#its therapeutic I heard

[moodr1ng]

therapeutic education group gets rly frustrating when we all agreed in the first session that well raise our hands to request to speak next to avoid speaking over each other. and then im raising my hand over and over for a while and each time one person finishes talking and i think its gonna be my turn the same person cuts in without raising their hand and goes on a tirade. and then everyone starts answering the tirade. and im still here like ive been trying to say something for 10 minutes.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

based on this ask !! thank you @xoxosblogsblog for another amazing request, a very emotional one to write as i’ve lost a parent, but it was therapeutic to write <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: death of a parent, crying, panic attack, descriptions of dissociating, grief, the cast being adorable :’), very angsty but a comforting ending !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N sat in her trailer, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artists had just left, the remnants of their work leaving her looking polished, camera-ready. Her character was meant to be grieving in today’s scene, but they had only given her a touch of concealer, a dusting of powder to dull the shine of the lights, and a hint of smudged mascara to make it look like she had been crying.

She was supposed to pretend to be devastated.

The irony was almost cruel.

Her phone vibrated against the counter. She glanced down at the screen, expecting to see a message from Drew, maybe a reminder from the assistant director to head to set soon. Instead, her father’s name flashed across the screen.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like him to call during the day. He knew she was working, knew she was filming one of the biggest scenes of the season. A sudden chill crept up her spine, a visceral knowing before she even answered.

With slightly trembling fingers, she swiped to accept the call.

“Dad?” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her.

There was silence for a beat too long.

Her father was a strong man, always composed, always measured in his words. But when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual warmth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and in just that one word, she felt her world tilt on its axis.

She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s your mum,” he said, and the way his voice wavered sent ice coursing through her veins.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What about her?”

His breath hitched, and then—

“She’s gone, love.”

The words didn’t compute. They didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any conceivable reality she had prepared herself for.

“What?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“She passed away this morning.”

Her father’s voice was thick, like he was struggling to hold himself together. But she barely heard him now. The words looped in her mind, repeating over and over, yet still, she couldn’t understand them.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

That wasn’t possible. She had just spoken to her mum a few days ago. She had promised to visit after the season wrapped. She had plans with her, had texts left unanswered, had so many things left unsaid.

A strange ringing noise filled her ears, drowning out whatever else her father was saying. She felt the weight of her own body disappear, like she was floating outside of herself, detached and weightless.

Her vision blurred.

The room around her suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The air too thick.

“… I know you’re at work,” her father was saying, his voice distant, “and I don’t want to take you away from that. There’s nothing you can do right now, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything here. Just—just get through today, yeah? Then we’ll figure everything out.”

Get through today.

That was the only option, wasn’t it?

She would have to book flights, pack a bag, make arrangements—but none of that could happen now. If she left set immediately, what would she do? Sit in a hotel near the airport, trapped with nothing but her grief?

At least here, she had something to do.

At least here, she could pretend for a little longer.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Okay.”

Her father hesitated. “Y/N—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice eerily calm.

“Sweetheart, wait—”

But she ended the call.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the counter with a dull clack.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She stared at the mirror, at the girl looking back at her—the girl who, ten minutes ago, had been fine. Normal. Whole.

Now, she felt like a cracked porcelain doll, barely held together, each fissure running deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Her face remained passive, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes gave her away.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She was somewhere else, floating through the spaces between reality and nothingness.

Her body felt heavy, yet she was untethered.

Her fingers curled against her lap, gripping onto the fabric of her costume as if that alone could keep her from slipping away entirely.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because if it was—

A soft knock at the door made her flinch.

“Five minutes to set!” called a PA from outside.

She blinked.

Five minutes.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She forced herself to move, to pick up her phone, to smooth down her clothes. She had a job to do.

She pushed everything else aside, packed it into a box, sealed it tight.

She would grieve later.

For now, she would pretend.

She opened the door and stepped onto set, not realising that in just a few short minutes, the cracks in her facade would shatter completely.

—

The set of Outer Banks was alive with the usual buzz of controlled chaos—crew members adjusting lights, directors conferring in hushed tones, the distant hum of the ocean blending into the background. It was supposed to be just another day of filming, another scene to capture before moving on to the next.

It was a heavy one.

Her character had just lost her father. The Pogues were there, trying to comfort her, trying to remind her she wasn’t alone. Even Rafe—played by Drew—stood nearby, a complicated mix of emotions brewing in his expression. The cameras were rolling, capturing everything.

Y/N tried to focus, tried to remember her lines, but something inside her cracked wide open.

She felt the grief swell like a rising tide, swallowing her whole. It was too big, too raw, too real.

When she started crying, no one questioned it. She was an incredible actress—everyone knew that. The scene demanded tears, demanded heartbreak. But as her sobs grew heavier, more uncontrollable, the air on set shifted.

Rudy shot a glance towards Chase, brows furrowed. Madelyn, kneeling beside Y/N in the scene, squeezed her hand, her own eyes glassy with concern. Drew, standing just out of frame, felt his pulse quicken.

Something wasn’t right.

The way Y/N clutched at her chest, the way her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged—it wasn’t just acting anymore.

Still, the cameras kept rolling.

Adrenaline surged through Drew’s veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to cut through the scene, to pull her out of whatever was happening. But he hesitated. Y/N was a professional. If this was her choice, if she was using real emotions to fuel the performance, he had to respect that.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

The sob that tore from her throat wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t crafted for the scene. It was pain—real, unfiltered pain.

That was when the director finally called, “Cut!”

But Y/N didn’t stop.

She was still sobbing, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The cast and crew hesitated, frozen in the moment, unsure whether they should intervene.

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He was by her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands grasping her shoulders. “Hey, hey—Y/N, breathe. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

Her body was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisted in anguish.

“Y/N,” Madelyn whispered, stroking her back. “What’s going on?”

“Someone get her water,” Chase called, already stepping forward.

Drew cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Love, talk to me.”

But she couldn’t.

The world around her blurred at the edges, the voices of her friends distant, muffled. She felt like she was floating—adrift in a sea of grief, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

“Come on, baby,” Drew pleaded, his own voice shaking now. “You’re scaring me.”

Y/N gasped for air, her chest constricting so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Madelyn was rubbing soothing circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances, while Rudy and Jonathan exchanged worried glances. The crew had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the scene unfold.

Finally, through the sobs, through the suffocating grief, Y/N forced out the words that shattered the air around them.

“My mum… she’s gone.”

Drew’s heart stopped.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her, his grip tightening instinctively.

“What?” he breathed.

Y/N choked on another sob, pressing her hands to her face as if she could somehow block it all out.

“My dad called me before we filmed,” she whimpered. “She—she died. I—I didn’t know what to do—I thought I could just—” She gasped, shaking her head frantically. “I thought I could just get through the day, but—”

Drew didn’t let her finish.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse them together. She collapsed into him, gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands.

The rest of the cast looked on, their own eyes brimming with emotion. Madelyn covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Jesus, Y/N…” Chase muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—” Her voice broke again. “I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Drew murmured against her hair. His own eyes were wet now, his throat thick with emotion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She let out a broken whimper, gripping him tighter.

Madelyn sat beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind. Rudy joined a moment later, then Jonathan, then Chase. A pile of bodies, all holding onto her, surrounding her with warmth, with love.

The weight of Y/N’s revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a sombre pall over the once-bustling set. The cast remained huddled around her, their collective warmth a fragile barrier against the encroaching chill of grief.

Drew held her as if anchoring her to the present, his fingers gently threading through her hair. “We’re here, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone.”

Madelyn, her own tears silently falling, whispered soothing words, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re with you.”

Chase knelt beside them, his usual playful demeanour replaced with earnest concern. “Whatever you need, Y/N. We’re family.”

Rudy and Jonathan exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared resolve. “We’ll get through this together,” Jonathan said softly, his voice steady.

As Y/N’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet tremors, the director approached, his expression a mix of compassion and uncertainty. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked gently.

Drew looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I think she needs some time. We… we need to get her home.”

The director nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “Of course. We’ll arrange for flights immediately. The production will cover all expenses.”

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes swollen and glassy. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” Madelyn insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re family.”

The crew moved with quiet efficiency, making the necessary arrangements. Within the hour, flights were booked for Y/N and Drew to return to her hometown. The cast remained by her side, offering silent support as she navigated the haze of shock and sorrow.

As they prepared to leave, Y/N turned to her friends, her voice trembling. “Thank you… all of you.”

Chase stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. “We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

Rudy nodded, his eyes earnest. “Take all the time you need.”

Jonathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep things running smoothly here.”

Madelyn hugged her tightly, her voice breaking. “We love you.”

Drew took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

As they departed, the set remained in a hushed stillness, a testament to the profound impact of shared grief and the strength of chosen family.

The grief wouldn’t disappear. The pain wouldn’t lessen. But in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a every emotional one, but i hope you all enjoy it !! my requests are still open until i go away on wednesday so please send some in :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[songbirdseung]

𝑪𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑫  𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬  /  𝑳𝑬𝑬  𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑼𝑵𝑮

𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨. 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬.

the morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your bedroom, casting a soft golden hue across the walls. groaning as the alarm blared, signaling another day of the same routine. get up, shower, eat a half-hearted breakfast, rush to work, engage in meaningless small talk, return home, sleep, and repeat. it wasn’t that you hated life, there was comfort in predictability. but recently, a strange restlessness had settled in your chest, an unshakable feeling that something was missing.

today was different. for the first time in what felt like forever, you had the entire day to yourself. no deadlines, no emails, no coworkers pulling you into tedious meetings. a day of self-care and relaxation, or so you had planned.

dressed in an oversized sweater and sweatpants, you tied your hair up and got to work deep-cleaning the apartment. it was a habit you had picked up over the years. whenever you felt even slightly out of control, you cleaned. scrubbing the floors, dusting shelves, rearranging furniture, it was therapeutic. and in the middle of wiping down the bookshelves, you accidentally knocked over a ceramic vase, sending it crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” you muttered, crouching down to pick up the shattered pieces.

It was one of your grandmother’s antiques, something you always been meaning to move to a safer place. sighing, carefully gathered the shards before realizing you didn’t have the right adhesive to fix it. you racked her brain, trying to remember where she had last stored the toolbox.

then it hit you, the attic.

you hadn’t been up there in years. rarely had a reason to. but desperate to fix the vase before guilt consumed you, you made your way up, pulling down the attic ladder with a slight creak. dust floated in the air as you climbed up, the scent of aged wood and forgotten memories filling your nostrils.

rummaged through old boxes, finding old christmas decorations, forgotten childhood toys, and stacks of books mother had left behind. but as you reached for a worn-out cardboard box tucked in the corner, you accidentally knocked it over.

the lid fell off, and its contents spilled onto the wooden floor.

curious, you crouched down, fingers grazing the delicate edges of what appeared to be old film photos. they were scattered in a mess, some face-down, some slightly crumpled with age. you picked up the nearest one, breath hitching when you turned it over.

it was a picture of you.

or at least, it looked like you.

the girl in the photo had the same eyes, the same curve of her lips, even the same birthmark near her collarbone. she was smiling, her arms wrapped around a young man.

a man you had never seen before.

confused, you shuffled through the rest of the pictures. more of them, all dated years ago, long before you were even born. in each one, you were with the same man. sometimes they were laughing, other times he was gazing at her with a look so full of love it made her stomach twist.

your hands trembled as you flipped them over. each photo had a date scrawled in messy handwriting, along with a small note.

August 14, 1885 – yn said yes today. my heart is hers forever.

March 22, 1886 – she loves strawberries more than anything. I must remember to buy them for her every morning.

July 5, 1887 – i want to marry her one day.

your heart pounded. this didn’t make any sense. she wasn’t alive in 1885, let alone old enough to be engaged. and who was this man?

swallowing hard, she read the last note.

December 31, 1889 – if there is another life, i will find her again.

the name signed at the bottom sent a shiver down your spine.

lee heeseung.

you had never met anyone by that name. never heard it before in your life. and yet, staring at his face in the faded photographs, something about him felt eerily familiar.

the air in the attic suddenly felt too thick, too suffocating. gathering the pictures with shaky hands, shoved them back into the box, grabbed the adhesive you originally came for, and climbed down as quickly as possible.

not sure why, but something told you that you had just uncovered something you weren’t supposed to.

days passed, but you couldn’t shake the uneasiness that had settled in your chest. you had tried to push it aside, chalking it up to a weird coincidence. maybe an old relative who just looked like you? maybe the name ‘lee heeseung’ was just a common one?

But every night, you found yourself pulling out the photographs, running your fingers over the faded images, reading those heartfelt notes over and over again.

so many questions but no answers.

until one ordinary tuesday morning.

your manager called. “i need you to meet the new hire. he just arrived, and i need you to show him around.”

still lost in your own thoughts, barely registered the words before nodding and making your way toward the lobby. the glass doors slid open, revealing a tall figure standing with his hands tucked into his pockets.

lee heeseung.

your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you stared at him. it was him. the same face from the pictures. the same deep eyes, the same slightly mischievous smile.

but that wasn’t possible.

heeseung noticed and tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “you must be yn.”

struggling to find your words. “y-yeah. that’s me.”

he extended his hand. “nice to meet you.”

with trembling fingers, you shook his hand, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu wash over.

something told her that this was only the beginning.

the weight of the box in your lap felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just old film photos, there was something deeply unsettling about them. the dates, the handwritten love notes, the warmth in those smiles. you had spent the entire night turning each photo over and over, tracing the inked messages as if the answers would come floating to the surface.

but nothing made sense.

who was heeseung? why was there no memory of him in your mind?

days passed, and you tried to push it to the back of your mind. it wasn’t like you could just bring it up to anyone without sounding like you’d lost it. “hey, i found a box of old love letters between me and some guy i don’t remember, but i just met him in real life.” yeah, that wouldn’t go well.

yet, no matter how much you tried to brush it off, the universe had other plans.

the moment you walked into work, you felt his presence before you even saw him. you weren’t sure if it was because you had spent hours studying those old photos, but the second he entered the room, it was as if the air shifted. he was impossibly familiar, as if you had known him your whole life, yet at the same time, he was a complete stranger.

"good morning, y/n," heeseung greeted, his voice smooth yet distant, his eyes unreadable.

"morning," you replied, forcing a polite smile, though your mind was racing.

you weren’t sure why, but a small part of you was desperate to test something. maybe it was irrational, but you needed to know if there was something… more.

so you said it.

"lee heeseung."

"yeah?" he responded casually, but there was something off.

you swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "nothing. just… getting used to saying it."

his lips quirked up in a small, knowing smile. "well, i hope you’ll be saying it a lot. looks like we’ll be working together for a while."

there it was again. that unsettling feeling deep in your gut, the one that told you there was more to this than simple coincidence.

that night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your mind playing a cruel game of "what if?" over and over. what if this wasn’t just a strange coincidence? what if those photos were real? what if you and heeseung really had a past together that you just couldn’t remember?

and the biggest question of all…

did he remember you?

your fingers tremble as they hover over the scattered photographs on your coffee table. the dim glow of your bedside lamp casts long shadows across your living room, making the images seem even more haunting. lee heeseung.

it had to be a coincidence. it had to be.

you grab one of the photos, flipping it over to read the back.

november 3rd, 1885 "the way you laugh makes my heart stop. my dearest, you are more than just a moment in time, you are my eternity."

the ink is slightly faded, but the words send a chill down your spine. you run your thumb over the date, as if doing so might smudge it, prove it false. but it remains, a stubborn truth staring you in the face.

this doesn't make sense.

you shut your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, trying to will away the heavy feeling in your chest. maybe you were overthinking. maybe it was some elaborate prank. or maybe… you were losing your mind.

a sharp knock at the door makes you jump. your heart pounds against your ribcage as you sit frozen for a moment before cautiously getting up. you check the time, it's nearly midnight. who would be knocking at this hour?

slowly, you make your way to the door and peer through the peephole. your breath catches in your throat.

it’s heeseung.

for a moment, you hesitate. should you open the door? should you pretend you’re not home? but your hand moves on its own, fingers gripping the knob and turning it slowly. the door creaks open, and there he is, standing under the dim hallway light.

he’s out of breath, as if he had rushed over here. his tie is slightly loosened, and his hair is tousled like he had run his fingers through it one too many times. his eyes, dark and unreadable, meet yours.

“i…” heeseung starts but stops himself. his jaw clenches as if he’s struggling to find the right words.

you swallow hard. “how did you know where I live?”

he exhales sharply. “i didn’t... i mean, i wasn’t planning to come here, but… i was out for a walk, and my feet just… brought me here.” his brows knit together, his confusion mirroring your own. “i don’t know why.”

heeseung looks down at his hands before shaking his head, almost as if he was frustrated with himself. then, when he looks back up at you, his voice is quieter, more careful.

“can I come in?”

every rational part of you screams no. you don’t know him. you don’t understand what’s happening. and yet, against all logic, you step aside and let him in.

the moment he crosses the threshold, something inside you shifts. the air in the room feels heavier, charged, like the very fabric of time is shifting.

and heeseung… heeseung looks around your apartment like he’s been here before.

you step closer, your heart pounding as you reach for the small wooden box on your coffee table. your hands tremble as you pick up one of the photographs and hold it out to him.

“do you remember this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

heeseung takes the photograph from your fingers carefully, his brows furrowing as he inspects it. he’s quiet for a long moment, too long, and just when you think he’s about to say he doesn’t recognize it.

his grip tightens around the edges of the photograph, knuckles going white. his lips part slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to something almost like fear.

“i… i don’t understand,” he murmurs.

heeseung stares at the photograph in his hands like it's something fragile, something dangerous. his fingers tremble slightly around the edges, and the longer he looks at it, the more his breathing changes. slow at first, then uneven, like the weight of the image is pressing down on him.

you watch him carefully, your own heart pounding, waiting for something, anything. denial, confusion, maybe even a laugh because this is all some ridiculous misunderstanding. but none of that comes. instead, heeseung looks up at you, his expression unreadable.

"i don’t get it," he says, but his voice wavers. he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing. "this is me. i know this is me. but… i’ve never taken this picture in my life."

his words send a chill through you. he’s acknowledging it. confirming the impossible.

you sit down on the couch, the weight of the situation pressing onto your chest. your fingers find the edges of another photograph on the table, one with the same date; november 3rd, 1885. your heart clenches as you read the words scribbled on the back again, and without thinking, you speak.

"the way you laugh makes my heart stop," you murmur.

heeseung’s gaze snaps to you.

"what?"

you hesitate, then hold up the photo. "it’s written here. on the back."

he blinks, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, he reaches for another picture, flipping it over with slow, cautious movements.

october 15th, 1885 "i still see you in my dreams. even when i wake up, you never leave me."

the moment his eyes land on the words, heeseung's breathing stutters.

his reaction unnerves you. his confusion makes sense, anyone would be bewildered in his place but there’s something else in the way his fingers tighten around the paper, in the way his shoulders stiffen. something deeper.

"this… this isn’t normal," he finally says, looking up at you, searching your face like he’s trying to find an explanation hidden somewhere in your features. "why do i feel like—" he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before shaking his head. "i don’t even know what i’m trying to say."

you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "do you believe in reincarnation?"

heeseung doesn’t answer right away. his brows furrow, his grip on the photos tightening, and for a second, you think he’s going to scoff, dismiss the idea entirely. but then he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

"i don’t know what i believe," he admits. "but i can’t shake this feeling. like... like i’ve been here before."

your fingers clench around the fabric of your pants. "here? as in my apartment?"

"no," he murmurs, then corrects himself. "yes. but not just here. with you."

the words settle between you both, thick and heavy. the room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak. "do you think we knew each other? in another life?"

heeseung is quiet for a long moment. then, slowly, he nods.

"yeah," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "i think we did."

neither of you move. the air between you crackles with something unspoken, something too big to put into words just yet.

but one thing is clear... you and heeseung are connected. in ways neither of you understand.

and now, you need to find out why.

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

To be Understood

Second part to "To be Seen"

Hey! I honestly didn't think people would like the last drabble as much as they did and I didn't have a pt.2 planned, but I decided to try and see where it goes.

Also, I am new to actually posting something and having feedback or having people want to be tagged, so I didn't do something right in the tagging process pls let me know :)

I am going to make this a little series bc I cannot fit the entirety of the story in one and actually make it comprehensive and not 10,000+ words in one one-shot. :)))

Plus, I think I could make this just the right amount of heart wrenching and fluffy >:)

Summary: Following up on his promise to keep a more watchful position in your newly transitioned life, Azriel attempts to get to know you and spend time in your presence. After the panic attack in the town of Velaris, more seeing eyes has been turned towards you from your friends. They are trying to make sure you are accounted for more than before, but time and pressure has some things slipping. Multiple awkward encounters and attempts to see eye to eye to the spymaster (in particular) leads to an intimate confession between the two of you.

Warnings: Slight mentions of PTSD recovery, anxiety, self-doubt, slight!jealous Azriel, Cassian is testing the waters with his brother again

Words: 2,668

previous part

The sun was the first thing your eyes adjusted to upon waking up. The slight breeze from the open window brought in the fresh smell of the dew and had your body relaxing further into the comfy sheets as the temperature in the room reflected that of outside. The eccentricity of your room bringing comfort and serenity and the little nicknacks you have collected since being here allowed a cozy feeling to emulate throughout it.

Feyre even mentioned how jealous she was of how comfortable and warm your room is, and mentioned she couldn’t get hers to be similar even when she tried.

The memory had you smiling.

Stretching underneath the comfortable weighted comforter, you pull back the edge, allowing your body to be exposed to the colder air. Grabbing the longer silk robe that hung beside you, you made your way out of your comfort zone to the hallway towards the kitchen. Ever since your moment within the town, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, everyone had made sure that you were taken care of and heard. It took some time to get used to, admittedly, all the extra attention. At first you had slightly resented it as you could only imagine it as an act of pity and after you had an episode, you also understood that the type of thinking is how the eldest Archereon is as cold as she is. Plus, the time you spend with them has created strong bonds and happy memories for you.

It also had you picking up new hobbies that you never had time for before.

Turns out you can cook.

And bake.

Really well actually.

So well that often times when you bake a new treat or snack, upon knowing of its presence, the residents of the house would have it gone within the hour. It made you feel good, to be able to repay in some way the aid they have given you.

The mystery that is your abilities have yet to be explored since the outburst, but you also didn’t mind as your head was finally wrapping around the circumstances you have been put through. Although, the High Lord or Rhys, had expressed interest in potentially figuring it out soon to see if it could help them and the court. You were all over it, and the aspect of integrating into this family further made you excited.

Arriving in the kitchen, you begin gathering ingredients to make breakfast. The house, although it can provide anything you wish for food, seemed to pick up on your therapeutic hobby and promoted it. Even gathering ingredients and appearing them before you on the counterspace. You always chalked it up to the house wanting a break from constantly taking care of people, but deep down you knew it seemed to have a little soft spot for you. Whipping together the batter, throwing it in the divine oven and cooking the meats to perfection, the breakfast is ready in about an hour.

The sun had settled into the sky, far from shining over the horizon which had its’ light wake you.

It was still early though.

Looking at the spread before you, you had asked the house to keep it warm and ready for everyone as they began to roll out of bed and chase the heavenly scent of pancakes, bacon and omelet.

It was Azriel’s favorite.

The skin of your cheeks flared at the thought and shook your head at how absurd you are. Cooking and baking for everyone allowed you to take notice of things that they had favored over the rest, often being expressed vocally. However, some, like the spymaster, just through body language and action would key you into likes and dislikes. Feyre loved eggs benedict, in almost nauseatingly cuteness, so did her mate. When you would make it, almost as a sixth sense, those two would always be the first to arrive and express how happy the dish made them before gathering a large plate. Cassian was a sandwich guy, anything quick and simple, but he swears you enchant the sausage and bacon you add to be sweet and salty at the same time. On those days you often must make a bounty of those little sandwiches for him to take with him for the day. Mor liked simple muffins and like Cass, would wrap one up to go while giving you a hug on her way out. Nesta and Elaine hadn’t showed up for breakfast but the youngest seemed to prefer oatmeal, which ironically was also her favorite while human.

Azriel was the hardest to read. With every dish you made, breakfast/lunch/dinner, he would appreciate and eat like a man starved (an exaggeration but you always found your eyes on him anyway). You had switched up the recipes and altered the assortment of foods, but every time he would tell you how much he liked it and clear the plate.

It wasn’t until you truly watched him did you found out just how much he loved the simple things in life.

It was a day like any other, you had cooked breakfast and set up the table for a nice meal as you had known everyone would be able to sit and eat together. It was uncommon so you made a tried-and-true love by everyone.

Bacon, eggs and pancakes with homemade lavender syrup that you asked Elaine to harvest for you in her garden.

As everyone sat, you couldn’t help but let your eyes stare as the spymaster sat down fresh out of bed and allowed a little small smile to grace his features looking at the plate he had. It was all you needed to know, and each time you would serve something new, you would watch for the little ticks that he would allow to shine through.

A smile.

