “She’s angry. She won’t settle. I’m scared I’m going to lose control and she’ll come out again.”

“You’re not going to lose control.” John says. Despite the heat of the fire you’re not much warmer, a cold chill shooting through your veins. “If it were to happen, we’re right here. We’ll get you through it.”

You stare into the flickering flames, your breaths slowly coming back down to normal. John sits there, as still as a tree. You don’t want him so close to you, yet you can’t deny how comforting his presence is. For the first time in a while you don’t feel quite so out of control.

“Can we ever move past this?” You ask, your voice quiet and broken.

“I like to think we can.” John says. “It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want, we sure as hell will work to make it happen. Things won’t go back to the way they were, and they shouldn’t. You deserve better than what we gave you.”

You don’t respond because you can’t. His words float around in your mind, replaying over and over. You want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him, but a deep part of you can’t. He’s made promises before and then broke them. How can you trust this time will be different?

The creak of the stairs wakes you. It’s jarring, pulling you out of a sleep you didn’t know you were in. You’re on the couch in the living room, bundled under a blanket with a decorative pillow under your head. You don’t remember moving to the couch. The fire is nothing more than embers now, but it feels warmer in the house. It’s dawn, the grey light streaming in through the window, chasing away the shadows of night.

“What are you doing out here?” A gruff voice asks you.

You groan, rubbing your eyes. “Fell asleep.”

“On the couch?”

“Think I was on the floor first.” You yawn, pressing your face back into the pillow. “Don’t remember getting to the couch.”

“Why?”

“Got cold.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you pull the blanket up higher.

Simon lets out a sigh before moving around the couch to the fireplace. He adds a couple logs in before lighting it again, the fire crackling back to life. You’re half asleep already as another blanket is draped over you, tucked up around your neck. There’s a feeling of a hand brushing over your head, but that may have just been your imagination as you drift off back to sleep.

You don’t get to sleep long, more footsteps coming down the stairs waking you. A hand does brush over your head this time, the scent of the beach filling your nose. You let out a groan, trying to snuggle deeper into the blankets.

“Sleeping out here this morning?” Kyle’s soft voice reaches your ears.

You grunt, chasing the quickly fading edges of sleep in your brain.

“Breakfast is ready, if you want to get up.”

You are hungry. There’s a quiet rumble of your stomach as you begin to register the smells coming from the kitchen: bacon and eggs and coffee. Johnny is making the coffee most likely. Maybe you’ll have some this morning. You might need it with how groggy you feel.

You stretch out on the couch, trying to breathe some life into your limbs. It’s not the most comfortable couch, definitely not for sleeping, but it’s better than the floor. It was likely John that moved you. You’re not quite sure how that makes you feel.

You don’t remember falling asleep after your little talk last night. You’re not sure how that moment of vulnerability makes you feel either. There was a time when you wouldn’t have thought twice about going to your alpha with such concerns and tumultuous feelings. There was a time when you would have sought him out for the comfort and stability you need right now.

Things are different, though. Things have changed.

You run a hand over your face, thinking back to the groggy conversation with Simon this morning. You’re not quite sure it even happened, or if you dreamed it. There’s two blankets on you, however, and you distinctly remember feeling the second one being draped over you.

It’s a touching gesture from the specter in your life. Once again he’s been reduced to a shadow, a figure lingering only because he has to. The distance that had once been so close to closing has widened into an impossibly wide canyon. You’re not sure it’ll ever fully close again. Too much has transpired in such a short amount of time between the two of you. He’ll never forgive himself, and you’ll never be brave enough to force it again.

You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking from being stuck in one position for so long. You blink slowly as you sit there for a moment. It’s warm in the house, almost too warm now with your body warmed from sleep. Dr. Keller is sitting at the table, a steaming mug in front of her. Tea, most likely. Maybe coffee. You’re not quite sure. She gives you a soft smile as you rub a hand across your face again.

You feel groggy as you push yourself up to stand, letting your stomach and feet guide you towards the smells coming from the kitchen. Kyle guides you to the table with a promise of making you a plate and you take your usual seat at the end of the table facing the kitchen. Dr. Keller is to your left this time, coffee in her mug judging by the smell.

“How did you sleep?” She asks, her hands wrapped around the mug.

“Fine. Got cold.” You say, resting your head in your hand.

“John turned the heat up a bit. We can get you more blankets if you need them.” Dr. Keller says.

You hum, letting your eyes close for a moment. You won’t complain about more blankets, more soft things to lay with. There is one thing you wish you had, though. You’re not quite sure how to ask for it, or that it would even be possible to get.

You jump when a hand touches your back, not realizing you had even dozed off sitting there.

“Sorry.” Kyle says, setting a plate on the table in front of you. “Food’s hot. You want coffee or tea.”

“Coffee.” You say instantly, earning a wide grin from Johnny as he takes his own seat at the table.

“Even split this morning.” He says cheekily, setting his own mug down. “Three against three.”

“Tea is still the superior choice.” Kyle says from the kitchen. “Better for you anyway.”

“Coffee has a lot of health benefits as well.” Dr. Keller says. “So long as you don’t add too much sugar into it.”

“See.” Johnny says, giving them a victorious grin.

“She said so long as you don’t put too much sugar in it.” Kyle says, carrying over your mug of coffee. “You’ll get diabetes from how much you add in.”

“Two spoonfuls isnae too much.” He turns to look at Dr. Keller. “Is it?”

Dr. Keller gives him a worried look. “You might be pushing it there.”

Johnny’s grin turns into a pout. “What do ye mean?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips as you quickly shovel a forkful of eggs into your mouth. As much as the deep pain of trauma and their decisions ache in your chest, you have to admit you missed this. It’s the least tense you’ve seen all of them in the last few weeks. Even Dr. Keller’s shoulders don’t seem quite so squared as they have been.

A part of you feels guilty about it. It is your fault deep down. You’re the one keeping them all on edge, driving that wedge between them over and over again. Deep down you’re the one causing the heavy weight that’s settled over the house. You wish you could just go back to normal, you wish you could just wave a wand and make yourself okay again. You wish you could ease their pain just a little bit.

The eggs suddenly don’t taste quite so good anymore.

You force them down regardless in favor of causing another scene, in favor of dragging the mood down. They deserve a little lighthearted moment after everything. They don’t need to know the inner turmoil plaguing your mind.

