#risk having a possible anxiety/panic attack

[rubiesintherough]

.

[waywardxrhea]

Seeing Other People - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader (descriptor of hair being long enough to run hands through and comb)

Your insecurities from the past come back to haunt you as you grapple with the paranoia that creeps into your mind when Matt suddenly starts ducking out on dates.

word count: 7,247

content: hurt/comfort, angst, anxiety, insecurity, panic attacks, language, mention of guns.

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

now playing: Seeing Other People by Francis Karel and Maddie Zahm

"i've been seeing other people, all my ex's undertones / assuming i'll catch you in a lie, afraid to read what's on your phone / 'cause when i was seeing other people, i'm not the only one that they took home / now i don't trust so easily, even when i know you're not cheating / i'm the one who's seeing other people in you"

You had finished with your hair and makeup for your date with Matt half an hour ago and were patiently waiting for his call. He would always call to tell you he was on his way to whisk you away from your apartment for the evening, which was something you appreciated rather than being caught half ready. It had been a long week. You were looking forward to getting to relax into conversation with Matt and eventually into his strong arms by the end of the night. Matt had usually ended your dates either in his bedroom or on the couch cuddling, and those times were ones you cherished with your whole being. You would never take them for granted. The moments of intimacy were ones you looked forward to more than anything and were something you were desperately craving after the hellish week you’d had at work. 

Getting lost in your thoughts of cuddling Matt, you nearly didn’t hear your phone ringing quietly beside you on the couch. When it finally registered in your ears, you fumbled to pick it up before it hung itself up, answering with a quick, “Matt! Hey!”

“Hey sweetheart,” came Matt’s voice which you noted sounded a bit more gruff than usual. You heard a rustling in the background of the call as he continued with, “I, uh��� I hate to tell you this but I have to cancel tonight’s date. I’m really sorry. Something came up with work that really needs my attention. Can we rain check?”

“Oh,” you said, feeling your body deflate into the couch cushion. Shaking away your suddenly spiking anxiety, you forced a chipperness into your voice as you told him, “That’s fine! I hope everything is okay. If I can help in any way just let me know, yeah?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you, a sense of relief evident in his tone. 

There was a heavy thud on the other side of the line and your eyebrows furrowed together as you asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just dropped my briefcase, that’s all,” Matt told you. “Client seemed really anxious to speak with us as soon as possible, so I’m more clumsy than usual getting ready to head out.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll let you go then,” you said, in a quieter tone than you intended. “I love you. Talk later?”

“Talk later. I love you too,” he replied.

Matt hung up shortly after and tossed his phone onto his leather couch as he dashed up the stairs. He had suited up in his Daredevil suit in record time while he was on the phone with you. While he hated to cancel another date on you, there was a growing drug gang that he needed to stop before they took over the city. From the rumors he had heard, they were serious business and weren’t afraid to kill for territory. Having killers on his streets was the last thing he wanted. If the streets weren’t safe, then you weren't safe and your safety was not something he was willing to risk. 

The crisp air of the city hit Matt as he bolted out of the rooftop access door. He tried to shove down his feelings of guilt surrounding canceling the date as he focused on the sounds of the city around him, trying to find one voice in particular. The voice he had overheard on his way to pick up lunch for himself, Foggy, and Karen the day before. He found it after a few moments, but before he could take off toward where the meeting was taking place, he hesitated. The hesitation was caused by hearing the soft sound of your crying in your apartment a couple blocks down. The sound tugged on Matt’s heartstrings and by instinct his body began gravitating toward your place to provide you comfort, but the sound of a cocking gun tore his ears away from your cries. Within an instant, Matt was on the move, vaulting across rooftops and traversing metal fire escapes to get to the meeting spot. He was racing to get there before the shot rang and a life was taken. 

Back in your apartment, the mental turmoil you were experiencing was like a hurricane blowing through your mind with no end in sight. Your hands shook and your heart pounded in your ears as your breathing became shallow and tears blurred your vision. Old memories bombarded your mind, and you were sent back to a headspace that you never wanted to experience again. But, despite your best efforts, you have been… Over the last month or so your mind had slipped into old habits and you had begun to doubt your place in Matt’s life. Canceled plans led to harsh memories that you have tried to leave in your past. But, as you had started to feel more distance growing between yourself and Matt, you couldn’t help but have flashes of memories you thought you had shoved into the ‘forgotten’ box in your mind. 