A little sigh and relief of tension from his shoulders.

A gentle extra “Thank you” which he would all but whisper across the table to you.

All of it had your heart thumping and blood rushing to your face, allowing that little butterfly to turn into hundreds.

After his comment after taking you home, he had made his presence around you more common and you loved it. Every time the two of you were together time became irrelevant, the serene sense that would settle over your body was addictive. You had only prayed that he got the same sense of belonging.

He was such a pretty male.

So gentle and observant.

It was so hard to not have your feelings bleed into your everyday life and movements. It wasn’t long after the incident with him that your thoughts were all but consumed by him.

Not that you were complaining.

“It smells divine in here.” The soft sound of Mor broke you out of your rather long thoughts of Az, as an easy smile fell over your face.

“I wanted to make something simple today.” You shrug, but meeting the second hand’s eyes, you stumbled slightly.

“How are you settling in Y/n?” Her tone was inquisitive, but the smile that bloomed her face left you choking.

“Well.” You coughed, “I’m settling in well.”

“Anyone in particular helping you out?” You narrowed your eyes to her.

“Everyone has been amazing.”

“Oh, come on Y/n!” She shuffled towards you as mischief glinted in her eyes. “You can tell me; we all see it.”

Your heart stopped.

“All?” Her light laughter halted.

“No not all, some though.” Your breathing resumed. “I highly doubt if you wrote a sign with all these love meals, he still wouldn’t see it.” It was chastising, lovingly, but still with a little edge to it.

“He is just being friendly Mor.” You argue with a sigh. It was the one thought you couldn’t get out of your head. Viewing his relationship with everyone and his attentiveness towards Elaine. You couldn’t help but just feel as if he enjoyed your presence, but as a friend.

Mor sighed and looked towards the still steaming pile of pancakes and syrup.

“I know it can be difficult to believe, but he’s more relaxed around you. If any two people deserve to be happy or even have a shot, it’s you two.” The sounds of footsteps down the hall had her breaking away from you but not without a nod sent towards her. You would be open to him and the idea, more than just the little crush you have accumulated.

The in-question footsteps that had the conversation halting belonged to Feyre, Rhys and the male in question. Most likely fresh from training as small beads of sweat pooled on their skin and hair showed dampness.

You watched the spymaster’s eyes alight, taking in the assortment of his favorites on the counter. He quickly grabbed a plate, effortlessly and unbeknownst to his high lord and lady, cutting in front of them to scoop his desired piles.

“Y/n, you are the most amazing person I have ever met.” Feyre exclaimed as her body seemed to quiver with the simple task of standing, but her obviously salivating mouth had her also reaching for cutlery and plates to pile stuff onto. Rhys laughed in response to her antics and followed suit, thanking you in the process as both followed the now seated Azriel to the table. It was sweet, his honor to wait for you to be seated and with food to begin eating. You could tell some days it really tried his control; however, those days you knew without a shadow of a doubt that he truly loved the food that had been prepared. Glancing back towards the table, you met eyes briefly with Azriel.

The warmth that showed in them had you ignite with hope and adoration towards the male, almost uncontrollably so. It had you smiling and fiddling at the ends of your hair.

The following sounds of heavier steps broke your attention.

“Can I just say, I am in love with you.” Cassian entered the kitchen with heat and brought you into a quick embrace. The smell of sweat and sand had you scrunching your nose but the laugh that exited you had him add a little spin before setting you down.

The soft sound of a chair being moved echoed as you didn’t realize the table had become quiet, watching.

Mor had a shit eating grin, but not at you, but at the now walking over Spymaster. The same spymaster picked up your loaded plate (you were waiting for everyone to be served before doing so yourself) and brought it back to the table, setting it down in the open seat across from himself. You tilted your head but caught the small look between the mates at the table, notably having a non-verbal conversation. Looking back at the general, he too had a smile, but one only aimed at you and the food in front of you.

“I’ll be over once I pile the rest of the bacon on.” Another laugh emitted from you as you walked over to your place, noting the food had been set down gently and not disturbed when Azriel had placed it.

You looked up and met his hazel eyes, there was a slight edge to it, but not at you. In fact, when you met his eyes, you could’ve sworn they melted from that ice back to the warmth that was once there before.

The settling of plates had you glance over at Cassian. He was only a seat away from, you but on the other side of the table.

Easy conversation settled over the table as everyone began to eat. Taking bites of your eggs and bacon, a small moan of appreciation rattled through you. You caught movement in your peripheral where Azriel sat, but didn’t bother to check or see what it was assuming it was just him enjoying his meal.  Even you had to admit this was good. Similar sounds followed suit as everyone dug in and the sounds of scraping of plates that filled the room.

“Are you busy today?” Cassian piped up after shoveling a rather large mouthful of egg. You shook your head; you didn’t think you had anything planned but were going to ask if Azriel had a couple hours to spare for some time alone with him to talk. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could Az had cleared his throat and spoke up.

“We have plans.” The room turned towards the male as he stared at his brother, the ice returning to his gaze. You wracked your brain trying to make sure you didn’t forget plans that you had made prior but came up empty. That grin from Mor returned as she made eye contact with you.

Suddenly the leftover soggy pancakes on your plate looked really interesting.

“Oh?” The brother threw back. Looking over to Cassian again, you nodded along feigning innocence.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve forgotten for a moment.” Although you knew your best friend and possibly Mor clocked it quick, you allowed the easy smile to lay it on thick with the general. He returned it and nodded along, taking the lie for a simple slip of the mind.

“No problem, but when you’re free I want to show you around the training grounds. I think it could be good for you.” Your chest filled with pride again, even some that you didn’t think could be your own, but none the less made you feel all nice. As everyone cleaned up and filed out, you caught eyes with Azriel.

His shoulders were tense.

Nervous even.

The depth of his shadows swirled around him as he took particularly long to wash up his plate.

Watching the last of your friends exit the kitchen and the food clean itself up and put away, you made light steps over to the shadowsinger.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” You ask. The feign confidence of your words had Az glancing over with a small smile. Releasing a little sigh, he removed his eyes from his now empty hands which wrapped around the front of the sink. He had leaned into it, seemingly matching your confident air.

“Anything you want, sunshine.” Your cheeks flushed as you looked away. Today was a record for heat that entered your face. You tried your best not to allow the nerves in your stomach to ruin the encounter.

You would be fine.

It’s just two friends hanging out.

All normal here.

But the ideas that Mor had fed into your brain ran rampant.

“There is a bakery and some shops I want to explore. Can we go today?” You originally had plans to go with Feyre. In fact, she had made you swear you wouldn’t go without her because she heard the pastries were divine.

She would forgive you once she knew who you went with instead.

“Of course, I’ve been meaning to make a couple stops as well. We can go together.” You couldn’t help the small seed of selfishness from talking as you held eye contact with the male.

“Can you fly us down? I’m still not used to winnowing.” It was the most believable lie you have ever let slip past your lips, but you didn’t feel sorry about it. Would you ever admit it was because you wanted to be pressed against him with adrenaline rushing through you? Or that you wanted to feel his strong arms hold you without a single ounce of sweat or issue? Perhaps that you wanted to smell his scent of frost and night and hope to any god that would listen that it would cling to the sweater you would wear. Not if your life depended on it and there was a sword slitting your throat.

However, something in the way Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly and his smile turned into a smirk had you second guessing how thoroughly your ulterior motives had been hidden.

“Anything for you Sunshine, wouldn’t dream of making you ill.”

He clocked it.

Tags:

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @willowpains @adventure-awaits13 @

[edenesth]

[2:49 AM]

"Home at last," you murmured, leaning wearily against the door after tossing your keys aside. You let out a sigh, glancing at the time on your phone. You were just now getting home after work—nearly three in the morning.

And you... you needed him, but Seonghwa wasn't here. Last you heard, he was overseas for work. With a heavy sigh, you turned your gaze to the rain-streaked windows. The world outside was drenched, the ground slick with water. You hated it. You loathed it—the rain, the dampness. It felt as if even the gods were weeping over how miserable life seemed right now.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic, but work had been a nightmare for months. You were so close to that promotion though, so you just had to push through. And you could handle it—life was never easy, after all. But on top of the stress, your growing health issues lately felt like a battle you couldn't win.

Life had been... exhausting lately.

And the one person who could make it all feel better deserved someone who could give him so much more than this. You wondered if he was asleep now, if he was dreaming of you, just as you couldn't stop thinking of him. Or maybe it was better if he wasn't.

Despite your exhaustion, the last thing you wanted was to return to the same empty bed that had been without your boyfriend's presence for so long. Sometimes, you wondered if your relationship had reached that point—where both of you had bigger, more pressing things like careers to focus on, instead of each other.

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, you set your bag down, and your gaze landed on the vacuum he had given you for your birthday last year. He'd gotten it to help ease your back issues, hoping it would make cleaning less of a strain.

Cleaning—his favourite thing.

Ironically, you hadn't even used it yet, despite it being a gift from him. Seonghwa always ended up coming over and doing the cleaning himself before you could even get the chance. Maybe now would be a good time to finally put it to use and take your mind off things. As he'd often said, cleaning could be therapeutic.

Only one way to find out.

"What the—" he jolted awake at the sudden noise from outside. Who on earth would be vacuuming at—he glanced at the digital clock beside him—three in the freaking morning?! Tossing the comforter aside, he shuffled to the door and swung it open.

"I swear to g—babe?"

You froze. Were you hearing things? Slowly, you switched off the vacuum and spun around, only to see your boyfriend standing there at your doorway in his favourite worn-out t-shirt, his hair adorably tousled.

"H-Hwa? What are you doing here?"

"They let me off a few days early, so I came home first. But what about you? You promised to stay at your parents' whenever I wasn't around. You know how much it scares me to think of you alone here."

Your lips quivered as he stepped closer, gently taking the vacuum from your hands and setting it aside before guiding you to the couch. "I... I've been needed at work a lot lately, so I've been staying here since it's closer to the office. But—wait, why did they let you off early? Are you not feeling well?" you asked, panic creeping into your voice as your hands flew to his face.

He chuckled softly, holding your hands and pressing his forehead against yours. "I guess you could say that," he murmured. "My heart hasn't been feeling too good."

Your eyes widened in alarm. "Your heart?! We need to get you checked—" You tried to pull away to grab your phone, but he gently pulled you back by the shoulders.

"It's okay," he whispered, a teasing smile on his lips. "It just... misses its owner."

You blinked, confusion clouding your gaze. "Its owner...?"

"Yes, you. It belongs to you, doesn't it?" he said, his voice tender.

You sighed, finally calming down as the worry ebbed away, replaced by overwhelming relief. When was the last time he'd said something this sweet? Tears filled your eyes as you melted into his arms. "I missed you too, Hwa," you whispered softly.

Home... at last.

It didn't take long before your body went limp in his embrace, exhaustion finally catching up to you. His heart clenched painfully as he held you close, stroking your hair gently. Truth be told, he'd found it hard to focus on work ever since he realised how much of a rough patch you'd been going through. The distance, the long hours, and the silence between texts—maybe it had all taken more of a toll on you than he'd allowed himself to see.

Perhaps if he'd been more present, more attentive, things wouldn't have gotten so overwhelming for you. Guilt gnawed at his chest, and he hoped—prayed—it wasn't too late to change that now. You deserved someone who made you feel safe and loved, not someone who put everything else before you.

Carefully, he shifted you onto the couch, laying you down gently as if you were made of porcelain. His eyes softened as he pulled the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tucked it around you snugly. You looked so fragile like this, traces of stress still etched on your sleeping face even as you finally rested.

"I'm here now," he whispered softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

With a deep breath, he sank down beside you, not quite able to leave your side just yet. He reached out, his fingers tangling lightly with yours, and watched as your hand unconsciously tightened around his. A sad smile tugged at his lips.

He could see it now—all the times you'd put on a brave face, all the moments you'd said you were okay when, clearly, you weren't. And he'd been too wrapped up in his own responsibilities to realise. But no more. He'd make it right.

From now on, no matter what, he'd put you first.

With that thought, he settled in beside you, keeping a watchful eye as you slept soundly for the first time in what felt like ages. He could feel his own eyes growing heavy, but he didn't move. For now, he'd stay here, where you needed him to be. Finally, he let himself relax, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Because he was where he belonged—right by your side.

Watching your chest rise and fall with each steady breath, Seonghwa's heart ached with a mix of relief and regret. He'd almost forgotten how peaceful you looked when you were resting. When was the last time you'd fallen asleep so easily? Had you been spending these nights alone, tossing and turning, fighting your own thoughts?

Guilt twisted in his gut as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face. His eyes trailed over the faint shadows beneath your eyes, the stress lines that seemed so out of place on your once-bright features. What had he been doing all this time? He'd known work was tough for you, yet he'd kept pushing himself to focus on his own projects, thinking he was doing what was best for your future together.

But what good was any of it if he wasn't there when you needed him most?

A wave of self-reproach washed over him, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He'd been chasing after goals, believing it was all for you, yet somewhere along the way, he'd let you slip through his fingers. You were right here, yet you'd never seemed further away.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he tightened his hold on your hand, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have been here. I should have listened better... I didn't realise how much you were hurting."

The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of rain outside and your even breathing. He watched you stir a little, brow furrowing as if sensing his distress even in your sleep. He quickly leaned forward, his lips brushing your knuckles in a feather-light kiss.

"I promise, I'll do better," he murmured, a fierce determination settling in his chest. "No more empty beds, no more lonely nights. We'll figure this out together, okay?"

It was a vow, one he intended to keep no matter what. Slowly, he shifted to sit on the floor beside the couch, resting his head near your shoulder. He didn't care if it was uncomfortable—he just needed to be close, to feel your warmth. The distance that had grown between you over the past few months felt insurmountable, but he'd rebuild it brick by brick if he had to.

He wasn't going to let you carry everything on your own anymore.

Eventually, he felt your fingers tighten around his hand, just slightly. His heart skipped a beat, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe... just maybe, this was a start.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Thank you, pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for the idea! I just love how this was supposed to be a lighthearted and funny timestamp but my reality took over and here we are.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this self-indulgent little piece. As always, let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01 |

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho |

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline |

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1 |

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha |

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte |

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar |

@bunny4yungi @zl-world

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

[willowsmessy]

nutella

summary: leighton murray x fem!reader. reader brings home a kitten off the sidewalk and is nervous to see how her girlfriend will react. (around 1.4k words)

warnings: small mention of leighton killing reader and alcohol

a/n: first time writing here in a long time and in this fandom so if anyone wants to reach out for tips or just to be friends please do!

Nobody really understood how you and Leighton were together. You were both pretty, sure, but you were so different. You were always more of the quiet, people pleaser type and Leighton was everything but that. So seeing you two together was a shock, especially to the people you guys lived with who saw that Leighton was the one person you weren’t too eager to please. You always felt that when in a relationship, your wants and needs were just as important. You could do without dating someone, but having no friends? That was a little more difficult. So when you came to your roommates, excluding your girlfriend, worried that she would be pissed at you for something you did, they were surprised to say the least.

“I just don’t know how she’s going to react, like, this doesn’t really seem to be much of her thing…” You explained. You lived in an apartment with your girlfriend and your friends Bela, Whitney, and Kimberly and let's just say that only one of the four would possibly have a bad reaction to what you had done.

“Okay, first off, who doesn’t love kittens? They’re, like, tiny fluffy angels of joy. But, um… if she’s not a kitten person, maybe we can spin this as a—uh—therapeutic emotional support thing? Or, I don’t know, is she allergic? Because if she is, then yeah, we might have a problem, but otherwise, I think she’ll come around once she sees its little face. Look at it! It’s practically impossible to be mad when it’s looking at you like that!" Kimberly argued. The kitten on your lap purred and looked at Kimberly with wide eyes.

You found the kitten on the sidewalk in front of Theta on your way to give Nico a case of beer as a thanks for helping you with some French homework and there was no way you were going to just leave the little thing there. So, you emptied out the case of beer (with help of a random frat guy) and put the kitten in the box and brought it to the vet, where you decided that you had fallen in love with it and couldn’t let anyone else have it. Telling the people you lived with didn’t cross your mind until you got home and saw three of your roommates sitting in the living room. Good thing for you, Bela, Kimberly, and Whitney were all immediately excited.

"Look, Leighton might not seem to be a cat person, or like a pet person in general… But, this kitten is about to ruin her whole icy vibe, and I, for one, can’t wait." Bela smirked at the idea.

“Oh my Jesus, Leighton is going to kill me!” You said, covering your face with your hands making sure not to crush the little brown furball that sat in your lap. Leighton’s image was very important to her and having a cute little kitten was for sure, not in her ideal look.

Whitney decided it was time for her to step in, “I mean, I get it—Leighton’s not exactly the ‘spontaneous kitten adoption’ type. But honestly, who can resist a kitten? I mean, she’ll probably be annoyed at first because she’s, well, Leighton. But once she sees how cute it is, she’ll come around. Just give her some time. Worst-case scenario, we find someone else who can take care of it.”

You took a second to think, “No I’m definitely going with Kimberly’s emotional support kitten thing. I think that’ll work.”

Just as you finished your sentence, you heard your girlfriend’s keys through the door and quickly moved the kitten onto the couch beside you and got up to meet her at the door. “God, Y/N, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Like, normal people wait at least three feet away from the door.” Leighton put her hand on her chest feigning shock and rolled her eyes then put her purse on one of the empty chairs in the living room before giving you a smile to show she wasn’t actually mad. She moved her hand to your lower back before pulling you into a short but sweet kiss, not caring that all of your roommates were able to see. At the lack of reaction from the roommates about the kiss (As used to you guys kissing as they were, there was usually at least one fake gasp every time you kissed in front of them.), Leighton looked around at all of you with narrowed eyes. “Okay, you’re being weird, what's going on?”

“Baby, please don’t be mad–” You started, immediately abandoning the emotional support kitten idea, before getting cut off as Leighton noticed the tiny, brown creature staring up at her with bright eyes. The look comically similar to a look you would give Leighton when you wanted to convince her of something.

“Y/N” Leighton started. “What the hell is that?” She asked, pointing at the kitten and giving you a tight-lipped face that, in your head, you called her ‘trying not to be mad at you’ face. 

Whitney, Bela, and Kimberly all quickly got up from their respective seats and rushed into their own rooms. All of which receiving an annoyed look from you and Leighton, albeit for different reasons.

"Okay, baby, hear me out—this tiny angel was all alone and needed a home. Look at those eyes, Leighton! You’re seriously going to tell me you can’t feel your icy heart melting just a little?" You quickly moved to pick up the kitten and held it as if it was a baby while rubbing its belly, causing it to purr loudly.

You gave your girlfriend your best puppy dog eyes, or in this case, kitten eyes, and watched some of her annoyance soften. “"Okay, seriously? You’re trying to win me over with that face? Nice try, but I’m not giving in that easily. It’s gonna knock things over, scratch up the furniture, and I’ll be the one dealing with it."

“No you won’t!” You quickly argued, “5 people live here and Whit, Bela, and Kimberly all already love her so they will for sure help out.” Her expression softened a little more, but there was still a small bit of resistance left. “And I will never make you clean the litter box.”

This promise seemed to be enough for Leighton as she reached out to pet the kitten, "Okay, fine. I’ll guess it’s... kind of cute. But don’t think this means I’m on board with turning our place into a zoo."

You gasped and gave her a bright smile, “You are not going to regret this!” She gave you a smile back and stepped closer to look at the kitten with you and you took this opportunity for another, but slightly longer, kiss.

Leighton was finally smiling at both you and the cat. “Does she have a name?” She asked, causing you to smile sheepishly.

“Nutella,” You giggled.

Leighton, while still smiling, side-eyed you. “Y/N, I said yes to the cat but I will not be having a cat that everyone ends up calling Nut.”

You look at her slightly embarrassed as you had definitely not thought that through, “Maybe we rethink the name then.”

“It’ll come to us,” She smiled back at you.

Later that night, you came out of the bathroom after your nighttime routine to find Leighton on the bed, reading a book about some new mathematical theory (that she would attempt to explain to you later and you wouldn’t even slightly understand, but listen anyway cause listening to her nerd out was always fun for you), with Nutella laying on her chest purring louder than you had ever thought the little thing could.

“Looks like you’ve replaced me,” You joked.

Leighton looked up at you and then down at the kitten and smiled. “I think there’s room for the both of you.”

You laughed softly before getting into the bed next to her. Leighton put her book on the nightstand, careful not to disturb the little furball, and turned off the lamp. You immediately took the opportunity to rest your head on the side of her chest the kitten wasn’t occupying and brought your hand, which normally sat on Leighton’s stomach underneath her shirt, up to pet your new baby. “Thank you for letting me keep her,” you spoke softly.

Leighton brought her hand up to rub your back. “Anything to make you happy, Y/N.” You sighed contently, feeling her hand. “Plus, she’s kinda sweet. It’s like a really small, furry version of you.”

You laughed softly, “I love you, Leighton.” Your smile and tiredness easily audible in your voice.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Leighton said before you both fell asleep.

[transformers-spike]

Here u go, tis I, Squibsformers. Pls enjoy the Breakdown Softness. I totally had a specific one of my ocs in mind with this one so yknow Whatever but yeah heres the blurb. AMAB reader. I have no clue if i nailed BD at all sgdivdjdb.

—

Tiny. Fragile. Killable.

That's all you were. All this was. He fully planned on crushing you after this. One less fragging parasite on this ship. On this planet.

One less of your horrible, conniving little species to repopulate.

And yet… as his big hand pressed down more on you, and you let out a squeak of discomfort… he couldn't bring himself to go through with it. Not when you let out the sweetest little noises. The prettiest little groans when he rubbed at your array with a digit. Prodding at the expanse between- “Perineum” as Knockout had told him. Sensitive in its own right, reat for teasing.

Breakdown despised. Loathed you and every breath you took.

Why did he feel jitters when your breaths quicken..?

He pressed more firmly as the slickened flesh, and as he put juuust enough pressure, you writhed. Making a noise so pathetic it made him want to crush your head and dump your corpse. His spike in hand, stroking it as he prodded again and worked his littlest digit deeper in your clenching depth.

Apparently, that strip of flesh between your array and rear port was soft enough that, if he knew what he was doing, he could bully your prostate from inside and out.

You clung to his thumb, making his work get impeded, and he growled at you. Though when he felt you let go, his tanks shifted and he felt unease pour through at how you seemed embarassed at being told off.

He was just going to crush you after. It would be done. Be fine. This was simply something so he could… get relief. And Primus, Breakdown wasn't a *selfish* lover, even if you were just a means to an end, he at *least* would get you off. He had more integrity than that.

…It didnt explain though, when your nails dug into the sleek steel of the berth and you keened, cumming a THIRD time and sobbing from the blissful hell of overstimulation, why he slowed down. Took his time to stroke and soothe you before grunting and chasing down his overload. His fingers caged you. Tightened you. He waited for the crunch. The pop. The splat.

His own release came when he heard you let out a squeak of pain, and he eased his grip before blowing his load. Index stroking your spine as he vented and growled. He put a little pressure on your spine. But it eased when you squirmed.

I love this so fucking much I could just explode. Look at Breakdown CARING - look at him hating your squishy ass but not murdering you despite his intent. I love how messed up he is in this, his softness with the reader juxtaposed with what he's thinking

And don't even get me STARTED on the implication that Knock Out has already fucked the reader. Omg, it's like being their little human pet

(also - can I say it's really therapeutic to read AMAB Reader content? While I don't have the bits, it really helps out with my transmasc identity, especially because I typically discuss valveplug ideas with AFABs and I'm just not used to getting a different perspective on it. I usually try to keep the reader's gender vague (altho sometimes I slip into AFAB stuff because my knowledge of dicks and balls is very limited). Legit, if anymore AMABs wanna send out valveplug ideas, go ahead, I'd love to see them)

[aeneia-art]

I have an uncomfortable and very personal connection to Lucanis, Illario & Caterina's (and Taash & Shathan relationship tbh, they're honestly a flip side of the same trauma) family dynamic, and it's sadly "neurospicey with high expectation caretaker (that is tbh, also Neurospicey)" that I want to shed a bunch of headcanons that I don't see brought up but OH BOY, I KNOW SOME THINGS.

It's unfortunately the "woman who lost all her children and now there is just one survivor" because my mother had six kids before me, they all died in infancy or early childhood, and there are things that I just feel about their upbringing. Bonus, my mother is Italian-Australian, if you want that extra cultural relevance I guess. But it made me very much appreciate their writing of her - because I recognised that hollowed out woman so well that watching her felt like a gut punch of familiarity.

SLAPPING A BIG OLD WARNING ON THIS AND UNDER A CUT because yeah, a lot of discussions of child death, intergenerational trauma, child abuse and family trauma. Seriously please mind those warnings!!

