#or how those relationships change over time!

[grison-in-space]

I remember this happening. I was fourteen and living in Georgia, and I was pretty sure I was queer and equally pretty sure that no one was ever going to leave me alone about it. There's a great song about the moment by Vienna Teng, I hope someone has linked it for OP by now.

The moments I remember are a decade later: having spent a year of graduate school tied to Texas admitting to myself that I was unhappy with the idea that my relationships were going to have to stay online only until I graduated with the PhD and could leave Texas again, because hell would freeze over before Texas did shit for us. Didn't matter I was living in Austin, one of the first cities in the nation to legalize the civil union shit back in the 90s; I was always going to be a second class citizen that way. Immigration wasn't an option.

And then, while I was working in the field in Costa Rica, Windsor came down. Suddenly immigration from Canada was an option. Suddenly we could talk about it. So we did. And we started scrambling to take advantage before it got taken away, because it probably would, but we had learned from y'all that even if it got taken away later, the having was important. Once you were legally in the country, deportation would have been harder, right?

I was one of the second wave of people with transnational relationships taking advantage of immigration in the post-DOMA world. (Defense of Marriage Act, children: ol' Bill Clinton signed that into law in 1996, so that we filthy queers couldn't ever touch the protections afforded by a federally recognized marriage.) It was a hell of a ride. We had to travel to Boston to get married because T thought an American certificate would carry more weight with immigration than a Canadian one. We couldn't actually afford to live together without both of us working, so we had to decide whether it was worth trying on the strength of one delighted October week long visit, get married and then put our petition through. We stayed on my friend @queenieofaces 's floor for the week of my spring break in 2014 and she married us to save money, which was not exactly something we had a lot of at the time or since. Then we both went home to our own countries for a year while we assembled the legal packets, petitioned the federal government, and started trying to navigate the immigration system.

Almost everyone I met outside our families was excited for me, sometimes to an extent that felt ridiculous. We were getting married because it was a shot at getting to live together, but we were both acutely aware of the possibility of failure, of just how much we were sacrificing for a shot at a relationship. The kinds of decade long affairs where marriage was just the legal affirmation of the households that already existed were inspirational, but not us: we were taking a risk and leaping for one another, but it was a leap, not an embrace quite yet. We talked earnestly about pre nuptial agreements before discovering, slightly shame-faced, that those are really designed for people with assets greater than a single subcompact hatchback and a laptop. computer.

(A decade later, and we've nevder had the stability to put through T's citizenship paperwork. That's changing now, slowly.)

My apartment had burned down that summer of 2013, and my car got totaled that winter, and I had to deal with a lot of insurance paperwork. Sometimes the paperwork required additional in person signatures for spouses and I would have to ask: "ah, uh: what law requires the paperwork?" See, I spent a year and change married for the purpose of federal law, single for the purposes of state law, and married again for purposes of municipal law. No one ever writes down what law they use to generate a policy, but no one wanted to mail documents to Toronto and back for signatures, either. So no one was quite sure what I should do on the paperwork.

It was chaos. T spent the entire entrance interview trying to convince the confused man at the consulate that it was actually fine to immigrate to Texas on a Massachusetts wedding license even though Texas would not recognize the marriage. We got approved and moved and I went to put T on my insurance. Then I discovered that Texas outright banned any of its state employees (|ike me!) from extending benefits to partners unless their marriage was recognized by the state of Texas. I had about a week to start panicking about that and then Obergefell hit the ground.

We just left work and went down to the Capitol and everyone was cheering and hugging each other and crying. All the bars and the liberal churches were open. We listened to speeches and stories and went dancing. It was beautiful.

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[virtuald0ll]

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

♡⸝⸝𝒶𝓁𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓎 | 𝒦𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜, 𝒯𝑜𝒿𝒾, 𝒮𝒶𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 ���𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈⌝ NSFW, Age gap (Reader is 21), Petnames, Dilf fucker Reader (Toji), established relationship (Gojo), small hint of degradation, ⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉s⌝ 1.3k ⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝒟𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎'𝓈 𝑀𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒⌝ First Post yippieee, got a little carried away on Kento's part ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) for Gojo's part I'd like to mention that he only felt attracted to reader once she was 18 (legal age in my country). English is not my first language!! Not Proofread!

♡⸝⸝𝒦𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜

He knew he shouldn't but , he couldn't resist it, he couldn't resist you. He was too old for you , in his opinion, you should be with someone the same age as you , not his age. But why was it that you always came crawling back to him? He couldn't deny you anymore as much as he wanted , even though he didn't want to deny you, his facade was crumbling more and more each time. Each and every single caress your hands left on his arm, that sweet smile on your face whenever you greeted him and brought him something from the bakery. He wanted you , but his mind didn't let him , you shouldn't be with someone like him , someone who was nearing his thirties and couldn't give you what you wanted. The age gap worried him , but all those worries flew over his head when you sat down on his lap. That stupid pencil skirt of yours riding up and revealing more of your sheer tights cladded thighs. He swallowed a thick lump as he leaned back into his chair , his eyes never leaving yours as his breathing turned uneven. Your hand reached out , fingers brushing his blonde locks back and out of his face before gently grabbing his glasses and pulling them off of his face.

The tension waas thick , thick enough to be cut with a knife , his heart hammering against his chest. Kiss her , Kiss her , Kiss her, he was having an internal battle himself , his mind fighting against his heart , like a little devil and angel on his shoulders — but in the end, he listened to his heart. Your lips felt so soft against his dry ones , his calloused hands roaming your body over your clothes , his right hand groping your ass befoe garbbing the fabric of your pencil skirt and hiking it up to your waist. Your tights just screamed at him to rip them open , a quiet ripping noise ringing in your ears as he tore the thin fabric up — ultimately creating a big hole in your crotch.

You moaned softly as his cock started to chub in his trousers , a dent froming as all the blood in his body rushed down to his cock. Your ass pressed against it , his hard cock fitting so perfectly between your ass cheeks. " What happened to me being too young fro you?", you mumbled against his lips , earning gruff huff from him. "Be quiet Sweetheart.. I've changed my mind, I'm listening to my heart now", it didn't take long for your panties to be pushed aside , his thick length stretching your tight walls around the girth of it — he didn't care anymore , age was just a number as long as everyone is off age , nor did he care that anyone could walk in any moment , he was too focused on how well your pussy took his cock.

♡⸝⸝𝒯𝑜𝒿𝒾

"Always such a sweet 'lil thing for me , aren't 'ya? Taking my cock so good and deep into that slutty little hole of yours. You like fucking old man , don't 'ya?", his voice was almost mocking you as he rammed his cock inside your cunt , his fat tip kissing your cervix with each thurst his hips delivered, Wet squelching noises rung in your ears — wet squelching noises your pussy created. You could only moan in reply , his rough hand gliding down your bare back , thick fingers wrapping around the back of your neck to press your head further into the pillow. "Your pussy is the best.. taking me so fucking well. So tight and warm , so sensitive and easy to play with", he snickered hoarsely, smoke coming out of his mouth after he took a drag of his cigarette before leaning over and placing the burning cigarette into the ashtray on the night stand. His hands firmly grabbed your shoulders , forcing your back to arch as he pulled you up and fucked you back against his cock — his cock bullying its way deeper inside your cunt, so deep that it had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"If only you could see how much your pussy is creaming my cock ... such a slutty hole you have", he grunted under his breath as he felt your creamy hole clenching around his cock , his thrusts getting rougher than before. Your pussy was such a cute lil thing to him , so easy to please and always taking his huge cock like a champ , as if you were a pocket pussy created just for him. He didn't care if this was wrong , pussy is pussy , even if you were one of Megumis Friends — if only his son knew how much of a cockhungry slut his dear friend was. The same friend his son always spoke so highly about , the same friend who'd in the beginning give him shy little smiles — the same friend who was now chanting his name like a mantra and moaning like a slut.

♡⸝⸝ 𝒮𝒶𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓊

He didn't care if you were younger than him , he just waited for you to graduate befoer shooting his shot — after all , a Student-Teacher relationship was scandalous. But god , was it hard to resist you — he may or may not have pulled you away during your training just to make out with you in the empty classroom. You were always so obedient and listened to everything he said , but you also fought back just to rile him up — just like now. "What? Are you too old now to fuck me properly?", you teased as his pace slowed down , his blue eyes looking down at you with a loving gaze, a smirk spreading on his face. "Not excatly , just thought I'd slow down just in case you weren't going to be able to handle me Sweetheart", truth to be told , he didn't want to get rough with you despite how much he loved rough sex — you were just so delicate in his eyes. He wasn't sure if you were going to be able to handle him , but lately , he was having a hard time controlling himself. He wanted to fuck you hard and rough , to have you screaming his name , scratching him up and creaming his cock — but he never showed you his rough side. You could only snort in reply.

"Oh please , not being able to handle what? Your soft vanilla pace?", you taunted him , you knew that he had more in him, he practically gave you nothing. "Oh? I'll show you sweetheart... I'll show you how a real man fucks , not like those wimpy losers you used to date", he leaned back , his knees digging into the matress as he grabbed your thighs and draped them over his shoulders before leaning forward , making your knees bend and press against your chest. "Don't complain later ...", he mumbled under his breath before moving his hips again — at first , slowly to get you used to the change of positon, your eyes already rolling back and closing from how deep he was inside you. His ego was boosting as he watched your mouth fall open , a confident smirk on his face as he watched the way your eyes flew open as he put you in a mating press and drilled his cock inside your tight cunt.

Your hands were desperately clinging onto him as he fucked you just the way he liked — deep and rough. He was sure that his back was going to bleed with how your nails dug into his skin , scratching his pale back up and painting red scratch marks on it, his back your canva and your nails your paint brush. Your mind was fuzzy , you didn't know how long he had been going for you to already cum 4 times while he didn't even cum once.

[maskedbyghost]

after the divorce, you thought you’d finally drawn a line in the sand, clear and bold, separating yourself from simon riley and everything that came with him. but simon? he wasn’t ready to step back. not fully. at first, it was silence—an absence so heavy, but then, slowly, the messages started.

they weren’t the cryptic, blunt texts you were used to during your relationship. no more “you around?” or “we need to talk.” instead, they carried a rawness that made you hesitate before opening them. one night, your phone lit up: “i’ve been sitting here, going over everything. i keep thinking about how i pushed you away, how i let my own demons ruin what we had. you didn’t deserve that. none of it.”

you read it three times before setting the phone down, heart heavy and conflicted. simon never said things like this when you were together. and yet, here he was, baring himself in a way that felt almost foreign.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things that carried weight. one afternoon, a neatly wrapped package appeared at your door. chamomile tea—the good kind, the kind you’d mentioned in passing during one of those rare soft moments between you. you’d joked that his taste in tea was pretentious, and he’d grumbled something about chamomile being “too bloody mild.” now, seeing it in front of you, carefully packed with a handwritten note that simply said “thought you might like this”, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

the late-night call was unexpected. his voice was rough, the way it always got when he’d had a drink, but there was a tremor in it you didn’t recognize. “i’ve started therapy,” he admitted, the words slurred but clear enough. “trying to figure out... what’s wrong in my head. i don’t want to hurt anyone else. especially not you. not ever again.”

your chest tightened at the honesty. simon had always been guarded, his emotions buried so deep even you had trouble finding them. hearing him like this—open, vulnerable—was disarming.

when you finally told him he needed to stop calling you love, his answer was immediate. “can’t do that,” he said, his voice low but steady. “it’s what you are to me. maybe i didn’t show it right before, but it doesn’t change the fact. you’ll always be my love, even if it’s just in my head.”

he wasn’t asking for anything outright, and maybe that’s what made it harder. he wasn’t begging or demanding. he was just there—offering pieces of himself you’d spent years wishing he’d share, now arriving when you weren’t sure you wanted them anymore.

simon had always been a storm, intense and unrelenting. but this? this felt different. he wasn’t trying to sweep you off your feet. he was trying to meet you where you stood, hoping you’d see the man he was trying to become. and maybe—just maybe—give him another chance.

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

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[lamiadrowned]

what if Jinx had an affectionate girlfriend? I want to assume Jinx is touch starved so having a girlfriend that loves cuddles and holding hands is a dream come true

*:･ﾟ✧ jinx with an affectionate girlfriend

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

i love her so much :(

it would take her a bit of time to get used to this dynamic.

her entire life, she’s never put much thought into relationships, nonetheless ever believed she’d end up in one, and she’s so happy she did!

especially with someone who seems to love her so deeply, despite how chaotic and difficult she can be at times.

the first few times you guys go out together, you’re always touching her, and she picks up on that quickly. you’re either holding her hand, fidgeting with her fingers, placing your arm around her waist, or playing with the loose strands of navy blue hair that frame her face.

she has no complaints. it makes her feel… warm. safe. appreciated.

but she doesn’t really think of reciprocating this until a small altercation between the two of you.

one day, you’re sitting on the edge of her workbench, listening intently as she shows you the scribbled blueprint of a new invention she’s working on. you can’t remember the name and you have no idea what any of it means, but you’re nodding like you understand so that she’ll keep talking.

“alright, what’s the problem? is it something i said?” she asks you suddenly.

you tilt your head. “what?”

“don’t play dumb! you haven’t touched me at all today!” she grumbles. “you’re always touching me. i mean, did i do something wrong? or–”

“jinx.” you cut her off firmly. “stop that. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

she looks stumped. so, you continue. “i don’t know. it’s just… you never do it to *me,* you know? it’s always me, touching you. i thought, maybe, you didn’t really like it. something tells me that’s not the case.”

your explanation is met with silence, and she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

she can’t believe you feel that way. this whole relationship thing is new to her! she had no idea her own self doubt could end up hurting you the way it did.

her first instinct is to apologize. to reassure you that, going forward, she’d be sure to give you as much as you give her, because she really does love the affection.

in no time, she’s just as cuddly as you!

each night that the two of you spend together is spent wrapped up in each other. legs crossed over legs, arms tangled with arms, faces pressed to chests with a constantly growing need to be closer to each other.

i saw somebody else post something about this, but she’d definitely be the type to say something like ‘i wish i could crawl inside you’. she truly can’t get close enough once she learns how good it feels.

and one of many good effects of this is that when she’s having a particularly bad day, you can calm her down in an instant.

if it happens to be one of many days where she’s hearing voices, seeing things that you can’t see, berating people who aren’t really there, all you need to do is put a hand on her shoulder to make her aware of your presence. it’s grounding enough that you can pull her into a tight hug and stroke her hair as she cries into your shoulder.

if it’s one of those days that she’s just angry, where she feels like everything is horrible and everyone else is rotten, you can change her mind in less than an hour by simply leading her to bed and convincing her to lay down for a bit while you undo her braids and scratch at her scalp.

when you play with her hair, it makes her melt, so you’re careful to preserve that effect– you only do it when you feel like she could really use it.

and as for you, if she finds out you’re having a bad day, jinx has learned from the best and she puts her knowledge to good use.

if you’re alone, she’ll pull you into her lap and caress your back, guiding you to rest your head in the crook of her neck because she knows how much you love to be there. if you want to talk about it, she’ll listen. if you don’t, she’ll pick a random topic to ramble about in hopes to take your mind off of things.

if you’re in public, she’ll grab your hand and squeeze it, stroking your palm with her thumb.

unless it’s somebody in particular that’s bothering you. she has no second thoughts about leaving you for a few minutes to go teach them a lesson. either way, the problem gets solved.

given how long she’s gone without any sort of physical affection, it’ll all be very new to her for a while, but jinx is a quick leaner.

sooner than later, your relationship starts to feel more like a constant competition over who’s more touchy and who can get the last kiss.

it’s so mushy! she hates it.

(she loves it).

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (2)

posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player. 

“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room. 

“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said. 

“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room. 

“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy. 

“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!” 

“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before. 

“Kei, come on they don’t know.” 

“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before. 

Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends. 

Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all. 

“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in. 

“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice. 

“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?” 

“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.” 

“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?” 

“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”

“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”

“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.” 

Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world. 

Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning. 

The morning that would change things. 

[maxarchive]

How are the emotions on this Saturday evening in Las Vegas? Is it an overriding relief? Is that the main thing?

An immense relief, but also a little bit more emotional than I was expecting, actually. Both from Max on the radio and I let Christian give him, well, let's say carry out all the complimentaries on the radio, because I choked up a little bit as well, and I think it just comes down to that relief at the end of what has been actually quite an intense year. Not quite as intense as 2021, but it at times ran it close.

Why is this one so special?

They're all special, don't get me wrong. Last year was special for very different reasons, but this one's special because of the effort and commitment that not only Max, but the whole team has had to put in to make it happen. Ok, the first half looked like it was a bit of a cruise, but actually we entered quite a difficult period, as everybody knows. But we had to work day and night to really try to understand the source of the problems and I think we've started to come out the other side, which is great news for the team, but it's also meant that our performances on track have improved and we saw the combination of that in Brazil as well.

Tell us a little bit more about the job that Max Verstappen has done this year. Would you say it's his best season so far?

The worrying thing for the grid is that Max is improving every year, which is frightening really because he's at an incredible level as it is, but in all areas he's working hard with the team, his racecraft on track, his qualifying laps, his consistency and also his ability to give up when you need to give up, and we saw that today, you know, he raced for what matter today rather than the final place on the podium.

In all of those areas you've just described, where has he made the most progress this year?

I think ultimately it just comes down to maturity and experience. Having been there three times before, I guess 2021 laid the foundations and now he's just becoming a very, very, very complete driver.

Since Miami, McLaren have been running you close. They've quite often been faster than you. Has there ever been a moment this year where you've doubted that you were going to win this championship?

I wouldn't say doubted, but certainly you don't take anything for granted. And as I said earlier, we took one race at a time, there was bit of a trend towards the middle of the year where things weren't going our way and we could see that other teams, not only McLaren, but other teams were making progress on us, relatively speaking and we had to do something. We had to make some changes and the team has come through on that. So kudos to them.

And how is your bond with Max evolved this year because it feels like this is the first time since you've been winning championships that you've been under a lot of strain together. And we did hear a few flare ups along the way, didn't we? Has it always been all sweetness and light or have there been-

Hungary springs to mind. We had actually a very quiet week after, I don't think there was a word spoken in the 3/4 days after the Hungary race, but we had a really good meeting in Spa together with Christian and Pierre just clearing the air. Not that there was ever any animosity, but I think sometimes when adrenaline is running that high, it's best just to leave things alone. Max and I are very similar in that respect. We're not one to bow down and give in very easily. So, yes, definitely that portion of the year springs to mind. But for the rest, again, it's a relationship that's grown over nine seasons. So we know each other very well. We work together very well. So long may that continue.

Well, let's throw it forward to 2025. It looks on paper like it might be incredibly close. Does that actually help someone like Max Verstappen because he makes no mistakes?

I think it helps him knowing that he has the ability to pull off results that perhaps aren't always there. And I think at the same time that maybe hurts or dents some of his competitors psychologically, not all of them, but perhaps some of them. But, you know, 2025 is a few months away. Now, I think more importantly, we need to finish the year on a high to keep morale in the team up over the winter because again it's been a really hard, hard year. And I think this was a bit of a unique, as everybody knows, it was a bit of a unique event with the temperatures and the tyres behavior, et cetera. So I don't think it's a true reflection of the car performance out there today. We'll do our best to finish Qatar and Abu Dhabi on a high and hopefully grab another win or, or two. And then, yeah, next year is next year.

[slowcatsisland]

Trafalgar D. Water Law; Ideal Type Deep Dive

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The first thing that comes to my mind is that audio - “ I need to find my darling husband!” “What do you see in that guy?” “He makes me laugh.”

Law absolutely needs to be with someone who can make him laugh.

Throughout the post time skip arcs, it has been shown that Law -

Has a fear surrounding accepting and giving love

Believes that there must be a reason for earning love/giving love to someone

Law’s character had the most development in Dressrosa and Wano that could propel him towards healing with the defeat of Doflamingo, the revenge of Corazon’s death, and the closure statement that Sengoku says to him: “Don’t try to find a reason for someone’s love.”

Law has to heal first, or have a partner that will help him heal. To me, Law wouldn’t even think of committing to a relationship until the end of Dressrosa/Wano.

Law surrounds himself with goofy people, so it makes sense for him to fall for a goofy person.

This person would probably be on his crew as his trust issues wouldn’t allow for him falling for someone that has other loyalties that could easily be prioritized over him and end up betraying him.

Law is strict about subordinate dynamics, which is why you being on his crew may also hinder him from wanting to pursue something with you because he’s supposed to be your boss essentially.

Law would want someone that is smart, textbook smart like he is, but I also see this not being important if he truly runs into the ‘one’ that brings him the most peace.

I mean by that if you can’t hold and add to a conversation about idk the anatomy of the human body and the effects of a certain ailment, you’re not totally disqualified from his radar.

Someone who could hold emotional conversations with him is good. Even if he probably wouldn’t want the conversation. He’s kinda icky with feelings. Someone that could tell him how he feels, how they feel, and how that changes the context of whatever situation they are in. He needs someone like that.

I used to be opposed to the thought, but I believe Law needs someone truly soft. That means you could still fight if needed, but would rather not yk. It’s okay if you’re not out here swinging a machete trying to bloody the streets with your foes. That aspect of humanity that you have is something Law needs more prevalently in his life.

I remember reading an analysis of Law’s type and the creator said something similar to “Law needs someone who wouldn’t pull the trigger, just like Corazon didn’t.” I don’t know how much I agree with it but I think it’s worth mentioning.

Someone patient, but stubborn. Someone who is willing to wait for him to be ready to accept his feelings and won’t leave him when he makes a mistake (trust me he will make many mistakes in a relationship). Someone who also won’t be an idle figure in situations, you have an opinion and will voice it even if it doesn’t agree with Law’s perspective. You think the crew should help him on something rather than wait on the submarine and him go off alone? Tell him and make him listen, even if he shuts you down.

Law needs someone positive that can look at things with a glass half full mindset. Someone who looks at the rain and thinks about how the plants are getting water, someone who watches the snow fall but are commenting about how Penguin and Sachi are making snow angles and Bepo is really comfortable in the temperature. You even out his pessimism and bring light.

You’d have to get along with the other crew mates, especially Bepo too. Bepo is so important to Law, and if Bepo didn’t like you it already taints Law’s image of you.

You were always kind to him. Even before he invited you onto his crew, he identified your nature and could make a note about how you’re different from the majority of people he’s met.

Preferably, you’d be goofy, but not too loud. I feel like Law gets uncomfortable around those that are crazy extroverted- kinda like Luffy. Sometimes it reminds him too much of the Donquixote Pirates with all their flamboyance. That doesn’t mean if you have this quality you’d be off the list, he would just need it in smaller chunks or around the crew to be acclimated to it.

Grr, someone that ends up reminding him of Rosinante. Someone that Law knows is just a good person, regardless of their past.

If he asked you “why do you love me?” And you couldn’t give him an answer, you’re perfect.

He needs someone to be his safe space. Someone that could sit in his office while he works, content in the shared silence. Someone that he could ramble about his coin collection to without the worry of being judged. Someone that he could let touch his chest and have them run their fingers through his hair without worry that he’ll be harmed. Someone that will soothe him after he has a nightmare or read out loud to him until he falls asleep.

Someone that cares for him- this loops back to the stubbornness. Someone that tries to make him go to sleep, to make him eat, to make him take breaks from working. To make him live happily, something that he’s starved himself of truly ever since he was 10. He prolly won’t act like it, but you showing you care for him makes his heart bleed suffocatingly.

Someone that can show him how to love again and what it feels like to love again omg. The destruction of Flevance and the manipulation of the Donquixote Pirates so cruelly changed his perception of love.

Law wouldn’t want you to be a big shot in canon. If your bounty was rather substantial compared to his crew and him, or you had a crazy ability- it would make him worry awfully. He’d probably try to keep you out of harms way even more than he does with the rest of his crew.

Someone he can tell everything to and trust that they’ll keep it a secret.

Someone that likes the cold, likes the ocean. Living on a submarine as a pirate kinda requires this lol.

Omg imagine you’re from the North Blue too. He picks you up around the same time he does Penguin, Sachi, and Bepo. You’re one of the original members. The connection I feel like he would have with you would make him more willing to fall for you…

I feel like Law would like someone with longer hair. If he could watch them brush it, curl it around his finger, watch them create a hairstyle for the day. Small acts of domesticity in life.

Someone with large, doe eyes. He can see so much emotion through them, they hold so much weight. It reminds him of Bepo. (lol)

Someone aware of their own emotions and are in tune with their wants and needs.

I feel like he would fluster really easily if you had a gummy smile. Yk those big, pure smiles where the gums showed. When your eyes crinkly and your teeth are bared so naturally and without malice. It’s so beautiful to see.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He’s so broken

Mwah 😽

[hees-mine]

Birthday girl - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms, cursing, stepcest, daddy kink, dirty talk, cheating.

Genre: 18+, stepcest.

Word count: 2k+

-

“Mom, just one, please. I promise it’ll only be one.” It was your 21st birthday, and you celebrated in the kitchen with your mom and your stepdad as you begged her to let you have your first shot on the day you officially turned 21.

“No, I never had a shot at 21,” she simply answers, turning away from you and putting away the leftover cake she had your stepdad buy from the store cause she apparently couldn’t be bothered to get one for you herself.

“Mom, come on, that’s not fair!” You whined. “I’m literally an adult,” you reasoned.

“And you’re literally under my roof,” she replies back nonchalantly like she always does. You hated it when she acted like this.

She would always hold things over your head: no sleepovers, no parties, no boyfriends, no nothing, and it’s not cause she was looking out for you. It’s cause she was jealous of you.

She always told you how she never got to have any of those things, and now you can’t shake the feeling that even though she never directly said it to you, you feel like she’s taking it out on her only daughter, which just isn’t fair.

“Dad!” You turned to heeseung your stepdad, looking for his approval, and he gave you the tiniest hint of a smile while folding his arms and resting against the kitchen counter.

You and your stepdad had a much better relationship than you and your mother, unlike her. He seemed to actually care about you, which is comical cause he wasn’t even your real dad, and he treated you better than your mom ever did.

He’d always vouch for you, defend you when arguments got too heated, and he never made you feel like you were always in the wrong, unlike your mother did.

His care for you did go a lot further than just how a stepdad would care for their stepchild because his hugs would last a couple of seconds too long. His kisses on the cheek were a little too affectionate, and he'd eye you when you wore revealing outfits a bit too much.

You didn't mind, though. You did it on purpose cause you liked the attention. He wasn't your real dad, and besides, you had met him so late in your life that you were already fully grown, and you didn't even see him as a father figure at all.

Dad never even crossed your mind when you thought about him. All you saw was a very attractive man, and you wondered how your strict, bitter mother landed a gem like him.

“You heard your mom.” he swipes the cake as your mom sets it in the fridge and licks the frosting off his fingertip, humming at the sweet taste. “Now go upstairs and get ready for bed, young lady.”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said. You thought he’d vouch for you this time, too, but apparently not.

Little did you know he had other plans up his sleeve. He only said no to you cause he was not about to start a fight with his wife over you taking one measly shot, especially since it was your birthday.

His wife always had a way of making things about her just cause she didn’t get a shot at 21. Why couldn’t you? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his wife was jealous of her own daughter, and if he’s being honest, it was kinda getting on his nerves the way she’d bitch at you all the time for virtually nothing.

When he married her, she was not like that at all, but once he moved in and you all became family, the whole dynamic changed. She paid more attention to scolding you than him.

He wasn’t needy necessarily, but he did get lonely sometimes, especially in the bedroom, and heeseung noticed that you talked to him more than his own wife.

Which resulted in him developing maybe not a crush but a certain attraction to you, and to his luck, it was mutual between the two of you, considering all the shameless flirting you did back and forth.

At first, he felt a bit guilty, but with the way he was feeling in his marriage, he might as well have been single. He’s not excusing his actions, but he definitely doesn’t care or feel any shame in checking you out from head to toe on a daily basis.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spill his load in his palm once or twice at the thought of you.

How could he not when you’d purposefully bend over in front of him pretending that you dropped something or the way you’d push your chest against his whenever you’d hug?

You had already gotten ready for bed, sulking a bit as you leaned against the bed frame, scrolling on your phone.

Heeseung had joined his wife upstairs, lying next to her and sharing a quiet goodnight before they turned off the bedside lamps.

It was always like this: completely silent, no conversation, no talking about the day, no intimacy, absolutely nothing.

Even if he did try to talk, she’d always say she was stressed or tired.

Another one of the reasons Heeseung didn’t feel guilty for having feelings toward you was that you gave him the time of day.

He sighs putting his hands behind his head and staring at the celling finally after an hour passed his wife was fast asleep so he silently slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen where the cupboard was located pulling out a bottle of liquor one he bought expressly for you cause you had been going on all week about wanting to take a shot on your 21st.

He snuck over to your room, knocking on it softly, knowing you’d still be up. You were always up late.

You sighed and got out of bed tossing your blanket to the side and ripping open the door ready to be faced with your mom and some more of her shenanigans. “Wha-“ you stopped mid-way through, shocked to see that it was actually your stepdad instead, and you were pleasantly surprised to see he was in nothing but his underwear and a shirt.

“Hey,” he laughs softly, waving a bottle of liquor in your face along with two shot glasses.

“H-hi,” you smile upon seeing the bottle.

“Are you gonna let me in? Or are you gonna wait for your mom to catch us?” He smirks and you open the door further to let him in…

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[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈, 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

— pairing; itoshi sae x reader  

— summary; in which you and sae meet again in japan after a messy breakup in spain. set in the blue lock manager au.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s not really something you like to broadcast, how you and Sae were close when you were in Spain with your parents for that brief, wonderful period of time. While he honed his skills with football, you would balance your studies while helping out at Re Al.

❋ Things had been so simple back then. Late-night walks in Madrid, your fingers intertwined with his. Sneaking kisses in quiet corners, away from prying eyes. Sharing popsicles and everything else. Sae was cold to the rest of the world, his softness reserved entirely for you.