Simon shifts next to you, his eyes darting to glance at your face. You can feel them, the intensity of his gaze just as sharp as it had been back in the beginning, back before he looked at you with fondness. He’s stiff as he sits there, almost as if he can sense the storm raging inside of you as you force yourself to pretend that you’re fine in favor of keeping the bright mood that’s settled over the table.

Maybe he can sense it. He is an alpha after all. It’s his job to know, to understand. You glance across the table at John, his eyes on his phone as he sips his tea.

Your gaze drops down to your plate as you pick up a piece of bacon, your heart shattering just a little bit more.

“‘S too early.” You whine as hands pull the blanket off of you. Cold air nips at your skin, making you curl up in a ball.

“It’s noon. Come on.” A hand closes around your arm, gently shaking you. “You want to get up.”

You let out a whine, pinching your face up. “No.”

“Trust me. It’ll be worth it.” Kyle says, brushing the hair back from your face.

“Why.” You say, letting out a huff.

“We’re going on a little trip.” Kyle pulls you up, forcing you into a seated position. “Dress warm.”

You’re alone in the room again, the door left open. Light streams in, making you squint against the harsh intrusion. A quick glance at the clock reveals it is, in fact, a little past noon. You took a nap to make up for a night of tumultuous sleep, one of the few things you have to do here in this prison. Nap and read. It’s a lot like your life before the cottage, before everything that happened, except now you’re stuck with your pack around you at all times.

You almost miss the times they were away.

You’re half tempted to go back to sleep, but you’re too awake now, and the light streaming in the doorway is making it hard. It was done on purpose, left that way to prevent you from falling asleep again.

You let out a huff as you maneuver yourself so your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. You try to blink the drowsiness away, no matter how much your brain is trying to chase the last lingering threads of sleep quickly receding. The nap hadn’t been nearly long enough, but judging by Kyle’s eagerness, they let you sleep a bit longer than they wanted.

You let out a sigh before pushing yourself off the bed, moving to the dresser. You pull out warm clothes, quickly changing. You have no idea what they have planned, what’s going on. There was no frantic rush, Kyle’s energy more excited than anything. It makes you a bit worried as you step out of the room into the living area.

They’re all waiting by the door, watching you as you approach them, rubbing your eyes.

“Come on,” John says, setting a pair of shoes on the floor. “Boots on.”

“What are we doing?” You ask, moving forward automatically.

“We’re taking a little trip.” Kyle answers, repeating what he told you in the room.

You look at him cautiously as you step into the boots, pulling them on. You haven’t been away from the cottage since you arrived two weeks ago. You’ve barely been let outside, weather permitting. It’s an overcast day today, the world grey outside, but grey is better than rain.

“Ready?” John asks as you stare at him.

“I guess.” You say, still a bit hesitant.

They make no effort to ease your discomfort and nerves.

You’re led out the door and towards the cars by Dr. Keller. Her face is brighter than it has been lately which doesn’t help your nervous energy. She’s excited too, just like the rest of them. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. Maybe it’s the anxiety of leaving after being trapped inside for so long. You just want to know where you’re going, what it is you’re going to be doing.

Dr. Keller ushers you into the back seat of one of the cars, getting in the other side. Kyle and John climb into the front while Johnny and Simon get into the other car.

You watch the green pass by as they drive, taking in the new landscape. You don’t remember arriving at the cottage. You don’t remember most of the trip at all. It’s all a blur in your memory, much like the events that transpired after your omega took over had been. You wish you could remember the trip over those events. You’d take green rolling hills over your own hands taking lives.

It had been jarring waking in the cottage for the first time. A new place, the lack of memories getting there. You’re beginning to get tired of the pattern. You half expect to fall asleep and wake up somewhere new again most nights. You wouldn’t know any better. A slip of a pill into some food and you’d wake up somewhere halfway across the world.

You like to think they’d at least warn you beforehand.

John pulls the car into a parking lot, parking near a line of trees. Johnny pulls into the parking lot behind John, parking near the entrance. It’s on purpose, you know that much. Everything is about safety and making things look as inconspicuous as possible. Anyone could be a rat. Anyone could be watching.

It’s windier here as you step out of the car, even though you haven't gone far from the cottage. Walking distance, if you were up for a hike. You’re not.

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, guiding you through the parking lot and towards a path.

You still don’t know what’s happening as you follow them, Johnny holding your hand as you step onto the rocky path. He leads the way, the others following. John is behind you, hovering in case you slip in the gravel. You do your best not to, despite how quickly Johnny is leading you. He’s more eager than Kyle had been, and you’re sure he’d be running if you could keep up.

You begin to figure out what’s happening as the sound of waves crashing on the shore gets louder and louder. Your chest starts to constrict with emotion as the trees start to get sparser and sparser, a cliff edge visible over Johnny’s shoulder. You want to run now, you want to break ahead and race your way to the edge of the cliff. Johnny, even in his excited state, would catch you before you could take off and potentially hurt yourself.

You might hurt yourself just trying to run.

You hate it.

The land opens before you as you reach the edge of the cliff. The expanse of the sea seems daunting so close, grey and choppy from the wind. Salty air blasts you in the face, rustling your jacket as you stand there above a small beach. It’s empty, but that’s expected for late fall. All the tourists have gone home, those with vacation homes back in better weather for the winter.

You’re glad you’re alone. You wouldn’t want anyone else ruining this moment.

Kyle’s fingers wrap around yours as you stand there, staring down at the beach below. “Come on.”

The gravel turns to dirt as it winds down the side of the cliff, getting steeper as you near the beach. You do nearly slip as you follow Johnny and Kyle down to the sand, your boots quickly getting muddy. You’re glad for them, understanding why John chose boots over more comfortable shoes.

You pause as your feet sink into sand. You stare out at the water, at the white crests of waves crashing onto the shore. It’s real. It’s not just some mirage, some painting in the background of your life. It’s really here. You’re really here.

No one says anything as you take a few steps forward before squatting down. You scoop up a handful of sand, letting it slip through your fingers. It’s coarse against your cold skin, thicker and rockier than the sand you’re used to, but it’s still sand. It’s still a beach.

You’re at the beach.

You scoop up another handful of sand, letting it run through your fingers again. You want to put some of it in a jar and set it on the nightstand at the cottage. You want to stare at it and remind yourself you’re really at the coast, you’re really just a short drive away from the sea. You want the sand to sink into your skin and flow through your veins and fill every crack that’s formed in your mind.

You’re really here.