( and if you read these and go... OP are you okay,,,,?? its okay, I am told its called "intergenerational trauma"! and the therapist gave me pills about it! I kid, but also - yes i do therapy about it, don't sweat it, I also find these things kind of therapeutic because instead of just having these life experience rolling around I can use them to help others write good or understand character beats that might not be apparent straight away and honestly this kind of trauma is not written often or well, which is far more frustrating and upsetting, because often there is a lot of shame around failed motherhood, but also no one ever wants to talk about what its like to have dead children. Even if high infant mortality rates and loss of even up to age 15 children has dominated much of human history, but outside of horror movies, it's seldom actually discussed what that does to a family or the women involved over the long term. Weirdly outside of horror I can find it more readily about men than I can about women. )

Illario and Lucanis are often called the wrong name as children, when they are children especially, but even sometimes into adulthood. The exhausted moments when Caterina turns to Lucanis and goes "Giovanni, go get your brother." Then she stops, he stops, and then just get on with it.

The correction at them in training: "Maria- how many times have I told you not to-" then she swallows, their child eyes stare up, Illario wants to ask, Lucanis jerks his head to stop. Caterina swallows and taps a foot back into position.

They do things sometimes, training, talking, and especially gesturing, that Caterina's eyes just close and a pain falls over her face and there is no asking what it's about, but its clear, for a moment, just one or two, they were the same: they moved the same, acted the same, and the times and places blur.

Lucanis and Illario grow up without a sense of ever being completely alone in any room, especially when Caterina is present. The are ghosts in House Dellamorte, they do not know them particularly, but they know they wear their faces often.

There are anniversaries that they do not understand the importance of, moments that for some reason they will never be privy too, they must be present. They will seem sometimes so innocuous and unimportant, no one ELSE around them will ever understand it, but they know they can never miss it.

My immigrant kids will know this one well, but over protective parenting? It's turned up to 11. Imagine every stereotype about Asian / Eastern European / African / Latino / Mediterranean parents, but on HIGH BLAST. It's more akin to stories I have heard about parents who had to live through a war-zone and what their kids grow up with. You can't go anywhere, do anything, say anything, no one outside of your family is to be trusted. Friends? Keep them at arm's length, if they're allowed at all. Activities are limited to what can be supervised. And what's worse? There is no arguing that it's just them being paranoid. The proof is there. It happened. There is no saying that it's anxiety, it's over the top, because the worst has happened and they know it. You can't say it's "just paranoia talking" because it happened over, and over, and over again.

They wake up with Caterina walking in to check their breathing. I am 30+. My mother still does this, and every time I hear her take a relieved breathe. Life will never be taken for granted. Survival will never be taken for granted. She checks on them constantly, and it probably felt strange and spooky to feel her hovering as a child, but some point around 16, it probably started to make sense.

As children, they want to ask, they need to understand, they want to know why they have to live this way when others don't. It's frustrating too because others seem to know all the details when they don't and they're fed it in pieces. Then by adulthood, they understand and the pain is theirs too, now, whether they wanted it or not.

Teia must have been a breathe of fresh air to the entire household when she visited, the soul person that can banish the ghosts. Because Teia is an elf, there can be no confusing her for any of the other children, some confused creeping despair. She's Teia and she's only Teia, and it's probably in part why Caterina enjoys her company, because she's clearly no afraid of the old woman, but that there can be no mistaking there here and now of it.

Speaking of creeping despair: probably thank the Maker there are no mages in the family, if demons are born out of human emotion twisted??? What in the fuck must the Fade look like just the other side of House Dellamorte? IT'S A GOOD THING NO ONE IN THE FAMILY CAN GET POSSESSED RIGHT [stares directly into the camera like the Office]

The long nights of despair are palpable when alone in House Dellamorte after the servants are gone to bed and Illario and Lucanis sit doing study nearby. They watch her at times stare into the hollow depths, and at times when conversations veer about survival, choices, making assessments, she speaks candidly of crawling out of that place with her own two hands, not for pity, but on how one learns to live and go on. She says it's that or death, Illario asks if that means because the enemies of House Dellamorte will kill them? She says no and leaves it at that. They only realise in adulthood how often their grandmother sits and contemplates death, and not from another assassin's blade. It is only that it is completely unacceptable for her to ever give up that made her drag herself out. It's not grand declaration, it is a simple contemplation, she'd never want your pity. Even if therapists did exist in Thedas, what would they even say? Or do? There aren't enough therapists and drugs in the world. Everyone understands that no parent should bury their child, but to do it over and over and over? After awhile, there is only the quiet shuffling and exhaustion.

Of course Lucanis attracted a Spirit of Determination that became a Spirit of Spite, that is exactly what he has had shaped to him. Welcome to the other side of despair. Welcome to how you live through the worst days of your life. The first funerals of the Dellamorte House were probably the typical big wailing Mediterranean-type funerals. You scream, you cry, your rip your hair, you throw yourself at the coffin and wail. She thinks there is nothing worse in the world, and then - she finds out - there is worse. The last Dellamorte funerals are silent. There is no more grief to tear out. What is left is only determination, only resilience, only spite that drives the will to go on.

Likewise, it doesn't surprise me that he could calm himself even in the depths of torture, to make a deal with Spite. The Ossuary was hell, shut off and shut down as he says. But he and his family are a long won lesson on survival even when survival cannot feel worth it, anymore, a test of endurance that not even Zara would be able to scratch the surface of. When submission to pain would be so much easier. That is a resilience that didn't come from Caterina's torture, it comes from growing up in a graveyard that ebbs around you, that everyone sees when they look at you, and yet finding a way through, for good and bad. Perhaps not even well, but they have, they did, they continue to do so.

Caterina is past grief and it makes the woman before and the woman afterward, like two seperate lives. Which makes it so odd for Lucanis and Illario when... you know that moment when you find out that your parents were whole people that did wild shit before you ever existed that have just been sitting in the back? It's like that but worse. They hear stories and learn deeds, and it's hearing about a completely different person. Caterina that other people remember likely used to smile, and laugh, danced, did hijinks. They find old letters, portraits, commemorations, to this woman that seems to be as much as a ghost as all the other dead aunts and uncles. They have been robbed, not just of their family, and yes a peaceful childhood, but of that woman who could have been Nonnina, and now is just La Signora Dellamorte.

The apple never falls far from the tree, and I imagine that Caterina-before-the-deaths was some split of Lucanis and Illario. Which comes to something that I am sure might be contentious because I imagine it's hard to hear and see for someone who became so outright abusive as Caterina was to her grandchildren when we all love the boys dearly, but in a game about how good intentions and the best wishes and parts of us can be twisted I feel this isn't a far leap. You think you end up with five kids for someone as savvy as she was because she was an unpassionate, unloving woman? She was likely as fierce and devoted and passionate as the boys are now. (Which if you think all of this is to excuse her abuse, no, being broken by the world does give excuses to visit upon the next generation, that is the big difference between my mother and Caterina, my mother took her grief and shoved it fiercely into reminding me every day that I am loved). I understand it's easy to say abusers just woke up mean one day to hate the world, but the reality is probably way muddier than that, as often is in Dragon Age especially, this is a world where everyone has reasons they became what they are, and often did not start that way - and I think the unfortunate truth is that Caterina was once like Lucanis and Illario: passionate, driven, full of life and interest, hope and ambition to be the best she could be, and never dreamed of what it would all become.

So, yes, if you want to know what Illario and Lucanis look like after they have been actually, truly, soul-crushingly broken in a way that can never be repaired, look no further than Caterina. You can already see the shades of it in the Hardened Lucanis run, he turns himself away from remorse, redemption, love. The way Illario is trying to goad Lucanis into killing him. There but for the grace of the Maker, go her grandsons.

In that vein, I suspect she saw the traits that failed her most in Illario, and the ones that helped her survive in Lucanis, which in part lead to the divide in her treatment of the two of them.

There is probably some moment when someone is an edgelord at her, as dramatic mediterraneans are wont to do, spouted off about torture and pain and suffering. Caterina probably laughed in their face about it. It has big "you cannot hurt me in any way that matters" and "you can't hate me more than I hate myself" energy. She has stared into the abyss, she knows the darkest parts of herself, and some rat thinks they can frighten her back?

The only threat that hangs is someone hurting Illario and Lucanis. Nothing is too far, nothing is too much, when it comes to protecting what she has left. Caterina is both impassive to them, unknowable at times, frustrating at others, but then she throws down in broad daylight even as she enters true old age. I shudder to think about the torture she now inflicts in the name of her family.

[senualothbrok]

Enough

Summary: You agreed to help Astarion with the Rite of Profane Ascension, but you can't watch him go through with it. You interrupt the ritual, and Astarion turns on you. Now, you must deal with the aftermath of your actions.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Astarion x female Tav. Angst. Trauma and recovery. A very angry Astarion.

AO3 link

This is the first fanfic I have written for about 20 years. I should be working on my novel, but this story honestly possessed me. I hope someone out there reads and enjoys this! If not, it was therapeutic and cathartic to write it.

-----------------------------------------------------

You have heard it a thousand times. The tales and the histories, all the songs you have sung. You are a bard, after all, and this story is as old and worn as your heart. Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

You know this, and you have seen it. You have seen it twist kind men into savages, transform wary women into beasts. Your own family had suffocated you under its clutches, leveraging your gifts and talents for ever more power and influence. Stripping you bare, squeezing out every drop they could get from you. You were their very own song bird, pushed about and paraded until your fingers were raw and throat was hoarse, to grant them entry into the best parties and social circles. But you were never enough. You never sang sweetly enough, or got large enough crowds. Not enough people knew you. You should have been prettier, more alluring. All the things they made you do, but you never did enough. It was never enough.

When you had escaped from them, you had vowed you would never be like them. You had promised yourself you would never become the thing you fought against. You would be different. Better. You would be good.

And yet.

You are standing in Cazador’s palace. Blood spatters the smooth ivory of Astarion’s skin. In the nightmarish hue of the ritual chamber, he glows a strange green. His crimson eyes are all fear and desperation.

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

In that moment, you cannot say no. If it were anyone else, you would refuse. There have been many conversations with Astarion - around the campfire, in his tent, even as you walked around the labyrinth of Cazador’s living hell. You have talked to him at length about this moment. You have listened as he has confessed guilt and need and hesitation and rage. You have been kind and patient, always careful not to criticise him, not to push back too much, not to hurt him. You have been good. He must make his own decision, you have been telling yourself. He has suffered enough.

So you open your mind to him, because he asks you to. You feel his frenzied hunger as he devours the sight of every scar on his back, as though their cruelty is now beauty. You watch his features which you have come to know so well. You have seen them in sleep, in battle, in laughter, in pain.  You have seen them shrouded and masked, bare and open. You watch now as they contort into something that you recognise from so many other faces and times. And as you watch, you can barely hear Cazador’s deafening screams, or register the way his mangled mess writhes and gushes. All you can see is Astarion’s widening smile as he carves at Cazador’s back, his eyes dilating like sinkholes.

You think it, even as he whisks away Cazador’s mutilated body like a rag doll. Even when Astarion slams the staff on the ground and everything around you blazes red as the blood of his convulsing siblings and the seven thousand spawn about to be slaughtered. Even when Gale and Karlach cry out at Astarion to stop, that this is a mistake, that the cost is too great. Even then, you think to yourself: this is what he wants. It is his choice. It is his right.

But in the scarlet haze, you are remembering. You are thinking of his trembling voice when he promised a broken husk called Sebastian, just moments ago, that he would free him. You think of the way his soft eyes glistened when he had thanked you and clasped your hand, stunned with the realisation that he was not just a thing to be used. You feel the crushing weight of Vellioth and Cazador and the decaying dungeons and centuries upon centuries of madness and terror. And you remember the tenderness with which he had looked at you, not days ago, believing the power of the ritual would keep you both safe. That he would protect you with it.

“I can feel their power flowing into me!”

You stare at him, spreadeagled, monstrous.

Something has begun to well inside you, like a cracking of ice, a convulsion of tears. In that whispering, you remember the promise you made yourself all those years ago.  And you know, from a deep and tattered place within you, that that promise is greater than your yearning for his love.

The blade springs from your hand on its own. You watch it sing through the air and hit its perfect note in Cazador’s maimed gut. Astarion and his siblings crumple to the floor. The crimson mist lifts, and in the silence you know, with the certainty of death, that you have lost him.

You say something, but you know it is meaningless. Nothing can repair the mistake you have made. You could have refused to help him when he asked. You could have reasoned with him, urged him to stop and think. You could have told him, from the start, that you could not go through with it. And now, you have kept your promise to yourself, but not to the man you love.

When he rises from his knees and turns to you, it is the face of a stranger that you see.

“I was so close. I could have had it all, but you took everything from me.”

Hatred hardens in his every word. And then, a tide of despair.

“Cazador won after all. I’ll never escape the hell he built.”

You cannot bear it. Your failure rips through you, and you want to reach out to him, to beg and plead and weep. But you just stand there.

He looks down at the staff in his hand.

“And if I can’t escape, then no one can.”

He splits the staff on his knee. It makes such a small sound as it splinters, but it echoes through you like an avalanche. It is the sound of seven thousand spawn being condemned to death. It is the sound of their eternal suffering. And it is all because of you. The horror and guilt erupts inside you.

It happens so fast after that. There is no time to think, to feel, to act. There is the glint of a dagger raised. You are knocked back, and a searing pain slices through your shoulder as you stare up at bared fangs looming over you. Your limbs are heavy with shock, and suddenly you feel a surge of heat and the great arc of Karlach’s war hammer over you. You hear Gale shout out a spell, and you watch as Astarion topples to the side, frozen except for the furious twitching of his eyes.

“Don’t!” you hear yourself shout. “Please, stop!”

Karlach and Gale rush to your side, cradling you up, fussing over your shoulder. But you do not feel it. You do not really feel anything. All you can do is look from them back to Astarion, pleading, but you are not sure what for.

---

“You can release his hold now.”

You are back at camp, and you have recovered your voice. For a long time, you could not speak. Shadowheart and Halsin tended to your arm, speaking soothing words over you. Gale and Karlach came to sit with you, their faces creased with concern. Wyll, Lae’zel and Jaheira stood at a distance, arguing in hushed voices. All the while, you stared into the distance, thinking of the hatred in Astarion’s gaze, and everything you had done to deserve it.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Gale says, frowning.  

“We can’t keep him like that forever.”

“The man turned on us. He tried to kill you.”

You look into Gale’s eyes. There is warmth there, streaked with pity.

“Can you blame him?”

Gale scoffs. “Yes, I can.” Then he pauses. His voice softens. “Well, perhaps in the circumstances, in the heat of the moment…” He shakes his head. “But he truly would have killed you, had Karlach and I not intervened. And that is inexcusable, after everything you – all of us - have been through with him. After everything you have done for him.”

Your vision blurs and stings.

“I fucked up, Gale. How could I have fucked up so royally? I should never have let him start the ritual. I should never have agreed with it. I’ve broken him. Seven thousand innocent people will die in agony because of me. Because I was…”

You are not used to burdening others with your emotions. You give and not take, even when you have nothing. When you are nothing. But now, you are afraid that you will break.

“…Because I failed.”

Without hesitation, Gale lays a hand on yours. It is a such a kind gesture that it chokes you. You have always been the one to look after others, to give them what they need. That is your role. It is what you exist for. If you cannot do that, what are you good for?

“Those things were never your responsibility, my dear friend. They were never your burdens to carry.”

“But he trusted me.”

“That does not mean that you must give him everything, or watch him destroy thousands of people and himself.”

You ball your fists. “Then I should have told him that, from the start. But I went along with it-”

“Because you love him.”

You have not spoken about this with Gale or anyone else. You know it is common knowledge that you and Astarion are entangled, but you have always wanted to hide the love you feel for him away. You have always known that whatever it was that lay between you was fragile. Astarion himself was not sure what you were.

Attachment does not come easily to you. You know that if you give people what they need, there is a chance that they will stay. But there is also a chance that they will snap their heads one day and no longer want what you have to offer. And then, they will go.

You have always tried to guard yourself against the pain of that departure. Even with Astarion.

“Many a mistake has been made for love,” Gale continues. “I understand this better than most.”

“This is a monumental fuck up,” you breathe. “Not a simple mistake.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to start a competition about the magnitude and impact of our mistakes? Because if so, I believe that I would be a clear winner, and some others in our camp may also be worthy competitors.”

You are too weary to laugh. Too broken.

“Besides, I am sure if we knock our considerably enriched heads together, we can find a way to open those dungeons and release those prisoners. Especially with such a range of talented and well-resourced allies to draw on.”

You can see the questions taking shape in Gale’s head already. You give him a weak smile.

“You are only human, my friend. I know you try to be better than any of us, but even you are permitted to make mistakes.”

When he clasps you tightly to his chest, you let yourself rest into it. You want so badly to believe he is right, but you are not sure you can.

---

As you approach Astarion, you gesture behind you. You know the rest of them are all watching, wary and ready to strike at the faintest sign of danger. But you stand them down, and they linger at a respectful distance.

Released from Gale’s hold, Astarion hunches over slightly, like a cat backed into a corner. He knows he is outnumbered and vulnerable. He does not lunge towards you. His arms lie flat against his sides, his hands free of weapons. His fangs are hidden behind the tight line of his lips.

“What you did to me is worse than staking me. You might as well finish me off now.”

Every word is a cut. You flinch at each one, but you do not avert your gaze from his. Any gentleness, affection, and truth in those eyes is gone, locked behind blood-red walls. And in his abject contempt, you find a kind of freedom.

If he has already left, then you need not please him. If you are not enough, then it does not matter what you say. You have lost him already. He does not love you.

So you say what you wish you had said, from the moment that he showed you who he was, the moment you fell in love with him.

“The ritual would have killed you, your siblings, and seven thousand innocents.”

“Spare me,” he snarls. “You nodded and cooed at me, like you understood me, like you would help me. ‘I’m here for you, Astarion. I’ll help you Astarion. Tell me what you need and I’ll be there, Astarion.’ You fucking liar. You godsdamned hypocrite. You never understood me. You never wanted to help me.”

His fury is like a lash, but the pain is sobering. You brace yourself against it.

“I never said I would help you become Cazador, or let you kill thousands of people for power.”

“Please.” His laugh is vicious. “I told you from the start what I wanted. If you didn’t see that, then you’re blind. Delusional. A self-righteous idiot, living in a fantasy.”

“You wanted to be free, Astarion. To be safe.”

“You never wanted me to be free,” he seethes. “You liked me weak and broken, so I could come to you on my knees, and you could nod and smile and promise to fix me. Your own personal project, kept on a leash like a little puppy. Cuddly, harmless Astarion, healing from his hurts, all thanks to you. My saviour.”

Behind you, you can hear voices erupting and subsiding, a scuffle of shifting feet. You are grateful when no one interjects or rushes forward. This is for you and Astarion alone. It is your punishment to bear, and his truth to hear.

“You took all that power away from me,” he hisses. “It wasn’t your choice to make. It was my decision. You’re worse than Cazador.”

The words wound you like arrows, but you half expect them. You have called yourself worse things.

“Cazador would have just compelled me not to do the ritual. But you gave me a taste of what I wanted, then ripped it away from me. You’re the cruellest bitch I’ve ever known.”

You do not care that hot tears stream down your cheeks, and that your voice trembles. You let yourself say what needs to be said, not what you think he wants to hear.

“You’re right.” You take a step towards him. “I should never have let you do it. I went along with it, when I should have pushed back. But I wanted you to feel you always had someone on your side. Someone who understood. I wanted you to feel loved.”

His disgust does not deter you anymore.

“You think that this is all you are. You can’t see beyond it. What was done to you. What he made you do to others. But it isn’t. It never was. You were always strong. You can be more than what happened to you. You are more than what happened to you.”

“Like you?” he sneers. “A hero? Someone so chained to other people’s approval that you’re lost without a saving mission? That’s what you so desperately want to see when you look at me, isn’t it?”

“No.” You are surprised by the strength of your voice. “Only someone who won’t let thousands of people suffer just because you did.”

Jolts of anger course through him. “You have no idea what I suffered,” he growls. “No idea what I am owed. If you had the faintest idea of it, if you truly loved me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be burning the world with me.”

You have listened silently before, when he talked about this. What he deserves after two centuries of agony. His comeuppance. You did not challenge him because you were afraid. Afraid you would offend him. Terrified that he would leave.

“Look around you, Astarion,” you say now. “Look at everyone here. We have all suffered. No, none of us have suffered what you have suffered, and I am so deeply sorry for that. But Cazador is dead and no one else will have to suffer under him. And now, no one will have to suffer under an Ascended either.”

A snide sound of disbelief. “You are so full of bullshit I can hardly breathe from the stench.”

Your tadpole rages, ramming into his mind. You expect the resistance of loathing, but he does not fight. He allows you in. And for the first time, you show him. You let him see him your parents, and your pain, and everything that was done to you. You open yourself up, the masks you put on that you recognise in him, the performances you too are familiar with in the economy of survival. You show him your promise to yourself, and your choices, and the failures you carry around with you like a noose.

He glares at you after it is over, but you think there may be less hatred in his eyes than there was a moment before.

“Why did you show me that?”

It is easier, now that there is nothing to hide.

“Because if we all burned the world because of our suffering, there would be nothing left. And because you said you wanted something real.”

He seems backfooted that you mention it. His first moment of honesty. Your first moment of connection. The beginning of your love.

“This is real, Astarion.” Your gaze is a waterfall. You cannot stop it. “Real love, messy and painful, with a real person who makes mistakes and tells you things that you don’t want to hear. Someone who sees who you really are and who you can be, the worst and the best of you, and still loves you anyway.”

He steps back, his features clenched in spasm. You think of how his hands felt on your skin, cold as ice to the touch, yet warming you inside out like summer sunlight. You remember the lilt of his laughter as you traded jibes and jests under the furs of your tent on cold nights. You breathe in his scent on the air for the last time, those hints of bergamot, rosemary and brandy that you could recognise anywhere. You are already mourning their loss.

“Then I don’t want it,” he spits out. “And I don’t want you.”

And then he leaves.

---

You are alone. You are lying in a clearing a short walk away from camp. It is spring, and the smell of earth and grass hangs around you as the sun streaks through the trees above you. Your ears are drunk with birdsong.

It has been weeks since he left. You would be lying if you said you did not miss him. Sometimes you feel his absence like a presence. It haunts and stalks you, and when the darkness comes, you cling to your pillow in your tent and weep through waves of grief that surge through you like labour pains. But at other times, you find a kind of solace in your solitude. You are not shackled by a desperation for love from a man so broken he is not capable of giving it. You are not trapped by your own brokenness in this yearning, this ache to fill the holes in his heart. And this freedom is worth the pain.

When you had asked Astarion what he wanted, he had never known. And perhaps that had struck you so deeply because you had never known either. You had never truly known what you wanted, who you really were outside of what you could do for others. You thought you were only a thing to be used, a tool to fill someone else’s need, whatever that may be. You could be good at that. You needed to be good at that. If not, you were nothing.

But you are learning. Since he has left, you are learning that you are more than that. You are learning that you can live with your mistakes. That you are enough, just as you are.

You find that you sing now, even when there is no one around. Even when it is not for a performance, or for support in battle. You sing for yourself, and you take pleasure in it, even when your notes are off key and you cannot remember the right words, even when no one is there to praise you or reward you for it. For the first time, you are enjoying your gift for no other reason than that you wish to. It is a gift, and it comes without dread or shame or conditions.

You are humming softly as you stroll back to camp. Scratch greets you with a frenzied tail, and you roll around with him, kneeling as he plasters sloppy kisses all over your face. The simple joy of this dances over the cracks in your heart. When Scratch suddenly stops, you are almost disappointed. You glance in the direction where he has bounded, an ecstatic flurry of delight. Then your eyes catch on silver shining in the sun, two bright rubies on white silk. Your breath halts.

There he is. He is different, but the same. You look at each other. And in that moment, it is enough that there is no hatred in his eyes, which flicker with uncertainty. It is enough that his mouth is not curled into a sneer, and his brow is soft and even. It is enough that you have both survived. You have shown each other who you are, and you are still here.

He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it.

---

Liked this fic? You can find more of my work here.

[cocobeanncteez]

The CEO Collision - Part Three

Pairing: CEO!Seonghwa x CEO!reader (f)

Warnings / content for Part Three: alcohol consumption, profanities, seonghwa is involved in a scandal, this part contains smut (mdni / 18+), oral (f and m receiving), penetration / piv, protected sex (pill). Please note that other than Ateez, all other character names used are fictional.

Word Count: 11.2k

Masterlist for The CEO Collision

The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of work. Your schedule was packed from morning to night with meetings, strategy sessions, and overseeing new developments at your company. The company was preparing for the launch of its newest diagnostic imaging device, and every detail required your attention. From approving marketing materials to meeting with engineers to ensure production timelines were met, you barely had time to breathe.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa was in Daegu for a business trip, overseeing a major expansion project for his own company. He was working closely with new suppliers and negotiating contracts, ensuring the company’s foothold in the region remained strong. The two of you were only able to meet twice these past few weeks with the presence of your families. But you stayed in touch through texts, though the messages were often brief—updates on your respective schedules, quick remarks about your days, and the occasional playful teasing.