❋ You were each other’s first everything — first kiss, first love, first heartbreak.

❋ Some part of you had to have known that this was only temporary, considering how often your parents travel for work. But it still comes as a shock to you when you parents abruptly decide to return to Japan to help fund the Blue Lock project.

❋ And Sae, so full of potential. Sae, whose career is finally taking off. You aren’t about to let him leave it behind; and Sae, too driven, too focused on his dreams, wasn’t about to throw it all away and return to Japan either. Not like this. Not for you.

❋ You hadn’t expected to see him at the airport to see you off. Sae’s expression was closed off, and it was like the two of you were strangers once again, the distance and silence already stretching endlessly between you. As if your relationship had never existed in the first place.

❋ The breakup was messy, yet silent. Both of you knew instinctively that this was the end. And just before Sae left without looking back, his final words to you were, “If you’re going, don’t expect me to wait.”

❋ The last image you have of him is his retreating figure, back rigid, leaving as the words die on your lips.

❋ And that was that.

❋ You’d returned to Japan with your parents to work as a manager at Blue Lock (Ego had agreed to take you in under the promise of free labour, apparently). Ego’s lectures aren’t fun, but you’re actually learning something under him and Anri when you’re not being driven insane by a group of rowdy, immature teenaged boys.

❋ You try really hard not to think about Sae. Even if the occasional headline reminds you of his burgeoning career in Europe. But the memory of him is a quiet ache in your chest that surfaces in random moments — when you see the colour teal, or hear a song he’d used to like.

❋ You’ve been to JFA headquarters only once or twice before, but it’s bustling with activity as always. Your purpose here is purely business; you’ll act as a secretary for Ego and Anri while they finalize plans for the U20 match with the top brass.

❋ You didn’t think that he’d be there.

❋ Right at that very moment.

❋ In that very room.

❋ Fate is cruel, sometimes.

❋ He looks . . . The same, yet somehow different all at once. His hair’s a little longer, his expression sharper, but those piercing green eyes haven’t changed at all, and the realisation makes your chest throb painfully all over again.

❋ You wonder how you appear to him, underneath your professional blazer and veneer of carefully controlled calm. Does he think you still look the same? Or does he think that you’ve changed, become a total stranger to him, much like how he is to you right now?

❋ His gaze is intense, scorching. You can feel it the second you enter the room, but you keep your head down and try to pay attention to the meeting. (The thought of having to present incomplete notes to Ego certainly does a marvellous job at helping you focus.)

❋ A breath of relief soughs out of you the moment the meeting ends. Quickly, you gather your things, following Ego and Anri out the door. You’re eager to avoid the lingering eyes of the association’s board members.

❋ And perhaps most of all: you’re eager to avoid unnecessary small talk with Sae.

❋ But you catch a final glimpse of him out the corner of your eye; Sae, still staring at you. His expression seemingly softer, almost hesitant. It’s almost as if he wants to call your name, to stop you from leaving, but something — Pride? Anger? — holds him back.

❋ The door to the meeting room clicks shut behind you with a cold finality, and this time, you’re the one leaving first.

[postracehair]

altitude

max verstappen x reader | 1.5k

you hate flying. but it's a necessity if you want to see max during the f1 season. when you finally fly home together during a break, will you let him help calm you down?

cw: r hates flying, anxiety, kissing, like, lots of kissing, worried max, allusions to more than kissing, fluff, george/carmen cameo

a/n: she's so me! i hate flying! but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do! wrote this way back after brazil, but have it now as a race week gift.

--

Everything changes very quickly after you meet Max Verstappen.

You are pulled into a world of action and luxury all because he wants you there. And you go willingly because you want to be with him, too. How could you not? The world famous champion is a kind, funny, and sweet man who loves his cats, his friends, and, as is becoming clear, you.

Much of the start of your relationship is scheduling. A day here and there between races, dinners and walks and movies at his place or yours. You spend a lot of time in airports when you can, working on the go and white knuckling your way through flight after flight. It's worth it to see him on the other side.

Somehow, you've never actually travelled together.

Until now.

The race weekend ends the best way possible -- the top step of the podium. A night of celebrations fades into an early morning flight on a private jet and this time, you're coming with. Because Max has three weeks off. He'll have to work, of course, spending time in Milton Keynes before the final stretch of the season, but for the most part you're going to have him all to yourself.

It does not occur to you until you're in the car on the way to the tarmac that Max has no idea how much you hate flying. You're in one of those big Sprinter vans, head on Max's shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. George and Carmen sit on the other side, the former's head tipped back as he dozes. Everyone is quiet and you're working a bit hard to keep yourself calm.

"What is it?" Max whispers. He puts his phone down and you look over at him. His hair is a mess, you can see that much even in the low light of the van. You reach out and run a hand through it.

"What?" you whisper back.

He shakes his head a little and wraps his fingers around your wrist. "You were all loose and then you got tense."

The frequent distance between you and the busy nature of your schedules demands that communication be top of mind. You do not lie to each other about your feelings, and you do not hide things. Even things like this.

"I don't really like flying," you say, softly. "I've never told you because we've never flown together. It just makes me kind of anxious. I've never been able to shake it."

His brows furrow. "Really?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him. "Just, maybe hold my hand during takeoff and landing. And if there is any turbulence."

"But -- I don't understand. Are you afraid?"

You know that there is really no way to make him understand but also that he won't stop trying to. Max gets afraid, he gets nervous. He's only human. But he combats it with sheer willpower, focus, and skill.

"I fly this way all the time," he says, urgent this time. "It's totally safe."

"That's not -- Max, I just get nervous. It's not really to do with safety. I just don't really enjoy it."

"Oi," George says, rousing. "What are you two yapping about?"

"Go back to snoring, George," Max says, not taking his eyes off you.

"Do I really snore?" you hear him ask in a hushed tone. Carmen shushes him.

"Pulling up to the plane now, folks," the driver calls back.

"Seriously," Max says, sounding a little desperate. "It'll be alright."

"I know. I fly all the time, Max." His frown deepens.

"To come see me," he reminds you. "If I knew you didn't like it, I would have --"

"What?" you interrupt. "Invented teleportation? It's okay, Max. Knowing it's to see you makes the whole thing easier, honestly."

This does not satisfy him. You can tell. It's a problem he can't solve -- his least favorite kind. There is no simulation to run for this, no meeting he can talk through, no track he can circle a thousand times.

The van door opens and you're all beckoned out onto the tarmac. You follow George and Carmen with your bag and Max is at your heels, his duffle slung over one shoulder and his other hand on the small of your back. Normally, he's not this touchy, but he seems reluctant to let your conversation in the van go.

"Max--"

"I'm thinking, liefje."

You roll your eyes. "About how to invent teleportation?"

"Something like that," he grumbles.

The jet is narrow, an aisle on one side and four rows of seats on the other. Four sets of two, a table between them. Carmen and George settle into one nook and you toss your bags into another. You slide into the window seat and Max sits heavily in the one next to you, still frowning. You let him, instead looking around to absorb the new experience.

It's much nicer than a regular plane, that's for sure. There is a cooler stocked with drinks and a cabinet full of what seems to be snacks. You can stretch your legs to rest your feet on the seat across from you. It's so early you figure all of you will just sleep, though Max's mood seems at odds with that plan.

The pilot introduces herself and gives a quick rundown of the route and airtime. You all nod and smile and then the doors close and the lights dim.

Max's hand finds yours immediately. You sit up a little and look over at him. He looks even more frazzled than he did at the hotel, when you both rolled out of bed and into comfy clothes. Soft pants and a hoodie that make him look boyish, younger than he is. But here, his cheeks are a little flushed and his jaw is set like he's about to get in his race car.

"What do you do normally?" he asks, softly. You can hear George's soft snores already. "When I'm not there."

"Max," you sigh.

"Tell me, please?"

The seat shifts under you as it heads for the runway. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Well, I don't hold some random guy's hand," you tease. He squeezes your palm and huffs. 

"He could be so lucky."

The plane comes to a stop and you know what happens next. Your mind remains preoccupied with Max -- a good thing, right now -- but your body tenses and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter as the engines kick up and you pick up speed.

Max says your name but you don't budge. "Liefje," he whispers, much closer than before. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he gently holds your chin with two fingers and turns your face towards him.

And then he's kissing you. A closed mouth press of his lips to yours, firm but still. At least until you sigh into it, releasing your death grip on the arm rest to reach for him blindly, your tangled fingers between you. The kiss deepens, his nose sliding against yours as you part your lips and the chaste press becomes more. Max's tongue licks into your mouth leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to explore you. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss, so long that a voice in your head wonders if maybe you can do this for the whole flight, please? Max tugs your legs across his until you're practically in his lap, spread across the two seats like they're one.

"We're reached cruising altitude," the speakers crackle. "Feel free to move about, but please be mindful."

Max pulls away, a strand of spit glistening between you until he wipes it away with a smirk. His hair is even messier than before and his cheeks are pink. Lips swollen, eyes glassy -- you must look the same. Your heart is racing and you laugh, breathless.

"Well," Max says, then swallows. His voice is raspy, hoarse with desire. "Guess you have to fly with me from now on."

"Max." You pitch forward and settle where his neck and shoulder meet and inhale. His arms wrap around you and he holds you close. You can hear his heart racing just as fast as yours.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "I know."

"I can do it," you remind him. "I do it all the time. I just don't like it, that's all."

You feel the press of his lips on your hair.

"I just don't like that I can't fix it," he says. "I can't get inside your head and make you know it's alright."

"No, you can't," you sigh. The plane jerks just a little -- a swoop of your stomach that has you gasping. Max's hold on you tightens and he says your name.

"How do you do this alone?" he rasps, mouth next to your ear as he rubs your back.

"I close my eyes," you say, taking deep breaths. "And I imagine you with me."

He curses softly. "We should get a jet by ourselves next time," he mutters. "Then I can really distract you."

That gets you to laugh, though you can't say you hate the idea. It makes you feel warm, makes you press your thighs together.

"Next time," you echo. "But for now..."

Max cups your jaw and ghosts his nose over yours. "For now..."

He brings your lips together.

[letsbangts]

tell me what to do || jjk

⤷ summary: when the familiar becomes unfamiliar what do you do

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 3.4k

⟶ genre: angst, established relationship au, breakup au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, big argument, talking about breaking up, the blame game, basically misunderstanding due to miscommunication

⟶ warnings: explicit language

a/n: once again, this a very old piece I polished up, okay so this was my second piece of work so read with caution. as you can guess it is based on shinee’s tell me what to do because I was absolutely obsessed with the song so I used the lyrics as a guideline for writing, I incorporated the lyrics into the story. let me know what you think i really appreciate feedback :) & recommend a song if you’d like and i’ll write a scenario with it like i did with this song)

masterlist

☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎ ☕︎

these days, i don’t know, i don’t know you.

you look like you gave up on a lot of things

but i hear your silent scream

I sit at the dining table drinking tea in my home - our home but lately nothing seems like ours anymore. It feels like there never was an ours, never an us. I don’t even need to sense it, I can see it. It’s as though I don’t know him anymore. He looks like he gave up on a lot of things, and like he gave up on us. I can almost hear him silently screaming for an end, our end.

lovers without extreme development

is this the losing hand that time has placed?

we haven’t ended it but it’s already over

He walks through the doorframe fully dressed ready for his day while still sporting his messy bedhead that he somehow manages to make look angelic. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed, I still see his beauty and that’s something I don’t think could ever change. Because that is what he is a beauty inside and out and that can’t simply disappear.

He greets me with a gentle kiss on the forehead, a soft “good morning” and a soft smile. We’ve been like this for a while now, stuck in this certain level of interaction almost a routine. Like lovers without any extreme development, without any growth in our relationship if you can even call it that anymore.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask a bit apprehensively.

He picks up the coffeepot, while avoiding any slight piece of eye contact and pours himself a cup with the coffee I made for him, just another part of our routine. I’ve always hated coffee, its dull blackness, the bitter taste, the way it leaves a stain, how the smell lingers, and how it keeps you awake. But after Jungkook that view changed for me, its dull blackness suddenly started reminding me of Jungkook’s dark dreamy eyes, the bitter taste of it reminded me of his lips as that was my only intake of it, and those stains it left was warmth around my heart, the smell was like being engulfed in his arms, and it allowed me and him to be up spending more hours together. In a way, coffee was like a representation of our love.

However, that love has turned black and bitter just like the coffee in his mug. The sweet smiles we always shared and the bright laughs that used to be heard between us vanished. He vanished, pulled away and it was too late to try to pull him back.

“Mhm,” he replies nodding while taking a sip, and like our love, it disappears as he swallows it down.

I nod with him and look down at my hands wrapped around my mug. Is this the losing hand that time has placed? Were we just doomed to keep repeating the same routine with each other in denial, in silence similar to the one we are currently sitting in a few metres apart while we are living in different worlds away from one another?  We haven’t ended it but it’s already over. We were already over.

He refuses to have conversations with me when before no one could ever shut us up. Instead of constantly messing around to get a smile out of each other, he always seems to be at a safe distance away from me.

there’s a knot that can’t be untied

in front of us

As the bottoms of both our cups are revealed, so is our obvious stunt to keep a conversation from starting. Jungkook sets his mug in the sink and approaches me, and with just those movements my heart races.

“Well I’m going to head off okay?”, he stares at me with an expression I struggle to read…it’s almost…apologetic.

“Yeah, I need to start getting ready anyway,” I say.

“Okay then I guess I’ll see you later,” he says like it's a question while picking up his keys and approaching the door. As if he is unsure we will return to each other as if we are not one another's home.

I hum in agreement and just as his hand is about to touch the knob. I realise he forgot, one of the things that I assumed had turned into second nature for us has slipped out of his head. Now fearing that I could be the next thing to slip out of his head or even worse slip out of his life.

“Jungkook?” I call out.

He turns almost too quickly like he has been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

“Yeah?” he turns with wide eyes.

I give him a look, a look that speaks words only he could understand.

“Ah,” he sighs approaching me.

He cups my face with two hands, hands that are all too familiar but feel like they belong to a stranger at the same time.

He gives me the kiss I had reminded him of. It isn't necessarily part of our routine but something we have always done. It was always our sign of love to the other before we headed out into the world, a reminder of our love.

A reminder I think is much needed for us both.

He pulls away still holding my face “Sorry” he says and this time the apologetic look in his eyes is all too clear matching his voice.

But as I hear his words his ‘sorry’ seems to be for a different reason than just forgetting to kiss me before leaving the house. But without thinking more I just let it go.

“It’s okay. Get going now or you’ll be late.” I laugh softly and with one last kiss, he’s out the door.

There’s a knot that can’t be untied in front of us, both knowing that we should let go, that we should kiss goodbye one last time and both walk out of that door and go our separate ways for good. But that is easier said than done.

Jungkook and I both well aware of the fall in our relationship are also conscious of the love that will forever remain between us. The history between us is far too much for us to walk away. To take five years of memories and experiences with a person you’ve grown with so much that they have become an attachment to your life, to you as a person is an unimaginable pain that we would both rather avoid.

It is also scary, Jungkook is the one thing I remember having through everything, he is essentially a part of me. The thought of becoming one person again is something I never pictured having to do again. In all of my plans for myself, and for the future he is right there beside me. I have become accustomed to considering things for two people I couldn’t imagine just worrying about me, one person.

But as I consider what is right for the two of us all I can think of is that maybe we were better off as two separate people.

you don’t tell me but you want me to know

you think that you only gave the words you threw at me

because you’re too used to me

As the day comes to a close I hear the door open and footsteps follow. The sound I used to anticipate now makes me tense. Nevertheless, once the owner of those steps and so much more turns the corner, my lips can’t help but leap into a smile that’s both relieved and nervous.

Jungkook takes off his shoes and takes a seat beside me, with yet a space once again between us.

“Hey,” he breathes out as he settles into the couch.

I slightly hesitate, “Hey”

We sit in silence but hear everything that wants to be said. An invisible weight piling up on our shoulders, an awkwardness that has become usual between us. So I finally broke it and said it. The moment we never believed would come or tried to avoid finally came.

“L-look Jungkook," I take a deep breath and continue, "we both know what has happened between us-“

“Ye-Wait, what?” he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed.

“No, it's time we finally faced it, we’ve run our course. I supposed our time together was only supposed to be this long.”

“What are you talking about?-“

This time it is me who interrupts.

“It's just hard for me to let go of you, you just mean so much to me but I can’t control how you feel.”

“Huh? How do I feel? What do you mean? What are you even talking about right now?" he rushes out.

“It's okay you don’t have to keep silent like you’re keeping some secret from me, I know. You’ve lost feelings for me”

“No, you’re not listening to me-“

“Kookie, it's okay I’m a big girl I’ve broken up with a guy before.”

“Break up?", his voice panicked, "Woah just listen to me for one second, will you? Holy shit!”

Once again we sit in silence except this time I can’t hear the silent words waiting to be said.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you know but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about not even close.”

“I-I thought-“ I stutter out eyes widened.

“Yeah exactly, you thought. Or is that what you want? Do you want to break up?” he asks staring me directly in my eyes, his voice much softer with apprehension.

“I want to make things easier for you,” I reply in a whisper head lowered as I fiddle with my hands in my lap.

He gives me a look, a look as if I have just said something impossible to comprehend. We were both unaware of what had been happening between us for months. It's like he has become so used to the act we put on to ignore our downfall that he forgot it was an act.

“Easier? " he scoffs a laugh with zero humour, "Is breaking up something easy for you?” he argues back.

The fact that he was going to sit there and continue to play this game even after I called it out sparked an emotion inside of me and the one that decided to come out was anger.

“Oh, come on Jungkook! We both know you checked out on us a long time ago.”

His eyes widen and then he also snaps.

“Me? I checked out, are you being fucking serious right now? I know I have pulled away a bit but you didn’t give me any sign to do otherwise!”

“Are you seriously turning this on me right now?” I snapped back with a newfound boldness to defend myself instead of my initial plan to make this an easy conversation for him. For us.

“Well, I’m not going to blame myself, even though that’s what you’re trying to do. Just because you know me, you think that means you know all my inner fucking feelings. When it's clear you don’t know mine or your own!” He says in a stern and loud tone that I have heard him use in the past…. just never to me.

indifferent and painful words

left deep scars on that day

words that made me realize

that i’m still a fool

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for me to read your feelings if it wasn’t so blatantly obvious on your face and the way you act differently around me now!”

“And you think I started acting the way I did simply because I suddenly just lost all my feelings for you? You can’t be that clueless!”

The words being thrown between us were indifferent and painful which had already left their mark on both of us and only made us more frustrated. At this point, the distance between us seems bigger than the couch itself and my heart feels heavier than when I thought we were about to break up.

“No, you can’t be this low into making this seem like it’s all on me! And not knowing my feelings how does that even make sense?” I blurt out.

“Seriously, I know when we first started having problems we both started acting slightly different towards each other but it was never this bad…” voice much calmer and less tense than it was a few seconds ago as he continued.

“But it was after my birthday, you know after what happened, you just changed how you acted toward me -with me completely.” His tone turned the air serious almost still. I felt it slap me right across my face, run right into my chest knocking the air out of me.

“I-I did?", making my way full circle back to stuttering.

The next words that come out of his mouth make me realize the fool that I am. And at this realization, I could only tear up. Choked up it is my eyes this time that turn apologetic, while his eyes look at the floor before us.

He nods.

“You did. At first, it was just little things like not asking me to pick you up on my way home or not asking for my shirt to wear to bed. But then it turned into so much more.”

I looked down filled with a bit of shame. Until I heard a sound from him I didn’t expect, a chuckle.

“Just like that. You didn’t even look at me anymore. At the table, in the car, you even turn your back to me when we’re in bed. I used to catch you staring at me even when I wasn’t looking at you.” He smiles fondly at the memory and it’s his turn to look down at his hands.

He plays with his bracelet, one I got for him two years ago for his birthday. He shakes his head, ”It’s as if my presence makes you completely uncomfortable now.” his voice cracks.

And it is right then when I do too.

if only i can erase it

if only i can

At that moment I wished I had done the exact thing he told me I always did. Because once I did look up at him what I saw broke me. His eyes filled with tears he is trying to hold back, a few escaping but he is quick to wipe them away. It was the worst thing I could see besides looking at me driving him away. It was me hurting him. If I could erase everything I did to make him think that I didn't love being around him I would, and now I could.

i took you for granted

but just thinking of you not being there

i don’t want to go through that

my world would crumble

Although I may not be able to erase everything I can change everything from here on to prove to him he has the wrong view of what he is to me. He is the furthest thing than just an uncomfortable presence. He is my best friend, my roommate, my chauffeur, my home, my family, and my lover. My everything. Even the thought of him not being in my life…my whole world would fall apart.

am i the one for you

at some point, you were keeping me in check

i said you changed a lot but i changed the most

the one for me, i didn’t know

but that promise keeps suffocating us

time keeps lingering but our time keeps getting destroyed

The tears running down his face make me think he feels the same, that he doesn’t want us to end like this. It assures me of us, that he is the one for me and I am the one for him.

“I’m sorry,” he looks at me and for the first time in a while we both look into each other’s eyes with hopefulness, “I said you changed a lot, but I was the one who changed the most. And I kept acting that way because I had made myself think that was what you wanted. I didn’t want to let you go so I thought by doing that I would hold onto you longer but that very thing is what suffocated us. It's what wrecked our relationship and sent it down even further. We had so much time to fix it but it just kept getting destroyed.” I say with two streams running one under each eye.

He finally speaks after what to me feels like a whole lifetime.

“It's okay, I mean, it's both our faults though,” he sniffs, “We should have had this conversation a long time ago.” He has gone back to fiddling with his bracelet this time him being the one to break eye contact.

He laughs, again catching me off guard with the unexpected reaction.

“It’s funny, the one thing we did the most even when we didn’t need to or weren’t even supposed to do, is what we failed to do when we needed to the most…talk.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as well at the irony.

“I guess we took all those times we told each other to shut up when watching movies to heart.” I chuckle out and he laughs at my response.

that smile came to me, more brightly

the cold hands became more warm

two lonely souls met

not lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely

i’ll look into you again, i’ll place your breathing in my ears

even if everything but us changes

His smile seemed brighter now more than ever. At that moment the room seemed to be glowing.

I reached out and grabbed his hands,

“I love you, I have always and will always. I don’t want to give us up, I never have. We’ve been together for too long to go back to being lonely and I’d be an idiot to pick loneliness over you.”

I looked at him the whole time watching his expression with every word. I look through the tears in my eyes at him and when I feel him squeeze my hands in his the tears spill over all over again.

“You are the only girl who has had my heart for years. I’ve never debated giving it to anyone else. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll get us back to the good place where we were before. Even if something has to change I don’t care as long as we are the only thing that doesn’t.”

His words were exactly what I wanted and needed to hear, enabling my tears to keep falling down my face but now out of pure happiness, the pure bliss of us finally back to one another. We were finally back to being us.

I pull him towards me by the nape of his neck, foreheads resting against each other. With our lips brushing,

“I love you” I whisper to him.

He lovingly smiles back.

“I have always loved you too.”

And those were the only words I ever needed to hear from him.

i hope you’ll tell me first

don’t cry no more

if your heart can see me

don’t cry no more

He pulls me onto his lap, legs dangling over his. I bury my head in his chest, my arms wrapping around his strong torso. His arms pull me into a tight embrace, one that signifies neither of us is about to go anywhere.

“Now stop crying, baby.” He teases me, the only evidence of his tears is the red in his eyes.

“I can’t they won’t stop now.” I giggle out past my sobs.

“It’s okay now, we know our feelings are on the same page.”

i’ll go to you first

at the end of a different road

i’ll wipe your cheeks

that are wet with tears

and ask you

“Now we just need to figure out where to start where do we go from here,” he continues as he holds my face again as he did hours ago but now the gesture felt completely different as he used his thumbs to wipe my cheeks that were wet with tears, I look into those dreamy coffee coloured eyes of his as I listen to the next words that came out of his bitter coffee flavoured lips that I can already taste,

“Tell me what to do”

[naughtyneganjdm]

Love's Second Chance: A Holiday Reunion - Chapter 7

Summary: Negan joins Y/N as her date to one of the Christmas parties that the town throws every year. Tensions rise when it's clear that Joel is very unhappy with the relationship that Y/N has with Negan.

Characters: Negan Smith, the reader (OC), Joel Miller, Elizabeth, Peter, Maria, Tommy Miller, Rosita Espinosa, Siddiq, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60501985/chapters/155437699

Warnings: Swearing, angst, depression, sadness, etc.

One thing that never changed was how fast time flew. It had been two weeks since Y/N and Negan went on that date together. Since then? They saw each other every single day. Even though it was two weeks, it felt like they were getting in the years that they had missed with each other very quickly. Every night they would end up together in one of their beds talking. They talked a lot and it was nice to be able to have something like that again. Having open discussions was an amazing thing. It was thrilling getting to have Negan back in her life again. How quickly they reconnected was fantastic and she was so happy to have this relationship with him. It felt like she had her best friend back. And that loneliness she had grown so used to having for so many years? It was gone. Maybe even without meaning to, Negan was able to heal part of her.

Dread was no longer something she felt when waking up. And that was amazing. It lifted her spirits more than she ever knew was possible.

Pretty quickly the town picked up on the two of them always being together. Then again? It probably was pretty obvious. They were always holding hands. Being close was something that Negan was fond of. Touching each other was just normal. Showing his affection for her in public was not something that Negan had a problem with. And it was very sweet. Since he was kind of a celebrity, she had originally thought that he might want to keep their relationship, whatever it was, in the dark. But he stressed too her that he wanted her to be a predominant person in his life so he didn’t care what other people thought. And he visibly meant it.

Also over the last two weeks, they had spent a lot of time with Tommy and Maria. Those two were the new couple that most of the town had picked up on too. Likely because Maria was the daughter of the mayor so her family was big around their small hometown. But then again? It seemed like a lot of people had picked up on Tommy and Maria meeting each other every night at the diner. The only person who had been pretty oblivious to it was Joel. Which was strange since rumors really got around fast in this town.

Tommy’s fears did come to fruition because Maria’s dad wasn’t incredibly happy with the two of them being together, but Maria shut that down fast. Tommy and Maria were nowhere near being children and she forced her dad to butt his nose out of it. Surprisingly? He did.

The only person that Y/N hadn’t spent a lot of time with lately was Joel. After the day that he picked the children up from Negan’s mother’s home, he never really had much interest in being around. It was unfortunate considering things, but she could tell he was jealous. And he definitely felt negatively toward her being in some kind of a relationship with Negan.

Tonight Y/N found herself at one of the town’s annual Christmas parties that they held. It was the most popular party that they did during Christmas time. They had other events that they ran, but this was the one that everyone seemed to look forward to each year. Over the last few years? This was not an event that she would look forward to. The kids enjoyed it. And it was a tradition, which traditions were the things that she tried to cling onto for Christmas. So she kept coming.

When she was younger? This was a party that she loved coming to with Joel. For some reason, there was a lot of spotlight on their relationship when they were younger. As she grew older, Y/N started to realize that this town had a very archaic way of doing things. Each year at this party they would always crown a snow king and snow queen for Christmas. Which really? It was just them picking a couple in town that had a lot of attention on them. They would crown them, give them sashes and made a big deal about it. To a younger couple? That was pretty cool. To have the whole town acknowledge that your relationship was special? It was fun. Now that she was older it did kind of feel like it was just the town getting into people’s business. And she grew to hate this competition. Especially because they would always bring the old winners up that were still around onto the stage to ‘honor’ them.

Many times she had won the award of snow king and queen with Joel. And the two had taken many photos to prove it. A lot of those photos were up in the attic of her home collecting dust more than likely. Throughout the event, they would play a very cheesy video to show the history of their winners. Looking back on that video throughout the night brought forth a lot of emotions. Embarrassment knowing that she would have to get up in front of people tonight. Sadness because the relationship that she used to be proud of with Joel no longer existed. And there was also a discomfort over the idea that she was now with someone else, yet the town was still flashing her relationship with Joel all night long.

“So explain this for me,” Rosita whispered in Y/N’s ear, pulling her chair in closer to Y/N. Together they were sitting at one of the tables in the giant ballroom. Across from them, Negan was sitting with Elizabeth and Peter. The three of them were sitting close together all staring down at Negan’s phone while he played a video for them to watch. Peter was snuggly resting his head against Negan’s shoulder and it seemed to come naturally. Occasionally, each of them would burst out into laughter, so obviously it was something funny that Negan had put on for them. It was loud in the room with the music that they were playing, so it didn’t bother Y/N with their tiny outbursts. “Are you dating Negan or not?”

“We really haven’t put a label on our relationship yet,” Y/N was honest with her friend, hoping to be quiet enough so that no one else other than Rosita could hear her. Right now? Her heart was fluttering at the sight of Negan with her children. Just like he had with her, Negan connected swiftly with her children. And she loved that.

“How could you not put a fucking label on that? Negan is a professional baseball player!” Rosita blurt out with Y/N immediately hushing her. Grumbling under her breath, Rosita turned Y/N away from the table so they could talk one-on-one. “If you’re dating a professional baseball player, that’s a pretty big fucking deal.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t really have an answer for you,” Y/N apologized, stealing another glance back at her children with Negan who didn’t seem to be too bothered. Sliding in closer to Rosita, Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we will have to talk about it. We spend a lot of time together. I feel like we’re inseparable lately.”

“So that means you’re dating,” Rosita stressed, nodding her head in the direction of Negan. “If you’re spending all your time together, I think that means you’re dating.”

“Nothing is official yet,” Y/N repeated, not wanting her friend to get ahead of herself. “I like what we have. It’s been great.”

“So have the two of you…” Rosita made a crude movement with her hands visibly asking if Negan and Y/N had sex. Warmth flooded into her cheeks, stealing a quick look back to make sure Negan and the children were still distracted. Nodding once had Rosita biting back a squeal of excitement. “Like, how many times?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, placing her finger in over her mouth in attempts to keep Rosita quiet.