You stand up straight, staring out at the water again. Your pack is still behind you, silently watching you. You shuffle forward a couple steps, waiting for one of them to stop you, to grab you and keep you from getting closer, but none of them move. You widen your steps, treading through the soft sand until you reach the edge of the wetter sand where the water was earlier. It’s easier to walk on as you continue to approach the water, the sound of your pack treading through the soft sand disappearing behind you as you get closer and closer to the water. The waves flow up the beach, your feet getting closer and closer to where that water stops.

You half expect them to stop you as you step forward, letting the waves hit your feet. The salty water washes away the mud and sand clinging to your rubber boots, rushing up over the tops of your feet. You stare down at the water, watching it surge upward and around your ankles. You’d keep walking if you were brave enough, let it get higher and higher until it soaked your clothes, but you know they’d stop you. It’s far too cold to risk getting wet. You can feel the chill of the water through your boots as it flows over your feet.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, watching the water rush back and forth, feeling the pressure of it against your boots as you stand in the waves. You’re really here. You’re really standing in the sea.

You finally turn after what seems like an eternity, making your way back up to the softer sand. All of them are standing in a line, watching you. You wonder what’s going through their heads, what they feel standing here. Relief? Happiness? Guilt? Shame? The wind whips at your back, coming right off the water, blowing their scents away from you. What you wouldn’t give to be able to smell them right now.

Tears burn your eyes as you make your way up towards John, trudging through the sand. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold wind, his beard longer than you’ve ever seen it. You don’t remember the last time you’ve really looked at him up close. His gaze is uncertain as he stares down at you, trying to gauge your next move. He can’t. You know he can’t and it makes you feel powerful.

It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Thank you.” You say finally, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Thank you.”

You can hear them. They don’t know it, but you can. They think they’re speaking quietly, but in the silence of the morning, you can hear almost every word. Dr. Keller’s protests, John's quiet insistence.

Leaving.

That’s the word that caught your attention. Leaving. Someone is leaving. Someone is separating themselves from the pack again, and not just for a trip to town to go to the store. This meaning is different, it hangs differently in the air.

“I don’t think this is a good idea right now.” Dr. Keller says, her voice just barely audible through the open sliding glass door. It’s open just a crack, just enough to hear what’s transpiring inside.

“We won’t have another chance.” John says, his voice insistent. “We have to do this. She deserves it.”

She. You. Whatever it is, it involves you. It always does. You can’t remember a time over the last few weeks when it hasn’t been about you. It’s always about you and you hate it. You almost wish things would go back to the way they were before, when you were a second thought, the one left behind.

You’re going to be left behind again.

“John-”

“I know.” John’s voice is louder again. “We have to do what’s best for our pack, and right now this is it.”

The sliding door opens, the conversation over. Your stomach is churning, nausea eating its way up your esophagus as John crosses the deck towards where you’re seated. His steps are slow and quiet, almost like he’s approaching a wild animal. He might be, depending on how this conversation is going to go.

How are you going to react? You expected it eventually. They’ll always leave, they’ll always put you last and think about themselves first. Are you upset? Are you angry? Is it a relief?

You wish you could feel something right now. Instead you feel numb. Another promise broken, another lie told.

“You’re leaving again.” You say, staring out at the horizon as John takes a seat next to you. You need to get it out first, say what you know before he can say it and break your heart again.

He lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We are, but you’re coming with us.”

You turn to glance at him, taken aback by his words. You’re leaving too? You hadn’t considered this. The cottage is your prison. You are Rapunzel trapped by the Mother Gothel that is your pack, stuck in the tower for the rest of time.

Leaving?

“There’s something we need to take care of back in the states.” John explains. “You’re coming with us.”

Back in the states? What could possibly be there that is left for you, for your pack?

You don’t like the sound of that. You don’t like the sound of that one bit.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

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gyaruhana · 6 months ago

Note

Can you do a smut fic where readers dating thanos and she nearly dies in red light green light, and they realise how dangerous the games are and fuck like it’s their last night together? Im talking pure need and lust, desperation after realising the stakes of the squid games

Thanos / Choi Su-bong - I love you

Synopsis: After witnessing so much death and realizing you may both be next, you decide to fuck in the bathroom.

A/N: combined this with two other requests asking for bathroom sex.. i hope that was okay !! also not entirely proof read..

Warnings: smut content, fingering, praise, he's more gentle tbh

You had never feared death before. It always seemed so far away and it was the least of your concerns considering the debt you and your boyfriend, Thanos, share after betting it all on some coin a youtuber recommended. Never once in your life had you thought you would actually die. You always imagined that you'd die at an old age in a fancy house- maybe even with a kid or two. Point is, you didn't think about death because you really didn't see any need to.

Until today that is.

You and your boyfriend had come across a great opportunity to earn lots of won by playing a few games. Considering you had already earned quite a bit from a game of ddakji, it was a no-brainer to agree to a few games. At the time, it didn't seem suspicious because the salesman who offered the card to you had given you plenty of won without a catch.

Although you were knocked out with a gas when you entered the designated car together and practically kidnapped, neither of you thought anything about it- too excited at the idea of making money to pay off your debt with a few games. Any money goes a long way to finally paying off your debt so you can focus on getting your dream life.

Idiotically enough, you also didn't find any suspicion in the guy yelling something about how you'll be shot if you move. It actually made you and Thanos laugh at the ridiculousness of it as you both assumed he was just some drunk making up shit to scare people. How wrong the both of you were.

By the time everyone had made it to the halfway mark with plenty of time to spare, Thanos saw a bee land on some girl and made a comment about it. The girl immediately let out a scream and moved to try to get the bee off of her. It was amusing to watch until the sound of a gunshot rang through the air and her body fell to the floor.

The smile on both your faces dropped immediately as blood pooled around her now-dead body. You and Thanos stood deadly still as people started to scream and run away out of fear. Every gunshot made your heart drop further because that could be you or him. The idea one of you might die right now was sickening for the both of you.

The moment the sound of shooting stopped, the doll turned out and called green light again. Thanos quickly reached for his necklace while walking forward, desperately needing to be high right now so he could try to pretend like this wasn't really happening. Meanwhile, you didn't move a muscle - too afraid you might die here. You didn't want to be shot too.

The doll turned its head and called out red light making everyone freeze again. Another gunshot rang out making you flinch but thankfully the doll didn't notice the small movement. When it turned around again, Thanos put the pill in his mouth before closing his necklace and looking behind him. You still weren't moving, making him worry. You didn't have time to just stand there, you had to get going and make it to the end.