It was a Thursday morning at work, and you knew you were going to have to work over the weekend too as you had to attend Yunho’s father’s retirement party tomorrow night. You dearly missed Seonghwa, and as if on cue, he messaged you.

Seonghwa: How’s the launch prep going? Still sane? You: Barely. If I see another typo in these reports, I might scream Seonghwa: You’re the CEO. Just yell. It’s therapeutic You: Sure, and scare my staff half to death? Seonghwa: Consider it a bonding exercise

You chuckled at his last message before putting your phone aside and getting back to work. Despite the distance, the tension from the last time you saw him didn’t dissipate. If anything, the brief moments of flirtation over text seemed to stoke the flames. You’d catch yourself rereading his messages, biting your lip as you thought about his smirk, his touch, the way he’d kissed you against your car and in his library.

But the busyness of your days left little time for daydreams.

A knock at your door was heard before Nari walked in, an anxious look on her face that immediately made you alert.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried. “Please don’t tell me we lost data or something.”

“Oh, Ms. Y/N,” she cried, “Yunho said he wants to introduce me to his parents tomorrow night at his father’s retirement party! What should I do?!”

You blinked, processing Nari’s sudden outburst before letting out a small laugh of relief. “That’s it? Nari, you scared me half to death!”

“I’m sorry!” she wailed, clutching her phone tightly. “But this is serious! His parents! What if they don’t like me? What if I mess up? What if—”

“Nari,” you interrupted, standing up and walking over to her. “Take a deep breath.”

She nodded, inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly as you guided her to sit down. “Okay, I’m breathing. Now tell me what to do. I can’t mess this up!”

“You’re not going to mess this up,” you reassured her, pulling a chair over and sitting across from her. “Yunho adores you, right? He wouldn’t introduce you to his parents if he didn’t think they’d like you too.”

“But—”

“No buts. You’re charming, sweet, and smart. Just be yourself,” you said firmly. “And maybe tone down the worrying, just a little.”

Nari let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks flushing. “You’re right. I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?”

“Just a little,” you teased, offering her a smile. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Her eyes widened, the panic returning. “I have no idea! What’s the dress code? What if I’m overdressed? Or underdressed? Or—”

“Nari,” you said, holding up a hand to stop her spiral. “First of all, it’s a black-tie event. Second, I’ll help you pick something out after work, okay? You’ll be perfect.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you, Ms. Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.”

You laughed softly. “Just come over to my place tomorrow. There’s a whole team coming to doll my family up. I’ll have them bring some gowns for you too.”

“Deal,” she said, standing up. “I owe you.”

“Big time,” you teased as she left your office, a newfound spring in her step.

As the door closed, you leaned back in your chair, smiling to yourself. It was nice to see Nari so excited, even if she was a bundle of nerves. And while you wouldn’t admit it out loud, helping her plan for Yunho’s parents was a welcome distraction from your own thoughts about Seonghwa.

-

The next morning at work, you were really tired, and Nari was working at your desk while you laid down on the sofa in your office, trying to take a power nap.

You groggily opened your eyes, still feeling the effects of a restless night as you tried to adjust to the morning light. A loud gasp from Nari quickly jolted you awake, your senses on high alert.

"Y/N, you need to see this!" Nari’s voice was filled with disbelief, and she was already staring intently at her laptop screen.

You sat up from the couch, wiping sleep from your eyes. "What happened? Did something go wrong with the data?" you asked, already feeling a spike of concern.

Nari didn’t answer right away. Instead, she clicked her mouse, and before you could even get close, she gasped again, her hands shaking slightly as she pointed at the screen. "Look at this, Y/N."

You walked over, her frantic energy infectious, and peered at the screen. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the headline:

“CEO Park Seonghwa Caught in Scandal with Young Actress Lee Yoona: A Relationship Blooming?”

The article included several pictures—one of Seonghwa dining with Lee Yoona, the 22-year-old actress, at a trendy restaurant, another showing the two of them walking out of the venue, looking comfortable with each other, laughing together as they left. But it was the final photo that made your stomach twist—Seonghwa carrying Yoona bridal-style into a hotel.

You stared at the image for a long moment, the weight of it sinking in. Your mind tried to process the details, but your heart was already racing, caught somewhere between confusion and anger.

Nari leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper as she read the article aloud:

“CEO Park Seonghwa has been spotted multiple times in the company of actress Lee Yoona, sparking rumors about a blossoming romance between the two. The latest photos taken at a five-star restaurant in Daegu show the two enjoying a private dinner, followed by Seonghwa carrying Yoona to a hotel in a highly intimate gesture. The 8-year age gap has raised some eyebrows, but sources close to both parties suggest that their relationship is more than just a professional one. Lee Yoona is currently in Daegu, filming for her upcoming show ‘Are we in love?’ set to release later in the year, while the reason for CEO Park Seonghwa’s visit to Daegu is unknown.”

Nari clicked her tongue in disbelief. “This is crazy, Y/N. I don’t believe for a second that Seonghwa would do something like this. You and him…” She paused, turning to look at you, as if trying to gauge your reaction. "You’re sort of engaged, right? I mean, he wouldn’t—”

You couldn’t respond immediately, your brain still foggy from the overwhelming sensation of seeing Seonghwa with someone else so… intimately. “This can’t be real, right? He’s… with her? Just like that?” You let the words hang in the air, feeling the weight of them pull you down.

"Come on, Y/N, don't jump to conclusions." Nari’s voice was firm, trying to ground you in logic. "I’ve known Seonghwa for a while, and I honestly don’t think he’s like that. I think… I think the media just twisted things, like they always do. I mean, look at how they spun the dinner. Who knows? It could’ve been completely innocent. You’ve seen how the press exaggerates everything."

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your mind. "I don’t know, Nari. This is different. They were so close... Seonghwa's always been professional. But this—this isn’t professional."

Nari leaned back in her chair, her gaze softening. “I get it, I do. But don’t let this media storm get to you. You haven’t heard his side yet, right? And don’t forget, there’s always the possibility that this is nothing more than an innocent dinner, blown out of proportion.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling like you were about to fall apart. “I need to hear from him. I need to know what’s going on."

The article lingered in front of you like a bad dream, and all you could think about was how your world had just shifted in an instant.

Nari sighed, offering you a small smile. “I’ll support you no matter what, Y/N. But before jumping to conclusions, talk to Seonghwa. You deserve to know the truth straight from him.”

You nodded, still in disbelief, but the one thing you knew for sure was that you had to confront him. You needed clarity. This wasn’t something you could just ignore, especially with the way your heart was reacting to seeing him with someone else.

You reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you unlocked the screen and stared at Seonghwa’s contact. Should you call him now? Or wait for him to reach out? You hesitated for only a moment before you hit his name and waited for him to pick up.

He didn’t pick up. There were no texts from him either. It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon. Where was he?

Picking up your phone once again, you scrolled through his contact info and dialed his number, your heart racing as the call connected. The phone rang, and your stomach churned with each passing second.

Then—voicemail.

While you waited for Seonghwa to call you back, you looked up his name online, seeing dozens of articles about the scandal. As you scrolled through the articles, your heart sank with every new headline. The media had taken the story and spun it into something much worse than it probably was.

One article in particular caught your attention. It was a detailed write-up about Seonghwa and Lee Yoona, describing their dinner together at a well-known high-end restaurant in Daegu. According to the piece, Seonghwa had been seen laughing and chatting with her before they left together, with some sources claiming that they had been "inseparable" the entire evening. The most damning part of the article was the photo of Seonghwa lifting Yoona in his arms, carrying her bridal-style toward a hotel entrance late in the night. The paparazzi had captured the moment perfectly, making it look like something straight out of a romance movie—except it was far from romantic to you.

Your hands shook slightly as you read the speculation. According to the article, the two of them had been spending "increasingly intimate time together" and rumors of a relationship had started swirling ever since they were seen together at a gala a few months ago. There were comments from people who claimed to have "witnessed their chemistry" and one particularly nasty line about how Seonghwa had always been "a man of many loves."

You clenched your fists, a mixture of anger and confusion bubbling up inside you. How could he not tell you about this? If it was nothing, why hadn’t he reached out to clear the air? Why hadn't he said something before all of this? You trusted him, but now, everything seemed clouded in doubt.

The worst part was that you couldn't stop imagining the look on his face when he carried Yoona into that hotel. Could he have been with her? The idea gnawed at you, the jealousy and betrayal making your stomach twist.

But then, you remembered something—something important. You hadn't seen the whole story. You didn’t know the truth.

You took in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. You had to give him the chance to explain. If Seonghwa was who you thought he was, this wouldn’t be the whole picture. There had to be a reasonable explanation. But then again, could there be?

You set your phone down for a moment, looking out the window, trying to calm yourself before your nerves completely took over. Why wasn’t he calling?

-

You stood near the entrance of the elegantly decorated ballroom, feeling the weight of the night pressing on your chest. The chatter around you was lively, the clinking of glasses and laughter echoing through the room, but you barely registered any of it. You had been at Yunho’s father’s retirement party for over an hour now, and still, there was no word from Seonghwa.

Your parents had been urging you not to jump to conclusions, insisting that you wait until you spoke to him directly. They kept telling you that these things often got blown out of proportion in the media. But despite their reassurances, you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach, the gnawing feeling that maybe you were wrong to trust him. Why hadn’t he reached out by now?

Yeosang and Yunho had been doing their best to distract you, introducing you to people you barely remembered and trying to keep the conversation light, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel the tension building, making it harder to breathe. Every time your phone buzzed, you jumped—each time hoping it would be Seonghwa, but it never was.

Just then, Hongjoong appeared beside you, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing on you. He gave you a small smile, though there was concern in his gaze.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning in slightly so only you could hear. “You okay?”

You gave him a tight smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just... waiting for Seonghwa to explain himself.”

Hongjoong’s brow furrowed, and he put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Look, Y/N, I know you’re upset, but Seonghwa? He’s not the type of guy to do something like that. I’ve known him for years, and I can tell you, he’s not that guy.”

You nodded, but your doubts remained. You had heard people say that before—he’s not that guy. But the articles didn’t lie, did they? He was photographed carrying Lee Yoona into a hotel, and the entire media had already decided what that meant. Could he really have just been helping her?

“But why hasn’t he called me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why hasn't he said anything about it?”

Hongjoong’s expression softened, and he gave you a sympathetic look. “I don’t know. He hasn’t responded to my texts yet either. He’s supposed to be here tonight. But believe me, he would never betray you like this.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the silence between you and Seonghwa was stretching on for too long, and it hurt.

"I just don't get it," you murmured, turning your attention back to the people mingling around you. "He should’ve said something by now.”

Hongjoong’s gaze softened further as he gave you a comforting pat on the back. “I know. But he’s not the kind of guy to hide something like this from you. Don’t forget who he is, Y/N. He values honesty above everything.”

You nodded, though your heart still felt heavy. His words were a small comfort, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Every minute that ticked by without a word from Seonghwa seemed to make the situation worse.

“Maybe... maybe he’s just scared,” Hongjoong added after a pause, his voice thoughtful. “We both know Seonghwa. He doesn’t do well with conflict, especially when it comes to things that matter.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I just don’t understand why he hasn’t reached out. It’s not like him.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t know how to explain himself,” Hongjoong said gently. “But he will. I’m sure of it. Just wait and see.”

You wanted to believe him. But every part of you was screaming for answers, and the longer you waited, the harder it became to stay calm.

Half an hour later, Seonghwa entered Yunho’s family mansion, his presence commanding immediate attention. Wooyoung followed close behind, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his expression. Ignoring the whispers and curious looks from the crowd, Seonghwa scanned the room until his eyes landed on Yunho. He crossed the room in long strides.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa said, his voice low but urgent. “Have you seen Y/N anywhere? I need to talk to her.”

Yunho studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the staircase. “She’s in the study upstairs. She needed to finish a call.”

Seonghwa didn’t waste a second, muttering a quick thanks before heading upstairs. He knocked on the study door before pushing it open. You were standing by the window, your phone still in hand, though it appeared the call had just ended. When you turned and saw him, your expression shifted, a mix of surprise and guarded relief.

“Seonghwa,” you said softly, though the tension in your voice was unmistakable.

“Y/N,” he began, closing the door behind him. “Please, let me explain everything.”

You didn’t move from your spot, but your posture relaxed slightly. “I’m listening.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders slumping as if a weight had been lifted by your willingness to hear him out. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t contact you. My phone—” He held it up, showing the shattered screen. “It’s completely broken. I… I got drunk after dropping Yoona at her hotel, and I must have broken it then. I know it was irresponsible of me, but I didn’t want to leave you in the dark like this. I… Wooyoung doesn’t have your number or Hongjoong’s so I had no way of contacting you. I knew you were coming tonight so I thought of speaking to you here directly.”

Your brows furrowed, concern flickering across your face despite the situation. “What happened, Seonghwa? I want to believe you, but the articles… they’re everywhere.”

He took a deep breath, stepping closer. “Believe me, Y/N, I know this looks really bad, but Yoona is like a younger sister to me, Y/N, and she sees me as an older brother. I would never… I couldn’t even think of her that way. Five years ago, her father—a terrible man—sold her to some man to pay off his gambling debts. She was just out of high school, terrified, and alone. She ran away, and I found her on the side of a road in Busan, badly beaten.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and the tension in your expression softened as you listened.

“I took her to the hospital, reported everything, and made sure those responsible were punished. I offered to support her college education, but she always wanted to pursue acting, so I introduced her to a friend’s agency. I helped her get an apartment here in Seoul. Since then, I’ve checked in on her occasionally to make sure she’s okay.”

You stayed quiet, letting him continue.

“As for the pictures of me carrying her… She had too much to drink and couldn’t walk properly. Wooyoung and another friend were with us the entire time, but the media conveniently left them out. They were passed out in the car from drinking, so I carried her to her room to make sure she was safe and then went back to my own hotel.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before meeting his again. “Why didn’t you tell me about her before?”

“I should have,” Seonghwa admitted, guilt etched into his face. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “To be honest with you, no one other than Wooyoung knows about Yoona. Not even my parents—though they’ve certainly expressed their frustration with me now that this has come to light.”

Your expression softened slightly, the tension in your posture easing just a bit.

“I didn’t tell anyone because… well, money has never been an issue for me. I helped save her life because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted recognition or acknowledgment. It felt private—her story, her struggles. And I thought keeping it that way would protect her.”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “Looking back, I realize I should’ve told you,” he said, moving to stand in front of you, taking your hands in his. “But I never thought it was relevant, not until the media twisted it into something it wasn’t.”

You considered his words, your initial hurt beginning to dissolve into understanding. “I get that you were trying to protect her, Seonghwa, and I respect that. But if we’re… if we’re going to move forward, I need to know that you trust me enough to share these parts of your life with me, even if they seem irrelevant to you.”

His eyes softened, and he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll do better. I promise.”

You hummed in response, your gaze dropping to your hands still intertwined with his. For a moment, the warmth of his touch distracted you, but a flicker of memory broke through—the times he had ignored you after those drunken nights together. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, aching to be asked.

But you were too drained to confront it now. Today had already been an emotional rollercoaster, and this wasn’t the right time or place. It was Yunho’s father’s retirement party, and you still wanted to spend time with your friends and acquaintances, not unravel more layers of this complicated situation.

Seonghwa’s thumb brushed against the back of your hand, drawing you back to the present. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied your face. “There’s something on your mind,” he said gently. “What is it?”

You shook your head quickly. “It’s nothing. I’m just… tired.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, clearly not buying your deflection. “Y/N, please. I can see there’s more to it than that.”

You hesitated, but before you could decide how to respond, he took a deep breath, his grip on your hands tightening slightly as if bracing himself. “Look… there’s something I… I need to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the seriousness in his tone.

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, his voice low but steady, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “I don’t expect an answer from you now. I just… I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Not after everything that’s happened… I just needed you to know that.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. His words hung heavily in the air, filling the space between you with a mix of tension, vulnerability, and unspoken possibilities.

Seonghwa took a cautious step closer, his hands still holding yours as if afraid you might pull away. His eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

“I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued softly, his voice laced with regret. “And I know I haven’t always treated you the way you deserve. But I’m serious about this, about us. Even if I have to wait until you’re ready to believe me… I will.”

The sincerity in his words caused a lump to form in your throat. You blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the moment.

“Seonghwa…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was disarming, and for a moment, all the hurt and confusion from before seemed to melt away. But before you could process your emotions further, a distant voice from downstairs called your name, pulling you back to reality.

You took a deep breath, gently pulling your hands away. “I should go back to the party,” you said, your tone steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Seonghwa nodded, stepping back to give you space. “Of course. Just… take your time, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

You nodded, turning to leave the room, but paused at the door. Glancing back at him, you saw the faintest hint of a hopeful smile on his face.

As you walked down the staircase and rejoined the bustling party, your mind was anything but calm. His confession replayed in your head like a broken record, making it impossible to focus on the cheerful chatter around you.

Hongjoong approached, offering you a drink. “Everything okay?” he asked, his sharp eyes scanning your face.

You forced a smile, taking the glass from him. “Yeah. Just… a lot on my mind.”

He didn’t push, simply nodding and clinking his glass with yours. As the night went on, you found yourself stealing glances toward the stairs, wondering if Seonghwa was still upstairs, thinking about you the same way you were now unable to stop thinking about him.

-

The next morning, you were working from home. As you sat at your desk trying to focus on work, a notification lit up your phone screen. It was a breaking news alert with the title: "Statement from ATZ Entertainment about Actress Lee Yoona."

Hello, this is ATZ Entertainment.

False articles involving Actress Lee Yoona has been brought to our attention.

While it is true Lee Yoona was with Park Seonghwa, CEO of Byeol Materials Group, the nature of their relationship is strictly platonic and can best be described as that of an older brother and younger sister. On the evening in question in Daegu where Yoona is currently filming, Yoona joined Park Seonghwa and two of their close friends for dinner after a day of filming. During the course of the evening, Yoona unfortunately sprained her ankle, rendering her unable to walk without assistance. Park Seonghwa carried her to her hotel room to ensure her safety and left immediately after ensuring she was settled. The two friends who were present throughout the evening can also confirm these details.

The media’s selective use of images and omission of context has led to baseless and damaging speculations regarding Mr. Park and Ms. Lee. Both individuals have maintained a professional and friendly relationship over the years, with no romantic involvement whatsoever.

We urge the public to be discerning in their consumption of news and to avoid spreading unfounded rumors. ATZ Entertainment, in conjunction with Byeol Materials Group, will take legal action against individuals or entities who perpetuate false or malicious narratives that harm the reputations of either Lee Yoona or Park Seonghwa.

Thank you for your understanding and cooperation.

You could practically feel the weight of the statement as you read it out loud to Nari, who nodded approvingly. “That should definitely put things to rest,” she said confidently.

You hummed in agreement, though a small part of you still felt uneasy. The media had been relentless with its speculations, and you weren’t naive enough to think this would stop all the chatter. But at least now the truth was out there. And more importantly, Seonghwa’s words to you from last night echoed in your mind, solidifying your trust in him. Of course, you knew they would cover up the fact that Lee Yoona was drunk by claiming she sprained her ankle instead.

Nari stood up, a playful grin on her face. “Now that the drama’s clearing up, maybe you can start thinking about how you’re going to answer Seonghwa’s confession.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the heat rising to your cheeks. “Let’s focus on work, shall we?”

“Sure, boss,” she teased, stretching her arms above her head. “But don’t think I’m letting you avoid the subject forever.”

-x-x-x-

Dinner was unusually quiet, a rare occurrence in your family. Yeri was also present today. The clinking of utensils against plates filled the space, but the usual chatter was missing. You knew why—they were all waiting for the right moment to bring up the one topic everyone was thinking about.

Your father finally broke the silence, setting his glass down with a soft thud. “Y/N,” he began, his tone gentle but probing, ��now that everything about Seonghwa has been cleared up, are you ready to move forward? Are you ready to get engaged to him?”

You paused, your fork hovering over your plate as the question settled in the air. All eyes were on you—your mother’s soft and encouraging gaze, Hongjoong’s more neutral but attentive expression, and Yeri’s subtle look of curiosity mixed with concern.

“I…” You hesitated, unsure of how to express the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“Sweetheart,” your mother said, her voice calm and soothing, “we’re not trying to pressure you. We just want to understand how you’re feeling.”

Your father nodded. “Seonghwa is a good man. We’ve all seen that. But this decision has to come from you.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “He’s been through a lot to prove himself, Y/N. And let’s not forget he confessed to you. That’s not something he’d do lightly.”

Yeri chimed in, her voice softer than usual. “And you’ve always been careful with your heart, Y/N. But you’ve also been happier since Seonghwa’s been in your life. Do you love him?”

The question hit you like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. “I care about him deeply… and I know I have feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But love? That’s… that’s something I’m still trying to understand.”

Your father exchanged a glance with your mother before speaking again. “It’s a big step, Y/N. And it’s okay to take your time. But ask yourself this—what do you see when you think about your future? Do you see him in it?”

The room fell silent again, and you stared down at your plate, your thoughts running wild. Did you see Seonghwa in your future? The moments you’d shared with him flashed through your mind—the quiet conversations, the laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world, the way he held you while he kissed you.

Finally, you looked up, meeting their expectant gazes. “I don’t have an answer right now,” you said honestly. “But I know I need to talk to him… there’s something I need to ask him. I need to figure this out first, for myself and for us.”

Your mother smiled softly, reaching out to place her hand over yours. “That’s all we ask. Take your time, and trust your heart.”

Hongjoong gave you a supportive nod. “And if he screws up, I’ll handle it. He is my bestfriend after all.”

That drew a small laugh from you, easing some of the tension in the room.

Later that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, their words replayed in your mind. The question wasn’t just about Seonghwa—it was about what you wanted, what you were ready for.

And deep down, you knew you needed to see him soon. You knew you had to ask him about the multiple times you slept with him and the way he treated it like as if nothing happened.

-

Seonghwa sat at one of Mingi's high-top tables, his tablet balanced precariously on a stack of coasters as he scrolled through bouquet arrangements. His brow was furrowed like he was negotiating a billion-dollar deal instead of picking flowers.

“Roses feel too cliché,” he muttered to himself, clicking to view another arrangement featuring peonies and eucalyptus.

“You know,” Wooyoung began, sipping his brightly colored cocktail with a ridiculous paper umbrella sticking out of it, “this is taking way too long. Just give her flower-shaped diamonds and call it a day.”

Seonghwa didn’t even look up. “Should I?”

Mingi, who was behind the bar mixing a drink, whipped around so fast he almost dropped his shaker. “What?”

Hongjoong, seated at the other end of the table nursing a glass of whiskey, snorted. “He’s kidding.”

Seonghwa paused, looking up from the tablet, his expression unreadable.

“Oh my god, he’s actually considering it!” Wooyoung cackled, slapping his thigh. “I mean, imagine her reaction. Flower-shaped diamonds, Seonghwa. You’d be the most romantic guy in the history of romance. Ever.”

Seonghwa’s lips twitched like he was seriously considering it. “It would be efficient,” he said thoughtfully. “Flowers and jewelry in one.”

Mingi groaned loudly, slamming his shaker on the bar. “You’re not serious.”

“Don’t tempt him,” Hongjoong muttered, swirling the ice in his glass.

“No, no, let’s lean into this,” Wooyoung said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Add in a gold vase to hold the diamond flowers, and boom! The ultimate gift.”

Hongjoong choked on his drink, coughing violently. “Gold vase? Are you insane? You’re going to bankrupt him for life!”

Wooyoung laughed loudly. “Yooo our company is struggling, you could actually end up bankrupt!”

“Not likely,” Seonghwa replied smoothly, still scrolling through the bouquets.

Mingi leaned on the bar, pointing an accusing finger at Seonghwa. “If you actually show up with diamond flowers, I’m banning you from this bar. Forever.”

“Noted,” Seonghwa said dryly, but his small smirk betrayed him. In the end, as they continued their banter, he bookmarked a bouquet of white tulips, lavender, and garden roses. Simple, elegant, and meaningful—just like the person he had in mind.

Mingi leaned against the counter, casually swirling a drink in his hand as he eyed Seonghwa. “So, Mr. Park, when’s the big engagement happening? Got a date set, or are we still in the ‘waiting for permission’ phase?”

Seonghwa sighed, setting his glass down. “There’s no date yet, Mingi. Y/N hasn’t even said yes to the idea of us being engaged.”

Wooyoung gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Are you telling me you, Park Seonghwa, the epitome of everything women dream of, haven’t locked this down yet? What is she waiting for? A meteor shower? A handwritten letter from Cupid?”

“Or maybe she’s just sensible,” Mingi cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not everyone is swept off their feet by Seonghwa’s brooding CEO charm.”

“I’d argue it’s the lack of charm,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Seonghwa.

“She promised to give us a chance and get to know me better,” Seonghwa said evenly, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his tone. “I want her to feel comfortable with the idea before anything happens. She deserves that.”

Mingi nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But do you think she’ll say yes eventually?”

Seonghwa hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. That’s up to her. I can’t force it. All I can do is show her how serious I am about this… about her.”