“You don’t know because you haven’t been paying attention or you don’t know because it’s been that many?” Rosita was excitedly curious. Probably too excited. Clinging to Y/N’s arm Rosita shook it when she realized it was the second. “Girl, I must know. Is the ego legit for a good reason or is it because he’s lacking?”

“He’s not lacking anything,” Y/N knew better than to talk about this, but Rosita was her best friend after all. “And when we don’t sleep together? He loves cuddling. Just holding me in his arms at night. It’s really sweet.

“That’s cute and all, but what about the sex?” Rosita eagerly bounced in her seat wanting the tea on her relationship with Negan.

“I won’t go into details but he’s very good with what he has,” Y/N didn’t want to be one of those people that went into excruciating details. Especially since her children were right across the table from them. 

Clearing her throat, she slid in closer to Rosita so she could speak very quietly, “He knows how to make me squirt.”

“Honey! I told you that Joel wasn’t that good at se…” Rosita blurt out too loudly getting an immediate hushing sound from Y/N to cut her off. This time it drew Negan’s attention who looked up at them. His hazel eyes seemed curious, but when Y/N gave him a cheesy smile he just smirked and went back to watching what he was.

“Joel is good. Don’t even start at that. It’s just Negan, Negan is good too. They are vastly different, but I enjoy both,” Y/N assured Rosita evoking Rosita to roll her eyes dramatically knowing that Y/N was still quick to defend Joel.

“Okay, so you’re the luckiest girl in the world and the two men you’ve been with are incredibly good at sex. Good for you,” Rosita grumbled under her breath, showing a sense of jealousy at the idea of it. “We all can’t be as lucky as you.”

“Siddiq is adorable,” Y/N pointed in the distance to Rosita’s man who was sitting at the table with Coco in his lap. Siddiq was bouncing their daughter on his knee, singing to her while the music played up on stage.

“Siddiq is flawless, but he’s not the only man I’ve been with,” Rosita frowned thinking back on past relationships that she had. “So yes, Siddiq is beautiful, perfect and amazing. But they weren’t all like that.”

“I think what matters is how everything turned out,” Y/N thought aloud about her friend’s relationship. Thinking about Negan, Y/N shifted in her seat and sighed. “With Negan, it’s been nice having someone around when the children are with Joel. That’s for sure. I thought my vacation from work was going to be really lonely. So lonely that I would just get back on the computer and work.”

“What about Joel? How’s he taking it?” Rosita was interested with her eyebrow arching in curiosity. The mention of Joel had Y/N swallowing down hard and she shrugged her shoulders. “After what happened before Negan showed up? I thought he’d have more to say.”

“I haven’t seen him much over these last two weeks,” Y/N replied with a long sigh letting her friend in on what was happening with her ex-husband. “He’s supposed to be here today though. Elizabeth asked him to come specifically for her. And technically? We’re supposed to be here for that stupid dance where they honor the past winners for the snow queens and kings.”

“That’s cute about Elizabeth, gross about the honoring the past winners,” Rosita blurt out, her face wrinkling up in disgust. “It’s such an outdated way of doing things. We should celebrate all the couples and families. Not just single one out.”

“Baby,” Siddiq’s voice interrupted the two of them as he approached them with Coco in his arms. “While that’s a nice thought, I know that you would love to be crowned that and you would eat up the attention if it was you.”

“Oh hush you,” Rosita stood up from her seat to approach her man who giggled in return. Grabbing a hold of Coco, Rosita and Siddiq went somewhere else together leaving Y/N alone to herself at her side of the table.

Being alone allowed Y/N to watch her children with Negan. Peter was telling Negan an elaborate story while Elizabeth bickered back and forth with him. It had Negan looking between the two of them, laughing when one of them would say something to amuse him. It really was impressive how quickly Negan got along with her children. Especially since Negan had been out of her life for so long. Right now? It felt like Negan had never left.

Gasping out, she felt the sensation of a pair of cold hands placing in over her shoulders. Looking back, she saw that it was Tommy. A surprised breath fell from her throat noticing that Tommy’s hair was pulled back nicely into a ponytail and he was wearing a very nice gray suit.

“Tommy, my God,” Y/N stood up from the table, turning to face Joel’s little brother. Extending her hands out, she brushed her hands in over his shoulders and gave him a once over. “You look so good. Look at you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress like this before.”

“Well,” Tommy stepped aside, his face flushing over when he revealed that Maria was behind him. There was a smile that tugged at his features showing that he was proud to have her beside him. Motioning her forward, Tommy curled his arm around Maria’s waist and shrugged. “There is a reason for that and she’s right here. I want to look the best I can for her.”

“You always look the best,” Maria looked to Tommy with so much love in her eyes. Just seeing that made Y/N smile. Since this was the man that she had helped raise, it was nice to see Tommy find a love like he had with Maria.

“You both look amazing,” Y/N complimented them, holding her hand out to point to Maria’s outfit that she was also wearing. She was dressed in a golden gown that looked gorgeous on her. “Maria, you are stunning.”

“You’re always too kind to me,” Maria stated with a big smile when Y/N stepped forward to hug Maria. Beside them Tommy seemed so proud of the moment.

“Just truthful,” Y/N pulled back to give Maria’s shoulders an assuring squeeze. Motioning them to wait, Y/N turned on her heel and spoke up loud enough for the children to hear. “Elizabeth! Peter! Come see your Uncle Tommy and Maria!”

“Uncle Tommy!” Peter exclaimed at the sight of Tommy once he pulled his stare away from the phone that he was focused on. Getting up from the table, Peter set the phone down and threw his hands up in the air. “What are you wearing? I’ve never seen you in something like that!”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Tommy laughed, accepting a big embrace from Peter as Elizabeth got up and made her way around the table.

“Trust me, it’s a good thing,” Elizabeth accepted the next hug from Tommy while Peter went to go to talk to Maria who seemed just as excited to talk to him. “You must really like this girl, huh?”

“I do,” Tommy acknowledged, squeezing his arms tighter around Elizabeth to give her another big hug. “You’ve met her. How couldn’t I?”

“You don’t have to answer that!” Maria playfully teased with Elizabeth coming over to give her a hug as well.

“Maria, you are so beautiful and you know that I think that,” Elizabeth stressed to Maria, who reached for Elizabeth’s hand to grab a hold of it. Looking over the dress that Elizabeth was wearing, Maria playfully spun Elizabeth who laughed. “Mom picked it out for me.”

“You look gorgeous honey,” Maria assured Elizabeth with a wink, stepping forward to give her another big hug. Over the last two weeks, both Maria and Negan had been able to get close to Peter and Elizabeth. So it was nice to see that they had all clicked so quickly. “Are you alright if we sit with you for a few?”

“Of course,” Y/N knew that they had intentionally made room for them. Both of the children were eager to talk to Tommy and Maria for a while. Watching them made her smile, but out of the corner of her eye she could see that Negan was staring out at her. Winking at him, she wiggled her finger to get him to come sit by her. With a nod, Negan stood up from the table and it drew attention to the three-piece suit that he was wearing that was tailored nicely to his slender form. Moving around the table, Y/N could see that Negan had caught the eye of several people, but by now the town had seemed to have learned to give Negan his space. Especially since he had gone above and beyond for people who came running up to him for photos in the first few weeks. As soon as Negan was seated beside her, she reached out to brush her fingers through Negan’s dark hair that was slicked back. “You are the sexiest man in the room. You know that?”

“Hmm…” Negan hummed, his head pressing in closer to hers. An amused rumble of a sound fell from him, his fingers sweeping in over the side of her face. “I don’t know that, but it never hurts to hear it from the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Going in for a kiss, Negan heard the sound of Elizabeth clearing her throat acting as if she was annoyed. It made both of them laugh when Y/N nuzzled her nose in against Negan’s, “Second most beautiful.”

“Second most beautiful,” Negan repeated what Y/N had said, stealing a quick kiss from Y/N’s lips. Clasping her hand in his, Negan hooked their fingers together tightly and smiled. “Hey Tommy? Did Liz here ever tell you about what happened the other night?”

“About what?” Tommy seemed curious and Elizabeth obviously didn’t know where Negan was headed with his question.

“It was a few weeks ago. She threatened to kick my ass,” Negan slurred, his eyebrow arching in amusement. Elizabeth’s face grew red, an embarrassed sound falling from her lips. “I swore she was gonna kill me.”

“Negan, it’s not funny,” Elizabeth dropped her head down into her hand, wishing like hell Negan wasn’t about to bring it up.

Hushing Negan, Y/N realized where he was headed with the story now that he had both Maria and Tommy’s attention, “Your niece here thought that you and her mother were having an affair. She thought I was you and she was ready to kick my ass.”

“The two of us?” Tommy blurt out, disgust flooding his features when he pointed back and forth between him and Y/N. Nodding, Y/N couldn’t help but be amused with Elizabeth throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. “How in God’s name did you think we were doing something like that kiddo?”

“You were gone all the time,” Elizabeth defended herself with a shake of her head. “I didn’t know why you were gone because you hadn’t told us about Maria yet. So I guess I just assumed, if you weren’t at the house and mom was with someone? Then it had to be you.”

“She raised me,” Tommy reminded his niece who groaned outwardly, shooting a glare over at Negan who laughed out boisterously. “Don’t get me wrong, Y/N is a very beautiful woman, but there is no way in hell that the two of us would ever, ever get together.”

“Nice save,” Negan reached out to pat Tommy on the shoulder. Tommy gave Y/N an apologetic glance and she shook her head telling him that it was okay.

“Onto a less embarrassing subject,” Elizabeth let out a tiny laugh herself, looking around the party. It seemed like the whole town was packed into the ballroom, but there was one person that was missing from the group. “Where’s dad?”

“Oh, uhm…” Tommy started, the tone of his voice changing. Dropping his head, Y/N immediately picked up on the fact that Tommy seemed uncomfortable with Elizabeth asking that. Tipping his head from side to side, Tommy’s eyes met Y/N’s and she knew by the expression that his response was not going to be a good one.

“Is he going to be here soon? I told him that I wanted to recreate that photo that I took with him when I was little,” Elizabeth stressed to Tommy what she had told Joel the other night when she was excited about this party. “A lot of people at my school are recreating photos with their parents and I just remember always loving that one. You know which one I’m talking about, right?”

“The one that you have in your room,” Tommy acknowledged what Elizabeth was reminding him of, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat while he shifted uneasily in his seat. “I uh, I’m sorry kiddo. But your dad isn’t coming tonight. He was pretty busy working on something and he wasn’t able to get away from it.”

“But…” the color drained from Elizabeth’s face hearing that Joel wouldn’t be coming to the party. “I mean, he knew that I wanted to take that photo. He promised that he would be here. He didn’t say anything?”

“He just told me that he would be picking you two up tomorrow morning instead of taking you home tonight,” Tommy explained, nodding between both Peter and Elizabeth. A disappointed breath fell from Y/N’s lips hating that Joel was letting Elizabeth down over obviously being angry that she would be showing up tonight with Negan. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s okay,” Elizabeth tried to wave off that she was sad about the idea of Joel not showing up. “It was a stupid idea anyway.”

“Nothing is a stupid idea if it’s something that you want,” Negan sat forward in his chair, tapping his fingers against the top of the table to try to get Elizabeth to look at him. “What photo did you want to recreate with him?”

Motioning Negan to wait, Elizabeth grabbed her bag and dug through it to find her phone. Swiping through her photos, she stopped on one and then handed it over to Negan who smiled. It was a photo of Joel when he was younger on the dancefloor with Elizabeth. Joel had obviously won snow king that year by the crown that was over his head.

“How old are you here?” Negan wondered, a big smile tugging at his handsome features attempting to get Elizabeth to talk about what made her happy.

“Five,” Elizabeth answered accepting her phone back after Negan handed it back to her. Setting the phone down on the table, Elizabeth didn’t know how to handle not having Joel there. “It’s fine. It’s just a weird social media trend anyways.”

Someone called out to Elizabeth and she realized that it was one of her friends calling her over, “I’ll be right back.”

Peter followed Elizabeth not far behind and Y/N was quick to turn to Tommy who was ill at ease when she looked to him for the truth, “So what did Joel really say?”

“He just told me that he didn’t want to come to the party tonight. I tried to get him to go, but he was working on a guitar and he said that he didn’t want to,” Tommy alerted her, showing in his body language that he was upset that he had to be the barrier of bad news. “There was only so much I could do. I had to go get Maria, so I couldn’t keep bickering with him.”

“This isn’t like him Tommy,” Y/N noted knowing that Joel had always been an amazing father to their children. “He was supposed to take the children home after the party. Their things are in the car. We were supposed to go up on stage together and do that stupid dance. But most of all, Elizabeth asked him to be here.”

“Like I said, he told me that he would pick them up in the morning,” Tommy threw his hands up in the air noticing the anger that was growing in Y/N’s face. “Hey, don’t get mad at the messenger. I’m just telling you what I was told.”

“Tommy, I know. I just…” she covered her eyes letting out an uncomfortable breath. This was just like Joel to leave her stranded again. “I mean, he’s done this to me with this stupid party several times now. Do you know how weird it feels to have to tell them up on stage that he’s not here so we can’t do it? You saw how upset Elizabeth was.”

“Take Negan with you,” Tommy stammered when he thought about the stage problem that she just pointed out. Maria looked between all of them, not sure what to add to the conversation since she really had no part of it. Hearing that had the lines in Negan’s forehead growing. “I’m sure the town would find him to be an acceptable replacement for my brother.”

“Tommy,” Maria frowned at the suggestion that Tommy gave them, swatting softly at his thigh. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I don’t want to be Joel’s replacement,” Negan assured them, placing his hand in over the center of his chest. “Plus? I was never snow king. I mean, Lucille and I tried when we were in high school, but the title went to Y/N and Joel. I think Joel should be here to do it. It’s meant to be a tradition for a reason.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Tommy looked toward the front of the room to eyeball the table where Maria’s father was seated. “We actually are supposed to be sitting with Maria’s family tonight at their table. I just wanted to come over and say hi to you and the family. Since you guys are where my heart is. I would have never told Maria how I felt without you Y/N.”

“And we’ll be forever grateful that you gave him the strength to try to do it,” Maria wrapped her arm around Tommy’s hooking her fingers with his. “I know how much you and the children mean to Tommy. You’re part of my family now.”

Clearing his throat, Negan was being dramatic in the way he tipped his head from side to side wanting some attention too. It made Maria laugh when Tommy reached out to shove into Negan’s shoulder having the both of them burst out in laughter.

“And Negan too,” Maria added to her statement waving her hand about toward Negan who gave her a big cheesy smile. Both Maria and Tommy stood up from the table with Negan and Y/N following suit.

Tommy stepped forward to wrap Y/N up in his arms to give her a big hug. They both went over to say goodbye to the children so they could go to the front table where Maria’s father was. Leaving them alone at the table had Elizabeth coming back with Peter.

“Hey,” Negan called out noticing that Elizabeth still looked bummed about the news of Joel not coming to the party tonight. “I may not be able to do the photo with you, but if you want I’ll dance with you.”

Having Negan offer that made Elizabeth weakly smile. Negan was full on giving her the puppy dog eye staring attempting to get her to smile when he moved in beside her. Nudging her playfully with his arm had Elizabeth laughing, “We can make your friends really jealous.”

“They already know you’re with my mom Negan,” Elizabeth declared making Peter snicker beside her. After a glare was sent his way by Elizabeth, Peter threw his hands up in the air. “Which trust me, they are already jealous of. Just the fact I get to spend time with you makes them jealous. But? You really don’t have to do that in order to make me feel better. I knew that dad hated this party. It was stupid to ask him to do it anyways.”

Looking to her phone, Y/N wanted to call Joel and rip him a new asshole. Sure, she was used to Joel dropping out on her and letting her down, but Joel never let Elizabeth down. To see her daughter so upset made her heart break.

“Well if you don’t want to dance—how about the three of us go get some dessert? Chocolate always makes me feel better,” Negan curled his arms around both Elizabeth’s and Peter’s shoulders pulling them in closer. Peter laughed out loud and pressed his hand in over the center of Negan’s chest to try to pull back. “What do you say?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders getting up with Negan and her brother to go toward the food area together.

Grabbing her phone, Y/N pulled up Joel’s contact information and went to call him. Thinking twice she realized that the whole room didn’t need to know their business. Instead she started writing him a text and didn’t think twice about sending it.

You broke your daughter’s heart tonight. I don’t care about you blowing off the dance, but she really wanted to recreate that photo with you Joel. You should be here if only for her.

Waiting, she stared at her phone and saw that Joel had read the text. Instead of getting a response, she was just left on read which infuriated her.

“God, he’s such a dick,” a familiar voice rumbled behind her causing her to look over her shoulder to see that Joel was kneeling in beside her. His dark hair was slicked back and he was wearing a black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. Shock filled her eyes when she looked him over. Never in the past would he be caught dressing this nice at one of these parties. “You want me to go beat him up for you? I can if you’d like.”

Joel was pointing back toward another area of the room and she felt her face getting hot when she turned to face him in her chair, “Tommy said you weren’t coming.”

“I wasn’t,” Joel replied back with a smirk, his dimples sinking in with his brown eyes narrowing. “But then I realized last minute I did make a promise to my daughter and I keep my promises to my children.”

“Good,” she breathed out realizing just how close Joel truly was to her. There was a warmth that flooded into her face which she assumed was from the anger that had been building up before he showed up. “Where did you find that suit?”

“I had it from our last anniversary,” Joel lowered his head to look over himself and he shrugged his shoulders. Caressing his hand in over the center of his chest, Joel gave her a weak smile. “I just thought maybe this would be a good time to bring it out and actually wear it.”

“You look good,” she mused smelling his cologne from where she was seated. It made her eyes come to a tight close because of how used to it she had become growing up.

“So do you,” Joel commented eyeing over the red dress that she was wearing. This one wasn’t as revealing as the dress that she had worn on her first date with Negan, but it still did bring attention to her curves. It should have offended her that Joel was eyeing over her breasts again, but it didn’t. “Is that a new dress?”

“Yeah,” she was honest knowing that Joel had made comments already about her dressing different for Negan. Nodding his head, Joel looked her over again before leaning forward to press a lingering kiss against her cheek. By the time he pulled back, Y/N felt a lump in her throat staring into his chocolate-colored eyes. “Elizabeth is going to be happy that you’re here.”

In the distance, Joel could see that Elizabeth was heading back with Negan and Peter. Waiting, Joel didn’t stand until Elizabeth was near the table. Once her eyes fell upon Joel, a huge smile developed over her features and she eagerly set her plate down. Swiftly moving forward, Joel accepted Elizabeth into his arms when she jumped into them to wrap her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“You’re here!” she buried her nose against the side of Joel’s neck, hugging him tight. Considering how sad Elizabeth was when she learned that Joel wasn’t attending the party? This was a nice change of pace for Y/N. More than anything she liked seeing her children happy. And Joel made her children happy. “Uncle Tommy said you weren’t coming.”

“I changed my mind,” Joel kissed at the side of Elizabeth’s face letting out a groan when he lowered her back to her feet. “I wasn’t going to turn down spending time with my children at Christmas time. My daughter asked me to be here and I made sure that I was. Because you both are more important than anything else in my life.”

“Look at you dad,” Peter muttered setting down his plate at the table. Moving around the crowd, Peter moved in front of Joel who stepped back to look over himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look nice like this.”

“Thanks for that,” Joel snickered reaching out to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders to pull him close. Even though Peter was being blunt about him never looking that good, he knew what his son was trying to say. “You look good too.”

“I always look good,” Peter gave a big cheesy smile when Joel released him. Chuckling at his son’s antics, Joel pat the side of Peter’s face and shook his head. Rosita and Siddiq had just returned to the table with Coco as the group of them were talking.

Turning on his heel, Joel stopped when he saw Negan helping Elizabeth back into her seat. When she sat down, Negan held his hand out to Joel and offered a weak smile, “You do look sharp Joel. You clean up nice.”

“Right,” Joel looked down at Negan’s hand and there was tension in his features. Elizabeth was staring between the two of them along with Peter and Joel swallowed down hard. Accepting Negan’s handshake, Joel put a bit of pressure to it making Negan huff. Releasing Negan’s hand, Joel took the empty seat between where Siddiq was sitting and Elizabeth leaving Negan to lower down between Elizabeth and Peter again.

“That wasn’t at all awkward,” Rosita whispered as Negan’s hazel eyes connected with Y/N’s. Giving Negan an empathetic look, Y/N felt bad that this was becoming so awkward with Joel and Negan. Shaking his head, Negan didn’t want to draw attention to the negativity when he started talking to Peter about the desserts that they grabbed. “Joel is asserting his dominance.”

There was nothing Y/N could say. Rosita wasn’t wrong. Even by the way Joel kept shooting daggers at Negan with his eyes, Y/N could tell that there was an intense anger that Joel felt toward Negan. Negan felt it too, but he was doing his best to blow it off and keep doing what he had been doing this whole time. He was being civilized and polite despite how Joel was being.

“So…” Rosita picked up on the fact that the table went silent after Joel’s arrival. Things got weird. Even the children realized it. “What do you all want from Santa this year?”

Snickering to herself, Y/N covered her mouth to hide the amusement that she had from her friend trying to start some kind of conversation between all of them. It was somewhat successful because it got Peter talking about something he wanted for Christmas and it drew a conversation that interested Siddiq.

“Hey,” Negan leaned forward, pressing his hand over the table to brace himself. Getting Y/N’s attention, she leaned in closer in attempts to hear him over the music and loud talking that surrounded them. “Do you want to dance?”

“Sure,” Y/N agreed, her eyes following Negan after he whispered something to Elizabeth who nodded. Outstretching his hand, Negan helped Y/N out of her seat leading her toward the dancefloor. Joel’s eyes followed them all the way out to where they were. Turning away from Joel, she allowed Negan to wrap his arm around her hips to pull her close to him. With Negan hooking his fingers with hers she tried to focus solely on him. “I’m sorry about Joel.”

“I’m used to Joel,” Negan insisted with a wrinkle of his nose knowing that she was uncomfortable as it was. “You don’t have to apologize for Joel. His actions aren’t gonna make me wanna spend any less time with you and the children.”

“Most people would go running the other way,” she noted with how aggressive Joel had been toward Negan.

“I grew up with Joel. I know what he’s capable of,” Negan smirked with a shake of his head. Most men would be very uncomfortable with an ex-husband like Joel Miller, but Negan took everything in stride. “Plus? I’m a pro baseball player. I understand people can be aggressive. Players, fans, photographers…”

“Good point,” she shrugged as Negan continued to lead her on the dance floor. She was pleasantly surprised how good Negan actually was at dancing. “I don’t know how you do it. Handle everyone and continue to stay so calm. People eat out of the palm of your hand.”

“It’s really easy,” Negan commented spinning her about having her laughing as he did it. When she stumbled back in against his chest, he bit down on his bottom lip and snickered. “It’s all in the eyes. You lock eyes with the person you are with, you do something nice and even if it’s for a second that person is going to walk away thinking they’ve had an amazing experience. Even if you’re being cheeky and kind of an asshole. You keep good eye contact, give a nice smile and people suddenly become manageable.”

“Well, yeah, but you have those ridiculous dimples to help you,” she reminded Negan, lifting her free hand to squeeze at his cheeks. Snorting, Negan chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. “Everyone is going to fall for those.”

“You can thank my daddy for those,” Negan snorted, stealing a quick kiss from her lips. “I am happy that you like them though.”

“There are so many good qualities to you,” she assured him, resting her head against the center of his chest while they danced. Cuddling his chin in against the top of her head, Negan hummed as they danced together.

“Liz is getting what she wanted,” Negan interrupted her thoughts causing her to look over her shoulder to see that Joel had joined Elizabeth out on the dancefloor. At the side of the dance floor it looked like Peter was taking photos of the two of them together. That alone made her happy since that was what Elizabeth had wanted all along. “You know, the only thing I worry about in our relationship is putting a wedge between him and the children. They do love him a lot and with him almost not coming here today…”

“It’s not your fault though,” she cut Negan off, placing her hand in over the center of Negan’s chest noticing the way his hazel eyes were watching Joel with Elizabeth. By the expression she could tell that he was blaming himself for Joel originally deciding not to show up tonight. There was probably some truth to it because Joel was jealous, but it wasn’t all Negan’s fault. “Joel never liked coming to these things. More than once I had to deny going up on stage and doing that stupid dance because Joel hated it. When we were younger Joel was very affectionate publicly, but the older we got the more private he grew. And he hated going to public events. This is completely out of his comfort zone.”

“If you were mine, I would have been showing you off to everyone every chance I was given,” Negan claimed, his eyelids growing heavy with him staring down at her. There it was again. Just with his words, he could take her breath away. “I know I was always the more outgoing one, but when you love someone, you want to step a little out of your comfort zone. Just to show them how much you care about them.”

“You are something else,” she whispered in awe of him, her fingers sweeping in against the side of his face. Something seemed to catch Negan’s attention in the distance evoking him to chuckle. Looking back, she was curious, “What?”

“His moves are a little rusty,” Negan pointed out with them both watching Joel together with Elizabeth. Out on the dancefloor Joel looked stiff as a board while he danced with his daughter.

“Don’t let him fool you. He knows how to dance,” Y/N informed Negan enjoying the way that Elizabeth laughed with Joel stumbling over himself. “He’s doing that to make her feel special. He wants to make her laugh and have her lead him.”

“Ah, that’s smooth,” Negan responded with a long exhale urging Y/N back to look at him while they danced together. “I can tell that he hates me.”

“He hates…most people,” she didn’t want to let that thought eat away at Negan. “He’s just not very happy with life right now and takes it out on others. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Well, I am,” Negan admitted, pulling her in closer to him and licking his lips. “You and I are getting closer and he doesn’t like that. And he doesn’t like that I’m close to the children. I know it’s a jealousy thing. But he’s just gonna have to deal because I’m not going anywhere.”

Smirking, she was glad to hear him say that. Especially since a lot of people would be intimidated and run the other way. Negan could have anyone in this town. Yet he chose to spend time with her. And he wasn’t letting Joel chase him away. That alone was impressive and really made her feel special.

“There is something strange about this town. I mean there always fucking was,” Negan rambled on, swirling her around a bit on the dance floor. “I can never really tell if the people are always staring at me because of who I am. Or they are surprised that the two of us are together.”

“What do you mean by that?” she wondered, looking around realizing that Negan was right. People were watching the two of them. Stealing looks here and there.

“I do question if most of this town thinks it should be Joel that is here with you. Not me,” Negan stressed what he was feeling, his head tipping from side to side. Confusion flooded her features at the idea and Negan shrugged. “I think people expect to see Joel with you. Not me.”

“I think I would go more with the whole gawking because you are a celebrity thing,” she thought aloud, hooking her arms around Negan’s neck as they slow danced together. Stroking her fingers at the dark curls of hair at the bottom of his neck, she shrugged simply. “Joel and I have been split up for over four years now. People aren’t going to suddenly get back together after four years. If the people aren’t used to the idea of me being with someone else? Well, that’s their problem.”

“Still, people get certain ideas in their heads,” Negan grumbled under his breath, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. “Instead of seeing a person as a person, they see them as a duo. It was never just Negan. It was Negan and Lucille for these kind of people. Small towns. For you. It was Joel and Y/N. Y’know? I think they get confused to see that Negan Smith got thrown into the mix when it was always Joel and Y/N.”

“I think the people of this town were always too eager to throw their noses in other people’s business,” Y/N offered her input on the situation. “It was part of what I wanted to get away from. Small towns. Big judgements. Hateful opinions. People who didn’t keep their mouths shut about things that didn’t relate to them. Truthfully? They can think whatever they want. It’s a small town, it’s what you expect. But I don’t care what people think. Because I like spending time with you and that’s all that matters to me. I wish we could have been doing it all along.”

“The spending time together or the sex part?” Negan joked with a snort, getting her to lower one of her hands to swat at the center of his chest. “I’m just kidding. I wish we would have been doing this all along too. I missed you. Very fucking much.”

“Ditto,” she replied, tipping up on her toes to meet Negan in a lingering kiss.

“Can I be honest with you about something? And not have you get upset with me?” Negan breathed against her lips speaking softly. A nervous nod followed, but she didn’t know what to expect with Negan’s eyes narrowing once he looked her over. “The person in charge of this event came to me. They wanted to make you and me the snow king and queen this year. I thought it would be wrong using my celebrity status for something like that. Especially since I don’t even live here. So I asked them to make Tommy and Maria the king and queen this year.”

“Well that’s really sweet,” she stressed to Negan who tipped his head to the side, surprised that was the first thing to come out of her mouth. “What did you expect from me? To be highly angry and upset that you didn’t allow us to stand in front of the town uncomfortably?”

“I don’t know,” Negan admitted, his hazel eyes searching hers in amazement. “I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to have the spotlight on us or anything. I really care about you and I don’t want this to seem like some kind of publicity stunt to get attention.”

“I support your decision completely,” she hushed him, bringing him in to press another quick kiss against his lips. “I’m not offended at all and I actually think you made the right decision.”

After the song was over, someone got up on stage which had the music dying out. The room grew quiet and everyone had stopped dancing. Realizing that they were about to get to the whole traditions of the party, she hooked her hand with Negan’s while heading back to the table. This time Elizabeth had moved to sit by Joel while they talked so Y/N took the seat between Negan and Peter. A lot of the talking was promoting the local businesses that helped put this party together.

“I find this whole thing to be embarrassing,” she leaned forward to whisper in Negan’s ear while he sat beside her. “Having to go up on stage, accept this honorary award even though we’re divorced and no longer together. Some of these couples haven’t been together in a very long time. It’s just strange.”

“I understand,” Negan leaned in to press a kiss against her cheek hoping to calm her since she was obviously uncomfortable about what was going on.

At this point they were calling all of the past winners up on stage. Embarrassment was flooding her entire body. Some of the couples they were calling up were both younger and older than them. And all the while? Joel’s chocolate-colored eyes were locked on her, watching her closely. By the time that they called their names, neither Joel nor Y/N moved.