“What are you doing? You have to move,” Thanos spoke out as he gestured for you to come over to him. He kept still when the doll announced red light again but he kept his eyes on yours. He couldn't have you just stand there until your inevitable death. The moment the players could move again, Thanos ran toward you and grabbed your wrist before pulling you along with him.

With Thanos dragging you along, you both managed to make it to the end before the time ran out. The relief the two of you shared was only there momentarily. You may have survived this game but what's to say you'll survive the next game? There was no guarantee. In fact, you weren't even confident in yourself that you'd survive the next game. After all, you only got through this because Thanos had dragged you to the end.

As if sensing your fear, Thanos looked at you and cupped your face with his hands. “Don't look so stressed, baby. We're fine,” he spoke as he gently caressed your cheek. You gave a small smile at his words but the fear didn't disappear. He let out a sigh before tapping your cheek twice and removing his hands. He knew there wasn't much he could say to make this any better. It was a lot to handle, that was for sure. The only reason he was calm was because he had popped a pill the moment the first person died.

As the players were slowly led back to the main room which they had awoken in, Thanos took your hand to keep you close to him. Despite the drugs he had taken, he was still pretty stressed about the whole ordeal. Mostly because of you. He couldn't fathom the idea of you getting shot like those other idiots in the last game. He'd definitely go crazy if you got hurt so he needed to keep you close to him.

Even after you were already in the room, his hand still kept a firm grip on yours as if you might disappear should he let go. You didn't mind though. If anything, his hand squeezing yours was a huge comfort. A silent reminder that he wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. It made you feel significantly calmer to be close to him.

He led you to the back of the room and sat you down on the bed before sitting down next to you, his legs crossed with his hand still in yours. He looks at you for a few moments, analyzing your face and trying to read your thoughts. He didn’t like the way your eyes lingered on your lap instead of him so he raised a hand and tilted your chin upwards to make you look at him.

“Baby, you good?” he asks even though he already knew the answer to that question. You were quite far from good after all the blood you had seen. “Am i good?” you say sarcastically, mocking his own words. “Of course, I’m not! I just saw people die! Too many! Fuck, that could’ve been me or you,” you speak, your stress about the whole situation evident in your face and tone. “You gotta relax. We’re fine. Besides we’ll get out of here soon,” he says reassuringly as he looks at you with worry.

You let out a sigh and shake your head as you look to the side- away from him. It was quiet for a few moments as Thanos waited for you to say something else, knowing that you were thinking something. “What if we don’t?” you finally say as you look back at him again. “Don’t say that,” he speaks as his face hardens slightly at the idea that you might die. Fuck, he couldn’t bear the thought of you laying lifeless. “Not saying it doesn’t make it any less of a possibility,” you respond with a frown. He knows that you’re right. It’s a possibility that he can’t just ignore.

“I swear on my life that I will protect you,” he says with a sincere look on his face. It didn’t make you feel any better though because swearing on his life in a game where he could actually die wasn’t a good thing. “Don’t say that,” you speak, repeating his earlier words as your face hardens. You didn’t want him to even think about sacrificing his life for you. You couldn’t see what you’d do without him. 45.6 billion was useless if he couldn’t be there with you to spend it.

“Okay,” he says with a small smirk as he raises his hand in mock surrender. “I’ll swear on the sun and the moon instead,” he said as he lowered his hands. His words were enough to make you smile a little. Him swearing on the sun and the moon was plenty more significant then others may think. He swore on the sun and the moon he’d treat you right when he first asked you to be his. He swore on the sun and the moon to always be there for you after a particularly bad day when you lost your dad. Most of all, he swore on the sun and the moon that he’d buy a nice house and you could get married and live happily ever after together. He never ever took the name of the sun and moon in vain and that’s why hearing him say it now made you feel just a little better about the current situation.

Thanos looked behind himself for a moment before back at you. “Hey.. if swearing on the sun and moon isn’t enough for you, I could show you how serious I am,” he says with a small smirk. It didn’t take an idiot to know what he meant by that. “..what exactly does that mean?” you question even though you already knew exactly what he meant. There was a spark of desire in his eyes that matched yours as his hand gripped yours tightly. “I don’t have to tell you for you to know,” he says before standing up and pulling you up from the bed with him.

He drags you towards the door on the right side of the room and bangs on it loudly. “Hey, open up. Bathroom needed,” he says and the door opens after a moment. “Ladies first,” he says with a smirk as he steps out of the way to let you go in first. You shake your head, an amused smile playing on your face as you walk in. The guard led you both down the hallway and to the bathroom. Thanos didn’t waste any time in pushing past that door, dragging you behind him.

With his patience wearing thin, he quickly pulled you into a kiss. It was unlike his usual kisses that were rough and involved his tongue jammed down your throat. This kiss was more passionate as if he was trying to say something words could never convey properly. He quickly pushed you back into one of the stalls and kicked the door closed behind him, locking it with one of his hands. He spun you around and pushed your back against the stall wall.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he mumbles after pulling away momentarily. He stares at you silently - memorizing every feature of your face. He could never get enough of how pretty you were. It felt like a miracle someone like you was with a dickhead like him. He couldn’t help but admire you. “..What? Is something wrong?” you say as you look at him with concern. You didn’t expect him to just stare at you out of nowhere and it was a little embarrassing.

He shakes his head as he snaps out of his trance. “No, sorry. Just thinking about how fucking lucky I am,” he says before kissing you again like it’s the last time he could ever get to kiss you. In his mind, it damn well could be. One of you really could be dead by tomorrow evening and then that was it. He’d never see you smile or laugh again or look at him like he was the most important thing in the world. The thought was sickening. No matter how confident or cocky he’d act, he was still just Choi Su-bong. And Choi Su-bong was undeniably yours.

You put your arms around his neck as you kissed him back - the feeling of his hands on your waist keeping you in the moment and erasing any memory of the earlier events just for now. His hands slipped under your shirt to feel your skin before he pulled away from the kiss and opted for leaving kisses on your neck instead. He sucked at the skin so delicately and slowly, trying to savor his time with you as much as possible. His lips paused for a moment when they hovered over your pulse point before he kissed the area and bit it softly to mark you right above your pulse so he could feel your heart beat quicker - a silent confirmation that you were still very much alive.

His hands trailed down to the waistband of your pants before he tugged them down till they dropped to the floor. His hand then pulled your underwear down too, not wanting to waste time with foreplay with the limited time you two shared together. His index finger gently traced over your clit making a moan escape the back of your mouth. “You’re already wet for me? God - I can just skip ahead then, yeah?” he says as he pulls his hand to pull his pants down along with his boxers.