Without your permission, your emotions began to take over and you couldn’t escape the flurry of old memories intruding into your previously peaceful headspace. It was a dizzying feeling as you were bombarded with the memories of harshly spoken words and insults thrown in your direction. No matter how hard you tried to push the memories back they kept coming and soon you felt like you were thrown into the midst of an emotional storm that was pelting you from all sides. Tears began to freefall and test the integrity of your makeup, and you did your best to simply stay afloat as you attempted to find the eye of the storm within your mind. It took longer than you would have liked to admit, but after a few minutes of being bumped around by your painful past, you finally were able to center yourself and take the deep, calming breaths that would slow your heart rate. 

As your body began to escape the unnecessary fight or flight mode the phone call with Matt had sent you into, you tried to rationalize his words now that your anxiety had had its turn at ravaging your body. You told yourself that the gruffness in his voice was likely from annoyance with the last minute client call. That the rustling in the background was simply him changing out of his jeans and henley and into a suit to meet with the client. That he truly had dropped his briefcase in his rush to make it to the meeting. There was no reason for you to think that he was with someone else when he called you. It was just fear and anxiety trying to make you self-sabotage. Again.

Taking one more deep breath, you stood up on shaking legs and made your way to the bathroom to remove your makeup. When you looked up at yourself you cringed when you saw how bloodshot your eyes had become from your crying. There were trails nearly barren of makeup that the tears left behind, but much to your surprise your eye makeup had held true to its promise of being waterproof. Your hair on the other hand was a different story. You had a bad habit of running your hands through it when you were stressed, so naturally after a breakdown like that it looked like a rat’s nest… Not wanting to look at yourself in that state any longer, you rid yourself of the makeup and combed through your hair so it wouldn’t be a tangled mess anymore.

As you did this though, you realized that the clothes you had put on for your date were suddenly obnoxious and irritating, causing your heart rate to spike with more anxiety with every move you made. So you quickly took them off and threw on a comfortable and ridiculously soft t-shirt and pajama pants in their wake. Your irritated senses were soothed once you were rid of all the nuisances and you made your way into the kitchen to make yourself a quick and comforting dish for dinner. 

With your food balanced carefully on the armrest of the couch while you settled in, you decided to binge British baking shows in order to keep your mind off of things. The soothing accents and descriptions of baked goods would be a welcome distraction. You avoided thinking about the steady ache in your heart caused by the growing number of canceled dates, the descriptions of recipes and the monotonous routines falling like a warm blanket over your mind. They would also help in your attempt to fend off the old memories threatening to take hold of your thoughts once more. While it wasn’t the perfect solution to your problems, it was the best one you had. And, for now, it would have to do. 

A week later you waited with bated breath, your heart pounding against your ribs, as the minutes ticked by before Matt would pick you up for your rain-check date. There was less effort put into your hair and makeup for the outing, your anxiety telling you the effort would be for naught, but you still deemed yourself presentable enough to feign confidence being next to someone as attractive as Matt. A sense of relief washed over you when you heard a gentle knock on your door. You let out a deep sigh, a smile painting your lips, as you made your way to the door. 

When you opened the door, your heart skipped a beat like it always did when you saw Matt’s charming smile. He stood patiently in the hallway, waiting to take you on your date. “Hey, sweetheart,” Matt said before pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Hey yourself,” you told him when he pulled away a few moments later. “How was work?”

“It was good. Got through the toughest part of the paperwork for the latest client,” he told you as you took your keys out of your purse to lock the door behind you. You wrapped your hand around his bicep and began leading him down the hall, the steady tapping of his cane a soothing and familiar rhythm as you walked. “We’re hoping that we could get the opposition to go in with a deal so it doesn’t have to go to court, but it’s looking like this is more complicated than we anticipated. The client is really worried about having to make an appearance, so it’s taking a lot of convincing from Karen to not just drop the case altogether.”

“Oh, that sounds tough, I’m sorry,” you told him as you hit the button to summon the elevator. Matt shrugged in response. It was simply something that came with the job and they were dealing.

“How was work for you?” Matt asked as the two of you stepped into the elevator. 