“Dad! Mom!” Elizabeth nudged Joel who rolled his eyes. Negan gave Y/N’s shoulder a firm squeeze hinting things would be okay and that he was there to support her. Standing up, Joel extended his hand out slowly. Looking to his hand, Y/N accepted it and moved around the table. While others were excited to have the spotlight put on them again, quickly moving to the stage, the two of them were taking their time.

“Don’t act like you hate this,” Joel grumbled under his breath, his fingers hooking with hers tightly. Joel was speaking quietly enough so only she would be able to hear him. “There was a time when you loved this. Every time we won this, you were awe stricken.”

“I was head over heels in love with you Joel,” she reminded him as he helped her up the stairs of the stage. They made it to about mid-stage where they stopped with the other couples. “The fact the people of the town thought we were the ‘it’ couple for so long made me feel special back then.”

“You didn’t need the town to make you feel special,” Joel whispered, the warmth of his breath lingering over her flesh. From where they were on stage, it was hard to see anyone out in the audience. There was a bright spotlight that was pointed directly at them and it was very blinding. “You liked having the attention. It’s okay to admit that.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to count to herself knowing that there was so much she wanted to say, but now was not the time or place.  She wasn’t paying much attention to the people that were on stage when they started handing out sashes to the previous winners. Allowing them to put her sash on while they worked Joel’s over his shoulder, she let out a long sigh. Looking at the dates they won, she realized that they had won this five times in the past. Dragging her fingers over the dates, she felt her throat tightening up thinking about her past. As the lights dimmed, she looked back over her shoulder. This was just like every other year, but for some reason things were bothering her more. Each year they took a photo of each of the winners where they would play a video in the background showing all of the photos. Obviously, some of the couples were missing. Due to them moving, or not being here anymore. By the time the video got to their first time winning, it made a breath catch in her throat. Their first win was when Joel was eighteen. Seeing the young photo of them had an ache growing at the center of her chest.

“These are so creepy,” Joel whispered in her ear looking over his shoulder like she was. “This feels like a remembrance video. Like I’m dead or something and I’m not. You’re not. This feels less like a celebration and more like a sorrowful remembrance of what things used to be.”

Really? He wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly what this felt like. 

Each photo of the two of them together had that lump in her throat growing. For a couple that was together sixteen years and married thirteen of those years, winning this thing five times was actually a pretty good record. Even in the photos, they looked so happy in the first four. And back then that made her proud. Their relationship felt so happy for so long and the town saw it too. The last time they won snow king and queen together was five years before they got divorced. After that? They stopped winning it. Maybe that was right around the time their relationship started going to shit. The town likely picked up on them not being that loving, obvious couple out in public.

“Our town has always been old fashioned,” she responded to Joel who let out a long exhale. By his breathing she could tell that Joel didn’t want to be up there. Really, she didn’t want to be either. It was the one time she actually agreed with Joel.

By the time the lights came back on Joel was playing with his sash, his attention hardly kept. Hearing the announcement of the newest snow king and queen came with a bit of a shock for Joel. Just like Negan had told her, it was Tommy and Maria. Confusion flooded through Joel’s features when the spotlight was pointed directly at his little brother and his new girlfriend.

“The two of them have only been together…what…two weeks?” Joel grumbled under his breath, tensing up beside her when Tommy slowly stood from his chair and started to help Maria out of her seat. “I guess since he’s dating the mayor’s daughter that makes sense though.”

That wasn’t something she was going to comment on. Especially since she knew this was Negan’s doing with having Tommy and Maria winning. That would certainly piss Joel off to no end. So she kept her mouth shut. 

“I imagine daddy has something to do with this, don’t you?” Joel stammered as Tommy helped Maria move up the steps of the stage. Nudging Joel slightly with her arm, she tried to get him to be quiet. Both Tommy and Maria seemed awkward as they accepted their sashes along with their crowns. Clearly, neither one of them expected to win this which put them on the spot. And Tommy was never really someone that liked being the center of attention. Especially with a town that was so quick to judge him for his mistakes.

“Maybe more people noticed their diner meet ups than they thought?” Y/N suggested with a sigh feeling a bit embarrassed with the part that was coming up with the dancing. “I never really understood how they picked them anyways. But at least they picked Tommy. Tommy has never been picked for anything. So he has to feel good.”

“Or incredibly nervous because nothing ever works for Tommy,” Joel reminded her as she hushed him by covering his mouth with her fingers. Glaring over at Y/N with her covering his mouth, Joel reached for her wrist curling his fingers loosely around them. Getting her to lower her hand, Joel bit down on his bottom lip and huffed. In that moment Tommy had looked back at Joel who had given Tommy a thumbs up and it made Tommy smile.

“Be supportive of this Joel,” she urged him allowing the person in charge to give the instructions. Which told them all to get on the dancefloor together. This was the part that made her the most uncomfortable. Having to dance with Joel again in front of everyone. Taking her hand in his, Joel led her carefully down the stairs toward the center of the ballroom. Tension flooded Joel’s body when he hooked his thick fingers with hers. As the music started, they both did their best to not show their discomfort with one another while they danced. “This will be a big deal for Tommy. This is the first time in a long time I think he’s felt this way about anyone or anything really.”

“Everything is a big deal with Tommy,” Joel claimed, keeping his voice down since Tommy wasn’t too far away from where they were dancing. “Speaking of big deals, am I to assume that you and Negan are now dating?”

“And that’s your business how?” she shot back eliciting an eye roll from Joel. Scoffing under his breath, Joel visibly didn’t like her answer.

“That’s a yes,” he was quick to respond being a bit rough with the way he pulled her in closer to him.

“That’s not a yes,” she shook her head, her eyes showing the irritation she had for him right now. “I was saying it was none of your business, but if you must know…we haven’t put a label on things. We’re just spending time together.”

“So I reckon that means that the two of you slept together, huh?” Joel caused her to grow hot in the face with her looking down between them. That told him everything and she didn’t have to say a word. “Nice Y/N.”

“You were the one telling me that I should have got laid by someone other than you,” she recalled what Joel had said to her that night at the historic village when she brought up their relationship. “You can’t get mad at me for finding comfort with someone else when you were dating Tess. Or when you’ve slept with God knows who…”

“I didn’t want you running off to Negan Smith,” Joel snarled down at her realizing that he was getting a little loud and he lowered his voice. Hearing that had her face growing hot with anger. “Of all the people you decide to knock boots with, it’s him? Him of all people?”

“What do you have against Negan?” she asked bluntly noticing that Joel was staring off toward the table that they were sitting at previously. His dark eyes seemed to be locked on Negan who threw them a thumbs up from where he was seated beside both Peter and Elizabeth. “He was one of your best friends at one point. We both were close to him.”

“Was being the main word there. He kicked you out of his life the moment that we got together,” Joel reminded her of what Negan had done in the past. Narrowing his eyes, Joel turned them away from looking at the table so that she was focused on him. “What has Negan told you about me?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she felt like this was more so an interrogation instead of the two of them dancing together. Which is exactly why she wasn’t looking forward to this at all. “What is Negan supposed to tell me about you exactly?”

“Nothing,” Joel declared, loosening up while they continued to dance. Watching Tommy, Joel did notice that he did look happy while he talked to Maria. There was a color in Tommy’s face, but he never stopped smiling while he danced with the woman before him. It reminded him of how things used to be when he was with Y/N when they were younger. “You know, I never expected us to be like this. I never thought I’d have to worry about you finding someone else.”

“That’s not really fair, is it?” she felt her heart racing in her chest having a chill run down her spine with the way that Joel’s hand settled in over the small of her back. Having his chocolate brown eyes staring out at her the way he was took her breath away. “You’re allowed to find someone else, but I’m not?”

“I just mean…” Joel let his thoughts linger, his voice growing quiet when he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know Y/N. I remember doing this the first time almost two decades ago. I felt like the luckiest boy alive. I was smitten. And then when we won the second time the year we got married, I don’t know. I just thought there was no way that I could ever get sick of this. Sick of you. Because I was so in love with you and I saw what the town saw that year. Because I never thought it would be possible that a man could love a woman as much as I loved you.”

Those words hit her harder than he expected them to. It had tears burning at her eyes and she grew tense against him, “I always thought it would be Joel and Y/N. Us against the world. And I thought we’d grow old together. I never saw another option. Because you were it for me.”

“Damn it Joel,” she stopped dancing, but her hand was still hooked with his. A hurt exhale fell from her throat when she shook her head. There were tears over her face now causing an ache to grow at the center of his chest. “You’re the one that asked me for a divorce. You’re the one that came to me with papers and now you’re talking like I’m the reason that we are divorced.”

By now Tommy had caught on to the fact that Y/N was crying. He was trying to force himself to keep dancing, but his dark eyes had a hard time breaking away from Joel and Y/N. Right now they allowed everyone else to come up onto the dance floor to dance and she was thankful for it because it drew any attention on them away with the couples that actually loved each other and cared about one another wanting to spend the time together.

“I did everything I could to try to fix us,” her hand was shaking when she lifted it to place it over the center of her chest. “I loved you with everything that I was. I would have done anything to fix our marriage, but you’re the one who wanted it to end. Not me. So how dare you say all of this to me? I’m not the reason we’re divorced Joel. You are. I begged you to reconsider. And you wouldn’t.”

Dropping his head, Joel’s dark eyes avoided looking at her when she threw her hands up in the air, “I felt everything you said you felt in the past. I was happy. I loved my life and even though you were so fucking mean toward the end of our marriage…I knew that it was just you depressed. Because deep down you loved me. You were an amazing man. You made a life for your family. You loved your children so much, but each day you were with me I saw you die a little more inside. Do you know how much it hurt to have you blame everything on me?”

“I didn’t blame everything on you,” Joel reasoned with her hoping that everyone wasn’t hearing what they were saying. Rolling her eyes, she started heading away from Joel, pushing through him to get away from the dance floor. More than anything she needed some air and to get away from everyone. No one needed to see her crying like a fool. Leaving the ballroom, she was close to getting outside by the time she felt someone grabbing a tight hold of her wrist to stop her. “Can we just talk? Please?”

“What do you want to talk about Joel?” she inquired feeling broken as it was. “Do you know that the children blamed me when we got divorced? Asked me why I didn’t fight harder for you? Why I let you leave? They were so mad at me for forcing you out. I never had the heart to tell them that their father was the one that wanted to run away. That it was him that couldn’t stand to be in that house anymore.”

“We were both miserable,” Joel suggested, his fingers slowly falling from her wrist when he rest his hands at his hips. “If we wanted a healthy relationship with our children…”

“Don’t,” she held her hand up in the air to cut him off. “I wasn’t miserable. I was heartbroken because I didn’t understand what it was that I did to make you hate me so much. You went from being the sweetest, most affectionate man I had ever known to being a man who reminded me every day the mistake you made in picking me. In picking us.”

“The mistake I made was how I treated you,” Joel grumbled, his jaw flexing with her sobs filling the hallway. Seeing her crying like that had his chest hurting. He wanted her pain to end, but he didn’t know how to fix it. “I had the whole world in my hands, but all I could think about was what I didn’t have. What I was robbed of. It’s not fair that I had to give up my life for everyone else Y/N. I could have been someone. I could have meant something to the world, but instead I’m stuck in this fucking place.”

“You were always someone Joel,” she stressed, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “You were the boy that was selfless and chose to take care of his brother instead of leaving him with strangers. You were a father. You were my husband. And you were and you still are so incredibly loved. So for you to think you haven’t left an impact on this world is sad because you did. That was the problem. You could only see the life that you missed out on. Not the life that you built for yourself. The life that loved you so very much.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel found himself at a loss of words. Caressing at the back of his neck, he tried to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know what to say because my emotions are conflicted about everything that happened. I know how I felt when we were married, but I know how I feel now. And how I feel about you is strong. I made the mistake back then. Not when I got married to you because being married to you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You play with me Joel,” she held her hands up to stop him when he approached her and she placed her hands in over his chest to keep the distance between them. “You take advantage of the fact that I’m head over heels in love with you. You know how I feel about you. You always have.”

Silence filled the empty hallways. Nothing but the sounds from the ballroom where the party was being held were heard. It made her let out an ironic laugh and she shook her head.

“Do you have any idea how many times we’ve had sex since we’ve separated?” she quizzed him on something hearing a loud exhale follow from Joel. Taking a moment to think things over, Joel threw his hand up in the air and she nodded her head. “You’d be surprised how big the number is Joel. Even moments where you were dating Tess…”

“I’m aware,” Joel was confused where this was headed noticing the tremoring in her voice with her speaking. Having her remind him that he cheated on Tess to be with her would only further for him that Y/N was more important to him.

“You always come back to me. You always make me believe that you love me. That there is something between us, but I always end up the same way,” she hissed, her voice growing louder and Joel motioned her to keep calm. “Alone.”

Joel’s lips parted, his eyebrows furrowing when he tried to think of something to say, “You don’t love me. You just love what I can do for you. If you actually loved me, if you missed how things were you would do something to prove it Joel.”

“I don’t know how,” Joel called out to her when she turned on her heel and started to push open the door.

“And that’s the problem,” she didn’t even bother to look back at him when she made her way outside. Pretty quickly she realized just how much of a mistake it was to come outside with no jacket on, but she didn’t care. She needed her space. Heading into where the garden would be during the summer, she went to the center and tried to catch her breath. The sound of snow crunching behind her was heard and it made her tense up. “Joel, damn it…”

“Not Joel,” another familiar southern drawl was heard behind her when she turned around to see that Tommy was approaching her. The sight of him still wearing the crown and the sash that he wore tonight took her breath away. The last thing Tommy should have been doing was chasing her out. “What did he do now?”

“Tommy, you shouldn’t be out here,” she attempted to wipe at the tears that were over her face knowing that this should be a happy moment for Tommy, but instead he was following her out because he had seen her sad.

“Of course I should be,” Tommy stepped forward, stretching his arms out to reach for Y/N. Embracing her in his arms, he pulled her in against him and wrapped her up tightly. Squeezing her firmly, she knew that he was attempting to comfort her. “I love you. You’re my family and to see you upset makes me upset.”

“I love you too,” she repeated, allowing her head to rest against the center of Tommy’s chest when he stroked his fingers over the back of her neck. “I’m sorry about this. You just know that your brother can get under my skin more than anyone.”

“What did he do now?” Tommy was desperate to know with her pushing back slightly to stare up at him with her tear-filled eyes. “Please talk to me. I’m not that little boy you had to adopt Y/N. I’m here for you. You were there for me. And you remain that way. So please talk to me.”

“Tommy,” she felt her chest aching seeing the sadness in Tommy’s eyes staring out at her. Reaching up, she adjusted his crown that he was given and she shook her head. “You should be in there celebrating this right now. You care so much about that girl…”

“And that girl knows what you’ve done for me,” Tommy educated her about Maria, his hands lifting to cup her face in them in a supportive sweep. “So she understands what you mean to me. We have all night to cherish this. I want to be here with you right now.”

“I’m just too emotional,” she brushed off her feelings, but Tommy hushed her and shook his head. “I don’t know Tommy, he just started talking about how he always pictured that we would be together. That I would be his always and it would be us against the world. The way he talks about things, it’s like he puts the blame on me for the divorce, but you know just as much as I do that he was the one that asked for the divorce. He’s the one that walked out on me. He’s the one that forced me to sign those papers. Yet, he talks like I fell out of love with him when you know that I never did.”

“I think he just has a lot of regrets,” Tommy tried to reason with her about his older brother. “He’s emotionally…constipated.”

A laugh fell from Y/N’s lips hearing Tommy refer to his brother in that way. With an innocent shrug, Tommy didn’t know how else to explain Joel, “I think there are so many emotions that he has bottled up inside of him that he doesn’t know how to handle. So he just puts up this tough guy exterior and he doesn’t know how to turn it off.”

“But he hurts me in the process,” she whimpered noticing the way that Tommy dug into his pockets for a tissue for her. “I probably look psychotic right now. My make up is likely running and…”

“It’s a good make up job because nothing is running,” Tommy assured her with a weak smile caressing his hand in over her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Joel. The biggest mistake he ever made was letting you go Y/N. And I think he’s starting to realize that.”

Laughing at the idea, Y/N shook her head and had to look away from Tommy to have a minute to consider that, “I don’t think having Negan around is helping him either.”

“Too bad,” Y/N stammered hating to hear that the person who was going above and beyond to help her feel better was such a problem to Joel. “Negan has been nothing but good to me. He goes out of his way to make me feel good about me. And he’s so good and accepting of all the things going on in my life.”

“And I wouldn’t expect you to let go of that,” Tommy claimed his hands lowering down to squeeze hers tenderly. “I’m just telling you that my brother is upset because ultimately he sees everything that he wanted to be in Negan. He wanted to be famous. He wanted to be able to go and use his talents to have the world loving him. Then Negan shows up and he has you smiling. He has you laughing. Anyone with eyes can tell that Negan likes you by the way he looks at you. Joel is jealous because he could never accomplish the things that Negan does. So he’s a bigger mess now than he ever was.”

“It’s not fair that now is the time he decides to do all of this,” she hated to be whining, but it hurt with what Joel was doing. “I was there for four years. He could have made his move, but now because I have someone who genuinely cares about me…”

Footsteps drew both Tommy and Y/N to look back seeing that it was Negan that was approaching them, “I can come back if you’d like?”

“Truthfully?” Tommy looked between Negan and Y/N letting out a tense breath. “I think you are probably the thing that she needs the most.”

“Tommy,” she called out to him, stroking her fingers over the back of Tommy’s hand. “You are the sweetest boy I’ve ever known.”

“And I wouldn’t have picked another woman to help raise me,” Tommy vowed, bringing her hand up to press a kiss over the back of it. “I’m always going to be here for you Y/N. Even if my brain isn’t always in the right place, I just want you happy. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” she repeated once more, stepping forward to wrap Tommy up in her arms to give him a big hug. Stroking her fingers over the back of Tommy’s head, she turned in to press a kiss against Tommy’s cheek. “Now you go in there and woo that girl. Show her how lucky she is to be sharing this moment with you.”

Nodding, Tommy slowly released her and then turned to Negan patting him on the arm, “Take care of her.”

“Yes sir,” Negan gave a wink starting to undo his suit jacket. Letting it fall down his arms, Negan carefully stepped forward moving in behind her. “Let’s warm you up.”

Allowing him to help put his jacket on her had her sighing loudly. Tugging the material in closer to her body, she felt the warmth of it soothing against her chilled skin. The scent of Negan’s cologne was strong and she found herself rubbing her cheek up against it. Closing her eyes, she felt Negan’s arms hooking around her from behind. A gentle kiss was placed against the base of her neck which had his short beard tickling at her flesh.

“Are you okay?” Negan nuzzled his nose against the back of her neck. Lowering her arms, she caressed over them while he comforted her.

“I’m sorry Negan,” she apologized, leaning back into him. Even though she had Negan who was perfect at that party, Joel was able to get under her skin so badly with the things that happened in their past. Firmly, Negan squeezed his arms around her and cuddled her close. “Here you are as my date and I’m having a meltdown outside.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Negan insisted with her turning in his arms to give him a doubtful expression. Lifting his hand, his palm caressed in over the side of her face with his eyelids growing heavy. The contrast from the warmth of his hand against the side of her face felt nice. “You don’t. I’m not upset with you. At all.”

“I don’t understand how you couldn’t be,” she replied placing her hands in over his chest to caress over the area. There was so much baggage that she had to deal with and Negan had been a saint so far in their relationship. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“And so am I,” Negan suggested with a grunt, his nose wrinkling as if that wasn’t a big deal to him. “I am so fucked up over losing Lucille. And it’s so hard for me every day being alive when I know that she’s not. I am still head over heels in love with my late wife, so I’m not going to judge you for being the same way about your ex-husband.”

Hearing him calling her out on still being in love with Joel drew her to tremor and she looked down, but he didn’t allow it. Curling his fingers in underneath her chin had her lifting her head to lock eyes with him, “The difference between me and you is that I had it easier.”

“How?” she blurt out, doubting that since the person he loved was no longer here.

“The woman that I loved, I lost. She’s gone,” Negan reasoned, his head tipping from side to side. “The love of my life died. But yours…he’s still here. And he left you knowing that you loved him like you do. Lucille left me not because she wanted to but because the world took her away from me. Joel left and you have to see him every day knowing that he’s there.”

“Well shit,” she grunted closing her eyes, leaning further into Negan’s touch. Gently he swept at her tears, still trying to calm her. 

“I understand if you want to be with Joel,” Negan was quiet in the way that he spoke making her eyes flutter to an open. Sweeping away one of her lingering tears, Negan hushed her and shook his head. “I won’t be mad at you for loving Joel. I know you do. I can see it in the way you look at him. If you want me to back off, I will happily do it. Fuck, I just need to make sure to keep you in my life as a friend or some shit because I can’t lose you again.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she responded, her hands caressing in over Negan’s shoulders. Deeply considering what he said, she shook her head and let out a tremoring breath. “I love Joel, very much. And the man will always have a strong grasp on my heart, but no one has ever hurt me like Joel has. Joel broke my heart. And I’m a mess because of him.”

“You’re not a mess,” Negan whispered, caressing his fingers at the back of her neck. Pulling her in closer to him, Negan allowed her to rest her head against the center of his chest. “You’re just hurt. And you’re human. You loved Joel for a very long time, that kind of love is hard to let go of.” 

Tipping down, Negan pressed a tender kiss over her forehead and it had her sighing loudly, “I can’t be with Joel. As much as I love him, he will never love me back the same way. The only thing I’m destined for if I get back with Joel is a life full of pain. Loving someone that much and not feeling it in return? The only option from there on out is heart break. I’ve given him so many chances. And I can’t take any more of that because I don’t know how much of my heart I have left to break.”

“Come here,” Negan urged her to him, holding her close. Allowing her to calm down in his arms, Negan whispered the things that he knew she needed to hear. By the time she was finally relaxed, he had his chin resting over her head and he was rubbing at her back. “I think we should get you back inside before you freeze to death.”

Accepting his hand, she allowed Negan to cautiously lead her back to the building. Once they were back inside, Joel stepped out from behind the back wall where he had gone after she left the building. Originally he had chased after her but had fallen short when he heard her crying. There was nothing he could think of to make her feel better and before he could try, Tommy came out to comfort her. Which means he heard everything that she said to both Tommy and Negan.

Ultimately? It made him feel terrible and he knew that if he wanted something more with Y/N, he was going to have to do his best to show her that he loved her. One way or another.

----

Tags: @chainsawsangel @fancypeacepersona @violent-darkness @negansbestie @elegantfanficluv

@sanctuaryforthelost @dead-of-niight @dilfsandmartinis

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

An Eternal Cycle: Fire, Blood and Venom — Curse

SUMMARY : In a world where fate seems cruel, you are condemned to relive an existence marked by suffering and the repetition of tragic encounters with your lovers who, although loving you deeply, always abandon you in the end. This curse binds you to them through several reincarnations, where, in each life, they forget your past ties, just like you. However, despite this collective amnesia, an intense passion is born with each encounter. But this flame of love is doomed to failure. In each cycle, your love for them is forbidden, a transgression of an ancient order, and the punishment is inevitable: they kill you at the end of each life. This is the price you must pay for defying fate, for succumbing to a love deemed impious. In this endless cycle, you are caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: the hope that you can change the course of things and the terror of knowing that there is no escape from this curse. Love, no matter how beautiful, is doomed to destroy you again and again, until any possible redemption, or liberation, seems like nothing more than a mirage.

PAIRING : non!idols enha hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE : Dark romance, obsession, drama, slow burn, psychological tension, historical romance, reincarnation, fantasy, reverse harem, 18+ (MDNI).

WARNING : Upsetting and uncomfortable scenes, ancestral curses, violent deaths of the main characters, sacrifice of a main character, use of supernatural powers, psychological manipulation, passionate kisses mixed with desire and control, cruel betrayals, extreme emotional and physical suffering, deep despair, implacable fatality, forbidden love, transgression of rules, painful reincarnation, devastating consequences of destiny, oppressive and devouring atmosphere, crushing guilt, devouring obsession, suffering due to the transgression of destiny, relationships marked by domination. No explicit sex scene, but a strong emotional and psychological charge present throughout the chapter.

FINAL WARNING ‼️ Some scenes may be extremely disturbing or uncomfortable for sensitive readers. Mature audiences only (18+).

Number of words : ~ 25k

Hello or good evening! Don’t hesitate to like, share, and comment if you enjoy it! Your support is precious and means a lot to me!

Series Masterlist

Not read over, and English isn’t my first language, so please close your eyes 🙏🥺.

You found yourself in House Astraviel, the one you had always belonged to, the one that had seen you born and grow up. The emblem of this house, a starry circle, was much more than a simple symbol: it embodied your heritage, your identity. The spiral constellation it represented seemed to twist and intertwine in an eternal movement, an infinite celestial dance. A bright star sat at the center of the spiral, shining with pure light, symbolizing the origin and convergence of souls, like a beacon in the darkness. Around this star, threads of gold wound, subtle and complex, weaving delicate patterns resembling invisible chains, a web woven by destiny, but also by the actions and choices of beings.

Beneath this constellation, a silver hourglass rested, its horizontal position suggesting the suspension of time, as if, at this precise moment, the flow of time was frozen. The sand did not flow; it floated, imprisoned in this perfect balance that House Astraviel aspired to maintain. This image symbolized the ability of the members of Astraviel to defy the natural laws of time. Their particular power allowed them to adjust and reshape the thread of destiny at will, aligning the lives of those who crossed their path according to their vision of a fragile cosmic balance. The central star embodied both the beginning of each existence and the end of a cycle, an infinite loop, that of reincarnation, where souls returned endlessly, to renew themselves, to purify themselves, or sometimes, to lose themselves.

This emblem, much more than a simple motif adorned with jewels or embroidery, was a mark of power, an invisible but indelible imprint. It was embroidered on the clothes of the members of the house, like a pride. It was engraved in ancient and precious stones, each engraving a silent prayer for future generations. And in their sacred temples, the most precious artifacts were adorned with this symbol, giving them a divine aura, a sacred protection.

House Astraviel was tied to the stars, and those stars themselves were tied to souls. With each birth, a new star appeared in the sky, illuminating the darkness, bearing the promise of a new life, of a soul awakening. But when the soul left this world, the star went out, like a candle blown out by an invisible wind. These stars, bright and mysterious, were the guides of the members of Astraviel. They allowed them to read the destiny of each one, which they wrote on a "leaf of life": a finely decorated, almost living parchment, detailing the lines of life, the choices, the ruptures, the rebirths.

You stood before the great sacred tree, a thousand-year-old oak with deep roots, a symbol of ancient wisdom and knowledge. The tree seemed to breathe with you, each leaf quivering in the breeze, like an extension of the entire universe. In your hands, you held one of these leaves, your own leaf of life. The lines drawn on it were clear, sharp, but… strangely broken. In places, breaks seemed to freeze the thread of destiny. As if, at times, life abandoned you, suspended itself, broke. With each break, a new line appeared, identical to the previous one, as if the universe was trying to repair what was broken, but the pain persisted, as did the fear of these inexplicable interruptions.

Troubled, you tried to get away from this disturbing vision. With an almost instinctive gesture, you took another leaf from the thousands that rested under the tree, without really knowing why. This one was marked by another soul, that of Park Jongseong. He belonged to a prestigious house, the House of Asphodel, mysterious and captivating, with close ties to the realm of the dead. Their emblem, an asphodel flower surrounded by thorns and topped with a silver moon, symbolized the passage between life and death, the passage of wandering, lost, and sometimes condemned souls. Their members were known to be spiritual guides or masters of curses, exercising a power that went far beyond the simple material world.

As you looked at Jongseong’s lifeline, a shiver ran through you. His destiny seemed strangely similar to yours. The same breakups, the same twists and turns. You suddenly felt connected to him in an inexplicable way. Your hands shook slightly, and you tried to control the anxiety that was rising inside you. But before you could think further, you felt a presence behind you, a gentle but firm pressure against your waist.

A hand, almost translucent pale, touched you. It seemed to belong to a being from another world, a soul suspended between life and death. A cold shiver ran through you, as if you had just felt the embrace of a ghost. The cold that emanated from this hand had the effect on you of a breath of lost souls, wandering in the darkness, without end.

You turned around abruptly, and your eyes immediately fell on hair as black as night, but a deep black, almost supernatural, with silver highlights sparkling under the light that filtered through the trees. His hair seemed to move by itself, carried by an invisible breeze, as if it were in perpetual motion, animated by a strange, vibrant energy. This hair, as dark as the night sky, reminded you of the ashes of an extinguished fire or the glow of a sky dotted with distant stars. It was magnificent, but at the same time, it seemed to speak to you of the inaccessible, the ephemeral.

His eyes, a deep silvery gray, pierced you like icy blades. They were filled with ancient wisdom, as if they had seen the rise and fall of entire kingdoms, as if they held the secrets of the universe. At times, flashes of icy blue lit up his gaze, a blue that pierced the soul and seemed to resonate with a frightening power, especially when he was moved or when he exercised his power.

Jongseong stood there, tall and slender, a ghostly figure in the shadow of the sacred tree. His movements were graceful, fluid, like those of an unreal being, and his appearance reinforced this impression of intangibility. His face, with its perfectly sculpted features, seemed almost too perfect to be true: a fine, well-defined jaw, a straight nose, lips of an almost supernatural pallor. But behind this beauty hid a deep melancholy, a sadness that you perceived in the softness of his gestures, in the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he carried on his shoulders the weight of all the lives he had condemned or lost over the centuries.

He wore the sumptuous dark robes of the House of Asphodel. His garments were cut from fine, dark and mysterious fabrics, embroidered with silver patterns representing asphodels, symbols of death and resurrection. A long, flowing cape draped over his shoulders, adding to his spectral allure. Around his neck, an asphodel flower pendant set with onyx shone with an eerie, almost supernatural glow. On his finger, a silver ring adorned with an hourglass, one of the key symbols of the House of Asphodel, was a reminder of his unbreakable bond with time and the cycles of souls.