“Not even a little prep?” you question as you look at him. He laughs quietly before nodding his head. “Fine, but you better cum quick - I need to feel you,” he speaks as one of his hands finds its way to your hole again. He carefully rubs his fingers back and forth before slipping in a finger. His free hand went to cover your mouth when a moan escaped as he couldn’t risk the guard outside the bathrooms hearing and breaking up this moment with you.

“Gotta be quiet, baby,” he says as he starts to finger you. You nod your head as you try to keep as quiet as possible. He inserts another finger and begins to quicken the pace in which he thrusted his fingers in and out of you. He kept his eyes on your face, loving your reactions to his fingers deep inside your aching core. He had always observed you like this but there was something different about it now that you two had each other to lose. Everything was so much more passionate than usual. You found that your release came much quicker this time around as you released on his fingers.

“God, you’re so good for me,” he says as he pulls his fingers out slowly before bringing them to his mouth and tasting you. He held eye contact with you as he sucked his fingers clean before leaning down and kissing you again, his hand finding its place on the back of your neck to keep you close. He slowly lined himself up with you, his tip rubbing against your entrance making him let out a small groan.

He slowly pushed into you, burying his face into your neck as he stretched you out with his dick. He let out a heavy huff at the feeling of being inside you. It felt euphoric. You were so unbelievably tight as he continued to inch himself further in. You let out a moan that was muffled by his hand as he finally pushed in the rest of his dick with one stroke. “You good?” he asks as he pulls his head away from your neck and looks at you. You were still for a few moments before you nodded your head - finally adjusting to the stretch.

The moment you nodded your head, he slipped out before thrusting right back in. He let out a low groan as he repeated the movement over and over, making sure you could feel every inch of his cock deep inside you. You leaned your head back against the stall door as he thrusted in and out of you with a quick pace. His hands grab at your hips roughly to keep you still while he thrusts in and out of your tight hole. “God.. Holy fucking shit,” he mumbled under his breath as the sound of skin hitting skin echoed through the bathroom. He loved being deep inside you like this. It felt so fucking good. Even more so now because it was a way to reassure himself you were still here with him and not one of the many corpses he saw earlier.

The thought you could be dead soon spurred him on to fuck you harder. He hated that possibility. He didn’t want to think about that. He just wanted to think about you. How your head was thrown back, how your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, how you tried to keep quiet but struggled because he made you feel so good. He loved every fucking part of you - you were perfect.

"Fuck - I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so fucking much. Please say it back" he spoke as he thrusted into you quickly, his pace getting sloppy as he drew ever-so closer to a sweet release. God, he wanted to fill you up with his cum but he needed to hear you say that you loved him like he loved you. He needed to know you cared for him and wouldn’t leave him anytime soon. You nodded your head before forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “I-I love you too,” you speak and the groan he lets out is so loud.

He immediately releases with one last thrust, making sure his cum spills deep inside of you. You released along with him with a moan and you both stilled. It was quiet for a few moments aside from the heavy breathing that filled the bathroom. He leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes as he came down from his high. His hands slowly trailed up from your hips to your face as he gently held your cheeks in his hands.

“I love you,” he repeats as he opens his eyes and looks into yours. There was very much a different kind of look in his eyes this time. A look that told you how much he really meant what he said. There was a hint of fear in his eyes too as he genuinely feared that he may lose you sooner or later to these stupid games.

“I know,”

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #xaeinfinity #thanos squid game #squid game s2 #choi su bong #squid game smut #choi su bong smut

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geneviveleocardius · 6 months ago

Text

i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

#modern warfare #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #ghost riley #ghost x reader

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lizziesfirstwife · 11 days ago

Text

Inevitable

pt.2 to Guardian Angel

jinu x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death and blood, depressive themes, possessive jinu, thirsty reader, suggestive language, use of Y/N, banter, slow burn, not proof-read

word count: 4807 (sorry not sorry)

authors note: listened to Ms.Whitman by Bhad Bhabie & watched the Korean Pop the Balloon or find Love halfway writing this. Fought writers block like crazy to bring this out, so enjoy! 🤍

Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest.

It was quick. In most cases.

The air smelled of rain and cherry blossom. The hem of her dress was soaked, her shoes wet from running through the soaked grounds of the forest she had been hiding in for the past few hours.

Sunshine crawled its way through the canopy that the trees created. A desperate consolation, sympathy for her impending doom.

Tears streamed down her face, blisters adorning her feet like a plague, blood and mud sticking to them. She wanted to scream. So many things left for her to do, things she had carelessly written in her diary before going to bed.

I don’t know how to fix this.

The ground gave way beneath her, mud crept further and further up her legs, the lower part of her dress now completely wet.

Silence.

She stood still.

The air smelled of cherry blossoms and death. Her hands, which had once been white with cinnamon and flour, were now stained red.

Was it blood?

I fear that I will love you more than I will ever be allowed to.

Her hair had long since come loose from her bun, the strands knotted and frizzy from running through the rain. Her barrette was lost too far away to retrieve, buried under mud and tears.

Birds were chirping. It was supposed to be a gift. She cried when she found out the price of the hanbok, made of lace and pure silk. Pink silk, hand-dyed with chrysanthemums and madder root. Lace, which was reserved for noble brides only.

She wanted to be a bride so badly.

Out of love for you, I have forgiven the world for what it has done to me.

A tear rolled down her face. She would have made a beautiful bride. An extraordinary one.

Now the dress that was supposed to be her wedding dress, was stained full of blood.

Her feet gave way and her body met the mossy forest floor. The sun shone golden down on her, as if to…comfort her.

Horse galloping. Screams.

Her hand closed around the diamond on her necklace, the only thing not stained by her blood.

She had always known that she would die first. It was inevitable.

˙⋆✮

Her cat jumped off the bed when she woke up screaming.

A week had passed since the strange encounter in the bakery.

She hadn't thought about what the encounter might have meant or why the strange man looked so familiar to her. Thinking about it would bring no clarity, only confusion.

Taking a deep breath, she threw back her blanket and took a sip out of the water bottle she had put on her bedside table. It was rare that she woke up before her alarm, but this dream had shaken something inside her that she didn't know was dormant.

After the meeting a week ago, she went to the post office to send her boss a letter demanding her contractual 14 days of paid leave.

Sonder.