Wooyoung snorted. “Serious? Please. You’re practically one step away from carving her name into your desk like some lovesick teenager.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa said warningly, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Wooyoung shot back, grinning. “I’m just saying, if you want her to say yes, you should make a grand gesture. You know, flowers, fireworks, maybe even a plane with a banner that says ‘Marry Me, Y/N.’”

“Do you hear yourself?” Seonghwa asked, exasperated.

“Actually, the flowers idea isn’t bad,” Mingi mused. “Not the plane, though. That’s overkill. But… Isn’t this one of those mutual agreements? Like, you both sit down with your parents and say, ‘Okay, let’s do it on this date with this theme?’”

“That’s how it usually works in families like ours,” Seonghwa admitted. “But…” He trailed off, his fingers idly tapping the edge of his glass.

“But?” Wooyoung pressed, his grin widening.

“I’d rather propose,” Seonghwa said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

The table went silent for a moment before Wooyoung let out a dramatic gasp. “What?! Mr. Tradition himself wants to go rogue?!”

Mingi burst out laughing. “Rogue? He just wants to be romantic, you idiot,” Mingi said, before his tone dropped to a more sincere one. “She deserves to feel special, hyung. If proposing is what feels right to you, then do it. Forget all that business nonsense for a second.”

Hongjoong smirked, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Listen to them for once, Hwa. They’re making sense. For once.”

Seonghwa chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “You’re all impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible but wise,” Wooyoung said, tipping his glass toward Seonghwa. “So are we getting involved? Do I get to sprinkle flower petals or something?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but the small, genuine smile playing on his lips said it all. “We’ll see.”

But deep down, as the laughter and teasing continued, Seonghwa was already envisioning the perfect moment. One that would show you just how much he cared—beyond business, beyond expectation, beyond everything.

-x-x-x-

The grandeur of the evening was almost overwhelming, even by your family’s standards. You were at an exclusive charity gala hosted at a sprawling estate, complete with chandeliers, a live orchestra, and servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres.

Dressed in a sleek navy gown, you stood by your parents and Hongjoong, exchanging pleasantries with various guests. Across the room, you spotted Seonghwa with his parents, his sharp black suit highlighting his striking features. He was speaking with an older couple, but his gaze kept flickering in your direction.

“Y/N, Hongjoong, come meet the Baek family,” your father said, steering you both toward an elegantly dressed couple. Beside them stood two men—one looked to be in his late 30s, his wedding ring catching the light as he sipped his drink. The other, however, appeared younger, perhaps in his early 30s. His tailored suit and confident smile screamed wealth and charm.

“This is Mr. and Mrs. Baek,” your father introduced, “and their sons, Baek Hyunwoo and Baek Youngha. They run Baek Pharmaceuticals.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said politely, extending your hand.

Baek Youngha’s handshake lingered just a moment too long, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt deliberate. “The pleasure is mine, Ms. Kim. I’ve heard a lot about Aurum Medical Technologies. Impressive work for someone so young.”

“Thank you,” you replied with a polite smile, stepping back slightly to create some distance.

As the conversation flowed, Youngha seemed particularly interested in you, asking about your work and future plans. Hongjoong, ever the protective brother, subtly stepped in to steer the conversation whenever it veered too personal.

From across the room, Seonghwa’s jaw tightened. He had noticed the way Baek Youngha’s gaze lingered on you, his expression far too appraising for Seonghwa’s liking.

“Who’s that?” Jongho asked, following Seonghwa’s line of sight.

“Baek Youngha,” Seonghwa muttered. “Youngest son of Baek Pharmaceuticals. And apparently, he doesn’t know how to keep his eyes to himself.”

San smirked, sipping his drink. “Jealous much?”

“Not jealous,” Seonghwa replied, his tone clipped. “Just observant.”

San raised an eyebrow. “Right. Observant. That’s why you’re glaring daggers at the guy.”

Meanwhile, you felt Seonghwa’s eyes on you but tried to focus on the conversation. Youngha leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. “If you ever want to discuss potential collaborations between Aurum and Baek Pharmaceuticals, I’d be happy to arrange a private meeting.”

Before you could respond, Hongjoong interjected smoothly. “I’m sure any discussions like that would need to go through the proper channels. Our teams can coordinate if necessary.”

Youngha chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Of course. I’m just offering my personal insight.”

“Insight is always welcome,” you said politely, though you could feel Seonghwa’s gaze boring into the side of your head.

As the conversation wrapped up, you excused yourself to get a drink, feeling the need to escape the intensity of the interaction. Seonghwa seized the opportunity, making his way across the room to intercept you at the bar.

“You seemed… popular over there,” he remarked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Just networking.”

“Networking,” he repeated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s one way to describe it.”

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Park, are you jealous?”

His eyes darkened slightly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. “I don’t get jealous. But I do protect what’s mine.”

The heat in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the bustling gala seemed to fade into the background. “Am I yours, Seonghwa?” you asked softly, testing the waters.

He straightened, his expression softening but still intense. “I’d like you to be.”

Before you could respond, Hongjoong appeared, his timing impeccable as always. “Y/N, we have another family to meet.”

You glanced back at Seonghwa, his gaze unwavering. “We’ll talk later,” he said, his voice low but filled with promise.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the pull between you growing stronger, the line between business and personal becoming increasingly blurred.

After speaking to couple more people, you excused yourself from a conversation, making your way over to the bar for another drink. The evening had been exhausting enough, and you needed a moment to yourself. As you reached the bar and picked up a glass of wine, a voice cut through the soft hum of conversations.

“Y/N! Over here!”

You turned to see Youngha waving at you with a grin, standing in a corner with San, Jongho, Seonghwa, and Hyunwoo. His invitation was warm, almost too eager, and you hesitated for a moment before walking over.

As you approached, Youngha pulled out a chair for you from the table right beside them with an exaggerated flourish. “Come join us. We were just discussing how someone like you probably has all the answers to the medical industry’s problems.”

You offered a polite smile as you sat down. “I highly doubt that, but I’m happy to join the conversation.”

Youngha leaned in slightly, his gaze lingering a little too long. “Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N. From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the trailblazer. Smart, accomplished, and strikingly beautiful—a rare combination.”

San and Jongho exchanged a quick glance, their eyes darting toward Seonghwa, whose expression was unreadable but clearly strained. He stood slightly to the side, his arms crossed, watching the exchange with a carefully controlled demeanor.

“Thank you,” you replied, maintaining your composure. “I’m just doing my best, like everyone else.”

“You’re far too modest,” Youngha said with a chuckle, his tone playful but with an undercurrent of something else. “Someone like you deserves recognition. Maybe even someone who can match your ambition and drive.” His hand brushed lightly against the back of your chair, his intent far from subtle.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, and he straightened, his presence suddenly commanding. “Recognition is earned through hard work, not flattery,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a sharpness that cut through the air.

Youngha smirked, unfazed. “True, but a little encouragement never hurts, does it?” He glanced at you, his smile widening. “Y/N seems to appreciate it.”

“I’m sure Y/N appreciates sincerity more than hollow compliments,” Seonghwa countered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

San coughed to stifle a laugh, and Jongho took a sip of his drink, hiding his amusement. The tension between the two men crackled in the air, and you could feel it radiating off Seonghwa in waves.

“I assure you, my compliments are anything but hollow,” Youngha said smoothly, raising his glass toward you. “To Y/N, for being an exceptional presence in a room full of ordinary people.”

You tried to redirect the conversation, not wanting things to escalate further. “That’s very kind of you, but I think we’re all extraordinary in our own ways.”

Youngha chuckled, tilting his head toward Seonghwa. “Perhaps some of us have to work a little harder to stand out.”

Seonghwa’s smile was tight, his voice measured. “It’s not about standing out, Youngha. It’s about substance. Something you can’t fake.”

The subtle jab didn’t go unnoticed, and Youngha’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before he recovered. “Substance, of course. But let’s not forget that charm has its own value.”

“Charm fades,” Seonghwa replied coolly, his eyes locked on Youngha’s. “Substance lasts.”

San leaned over to Jongho, whispering, “This is getting spicy. Should we step in?”

Jongho shook his head, a sly grin on his face. “Not a chance. This is better than a drama.”

You cleared your throat, desperate to break the tension. “Well, this has been an interesting discussion, but I think I need some air.”

Youngha stood immediately, offering his hand. “Allow me to escort you—”

“She’ll be fine,” Seonghwa interjected, stepping closer to you, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hand lightly grazed your elbow, guiding you away from the group.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but notice the heat in Seonghwa’s gaze and the way his touch lingered just a little too long. Youngha watched you both with a knowing smirk, but Seonghwa didn’t look back.

Seonghwa led you toward the balcony, away from the hum of voices and the clinking of glasses. The night air was crisp and cool, a welcome contrast to the tension you’d just escaped, and you were glad there was no one else at this balcony.

“Something bothering you?” you asked innocently, your voice laced with teasing undertones.

He turned to face you with a sharpness in his gaze that made your breath hitch. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice cool, though his eyes burned with something far hotter.

You smirked, tilting your head as you took a step closer, your boldness amplified by the wine you’d been nursing earlier. “I think Baek Youngha got under your skin.”

Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s irrelevant.”

“Is he?” you pressed, your tone deliberately playful. “Because from where I was seated, he seemed to be having a lot of fun trying to charm me. And you seemed… tense.”

“I wasn’t tense,” he snapped, too quickly, his eyes narrowing at the curve of your lips. “I was just—”

“Jealous?” you finished for him, stepping closer until you were inches apart, your voice dropping into something softer, almost daring. “You didn’t like the way he was looking at me, did you?”

His breath caught for a fraction of a second, his composure slipping just enough for you to notice. “He shouldn’t have been looking at you like that,” he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. “And you shouldn’t have been entertaining it.”

“Entertaining it?” You laughed softly, your fingers brushing the edge of his cuff as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “What if I was?”

His eyes darkened, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist, holding it firmly but gently. “Don’t test me, Y/N,” he warned, his voice a husky murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

You raised a brow, your smirk widening as you leaned closer, your voice a whisper. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Seonghwa. I think I might.”

His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, his free hand coming up to your waist, hovering there like he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer. “You’re playing with fire yet again, sweetheart,” he said, his tone rough, a warning, but there was no mistaking the flicker of desire in his eyes.

“Maybe I want to get burned again,” you replied boldly, your heart pounding in your chest.

Before he could respond, a voice interrupted the moment. San appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his timing impeccable as always. “There you are,” he said casually, glancing between the two of you. “Thought I’d find you here. Hongjoong is looking for you.”

You chuckled, grateful for the interruption, though the lingering heat of Seonghwa’s words stayed with you. “Guess we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Seonghwa gave you a small smile before stepping back, allowing you to lead the way.

You rejoined the crowd, a polite smile plastered on your face as your thoughts raced. Seonghwa’s intense gaze lingered in your mind, and despite your best efforts, the memory of his voice—low and dangerous—sent a thrill through you.

Hongjoong appeared by your side, handing you a fresh glass of champagne. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

You laughed lightly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine. Just a bit warm in here.”

“Uh-huh,” he said skeptically, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Seonghwa and the little disappearing act you two pulled earlier, would it?”

You choked on your drink, glaring at your brother. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you and lover boy vanished for a good five minutes and came back looking… well, let’s just say the air around you was heavy,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hongjoong, please,” you muttered, your cheeks heating. “It was nothing. Nothing happened.”

“Sure,” he drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, just a heads-up—Youngha hasn’t stopped staring at you since you walked back in. And Seonghwa hasn’t stopped glaring at him.”

You glanced across the room, spotting Youngha chatting with some older businessmen. True to Hongjoong’s words, his gaze flickered to you more often than not. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was leaning against the bar, his expression unreadable as his eyes followed your every move.

The tension was palpable, and the evening dragged on as you navigated small talk and pleasantries. At one point, Mrs. Baek found you, her warm smile a contrast to the subtle competitiveness in her tone as she spoke about her sons and their achievements.

“Youngha’s been asking about you,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “It’s rare for him to show interest in anyone at these events.”

You smiled politely, feeling the weight of her words. “That’s flattering. But I’m not sure he and I have much in common.”

“Perhaps not,” she mused, “but sometimes opposites attract.”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa appeared at your side, his presence commanding as always. “Mrs. Baek,” he greeted smoothly, his voice polite but cool. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening.”

“Oh, I am,” she replied, her smile faltering slightly under his steady gaze. “Y/N was just telling me how charming my younger son, Youngha, is. I take it you have certainly met my son before?”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but his smile didn’t waver. “Youngha is certainly… persistent,” he said, his tone carrying just the slightest edge.

You bit back a laugh, feeling the tension crackling between them. “Excuse us, Mrs. Baek,” Seonghwa said suddenly, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you away. “I need to borrow Ms. Kim here for a moment.”

Once you were out of earshot, you raised an eyebrow at him. “Jealous again?”

He stopped, turning to face you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t get jealous.”

“Right,” you drawled, crossing your arms. “So that little comment about Youngha being persistent was just casual observation?”

“Call it what you want,” he replied, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “But I wasn’t about to let Mrs. Baek start matchmaking you with him.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching in amusement. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Something in his tone made your breath catch, and for a moment, the noise of the gala faded into the background. His hand lingered at your back, his touch warm and grounding.

“Let’s just get through tonight,” you said finally, your voice quieter. “No more drama.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “No more drama.”

After the gala successfully concluded and you had dinner, you headed back home with your family, Seonghwa trailing behind as he needed to collect some documents from Hongjoong’s office. The ride had been mostly quiet, everyone tired from the long evening.

Once home, your parents quickly retired to bed, muttering about early meetings the next day. Hongjoong and Seonghwa lingered in the office room, discussing business matters, but even your brother eventually called it a night, leaving Seonghwa alone in the hallway. Meanwhile, you had settled in the living room, still buzzing with energy from the evening. You had just finished a call with Yeri when you saw Seonghwa emerging from the office, car keys in hand.

“Heading out?” you called, standing up and walking over to him.

He turned, surprised to see you still awake. “Yeah, I was just about to.”

“Stay a bit?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re free, that is.”

His expression softened, the faintest smile breaking through his usual composed demeanor. “Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I don’t sleep early anyway,” you replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Come on then. Let’s chill in my room.”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was no mistaking the amusement in his expression. “Your room?”

“What? Too scandalous for you, Mr. Park?” you teased, already heading toward the stairs. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave.”

“I’m more worried about myself,” he muttered under his breath, though he followed you up the staircase.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped inside, gesturing for him to follow. “Make yourself comfortable.”

His gaze swept over the space as he entered. Your room was an eclectic mix of modern chic and cozy charm, a reflection of your personality. He walked toward the small seating area near the window, pausing to look at the neatly arranged books on your shelf.

“Nice setup,” he said, glancing back at you. “Very you.”

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting cross-legged on your bed. “What do you think? Should I add a shrine for all my business awards?”

“That might be overkill,” he deadpanned, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You’re no fun.” You reached for the remote on your nightstand, turning on the ambient lights that cast a soft glow across the room. “I’m going to change out of this. Be right back.”

Seonghwa nodded and took a seat on the chair near your window, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he nodded. “Take your time.”

With a small smile, you walked into your walk-in closet, flipping the light on. You set your bag on the shelf and began unclasping your jewelry, placing each piece carefully in its box. The faint murmur of Seonghwa shifting in the other room was the only sound as you reached behind to unzip your dress.

But the zipper refused to budge.

“Seriously?” you muttered, twisting and turning to no avail. After a minute of struggling, you gave up with an exasperated sigh.

Poking your head out of the closet door, you found Seonghwa leaning back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other. His suit jacket and tie were taken off, and the first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. He glanced up when he noticed you, his brows arching in question.

“Uh… can you help me?” you asked, walking over to him, your tone casual despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “My zipper’s stuck.”

His expression flickered with surprise, then amusement, though he didn’t hesitate to rise from the chair. “Of course.”

Turning your back to him, you felt the warmth of his presence as he stood close behind you. His hands hesitated at first before pushing your hair to one side and then hovering near the zipper.

“Here?” he asked softly, his voice low and careful.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely audible.

His fingers brushed against your back as he took hold of the zipper, sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he tugged it down, the sound of the unzipping loud in the quiet space. The fabric loosened, revealing more of your skin inch by inch. His touch was light, deliberate, but the tension in the air was anything but.

“There,” he murmured when he reached the small of your back, his voice rougher than before.

You turned to face him, clutching the gown to your chest to keep it from slipping. “Thanks,” you said, though the words came out softer than intended.

His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The confined space seemed to shrink as the charged silence stretched. His gaze dropped briefly to your exposed shoulder, then back to your face, and the intensity in his expression made your pulse race.

“You should…” He trailed off, but his voice had a husky edge now. “Finish changing.”

A slow, mischievous smile spread across your lips. “You’re right,” you said, your tone deliberately light, even as you felt the heat rolling off him. “But it’s much more fun to see you like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice lower now, though his composure was clearly slipping.

“Like you’re trying very hard to look anywhere but here.” You gestured to your bare shoulder with a teasing flick of your fingers, stepping closer.

He took a steadying breath, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. “I’m not trying anything,” he replied, though the slight rasp in his tone betrayed him. He lightly cleared his throat. “Anything else you need?” he asked, his tone laced with challenge.

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “Depends,” you murmured, the gown slipping slightly under your grip, exposing more of your chest that immediately caught his eyes. “Can you handle more than a zipper?”

His jaw clenched, his composure visibly cracking. “Y/N…” The way he said your name was almost a warning, but his hand rose, skimming your bare arm before settling firmly on your waist.

“What?” you teased, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Afraid you’ll lose control?”

“I’m not afraid, sweetheart” he shot back, his voice low and gravelly. “But you’re pushing me again.”

“And?” you whispered, closing the distance between you. “What are you going to do about it?”

His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “This,” he growled, before capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but hesitant.

The dress slipped from your grasp, pooling at your feet, leaving you in your matching navy lingerie, but you couldn’t have cared less. His hands were on you, strong and unrelenting, and the heat between you burned away any pretense of restraint as the kiss deepened into something raw, urgent, and utterly consuming.

Seonghwa’s hands roamed over your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his touch both possessive and reverent. You matched his energy, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly to elicit a low groan from him that vibrated against your lips. It sent a jolt of electricity straight through you, making you press even closer, as though the two of you couldn’t get close enough no matter how hard you tried.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless.

You smirked, brushing your lips against his again in a teasing kiss. “I might have an idea.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”

“And yet, you can’t stay away,” you shot back, your boldness fueled by the fire between you.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, his tone dropping, heavy with meaning. His lips found the curve of your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that made your knees weak. You leaned into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as his mouth continued its maddening path along your skin.

“Seonghwa…” you breathed, your voice a mix of need and warning.

His name on your lips seemed to snap something in him, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet filled with a tension that left no room for doubt. “If this is too much, tell me now.”

You met his gaze steadily, your hands slipping down to the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t want you to stop,” you said while undoing the buttons and pushing his shirt off him. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips crashed into yours once more, and this time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. You sank onto it, pulling him down with you, your bodies moving in sync as if they’d always known exactly how to fit together.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word fueled the fire between you, the room around you fading into oblivion. All that existed was him—his hands, his lips, his presence, consuming you in a way that felt exhilarating.

He pulled away from kissing you to trail kisses from your neck to the valley of your clothed boobs. Your hard nipples were visible beneath the lacy fabric and Seonghwa delicately placed kisses on each one before continuing his journey down your body until he reached the waistband of your thong.

“May I?” he asked for consent, and you nodded in response. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes… please,” you said, hips slightly bucking up in urgency, making him chuckle.

“So needy for me.” He pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing it aside. He gently spread your legs wide apart before moving to settle in between your legs. He latched onto your clit, his wet tongue darting out to lick the bud. Your hand moved into his hair, gently tugging on his long strands, and your body feels like it’s on fire. He licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, letting out a small moan at your taste. He repeats his actions a couple of times before latching onto your clit again, gently sucking the nub. You squirm, bucking your hips up, and he smirks, moving his arms around your thighs to hold you down in place so you couldn’t move.

“Hwa… god, fuck,” you moan. He hums before lapping at your clit in a faster pace that had you gripping his hair. He let go of one of your thighs to bring his hand to your hole, slipping a finger inside while continuing to lap at your clit, the combination sending you into a moaning spree. It felt so so good, and you chanted his name over and over again while he increased his pace. The knot in your lower abdomen tightened and your hips kept bucking up.

Seonghwa knew you were close, and he continued his actions until you were crying out his name, your orgasm washing over you in waves, your body shaking in response. He licked up all your juices before letting your thighs go, putting his fingers in his mouth to suck them dry. “Delicious,” he commented, and you chuckled breathlessly before you sat up and reached out to his pants. He understood what you wanted and pushed his pants down swiftly along with his briefs, his cock springing out, the tip already a bit leaky.

You moved to wrap your hand around his dick, pumping it a few times. Your thumb brushed along his slit, spreading his pre-cum around. He audibly sucked in a breath through his teeth and you leaned forward to take his cock in your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down his length, trying to take him as much  as you can in your mouth, using your hand to cover his remaining length. His hand moved to hold your hair back while he watched you suck him off. His cock hit the back of your throat, causing you to lightly gag, but you continued your movements on him.

“Y/N… my love… fuck…” he murmured, throwing his head back. You hum, the vibration earning a groan from him. You let his cock slip from your mouth and before you could take him in again, he stopped you. “I’d rather cum in you, sweetheart, if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” you said and sit up on your bed, patting the space beside you. Seonghwa sat down and you wasted no time in straddling his lap. “I’m on the pill,” you inform him before aligning his dick with your entrance. You leaned in to take his lips in yours while you sunk down on his cock, moaning at the way he stretched you out.

“So fucking tight, so warm,” he muttered against your lips before kissing you again. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, slowly rolling your hips against his before picking up the pace. His hands were wrapped around your body, holding you in place while you bounced on his dick. The sound of skin slapping, heavy breathing, and your moans filled the air and you were grateful that your room was soundproof.

In one swift step, Seonghwa moved you onto your back so he could take control. He thrusted in and out of you in a comfortable pace, your legs moving around his waist. You pulled him even closer, and you felt him go deeper. “Seonghwa…” you cried out his name when he kept repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

He wet a finger with his mouth before bringing it to your clit, rubbing the nub in up and down motions. Your back arched while he fucked your pussy, and before you knew it, you reached your climax, legs shaking rigorously.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart, hold on,” he said, leaning down to reconnect your lips while he moved faster. In a few more seconds, he stilled, spilling his cum into you, his cock pulsing. He moved slowly, milking himself dry before pulling out and collapsing next to you. The two of you laid on your bed in silence, trying to calm down your heavy breathing.

Seonghwa reached out to cup your face with one hand, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. He glanced around your room, looking for something.

“Where are your tissues?” he asked.

“In the bathroom,” you replied, sitting up. Before you could get off the bed, he put his arm around your back and under your knees, lifting you up bridal-style while he carried you to the bathroom. You giggled in response, earning a wide grin from him before he set you down in your bathroom. He washed his hands while you peed and cleaned yourself, and you noticed the way his body glistened with a thin layer of sweat. God, he was so beautiful.

You moved to wrap your arms around him from behind, looking at his reflection in the large mirror of your bathroom. He placed his hands over yours, a happy and relaxing sigh leaving him. “How do you feel?”

“I feel great,” you said with a smile. “How do you feel?”

“Rejuvenated.” You chuckled at that.

“Shower with me?” you asked innocently.

How could he ever say no?

[axelsagewrites]

Begging on my hands and knees for a part 6 to where am I 👏👏

Where Am I?*Part Six

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...soon...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Word count:  1379

Warnings: time travel, hunting, jealous bjorn, rumours

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five

Masterlist Here

The next morning you woke up to the sound of rustling beside you. When your eyes finally opened you saw Ivar putting tunic and boots back on. “Did we?” the words came out before you could think as you quickly sat up. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw your clothes were still on.

“Did we what?” Ivar asked as he finished lacing on his shoes.

“Nothing,” you mumbled as you rubbed your eyes, “Just weird dreams,” you tried to brush it off, but Ivar gave you a strange look.

Eventually he shrugged and you let out an internal sigh, “You snore by the way,” he said as he began to drag himself to the door.

“Hey!” you tried to protest but Ivar just laughed as he left your room. Thank god, you thought, as you fell back into bed a blushing mess.

-

By the time you were dressed and ready the breakfast table sat with a sniggering Hvitserk, a grumbling Sigurd sat across from an annoyed looking Ivar. You heard a whistle from Hvitserk but ignored it as Ivar’s grip tightened on his knife and you walked past them all to Ubbe.

“Can I come hunting with you?” you weren’t sure why you asked.

Ubbe clearly hadn’t expected it either, but a smile soon found his face, “Of course. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” when you first came the idea of hunting anything made your stomach churn.

But after the past two weeks you clearly weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, “Figured it’s about time I started acting like a Viking,”

As you went to grab your cloak confusion rang out from the breakfast table. “What’s a Viking?” Ubbe asked.