Every detail of his presence seemed a contradiction: a living being yet dead, a guide yet a prisoner, perfect beauty yet silent pain. He was everything you had learned to fear, everything you didn't understand, and yet he seemed as familiar as your own reflection in a broken mirror.

You knew this wasn’t the right place for you, or the right time. Yet an invisible force seemed to draw you to him, like a magnet devouring everything in its path. “You shouldn’t be here.” Your voice barely trembled, the tension palpable, but it was a whisper that slipped into the night like a broken promise. “If anyone sees us together, we’ll be in trouble, you know?”

Your gaze drifted to the figure before you, your dress sparkling in the dim moonlight. It was a celestial dress, almost as if it were part of the universe itself. The light fabric caught every ray of light, every sparkle of a star. Silver, midnight blue, gold… each color seemed to weave a new web around you. Patterns of constellations and shooting stars intertwined on the fabric, symbolizing your belonging, your destiny, an invisible thread connecting you to the heavens. But despite this almost unreal beauty, a feeling of vulnerability invaded you, as if you were an ephemeral star ready to extinguish itself under the weight of his gaze.

He stared at you for a moment, a smirk on his face. “I just wanted to see you.” His words, heavy with meaning, slid through the air like a caress, as gentle as it was dangerous. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand. His icy skin closed around yours, pulling you roughly out of your thoughts. A shiver ran through your body, but it wasn’t simply physical. It was a much deeper sensation, a mixture of terror and desire that made you sway.

His grip on your hand was firm, unrelenting, and you felt like prey caught in an invisible web. “What if I showed you something more fun than that old tree?” He chuckled softly, a low, raspy sound that sent shivers through parts of your body you didn’t want to acknowledge. He tightened his grip, his fingers squeezing your skin in a possessive, almost brutal gesture.

The ground beneath your feet seemed to wobble for a moment, and you straightened up, more indignant than anything else. “Jongseong! This tree is older than you, have some respect.” You tried to pull away slightly, but he didn’t care. In the blink of an eye, he pulled you closer to him, and you didn’t have time to understand what was happening before his body was against yours. You felt the pressure of his chest against yours, a hot, heavy breath against your neck, and your legs faltered under this proximity that was too intense, too intimate. Every fiber of your being seemed to tense, a palpable tension between you, as if the air itself was charged with this invisible force.

His mouth came closer to your ear, his breath dancing on your skin. “A little respect, princess. I’m 400 years older than you.” His voice, low and raspy, rang out like a clap of thunder, a cruel reminder of the power gap between you. He gently brushed his finger over your nose, a gesture both tender and possessive, as if everything about you already belonged to him, even your annoyance.

Before you could react, a violent dizziness seized you, as if the ground had no consistency anymore. You understood that you were already far from everything you knew. The teleportation… he had taken you away without you even having time to understand what was happening. A nausea rose in you, but he caught you before you collapsed. His arms wrapped around you, pressing you against him, his body surprisingly solid and cold against yours.

“Still fragile as I see it, princess.” He whispered the words against your skin, his tone almost mocking, but there was something darker, a veiled threat that made your heart beat faster. He held you tighter against him, his silver eyes, now an icy blue, fixed on you. Behind his mask of amusement, you perceived a worry, a desire to understand something that even you couldn’t define.

You stepped back slightly, not paying attention to your surroundings, nearly knocking you off the cloud you were standing on, but he caught you effortlessly, his grip unwavering. “Be careful.” He growled, his voice deeper, more intense, and his eyes hardened. The tension between you was palpable, a taut thread ready to snap.

You wanted to answer, but your gaze involuntarily turned towards the sky. Shooting stars, streaks of light in the darkness, seemed to dance before your eyes, a silent symphony that captured you entirely. You fell silent, lost in the beauty of the moment. The stars traced graceful curves, bright flashes following one another, their light creating visions in your head, fragments of lives that you could not understand.

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. Tears shone in your eyes, as if the stars themselves were reflected in your gaze, as if your soul were floating, suspended in the universe. Those little stars that were born in your eyes, imperceptible to anyone but visible to him, began to shine brighter, like a reflection of the stars dancing in the sky. But it was also a reflection of your own inner chaos: a mixture of desire, fear, confusion, everything you could no longer repress.

The night was enchanting, almost supernatural. The deep night blue sky seemed to melt into the darkness, dotted with thousands of stars, like pearls suspended in the infinite void. There was something magical about this moment, an atmosphere charged with electric energy, heavy with promise, where each second seemed suspended, uncertain, almost unreal. And you, there, in this celestial dress, you shone under the soft light of the moon, like an apparition from another world. The silver and gold threads of the dress mingled with the darkness, clinging to the darkness as if you were destined to be swallowed up by it. But it was not the dress that dominated you, it was the man before you. Jongseong.

His eyes never left you, heavily fixed on you, analyzing every little gesture, every breath. There was an infinite expanse in his gaze, a sort of silent hold that gave you no respite. When he approached closer to you, his gestures were measured, almost calculated, as if he were savoring each movement. With a cold and imperious finger, he pushed back a lock of your hair that had escaped behind your ear. This simple contact, yet so light, made you shiver. You felt his gaze slide along your neck, brushing your skin with an almost palpable intensity. He invaded you with his attention, making you feel every part of your being as if he were devouring you with his gaze.

“Yes… beautiful,” he finally said, his voice low and caressing, but with a darker undertone. He paused, his eyes still locked on yours, before whispering, “Make a wish.”

You weren’t sure what you felt, or what you wanted. Maybe a part of you was still unsure, but another… another part of you knew that this wish could mean so much more than you were willing to accept. There was something in the way he looked at you, a silent form of domination, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking before you could even articulate it. There was also an implicit promise in his words, a warning that you felt deep in your flesh.

“What could I possibly ask for… and most importantly, who could grant my wish?” You felt almost insane for asking the question, but you let it slip out despite yourself. He wasn’t just a man, he wasn’t even a human being. He was more, much more than you could understand.

He let a smile stretch across his lips, a smile that wasn't warm, but rather predatory. He leaned in closer, until he could feel his warm breath against your skin. "I will..." he said with frightening certainty. "I will bend the earth and the sky to do it if I have to." His words hit you hard, echoing in your mind like an ultimatum. It was a challenge, a promise of infinite power, but also a threat, a demand. He expected more from you, he wanted more.

His hands rested on your waist, firm, but almost disturbingly soft. You could feel the tense muscles beneath the cold skin, the raw energy he gave off. He didn't need more to make you feel vulnerable. In one movement, he pulled you closer to him, his body against yours, forcing you to feel the magnitude of his presence. The contact of his skin against yours was almost suffocating, and you had trouble breathing. The tension, the electrification of the air around you was becoming unbearable.

“Now make your wish. There aren’t many shooting stars left.” His voice was softer now, but with a piercing insistence. His fingers slid slowly over the bottom of your stomach, brushing the material of your dress. The gesture was intentionally light, but each movement sent a shiver up your spine, waking you to a feeling he knew he was awakening in you. A feeling you didn’t want to confess, but which flowed through your veins like sweet poison.

You didn't need to think any longer. A part of you, a dark and eager part, knew exactly what it wanted. You closed your eyes for a moment, searching for strength in the solitude of your mind, your fingers joining in a silent prayer. And as you formulated your wish, you felt his arms, like chains, holding you back. His hands were on you, but in a gentle, almost provocative gesture, as if he was giving himself permission to possess you a little more each second. But all this remained silent, within the framework of this invisible pact that you sealed without words.

When you opened your eyes again, he was there, in your field of vision. He hadn’t moved, not for a moment. His eyes were darker, more intense, as if he were waiting for an answer. But he knew, deep down, that you weren’t going to give him what he wanted right away. He moved closer, his hands sliding under your dress, a firm and assured grip. He waited for your reaction. His eyes hardened, almost impassive, but there was no pity in that look. You were in his clutches, and he was savoring every moment of it.

“So what did you wish for?” He leaned in close, his breath against your ear. His question was a challenge, a power play, a test you couldn’t avoid. He wanted you to give in, to push you to reveal what you were trying to hide. He waited, with the patience of a predator.

But you kept some semblance of control. A small smile slid across your lips. “I’ll tell you when it comes true.”

His lips curved into an unreadable smile, but he wasn't one to accept uncertainty. He pulled you closer to him, without any warning, and placed a kiss on the corner of your lips. It wasn't a tender kiss, but one filled with tension, defiance, and desire. A kiss that spoke louder than words, that told you that you were no longer free to make your own choices. You were no longer in control. He was already in your mind, in your thoughts, in your body. And you knew that you had no escape.

He straightened up slightly, his fingers gently resting on your chin, before tilting your face towards his. “Let’s do this, then.” He murmured, his tone deeper, more serious. “It’s a deal.” And without waiting for an answer, he sealed the deal with a deeper, more demanding kiss. His lips pressed against yours with an insistence that made you lose all sense of direction, erasing the reality around you, drowning you in the darkness of his desires. The beating of your heart echoed in your ears, just like his, perfectly synchronized in this dangerous game where there was no winner, no loser. Just two souls ready to burn together.

Sim Jake is a prominent member of House Feralis, a mysterious and ancient organization dedicated to protecting the wilderness, maintaining ecological balance, and preserving the ancient traditions of survival in harsh and beautiful environments. House Feralis not only defends nature, they honor and cherish it, viewing humanity not as a dominant force on earth, but as an integral part of the natural balance. They firmly believe that when man respects and preserves this fundamental connection to the land and its creatures, he can truly live in harmony with the natural world.

The primary goal of House Feralis is to protect this sacred bond by opposing outside forces, whether they be corporations greedy for natural resources or civilizations that, in their expansion, disrupt this delicate balance. These protectors of nature wage a ceaseless struggle to defend the fauna and flora, but also the mystical and legendary creatures that inhabit the most remote corners of the world. It is not simply a matter of preserving nature in its raw state, but of protecting the ancient wisdom written in the roots and the skies, a wisdom that modern civilizations have too often forgotten or ignored.

House Feralis also fights against those who, driven by the desire for power or profit, seek to exploit the land and its creatures. Members of the House are warriors, but not in the traditional sense. They are both guardians and teachers, ancient souls bound to deep and secret knowledge. Their mission is also to preserve ancestral skills, such as the art of survival in the harshest terrains, tribal rites, and the understanding of complex ecosystems. Each member carries within them the wisdom of the ancients, and their honor is tied to their ability to defend nature against the forces of destruction. It is a sacred trust.

Loyalty and cohesion are the core values ​​of House Feralis. They firmly believe that a close-knit community is like a wolf pack: each member is an essential part of the whole, but each wolf remains free, independent, and able to survive on its own. However, it is this same independence that guarantees their collective strength. They act together when necessary, and in unity they are powerful. This philosophy extends to the daily lives of each member, who must be able to keep their distance from others when necessary, while remaining deeply connected to the pack.

Their emblem is a representation of their deep respect for nature. The symbol of House Feralis is a silver wolf, powerful and elegant, standing against a dark backdrop of deep forests, with eyes shining like stars. The wolf, symbol of the predator, is depicted in a pose ready to pounce, signifying both vigilance and swiftness of action. The natural elements surrounding it, such as gnarled roots and swirling leaves, reinforce the connection to the land and the forest, an ode to wilderness in its purest form.

Sim Jake embodies this philosophy perfectly. Like a lone wolf, he often prefers to keep himself away from human and celestial society, wandering alone in dark forests or rugged mountains. His independent nature is evident in the way he moves and hides in the shadows. He is a master of camouflage, able to blend into his surroundings with almost supernatural precision. Whether under the thick foliage of a dense forest or among the rugged rocks of the mountains, he becomes an integral part of the landscape, invisible to outsiders. When he hunts, he makes no sound. Every movement is calculated, every breath controlled. He is a shadow among shadows, a predator that leaves no trace.

His skin is lightly tanned, marked by the passing of the seasons and hours spent outdoors, exposed to the elements. It is thick and sturdy, bearing the signs of many trials: subtle scars betraying his past battles, scratches left by bushes or sharp stones, deeper marks from clashes with dangerous creatures or storms. His features are strong and distinct, with high cheekbones and a square jaw, a face sculpted by time and trials, and an expression both hard and charismatic, commanding respect.

His hair, a deep black, falls in sparse, disordered strands around his face. Its slightly wavy texture and dense thickness add to its wild and untamed appearance. Sometimes, when practicality prevails, he ties it into a simple ponytail, but even then, a handful of rebellious strands escape, testifying to his free and unruly nature. During rituals or moments of contemplation, he adorns his hair with finely woven braids or leather ropes, a constant reminder of his belonging to nature and the tribal traditions that govern his life. These details are not only aesthetic, but carry a significant symbolic weight: each braid, each rope is a tribute to his connection with ancestors and primordial forces.

Jake's eyes are perhaps his most hypnotic feature. Deep amber, almost otherworldly, they glow with a fierce and wise light, an ancient flame that seems to catch the light with every movement. His eyes reflect the wisdom of the forest, the intimate connection with animal instinct and the mysteries of nature. Penetrating, they are able to see beyond appearances and discern lies. These eyes, although calm and measured, can transform into a sharp and ferocious gaze when Jake feels threatened or angry. When he is hunting or in danger, his gaze becomes almost animalistic, a light that seems to pierce the soul of anyone who dares to challenge him.

His face is carved from the harshness and discipline of the wilderness. His lips, thin and closed, rarely relax into a smile. He wears a serious, sometimes even somber expression, for he is constantly on alert, ready to react to any threat to his world or those he protects. His gaze is often distant, marked by an introspective nature. His eyes constantly scan his surroundings, as if analyzing every movement, every rustle, every breath of wind, always on the lookout for what might emerge from the shadows.

He stands nearly 6'3", with dense musculature sculpted by years of rigorous training and survival in harsh environments. His body is that of a man forged by nature: strong, resilient, but also incredibly agile. His arms are powerful, his legs long and enduring, adapted to long runs in the forests or mountain climbs. His silhouette is athletic, but functional: he has no useless muscles. Every part of his body is adapted to survival and hunting. His agility often surprises those who observe him. He moves without noise, silent as a predator prowling in the shadows, each step measured, each movement precise.

His gait is feline, elegant and silent. He moves like a shadow among the trees, light but relentless. When he walks, he seems to float, his feet barely touching the ground, as if he were always ready to pounce, always ready to react to the slightest threat. This agility is not only physical, it is also mental: Jake is always ready to analyze his environment, to assess the risks, to choose the moment and the place to act. He embodies the man who has learned to survive, a warrior shaped by years of struggle and solitude.

Jake often wears functional and practical clothing, made for survival in the wilderness. He favors sturdy materials, such as tanned leather, fur, or the hides of animals he has hunted himself. His clothing is often designed for camouflage, with natural colors that blend in perfectly with the forest or mountain scenery. The leather chains and ropes that hang from his shoulders or belt are more than just accessories: they are tools, weapons, or symbols of his connection with nature. He always wears an animal pendant, a protective symbol, or a talisman that reminds him of the wisdom of his ancestors and the sacred mission he carries on his shoulders.

The dim afternoon light filtered through the branches of the trees, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Sim Jake sat there, sitting on a rough trunk, his body absorbing the tranquility of the forest, despite the pain of the wood against his skin. He was in complete harmony with nature, every rustle of the wind, every murmur of the water against the stones, every bird call melting into his mind like a familiar melody. His eyes were closed, his face impassive, but his senses were alert. Slightly tense, he knew he was not alone. He had sensed movement, a brushing, a quickening of the air.

The sweet, sugary scent of vanilla, mixed with the rich scent of honey, brushed past him then. A scent he would recognize among a thousand: yours. His heart, hardened by the years, skipped a beat, like a crack in his mask of calm. He knew it well, this scent, he had engraved it in him. Slowly, he smiled, a smile that first formed on his lips before being cleverly hidden. He didn't need to turn around to know it was you. He could almost hear you approaching, your hesitant steps, the tension palpable in your body. Fear, excitement, all of it mixed in the air around you.

He waited a moment, savoring the closeness that consumed him from the inside. Then, when you froze, unsure of your place, he slowly opened his eyes, staring into your gaze. It was more than just an exchange of glances, it was a silent duel between two souls in confrontation. He pierced you with his amber eyes, their almost hypnotic glow, filled with barely contained desire, and the tension rose instantly. Your eyes widened under his piercing gaze, but you couldn't look away. You felt trapped by that gaze, by that invisible hold he had over you.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you whispered hastily, unable to hide the nervousness in your voice. A slight backward movement, and you lost your balance. Before you could even fall, he was there. His arms, strong and sure, grabbed you by the waist, steadying you effortlessly. A shiver slid down your spine. Even once he had you back on balance, he didn’t let go. His hands tightened around you, a deliberate, almost possessive touch. You could feel every muscle of his body beneath your skin, every pulse of his desire. His eyes never left yours, unforgiving, almost expectant.

Your heart was beating faster, each beat resonating in your temples. The stars in your eyes were twinkling with an uncontrollable brilliance, capturing the embarrassment, the excitement. He was almost amused by it. He watched you, saying nothing, delighting in the fragility of this moment, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and authoritative, almost an order. He guided you to his makeshift chair with a sudden but controlled movement, as if there was no doubt about where you were supposed to be. You sat down slowly, your body still a little shaken by the embrace he had given you. He settled himself next to you, his body close to yours, his warmth brushing against you with every breath.

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, the words barely coming out, like a shy confession. You didn’t know where to look anymore, your hands moving nervously in your lap. The silence grew heavy, punctuated by your panting breaths and his, deeper and more controlled. Then, in one fluid movement, Jake reached out his hand to yours, grasping it gently but firmly. His touch was reassuring, but an unbearable heat was slowly rising between you. He wrapped his fingers around it, as if to anchor you to him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, his voice deeper, more relentless, like a warning. He stroked the back of your hand gently with his thumb, each movement slow and measured, but each touch electrifying. The tenderness of his gesture contrasted with the harshness of his words, and you felt a wave of desire wash over you, uncontrollable. A moan held itself back in your throat, stifled by the tension. You didn’t even dare move, so intense was the intensity of his gaze anchoring you to his will.

Silence stretched between the two of you, a silence heavy with unspoken words. Only the wind blew, the leaves rustled softly. Then a majestic eagle flew near you, landing on Jake's forearm. He greeted him with disconcerting familiarity, holding out his arm as if the animal were a brother. You watched, fascinated, the silent exchanges between man and creature, and a shiver ran through you as you realized the intimacy of this moment. The animals were listening to him, had always listened to him. It was the magic of his clan, this mystical bond that you had always believed to be nothing more than a myth.

“So your clan really talks to animals?” you whispered, intrigued. You had seen these creatures interact with him, but seeing him in action, so natural, so sovereign, electrified you. A smile touched his lips as he looked away from you.

“Yes, but we avoid doing it. It takes a lot of energy,” he replied calmly. He pushed back a few strands of his hair, but even that gesture failed to quell the intensity emanating from him. His hair fell over his face again, creating a stark contrast to his fierce gaze.

A light laugh escaped you, unconscious, amused by the contrast between the ruthless man and the gentleness of his gestures towards the creature. Jake growled under his breath, a muffled but powerful sound. You gave him a teasing pout, and the dynamic changed. This tension between you, which had become almost unbearable, erupted in a moment of new intimacy.

“Let me help you,” you said suddenly, a shaky breath escaping your lips. You bit your lip, hesitant. Then, with a delicate but confident movement, you slid behind him, your fingers brushing his skin. His hair, thick and silky, slipped beneath your fingers. A shiver ran through him, and you felt his body tense under your touch, a low moan escaping his lips. Each movement of your fingers on his scalp seemed to break him a little more, and each gesture was a silent promise.

As you parted his locks to begin braiding his hair, you took your time, savoring the contact, the constant brushing of your skin against his. He let you, but you felt the tension growing, almost palpable. You felt his breathing intensify under your fingers, his skin burning. The gestures were simple, but the desire that emanated from them was heavy, almost suffocating. Each braid you made was a small victory over his discipline, a gradual disintegration of his reserves. And you knew it. Each movement brought him a little closer to the inevitable.

You had barely finished braiding his hair when Jake suddenly moved, with that precision and force that took your breath away every time. His hands, rough and powerful, grabbed you firmly, without care. Your body lifted as if you weighed nothing and he made you slide onto his thighs. The movement caught you off guard. You rocked against him, and a soft, almost involuntary moan escaped your lips. You felt the reassuring pressure of his hand against your back, preventing your head from hitting the wet, muddy ground. This contrast between brutality and this subtle protection destabilized you every time, as if he was perpetually dancing between primal instinct and total control.

You stood there for a moment, your hands instinctively seeking support on his broad, strong shoulders. Beneath your fingers, you could feel the warmth of his skin despite his clothes, the tension in his muscles contracting slightly under your touch. Your breath became erratic, uncontrolled, as you were forced to look up at him. His gaze literally pierced you, his amber eyes shining with an almost predatory intensity. He said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him: they were greedy, possessive, as if he was silently claiming this moment and your entire person.

He was scrutinizing you as if he wanted to dissect you, analyze every detail of your face, every imperfection that you thought you had, but which, under his gaze, became treasures. His hand, still placed on the small of your back, began to move, drawing lazy circles with the tips of his fingers. A gesture both tender and possessive, almost distracted, but which caused a wave of heat throughout your body.

He finally broke the silence with a hoarse, vibrant, almost animal voice.

“You are perfect.”

His tone was raw, without artifice. Those three words were a declaration, an immutable truth in his mind. Your heart clenched, pounding so hard in your chest that you were convinced he could hear it. Your face burned under the force of his words, your lips trembled slightly, and without thinking, you bit them. A nervous gesture, but one that didn't escape him.

Without warning, he reached out with his free hand, gently grasping your bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, extracting it from the prison of your teeth. The contact caused an uncontrolled shiver to run through you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice lowered to a raspy breath that made you shudder. He didn’t look away, captivated by the way your eyelashes fluttered, your gaze oscillating between embarrassment and desire. His fingers gently brushed your lip, as if he were enjoying tasting it through his touch. Then, slowly, they slid down your cheek. The caress was so gentle, so careful, that it contrasted brutally with the force he had used to sit you on his lap. The paradox completely disarmed you, and a small noise escaped your throat—a mixture of surprise, confusion, but mostly pleasure.

You swallowed hard, searching for words to break the suffocating moment. “What if… what if we were seen?” you finally breathed, your voice weak, trembling, almost inaudible. The words sounded strange to you, as if they were coming from another version of you, one less overwhelmed by the warmth of his body against yours.

He hears you, of course he does. Jake always hears you, like he’s connected to you in a way you don’t fully understand yet. But his answer, when it comes, is a low growl that resonates in his chest. “It’s not a problem.” His deep, vibrant voice cuts through you, awakening something primal within you. It wasn’t a promise or an assumption. It was a certainty, an absolute statement. Nothing and no one mattered when it came to you.

Without giving you time to answer or object, he slowly leaned towards you. His warm breath brushed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You felt his gaze linger on your lips, then your eyes, perhaps seeking implicit permission. Then, his lips met yours.

It was a disconcerting kiss, as gentle as it was intense. His lips brushed yours with an unexpected, almost experimental delicacy, as if he were trying to hold back all the passion and rawness that burned beneath the surface. But you felt it all, every shiver, every hint of repressed desire in that touch. His hand on your back tightened slightly, anchoring you against him, while the other moved up along your jaw to frame your face.

You hesitated at first, but the warmth of his touch and the energy emanating from him consumed you. You let yourself go, responding to his kiss with awkward shyness. It seemed to encourage him. The kiss became more insistent, his lips pressing yours with more force, demanding this time. You felt the urgency in his gestures, this almost desperate desire to have you all.

The atmosphere around you seemed to thicken. The sounds of the forest faded, replaced by the sound of your intermingled breaths. The tension was palpable, suffocating, but you couldn't detach yourself from it. A part of you, as frightened as it was by the magnetic force of this man, couldn't help but succumb to it.

You stand before the temple of the House of Aerolis, a celestial place atop a windswept mountain. This house, deeply connected to the air, the heavens, and the element of wind, is in perfect harmony with nature. The members of the House of Aerolis are renowned for their innate grace, their keen intellect, and their free spirit, capable of breaking free from the constraints of the material world. Yet behind this freedom lies an unwavering discipline, imposed not only by ancient traditions, but also by the very nature of their connection to the winds. They seek to maintain a constant balance between freedom of spirit and responsibility, between endless mobility and inner stability, between outer chaos and inner calm.

The House of Aerolis is located in a majestic landscape, on high plateaus beaten by the winds, overlooking the cliffs that plunge into the immensity of the ocean. The temple, with its airy and light structure, seems suspended in the air, blending harmoniously with the surrounding skies. Its translucent walls capture the light of day, folding it into subtle and shimmering nuances that dance on the surface of the stones. The architecture of the temple, made of soft and sinuous lines, recalls the fluidity of wind and clouds.

The large openings allow fresh air to flow in, giving a feeling of freedom and lightness, as if the building were floating above the ground. The interior of the temple is both minimalist and rich in symbolism: feathers carved into the walls, patterns of wind and light subtly integrated into the stained glass and decorations. Their emblem — a golden eagle feather crossed by a swirling current of air, on a light blue and gold background — adorns every corner, symbolizing lightness, precision and perpetual movement.

It is in this place of calm and beauty that you find yourself, lost in your thoughts. You were thinking about the rigor of the House of Aerolis, their discipline, the purity of their connection with the air and their ability to achieve perfect balance. Then, without warning, you hit something soft, almost ethereal. A sensation as light as silk, but endowed with an unexpected strength and resilience. You step back abruptly, preparing to apologize, but your words freeze in your throat when you see wings in front of you.

Bright white wings, almost supernaturally pure, spread majestically. Under the dim candlelight, they shine with a silvery sheen, as if woven from threads of moonlight and heavenly breeze. The tips of the feathers have golden or pale blue hues, capturing the light of the sky and the sun, shimmering with a soft, luminous intensity. These wings are not just beautiful; they embody a symbol of absolute freedom and divine purity. They seem to emerge from the wind, like a heavenly message.

The person wearing these wings turns around slowly, and you feel an aura of calm and mastery surrounding him. He gives off an impression of perfect control, like a calm sea whose depths hide a power ready to be released. His presence, far from being imposing, is of a silent nobility, like a breath of fresh air. He seems to belong to another world, as if he were never affected by torments or storms, whether internal or external. But in his calm, you also feel a discreet force, a contained energy that could, if necessary, transform into an irresistible gust.

His face, delicately sculpted, is marked by an obvious serenity. The defined jaw and slightly high cheekbones accentuate the elegance of his features, emphasizing a timeless and natural beauty. His lips are thin and slightly pink, often curved in a discreet smile, but filled with sincerity, like the one he displays at this moment. He does not need to speak to impose his charm: his beauty emanates from him like a soft mist, invasive and captivating.

Her hair, pale white, evokes the clarity of dawn, as if illuminated by a clean, soft, and almost unreal light. It falls in light waves on her shoulders, subtly curling to the rhythm of the wind that makes them play. A few strands frame her face, bringing a fluidity and lightness to her entire silhouette. Her eyes, a light gray almost translucent, capture the light in an almost supernatural way, diffusing silvery flashes that make her gaze piercing and captivating.

Every time he stares at you, his eyes seem to see beyond the surface, as if he were peering into your most secret thoughts and emotions. There is nothing intimidating in his gaze: on the contrary, it is like an open window onto a pure soul, capable of piercing the invisible.

His skin is almost translucent in its clarity, as if shaped by light itself. It captures the reflections of the sun, returning soft bursts, reminiscent of the first glimmers of dawn or the silvery light of the moon. He exudes an aura of quiet perfection, a natural beauty that is reflected in every detail, every movement. His body, slender and harmonious, has a discreet but present musculature, sculpted by the winds and the rigor of his education. His upright posture, noble and elegant, adds to the fluidity of his gestures, reinforcing the impression that he moves with the lightness of a breath.

He wears a bright white silk jeogori, fitted perfectly to his slender figure. The fine texture of the silk subtly catches the light, creating a luminous aura around him. The collar and sleeves of the garment are embroidered with silver and gold threads, forming airy patterns that recall the movement of the wind and the fluidity of clouds. The embroidery, depicting feathers, bursts of light, and waves of wind, symbolizes his deep connection with the air.

The sleeves are slightly loose, with thin edges that mimic the graceful movement of the wind, while the bottom of her outfit consists of a chima, a long, flowing skirt in silver and pale blue tones. This light and shimmering fabric accentuates her silhouette and follows each of her steps with perfect grace. At the front, the skirt is slightly shorter, revealing elegant boots, but it remains long at the back, creating a feeling of fluid and airy movement.

Celestial patterns, stars and wind waves, are embroidered on the bottom of the chima, adding a divine dimension to the entire outfit. At her waist, a feather-shaped norigae, a traditional decorative pendant, symbolizes her lightness and freedom, completing the entire appearance.

“It’s nothing, it’s just me.” Sunghoon’s voice is soft, almost whispered, but each word resonates with a firmness that touches you deep inside. He speaks with such tranquility that the air around you seems to hang, his tone warming the atmosphere in a delicate, yet overwhelming way. When he speaks, his words glide like a light breeze, but their weight lingers in the air, settling on you, enveloping every fiber of your being with a presence that doesn’t dissipate.

“Just you.” You answer, your lips whispering the words almost without thinking, but your body doesn’t lie. A warmth settles inside you, a tingling sensation that starts at the tips of your fingers and slowly moves up your arms, like a soft, irresistible burn. Your hands itch, an uncontrollable need to touch, to brush him, to grab him, but you hold yourself back. Not here, not in this temple. This is a sacred place, too many people around. The fear of transgression prevents you from giving in to the urge.