The realization that every soul on this planet has their own story, their own pains to carry silently, ambitions that might never come true, dreams that were shattered, love that was forbidden to be expressed.

She wondered what he was doing with his life. Was he a shop assistant like her? No, he hadn't shown enough feigned niceness for that. When you had to deal with people every day and your survival depended on how convinced they were of you, you quickly learned how to manipulate people.

He didn't come across to her as the kind of person who needed to lie to people in order to survive. Maybe health care? Y/N imagined him in a white coat with a stethoscope slung around his neck.

Doctors didn't really lie, they didn't need to. They earned their living without lying to their patients, mostly. There would always be senior citizens with blood pressure problems, young women with iron deficiency, couples with fertility problems, and more than enough accidents.

She bit her lip before spitting her toothpaste into the sink. He would look good in uniform.

The smell of sandalwood and rain caught her nose, a crow cawed outside.

The sun was almost completely up, the dew still fresh, the sound of rain hitting the streets. The truth was, she didn't know why she had taken vacation. She took her necklace from her jewelry box on the dresser and clasped it carefully around her neck. It was an heirloom, at least that's what her great-grandmother told her before she died. It certainly looked old enough. The silver had a few scratches, the diamond hanging from it a bit dull.

Maybe she wanted to sleep in for once, or stop baking any more cinnamon rolls.

She took her perfume bottle, and wrapped herself in a cloud of sakura and dreamy vanilla. Her hair looked dull. The circles under her eyes were darker than usual, her skin dry from the lack of moisturizer.

When she was little, her mother used to say that her beauty was her greatest weapon. Not her knowledge, or her kindness.

Beauty was like a bullet that you could shape until it fitted into a weapon. You could polish it, improve it, maintain it.

Aim.

And fire if necessary.

In a selfish world, only the selfish could succeed. Y/N was never selfish. She didn't have it in her. She wanted to be. Too many cruel people were wronging humanity, too many evil people became successful. It seemed as if people had to hate each other in order to survive day after day, as if there was nothing left for the good souls in this world, nothing for those who recognized the strength in being kind and did not give up being so.

Sometimes she felt like she could snap, shout at everyone who treated her like shit. But did she want to be admitted to a ward? Hell no.

So she didn’t.

Rain beat against the glass of her windows. A sigh escaped her lips, applying the last bit of blush before going to her coat rack. How could it be that it was raining for the seventh day in a row? Y/N looked down and grimaced. She didn't like her rain boots. Not one bit. They weren't ugly, a simple shade of black, but whenever she had to put them on it felt like she was waddling. Just because it was raining didn't mean she wanted to feel like a duckling.

She loved the rain. The sound made her think a little less about just everything, her personal white noise. It was already warm outside, the early morning hours heating up the air. At work, she had no choice but to wear long clothes. It wasn't a company rule, but she had made the mistake of putting on an expensive dress on her first day at work and had to take it straight to the cleaner afterwards.

There was an indescribable emptiness inside her that she didn't know when or how it had taken root, like a virus trying to claim the happiness inside her for itself. She turned away from her coat stand.

She didn't bother to lock her apartment as she walked out the door.

˙⋆✮

It was Sunday again. But the emptiness, the feeling of not having earned waking up, did not rise with Jinu.

His throat felt dry. He hummed a song as he fished a shirt out of his closet, a black one made of silk, and sprayed a little perfume on his neck and in his hair.

He was leaving the bathroom when he paused.

Two steps back, one reach up. He put the bottle of perfume back in the cupboard, now that his wrists also smelled of sandalwood. Jinu didn't know why he even owned perfume. It wasn't as if demons stank, or needed anything other but their sheer will to bring people to their doom.

He frowned as he looked in the mirror. In the past, before his time as a soul hunter, he used to steal pastries from the palace kitchen, breaking them in two and using the contents as a perfume. He knew that no one would understand why he would have done such a thing, when he was in a good position as a musician at court. He didn't have to steal food from the kitchen to smell good. The most extravagant, expensive and unique perfumes in the whole of Joseon were at his disposal.

Jinu shut the bathroom door harder than necessary behind him. There were things in his past that not even he knew why he had done them.

The sun shone bright when he left his apartment. It had stopped raining half an hour ago, birds were flying around, more pedestrians roaming around and prattling than usual.

Even if he couldn't feel hunger himself, human food still tasted good to him. Paying for something in order to devour it made him feel less guilty than actually devouring lost souls.

Cinnamon, cherry blossoms.

He shook his head.

Since their encounter a week ago, he couldn't stop thinking about the woman in the bakery. How she smelled, how she talked, how she looked at him. She didn’t spare him a second glance. She didn’t scream when she saw him, he wasn’t sure if she even recognized him. And strangely enough, Jinu liked that. It was a change from the fans who usually fawned over him and acted like he was their promised husband and father of their future children.

He didn't want to, he didn’t plan to. He just wanted to stop by the next day, seeing if everything was going fine. The smile on her face when he chose the cinnamon rolls were still etched in the back of his mind. But when he peered through the shop window the day after their encounter, she was nowhere to be seen. So he walked around the block. Maybe she was in the back, in the kitchen, or the storeroom. But when he finished his walk and looked through the window again, the only woman in the shop was an employee over 40.

The wind blew through his hair, begging him to return to reality. There was no reason to think about a bakery employee who had simply sold him a cinnamon roll. He didn't want to be a stalker, like those in the movies he had seen becoming popular over the decades.

Jinu bit his lip. If that were the case, he would also have to think about the saleswoman in the clothing store and the manager for their concerts.

But it couldn’t be described as mere thinking anymore. He was almost embarrassed to have so many thoughts about someone who’s job was to offer him a service.

Get a grip.

What Jinu had learned in his more than 400 years of existence, was that peace, reliability, and good company were characteristics he utterly valued in his life. The second and third were areas for improvement, but he implemented the first into his life as best he could. As peaceful as a demon could exist.

He had been on Earth for several weeks now, their mission to destroy the Honmoon as close to being completed as possible. He was here to steal souls, to destroy them, not to care about their well-being. And he was exceptionally good at stealing souls. Demons could see the worth of a soul just by glancing at a person. There were souls that carried no light within them, souls that were not worth saving. Souls with no value.

These souls were easy targets.

There were hardly any souls left with light within them, souls that tried to live, that protected the flame of purpose within them despite the horrors this world carried.

He had never seen a soul like hers before. Pain, hopelessness, buried under an even greater longing to live, to survive.

A soul written in textbooks. Exactly what they needed.