“It was fine. Nothing too crazy,” you replied. “I wish people in this city were a bit kinder, but…”

“Are you okay?” Matt asked quietly, the elevator coming to a stop at the bottom floor. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing. Really. I just need to get tougher skin, that’s all,” you told him quickly, trying to brush away his concern. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Some customers just felt entitled to scream at you and come up with…colorful insults to hurl your way in response to you just doing your job. Matt had bigger fish to fry than that. He was under a lot of stress with this case, it sounded like, and you didn’t want your problems to needlessly occupy his mind. 

“Where did you wanna go for dinner?” you asked as the two of you pushed through the front door. The usual sounds of the city bounced around you. Honking cars, scattered conversations, the usual hustle and bustle of good ‘ol New York. It was noisy, but it was home.

“I chose last time, did you have anything in mind?” Matt asked after a few moments of silence. He wondered why you were brushing off his attempts at conversation. He could tell that the question had caused a pang of anxiety to rise in you and he could smell the salt of tears building behind your eyes, but still you pushed the subject away. Why? You were usually fairly vocal about how work was, but lately you had started to close yourself off. It made Matt start to wonder what had set you off… Maybe your supervisor left or something like that. He would try and get to the bottom of that later.

His mind was dragged back into the conversation as you timidly said, “I don’t really have a preference, it’s whatever you wanna do.” You cleared your throat and asked, “What about that scratch made pizza place you mentioned wanting to try? I looked into it and they make their dough and sauce in house every day. They seem to get as many locally sourced meats as possible, too. I think they may actually get some of it from Foggy’s family.”

“That sounds great, lead the way,” Matt replied with a brief laugh. He felt the air shift around you as you nodded and pulled out your phone with your free hand, followed shortly by the quiet electronic voice of the GPS guiding you to your destination. 

Matt couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto his lips as he followed you to the restaurant. The two of you had been together for a while now, his enhanced senses still not something you were aware of, yet you took everything that they affected into consideration. When Matt had mentioned off handedly that the cotton in your sheets felt scratchy on his skin, you had switched to silk and satin ones instead. When you noticed that your lotions and perfumes were too strong for him and gave him headaches, you took to using more toned down and natural scents. You started making meals with organic and fresh ingredients and going to restaurants that did the same because he mentioned one time that processed foods didn’t agree with him. During your time together you had done everything you could to make sure Matt was comfortable even without really knowing why. A warm smile tugged on his lips as he reminisced on how grateful he truly was to you.

Matt had attempted to do the same for you in any way that he could without revealing too much about his abilities. He would swing by a small florist stand and get you flowers when he knew you were having a bad day. He would surprise you with the lunch you had been telling your coworkers you had been craving. He would offer you massages when he could practically feel the tension in your muscles after work. The one thing he couldn’t do was ask why you had been crying so much lately in the safety of your own apartment, tucked away from him and everyone else in the world. He wanted to offer you solace and a place to be vulnerable, but you had never been open in that aspect of your emotions. Well, that and the fact that most of the time when he heard your cries he was in his Daredevil suit and couldn’t just waltz right into your apartment to offer you the comfort you needed. The love you deserved. 

When the pair of you neared the pizza place, Matt deeply inhaled the scent of all the fresh ingredients and he sent a smile your way as he told you, “Great choice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, thanks!” you stuttered out, a light blush dusting your cheeks in response to his praise. 

The pizza was as amazing as you had expected. The ingredients were all fresh and proved to be the winning combination they were advertised to be. Between bites of pizza, the two of you opted to play a game where you people watched and described passersby to Matt and asked what he thought their story was. As usual, you were floored when Matt would tell you what he thought with a small smirk teasing his lips. When they would walk by, he’d be right on the money. You couldn’t help the school-girl-like laugh that escaped your lips at his latest feat as you asked, “How do you do that?”

“Thanks, in part, to you,” Matt told you with a fond smile on his lips. While that was in fact a little white lie, Matt never missed an opportunity to compliment you and your people skills. “You’re very good at describing people and their mannerisms. It helps me decide if they’re a tourist, a local, a business person, or whatever else.”

“Okay, let’s go again, there’s this man-” you started to say but cut yourself off when you saw Matt’s eyebrows furrow behind his red lenses and he began fishing around in his coat pockets for something. “Everything all right?” you asked timidly, your hands dropping down into your lap to mess with the hem of your shirt. 

“Just getting a call,” he told you off handedly as he finally found the flip phone in a pocket and answered it with a quick, “Yeah?” Matt’s eyes closed and you saw the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth together in response to whatever was being said to him on the other line. “Yeah. Give me twenty minutes-” A frustrated sigh heaved from his chest and Matt ran a hand over the stubble growing on his chin before he relented, saying, “Fine. Ten minutes, then I’ll be there,” before hanging up. 