You let out a little groan, “I’ll explain on the way,”

-

Ubbe apparently found hunting therapeutic and you tried to put your 21st century ideas of a psychopath to the side since you needed dinner after all. “How much longer are we- “you began to ask but Ubbe rushed up behind you, placing a finger over your lips as he pointed between the gaps in the trees.

You gasped at his sudden presence, holding your breath as your eyes soon landed on the deer he’d spotted. You nodded slowly and he removed his hand, though you felt a heat rise to your cheeks as he stayed still behind you.

You wanted to question him as he put his hand over yours, but silence was key right now. His hands went over yours as they held your bow, guiding your aim as you knocked an arrow.

You glanced over your shoulder to send him a questioning look. There was no way you could shoot a deer. Sure, you’d got a couple rabbits, but they took like six attempts each time. Ubbe just nodded, giving you a reassuring look before both your eyes landed on the deer again.

You took a breath in, pulling the arrow back. just one shot. You wavered though, worrying maybe your aim was wrong. Then the deer lifted its head from where it was grazing on the grass. Your fingers fell away from the string.

“Yes!” Ubbe cheered when the arrow found its way into its prey.

A small laugh came from you then soon a beaming smile, “I did it!” you shouted, turning around to hug him. It lasted maybe a second before you pulled away to run over to the deer to put it out its misery. “You coming?” You called.

Ubbe tried to knock the love struck look off of his face as he gathered himself. It had been the first hug he’d had since childhood, and he felt like the air had been knocked out his lungs.

-

“Are you sure I can’t help?” you said as Ubbe carried the deer back himself.

“I’ve got it,” he grunted, forcing a smile.

“Scared I’d slow you down?” you joked.

He shot back a cheeky smile, “Of course,” he just laughed despite you slapping his stomach as you carried the six rabbits you had caught together.

-

The boys refused to believe it had been you that shot the deer when you returned. “Did you maybe shoot a log that looked like a deer?” Hvitserk teased.

“Ha ha,” you said, rolling your eyes, “Ubbe saw me,”

“I also guided your arrow,” he said as he and Sigurd began to string up the deer. You weren’t quite sure what was happening but watched in protest anyway.

“Barely,” you snapped, “It was my arrow, my bow, my shot. So that makes it my deer,”

Ivar chuckled at your antics, but this was a hill you were willing to die on. “I believe you,” Sigurd said as they finished tying the deer upside down. “This one is too loud to catch a deer,”

“Hey!”

“Told you so,” you grinned despite Ubbe’s protests. “Now be a dear Sigurd and telling me what yous are actually doing,”

This time they all rolled their eyes. Even Ivar despised modern century puns, “We need to bleed it,” Sigurd said casually before slitting the things throat.

“Nope!” you gagged, turning on your heels to leave, “Fuck that,”

“C’mon it’s just a little blood,” Ivar called but you were already heading back to their home.

-

You shivered remembering the site as you walked inside but froze when you saw Bjorn sat at the table, “Hello,” you said, and he just nodded. “Are you looking for your brothers?”

“No,” well this is a great conversation, you thought as you returned to silence.

You nodded slowly as the silence continued, “Okay well I’m going to- “you said as you headed towards your room, well Ivar’s old room, when Bjorn spoke up.

“There’s a rumour about you,”

God maybe it was like your old life. You turned around and sighed, “Do I wanna know?”

He stood up and for a second you thought it might be serious, “You and Ivar,” he said but when he never said anything else you just gave him a confused look, “Hvitserk saw him leaving your room,”

“Yeah, we accidentally fell asleep talking last night,”

“Talking,” Bjorn laughed, “Is that what your people call it?”

your eyebrows burrowed in confusion before the urge to slap him came over you, “Excuse you,” you snapped, “Ivar is my friend,”

“Who you fuck,” he said, stepping past the table closer to you.

Like hell were you going to back down, “That is none of your business,” you spat, crossing your arms “But for the record we didn’t. besides why do you even care?” Bjorn opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

You sighed and turned to walk away but finally he spoke, “Wait!” he said, and you turned around once more, “Look I- “he sighed, “I just don’t want you getting hurt,”

“Please I’ve dealt with gossips before,” you said, dropping your crossed arms, “but next time if you have a question just ask me,” you sighed, “instead of biting my head off when I’ve just had a good day,”

His eyes fell to the floor as he nodded, “I’m sorry,”

“Apology accepted,” you said. You started to leave but turned around of your own volition this time, “I caught a deer,”

“Really? You?” he smirked; eyebrow raised.

You hummed at him, narrowing your eyes, “Yes. Not that any of you would’ve believed me if Ubbe hadn’t witnessed the whole thing,”

“We’ll I’ll be damned,” he said, “There’s hope for you yet,”

“Tell me about it. Sigurd’s going to teach me how to stew it tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us,”

A soft smile fell on his face, “Suppose I should celebrate your victory with you. Even if it means dealing with my idiot brothers,”

“Hey if I gotta put up with you lot, then you can deal with them for an evening,” you grinned to which he nodded in agreement.

“Okay fine, fine,” his smile dropped though as he realised something, “Don’t you need to bleed it first- “

Your stomach lurched, “Don’t- “you cut him off, sticking your hand in the air, “-go there. That’s just creepy,” you shuddered as you finally headed to your room for a nap as Bjorn laughed at how sickly you looked at the thought of it.

Taglist Sign Up Here

General Taglist

@itsmathilda @tessakate @ravenmoore14 @obx-josie18 @427120lxld @meg-ro @headinfantasy @strvngestark @jjkjbhj @perla434 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @selenestar78 @randomstory56 @qardasngan @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince @luvdella @bryandechartisasmolbean @glorywielder101 @tiinkerbell @the-holy-pidgeon @andreaxxx44 @winterklls @bdudette @f1uveryysblog @ellamarvete @pear-1206 @mushupork4u @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @mbruben-stein @minedofmoria @moszslord @goorupx @moonyystan @winchestercherrypie08

Vikings Taglist (part one)

@tessakate @hypocritic-trash-baby @ringpopdust @bellroclucky03 @thefirebreather00 @ellabellabus07 @sashadevil766 @younjo @eldritch-bunny-teeth @re-per @marchuuu @dreamspirit666 @sununicorn @vlynccx @goldenheart703

[brynnterpretations]

Where Damage Isn’t Already Done

Victoria Neuman x Wife!Reader

The worst thing about it is the coffee.

⌗ fluff ⌗ fix-it ⌗ short-fic ⌗ title from "where damage isn't already done" by the radio dept.

Contains spoilers for The Boys, Season 4, Episode 8. Please do not click read more unless you have watched it.

You and Vic had talked about what your dream home with each other would be even when you first started dating. It was therapeutic, you supposed; considering you met each other at a Vought gala, you knew that you wouldn’t be very normal, nor would your relationship. Even if you somehow got everything you wanted — Vic as President, you practicing law, conflict of interest only in the bedroom — there was no such thing as retiring. Or relaxing, really. So, you talked about it. Vic wanted a beautiful home in Big Sur, overlooking the ocean, with an easy route down for Zoe to play, or maybe a Roman villa in the heart of the Spanish countryside, surrounded by sheep and farm animals — you’d be the ones taking care of them, though, Vic did not do farm animals. Certainly, it wasn’t this.

“Where is this, even?” asked Zoe. Honestly, neither you nor Vic really knew outside of being somewhere in the southwest, where even the bison looked miserable. You took another glance at your new ID on the table, your fake name and fake smile staring back at you. Despite you three being on strict orders from the CIA and the entirety of the Boys coup to never leave the house — thank God they’d given you basic living essentials — they’d still given you IDs just in case.

You sat down at the table. Victoria flipped through Zoe’s homework assignment, taken from a homeschooling book Hughie was kind enough to give to you all considering you weren’t permitted to use Internet, before passing it to you. You snorted quietly once you took a glance; it was English, a weak spot for Vic, considering her aversion to anything impractical. You doubted she wanted to hear anymore about Moby Dick than she’d probably already heard years ago. “Well, the thing they stressed was where we’re not.” 

Zoe made a sour face, but when Victoria pressed a kiss to her forehead, it dissolved. She passed you a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “How’s the book?”

“Fine,” shrugged Zoe. “It’s easy.”

Looking over Zoe’s essay, you could tell she’s telling the truth. “This is great, Zoe.”

“Thanks,” smiled Zoe. She ate her Cheerios with a bit more enthusiasm. You all were still getting used to not having fresh-cooked food. You took a look at the coffee. Truthfully, you and Vic had become huge coffee snobs after you came across the term “third-wave coffee” on Twitter, and as you looked into its inky depths, you tried to forget about Café Integral and Third Rail. Do not think of a rosemary espresso tonic right now. Do not think of a rosemary espresso tonic right now. 

“Oh, Jesus,” she said suddenly, spitting out her coffee. “I don’t think there’s even any coffee in this.” 

You looked over at Victoria, who was dressed in an argyle sweater, slacks, and fuzzy socks that you’d gifted her for Christmas, even though neither of you celebrated. It wasn’t often you didn’t see her in her power gear or without makeup, and she looked younger. Better. It would be stupid to think that it made her look carefree — you all were boiling with tension, terrified of laser beams blasting through the creaky, deteriorating front door — but it certainly made it feel different. As if, after you and Vic had bled and fought only to end up where you started again in New York City, you were finally somewhere that would bring different results.

“I’ll get you some water,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Maybe you weren't in a vista house or beside beautiful oceans or even in a place that had good coffee, but as Zoe and Vic began bickering over Moby Dick, you couldn't imagine why that would ever matter.

[homesickturner]

Take My Hand || KING GEORGE

pairing : king George ||| x reader

summary : George helps calm you in your moment of need, just as you do for him.

warnings : reader experiences a panic attack.

AN : I wrote this on a personal experience so please no negative comments <3 it was so therapeutic to write so if you enjoyed please let me know and I would love to write similar things in future. Requests are open so please feel free to drop an ask <3

———

You’d been completely avoiding your stress that had been building up in the days leading up to your and George’s coronation. Everything had been moving so fast you had not even had the time to process all that had been happening.

Between moving to a new country, leaving your family and having to adjust to the royal way of life, you had not even had a moment alone in the past 7 days.

You realized as your ladies in waiting were preparing you for breakfast on Coronation Day that you were quite nervous. You’d battled with panic attacks since your childhood and today was certainly not a good day to have one.

Never the less, you tried your best to chat with Brimsley as you ate breakfast to distract yourself.

“What did you say the color scheme was for today Brimsley,” you asked. You could feel your hands beginning to shake, the first sign of an attack.

“Gold and red, your majesty. It is to match the crowns.”

You intended on replying to Brimsley but had to put your cutlery down as you were beginning to feel quite ill. At that moment, George and Reynolds also joined you in the room.

“Your majesty are you quite alright,” Brimsley asked you.

“I’m quite well Brimsley thank you.” George answered him unaware.

You brought your hand to your chest, feeling as though there was no air going to your lungs. You were feeling an overwhelming pain in your chest.

“Y/N…my love what is wrong,” George asked frantically, kneeled down to your level where you were sat. Your vision was more blurred that usual and his voice sounded far away.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour and you felt like you were about to faint at any moment.

Your head was pounding and you felt like you were spiraling out of control.

Your breath came in short wheezes as the nerves that had been building in you overtook your body.

“YN your alright we’re all here with you.” You heard George say. He’d taken your trembling hand and interlocked it with his. His other hand stroking your cheek soothingly.

You could hear whispering around you discussing a doctor. “N-no doctor.” You choked out. You could hear some shuffling around you, what you assumed was most of the guards leaving you, George, Brimsley and Reynolds in private.

Eventually your vision cleared slightly, although your attack had not yet run its course.

George tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Darling, I need you to take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?.”

You began your best effort to take deep breaths along with George and eventually they became easier.

“George…I cannot do this. I cannot- I do not have it in me to rule a country.” You began to cry, your whole body still shaking.

“You can Y/N. You are so strong, we’re in this together. You and me.”

“Yes,” you let out a shaky breath.

A few minutes of deep breaths and George’s continued encouragement and you were starting to feel better.

“George, I am so sorry-.”

“Do not apologize Y/N. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Does her majesty require assistance of any kind? A doctor or perhaps a glass a water.” Brimsley asked.

“A doctor will not be needed although a glass of water would be splendid thank you Brimsley.”

“My love, as you sure you are quite alright,” George asked.

“Yes George, I am feeling well.” You smiled.

The coronation was able to go ahead as planned and George was very supportive throughout the day.

That was the day that you knew you and George would have a very happy marriage together.

[turbulentscrawl]

Modern AU: Norton Campbell

You've heard of modern reader? Well now it's time for Modern canon!

- Previously, he worked in the oil industry, but a nasty accident he doesn’t speak about has left him with his fair share of burn scars. Norton now works as an independent contractor, known around town as a do-it-all type of handyman. He rarely works with or for group projects, preferring to be hired directly by property owners for the work they need done. He’s his own boss, and he makes his own schedule, but he’s a workaholic.

- He was raised by his uncle Benny after his parents died when he was still very young—his mother shortly after childbirth, due to complications, and his father in a work-related accident. Benny’s health deteriorated fast, though, and as soon as he was legally able Norton picked up a part-time job to help pay the bills and build a college fund. (Or several, more like, and he was known to bounce around for better pay.)

-Some time in his senior year of high school, he discovered that Benny was keeping secrets; Benny had not only convinced his father to stay in the oil industry after he was born, but wasted and gambled away all the life insurance money from his death. Enraged and betrayed, Norton dropped out of school and left. He drove as far away as he could with the little money he had, and then lived out of his truck for a while. Eventually, he made enough money to rent a shitty little motel room by the week, and then a shitty little apartment.

-After leaving, he at first went into the oil industry like his old man and Benny had been—it was something he was familiar enough with and hard labor paid better than being a busboy again. But after a few years there was an accident which left him with several burn scars. He was left in pain for a long time, but the worker’s comp paid for most of his medical bills and his rent, giving him just enough time to get his GED. After that, he started into construction, plumbing, and other handiman things he was knowledgeable in after years of being poor and self-sufficient.

-The accident, this time, was more of an ACTUAL accident. Norton had a disagreement with some of the coworkers he hated. There was an altercation, and something ignited…and Norton was the only one who got out. He doesn’t talk about it, mostly out of shame and a sense of guilt, but he copes by telling himself they deserved it.

- He drives the same beat-up old pickup truck Benny bought for him as a kid. It was transferred into his name when he was 18, so Benny can’t swipe it from under his nose. (Legally, anyway.) He could probably get a loan and buy a new car, but at this point he prefers to keep the old hunk of junk. Maybe he’s sentimental, or maybe the weekly maintenance he has to do on it is just therapeutic in a way.

-Not a super techy guy. He keeps up with industry news and learns new skills often, but his truck, his phone, and most of his home appliances are older. He’s good enough with fixing things that he hasn’t bothered to replace them.

-He’s not much of a decorator, either, but he’s good at thrifting and building his own furniture with recycled materials. His apartment/home is a bit of a hodgepodge, with mostly bare walls, but what he does have I impressive in its own way. Any décor he has is likely gifted.

-He’d like to own a home one day, but he’s playing things by ear. He realizes that might be asking a lot while he’s got no real support system.

-He’s a fair cook, but a lot of what he makes could be called “struggle meals.” They’re what he’s been used to for a long time.

-He’s a little paranoid about pumping gas into his truck, but he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. On his days off, he tends to walk to take public transit to save some money and gas mileage.

-He’s that guy with a 7-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, bodywash etc men’s soap. Someone please teach him better ways.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #34

Do cry me a river

Imagine dis…

I re-watched some of my favorite anime when I was a kid and… Another idea popped up if I do say so myself.

If the words Yukina and Ice Maiden ring a bell then you know which direction I am heading…

…

Deep within Gotham, specifically, its underground city seems to be buzzing with intrigue and curiosity at something new. Now, when something new has appeared all of them are watching, as if it was not the usual drug or weaponry to use on the other heroes. All eyes were on them, each turn and each step this new player had brought into the game were all being watched and carefully cataloged.

But the moment it had proved its worth each and everyone, from the big names and players of the underground that stretches from Gotham to its neighboring cities to all those who had a single line of connection to the underground. All began clamoring to buy and claim such precious little things.

All of them began to whisper among the shadows and had all of them in traded hushed tones in fear of the Bats who may have or have not been listening.

Let me tell you… It wasn’t any ordinary rumors, but it was all because of a new production of pearls. Pearls, strange and enchanting pearls, that glowed with an otherworldly greenish blue hue. Unlike the typical black, white, pink, and rare blue pearls that adorned the necks of Gotham’s elite and the rich, these are not only rare, mysterious, and sought after not for their beauty but for the miracles they had performed.

These pearls were said to have amazing therapeutic abilities. Stories circulated about wounds healing in seconds, incurable diseases disappearing, and organs regenerating as if by magic. The pearls' magical qualities increased their value to astronomical levels, making them a sought-after treasure on the illicit market. Wealthy collectors and desperate folks were both eager to pay for everything to obtain them.

But despite their efforts to be quiet some noise and rumors had already reached the ears of Gotham’s vigilantes.

…

Gotham vigilantes had already heard of these new pearls slowly circulating in the underground world. Batman had it at the end of his priority as it was just a gemstone and in some cases had his attention, Red Hood didn’t even bother as it was not drugs and thought of it as another rich eccentric trend that soon to fade, so did the rest of the vigilantes dismissing them without a second thought.

…

One evening, Red Robin was on his usual patrol, this night his patrol route was line on keeping an eye out for the upper echelons of Gotham’s elite as there had been a massive Arkham breakout meaning that the rich were out for grabs for the usual kidnapping and ransom.  

He intercepted a poor attempt at a robbery between a wealthy civilian, their bag had released all of its contents in a fit of panic. Red Robin helped the said civilian to gather their things all up after he had tied the robber with some zip-ties. As he was gathering their things he picked up a unique-looking necklace. A simple silver necklace with a singular greenish-blue pearl in its center. The unusual color caught his attention but never thought any of it until tomorrow morning.

The next morning, As Tim was dressing up for his morning job as the CEO of Wayne Enterprise, he noticed something peculiar. The scar from his missing spleen, a constant reminder of a near-fatal injury, and another reminder that Ra is a creep for stealing a minor’s spleen had vanished. Alarmed and more awake than seconds ago, he hurriedly went to Dr. Leslie’s clinic for an impromptu check-up. The X-rays revealed the impossible, his spleen had regenerated as if it had never been missing in the first place.

…

The Bats are now scrambling for any information about the mysterious pearl that Red Robin had contact with just last night.

Meanwhile, Danny was imprisoned in a remote, strongly fortified manor. Unlike Yukina from Yuyu Hakusho, Danny's tears transformed into a powerful healing agent capable of miraculous recoveries.

This wealthy captor, who had been a player in the underground for quite some time yet always had the ambition to be more than just a buyer, when he became aware of Danny's existence and his tears' healing abilities, had been exploiting him to create the greenish-blue pearls that were now circulating in the black market.

Danny was not alone in captivity. He was accompanied by his younger, de-aged self, Dan and Ellie. Both had been captured and used as leverage to compel Danny's cooperation. The three were confined in separate, high-security quarters that were closely monitored and strongly guarded.

…

As chaos is slowly filling up the streets of Gotham, at the edge of the city’s border there stood a woman with a purpose.

Talia al Ghul, the Demon Head's daughter and mother of Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, commonly known as Robin, is well-known for her strategic abilities. She embarked on a personal mission to protect and save her son Danny from the pig who dared to hurt him.

Danny, Talia and Bruce's first kid had been hidden from the world, even her father, for his safety. Safety? She felt selfish for the first time, keeping Danny concealed from everyone except her. Talia had decided to keep him concealed, including from his brother, Damian.

Talia had lately received an unusual package—a VHS video with a green sticky note bearing the letters "CW." The film contained a warning and a guide, as well as critical information about the forces that had kidnapped her son and instructions on how to exploit something she had never seen before.

The tape revealed Danny's captor's identity, a wealthy and powerful figure deep within Gotham's underbelly who had discovered Danny's new powers and was forcing him to create healing pearls. The video also contained plans and security information about Danny's detention facility, as well as the network of individuals involved in this nefarious enterprise.

Talia devised a strategy based on the tape's information, contacting trusted allies and resources while also depending on her network and the element of surprise. Talia walks through the city like a ghost, her love for Danny so strong and unwavering that she is willing to eliminate anyone who endangers her son's safety.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: This one is for the month of August since I’m going to be a bit busy so ENJOY!!!

[keehomania]

therapeutic (테라퓨틱) — lee taeyong (이태용)

✧.* 18+

the mind, a vast labyrinth, held within its delicate folds the secrets of every human experience. it was a realm both familiar and foreign, a place where memories danced like shadows on ancient walls, where emotions ebbed and flowed like the tides, and where thoughts wove themselves into the fabric of reality. in that particular domain, the boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious blurred, creating a landscape that was as treacherous as it was beautiful.

for centuries, humanity had sought to understand the mind's inner workings, to decipher the language of neurons and synapses that whispered the truths of existence. yet, despite all the knowledge amassed, the mind remained an enigma, a force capable of both creation and destruction. it could be a sanctuary, a place of solace where dreams flourished, or a prison, where fears and anxieties festered in the dark corners, unbidden and unwelcome.

why do i think the way i do? why do i behave the way i do? why do we find ourselves begging the question, that three-letter question—why? too long has it been a double-edged sword, that question. those who ventured too close to the edge found themselves lost in a labyrinth of their own making, searching for a way out that sometimes seemed impossible to find.

the mind was both a protector and a betrayer. it could shield one from the harshness of reality, crafting illusions and fantasies that soothed the soul. but it could also turn against its owner, unraveling the very threads of their being until they were left exposed, vulnerable to the relentless onslaught of their inner demons. the mind could be a gentle guide, leading one toward healing and self-discovery, or a merciless tormentor, dragging them deeper into the abyss.

the path to mental well-being was not a straight one; it twisted and turned, often doubling back on itself in a confounding maze. it required courage to traverse, or facing the darkest parts of oneself, the fears and doubts that lay hidden beneath the surface. it meant confronting the wounds of the past, allowing them to bleed so they might eventually heal. and it meant accepting that some scars would never fully fade, that they were as much a part of the self as the mind that bore them.

the office you called your own was a home of sorts, a place where the issues of the outside world were left at the door, and the echoes of troubled minds found solace. it was a space curated to ease the burdens carried by those who sought your counsel. the walls were painted in soft, muted tones—an earthy beige that mimicked the comforting embrace of nature. sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a gentle glow that softened the edges of the room and made it feel safe, inviting.

your desk, though functional, was devoid of the sterility one might expect in a clinical setting. instead, it was adorned with books—volumes on psychology, philosophy, and the occasional novel that you found particularly stirring. there was a small plant, a gift from a patient who had once come to you in a state of complete disarray, now thriving under your care much as she had under your guidance. everything in the room was carefully chosen to exude warmth, from the plush armchairs that encouraged relaxation to the subtle scent of lavender that lingered in the air, a calming presence in and of itself.

patients came to you from all walks of life, each bringing with them a story woven from the threads of their experiences, traumas, and desires. there were those who arrived at your doorstep with their defences up, their walls built high. but you had a way with people, a way that transcended the clinical distance that often characterized the relationships between psychiatrist and patient. you didn’t just listen to them—you heard them, truly, deeply. you took in not only their words but also the silences between them, the unspoken fears that hid behind carefully chosen phrases, the way their eyes darted away when a subject became too painful to confront.

your reputation had spread quietly, almost organically. it wasn’t that you were a miracle worker or that you possessed some mystical ability to cure what ailed them. rather, it was your presence, the way you made people feel seen and understood without judgment, that drew them in. you never approached a session with preconceived notions or diagnoses waiting to be confirmed. each patient was a blank canvas, and it was your role to help them paint the picture that best represented their truth, no matter how fragmented or abstract it might be.

pills had always been a contentious issue for you. the pharmaceutical industry, with its glossy advertisements and promises of quick fixes, had never sat well with you. to you, the mind was not a machine that could be fine-tuned with a simple dose of chemicals. it was a complex, ever-evolving entity, influenced by experiences, environment, and relationships. you believed that true healing came not from numbing the symptoms but from addressing the root causes, from understanding and untangling the web of emotions and memories that led to a patient’s distress.

when the need for medication arose—and it did, at times, arise—you approached it with the utmost caution. you prescribed only the smallest doses necessary, believing firmly in the principle of ‘less is more.’ and even then, you coupled any prescription with a robust plan of therapy, ensuring that the medication was merely a tool to assist in the journey, not the journey itself. the low dosages you recommended rarely led to backlash, and your patients appreciated your restraint, knowing that you were not one to dole out pills like candy but rather used them as a last resort.

it was in your interactions with your patients that your true skill shone. each session was a dance, a delicate balance of guiding and listening, of leading without forcing. you never rushed them, never pushed them to confront more than they were ready to face. instead, you let them set the pace, allowing the conversation to flow naturally. and when the time came to delve deeper, you did so with a gentleness that put them at ease.

park minhyuk, a man in his early forties who had walked into your office carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. his face was lined with the stress of a life lived under constant pressure, his eyes betraying a deep-seated weariness. he had been referred to you by a friend who spoke highly of your methods. the first time he sat across from you, he looked hesitant, almost skeptical, as if he didn’t quite believe that talking could help him.