His smile is discreet, but piercing. He says nothing, but his lips curve slightly, as if he knows exactly what you feel, as if he perceives the desire that floats between you, as tangible as the air itself. He looks at you for a moment, but in a heavy silence, you see his eyes slowly detach from yours, as if, suddenly, you become insignificant, lost in the immensity of the room. And before you have time to react, he turns away from you, his back facing you in an almost supernatural fluidity.

Then, a gust of wind suddenly brushes your face. It is not a simple breath, but a caress, warm and effervescent, which seems to invade you, brushing your skin with an intriguing softness. This wind heads straight towards your ears, carrying an almost inaudible murmur, a word, a place, a secret meeting place. The air around you seems to thicken, to be charged with a promise, an invitation that you do not yet dare to understand.

You look up at him, but he is already far away, his silhouette disappearing into the crowd, in perfect harmony with the movement around him. Every gesture, every movement is astonishingly light, as if it were made of wind and air. His body moves with a captivating fluidity, a perfect sequence of calculated gestures, but with an almost magical ease. It is as if he is not walking, but floating, barely touching the ground, each step a silent dance. His grace is incredible, almost hypnotic, and each movement you observe seems more natural than the last. As if everything, in his gait, in his way of being, was governed by a law that only you can still understand.

And yet, this approach, as fluid as it is, carries a certain heaviness. He is not light by simple choice; he is a silent force, a calm wind ready to turn into a storm. Each gesture echoes a contained power, an energy ready to be released. And in this perfect self-control, there is something that draws you irresistibly. Each movement, each gesture seems to be an invitation, a silent promise that, perhaps, he is waiting for you to lose yourself in the intensity of this tension that is woven between you.

The urge to get closer becomes unbearable. It's as if you were suspended in an invisible thread, stretched between him and you, quivering with each step he takes, bringing you ever closer to this border that you dare not cross. The tension is palpable, vibrating, like a rope ready to give way. He is there, and you know that he knows what you feel, what you desire. And he lets you, gently, slowly, sink into this torpor of repressed desire, all the while controlling every second, every breath, every quiver that passes through you.

You are caught in this subtle and dangerous game that he plays effortlessly, and yet, every movement, every word of his brings you closer to the moment when you will know that you will no longer be able to hold back. When you will know that everything you desire is within reach, but that the moment has not yet come. And in this waiting, in this suspended tension, he leaves you there, panting, eager for more, without ever breaking the silence.

The lake before you stretches as far as the eye can see, a sea of ​​black ink that only the silvery shards of the moon touch timidly. The air is heavy, saturated with this strange sensation that no wind will break, a stifling and icy heat at the same time. You feel the humidity on your skin, this nighttime freshness that sticks to your clothes and seeps under your skin, but that's not what bothers you. It's him. Sunghoon. He's there, right next to you, and you feel every micro-movement of his body like a pressure, an invitation, a threat. He has this insidious power of not needing to touch you to invade you, to penetrate every corner of your being.

He's so close that you can feel the warmth of his body mingling with yours. Not close enough for his fingers to brush your skin, but close enough for each second spent by his side to seem to stretch time. His arms are folded behind him, his wings folded in an almost divine silence, but you know he's attentive to every detail: to the way you stand, to the tension emanating from you. You feel his gaze on you, burning and insistent, like an invisible caress. It's a piercing, almost intrusive observation that destabilizes you, reduces you to prey before his eyes.

You sit there, at the front of the boat, your eyes fixed on the black water, trying to focus on the darkness rather than on this presence that seems to engulf you. Your fingers brush the icy surface of the water, tracing almost hypnotic circles. The biting cold seems to penetrate your bones, but it does not reach the burning core inside you. This contrast between the outside and the inside makes you nervous, quivering. What disturbs you is not the cold, but the intensity of the situation. The weight of the air, heavy and suffocating, between you.

You feel his gaze, even when you refuse to meet it. His eyes, deep gray, are fixed on you with icy precision. You know he is scrutinizing you, trying to read every micro-expression on your face. Every quiver of your body, every press of your lips, he captures everything. And that is what irritates you. He watches you like a predator, ready to seize every movement, every misstep. His silence, heavy with meaning, is more intimidating than any words. Because he does not need to speak to make you understand that he knows all your secrets, all your desires.

You feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and you force your expression to remain implacable, to not let it show how much he affects you. But inside, each second of silence makes the heat grow, more and more burning. It's like a tension that strengthens with each moment, an inner pressure that you can't push back. His calm, his apparent control, plunges you into a state of nervousness, as if you were about to crack.

You finally break the silence, your voice cutting through the air with a barely concealed coldness.

“Are you going to stare at me like that all night, Sunghoon?” The question is more of a taunt than a real inquiry. But deep down, there’s a silent defiance. Because you know he likes it. He likes it when you try to push him away, when you try to draw out the emotion he knows he stirs in you.

Time stretches between you. An almost unbearable silence. He doesn't answer immediately, of course. He likes the wait, he likes to see how long you can hold out without giving in to this desire he awakens in you. Then, finally, he tilts his head slightly, his pale white hair moving gently in the nonexistent breeze, catching the faint light of the moon. The movement is of a calculated slowness, almost divine. He smiles then, slowly, a smile that hides no warmth, but that makes you feel as if the warmth itself has died down, giving way to a biting coldness.

“Maybe,” he finally whispers, his voice as deep as the whisper of a cold wind. It’s a simple word, almost innocuous, but you know every syllable weighs, every word calculated. “Watching you struggle with yourself is a fascinating sight.”

His words hit you like electric waves. A shock that runs through your body, but you ignore it, you force your mind to remain impassive, to not show how much he affects you. But deep down, a part of you knows that what he says is true. You fight. Against him. Against yourself. Against this desire that consumes you, and he knows it. He sees through your attempts to control, he sees the burn under your skin, the desire that rises with every look he lays on you.

You straighten up a little, clench your fists to keep your composure, and you answer, more curtly: "I'm not fighting."

A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He leans back a little, his wings folded behind him in a studied gesture of relaxation. But you know he hasn’t let up. He’s testing you, waiting to see how far he can push you. You know every movement of his body is carefully considered, every word he speaks a strategic move in this silent game, and he loves it. He loves seeing how hard you try to stay in control of yourself while being utterly vulnerable under his gaze.

Suddenly, he moves. One of his wings spreads slowly, majestically. The movement is fluid, hypnotic. You can't take your eyes off his silhouette, the way his wings open slowly, like an invitation, a trap. Before you know what's happening, he slams the wing down on the water.

The impact is brutal. Water splashes everywhere, crashing against you with icy violence. You don't even have time to react before the water hits you in the face, overwhelming you with cold. The shock is instantaneous, brutal. Your muscles contract under the impact, your breathing stops, and you feel your heart racing. An icy coldness invades your body, each drop of water hitting you like needles. And your dress, thin and light, becomes transparent under the water, immediately sticking to your skin.

You sit up abruptly, caught between anger and cold. Your body is tense, everything inside you is electric, ready to explode. “Park Sunghoon!” Your voice pierces the silence of the night, sharp, furious, but also full of this frustration that is rising inside you. He provokes you, pushes you, and he knows it.

He doesn't answer. He lets the water trickle down from his wing, the drops slowly hitting the wood of the boat. He seems detached, almost serene, as if this is all a game. He looks away, feigning innocence with an infuriating nonchalance.

But you know. You know that every move he makes, every word he says, is meant to test your limits. And it burns you. This power grab he has over you is so carefully calculated, so subtle, that you can no longer tell if you're losing yourself or winning this game. The line is blurring.

In an almost imperceptible gesture, he looks down at you, a predatory smile slipping across his lips. He moves closer. You instinctively back away, until your back hits the edge of the boat. You are trapped. He moves closer slowly, his wings spreading around him, cutting off any escape. And in his gaze, you see a new light. Darker. Hungrier.

The wind blew around you with an icy bite, making your already damp skin shiver from cold water, but no cold could penetrate the armor of warmth that emanated from Sunghoon. His eyes, dark and piercing, did not leave the quivering silhouette that you had become under his gaze. Every movement of your body, every tremor, seemed to attract him more, like a prey that he observed from afar before capturing it, slowly, inevitably.

You shivered more, but not only because of the cold. It was him, his presence, the intensity of his gaze on you, almost burning. You had never had the impression that someone could see you so deeply, pierce your most secret, most hidden layers. And yet, it was not just a look. It was a promise of possession, a veiled threat.

“You’re cold.” His soft, yet firm voice struck you like a barely grazed blade. He knew you were cold, he knew everything, and he was there, in that heavy silence, studying you with disturbing precision. But he didn’t wait for an answer. There was no need for words. He stood there, dominating, ready to destroy whatever independence remained in you.

Before you could even react, he stepped closer, a quiet strength emanating from him, and in an instant, you found yourself against him, glued to his muscular chest. The heat that emanated from his body enveloped you immediately, but there was nothing comforting about this heat. It was a devouring heat, a heat that seized you, that consumed you, and yet, you had no desire to get out of it. His skin, warm and firm against yours, made you close your eyes for a moment, an uncontrollable shiver running through your body.

He didn’t let go of you. His arms wrapped around you in a firm but not rough grip, pulling you closer to him, as if you were a part of him, as if he were claiming you for himself, without embellishment, without return. There was a dominance in the gesture, a claim that you felt deep in your gut. But this dominance wasn’t simply physical. It was in every word he spoke, in every silence between you, in the very air you breathed. It was a pressure, a palpable tension, that forced you to abandon what you thought was your will.

“Let me warm you up.” The words escaped his lips with a softness that contrasted strangely with the harshness of his gesture. There was no tenderness in the gesture. Only raw power, a need to possess you, to pull you closer to him. His wings, large and majestic, folded around you, a shield, a cage, but also a promise. Their warmth enveloped your body like a blanket, but there was something much darker in that embrace.

The feathers of his wings brushed your skin, but they weren't just soft. They were alive, almost organic, reacting to every movement of your body, your breathing. You shuddered at every brush, every furtive caress, as if they were tasting you, testing you. This contact, both tender and threatening, made a dull heat rise in your veins. Each movement brought you closer to him, but also pushed you into a form of submission that you could no longer ignore.

You didn't dare look up at him, but you knew he was watching you, every little shiver that ran through your body not escaping him. He felt you, he read you, and you were aware of it. His arms held you tighter, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted you more.

You let yourself go for a moment, your whole body pressing against his, seeking a more intense, deeper warmth. Your face nestled against his chest, and you felt the vibration of his heart beating, slowly, strongly, like a reminder of the life that bubbled in his veins, of the life that was happening in this proximity.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, a sigh that you couldn't even hold back. He immediately took advantage of it, his hands sliding over your skin, making you tremble even more. He knew exactly where and how to touch you to provoke this response in you. He didn't say anything. He let the tension rise, slowly, inexorably.

“You’re so mean to me,” you breathed, your voice cracking, your breath short. It was a complaint, but also an invitation, a form of resistance disguised as submission. You clung to him, your hands clenching on his clothes, as if to mark your territory in this embrace that consumed you.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm on your ear. “I’ll be gentler with you then.” His voice vibrated with a desire you could almost touch, and you shuddered at the impact of his words. But his arms didn’t loosen. He held you close, forcing you to feel the heat he radiated, the dominance he imposed. There was a latent danger in all of this, a threat that hovered between you. It was an intricate dance, between control and loss of control, between what he wanted from you and what you desired from him.

The wind that had previously blown with an icy bite had turned into a surprisingly gentle warmth, like a burning caress that was slowly drying you, erasing the moisture from your skin still struck by the icy water. Each quiver of the breeze against your body only amplified the tension that was forming between you, as if the air itself was charged with this inescapable attraction. The wind brushed your skin with an almost sensual softness, making you shiver insidiously, but it wasn't the cold that was invading you. No, it was him. Sunghoon. His presence was omnipresent, a suffocating heat that was slowly gaining on you.

You didn't have time to think about what was happening, your whole being prey to this wave of contradictory sensations. You felt his hand, warm and possessive, slowly slide over the small of your back. The contact of his fingers against your skin was as intrusive as it was delectable, each movement controlled, each caress increasing the pressure of his hold on your body. You didn't have to see him to know what he was doing. When his hand moved down slightly, lingering on the curve of your buttocks, his fingers brushing the delicate skin before gripping it firmly, you made a movement of recoil, indignant, short of breath. A dark look, filled with defiance, escaped your eyes, but Sunghoon didn't flinch. On the contrary, he seemed to savor every fraction of a second where you tried to push him away, to resist the irresistible attraction he exerted on you.

He said nothing. No words left his lips. He was much more comfortable in this heavy silence, the one that filled the space with this palpable tension. His lips finally approached yours, slowly, with total assurance, as if the simple fact of doing so was his way of marking his territory, of making you understand that you had no escape. And before you could even make the slightest move to move away, he pressed his lips against yours in a merciless kiss, without warning, without the slightest gentleness. This kiss was an order disguised as a gesture, a silent affirmation of his power. He kissed you without any embarrassment, his lips imposing themselves on yours, forcing you to respond, to yield.

His body pressed against yours, harder and harder, as if every inch of space between you was unbearable. He had never touched you like this, so rough, so possessive. His arms held you so tightly that you couldn't move, a cage of bone and muscle that allowed you no escape. And his wings, those majestic wings, pressed slowly against you, the feathers brushing your skin, bringing a soft but threatening warmth, like a burning blanket.

You were trapped. He held you against him, his body pressed against yours, forcing you to feel every muscle, every breath, every beat of his heart in his chest. Every movement of his lips on yours bewitched you, besieged you, forcing you to lose yourself in this kiss that had nothing tender about it. It was a silent war, a battle of wills, where you were at the mercy of his domination, his absolute mastery.

Lee Heeseung wandered through the enigmatic garden of the House of Liraelle, a space where the boundary between reality and imagination seemed to dissolve. This garden was a suspended world, frozen in a forgotten era, every inch of land imbued with the secrets of the House, a dwelling marked by obsession, all-consuming passion, and the unfathomable mysteries of the past. The ground, covered in a carpet of dark leaves and faded petals, seemed to be absorbed by the shadow of the gigantic trees, which swallowed up everything under their canopy. Heeseung advanced slowly, his step measured, his gaze lost in the beauty of the place, all the while remaining deeply aware of the threatening aura that enveloped him.

The garden paths, lined with black roses with deep purple petals, were both sumptuous and fearsome. These flowers, of a macabre beauty, seemed to suck in the light, as if the night itself was hiding in their shadows. Their scent, both sweet and pernicious, floated in the air, causing a slight dizziness. Bewitching and almost intoxicating, it also awakened a sense of unease, a scent of forbidden desire and obsession. This scent wrapped itself around the skin, impregnating the soul of those who dared to venture into this garden. Heeseung stopped for a moment, staring at the roses as if trying to decipher their secret language. Each flower seemed to tell a part of the history of the House of Liraelle, a story woven of passion, suffering, pleasure and pain throughout the ages.

The black vines, twisted and tangled around ancient statues, formed hypnotic patterns. These sculptures, frozen in time, seemed to silently observe the young man's every movement. Some represented human figures, others mythological creatures: nymphs, chimeras, half-human, half-animal beings, immortalized in gestures of suffering or ecstasy. Covered in moss and lichen, marked by the wear of centuries, these statues had a strange glow in the eyes engraved in the stone, a glow of sleeping life. When the light filtered between the trees, it rested on these frozen forms, and dancing shadows seemed to come to life on their surface, like ghosts from the past, ready to emerge from their sleep.

The stone fountains, decorated with mystical carvings, gave off a constant murmur, a hypnotic melody that filled the air. The water, clear but dark blue, rushed into deep pools, lined with unfathomable patterns that seemed to transform under the reflections. These symbols, similar to the ancient runes of the founders of the House, carried within them occult secrets and forgotten knowledge. The steady sound of the water echoed in Heeseung's mind, a reminder of the permanence of time, of the inexorable flow of centuries. 

At the heart of the garden, a pond of inky black water seemed to scrutinize intruders. The smooth, still surface of the water seemed magical, as if the pond were a door to another world, where natural laws no longer applied. Black lilies, imposing and majestic, floated on the surface, their petals bursting with mystery and danger. The thin stems bent slowly under the weight of the water, but their beauty, fascinating and obscure, was undeniable. At times, a slight ripple crossed the pond, as if something was hidden in the depths, an invisible being, a ghost waiting for the right moment to emerge. The air around the pond was cold, impregnated with a strange humidity that made breathing difficult. The shadows under the water moved slowly, like nameless shapes, ready to emerge at any moment. The atmosphere of the place, both calm and threatening, reinforced the impression of mystery that reigned there.

With each step Heeseung took, the garden seemed to close in around him. The shadows of the trees and statues increased this feeling of confinement, while enhancing the haunting beauty of this place. He advanced with a slow, thoughtful pace, absorbed in contemplating the wonders and horrors of the House of Liraelle, his gaze gliding over each detail with intimate knowledge. His black clothes, made of velvet and satin, absorbed the light, just like the petals of the black roses. He moved with the grace of a being of shadows, the silver and crimson embroidery of his tunic representing black roses intertwined with brambles and vines, a reflection of his belonging to this enigmatic house, marked by danger and prohibition.

His figure, long and slender, seemed unreal in this setting, a solitary specter among the shadows. The tight but fluid cut of his tunic emphasized his majestic figure, while allowing him to move effortlessly, like a shadow among the shadows. The long, slightly flared sleeves floated around him, creating a hypnotic effect. His appearance evoked that of an ethereal being, both divine and demonic, depending on the eye that looked at him. The contrasts between the dark velvet, the satin and the delicate embroidery in silver and crimson added an almost sacred dimension to his appearance. Every detail, every fold of his clothes seemed designed to maintain a subtle balance between nobility and danger, beauty and menace.

His eyes, silvery white tinged with carmine, shone with an icy intensity. They captured the light in a strange, almost supernatural way, like mirrors capable of sucking the soul out of those they stared at. That piercing gaze seemed capable of penetrating the very essence of things, of revealing the secrets buried in hearts and stones. There was no warmth in his eyes, just a distant coldness, but that coldness was in reality an abyss, a well of desire and devouring passion.

Her face, with its sharp features and delicately defined jaw, exuded an icy nobility, a rare and almost frightening beauty. Her lips, perfectly drawn, remained motionless, betraying neither smile nor anger, but a controlled serenity, as if every gesture had to be measured, every emotion contained. Her nose, straight and perfectly proportioned, completed her impenetrable face. And her hair, an almost black burgundy red, was carefully styled, slicked back, falling lightly around her shoulders. Their fluid texture seemed made of living tissue, like the extension of a complex and profound soul.

Heeseung walked slowly, each movement weighed down by the weight of his thoughts, as if he were irresistibly drawn to the inevitable. Then, suddenly, he felt it before he could even see it. A vibration, slight but piercing, passed through the air around him, disturbing the eerie calm of the garden. It was as if the air itself was contracting, suspended in infinite expectation. A shiver ran down his spine, and he suddenly found himself unable to look away. He turned his head slowly, his body reacting instinctively to the silent call. There, in the dense shadow of the black roses, your silhouette emerged. At first blurred, a fragile form lost in this hypnotic setting. But there was something more than your mere presence: a dense energy, a magnetic force that seemed to make the space around him vibrate. It was like you weren't just a person, but a living embodiment of everything this garden represented: danger, desire, and pure beauty.

He finally stopped, frozen by the intensity of what he felt. His eyes fixed on you, anchoring themselves to every detail of your silhouette. Each movement seemed slow, almost calculated, as if you were making sure that his perception of you was as precise as possible. He could see the shadows playing on your face, accentuating your skin and the finesse of your features. The rays of light that filtered between the trees grazed your skin, creating bursts that danced on your body with an incredible sensuality. Your silhouette, wrapped in dark clothing, seemed to merge with the surrounding shadows, giving the impression that you were neither entirely real nor entirely spectral. An illusion from which he could not escape.

Heeseung took a step forward, almost unconsciously. The heady smell of the garden mingled with your perfume, a fragrance that wasn't simply floral, but seemed to belong to something more primitive, more carnivorous. A scent of decaying flowers, of raw sensuality, of an insistent and secret desire. He could feel your warmth, even from this distance. It was a silent invitation, but clear. He didn't hesitate to answer this call, his fingers brushing your arm, delicately at first, then more firmly, as if to mark his territory, to anchor you to him. The contact between his skin and yours produced an electric shock that made your entire flesh vibrate, a shiver that went up your spine and made your heart beat faster. You tensed under his touch, your breathing more jerky, more burning, as if his simple contact activated an uncontrollable physical reaction in you.

He spun you around slowly, his fingers squeezing your arm a little tighter, making you shudder under the gentle yet authoritative pressure. He wasn’t just looking at you. He was probing you, trying to read every detail in your eyes, every micro-expression on your face. The tension between you two was palpable, almost tangible. “I didn’t know you were interested in flowers…” His voice, low and caressing, brushed your ears like a whisper of promise, but also of warning. Each word was loaded with innuendo. His fingers slid gently along your arm, a light but striking caress, as if touching you belonged to him and he was slowly making it his own, with a delicacy that was only a shadow of the brutality hidden within him.

You stood there silently for a moment, your gaze lost in his eyes, as if listening to something deeper than words. Then, a barely perceptible smile played on your lips, a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “They’re pretty… and smell good. Besides, this is the only place I can find them.” Your voice was soft, but it carried an underlying weight. There was no simplicity in your answer, just a veiled invitation, an implicit challenge to want more. There was nothing innocent in your words. Each syllable was a silent promise, an invitation to a dangerous dance he couldn’t ignore.

A soft chuckle escaped Heeseung’s lips, a low, guttural sound, almost animalistic. There was no joy in the laugh, just a palpable intensity, a burning desire that was just waiting to be expressed. “Are you talking about me… or the flowers?” His eyes, burning with desire, fixed on you, and he applied more pressure to your arm, hard enough to remind you of his presence, to mark your body with his imprint. He leaned towards you slowly, the warmth of his skin mingling with yours, the scent of your skin mingling with that of the black roses that surrounded you. His lips brushed yours, but he didn’t stop there. He waited. Every movement of your body, every heavier breath, every quiver of your lips was an invitation to him to go further.

The closeness between you was suffocating, each movement more charged than the last, each breath more burning. The tension, pure and raw, seemed to twist the air around you. He knew you felt that same pull, that you were struggling as much as he was not to give in to the temptation that hung in the air. But he was stronger than that. He was far too powerful to be ignored, to be pushed away. His hand slid slowly up your arm, up your skin to your shoulder, where his fingers rested with authority, but with an unexpected gentleness, a perfect contradiction to the brutality of his thoughts.

He was waiting. Every move from you, a gesture, a word, a sigh. All he wanted to know was what you were going to do next.

“What if it was… for you?”

Your voice, deeper, almost slides over your skin, like a hypnotic whisper that caresses each syllable. There is a bewitching softness in your tone, an apparent lightness, but beneath that surface, hides something much darker, a subtle threat and a silent promise. A smile brushes your lips, furtive, enigmatic, a touch of mischief that seems almost innocent. Yet, you know, just as he does, that this smile hides much more—a deeper, more troubling desire, that engulfs you both. It is not a smile that one shares without measuring the consequences.

Heeseung doesn't take his eyes off you. His dark pupils, like endless abysses, leave no room for escape. Every detail of your face, every micro-expression, every movement of your body is observed, recorded, as if every gesture betrayed you. He knows, he feels everything you can't hide, and he waits. You see that mischievous glint in his gaze, and once again, you feel like prey facing his predator. Slowly, patiently, he gets closer. He's playing with you, and he knows it. You too.

He leans closer to you, and every move becomes a test. Every inch that separates your bodies seems to become an abyss. The air around you fills with a tension that becomes almost suffocating, heavy, electric. He barely brushes against you, but the space he leaves between you is saturated with desire. His eyes stare into yours, observing every flash of light, every nuance that makes your gaze shine. He captures every movement of your body, aware of everything you feel, of what you can no longer hide. Seduction becomes a more tangible, almost palpable game, more captivating with each second.

“Then I should prove myself worthy of your attention.”

His voice becomes softer, almost a caress. But his eyes remain icy, uncompromising. They don't let go of you, scrutinizing every movement, every reaction. He waits, he watches. He is on the lookout, ready to seize the slightest weakness, to exploit the slightest hesitation. Everything is calculated. He gets closer, and you feel his hot breath against your skin, the electricity in the air. The world around you seems to freeze as he stops just millimeters from your lips. Time stands still. Each second seems more unbearable than the last. His touch is almost too light to be real, but it is saturated with unbearable promises.

You know what he's looking for. You see in his eyes what he's waiting for, and despite everything, you can't help but give in to this game. Each breath you take becomes shorter, more rushed. Your heart beats faster, harder. The intensity of his gaze warms your skin, makes you shiver. You feel suspended between him and the fragile line that separates surrender from resistance. The slightest of your gestures, of your words, could tip everything over.

“Are you satisfied, or… do you want more?”

He whispers, his voice sweet as poison, a suspended challenge. It’s both an invitation and a test. He waits to see how far you’re willing to follow him, how many steps you’re willing to take in this dangerous dance. You shudder under his hot breath against your lips. Your body reacts before you can even think. A soft, devouring heat spreads through you, a warm, dizzying mist. You feel every fiber of your being trapped by desire, something more powerful, more unfulfilled, pushing you ever further.

You bite your lower lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape, a sound that would betray your fragility. The slightest noise, the slightest movement could push him to cross this invisible border that he has placed between you. And you know that once this line is crossed, there is no turning back. However, your body has already taken the lead. It anticipates every shiver, every reaction. You no longer have control, or at least, you no longer want to.

Each breath becomes harder, more panting. The air seems to thin around you. It becomes heavy, burning. An intimate heat spreads in your belly, cruel, insatiable, like a fire that only his presence can stoke. 

“You know it’s never enough. I can never get enough of you.”

The words leave your lips in a shaky breath, your voice betraying your vulnerability. But you don’t even try to hide it anymore. You know it. He does too. And this is what he’s waiting for. You don’t even try to fight this desire anymore. You give yourself over to him, to this need that devours you. He smiles, a cruel smile, almost satisfied with having driven you to the brink of breaking.

His fingers slide slowly, almost lazily, from your shoulder to your chin, following every curve of your body with an almost unreal precision. With a possessive gesture, gentle but firm, he takes your face in his hand, straightening your head like a puppeteer. He forces your gaze to plunge into his. The intensity of his eyes mixes with the burning heat of his breath, and you feel your heart accelerate. The air between you is saturated with tension, heavy with unspoken promises, pleasure and pain.

He whispers against your lips, his voice husky and warm, a shiver running over your skin. “I know… I’m just having fun with you.”

The words barely leave his lips when his grip on your chin tightens abruptly. It's unexpected, almost violent, but with a violence that makes you shiver with pleasure. He finally presses his lips against yours. This kiss, you've waited for it, desired it, but it takes you by surprise, like a thunderbolt. His lips are hot, insistent, and you feel totally overwhelmed. This kiss is merciless. It devours you, takes you whole, prevents you from breathing, deprives you of everything except his desire. He gives you no respite.

Your hands, as if guided by an instinct you don't even understand, slide into his hair, squeezing it with desperate urgency. It's a last call to the illusion of control, but you know, deep down, that you've already lost it. The softness of his hair contrasts violently with the violence of his kiss. He dominates you, takes you in this merciless kiss, feeding on your desire. Every movement of his lips captures every shiver, every breath you lose.

And the more he kisses you, the more you want it. The more you lose yourself in his embrace. It's this contradiction that consumes you: every fiber of your being screams to escape, to run away, to regain some semblance of control, but every beat of your heart screams at you to give in, to abandon yourself completely to him.

This is a fight you can't win. And maybe, in reality, you don't even want to win it.

There you were, immersed in the stillness of a moment that at first seemed insignificant. Your fingers slowly traced the sacred characters on the parchment, each movement measured, each syllable carefully inscribed in the mystical flow of your task. Nothing could have prepared you for what was about to happen. A tremor. A subtle shudder beneath your feet, barely perceptible at first, an almost inaudible vibration that made your senses jump. You pause for a moment, a shiver running down your spine, trying to anchor yourself, to ignore the unexpected irruption. But the ground becomes unstable. Slightly at first, then more and more violently, as if the earth itself were trying to throw you into the void.

Your heart skips a beat. A crushing dizziness invades you, your body reacting with an instinctive jolt, a last effort to remain stable. But the ground is slipping away from under your feet. You are no longer in control of your body. Like a puppet detached from its strings, you fall forward, your head spinning, your gaze blurring in a whirlwind of light and darkness. Nausea invades you, tearing away all your grip on this dizzying fall. The world around you distorts. Then, suddenly, the intensity of the trembling ceases. An oppressive silence settles, heavy and absolute, as if the world had frozen. But this is not the end of the ordeal. It is the beginning of something much more terrible.

Short of breath, you open your eyes, trying to understand what is happening. The air here is strange. Thicker, colder, a feeling you can't ignore, as if the atmosphere itself is judging you. You slowly straighten up, the ground beneath your feet too cold, too hard to be natural. An icy shiver runs through you from head to toe, paralyzing you for a moment. This place is nothing like the one you knew. A feeling of unease tightens your throat. 

Where are you?

Around you, shadows dance, forming indistinct outlines that dissipate into the suffocating mist. The walls seem to close in, their gigantic stones, worn by time, with a rough surface. Dust floats in the air, a faint, dreary glow coming from nowhere barely lighting this hostile setting. Your eyes begin to adjust to the gloom, searching for landmarks. And that's when you see it. The engraving. The emblem. It hits you with such intensity that a scream of terror catches in your throat, repressed by a panicked fear that spreads like a burn.

On the stone wall, the image of a black flame, twisted and deformed, shoots out from the center of what appears to be a circle of chains, these metal links intertwining around the flame like an inescapable cage. The flame, deep black, almost empty, seems to quiver in the darkness. It is there, tangible, like a living entity, ready to devour everything in its path. The impression that it is staring at you, that the emblem is devouring you with its gaze, paralyzes you. It is as if you can almost feel the heat of this flame, burning and overwhelming, without it touching your skin. This heat melts all logic, all coherent thought, enclosing you in an invisible trap.