You were thankful that he wasn’t able to see the disappointed look on your face. When he hung up the phone mere moments later, you probably looked like a wounded puppy. You forced down the steadily growing feeling of heartbreak as you attempted to casually ask, “You gotta get going?”

Matt sported a painful expression on his face, his unseeing gaze concentrated somewhere on your upper chest while he closed his eyes yet again as he nodded. He got up from his seat and fished his wallet out from his pocket, feeling around for the properly folded bills to pay for the meal and dessert if you wanted. Placing the bills on the table and a kiss on your temple, Matt apologized before unfolding his cane and practically sprinting out of the pizzeria. 

The call was from one of Mahoney’s men who was deep undercover in the drug gang he had been trying to take down, and if the intel was right, Matt would be able to take down the growing syndicate that night if he hurried. They were growing more and more brazen as time went on, and even with the threat of Daredevil, the man in charge was committed to getting what he wanted. If that meant killing, then so be it. So, he needed to be stopped. Matt’s senses became laser focused on monitoring where he knew their hideout was. He turned into an unoccupied alleyway before tossing his cane away and vaulting himself onto fire escapes. He needed to get to his suit before he could take down the head of the operation.

Once he was out of sight, a deep sigh left your chest along with a quiet sob that you couldn’t hold back. Not wanting more tears to break free, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on literally anything else besides the growing pain in your chest. You tried to breathe as normally as you could, but it was hard as you felt your throat getting tighter with emotion by the second. Your head snapped to attention as a woman to your left asked, “Can I interest you in some dessert, angiolo?” 

“Oh, I-” you started to say as you looked into the small Italian woman’s warm eyes, your voice trembling against your will in the process. 

“I’ll get you dessert,” she said with finality, giving you a pat on the back and heading off toward the kitchen. You were left slightly bewildered in her wake, the shock of the strange encounter pulling you out of your heartbreak for a few moments. 

The truth of the matter was that she had watched as Matt left in a haste and saw your reaction - how your shoulders hunched inward and you looked smaller as your leg began to anxiously bounce. She returned a few minutes later with a small to-go box filled with cannolis and you thanked her graciously as you handed her the money Matt had given you to pay for the meal. She gave you a warm smile, taking the money graciously, then you headed out of the restaurant.

As you walked back to your apartment, the weight of everything began to rest heavily on your shoulders again. You wanted nothing more than to curl up on your couch with a cup of soothing tea and ignore the world for a while. You buried your emotions as best you could as you headed to the nearest bodega that sold your favorite tea. While searching the aisles, your body went into auto-pilot mode as you made your selection. Your mind pestered you with something that had been bothering you since Matt got that phone call at the restaurant. The phone he answered wasn’t his usual cell phone. His normal phone was a touchscreen one that called out the name of whoever was calling him. This one was a flip phone that didn’t seem to have any of his accommodations. You had seen him put his other phone in his pocket before you left the apartment, so you knew he had that one on him, so why-

“Hey!” came Karen’s chipper voice after she called out your name in greeting. 

You tried to subtly wipe away the tears that had begun leaking out of your eyes before forcing a smile onto your face as you turned toward the blonde and said, “Hey! What are you doing here?”

A look you couldn’t quite gauge flitted across Karen’s features before she huffed out a quiet laugh and said, “Oh, you know me, just working late at the office. We ran out of coffee this morning, and I am in desperate need, so I just came here to grab some.” When she said this, you finally noticed the tub of ground coffee she had in her arms as she added, “I’ll have to grab some from the coffee shop for Matt in the morning, but for now this’ll do for me.”

“O-of course,” you said with a small nod. Matt couldn’t stand the taste of pre-ground coffee from the bodega, preferring the freshly ground stuff from the local coffee shops. It was something you had noted early on in your relationship and made sure to get for him weekly to bring to the office. He was always so busy between cases, so it was the least you could do to supply him with the much needed caffeine. But as you stared at the container in Karen’s hands, you felt a pang of guilt hit you as you remembered that you forgot to grab him any this week. 

Karen’s soft voice once again broke you out of your head as she asked, “Hey, I uh… I could use the company, do you want to head over to the office with me for a bit? We haven’t hung out in a while.” She motioned toward the box in your hand as she finished with, “We have plenty of hot water to make your tea with, and I think there’s still some honey from when we closed Mrs. Cabrera’s case.”