“i’m not sure this is going to work,” he had said, his voice heavy with doubt. “i’ve been to therapists before. they all just tell me to take some pills and come back in a few weeks.”

you leaned back in your chair, studying him with a calm, measured gaze. “i’m not here to force anything on you, mister park,” you replied softly. “i’m here to listen, and we’ll move at a pace that feels right for you. there’s no rush.” he had looked at you then, really looked at you, as if searching for something, some sign that you were different. you met his gaze steadily, offering nothing but the quiet assurance that you were there to help, not to judge.

over time, he began to open up, slowly at first, testing the waters. he spoke of his job, the immense pressure to succeed, the constant fear of failure that gnawed at him day and night. he talked about his family, the wife and children he loved dearly but felt disconnected from, the guilt that weighed on him for not being more present in their lives. as he spoke, you listened—not just to his words but to the pain behind them. you noticed the way his hands clenched and unclenched when he talked about his work, the slight tremor in his voice when he mentioned his children. and when he finally began to talk about the darker thoughts that sometimes crept into his mind, the moments when he wondered if it would be easier just to disappear, you didn’t react with shock or alarm. instead, you nodded, acknowledging his feelings without judgment.

“i understand that it feels overwhelming,” you said gently. “but it’s important to remember that these thoughts, as heavy as they are, don’t define you. they’re part of what you’re going through, but they don’t have to be the end of your story.” he looked at you then, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. “you really think i can get through this?”

“i do,” you replied, your voice steady and sure. “and i’m here to help you find the way.” his journey wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks along the way. but he returned week after week, drawn not just by your words but by the genuine care you showed. and slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, he began to heal. he started taking more time for himself, reconnecting with his family, finding ways to manage the stress that had once consumed him. the transformation wasn’t immediate, but it was real, and it was lasting.

your practice grew, not because you advertised or sought out patients, but because word of mouth spread. people spoke of you with a kind of reverence, not because you were a miracle worker, but because you offered them something rare in the world of mental health—a safe space where they could be themselves, where they could speak without fear of judgment, where they knew they would be heard.

even those who had been through the harshest of environments—prisoners, veterans, people who had been hardened by life—found solace in your office. they recommended you to others, saying, “you should see her. she’s different. she cares.” and they weren’t wrong. you had found your calling, not in the pills or the textbooks, but in the people who sat across from you, day after day, baring their souls in the hope of finding some relief from the burdens they carried. and you met them with compassion, with understanding, with a quiet strength that reassured them they were not alone.

despite your skill in navigating the landscapes of other’s minds, there was a vast, uncharted territory within your own that you could not seem to traverse. you could guide others out of their darkness, yet when it came to your own, you were perpetually lost, stumbling through a fog that only seemed to thicken with time. it was a darkness that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, a gnawing emptiness that seemed to have no origin, no clear beginning. you often wondered when it had all started, but the truth was as elusive as the peace you sought.

perhaps it began when your father left. you could still remember the day he walked out, his shadow stretching long across the floor as the door closed behind him. the silence that followed was deafening, a silence that you had been trying to fill ever since. you were young then, too young to understand why he was leaving, too young to grasp the implications. but the abandonment had left a scar, a deep, festering wound that never quite healed. you wondered if that was where it all began, this relentless feeling of being untethered, of floating aimlessly in a vast, empty space.

maybe it was when your mother overdosed, her lifeless body found slumped over in the bathroom, surrounded by the remnants of a life that had spiraled out of control. you had been the one to find her, a memory that still haunted you, that still woke you in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. the sight of her pale, lifeless face was seared into your mind, a constant reminder of the fragility of life, of how easily it could slip through your fingers. you had been left to pick up the pieces, to make sense of the senseless, and in doing so, you had buried your own grief, your own pain, deep within you, where it festered in the dark.

there were your grandparents, the last anchors in your life, the last semblance of stability. their deaths had come like a storm, sudden and unforgiving, leaving you alone in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you. they had been your safe haven, the only ones who understood the weight you carried, and when they were gone, it felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath you. alone. that word echoed in your mind, reverberating off the walls of your empty apartment, a constant reminder of your isolation.

you hated being alone. it wasn’t just a dislike; it was a deep-seated fear, a terror that clawed at you from the inside. when you were alone, your mind became a labyrinth of dark thoughts and memories, each corner hiding another shadow, another demon waiting to pounce. the silence was unbearable, suffocating, so you filled it with noise, any noise that could drown out the voices in your head. you couldn’t stand the short sessions with your patients, craving more time with them, more connection, more distraction from the void inside you. the hour would pass, and you would find yourself wanting to reach out, to extend the session, to hold on to the connection a little longer, just a little longer. but you never did. you were their healer, not the other way around.

housework became a ritual of distraction, each chore accompanied by the blaring sound of music that reverberated through the walls, filling the empty spaces with melodies that drowned out the silence. without music, the house felt too big, too empty, too full of memories you didn’t want to confront. you couldn’t sleep without a movie playing in the background, the flickering light and the familiar voices lulling you into a false sense of security. the thought of lying in bed in complete silence, left alone with your thoughts, was unbearable. so, the movies played, one after another, their comforting narratives keeping the darkness at bay for just a little while longer.

but at the end of the day, when the music stopped, when the movies ended, you were left with nothing but the quiet hum of the empty apartment and the stark realization that you were alone. no parents to comfort you, no friends to lean on, no boyfriend to share your life with. just you. and it wasn’t enough. you had poured so much of yourself into your work, into helping others heal, that you had neglected your own wounds, your own needs. you had become a vessel, emptying yourself for the sake of others until there was nothing left for you.

your patients were the only ones who filled that void, the only ones who made you feel needed, wanted. they confided in you, trusted you, relied on you, and for a while, it was enough. but they were temporary, each one coming to you broken and leaving whole, while you remained the same, a healer who couldn’t heal themselves. when they got better, when they no longer needed you, it broke your heart a little more each time, even though you knew it was coming. it was the nature of your work, after all, to help them, to guide them, and then to let them go. but the letting go was the hardest part because it meant returning to the silence, to the emptiness, to the loneliness that gnawed at you, growing stronger with each departure.

you were sitting in your office, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room as you sifted through patient files and prescription bottles. the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, but you barely noticed. the weight of the empty office felt like a cocoon, enclosing you in a familiar, if not comforting, solitude. the sterile smell of paper and faint traces of disinfectant mingled in the air, a scent that had become as much a part of your life as the darkness that you couldn't seem to shake.

the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder as they approached your door. you knew who it was before she even knocked—a gentle, almost tentative rap on the door, followed by the soft creak as it swung open. “still here?” your manager’s voice was gentle, but there was an underlying note of concern that she couldn’t quite mask. hara stepped into the room, her eyes sweeping over the scattered files and the bottles of pills lined up in neat rows on your desk. the look she gave you was one you’d seen many times before—a mix of empathy, perhaps a touch of pity, and something else that you couldn’t quite place.

you didn’t look up immediately, your eyes fixed on the file in front of you as you made a show of scribbling a note in the margins. “just wanted to get as much work done as i could,” you said, finally glancing up with a smile that felt foreign on your lips, a practiced expression that you’d perfected over the years. she didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with those knowing eyes of hers. then she moved closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. the touch was warm, grounding in a way that made you want to lean into it, to close your eyes and let the world fall away. but you didn’t. instead, you stayed still, your smile frozen in place.

“you need to rest,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made something in your chest tighten. she squeezed your shoulder gently before letting her hand drop back to her side. “i will,” you assured her, the lie slipping out as easily as all the others. it was what you were supposed to say, after all, what she expected to hear. but you both knew the truth, didn’t you? you weren’t planning on resting, not anytime soon. rest meant being alone with your thoughts, and that was something you couldn’t bear.

she sighed, a soft sound of resignation, and you could see the conflict in her eyes. she knew she should insist, should tell you to go home and take care of yourself. but she also knew what you would say, how you would deflect with that same smile and those same empty promises. so she didn’t push. instead, she gave you a small nod and fished a set of keys out of her pocket. “lock up when you’re done, alright?” she said, holding the keys out to you.

you reached out to take them, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment before she pulled her hand back. “i will,” you said again, and this time she didn’t bother to respond. she just nodded, casting one last glance around your barren office—the empty desk devoid of personal touches, the phone that never rang—before turning and walking out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone once more. the silence was palpable, pressing in around you, but you welcomed it. it was better than the alternative. you turned back to the files, flipping through them with the pretense of work, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in the fog that seemed to constantly hover just at the edges of your consciousness.

you let the minutes tick by, the hours bleeding into one another as you went through the same files, the same bottles, over and over again. you knew there was nothing left to do, nothing left to distract yourself with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. not yet. not when you knew what awaited you outside—the cold, unwelcoming night, the empty apartment, the silence that you couldn’t drown out. but eventually, the futility of your actions became impossible to ignore. the same patient files stared back at you, the same labels on the bottles mocking you with their uselessness. you sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation of breath that carried with it all the weariness you felt but couldn’t show. there was nothing left to do, no more excuses to stay.

reluctantly, you gathered the files and put them back in their proper place, the routine motions bringing you no comfort. the click of the lock on the file cabinet echoed in the empty room, a finality that made your heart sink. you picked up the keys your manager had left you, your fingers curling around the cool metal, and stood up. the room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamps outside. you turned off the desk lamp, plunging the room into shadow, and made your way to the door. the hallway was just as empty as it had been when she left, the building silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards. you locked the door behind you, the keys jingling in the quiet as you slipped them into your pocket.

the night air was cool when you stepped outside, unlike the stale, sterile atmosphere of the office. you tucked your hands into your pockets, your breath misting in the air as you stood there for a moment, letting the city’s sounds wash over you. it was late—nearly two in the morning—but the city was still alive, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout from a passerby reminding you that you weren’t completely alone.

but it didn’t bring you any comfort. if anything, it made the emptiness inside you more acute, unlike the vibrancy of the world around you. you weren’t tired, though you wished you were. exhaustion would have been a mercy, a way to escape the thoughts that clawed at you in the quiet. but sleep was as elusive as peace, and you knew that returning to your empty apartment would only make things worse.

so you let your feet carry you down the street, the familiar route to the small bar that stayed open late. it wasn’t much, just a hole-in-the-wall with dim lighting and a jukebox that played old songs, but it was something. a place where you could lose yourself for a little while, where the music and the people could drown out the noise in your head. the bar was nearly empty when you walked in, just a few regulars nursing their drinks and the bartender wiping down the counter. you slipped onto a stool at the far end, nodding in acknowledgment as the bartender approached.

“just a whiskey,” you said, your voice low, and he nodded, pouring you a glass without a word. you downed the first drink quickly, the burn of the alcohol a fleeting comfort, and ordered another. the jukebox played a song you didn’t recognize, the melody soft and haunting, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it. the chatter around you faded into the background, the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices becoming nothing more than white noise.

but the comfort was temporary, as it always was. the bar was closing, the bartender giving you a sympathetic look as he handed you your tab. you paid it without complaint, sliding off the stool and making your way to the door with a wave of thanks. the night was colder now, the wind biting at your skin as you walked back to your apartment. the streets were emptier, the city slowly falling asleep, and you found yourself wishing you could do the same. but as you reached your building, the familiar weight of dread settled in your chest. you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence immediately enveloping you, as it did every night.

you moved through the motions mechanically—kicking off your shoes, tossing your keys on the table, flicking on the lights. but the apartment felt as cold and lifeless as you did, the emptiness pressing in on you from all sides. you thought about turning on the television, letting the sound fill the void, but you couldn’t muster the energy. instead, you stood in the middle of the room, staring at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of the silence bear down on you.

it was suffocating, this loneliness, this isolation. it was a constant companion, one that you couldn’t escape no matter how hard you tried. and as you finally collapsed onto the couch, pulling a blanket around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it would always be. if you were destined to live your life in this void, surrounded by silence and shadows, with no one to share it with. the night stretched on, the city outside your window slowly quieting as it finally succumbed to sleep. but sleep didn’t come for you, not easily, not with the thoughts that swirled in your mind, the memories that haunted you. so you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, letting the darkness close in around you, wondering if there would ever be a way out.

the morning sunlight streamed through the narrow gap in your curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. you stretched awake, the familiar feeling of weariness hanging heavy in your limbs, but there was something different about today. it was as though a thin veil had lifted, allowing a sliver of anticipation to seep in. you had always been a person of routine, and the thought of returning to your office, of delving back into the rhythm of your work, brought with it a semblance of comfort, a fleeting escape from the solitude that plagued you.

you moved through your morning routine with efficiency, the motions almost automatic. the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as you prepared a simple breakfast—toast and jam, with a cup of strong coffee to wake your senses. the radio hummed softly in the background, a familiar companion that provided a semblance of normalcy. you dressed with deliberate care, choosing a crisp, tailored suit that made you feel professional and polished, ready to face whatever the day might bring.

the trip to the office was a brief but pleasant ritual, the city streets bathed in the soft morning light, the air carrying the promise of a new day. you relished the routine, the predictable patterns that offered a sense of control. as you approached your building, you caught sight of the familiar facade, the reassuring solidity of it grounding you.

but as you walked through the entrance, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. hara stood waiting in the lobby. her presence was unusual at this hour, and her expression was more serious than usual. you offered her a friendly smile, but she didn’t immediately return it. instead, she gestured for you to follow her to a quiet corner of the building. “you’ve been working hard,” she began, her tone carrying a note of cautious warmth. “and i wanted to have a word with you.”

you paused, a twinge of apprehension flickering in your chest. “am i in trouble?” you asked, the question escaping before you could second-guess it. hara shook her head, her lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “no, not at all. well, not yet,” she said, inhaling deeply as if gathering her thoughts.

your heart skipped a beat. “what do you mean?” the uncertainty in her voice sent a ripple of unease through you. “what’s wrong?” she took a moment to collect her thoughts, her eyes meeting yours with a look of barely concealed concern. “you have a new patient,” she said finally, her tone shifting to one of subdued excitement as she watched your eyes light up at the news.

“really?” you asked, a spark of enthusiasm igniting within you. it had been a while since you had taken on a new case, and the prospect of diving into a fresh challenge was invigorating.

hara held up a hand, her expression turning more serious. “don’t get too excited,” she said, her tone taking on a warning edge. “he’ll be your project patient for your internship at the asylum.” the words hit you like a cold splash of water. “the asylum?” you repeated, the dismay clear in your voice. “but i love working here. this office, this environment—i don’t want to leave.”

hara’s face softened, and before you could fully process what was happening, she stepped forward and enveloped you in a hug. the gesture was unexpected, her arms wrapping around you with a warmth and sincerity that contrasted sharply with her usual professional demeanor. for a moment, you let yourself sink into the embrace, the human contact a rare and precious balm against the isolation that had become your constant companion.

“i know,” she said, her voice muffled against your shoulder. “i know how much you love it here. but this is something you have to do for your career. it’s a good opportunity, and it’s important for your development.”

you barely registered her words, too caught up in the comforting proximity of another person. the embrace lasted only a few moments, but it was enough to stir something deep within you—a longing for connection, for understanding, for more than just the superficial interactions of your daily life. when she finally pulled away, you nodded, a sense of reluctant acceptance settling over you. “okay,” you said softly, the word carrying more resignation than agreement.

she gave you a reassuring smile, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and encouragement. “i’ll call a taxi for you,” she said, guiding you toward the building’s entrance. “it’s best if you head over there now. and remember to keep an open mind. this could be a valuable experience.” you followed her outside, the cool morning air brushing against your face. she hailed a taxi and handed you the keys to the office, reminding you to lock up when you finished. you took the keys with a grateful nod and watched as she walked back inside, her figure disappearing into the building.

the ride was a blur of anxious anticipation and reluctant acceptance. the city passed by in a series of shifting scenes, the familiar streets giving way to more industrial landscapes as you neared the asylum. it was a place you had heard about in passing but had never visited—a cold, imposing structure that seemed to loom on the horizon, its architecture stark and unwelcoming.

the asylum loomed before you like a cold, implacable sentinel against the sky, its grim, grey façade cutting through the morning mist. you stood before it for a moment, taking in the sheer scale of the structure—an imposing monolith that seemed to absorb the light, casting long shadows that stretched over the cracked pavement. the windows were narrow, barred, and the walls bore the harshness of age and neglect. there was something distinctly unwelcoming about it, so unlike the warm, inviting atmosphere of your office.

you pushed open the iron door, and a chill seemed to emanate from the very core of the building. the foyer was austere and utilitarian, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and something else—a faint hint of despair that clung to the walls and floors. the reception area was starkly lit, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare over the sterile surroundings. it was a far cry from the soft lighting and cozy furnishings you were accustomed to.

the receptionist sat behind a high counter, her demeanor as frosty as the environment. she looked up as you approached, her gaze assessing you with a detached scrutiny. her uniform was crisp and immaculate, adding to the air of clinical precision that pervaded the space. “name and business?” she asked, her voice flat and devoid of warmth.

you took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the chill that seemed to penetrate your bones. “i’m (y/n) (l/n), here for an internship as the asylum’s psychiatrist,” you said, your voice steady despite the uneasy flutter in your stomach. the receptionist’s eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips twisted into a thin, humorless line. there was something almost predatory in her gaze, a faint glimmer of disdain or perhaps even pity. “follow me,” she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

you trailed behind her as she led you through the labyrinthine corridors of the asylum. the hallways were long and narrow, lined with peeling paint and heavy metal doors. the air was heavy, laden with the echoes of distant voices and the occasional clank of metal on metal. you could hear the shuffling of feet, the murmurs and cries of the patients—a cacophony of sounds that was jarringly different from the calm and composed demeanor of your previous office.

as you walked, you noticed the guards stationed at regular intervals. they were stern-faced and vigilant, their uniforms dark and imposing. their presence was a constant reminder of the control and surveillance that permeated every corner of the asylum. you felt their eyes on you, a silent assessment that made you self-conscious. you passed by several cells, their occupants visible through the narrow windows set into the doors. the patients inside were much unlike the composed individuals you were used to. they paced restlessly, their eyes darting with a wildness that spoke of untamed thoughts and unspoken fears. some shouted incoherently, while others simply stared blankly at the walls. the sense of chaos was eerie, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

eventually, the receptionist stopped in front of a heavy door marked with a simple brass plate that read “psychiatrist.” she unlocked it with a practiced twist of the key and pushed it open, revealing a small, spartan office. the room was a stark departure from the warm, inviting space you were used to. the walls were a dull, institutional green, and the furniture was minimal and functional. there was a plain wooden desk with a single chair behind it and a couple of metal filing cabinets against one wall. a solitary window, heavily barred, provided a view of the bleak courtyard outside. the light that filtered through was cold and uninviting, casting long shadows across the room.

the receptionist stepped inside and placed a folder on the desk. “this is your workspace,” she said, her tone as unfeeling as ever. “you’ll be lucky to make it out alive.”

her words were delivered with a chilling finality, and before you could respond, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving you alone in the sterile, unwelcoming space. the door clicked shut behind her, and you were left standing in the midst of the clinical bleakness that surrounded you. you stood there for a moment, absorbing the reality of your new environment. the emptiness of the room mirrored the uncertainty that was swirling within you. the asylum was a world apart from the comforting familiarity of your office, a place where every detail seemed designed to unsettle and disquiet. as you took in the surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for the warmth you had left behind and a growing apprehension for what lay ahead.

you turned your attention to the stack of files on your desk, organizing them with methodical precision. the papers were a jumble of case histories, treatment plans, and patient backgrounds. as you sorted through them, the muted rustle of paper was the only sound breaking the silence of the room. you had just begun to lose yourself in the paperwork when a sharp knock on the door startled you. the sound echoed in the otherwise still space, cutting through the quiet like a sudden gust of wind. you looked up, but before you could respond, the door swung open with a slow creak, revealing two guards.

the guards were as imposing as their environment, their uniforms sharp and unyielding. they moved with an air of efficiency, each holding an arm of the man who followed them into the room. your gaze fell upon him, and despite your initial wariness, you were struck by an unsettling calmness that seemed to envelop him. he didn't resist; instead, he walked with an eerie composure, his movements measured and deliberate.

the man was restrained in a straitjacket, his arms bound tightly and secured with a belt around his torso. the sight of the straitjacket, with its bold white fabric and heavy buckles, seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of the dull office. the restraints were a harsh reminder of the severe nature of his condition, yet his demeanor was unexpectedly serene. as he was guided to the chair across from your desk, you took the opportunity to study him more closely. he was a tall man, his frame lean but solid. his features were striking—a sharp, prominent jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a distinctly aristocratic appearance. his brown eyes, though calm, carried an intensity that seemed to pierce through the confines of the straitjacket, a depth that hinted at complexities beneath the surface.

there was an unsettling grace to his presence, an almost magnetic quality that drew your attention despite the circumstances. his hair was dark and neatly styled, falling in soft waves that framed his face. the contrast between his physical appeal and the harsh restraints was jarring, creating a dissonance that was difficult to ignore. the guards remained by the door, their expressions guarded and unreadable. they exchanged a brief, knowing look before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with the restrained man. their departure was marked by the soft click of the door as it closed behind them, and the silence that followed was thick and heavy.

you were left in the room with the man, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. the office, with its cold, clinical ambiance, seemed suddenly smaller and more confining. you took a deep breath, trying to center yourself as you prepared to begin the session. the man’s calmness was a definite contrast to the environment of the asylum. he patient’s eyes remained fixed on you, a quiet challenge in their depths, as if he were assessing you as much as you were trying to understand him. you could sense a subtle tension in the air, an undercurrent of anticipation that was almost overwhelming.

you took a deep breath, the silence in the room amplifying the subtle rustle of papers as you mentally prepared yourself for the interaction. the restrained man sat calmly in front of you, his demeanor a striking contrast to the harsh confines of his situation. you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice as you introduced yourself.

“hello, i’m doctor (y/n) (l/n),” you said, your tone measured and professional. “i’ll be working with you during this internship.” as you spoke, the man’s lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. it was a smile that seemed to hold secrets, one that both intrigued and unsettled you. Hhs eyes glinted with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“lee taeyong,” he said, his voice smooth and articulate. the name struck you with the force of a thunderclap. you hadn’t recognized his face immediately, but his name was unmistakable. lee taeyong—an infamous figure known for his involvement in shootings and robberies. his notoriety had led to his confinement in a correctional facility after being deemed mentally unwell. your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your face go pale, the realization dawning with a cold, unwelcome clarity. taeyong’s keen eyes caught the shift in your expression, and a dry chuckle escaped his lips.

“have you heard of me?” he asked, his tone laced with a subtle taunt. you nodded slowly, trying to mask the tension that was creeping into your chest. “yes, i have.”

his laughter was dry and devoid of genuine mirth, a sound that seemed to echo with a dark undertone. “so, are you gonna cure me, doctor?” he asked, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. you squared your shoulders, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with a confidence you didn’t entirely feel. “there isn’t anything i can’t cure.”

his response was immediate, and he leaned in abruptly, causing you to flinch involuntarily. the sudden movement was unsettling, and you found yourself instinctively retreating. taeyong smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. “are you afraid, doctor?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. you steadied your breathing, forcing a calmness into your voice as you responded, “i’m not.”

his eyes widened slightly in surprise. “you’re too pretty to be a doctor,” he remarked, the compliment carrying an edge of mockery. you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the conversation on track. “why do you think you’re unstable?”

taeyong’s expression shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming more contemplative. “i don’t think i am,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “but everybody else does. they think my urges are abnormal.” intrigued, you leaned forward slightly. “what kind of urges?”

his eyes darkened with a certain intensity as he spoke. “i like the fear and the thrill,” he said, his voice carrying a chilling calm. “the screams, the way everyone is powerless against me. it’s exhilarating.”

your mind raced as you processed his words, but you decided to take an unexpected step. you reached for the straps of his straitjacket and began to unfasten them, freeing his arms. taeyong’s eyes widened in surprise. “what are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

you smiled, trying to project a sense of ease despite the underlying tension. “i thought you might be more comfortable without the restraints.” his gaze remained fixed on you, his expression a blend of astonishment and wariness. “aren’t you afraid i’ll kill you?”

you met his gaze steadily, feeling a strange sense of calmness despite the gravity of the situation. “i don’t think you will.” his brows knitted together in confusion. “how do you know?”