Your heart races as waves of anxiety wash over you. You feel your legs give way beneath you, a crushing pressure washes over you. This flame… it is not just a symbol. It signifies destruction. The end of all that exists. You recognize it. The black flame… the flame of Ignis. The House of Ignis. The relentless unity. The justice of fire. Destruction. Purification through annihilation. The truth of a world burned.

A cold shiver runs through you. Your eyes remain fixed on the emblem, but your mind screams to flee. Every fiber of your being screams to escape, to break free, to abandon everything. But there is nowhere to go. You are trapped in this place, this other world, this world of flames and chains. And you know that at any moment, the House of Ignis, or what is left of it, will judge you. Their flames will burn away your sins, but they will consume everything. Even your soul.

Memories hit you in devastating waves. The House of Ignis. You had heard of them, whispered in dark alleys, in disreputable taverns. But now, rumor turns into reality. A burning and threatening reality. Bloody rituals, sacrifices, executions by fire. Their justice is not that of the other Houses. It does not seek to rehabilitate, to reform. No. Their justice is absolute. Evil must be erased, eradicated, consumed by flames so that purity can emerge. There is no going back. Only ultimate pain can bring redemption, a suffering etched in the flesh and the soul.

Fear overwhelms you. But it is not just a physical fear. It is a deeper, more essential terror. This House, these beings who compose it, believe that evil can only be destroyed by absolute pain, by fire. You see them, the Executioners of Ignis, the arms of flame, terrifying beings, trained to inflict pure suffering. They are not here to punish. They are here to purify. To annihilate. Their flames do not discriminate, they consume everything in their path, without mercy.

A feeling of nausea rises inside you. What if you were their next target? What if you were judged by that merciless flame? Just thinking about it twists your insides. Images form in your mind: bodies burned, souls erased, justice served by incineration. And that black flame, that cold and violent abomination, stares at you, ready to devour everything you are.

Your breath catches. The world around you blurs, your legs tremble beneath you. You want to scream. But no sound comes out. The air is heavy. The space, confined. You feel trapped, the symbol on the wall staring at you with a morbid intensity. There is no redemption here, no escape. The only path open to you is purification by fire. But can you bear what that entails? The black flame, the chains… all of this is the end of one cycle, and the beginning of another. A cycle you did not choose.

The black mist that surrounds you doesn't just seem to envelop you, it slowly swallows you, a dense, cold mass that tightens around you like an invisible vice. It creeps into your lungs, mixing with your breath, weighing down each inhalation, each exhalation. Your lungs swell painfully, as if an iron weight were pressing down on them, forcing them to contract under a stifling heat, an inner fire that keeps growing, ready to explode. You try to breathe deeply, but the air is lacking, the space around you compressing, narrowing each breath. Your throat tightens in an uncontrollable spasm, the walls of your trachea burned by the heat, a painful acid rising inside you, devouring your will.

The air itself, laden with this oppressive presence, seems to grow thicker, heavier with each beat of your heart. Each pulsation, throbbing and brutal, vibrates in your eardrums, a dull and menacing echo that reminds you that you are no longer master of your own body. Your heart beats faster and faster, its cadence frantic, a war drum in your chest, both reassuring and terrifying. This agitation is only the reflection of your growing terror, a terror that distills itself in every fiber of your being. You know that you cannot flee, that what awaits you is inevitable. Yet you cannot help but try. Your legs, trembling and heavy, barely carry you. They collapse beneath you, and you fall, but your body refuses to land completely. Your arms instinctively reach out to support you, although the pain that crosses your wrists makes you scream inwardly.

The walls of this place, invisible but omnipresent, repress you, pushing you closer to nothingness with every step. The ground beneath your feet rumbles, as if it were a living entity itself, a creature of iron and stone that threatens you. Every movement on the ground brings forth a sharp creak, a broken alert, a promise of imminent destruction. You want to stop, but your body, in a last instinct for survival, pushes you forward. Pure, animal terror motivates you, but it does not allow you to flee. It is an invisible, twisted force that keeps you here, forcing you forward with no escape.

You feel a growing pressure, as if the ground itself were becoming heavier under your weight. Your joints crack under the tension, your muscles tense to the limit, but the inertia of terror makes you remain frozen, like prey under the gaze of a predator. The silence around you is oppressive, heavy with this indefinable anguish. Nothing dares to break this silence, except your irregular, panting breath, each breath seeming to be a fight in itself. There is no sound of nature, no wind, no sound of water, only the creaking of the ground under your feet and the jerky sound of your breathing.

Slowly, the door behind you, invisible but omnipresent, closes with a metallic screech. A heart-rending crash, a screech of rusted metal. The sound echoes through the heavy air like a bell of judgment, an irrevocable condemnation. You jump, your heart skipping a beat, a cold shiver of fear running down your spine. Your throat tightens as panic overwhelms you, invading every fiber of your being. A dull ache strikes your skull, each beat of your heart seems more painful, more furious. The air seems to grow colder, denser, almost icy.

You want to scream, but your throat is too tight, the walls of your windpipe on fire, your vocal cords choked with pain that refuses to release. There is no room for the scream. There is just this terrifying silence, this emptiness. All around you, the pain is palpable, a constant pressure that crushes you relentlessly. And there, in the middle of this suffocating darkness, you see them.

They are there, motionless in the shadows, menacing silhouettes that seem to be outlined in the flickering light of an invisible fire. Their eyes shine in this darkness, fixed on you like merciless predators. Their presence is a weight, a heaviness that pushes you to crush yourself even more under this invisible burden. The stench of sulfur, of burnt metal, of rusted scrap metal floats in the air, invasive, suffocating. Each inhalation is a struggle, each breath a poison. The metallic taste of fear, of danger, invades your mouth, burning you inside. You want to back away, but your legs no longer carry you, as if your whole being was already on the verge of giving way under the pressure, under the terror. Their gaze, merciless, icy, penetrates you, pierces you. You feel them on your skin, each glance a burn. You know it is too late. That it is all over.

The voice rises then, cold, devoid of all humanity. It cuts the air like a cleaver. It pronounces your name, but it is not you that it calls. "Y/n, of House Astraviel, we are waiting for you." It is a whisper from the shadows, a malevolent breath that makes the air vibrate around you. This voice has nothing human. It is only a snake, a venom that slithers into your head, slipping, crawling, devouring. The cold that surrounds you becomes more intense. The air itself seems to shudder under the voice, as if the whole world were rebelling against you.

You want to answer, but you can't. The weight of fear petrifies you. Your throat is a prison, a trap that leaves you speechless. You don't even have the strength to open your eyes fully, to look any longer at this silhouette silhouetted against the shadows. You don't have the strength to do anything. Helplessness is all you feel. And that sentence, those words, echo in your head like a death knell, a promise of infinite pain. "We're waiting for you." They're there, and you're there, on the edge of the abyss, too weak, too broken to run away.

The silence in the courtyard is oppressive, almost palpable. It is heavy, thick, like a lead weight that weighs on your shoulders, on your lungs. Each breath is a struggle, each movement an ordeal. You have the impression that the air itself is too heavy, that each breath is flaying you from the inside. The silence becomes a prison, a space that oppresses you, presses you, squeezes you until you suffocate. Each sound seems foreign, distorted by the intensity of the moment. Even the chains that resonate, their metallic quivering, seem to come from another world, from another time. It is as if the noise were too small for this universal suffering that invades them. The chains are a distant echo, a threat that never ceases to grow, reverberating in your bones, in your mind, like a promise of infinite pain. And yet, here, the pain knows no limits. It is tangible, raw, an endless reality.

You turn your head slowly, and your eyes land on Sunghoon. What he has become hits you like a blow to the gut: he is nothing more than a shadow, a tragic relic of the majesty he once embodied. The chains that encircle him seem almost alive, deep black snakes that wrap around him, squeezing his skin with relentless cruelty. These chains do not just bind him, they sink into his flesh, fusing with it, like a curse that has become one with his body. With every tiny movement he attempts, the metal bites deeper, tearing his skin, leaving gaping wounds that will never heal. Open gashes, red and bloody, run across his arms, shoulders, torso—indelible marks of pain beyond imagining.

Blood trickles slowly from his wrists, dark and thick, drawing sinister lines down his arms before dripping to the ground. It falls silently, drop by drop, each burst of sound amplifying the horror of the scene. A crimson pool spreads at his feet, its depth seeming to reflect the depth of his pain. The chains, meanwhile, vibrate slightly, as if they feed off him, as if every ounce of his energy, every fragment of his mind, belongs to them. They glow faintly, a dark and cruel glow, amplifying the contrast between their perverse beauty and the torture they inflict.

You can’t help but notice his wings. Those wings, once bright and majestic, are now folded, broken, crushed against his back by the weight of the metal that imprisons them. The feathers, once so white they seemed to catch the light itself, are now blackened, crumpled, some torn, others hanging, as if they have given up all will to resist. They shudder slightly, but it is not a movement of life; it is a spasm of pain, an uncontrolled reaction to the suffering that consumes them.

Sunghoon stands still, almost frozen in a pose of silent defiance. But it’s just a facade, and you know it. His features, as rigid as they are, betray the agony that eats away at him. His lips, pressed together until they turn white, tremble slightly, and his gaze, though filling the space with a cold intensity, cannot mask the darkness swirling within. His eyes pierce you, not with arrogance or superiority as before, but with a mixture of distress and desperate dignity.

Beside him, Jay offers a brutal and equally heartbreaking contrast. Curled up on himself, his body seems to want to instinctively protect itself from the pain that assailed him. His arms are pulled back, fixed against a pillar of black stone by chains thinner than Sunghoon's, but infinitely crueler. Their surface is bristling with sharp points, each link biting into his flesh with surgical precision. With each flinch, each attempt to adjust his position, the chains tighten like living traps, digging in a little deeper, until they split the muscles and expose the flesh.

The skin on his wrists is a chaos of cuts and tears, blood leaking from them in endless streams. The wounds are fresh, open, and yet they already seem to be festering, as if the metal itself were impregnated with an insidious poison. The red liquid flows in a stream that, though slow, shows no sign of stopping. It stains the black stone, creating a scene where suffering takes on a physical, almost palpable form.

Jay moans, a hoarse sound, barely audible, but it cuts through the air like a blade. It’s a restrained cry, stifled by exhaustion and pain. His jaw is clenched, his teeth grinding with the effort of containing a scream he doesn’t want to let out. And yet, even in this state, he still fights. His eyes, heavy with pain, meet yours, and what you see there breaks you further. They are filled with unfathomable distress, but also with a spark, fragile but tenacious, of determination.

His body is on the verge of collapse. His muscles tremble under the pressure, and his breath is ragged and uneven, each breath seeming to tear a piece of his soul away. Yet, despite everything, he refuses to give in completely. He fights against the inevitable, against the pain, against this relentless force that seeks to break him. But you see the truth in his jerky movements, in the way his torso rises laboriously: he is already broken, just like Sunghoon, just like everyone else caught in this cruel trap.

The atmosphere around you is heavy, suffocating. The air itself seems saturated with despair and pain, every breath an almost insurmountable effort. You feel helpless, crushed by the scene before you, unable to look away despite the horror that overwhelms you. It is a sight you will never be able to forget, a vision that burns into your memory. And deep inside, a nagging question gnaws at you: How much longer before they give in, before they are completely consumed by this infinite pain? How much longer before you, too, are broken?

And then Jake catches your eye, and in that moment, the unbearable magnitude of his pain overwhelms you. He’s crouched, his back hunched, almost folded in on himself, in a position reminiscent of a wounded predator, cornered and deprived of any escape. His arms are drawn up around his torso, his fingers clenched to the point of whitening his knuckles, as if he’s trying to contain a pain too immense to be expressed. His muscles are tense to the limit, every fiber of his being seeming on the verge of giving way, like a rope ready to snap under the strain. He remains silent, but it’s a silence that screams, a silence that weighs, that oppresses.

His face is bathed in sweat, each drop tracing furrows along his cheeks hollowed by anguish. His half-closed eyelids barely hide the flickering light in his eyes. That look… It is marked by a pain so deep that it seems to have consumed everything he was. His pupils, dilated, stare into space as if he were trying to mentally escape this hell, but reality catches up with him with every breath, with every shudder of his bruised body.

The crystal chains around her glow with a deceptively soft, almost ethereal light, but their beauty masks an unrelenting cruelty. These chains are not mere physical bonds: they seem alive, vibrant, pulsing in time with her pain. Each burst of light that emanates from them penetrates her flesh and mind, inflicting pain both bodily and psychological. With every movement, however small, they tighten further, their glow intensifying as if feeding on her despair. The crystalline metal bites into her wrists and ankles, leaving clean, deep gashes, from which dark blood slowly flows, almost black in the flickering light.

His hands, so strong, tremble slightly. The skin on his fingers is torn, raw, and each drop of blood that falls on the floor resounds like a death knell, amplifying the suffocating atmosphere of the room. You feel that he is struggling, that he is still resisting despite everything, but this resistance is silent, almost invisible. Jake does not moan, does not scream. He has passed this stage, crossed a limit where pain has become an omnipresent companion, a weight that crushes his mind as much as his body. His jaw is clenched to the point of breaking, his teeth clenched to contain a cry that will never come.

And yet, this silence is not a sign of strength. It is a forced capitulation, a resignation to the inevitable. He no longer fights against the chains; he fights to maintain a semblance of dignity in a situation that has ripped everything from him. His shoulders sag little by little, as if the invisible weight of this torture were added to that of the chains. It is an unbearable spectacle, a suffering that goes beyond words, that hits you like a blow. You want to look away, but you can't. You are frozen, caught in the horror of this scene.

Finally, your eyes slide to Heeseung, and the impact is even more brutal. He stands there, straight as a statue frozen in a mixture of pain and resilience. But it is not a noble force that emanates from him. It is a forced immobility, imposed by the massive chains that encircle every part of his body. These chains, deep black, almost seem to absorb the light around him, creating an oppressive aura that crushes all hope. They wrap around his arms, his torso, his legs, like voracious snakes, penetrating his flesh in several places. Where the metal comes into contact with his skin, black burns appear, marks of pain forever etched on his body.

The symbols that were once the source of his power glow faintly on his skin, like embers that have nearly died out. They are the remains of a past glory, reduced to a dying glow, unable to push back the darkness that surrounds him. His face is a mask of suppressed pain. Every feature is tense, frozen, as if he is forbidding himself to let any weakness show. But you see the shadows in his eyes, the darkness that betrays the state of his soul. He is broken, drained, reduced to a shell of what he once was.

His breath is irregular, short, almost imperceptible. Each breath seems to cost him a monumental effort, as if the air itself were a blade tearing at his lungs. His lips, pressed into a thin line, are pale, devoid of all color. And yet, even in this state, he remains still, refusing to give in to the chaos that reigns within him. But this stillness comes at a price. His muscles, tense to the limit, tremble under the pressure, and you know he is on the verge of collapse.

Around you, the space closes in. The walls seem to come closer, the air becomes denser, more stifling, leaving you barely enough to breathe. Each second stretches into an unbearable eternity. Here, only pain speaks. It swallows everything, consumes everything. It takes you, breaks you, tears you apart. Fear, insidious, grows in turn. It throbs in each heartbeat, infiltrates each panting breath. It is a voracious fear, fueled by pain, a fear of the inevitable, of this endless suffering. And all you can do is wait. But waiting is already suffering. To wait is to abandon oneself to anguish. And the suffering, relentless, continues to grow.

You don't have time to comprehend what's happening. The next moment, the brutality of the head of the House of Ignis hits you. He grabs your hand in an unrelenting grip, his fingers like clamps digging into your skin with such violence that you feel almost every bone break under the pressure. A dull cry of pain escapes your throat, but it is muffled by the brutality of his grip. The heat of his hand burns your skin, but the pain goes beyond the physical, running through you like an electric shock. You try to free yourself, to struggle, but each movement amplifies the pain in your hand, your wrist, and your entire arm. The violence of the grip is such that you feel the tendons in your arm tense, ready to give way under the pressure.

You don't even have time to breathe. The air seems to be getting thinner, as if your body can no longer take in oxygen. He pulls you roughly, forcing you to move too fast, too brutally, and your feet slip on the rough ground. Your body twists under the effect of his pull. A dull pain runs through you as you hit the hard wall, the sharp angle of the wall cutting your rib. You want to scream, but the pain in your hand, in your ribs, in your head, paralyzes you. You are nothing but pain, a continuous, unbearable suffering, of such intensity that you feel like you are no longer anything but a part of the suffering itself.

“I am generous today. Tell me, who do you want me to kill first?” The voice of the head of the House of Ignis is serious, filled with a palpable threat. His words hit like hammer blows, echoing in your ears like a condemnation. Each syllable is a tear, an additional pain that you feel in your belly. The world around you becomes blurry, as if your senses are blurred, drowned in terror. You do not even have the strength to respond. Your entire being screams silently for it to stop, but nothing moves. You shake your head frantically, your gaze pleading, desperate to avoid this decision he awaits. But he does not care. He sees your fear as a weakness to exploit.

“Please… not this…” you whisper, your voice breaking in your throat. Each word a desperate plea, a begging that dies before it even reaches his ears. Tears pool in your eyes, but you can’t even let them fall. Fear grips your chest, making it hard to breathe properly. You bite your bottom lip so hard you can taste the metallic taste of blood, but it doesn’t stop the wave of terror that engulfs every fiber of your being. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest it feels like it’s going to explode. The pain in your hand, the pain in your body, the pain in your soul is unbearable.

He laughs, a cruel, guttural sound that seems to dig its way into your bones. “You don’t want to choose? Fine, I’ll choose for you.” His words are spoken like a sentence. He nods at Sunghoon, an almost innocuous gesture, but the gesture changes everything. It’s as if the ground is giving way beneath your feet, as if the air is tearing apart around you. He doesn’t just want to make you suffer, he wants to break you, push you to the limit, make you pay for your indecision. You see Sunghoon there, in front of you, the chains holding him gleaming with a metallic sheen in the harsh light. He’s captive, just like you. And he too is suffering, he too is in pain. But you know that it’s you he wants to make suffer. It’s you he wants to destroy.

The leader's subordinates approach. You hear the sound of chains dragging on the ground, the clatter of footsteps on the hard floor, and it chills you. Their presence seems to crush the air around you, and you feel every fiber of your body tense, ready to explode under the strain. Terror pierces you, burning, like a fire in your belly. An uncontrollable shiver runs through you, and you can't help but scream, to plead again.

“No… no! I’m sorry, I’ll choose!” you scream, your voice strangled, torn by fear. Tears roll down your cheeks, hot and heavy, but they don’t relieve anything. They only add to the pain of the moment, like a confirmation of your weakness, your helplessness. You’re shaking so much that your knees buckle, threatening to make you fall. But he pushes you even harder, a blow that makes you stagger. You feel weak, faint, like an animal caught in a trap from which it can’t escape. You lack air, the pain lacerates you, and you feel lost, caught in an endless spiral.

He shoves you violently in front of Sunghoon. The impact almost makes you lose your balance, but you collapse to your knees on the hard ground, the palms of your hands hitting the ground with a thud. The contact with the ground hurts, but it’s the pain in your soul that is the most unbearable. Sunghoon looks at you, his eyes filled with a consuming anger. He’s there, but he’s far away, out of your reach, just as you’re out of his reach. His wrists are bound with an inordinate force, the chains that hold them bloody, and you see the blood slowly trickle down, beading on his wrists, but he doesn’t give in. He grits his teeth, he fights against his chains with a determination that tears him apart.

Desperate, you scream again, your voice cracking, torn by terror. “I said I would choose! And I choose myself!” The words come out with new strength, a conviction born of pain, born of the fear that devours your insides. It’s a final act of resistance, a heartbreaking cry to take back some power over your own destiny. But deep down, you know it’s a lie. You’re not choosing anything. You’re simply surviving.

In a burst of frantic courage, you lean forward and bite into his hand with all the force of your terror. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, a harsh, acidic taste, and you feel the flesh of his hand give way under your teeth. He groans in pain, a sound that tears a shiver of morbid satisfaction from you. But no sooner does that shiver touch you than the pain returns, infinite. In a movement of pure rage, he slaps you. The shock is so violent that you lose your balance and fall to the ground. The pain explodes in your head, a blast of heat and dizziness. Your head hits the ground hard, and the impact is so brutal that you see stars. Your vision blurs, a throbbing pain erupts in the back of your skull, a pain that makes you scream internally, but your mouth is too dry to let out a sound.

Blood begins to trickle from your temple, warm and thick, slowly sliding down your cheek. You feel the warmth of your own blood, but there’s nothing comforting about it. It’s just a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still hurting.

Sunghoon is a broken man, but he has no intention of surrendering. His chains, thick and blackish metal, bite into his skin, his flesh tearing under the pressure of the bonds. He pulls with all his might, his entire body tense in a desperate struggle. The metal straps tear at his skin, leaving deep trails of blood that trickle down his muscular arms. The iron bites into the flesh, each movement rekindling a throbbing pain that he ignores, focusing only on one goal: to save you. The pain seems to crush him, but he pushes it back deep inside his being, each internal cry drowning under the rage that boils inside him. He is helpless, a caged beast. His mind drowns in frustration, his gaze fixed on you, on your body that is at the mercy of this man.

The leader, on the other hand, seems to be savoring every moment of this scene, as if his cruelty were an art he’s mastered to perfection. He lets out a cold laugh that tears through the air, a laugh that, with each echo, makes your soul ache a little more. “Fucking little bitch,” he sneers, a sly grin forming on his lips, as if he’s made a decision and nothing is going to make him change his mind. “I understand better why they all care about you so much.” He approaches you, his gait slow and calculated, savoring every moment of control he exerts over this situation.

Each step echoes heavily in the room, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, reminding you of how trapped you are here. His bloody hand rubs against his pants, glistening with macabre violence before sliding into your hair. He grabs them roughly, forcing your head up, your roots tugging violently, tearing at your scalp. The pain is immediate, sharp, a clean tear through your nerves. But that physical pain is nothing compared to what pierces you with every movement he makes.

The chief's fingers wrap around your locks with such force that you feel like he's going to rip them out. He slowly tilts your head back, forcing you to look him in the eye. Each strand that comes loose from your scalp burns, a sharp pain that makes every muscle in your body tense. You want to scream, but a painful knot tightens your throat, preventing you from making a sound.

The ground beneath you is hard, cold as stone, an icy abyss that devours you with every passing second. It's not just the cold of the ground, but a cold inside, as if the earth itself is rejecting your existence, as if everything is ganging up on you. Shame mixes with pain, engulfing you in a whirlwind of suffering. Every fiber of your being screams at you to get up, to run, but your legs are paralyzed with terror, your body rooted here, trapped in this situation. Suffering is a surging wave, it overwhelms you, crushing you under its weight, but there is this visceral fear of collapsing, of breaking you even more.

You bite your bottom lip until the taste of blood fills your mouth, trying desperately to hold back your cries, to not give in to the pain. You know that if you let out a single cry, it will be even worse, you will give this man exactly what he wants.

“Look at her, your little female dog,” he continues, his voice a cruel hiss, like a snake toying with its prey. “She wants to sacrifice herself for the four of you.” He lets out a short laugh, then leans closer to you, like a predator feasting on its prey. “I guess it will do a lot more harm than killing you now.”

Each word is a stab in your soul, an invisible wound that leaves an indelible mark, a sweet poison that slowly spreads through your veins. It is more than a threat, it is a judgment, a cruel verdict. He speaks of your sacrifice as a mere diversion, a method to inflict more pain, more suffering. All you see in his eyes is a pure desire for destruction, to control your pain, to make it last.

Sunghoon looks at you, his eyes filled with fury, his jaw clenched like pincers. But more than anger, it is an unbearable pain that pierces his gaze. You see his consuming rage, but you also see the agony, the distress of knowing he is stuck there, without being able to intervene. Each jolt against his chains is an additional tear, each movement, an act of desperation. His wrists bleed because of the chains, but he ignores all of that. 

“I will find you, and I will kill you,” Sunghoon growls, his voice cracked with hatred and the promise of merciless vengeance. The sound of his voice is that of a man willing to do anything to get back what he holds dear. He grits his teeth so hard he could break his jaw, but it is his pain that you feel through him. He screams in frustration, each word escaping his lips like a contained explosion. He pulls and pulls at the chains, the metal squeaking with the effort, his wrists split open in large wounds that bleed onto the floor. But for all his strength, for all his rage that could reduce this place to ashes, he remains trapped in these chains.

The leader shrugs, a mocking pout on his lips. “The dead don’t think about revenge,” he says, his tone detached, almost boring. His words resonate, cold, cruel. He leans even closer to you, his hot breath brushing your skin, his lips sliding over your temple, licking the blood that beads. The contact is icy, like a poisonous caress. Nausea rises in you, and the urge to push this monster away burns within you, but your body no longer responds. He raises his head, a burst of psychotic laughter in his eyes. He straightens, scanning the others behind him, as if waiting for their approval.

“Don’t touch her, you bastard!” Jake yells, his voice vibrating with pure rage, broken by helplessness. He pulls violently at his crystal chains, but they don’t give. The metal resonates in the room with a shrill sound, a metallic cry of pain that mixes with human suffering. The chains bite into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to care. The muscles in his body tremble under the force he exerts. Every fiber of his being is tense to the limit, like a spring ready to burst. The walls shake under the impact, threatening to crack, as if all the space around you will collapse under the pressure of his rage. But despite all this violence, he can do nothing. He is helpless, and the pain of his own helplessness touches you as deeply as his own rage.

“Look at yourselves. The four of you are so miserable because of your affection for her. It’s one of the reasons why crime of the heart is forbidden.” The leader speaks slowly, each word slipping from his lips coldly, calculated and relentless. He clenches his fists, every muscle in his arm tensing under the pressure, then abruptly unclenches them, fingers trembling with an energy he can barely control. His lips are pressed into a straight line, an expression of absolute coldness marked by the hardness of his convictions. He continues, without an ounce of compassion, “That is why I will cleanse your souls and bodies of this abominable sin, so that you may once again become the perfect beings you once were.”

His words hit like a whip, the steel of his voice ringing through the air, tearing through the silence with icy authority. The weight of his words seems to suspend the air around him, saturated with menace, with a palpable presence. The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive, almost suffocating.

“Don’t make fun of us!” Jay bursts out, his voice cracked with rage but vibrant with defiance. Anger explodes in his throat, bubbling like lava ready to pour out its violence. “The love I have for Y/n is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt! Before her, everything was pain and despair… But thanks to her, I was able to hold on, to cling to this miserable existence! So don’t you dare say it’s a crime!”

Jay's words tremble, fury mixed with a deep, heartbreaking vulnerability. He searches your gaze, a silent plea perhaps, as if he were searching for meaning, for truth, in your eyes. He drowns in your gaze. His eyes fill with tears, a raw, devastating, uncontrollable emotion. His pain hits hard, a nameless pain, but you also see the fragility that comes from it. His heart bleeds, and you feel that pain invade you too, devouring you from the inside. Your eyes fill in turn, but they are not tears of fear. No. They are tears of love and sadness, a devouring, heavy sadness that crushes you. Your heart clenches, crushed by the intensity of the moment. You offer him a weak smile, a desperate attempt to comfort the one who looks at you as if he would collapse under the weight of everything he carries.

But the leader doesn't react. He sneers, a dry, contemptuous, almost reptilian sound, before advancing slowly, his steps echoing in the room like a sentence. He drops his words with an implacable harshness, like stones he throws into a bottomless pit. "Everything you just said is an illusion, Jay. A perfect facade, but only a facade. It's not love. Love is a painful betrayal. It's a twisted emotion that breaks and destroys. What you feel, what you call love, is only a mirage, a decoy that your senses have created to lie to you."

He turns to you then, his gaze sliding over your body, slumped on the cold ground, broken and scarred by pain. Your body feels like an empty shell, skin bruised, and you know that everything is going to get worse, that the pain is going to intensify. He approaches slowly, a cruel smile stretching his lips, almost sadistic. He holds out his hand, a black and purple flame dancing in his palm, crackling with an unhealthy energy. The air around him seems to warm, as if reality itself is bending under the pressure of this power. The stifling heat begins to make itself felt, as your breath catches in your throat.

“Don’t do this…” you whisper weakly, terror strangling your voice. But his eyes shine with a senseless cruelty, devoid of pity, and he brings his hand to your thigh, a slow, inevitable gesture.

The contact is immediate and devastating. As soon as his hand brushes your skin, a searing pain washes over you, as if your entire body is being torn apart by an invisible force. A wild fire devours your muscles, your nerves, your flesh, each filament of the black flame etching a web of pain across your skin. You throw yourself back, trying to escape, but it is too late. The pain spreads like poison, invading every fiber of your being.

A primal scream tears through the air, a scream that is born in the depths of your soul, a scream of pure pain. The flames bite into your skin, burning it, eating away at it like hot iron, sinking into every pore of your body. You feel yourself losing your footing, sinking into an endless abyss of pain, of unconsciousness. Your muscles contract under the heat, unable to fight. Every movement, every breath worsens the burn, every breath becomes a torture, an endless agony.

The smell of burning flesh, of pain incarnate, rises in the air. It is suffocating, stifling, almost implacable. It is your smell, your body slowly burning, and there is nothing you can do about it. The contours of your being become blurred, unreal, engulfed in heat and pain. Your nerves, broken, no longer respond. You are nothing more than a soul in the grip of suffering, lost in an endless whirlwind.

The flame, sweet and cruel, seems to feed on your pain, amplifying it even more. It spreads, infiltrating every corner of your body, slowly engulfing you in an implacable fire. The skin on your thigh shrinks, blackens, deforms under the heat, transformed into an unrecognizable mass. But the pain does not weaken. It continues, inextinguishable, devouring. You want to scream, to howl at the injustice, but your voice is lost in the whirlwind of suffering.