“Oh, sure,” you found yourself saying before you could fully process it. The people pleaser in you didn’t want to say no, so you paid for your goods and followed her to the offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page while you tried not to drown in the sea of anxiety that was engulfing you. 

On the way there, you nodded at the right places and gave a few affirmatives as Karen talked to you about their latest cases, but you couldn’t help your mind from wandering back to worrying. When the two of you arrived in the office, you let your body take control to begin steeping the tea while Karen began preparing the pot for her coffee. Who had Matt been on the phone with? They were certainly pressuring him to be on time to whatever meeting they were having. Whoever it was obviously was important to him, or maybe you were vastly overestimating your value in his life. Maybe-

“Everything okay?” 

That was the first thing you heard Karen ask when your mind finally remembered that you weren’t alone. Pushing down the feeling of embarrassment at being caught lost in your own thoughts, you quickly nodded and forced a smile onto your lips as you said, “Yeah! Of course!” You placed the little box from the restaurant down on the counter and opened it as you asked, “How do you feel about cannolis? There are a lot more in here than I thought and I’ll never be able to eat all of them!”

“Oh, sure…” Karen said slowly, her eyebrows furrowing together as she pondered why you’d changed the subject so quickly. 

After savoring the taste of the dessert, you offered Karen another fake smile before asking, “So, these last few cases have been keeping the three of you pretty busy huh? Matt’s been exhausted lately. He told me he’s been getting home pretty late every night after meeting with clients.”

While Karen responded with something about a new client not wanting to go to court and that’s why she was there so late, your mind began wandering again. Was it a client who had called Matt at dinner? He left in such a hurry… You didn’t think that he would answer a client in the way he did though. And there was still the thing about the phone… Did Karen know about who he might be-

Your name being called out again cut through your racing thoughts and you jumped at the sudden intrusion, causing hot tea to spill onto the hand holding the cup. “Shit!” you whispered urgently as you began flicking your hand around to rid yourself of the burning liquid quickly before more of it scalded your skin. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Karen said, her hand covering her mouth for a moment in shock before she began frantically looking around for something to help you with. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry. I should really get going. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I’m sorry,” you told her quickly while holding back more tears. “Keep the cannolis. They should still be good in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I can see if there’s any aloe or something,” she told you as she dug through her purse. 

“Don’t worry about me,” you told her before quickly turning toward the office door and heading out, offering a courteous goodnight before your departure. You just needed to be alone. You could deal with the burn when you got to your apartment, but right now you didn’t need to be in Karen’s company. You were self aware enough to know that just one more thing would’ve set you off into a total mental breakdown…

The next morning after getting Matt some fresh coffee from a local shop near the firm, Karen made her way into the office. “Morning Karen!” Foggy greeted her as she started putting her things down on her desk. 

“Morning, Fog! Have a good night?” she asked. 

“I did! Marci and I had some pizza then zonked out in front of the TV for a while.. It was great!” he replied, the smile on his face cluing to Karen that what he recounted wasn’t all that had happened, but she kept her smirk to herself as she told him that she was happy he had a good night. 

She dropped the bag of coffee by the coffee maker before heading over to Matt’s office. She knocked on the doorframe to get his attention. “Hey. I got you some coffee from the shop down the street. You look like you need it.”

Matt rubbed his temples and nodded, telling her, “Long night. Worked with Mahoney’s guy to take down that drug gang I’ve been after. Didn’t get back to the apartment until around three…” As Matt followed Karen to the coffee station, a familiar floral scent hit his nose which prompted him to ask, “Was she here last night?”

Karen asked your name in a question and got the affirmative, so she told him, “Yeah. She seemed upset when I ran into her at the bodega getting coffee, so I invited her back here to talk. She seemed super distracted, though. When I called her name to get her attention, she spilled her tea and burned her hand. Then she bolted.”

Upon hearing this, Matt sighed and ran a hand over the lower half of his face which prompted Karen to ask, “What did you do?” Right as she did though, a memory hit her and she gasped quietly before saying, “You had a date planned last night… You two were on a date when you had to go take care of that drug gang, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Matt admitted quietly, guilt laced in his voice and seeping into his mind. 