“because,” you said softly, “i don’t believe you’re a bad person.” the sincerity in your voice seemed to take him aback. his eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked genuinely disoriented by your kindness. the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, a tentative bridge forming between the two of you.

taeyong leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly as he began to open up in a way that was both fascinating and ominous. he spoke of his past, his thoughts, and his perceptions with a raw honesty that was unsettling yet compelling. his words were a tapestry of dark desires and twisted logic, but there was an underlying vulnerability that made it clear he was grappling with his own demons.

as the session drew to a close, he looked at you with an unsettling blend of anticipation and something akin to respect. “i look forward to seeing you again, doctor.” he said, his voice carrying an eerie calmness. to your surprise, you found yourself looking forward to it as well. there was something about the interaction, the unexpected connection, that left you both unsettled and intrigued. as you watched him being escorted out by the guards, the weight of the session settled on your shoulders.

the morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of your apartment, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room. yet, despite the comforting start to your day, your mind was occupied with a singular thought—your next session with taeyong. the anticipation was a new and curious sensation, one that both thrilled and unsettled you. there was something compelling about his presence, a magnetic pull that made you eager to continue your interactions with him.

as you prepared for work, you found yourself contemplating how to make the next session more engaging, more comforting for him. the idea of a small gesture—something that might break through the cold walls of the asylum and create a connection—seemed to be the right approach. you decided to get him a gift, a symbol of the positive interaction you hoped to foster.

you ventured out to a small, quaint shop that morning, one filled with charming trinkets and comforting knick-knacks. your eyes scanned the shelves until they fell upon a small, stuffed kitten, its plush fur a soft, inviting shade of cream. it was delicate and unassuming, a small source of innocence amidst the reality of the asylum. you picked it up with a sense of purpose, imagining how such a simple object might ease the harshness of taeyong’s environment.

when you arrived at the asylum, the day’s routine felt different. the walls seemed colder, the atmosphere more oppressive, but the small stuffed kitten in your bag provided a small spark of warmth. as you approached your office, you were taken aback to find taeyong already seated in the chair, an unexpected sight. his presence there, so much earlier than anticipated, stirred a peculiar flutter in your chest. “you’re early today,” you remarked, trying to keep your tone light and neutral.

taeyong looked up at you, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “i couldn’t wait to see you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement that made your heart skip a beat. the sincerity in his words resonated deeply with you, and a small, inexplicable connection seemed to click into place. you felt a warm flush creep up your neck, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside, focusing on your planned gesture.

“i have something for you,” you said, reaching into your bag and pulling out the stuffed kitten. taeyong’s eyes widened with surprise and curiosity. “what’s this?” he asked, his tone a mix of intrigue and amusement.

you extended the kitten towards him, a smile playing at your lips. “it’s a little gift. i thought it might help make things a bit more comfortable here.” he took the kitten from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief, electrifying moment. as he cradled the stuffed animal in his hands, a look of genuine appreciation crossed his face. “i’m honored,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on the kitten.

you watched as he examined the plush toy with a sense of fascination. “i want you to take good care of it,” you said, your voice gentle. “if you can fight the urge to hurt it, then maybe you can fight the urge to hurt anything.” his lips curved into a mischievous smile as he toyed with the kitten, his fingers brushing over its soft fur.

“is that your way of challenging me, doctor?” he asked, his tone light but edged with an underlying seriousness. you nodded, trying to maintain a composed demeanor. “something like that,” you replied.

the session began in earnest, the conversation flowing with a new ease as taeyong’s attention seemed drawn to the small stuffed animal. he spoke of his past, his feelings, and his thoughts with a candor that was both unsettling and revealing. his insights were intertwined with moments of dark humor and cryptic reflections, making it clear that he was a man of contradictions. at one point, as you listened intently, his hand, still holding the kitten, brushed against a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face. the touch was fleeting but intimate, a gesture that caught you off guard. you looked up to meet his gaze, finding a depth in his eyes that was both intense and vulnerable.

“i meant what i said earlier,” taeyong said, his voice softening. “you’re too pretty to be a doctor.” you blinked in surprise, trying to process the compliment amidst the complexity of the situation. “what do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

his expression remained earnest, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that was rare in such an environment. “you just don’t seem like someone who should be confined to this place. there’s something different about you.”

the moment lingered between you, charged with an emotional undercurrent that was difficult to define. despite the oddity of the situation, you felt a surprising warmth in his words. it was an acknowledgment of your humanity amidst the dehumanizing environment of the asylum. as the session drew to a close, you gathered your things, the small stuffed kitten resting on the desk between you. taeyong’s gaze followed you with an almost reluctant admiration, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air as you prepared to leave.

“i look forward to seeing you again,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of genuine hope. you nodded, a small smile touching your lips. “i look forward to seeing you too.”

with that, you watched as taeyong was escorted out by the guards, the connection between you both lingering like a faint but persistent echo. the asylum, with all its harsh realities, seemed momentarily softened by the unexpected bond that had formed. as you left for the day, the small stuffed kitten seemed to symbolize a fragile bridge between your world and his. you just weren't aware of how sturdy, nor how fragile, the bridge really was.

the weeks that followed your initial session with taeyong felt like a delicate dance, a precarious balance between professional distance and the growing, unspoken connection that had begun to develop between you. each session became a complex interplay of emotions and revelations, and you found yourself increasingly invested in his progress.

you had begun to believe, with a cautious optimism, that taeyong was making strides. the sessions were marked by moments of genuine insight and self-reflection from him, which seemed to indicate that he was grappling with his inner turmoil in ways that were both constructive and revealing. there was an undeniable progress, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope every time you saw him approach with that enigmatic smile.

during one particular session, you found yourself immersed in a conversation about his past, his regrets, and his aspirations. taeyong, with his characteristic curiosity and sharpness, suddenly shifted the focus of the conversation. “what about you, doctor?” he asked, his voice carrying a tone of genuine interest. “what do you struggle with?”

the question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you hesitated. it was unusual for a patient to turn the spotlight onto you, especially someone like taeyong, whose own issues seemed so consuming. you took a deep breath, searching for the right words to encapsulate the truth.

“i suppose,” you began, struggling to find a way to articulate your feelings. “i've been lonely my whole life.” taeyong’s eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, the hardness in his gaze seemed to melt away. “no woman like you should ever feel lonely,” he said softly, his tone laced with an unexpected gentleness.

his words struck a chord deep within you, and you felt a sudden, almost overwhelming rush of emotion. you looked up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and curiosity. before you could fully process the weight of his statement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “do you feel lonely with me here?” he asked, his voice a low whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

your heart pounded in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears as if to drown out the rest of the world. the proximity of his body, the intensity of his gaze, and the warmth of his breath combined to create a heady cocktail of sensations. you fought to maintain composure, but the answer came out more as a breathless confession. “no,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

taeyong’s fingers, moving with deliberate slowness, traced a path along your neck. the touch was light but electrifying, a sensation that left your skin tingling and your breath catching in your throat. “you shouldn’t,” he said, his voice carrying an almost imperceptible note of possessiveness.

the weight of his touch, the intimacy of the moment, and the raw honesty in his words created a potent mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. as the session drew to a close, you found yourself grappling with a tumult of conflicting feelings. the professional boundaries that had once seemed so clear were now blurred, and you were left with a gnawing sense of guilt for finding comfort in a connection that was fundamentally inappropriate.

the room seemed colder as you watched him leave, the reality of the asylum returning with its harsh, unyielding presence. you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the echo of his breath in your ear, and the weight of his words in your heart. the session had brought a confusing mixture of warmth and unease, and as you locked up your office and walked out into the night, the loneliness you had tried so hard to combat felt more intense than ever.

as the days turned into weeks, the asylum’s sterile corridors and echoing chambers seemed to shrink in comparison to the burgeoning world of emotions you experienced during your sessions with taeyong. each encounter with him became a delicate interplay of professional duty and personal connection, weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that you struggled to fully comprehend.

the sessions grew more intense and revealing, both for you and for taeyong. you could no longer ignore the way your heart would race in anticipation of each meeting. the way his eyes would light up when he saw you, the way his presence seemed to fill the room with a bright energy—it was impossible to deny the deepening bond between you.

in one particular session, taeyong sat across from you, the small stuffed kitten now a constant companion in his hands. the stuffed animal had become a symbol of the connection you shared, its presence a silent witness to your evolving relationship. “you know,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of introspection, “i’ve been thinking a lot about what we’ve talked about. you’ve managed to get me to see things differently. i never thought i’d say this, but i think i owe you more than just my progress.”

you looked at him, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected confession. “what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice steady but filled with curiosity. his gaze was intense, his eyes searching yours with an earnestness that was both disarming and endearing. “you’ve been patient with me, more patient than anyone else ever has. i think,” he paused, choosing his words with care. “i think you’ve made me feel things i didn’t know i could still feel.”

you could feel the weight of his words settling over you, a mix of excitement and apprehension. “and what is it that you feel?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. he took a deep breath, his fingers absently stroking the kitten. “i feel understood. cared for, in a way I never thought i’d experience again. it’s strange, but i think i’m beginning to look forward to these sessions more than i should.”

the admission struck a chord within you, and you felt a mixture of joy and sadness. joy at the progress he was making and sadness at the realization that your growing affection for him might blur the lines of your professional role. during another session, you found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as taeyong’s attention shifted to you in a way that felt increasingly personal. he leaned forward, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.

“you know,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “i’ve noticed something about you. you seem different when we talk. there’s something in the way you look at me. something more than just concern.” you felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement swirling within you. “what do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

his eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “i think you care about me more than you let on. and i can’t help but feel the same way.”

the admission hung in the air, charged with an electric tension that was impossible to ignore. you felt a surge of emotion, a tumult of conflicting feelings as you tried to process his words. it was both thrilling and terrifying to acknowledge that your feelings for taeyong had grown beyond the boundaries of professional detachment.

as the session continued, his demeanor shifted. he seemed more relaxed, more open, and the connection between you felt more tangible than ever. the way he would smile at you, the way his eyes would linger on yours—it was clear that the emotional bond between you was deepening. you struggled with the guilt and the moral conflict of your growing affection for him, knowing that it was inappropriate yet feeling a profound, undeniable connection.

the day you arrived for your next session with taeyong, you felt an unusual sense of anticipation. the asylum's cold corridors seemed to blur as you walked briskly toward your office, your mind already filled with thoughts of the conversation you hoped to have. but as you reached the familiar door, a pang of anxiety hit you when you noticed the room was empty.

your heart sank as you turned to the guards stationed outside the office. “where’s taeyong?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm despite the growing concern. the guards exchanged uneasy glances before one of them responded. “they’ve decided to test their luck with another psychiatrist today. wanted to see how he’d react.”

a cold wave of dread washed over you, and you felt a sharp pang of heartache. before you could ask for more details, the silence of the corridor was shattered by a deafening crash. your heart raced as the sound of shattering furniture and frantic shouting reached your ears.

without a second thought, you sprinted down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the sterile space. as you rounded the corner, you saw the scene unfolding in your office. taeyong, his face a mask of determination, was wielding a chair above his head, his muscles tensed in a show of raw strength. the psychiatrist lay sprawled on the floor, his face a picture of shock and pain. the guards were shouting, their voices a blur as they rushed toward taeyong. “what happened?” one of them demanded, their tone filled with both anger and concern.

his gaze, sharp and intense, found yours amidst the chaos. “i told you,” he said, his voice carrying a fierce determination, “i wanted to see doctor (l/n).”

the room seemed to freeze for a moment as his words sank in. he was swiftly restrained and escorted back to his cell, leaving you standing in the doorway of your office, your heart aching at the sight of the broken scene before you. the guards, now dealing with the aftermath of his outburst, left you waiting alone in the hallway. time seemed to stretch endlessly as you stood there, your mind racing with a tumult of conflicting emotions. when taeyong was finally brought out again, his demeanor was calmer, though his eyes held a deep, unfathomable intensity.

he looked at you with a mix of curiosity and something more personal. “what were you doing there?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an edge of disbelief. you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. “i was waiting for you,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest.

his eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “seriously?” you nodded, feeling a strange blend of relief and apprehension. “yes, seriously.”

once back in your office, the atmosphere felt charged with an electric tension. you sat across from him, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the events. “why did you crash out like that?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady. “you were making so much progress.”

taeyong’s expression softened slightly as he reached for the small stuffed kitten that had become a symbol of your sessions. he held it up, its soft fur unmarred by the recent issues. “because,” he said, his voice softening with an intensity that made your breath catch, “i’m in love with you.”

the confession hung heavy in the air, and you felt a surge of conflicting emotions—shock, confusion, and a deep, aching resonance. you stared at him, unable to fully process the gravity of his words. “i am too,” you said finally, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission.

without another word, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on you with a fierce, unyielding intensity. his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. it felt wrong, a violation of every professional boundary you had sworn to uphold. yet, the raw, desperate need to connect, to feel something beyond the crushing loneliness that had plagued you, overpowered your sense of propriety.

the kiss was intense, filled with a mix of longing and desperation that made your heart race. his lips were warm against yours, his touch both gentle and insistent. every brush of his mouth, every caress of his fingers, seemed to echo the depth of the emotions you had both been struggling to contain. as the kiss deepened, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions—guilt and exhilaration, fear and desire. the world outside faded away, leaving only the overwhelming intensity of the moment. the walls of the asylum, the rules you had so carefully adhered to, and the boundaries you had maintained all seemed to crumble in the face of the unexpected connection.

taeyong’s hands slid up your body, cupping your tits over your blouse. his thumbs brushed against your nipples, which hardened immediately under his touch. you gasped into his mouth, your body responding with a fiery hunger that was impossible to ignore. his touch was rough, yet tender, as if he was afraid of breaking the fragile bond that had formed between you. his words from earlier played in your mind, and you felt a thrill of arousal that was as surprising as it was undeniable. you pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor as you stood to face him. your hands found the hem of your blouse, lifting it over your head to expose your bra. his eyes raked over your body, dark with desire. “you have no idea,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “how long i’ve wanted this.”

you stepped closer to him, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. it fell away, revealing your full, round tits. taeyong’s gaze was glued to them, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight. he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he licked one nipple, then the other, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were moaning with need. your hands found his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard.

his hands moved to the button of your pants, and with trembling fingers, he unzipped them. you stepped out of them, feeling a sense of vulnerability that was both terrifying and thrilling. he pushed you back onto the desk, his mouth moving down your body as he kissed and licked a trail to your center. his fingers found their way inside your panties, stroking your wet folds.

his tongue darted out, tasting you for the first time. you moaned, arching your back as he explored you with a fervor that left you breathless. he was rough, yet precise, his touch speaking of a hunger that matched your own. you could feel his erection pressing against you through his pants, and the thought of his big dick inside you made you wetter still. his fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles that had you panting. your hips rocked against his face, desperate for more. “please, taeyong,” you begged, your voice needy and wanton. “fuck me. make me feel alive again.”

his only response was to stand up, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. his cock sprang free, thick and hard, and you felt your mouth water at the sight of it. he stepped closer, positioning himself between your legs, and without preamble, he pushed into you.

the sensation was overwhelming—he was so much bigger than any man you had ever been with. it was a stretch, a burn that bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense that you didn’t care. you gripped the edge of the desk, your nails digging into the wood as he began to thrust, hard and deep. his strokes were punctuated with dirty talk that made you feel like a whore, but it only served to make you wetter, to make you want him more.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, feeling his cock fill you completely. his breath was hot and ragged against your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “you’re mine, doctor,” he growled. “no better cure than this pussy, fuck.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew that this was a line you could never uncross. but in that moment, as you felt him thrust inside you with a roar of pleasure, you didn’t care. he was close, his thrusts sloppy as his fingers pulled your hair, your whimpers making his dick twitch.

his hand slid down to cup your ass, his grip tightening as he pounded into you. your tits bounced with every impact, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin as he whispered obscenities in your ear. it was a symphony of degradation and lust, and you were the eager conductor, urging him on. your pussy was tight around his cock, gripping him with every stroke, and you knew you were close to the edge.

suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and needy. you looked up at him, your eyes glazed with passion, and he smirked. “turn over,” he ordered, his voice gruff. you complied, turning onto your stomach and spreading your legs, the cool desk against your burning skin. he stepped behind you, his cock nudging at your entrance again. without warning, he slammed back into you, making you cry out.

the new angle was exquisite, his cock hitting deeper, reaching parts of you that had never been touched before. you pushed back against him, your body begging for more. his hands gripped your hips, his nails digging in as he picked up the pace. “yeah, take it like that, like the slut you are,” he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and command. your cheeks flushed at the words, but you found yourself pushing back even harder, eager to prove his words true. with every thrust, he whispered filthy compliments about your body, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucked you like he owned you.

his hand reached around to play with your clit, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. your moans grew louder, filling the room. the sound of skin slapping against skin was the only music in the air, a rhythmic crescendo that grew more intense with every second. you felt your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his cock. “that’s it, doctor. cum for me,” he encouraged, his voice hoarse with lust. and with a final, brutal thrust, you did, your body shuddering with the force of your climax. he followed shortly after, his seed spilling into you, marking you as his.

once the tremors had subsided, he pulled out, leaving you gasping for air. you felt the stickiness between your legs, a reminder of what had just transpired. as you looked back at him, you saw the smug satisfaction on his face, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger. but it was quickly drowned out by the addictive thrill of the power exchange. you had never felt so alive, so desired. it was therapeutic. and as he stepped closer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, you knew that this was far from over. there was an unspoken promise in his eyes, a challenge for you to come back for more. and you knew, without a doubt, that you would.

as taeyong straightened his clothes, his gaze never left you, the intensity in his eyes as present as ever. he was murmuring something under his breath, and you had to strain to hear his words amidst the whirlwind of emotions you were trying to process. “i feel as if you’ve cured me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sense of genuine relief.

you blinked, taken aback by his declaration. “are you serious?” you asked, your voice a mixture of disbelief and hope. he nodded slowly, a small, almost serene smile playing on his lips. “yes, i am.”

the room seemed to hold its breath as he began to dress himself, each movement deliberate and composed. your own heart raced as you grappled with the weight of his words. the promise of cure and the possibility of something more twisted together in your mind. he turned to you, his expression serious yet tender.

“i need you to do something for me,” he said, his eyes locking with yours. “anything,” you replied without hesitation, your voice firm despite the storm of emotions brewing within you.

taeyong’s gaze softened slightly, and he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “i need a machine gun.” the request hit you like a jolt. “a machine gun?” you repeated, trying to comprehend the gravity of what he was asking.

“yes,” he confirmed, his voice steady. “if you don’t want to help me, i understand, but i need one.” you were silent for a moment, the enormity of his request settling over you. the ethical and legal implications were enormous, yet the urgency in his tone and the trust he placed in you compelled you to respond. shaking your head, you met his gaze with determination. “i’ll do it.”

taeyong’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “thank you for curing me.”

the warmth of his touch lingered long after he had left. that night, the enormity of hia request weighed heavily on you, but you were resolute. if this was what he needed, then you would find a way. the loneliness that had plagued you seemed to intensify with the knowledge of his needs, but it also spurred you into action. you spent the evening making discreet, cautious inquiries, your mind racing with worry and determination. you knew the gravity of what you were doing, the potential consequences, but the promise of alleviating your own profound sense of loneliness and his plea drove you forward. finally, after hours of careful navigation through back channels and clandestine meetings, you acquired the machine gun. it was a heavy, ominous object, wrapped in layers of secrecy and dread.

you stored it securely in a hidden compartment of your bag, the weight of it pressing down with a disquieting sense of finality. the next morning, you arrived at the asylum with a mix of dread and anticipation, knowing that the day’s session would be unlike any before. entering your office, you saw taeyong already seated, a patient yet expectant look on his face. your heart skipped a beat as you approached him, the hidden weight of the machine gun in your bag seeming almost to pulse with your anxiety.

“good morning,” you said, forcing a smile. “good morning,” he replied, his eyes immediately catching the glint of anticipation in yours.

you sat down across from him and carefully extracted the machine gun from your bag. his eyes widened in surprise and then satisfaction as you laid the weapon on the desk before him. “i didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and approval. “you said you needed it,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “i wouldn’t let you down.”

taeyong’s gaze softened as he reached out to touch the machine gun, his fingers brushing over the cold metal with a sense of reverence. “thank you,” he said quietly. “i knew you were the right fit for me.” the session continued with a shift in atmosphere. taeyong seemed more at ease, his demeanor less guarded and more open. the conversation flowed with a new ease, and you felt a strange sense of fulfillment. the machine gun, despite its ominous presence, seemed to be a catalyst for something deeper between you.

as the session drew to a close, you found yourself reluctant to leave, savoring the brief moments of connection and understanding. you had made significant strides with taeyong, and the realization that he trusted you so deeply was both exhilarating and unsettling. the rest of the day was spent in a haze of reflection. you sorted through files and paperwork, your mind frequently drifting back to him and the connection you shared. the solitude of your office seemed less oppressive, the quiet punctuated by thoughts of him. each task felt like a distraction from the growing realization that, in taeyong, you had found a source of profound connection.

in the quiet of your office, surrounded by the mundane tasks of your work, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had shifted. the loneliness that had once felt so encompassing now seemed to have been touched by the fleeting moments of intimacy and connection you had shared with him. you were less alone than you had been before, and yet, the path you were on was fraught with moral and emotional complexity.

the night fell over the asylum with a chilling, almost suffocating stillness. you were at your desk, sorting through a mountain of paperwork, the dim light casting shadows over the piles of files. the routine of your task offered a semblance of normalcy, a brief respite from the whirlwind of emotions and decisions that had consumed you lately. you were lost in the monotony of sorting and filing when an unsettling noise shattered the silence.

the distant sounds of gunshots, crashing furniture, and frantic screams pierced through the walls. your heart leapt into your throat as the reality of what was unfolding outside became painfully clear. Instinctively, you ducked under your desk, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to stifle the rising panic. the noises outside were chaotic, a cacophony of violence and fear that seemed to grow louder by the second.

taeyong’s plan had taken shape, and the asylum was in disarray. he had enlisted the help of several other inmates, each fueled by the same chaotic energy that defined taeyong himself. the sound of gunfire rang out intermittently, each shot a reminder of the danger that now surrounded you. the air was thick with tension, and you could hear the muffled sounds of struggle and conflict as the inmates carried out their rebellion.

the commotion grew closer, and suddenly, two figures burst into your office. your heart pounded in your chest as they grabbed you roughly by the arms. you struggled against their grip, your cries of protest barely audible over the tumult outside. they dragged you to your desk and, despite your frantic attempts to break free, began restraining you with the belts from straitjackets. the leather straps cut into your skin as they bound your arms and legs to the desk, rendering you immobile.

you pleaded with them, your voice trembling with fear and desperation. “please, don’t do this. let me go. i’ll do anything.”

the inmates remained silent, their faces impassive as they completed their task. the office, once a place of calm and control, was now a prison, its familiar surroundings now oppressive and alien. as the last of the restraints were secured, the door creaked open, and taeyong stepped into the room. his appearance was striking against the backdrop of screams. he was calm, almost serene, despite the mayhem that had unfolded. the sight of him brought a mix of relief and dread. you gazed up at him, your eyes wide with terror as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“taeyong,” you said, your voice quivering. “are you really gonna kill me?”

he walked towards you with an unsettling calm, his expression unreadable. as he neared, he paused, his gaze locking with yours. “i’m not going to kill you,” he assured, his voice soft but carrying a chilling edge. “i just need to hurt you enough to make sure you’ll be mine.”

the words hung heavy in the air, and your heart raced as you watched him produce a small metal device from his pocket. the sight of the electric shock equipment made your blood run cold. it was an instrument of pain, and its presence signaled a new level of cruelty.

to your surprise, taeyong’s expression softened, and he took a step closer. “i know you thought you were helping me,” he said, his tone almost apologetic. “but now it’s my turn to help you.”

the device was cold against your skin as he pressed it to your head. a jolt of electricity surged through you, and your body convulsed involuntarily. the sensation was overwhelming, a harsh intrusion into your consciousness. you felt your mind slipping away from the present, a series of fragmented images and memories flashing before your eyes.

your mother’s face appeared, her eyes filled with pain and sorrow. then, your father, followed by your grandparents, each visage a poignant reminder of loss. the images shifted and morphed, replaced by a vision of yourself with taeyong. you were working together, your roles reversed, with him now a cured man, living with you in a semblance of normalcy. the visions continued, showing a future that was both alluring and terrifying. you saw yourselves speeding down a highway, the police in hot pursuit. the trunk of your car was filled with money, a symbol of the danger and thrill that had become intertwined with your relationship. the exhilaration of the chase was intense, but it was overshadowed by an undercurrent of dread.

the final image was the most haunting. you saw yourself detached, your love for taeyong twisted into something unrecognizable. the thrill had turned into a grim reality, the danger of your actions reflected in the cold, hard truths of your choices. the vision was a cruel reminder of the consequences that awaited you, the stark reality of a future bound by the darkness you had embraced.

as the electric shock subsided, your body trembled uncontrollably. your mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions and revelations. you felt a profound sense of numbness, the shock leaving you disoriented and frightened. the room seemed to close in around you, what used to be a familiar space now a prison of your own making. in the end, you wished it had killed you. death seemed more reasonable, more promising, than what the future had in store for you.

✧.*

a/n: requested fic!!! the smut part at least i really dk where i was going with this plot lol