If only you could die… If only this pain could stop. But there is no escape. It gives you no respite. The leader, smiling, observes your suffering with an unhealthy pleasure in his eyes. The flame grows even bigger, spreads, invading every part of your body, every area of ​​your being. The pain becomes so sharp, so deep, that it erases everything around you, until you are nothing more than pain, infinite suffering. Everything mixes together, everything collapses.

You finally collapse, your body inert, unable to react. The world dissolves into a sea of ​​suffering. The heat, the smell of burning flesh, the pain all around you, everything merges. The silence weighs heavily, heavy as a coffin. Only your short, panting, piercing breaths break the silence. A flickering flame that fights against the inevitable.

“No! No… no!” Heeseung’s scream breaks through the air, a hoarse, piercing howl that vibrates with pure terror, echoing in your ears, amplified by the roar of the fire. His eyes, filled with tears, are fixed on the leader of the House of Ignis, his pain and helplessness piercing the atmosphere. The flames, like raging snakes, twist and writhe in the leader’s palms, screaming and crackling as they unfold with blinding speed. There is no respite. No escape.

The leader leans in slowly, each movement calculated and methodically precise. His hand brushes the already black and charred skin of your thigh, and a shiver of disgust runs through you, intensified by the unbearable sensation that follows. The skin, hard and cracked, seems ready to shatter into fragments under a simple pressure, while the pain tears your body from the inside. When he removes his hand, it is glacially slow, but instead of relief, a new wave of pain invades you. The skin, left behind, is devoured by the fire, the inside of your flesh continues to burn, the muscles contracting under the relentless effect of the heat. The pain is so sharp that it takes your breath away, transforming into a suffocating sensation, an unbearable heat that devours you from the inside, engulfing every part of your being. His cold hands come to rest on your skull. The temperature difference sends chills down your spine before the heat slowly seeps in, invading every fiber of your body.

A crackling noise is heard, too calm in the face of the horror that unfolds. You feel your hair heating up, turning to ashes under the flames. The skull, so solid, gradually gives way under this extreme pressure. The scalp tenses, retracts like a drum skin, before slowly burning. The fire penetrates from the inside, attacking each root, each follicle. The first hairs burn instantly, falling in a shower of black ashes. But that is nothing compared to what follows. The soft skin of your skull turns into a mass of charred flesh, stuck to the bone. You can no longer move. You want to scream, but your voice is swallowed by the pain, a suffocation that paralyzes you. It is as if your skin, your flesh, and your soul were swallowed by hell.

Your skull is on fire. Your brain seems to be boiling. It's as if flaming needles are being driven into every cell, every nerve fiber. Every thought becomes an unbearable burn. You feel your mind melting, diluting in this heat, slowly escaping in an endless whirlwind. The pain is total, unstoppable. Every millimeter of your head is slowly decomposing. But you can't do anything about it. The fire is too powerful, too relentless. There is no respite.

The heat spreads, spreading through your neck, your shoulders, your back. The flames slip into the cracks opened by their passage, penetrating deep, reaching your bones. Your muscles tense under the burn, forcing you to withdraw into yourself. But your body, already burned, no longer responds. Each movement becomes an act of pure suffering. The heat is so intense that the air itself becomes torture. You feel like you are suffocating, the ashes and the heat burn your throat. Your lungs, too, seem to be on fire. Each breath is a titanic effort.

The flames spread, growing, spreading like poison throughout your body. Your muscles contract under the burn, your heart beats violently in your chest, as if to remind you that you are not yet dead, that the end has not yet arrived. But deep down, you know that it is only a mirage. One last spasm before the inevitable.

The flames engulf everything, your arms, your stomach, your torso. The pain becomes denser and denser, more inhuman. The skin tears, the flesh melts and turns into a black and bloody mush. The bones, too, begin to give way under the extreme heat. Every movement, however small, tears a silent scream from you. The space around you shrinks, saturated by the sound of the flames, the incessant crackling of the fire, as if the whole world were nothing but pain and heat.

You are no longer aware of your body, nor of your mind. The pain has taken over, devouring every thought, every memory. There is nothing left. Just a silent scream, a silhouette, a specter of what you were. The flames continue to destroy you, consuming you from the inside. All you feel is this emptiness that settles in, an absence that grows greater and greater, as the end approaches. Relentless. Inexorable.

Eventually the heat dies down. The flames recede, but the pain remains. They leave only the echo of a lingering pain. Even after they are gone, you remain there, in a heavy silence. An emptiness infinitely heavier than the pain itself. There is no more physical pain, but there is also no more you. No more body. No more existence. Just ashes, a vestige of what you were, an imprint of life erased in the suffering of a moment.

After your death, silence had fallen like a leaden blanket, stifling anything that might have resembled a cry. They remained there, frozen, their empty gazes fixed on your ashes that swirled in the air. These ashes, light, almost unreal, mixed with the wind, slowly dissipating as if your existence itself had been only an ephemeral breath. None of them could breathe normally. The weight of the irrevocable crushed them, their chests barely rose under the desperate effort to find air, but each breath seemed insufficient, painful, as if the whole world had closed around them.

Anger mixed with pain, an unbearable mixture that they could only express through their faces distorted by horror. No screams passed their lips; it was a deafening silence, even more terrifying than the roar of the flames that had taken over their entire being. They tried to understand, but nothing made sense. The void left by your absence lacerated them, an invisible blade that cut relentlessly, digging again and again into their hearts until there was nothing left but a gaping chasm.

With each passing second, the atmosphere grew heavier. The pain didn't just burn, it consumed them, it invaded them, even in the deepest recesses of their being. It wasn't just the physical flames that licked their skin and charred their flesh, but an inner, relentless fire that reduced their will to ashes. Their bodies screamed in agony, but their souls were already collapsing under the weight of despair.

Before them, the head of House Ignis watched with icy satisfaction. He stood tall, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flickering light of the flames, a victorious smile stretching his lips. To him, every stifled cry, every breath torn away by pain, was proof of justice. He regarded their end as a triumph, convinced that he was restoring a form of purity to the world by purifying the souls corrupted by their sins.

But his victory was not absolute. He knew that this was only a step, that a cycle had yet to repeat itself. These souls, deemed too impure to be freed, would return. They would be reborn, inevitably, drawn from the ashes of their bodies like cursed phoenixes. But this rebirth was not a gift, nor an immediate redemption. It was a curse, a torture intended to shatter every fragment of humanity still clinging to their essence.

The real punishment was not their death in those flames, but what would come afterward. They would be brought back to life, stripped of all memory, condemned to relive a carefully orchestrated tragedy over and over again. And this time, their ultimate test would be love, the insidious corruption that had led to their downfall. Each time, they would fall hopelessly in love, drawn inexorably to you, who would mean everything to them. And each time, they would be forced, by circumstances they could never control, to take your life into their own hands.

They wouldn't understand why their souls would bleed every moment. They wouldn't remember the previous cycles, but the pain would remain embedded in them, an invisible scar etched into their essence. They would fight against their own instincts, against their own hearts, until there was nothing left but total submission to the order imposed by the Houses.

The leader knew that this suffering was necessary. In his eyes, there was no redemption without pain, no purity without the total destruction of the individual. These souls had to be broken; every fragment of love, every trace of attachment or desire had to be reduced to rubble. Only after they had passed through the flames of their own torment could they become the perfect, devoted beings they were meant to be: unfailing servants, free from all human weakness.

And as he watched their bodies crumble beneath the onslaught of flames, he saw not deaths, but imminent rebirths. To him, it was a cycle, a promise that sinners would find the way, even if it were paved with their own suffering.

©️devotedlypinkpeanut, do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Thanks for taking the time to read! 

Taglist : @strxwbloody @wilonevys

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 11

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

A bitter taste in your mouth and the pulsing in your head were cruel reminders of the hangover. You sat on the bed, holding your slightly warm forehead as the room spun gently, flashing disjointed glimpses of the previous night in your mind. All you could recall was asking to stay home alone after having a few drinks with your friends.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes landed on the grotesque mess of your room—of your house in general. An absurd urge rose to deal with the unpacked boxes still holding your belongings and the suitcases stuffed with clothes.

There was no point in keeping those bags packed as if everything could return to how it was with the snap of a finger. You needed to accept that this was your new life, and there was no use fighting it.

After stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and a toothbrush clinging to the side of your lips, you searched for clothes amid the piles on the floor. Tossing skirts, dresses, pants, and socks into the air, you paused when your fingers brushed against a T-shirt at the bottom of a box. Closing your eyes, you caught its scent—it hadn’t changed. Slipping it on felt like being wrapped in his arms again, if only for a moment.

A few items later, you found a locked wooden box. Glancing around, you spotted pliers among your nail accessories and pressed the tip against the padlock until it popped open. Inside were hundreds of printed photographs—every single one of just the two of you.

It had been so long since you smiled like that. If you didn’t know every detail of his face by heart, you might have thought those weren’t even the two of you in the pictures.

Old napkins with autographs scrawled on them—every one you’d signed for him after bar performances. He’d kept them all. Your fingers traced the messy handwriting you used to have, and a silly smile graced your face.

“So this is what you’ve been wanting back,” you muttered to yourself before putting everything back in the box. “Should’ve burned this crap when I had the chance.”

You had thought that burying the box deep beneath your clothes would also bury the memories that came with it. Ever since he turned his back on you without even hearing what you had to say the night before, you’d tried to think about anything but him.

"Alright, Noah. You did the right thing not listening to me," you grumbled, heading to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, rinse your mouth, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. “I do everything better on my own anyway.”

Gerard was still a weight in your life, a burden you wanted to cut loose as quickly as possible. But to do that, you needed to act, no matter the cost. Bad Omens had no shadow of new material for the album, which meant more time with him hovering over everyone.

That had to change.

Barefoot, feeling the cold floor beneath you, you walked down the hallway, fingers sliding along the banister, which echoed with that odd, creaky sound. You began pacing back and forth, pen in hand. A kind of anxious energy grew inside your chest, but ideas slipped away like sand through your fingers.

There was nothing. No melody, no line worth keeping. As if nothing inspired you anymore—unless you were high.

The thought was a spark. You knew what you needed to do.

The instant the first line disappeared beneath the swipe of a card, the world transformed. First came the heat, spreading through your body like a controlled wildfire. Then, space seemed to stretch, as though the walls were made of rubber, and your perception opened up like an infinite fan. The world was no longer the same.

Now you could see sounds.

The first sound came from the simple scratch of fingers against a metal surface, a tiny rhythm that echoed and vibrated in your head like thunder. That was all you needed. You sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling paper toward you. A melody began to take shape, hesitant at first, but soon you were sketching each note with precision.

With each new line of powder, the music gained another dimension. The beat in your head morphed into something visceral, something real. I watched you turn into it... The phrase seemed to emerge from somewhere deep inside, and you scrawled it with such force you nearly tore the paper.

Another line. Another phrase.

Every moment you returned from the haze, something new took form:

"This life was all it had to be Designed but not for you and me..."

The lyrics spilled out like a confession, something you might not even have known was there until that moment. Every chord you strummed on the guitar in your living room, every word you breathed out with your cigarette smoke, felt more intimate, more deranged. The riff grew intense, and you let yourself dance alone, fingers gliding over the strings.

The rhythm of the pen against the paper merged with the pounding of your heart and the sway of your hair as the melody gained its identity. It felt as though you were carving out a piece of yourself, tearing it from raw flesh to transform pain into music. The ending came like an explosion.

"The empty husk of a flawed design There is nothing else left inside Within the silence of this illusion Is there anything more than human?"

Slowly, you let go of the pen, leaning your head back, breathless, as sweat dripped down the back of your neck. At that moment, the front doorbell rang. You had a song. This time, a real song, not the trash you had presented at the label. You definitely had a song.

"Anything human..." Jolly seemed to toy with the words that named the song for a moment. You got excited as you gave a quick demonstration, and he looked thrilled with the idea from the start.

“What do you think?” you asked, nodding toward him as you removed the guitar from your lap. “There are some elements that could be interesting to add to the final result, like a slightly more electronic base. You know?”

“It’s a damn great song!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, raising his eyebrows, and your shoulders finally relaxed. “But I’m a little concerned about your creative process…” His eyes swept across the mess in the room before landing back on you. “Okay, we’re way behind on delivering the album, and we don’t have much…”

“We don’t have anything,” you interjected to correct him. “We have nothing yet, and Noah doesn’t seem too worried about it since all he ever does is criticize what I make.”

“But the problem is, every time you get hyped during a creative process, it messes with your head. And I’m no idiot, girl—I know your little tricks to keep yourself inspired. If having a quick album is going to cost me a band member, I’d rather stay at square one!” he warned, pointing his finger at you.

“I can handle it myself, okay? Now let’s get back to the music and the band!”

“It really is a good song.”

“I need you to tell Noah that it was your idea and that you wrote it alone.”

You barely finished the request before Jolly adjusted his posture on the sofa, looking confused.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you know that when he’s sulking about something, he manages to turn it into nothing more than a pile of garbage in his eyes. That’s what he’s been doing with me,” you explained, trying to suppress a smile. “If you say I wrote this song, he’ll definitely discard it, and we’ll be back at square one. And I doubt that, like me, you don’t have your own reasons for wanting this album to be finished already.”

He considered your words for a moment. Reluctant as he was, he had to admit you were right, knowing his friend as well as he did.

“Of course, I’m not going to let him discard a song like this, but even if I go along with your suggestion, I still think it’s a ridiculous idea,” Jolly said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the sheet of paper again to analyze your work. “Did your idea of talking to him not work?”

“He’d rather face the devil in his true form than see me in front of him, Jolly.” Propping yourself up on your hands, you stared at him with a pout. “Noah decided that I don’t exist, not even within the band’s boundaries. It’s like I’m really not there, and that’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asked, tearing his attention from the sheet again.

“I feel like the best thing he can do for himself is stay away from me. We can deal with it, right? But if he thinks I’m going to leave my band because of him and our personal issues just because he’s decided he can keep interfering in my life, he’s dead wrong.”

“You’re so stubborn I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you two were made for each other.”

“You’re wrong. Terribly wrong, Mr. Joakim!”

He clearly didn’t believe your words, judging by the ironic huff and eye roll he gave before returning his attention to the song’s lyrics on the paper.

The studio was enveloped in a comfortable dimness, with faint lights reflecting off the perfectly aligned instruments. The silence preceding rehearsal was almost ceremonial. Noah stood before the microphone, adjusting his headphones while the others exchanged glances, aligning themselves to start.

“Alright, let’s go.” His voice cut through the air with firmness, but there was something in the way he held the stand, in his eyes avoiding direct contact.

The first beat was like a held breath, the bass pulsing gently before the smooth guitar chords emerged, as if asking permission to exist. Noah tilted his head, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the music flow within him before he began to sing.

His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion, every word cutting through the silence like a blade. He held the notes with precision, but there was a controlled desperation, a longing that was impossible to ignore. The others instinctively adjusted, following his lead. The drums entered like a racing heartbeat, while the guitar intensified, driving the music to something more visceral, rawer.

“That was fucking good!” he said with what seemed like the shadow of a smile at the end of the song, giving Jolly a quick handshake. “You nailed it, but I didn’t know you had something in mind; we could’ve worked on it together.”

Jolly’s gaze darted between Noah and you, and after taking a deep breath, he simply shrugged. “I was just as surprised at how quickly this song landed in my lap.”

“With a few adjustments, we’ve hit the tone for the new album. It feels like it’s finally easier to know where we’re heading,” Noah declared, still with his back to you. You rolled your eyes at the sheer amount of obviousness he spouted. From this angle, it was amusing how flustered he got when he wasn’t the first to figure something out.

“I have another idea!” You raised your hand, waving it enthusiastically, the excitement coursing through you undeniable. You shifted your weight back and forth, catching everyone’s attention except his. “Each track’s intro could contain a coded message, like clues to the central story. Since you love being a trailblazer, I thought of using your voice, Noah. What do you think?”

From this distance, you could see his hand clenching the microphone tighter than necessary. He recognized that euphoric tone and the insatiable urge to provoke him—he knew you were high.

“I think it’s a good idea!” Ruffilo chimed in.

“Me too. Actually, I already have an idea for how it could start,” Jolly added, pulling the same thoughtful face he always did when brainstorming.

“I’ve never heard a dumber idea in my entire life,” Noah said softly, placing the mic stand back in its spot, still refusing to look at you. “Don’t tell me you want to burden us with this melancholic nonsense like the last thing you produced?”

“I asked for your opinion on the idea, not your permission,” you retorted sarcastically.

Noah grunted as if hearing you was physically painful.

“You’re right—some projects shouldn’t see the light of day, like that song of yours. But I don’t get why you’re so offended when creating useless things has always been your specialty.” You shrugged, sitting atop the sound output box. “Just look at your desk drawer—how many songs has Bad Omens released, and how many were actually written by me, Jolly, or you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about!” he snapped. “You talk like you’ve done everything by yourself all these years!”

“Guys, I think that’s enough for today, right?” Folio chuckled awkwardly, jumping off the drum set as he noticed Noah tense up.

“The math doesn’t add up, Noah!” you mocked. “So, every time you refer to something I wrote, just open your drawer and count how many of your songs actually made it out of there.”

Silencing him in his moments of arrogance was one of your greatest talents, and nothing satisfied you more than that. “Honestly, Jolly’s voice would work much better for this intro idea. Who’s in favor?”

Your neck stretched as a triumphant smile spread across your face when everyone, except Noah, raised their hands immediately. He glanced at each of them, as if silently promising vengeance, and the sweetness of defeating him was palpable.

“Then it’s settled, folks!” you cheered, clapping your hands with a satisfied grin.

Gradually, your smile faded as he slowly turned around, his expression dark, especially around his eyes. His breathing came in measured scales, as if it was difficult for him, and as his eyes locked with yours, you stood up. You were ready to stand your ground if necessary, but there was no way he’d win this time.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

All the guys said simultaneously. “Man, I’m starving. Catch you later.”

They disappeared in the snap of a finger, leaving her alone with the very reincarnation of the devil in the form of a man. Noah approached with slow steps, and the wind deliberately brought his scent. Even at this reasonable distance, he seemed to emanate enough electricity to make the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Well, look who broke the little silence game.

“You’re pathetic.”

“That line is mine, hey!” you pointed out.

Another step, and Noah was too close, leaning his body down so they were at the same height. He braced one hand against the wall. You tried to step back, but the speaker right behind you limited your movement, forcing you to step to the side—nothing that stopped him from following you like a bloodhound. If he cultivated a good sense of hearing, he could probably hear how your heart was pounding against your chest from the proximity of your faces.

“Every time I’m talking to you, I want you to look at me,” he ordered, lifting my chin so that my gaze left his sculpted lips and locked onto his blazing eyes. “Congratulations.”

He said in a whisper that churned your stomach.

“I understand that liars have difficulty speaking while looking into someone’s eyes, but in time you’ll learn. Just like you’ve been learning to lie better and better.”

“Do you want me to thank you for the compliment?” you retorted in a biting tone as low as his and almost managed to crack the smirk on his rigid posture if he hadn’t corrected himself in time.

“They might all fall for this ridiculous talk of yours, but I know the song is yours.”

“So you admit you were praising a work done by me?” you asked, reducing the distance between you two. Your tongue moistened your lip as you heard him gasp from the short space between your bodies, and you couldn’t help but feel your skin tingle at the sensation of his eyes analyzing your face. “Still my number one fan, Noah Sebastian?”

He looked feverish, battling between gritting his teeth at your insolence and resisting being so close. Noah took another step forward, planting a single hand on your jaw, and your back collided with the wall, your hair scattering across it.

“Stop,” he growled without much confidence.

His closed eyes brushed the tip of his nose against yours as the compression of your bodies became stronger. You gasped as his leg pressed between yours and the pressure he applied to your jaw while dragging his face along yours was about to make your body explode.

Struggling against his hand and the alternating temperature of your body, you tilted your chin so that your lips came closer together. You could taste the flavor of his lips on yours, always soft and perfectly fitting as if they were made for this. Gently, the moment allowed you to brush against each other slowly, feeling the texture of his sculpted skin that seemed to remain the same after all this time.

But something pulled him out of the trance suddenly, and Noah grabbed your jaw again as he pulled you closer to deliver a message into your ear.

“Don’t seek me out with an intention like this again unless you’re capable of remembering what happened the next day,” he said in a rigid tone as he released you.

Your body cooled so quickly that you guessed you were a little stunned.

“And that shirt is mine. What happened to the story that you’d gotten rid of everything that belonged to me?”

You were furious. After the ecstasy, the excitement, and all the strange things that messed with you whenever you wore this crap, fury was the stage that seemed to linger the longest when it took over your body. Arms crossed, you watched him walk away as if nothing had happened. In fact, he was satisfied with having tied the score.

He had managed to humiliate you.

“Want it back?” you asked and saw him glance over his shoulder.

“Of course I do.”

Nodding and biting your lips, you uncrossed your arms, and without breaking eye contact in his direction, you grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it off completely. Luckily, you were wearing a matching lingerie set, and your sweet smile only deepened as you crumpled the piece and threw it against his wide-eyed face.

“Wait!” he called out, trying to follow as you strutted out of the studio. “Where do you think you’re going like that?”

“Home!” you replied as if it were obvious, shrugging as you stepped through the door.

Outside, the guys were eating, and their jaws dropped, along with slices of pizza from their mouths, as they saw you walking around in nothing but your underwear and boots.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” Noah roared, trying to keep up. “Get back inside and put some clothes on, now!”

“Or?” you challenged him, the wind sweeping the strands of hair from your face as you walked backward and flipped him off when he didn’t move. “Like I said: You’re pathetic.”

“What are you laughing at?”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

i kind of hated the end of arcane. hear me out.

i don't wanna rain on anyone's parade but we can all agree season 2's pacing was super breakneck. not a lot got explained or was given the proper time to develop or be addressed (at least in front of us, the audience, that is - but even then, some things could've been hinted at better) and this goes for both lore, motivations and interpersonal character relationships. (and i can give many examples such as the black rose, maddie's true motivations, caitlyn and vi's fight, jinx rallying up the undercity, viktor and ambessa's plans diverging, etc. but instead, i'll tell you what i think went wrong with what we got to see in the last three eps)

seeing where ep 7 left us made me think "okay ep 8 will start from the same exact spot and we'll see from there" and ofc my expectations were defied but that's not my main problem. i needed to know what happened to ekko, jayce and heimerdinger but even more than that, i wanted to see jinx grieve isha in her own way (by herself and not through being asked or guilt tripped to help someone else's agenda bcuz she clearly had little intrinsic motivation to unite the undercity over a common goal after silco's death) and internalize what she'd meant to isha - and that becoming jinx's catalyst to rally up the undercity. i wanted her to understand why this orphan from the undercity's mines sacrificed herself to save jinx - the symbol of a cause greater than her. i needed her to see what unifying zaun and making tangible institutional change to the undercity would mean in a way sevika never would've been able to show her. it would mean no more powders, no more ishas. not one more. breaking the cycle of violence, poverty, oppression, somewhat like what silco said in ep 9 (which she interpreted as 'you're the problem, so kys' and she attempted to until somehow ekko convinced her to help. how, why and did she even unite the undercity at all or just make her big hot air balloon late-to-the-party entrance with the firelights to a stray kids banger while sevika did all the work down in zaun?).

anyway, ep 8 threw us in for a loop in an alternative universe (and i loved it, don't get me wrong, but considering there were only 2 normal length eps left, it scared me just as much). instrumentally to the plot, we got to see ekko's main ability develop, and we saw jayce's reasons for shooting viktor. the main conflict of the show, the piltover/zaun one, if those 1,5 seasons so far were anything to go by, just got set aside for the time being. over halfway through the season, we've got a new big bad - the possibility of everyone getting possessed by the viktor/hexcore and becoming part of The Glorious Evolution™. it felt like a movie about racism and police brutality added aliens in the last 5 minutes to force oppressed and oppressors to (not all that successfully) work together, massive losses were suffered by everyone, and then the overarching motif wasn't about love or humanity or rebuilding (things that have come up repeatedly in other episodes, including the one ep literally called 'the messege hidden within the pattern'), it was "bad things happen sometimes, but good things happen sometimes too. it is what it is. i guess." like. duh?? as a viewer, this was quite the disappointing ending takeaway from such a masterpiece of a show but more on that in a second.

narratively, we saw a butterfly effect situation in ep 8 that answered the question of 'what could've been?' but even that answer confused me. the undercity was already oppressed and in socioeconomical peril before jayce's hextech - vi's death during that last job (which makes me believe zaun was the same in both universes because why else would they be poor enough to steal from piltover?) prevented it from being invented and thus stopping other things in piltover from happening but how did it lead to progress in the undercity? what happened and what was the key to it all along? why did shimmer not get invented, how did zaun and piltover seemingly unite, why were zaunites all of a sudden seemingly so much materially and culturally richer and better educated in just a few years? (that aside, i love ekko's determination to get back and save his universe's zaun. i loved the alternative jinx and i loved how everyone was wearing vests 10/10)

then, ep 9 felt like a bunch of confusing things happening one after the other to the point it almost overwhelmed me and i was left thinking i didn't understand a single thing from it (except maybe that one scene - that, i understood spiritually). and the first maybe 90% of ep 10 felt like i was just repeatedly getting hit, and again - no time to breathe, no consolation, no resolve, just receiving bad news after bad news, like getting beaten to the ground with stones.

and at the very end, after some of the ends get tied, caitlyn has her speech, which to me, sounds more depressing and hollow than anything else. she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either (and i'll make a separate post examining why it felt that way to me and a separate one abt how i interpreted her conversation w/ vi at the very end). i was left a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and very, very sad.

did anyone else feel that way too? what did i miss, did i misinterpret or misunderstand something? please i'm going insane i had two different friends tell me they had no idea what i was talking about and that the ending was everything they wanted and more

[urfavlarry]

Cinematics

A/N. this is set in the modern era, so basically the marauders but it’s in 2024, no voldemort, everyone is just happy and alive !! plus this isnso bad istg💀🙏 im so sorry

summary. looking back on soft launching your relationship with Severus during your youthful years at hogwarts and comparing it to present time

requested. yes || no

not.yn

liked by s.snape, jamie.potter, b.rregulus and 17 others

not.yn Hey lover<3

ׂ╰➤ jamie.potter, b.rregulus and 3 others commented

jamie.potter maybe the schools weirdo can pull after all

b.rregulus when???? what???

lils.evans so happy for the both of u!! >w<

╰➤ jamie.potter yh me too or whateverׂ

╰➤ not.yn simp

posted 8 years ago

s.snape

liked by not.yn, lils.evans, rj.lupin and 39 others

s.snape You’re my, my, my.. My kind of woman 🤍

╰➤ not.yn, lils.evans, and 6 others commented

not.yn 🤍🤍🤍

lils.evans the best couple at hogwarts 🥰

╰➤ jamie.potter what about uss 💔

╰➤ rj.lupin and you called severus weird…

╰➤ jamie.potter THAT WAS IN 4TH YEAR???? STOP??

╰➤ s.snape i know what you did

╰➤ jamie.potter IM LIT GETTING ATTACKED RN YOU FORGAVE US LIKE HALF A YEAR AGO??

╰➤ not.yn bully allert cancel him🙏

posted 7 years ago

mary.macd0nald

liked by s.snape, b.rregulus, mars.mckinns and 25 others

mary.macd0nald enemies to friends (and some to lovers) 🌻

╰➤ not.yn, lils.evans, and 2 others commented

not.yn never would’ve thought we would all be a big friend group one day 🥹🤍

╰➤ s.snape tell me about it

lils.evans yesterday was so funn!! love you guys

mars.mckinns we need to do this again sometime!

posted 7 years ago

not.yn

liked by s.snape, jamie.potter, lils.evans, mary.mcd0nald and 68 others

not.yn welcome to the world baby girl 🤍 13/10/2024

╰➤lils.evans, s.black and 7 others commented

s.snape my two beautiful girls ❤️

lils.evans shes so cute 💞 proud of you mama

s.black uncles are gonna teach her how to have fun 🥰

╰➤ not.yn hell nah 🤺🤺

╰➤ jamie.potter hell yes ;)

╰➤ rj.lupin leave the poor baby alone she hasn’t even been home for a week yet (congratulation 🤍)

mary.macd0nald was just looking back on our teenage years!! so happy to have a new addition to our little group ❤️

b.rregulus can’t wait to meet her

mars.mckinns girl that speed ticket to the hospital was so worth it. happy for the both of you ❤️

posted 1 month ago

“Hun, what are you doing?” Severus whispered as he closed the door of your daughters room. He layed down on the coach next to you, putting a hand over your shoulders to bring you close, a smile spreading across your face, heart thumping even after so many years of being together. Severus looks down at your phone and his eyes turn to one of shock once he notices the photos he thought he’d never see again.

“You still have those? Thought you deleted them since it was like.. when we were 16?” He raised a brow and scrolled through the many pictures that had been taken in your younger years. “Yeah I just felt.. nostalgic. I’ve never deleted them off my account and I don’t plan to.” A chuckle leaves Severus’ throat and shows you the picture of him you took at the time you announced your relationship, putting it next to his face. “You think I’ve changed much?”

“Not really, you just don’t have your long-long hair anymore. We’re just 23 Severus, what were you expecting at this age? Wrinkles?” You flick his forehead and he winces sarcastically, giving you a dramatic pained expression. “You hurt me, darling.” He sits up and cups your cheek, pulling you into his lap with a sweet smile. “And I must say you’ve grown out of your shy phase and you do smile a lot more.. however I can’t say the same when were around other people.” You smirk, tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear. “And you haven’t grown out of your constant teasing.” He grunted into your neck and embraced you to hide the small smile forming on his lips. “What can I say? I guess adulthood hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

However your statement got cut short once you heard your daughters sobs, which died down just as quick as they started. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Severus breathed out a laugh. “You were saying?” He whispered, looking deep into your eyes im which he could’ve gotten lost in during that very moment. He lifted you in his arms and walked with you in his arms to your bedroom, laying you down onto the bed.

“How about we.. get a bit more nostalgic tonight, hm?”

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