“Oh, Matt…” she whispered sympathetically. She took a sip of her coffee before telling him, “You know…every time I asked her how she was or tried to offer help, she deflected pretty quickly. She was also super distracted and zoned out a lot. I know that look, Matt. There’s something that’s eating her alive and she’s suffering in silence. She’s not accepting help from her friends.” She placed her cup down on the counter and crossed her arms as she said pointedly, “I think you need to talk to her, Matt.”

“Karen, I-” Matt tried but was interrupted.

“Talk to her,” Karen said with a finality in her tone as a quiet knock sounded through the office, indicating that their first client of the day had arrived. 

By the time midday had rolled around, Matt had called you and got your voicemail since you were at work. He opted to go ahead and leave the voicemail, telling you, “Hey sweetheart. Karen told me what happened last night. I realized that there’s something we’ve been needing to talk about. I’ll be over at around seven tonight. See you then.”

By the time you had gotten the opportunity to check your voicemail, you were already back at your apartment after work. A quick glance at your clock told you it was nearly a quarter till seven. When you heard the words there’s something we’ve been needing to talk about from Matt, your heart dropped. Fear and panic began to fill your whole body, gripping your throat in a tight vice. 

This was it. This was surely the end of the most wonderful relationship you’d had in years. All because you were too afraid to talk about your feelings. You had overcorrected because of your insecurities from the past and that ran Matt off. Because you were too afraid to accept help from others and he got tired of it. Because he found someone else who was willing to be open and honest with him about everything. Because he found someone better than you. More secure in themself. Less anxious. Someone without a past that haunted them like yours did…

You barely made it to the couch in your living area before collapsing as you were consumed with your brutal thoughts of insecurity and anticipatory grief about the end of you and Matt. The room felt like it was spinning and closing in on you simultaneously. You were left clutching your knees to your chest as you tried to hold onto some semblance of self. You were failing miserably. Shallow gasps of air were all you could manage through your tightening throat. Your heart pounded in your ears. Tears flowed down your cheeks. All encompassing doom clouded the edges of your mind. This was it.

Matt was so exhausted after a long day at the firm, following his even longer night out as Daredevil, that he felt like his enhanced senses were drowning him. Everything was too overwhelming, too distracting, too much. So, he concentrated inward and focused on his own heartbeat to drown out everything else bombarding his senses. He also focused on the flowers in his hand that he had bought for you. The bouquet of roses reminded him of your shampoo, subtle and floral. It put a small smile on his lips as he made his way to your apartment. 

Getting lost in concentrating on the smell of the roses and the steady beat of his own heart, Matt didn’t even tune into your apartment until he was right outside of it about to raise his hand to knock. And that’s when he sensed it. Your rapid heart rate and breathing. Fear. Panic. And you were on the other side of a locked door. 

Knowing that there was a roof access door nearby and no one else in the hallway, Matt dropped his cane as well as the roses and bolted toward it, desperate to get to you. The chill of the night hit him as he navigated the familiar rooftop and then down to the fire escape outside of your window. Luckily you had left your window unlocked, so Matt threw it open and crawled through before making his way over to your shaking form on the couch. 

You were alone in the apartment and there weren't any unfamiliar smells in the space, so he knew there was no immediate danger that set you off. He wrapped you in his arms and rubbed your back as he mumbled, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m right here.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you choked out as you burrowed into his chest. 

“Sorry for what?” Matt asked before kissing your temple. 

“For not being enough,” you replied, your voice breaking as a fresh batch of tears rolled down your flushed cheeks. Before Matt could even respond to that, you found yourself rambling, telling him, “I thought that if I didn’t bother you with all the shit in my head, then maybe I wouldn’t run you off… I thought that the more of me you saw, the less of me you’d like. But… I still managed to mess everything up… Like I always do…” You huffed out a humorless laugh before saying, “I get it if there’s someone else. I wouldn’t wanna be with me, either…”

Matt felt his heart shatter as the words fell out of you in a grief-filled torrent. Tears began to sting the backs of his eyes. He knew he couldn’t lose himself in his guilt for making you feel this way, though, so he focused back on you. “Hey, hey, just breathe. Breathe with me, sweetheart,” Matt mumbled as he pulled you closer. 

Matt ran his hand up and down your back and told you to breathe in and out with the soothing strokes. You tried, but with the amount of anxiety still filling your body and clutching at your throat, it felt like an impossible task. Matt didn’t give up though, and on top of the slow and soothing patterns he ran up and down your back, he began to mumble sweet nothings into your ear that reassured you that you were safe. That you were with him. That everything would be okay. These reassurances weren’t just for you though. They were for him as he too tried to calm down his own racing mind. 