He tilted his head back.

What was wrong with him? She didn't deserve to be seen as an ingredient. She wasn't a puzzle piece he could grab and adjust until the whole picture was right.

He took a deep breath. She wasn't important. There were plenty of other souls. Weaker souls, souls he didn't have to search for. More work for him.

He didn't care.

The wind blew cold as he turned into a quiet street. He wandered aimlessly, no purpose to his walk.

He stopped. Wind blew in his direction, caressing his face with utter care. Was that... no. He shook his head and walked on. Another gust of wind. A familiar scent, surrounding him, enveloping him, caressing him.

˙⋆✮

"And what did you answer to that?"

Y/N took a sip of her hot chocolate and sighed. She hated coffee; the taste was too bitter to drink every day. But she had a penchant for anything sweet. Her parents used to make snaky jokes about the tooth fairy loving her, because she was going to be her most loyal customer with how much sugar she consumed.

"That I didn't see why I should work another 12-hour shift on a Saturday for the third time in a row, alone with the intern, just because he wanted to go to a resort in Incheon with his mistress."

The man across from her laughed and leaned back in his chair.

"How did you know that the woman next to him was his affair?"

Y/N raised her eyebrow. "Women have a much better sense for these things than you think Joon. I have a sixth sense for shady entities. First of all, I knew he was married, because every year since I started working for him, he took a weekend off in June for his wedding anniversary. Second, his real wife was here last year for the reopening after the big renovation.”

Y/N hummed. Her boss’s wife was a real nice lady, small with a kind smile. What a shame to be tied to an ungrateful cheater who you had children with.

“And third... no man who has been married for 30 years would still deal with the trouble of taking his wife away every week and spending an entire spa weekend on her, three times…back to back.”

She raised her eyebrows and poked her apple pie with her fork.

"I hate men. They will say all women are the same, yet they get upset when you point out their oddly similar and reoccurring behavior."

The man shook his head and took a sip of his cappuccino.

“So you’ve given up on them?”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "Difficult to give up something you haven’t even started." Shaking her head, she put her face in her hands.

"I don't know what to do with myself either. On one hand, I don't want to be taken advantage of. I don't want to become one of those crying women who eat tons of ice cream whining about some douchebag. Just thinking about it disgusts me. Being with someone, only for him to break up with me a few weeks later. Or better, a year later! More wasted time."

She sighed.

"But God... I don't want to be lonely. I don't mind being alone, but I don't want to give up the dream of finding someone for myself." Her eyes twinkled as she leaned back in her chair.

"Kind of funny, isn't it?"

Joon just shook his head and sighed. "I'm afraid I can't help you there sweetheart."

Y/N took a sip of her hot chocolate and looked out the window.

"Kind of weird to be the only one not being in a relationship." She shrugged her shoulders and watched people wandering around outside the café.

Her companion eyed her and leaned back in his chair. "You do realize that you're amazing even without someone by your side?"

She laughed, laughed deeply, and put her cup down. "I guess I do. I guess."

Outside, a few teenagers sat drinking juice and eating scrambled eggs with bacon. A mother and her baby sat at a table shaded by a tree, stroller pushed to the side, a cup of steaming something in front of her.

Babies. Y/N hummed and drank the last sip of her chocolate. She always knew she never wanted to have children. The idea of being responsible for another living being, for more than 18 years, was cruel to her. Children were great. She herself had become an aunt two years ago, her older sister now living in Busan with her husband. A niece. Y/N smiled at the thought of her and looked into her empty cup. She loved her, a little angel. But she never wanted children herself. She saw how little time her sister had left for her real family. A repeating pattern.

Y/N shook her head as she looked out of the window again. She would rather put up with 12-hour shifts every Saturday of the week for the rest of her life, than have children of her own.

Her friend sighed and put on his jacket.

"I really hate to leave you alone already, but I still have to pick up the cake for Eric or I won't be able to get everything ready in time."

Eric was Joon's boyfriend from Australia. His family didn't know he was gay, the stigma in South Korea still far too great. You weren't persecuted or arrested for loving the same gender, but it wasn't welcomed. So Joon told his family that Eric was an Erica, and that she was studying in Goyang and therefore couldn't visit him often. His family bought it. He was their only son and they didn't want to scare him away.

Y/N sighed and placed her saucer on his, their cups next to it. "I need to go for a walk anyway. My head's buzzing around like there's no stopping anytime soon." She looked outside and smiled faintly. "Enjoying the five seconds without rain before the flood attacks me again."

Joon laughed and stood up. She looked up at him, stretching as she did the same.

"Is he still calling me halmeoni?"

Joon raised an eyebrow and reached his hand out for their tableware, only to have it slapped away by her hand.

"I could lie."

Y/N rolled her eyes at his answer, somehow managing to put the 2 plates and cups on her left arm.

"Tell the kangaroo I said hi."

Joon laughed and gave her an obscene gesture as he left the café, leaving her behind with the dishes in her arms.

"Idiot."

She shook her head as she placed the dishes on the dish rack. Joon really was a complete idiot, but a nice one. She grabbed her purse and left the café.

The sun was now shining so brightly that she felt ridiculous for taking an umbrella with her when leaving her apartment. Luckily, it was one of those small foldable ones, so she could stow it in her purse.

The teenagers had long since taken off, the weather too nice to stay sitting somewhere the whole time. Y/N frowned. The stroller was still in the same spot under the shaded tree she spotted it in as she looked out the window earlier, but the mother was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't seen her go into the café either.

Y/N sighed and looked to the right and left before approaching the stroller. Her suspicion was confirmed when she spotted a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket inside, brown button eyes and tiny hands greeting her. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and looked around again.

"Strange."

She looked down at the baby again and turned back to go into the café. One hand wandered to her necklace as she asked the waitress that has been taking her order earlier, if she had seen a young woman enter the café in the last 10 minutes. However, the waitress just shook her head, saying there had been no new guests for 30 minutes.

Y/N frowned as she thanked her and bowed shortly, then went back outside to the stroller. The baby was still lying there, making little whining noises.

She almost wanted to slap her forehead. Of course the baby hadn't suddenly grown wings so it could fly away. But Y/N was glad that no one had taken it.

"I didn't know you had a daughter."

Her body whipped around, bumping into something big and solid.

A chuckle.

“Easy there darling. No need to rush.”

She looked up, an insult already on her tongue, when she faltered. Dark brown eyes. Sandalwood.

"You?"

Jinu laughed as she looked up at him with confused eyes and glanced to the stroller.

"You remember me? Didn’t think I made such a lasting impression on you."

She pursed her lips and looked away.

"I have many customers. Of course I remember those who buy my pastries."

He tilted his head and hummed.

"You look tired."

Her head snapped up, and he quickly raised his hands in appeasement.

"You still look pretty."

His cheeks were now a light pink color, and Y/N had to fight to hide the small smile that threatened to escape her.

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Are you planning to cuddle up to me all day? Not that I'm complaining."

Y/N's eyes widened when she realized that her upper body was still pressed against his, and she quickly took a step back. Or two.

Jinu looked her up and down, and this time it was he who had to smile. "Nice rainy weather outfit."

Y/N narrowed her eyes and looked down at herself. She had put on her black rain boots, which were now making her feet sweat rather than protecting them from the wetness.

And...the dress.

Black with spaghetti straps, barely covering half of her thighs.

Y/N cleared her throat. Suddenly even the little fabric she had on, felt too hot.

"You look good for being an eomma already."

Her eyebrows furrowed before she widened her eyes.

"That's not mine. I think her mother left her here."

Now it was Jinu's turn to look confused.

"She was sitting here the whole time while I was inside with my friend, and suddenly she was gone when I came out. She didn't come back to the café either," she explained.

Jinu frowned.

"Have you called the police yet?"

Y/N sighed. Why hadn't she thought of that?

She just shook her head and pulled her phone out of her pocket.

But the police officer on the phone told her they couldn't send a patrol at the moment. An armed robbery in the city center had required all their officers. If the mother had been gone for more than 30 minutes, they should take the child to the nearest police station and call child protective services, CPS, from there.

Y/N huffed when she ended the call.

Jinu looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He had excellent hearing and could hear everything the man told her on the phone, but of course he wouldn't tell her that.

What harm was there in listening to her voice a little longer?

Y/N threw her cell phone into her purse and sighed as she looked at the now whining baby.

"Police is busy with a robbery right now. Armed and stuff. We're supposed to take her to the nearest station and then call child protective services."

Jinu hummed and nodded.

"But we have to wait another 10 minutes until half an hour is up. He said the mother might come back."

Jinu frowned and shook his head.

"The baby doesn't even look older than 3 months. Who leaves their almost newborn alone in a stroller?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. Her heart almost broke as the little girl's cries grew louder.

She tapped her foot on the sidewalk. She looked up at the sky. Watched how the birds flew around the trees.

"Screw it."

She stretched out her arms and carefully lifted the little creature out of the stroller, taking care to support her head, and laid her against her shoulder.

“You! Take my purse and the stroller. I don’t believe a bit that her mother will turn up even if we wait the whole day.”

Jinu raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

If he was being honest, he liked her bossy tone. But only if he was being honest.

He took her pink purse off her shoulder, careful not to touch her arm, and placed it in the stroller.

There was silence between them as they walked down the street. He was all too aware of the stares from passers-by. He had forgotten to pull his hood back over his head, which he had taken off when he spotted Y/N in front of the café.

He wouldn't have minded if she had a child.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at the path ahead as he pushed the stroller in front of him. He didn't need to care about something like that.

He could already see the headlines in the fan magazines. Tilting his head back, he groaned silently. He didn’t want to listen to his groups lash-out tomorrow.

"So I guess you don't have any children?"

She looked up at him, and God, the way she had to crane her neck up to look at him, did something to him. He quickly looked away, but his gaze found hers again immediately.

"Nope. But I have a niece. She's 2, so not quite a baby anymore."

Jinu nodded and looked back at the road ahead. "I have—had a little sister. She was nine." He smiled painfully at the thought of her. "I was over the moon when I found out I was going to be a big brother. Unfortunately, I could never get her to be interested in my hobbies. She was always a free spirit."

Y/N smiled, and he couldn't look away when he caught it. She didn't dwell on the fact that he had spoken of his sister in the past tense, stroking the baby's back reassuringly.

She had no right to probe further.

Relief washed over her as the police station came into view.

Inside, they already knew about their arrival and immediately notified CPS. When the lady arrived, she smiled politely when she saw her before taking the baby into her arms.

"You could almost think it was yours."

She looked at the two of them and hummed a tune as she carefully placed the baby in the stroller and gave her her handbag back. She was fast asleep, tired from the morning sun and the clouds that were now gathering again.

Y/N blushed and wanted to say something, but Jinu beat her to it.

“It was good practice”, he thanked the woman.

Y/N blushed even more, stepping on his foot to make him finally shut up.

Jinu had to bite his lip.

This woman.

No, he would not steal her soul. And should anyone even try, he would banish them to depths deeper than hell.

Y/N sighed as the woman pushed the stroller out to her work vehicle and strapped the baby into an infant seat in the front passenger seat.

"What will happen to her now?"

The woman turned to her and smiled weakly. "Well, she'll probably be placed with foster parents until we find the mother or father. The mother will likely be charged with child endangerment."

She looked at the two of them one last time before getting into her vehicle.

"It's nice to know that there are still good people out there."

With that, she drove away, the child now being in safe hands.

Jinu shuddered.

Good people.

He didn't know if that applied to him. Either of those words.

"What's your name, anyway?"

The soft voice beside him woke him from his thoughts, making him look down at her standing there all squeaky on her tip toes.

"Jinu."

Y/N raised her eyebrow when he didn't say anything else.

God, he was tall. At least 6 feet, muscular through and through-

She cleared her throat.

"And what can I call you?"

She looked up at him and struggled not to lose herself in the depths of his eyes.

His voice was like a hand between her legs.

"Y/N."

Y/N.

He knew the name. Something buzzed inside him, something that had been asleep for a long time.

She cleared her throat and reached for her necklace.

"I guess it was nice to see you again, Jinu."

With that, she turned and walked down the street. Jinu stood still, the sound of his name on her tongue mesmerizing.

Y/N.

This time, she was the one to leave first.

Leaving the other speechless.

Distraught. With an incredible urge not to let the other go.

Then the headlines came.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Thank you for reading! If you enjoy reading this, I would appreciate a like, reblog, or a comment! I love that there are more stories about the movie out now. I still have to read them all. I’m still hopeful for a second movie <3 Sorry if I forgot to tag anyone, tagging almost took longer than the actual writing ᥫ᭡.

Comment if you would like to be tagged in a potential part 3! Requests for this movie are open ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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Authors note (info) about Chapter 3

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