After a few minutes, Matt finally got your heart rate and breathing back down to a normal enough pace. When he was sure you were calmed down enough to talk, he tentatively asked, “What makes you think there’s someone else? I promise there’s only you, sweetheart. I’ve never had a partner as kind and caring and accommodating as you. I would be a fool to mess that up.”

“It’s just…” you whispered, a quiet sob tumbling off your lips before you took a deep and shaky breath. “The canceled dates. The bolting in the middle of the one last night. The mysterious flip phone you used yesterday. The background noise on the call last week. Telling me you’ve been getting home in the ungodly hours of the night.” You swallowed hard before pushing through by confessing, “My last relationship… It ended because he was cheating. When I first got suspicious though he made me feel like the bad guy for bringing it up. The things he said were extremely harsh and I guess… I guess my mind never got past that. Now I stuff down all of my own emotions to make sure others are happy and not bothered by my feelings. And over the last month, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been doing some of the same things he did, and… Gosh, I should shut up. I'm really sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget I said anything. I’m sorry…”

More tears began falling from your eyes and you attempted to get up from the couch. You desperately needed to put some separation between you and Matt. You felt like you were just digging a hole you couldn’t get out of. But instead of letting you hide away from him again, his strong arms pulled you impossibly closer and kept you right where you were. “Don’t apologize. Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “He sounds like a controlling prick and I’m sorry that such a caring person ever had to deal with that… You don’t deserve to feel like you can’t talk about your feelings. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

“It’s not you, it’s just…trauma,” you told him as your exhausted body relaxed into his embrace. With your senses finally easing after being stretched so thin, you were able to make some sense of the current situation. Looking over at the door to the hallway, you furrowed your eyebrows together as you asked, “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get into my apartment?” You hadn’t found the time to get a spare key made to give to him, and you knew that you had locked it on your way in, so how…? You felt Matt’s muscles tense and in response your heart sped up as your anxiety started to settle back in. 

In his rush to get to you to provide you with the comfort you needed, Matt didn’t even think about how he would explain how he got into the apartment. After his conversation with Karen that morning, he had thought long and hard about the possibility of telling you the truth about what he did at night, but he didn’t think the conversation would lead here. It seemed like there was no way to avoid it now…

There was a long moment of silence before Matt gave into the inevitable and asked, “Do you want to know the real reason why I stay out so late and have been so exhausted lately? Why I’ve had to cancel dates?” 

Confusion filled your mind when he asked the questions. Why was Matt asking that in response to your wondering how he got into your apartment? Surely your apartment manager had nothing to do with- You stopped your spiraling thoughts before they could get out of control and nodded, telling him, “I do.”

Another long pause filled the air before Matt said in a barely audible whisper, “I’m Daredevil…” Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment before you laughed quietly and threw your arms around him in a tight embrace. Matt froze for a second before returning your hug as he asked, “You’re not… I don’t know… Mad? Shocked? Upset? Wanting to run away?”

“I’m just happy you aren’t cheating on me,” you told him, a genuine laugh falling from your lips before you could stop it. You pulled away and kissed his cheek before you said, “No wonder Daredevil’s seemed to take an interest in me getting home safe when I’m out late.”

“Oh, so you noticed, huh?” Matt asked with a quiet chuckle leaving his lips. 

“Especially after that group of assholes tried to touch me when I was heading home after Laura’s birthday party,” you noted, a small smile pulling the corners of your lips up. 

“Yeah, I may have gone a bit overboard with that one,” he said sheepishly. He cleared his throat and told you, “There was this drug gang that was starting to gain ground over the last few weeks. That’s why I’ve been skipping out on dates here lately. I wanted to keep you and the rest of Hell’s Kitchen safe.”

“Did you deal with them?” you asked. 

“Last night, yeah,” he replied. “That was Mahoney’s UC calling me on my emergency burner that Foggy has aptly called my ‘Devil Signal,’” he said, ending his statement with a chuckle and shake of his head. 

“So, Foggy knows?”

“And Karen,” he said. “You took it a lot better than they did.”

“Well, that’s because it doesn’t change anything between us,” you told him. “Clearly, I’ve been dealing with your Daredevil schedule since we started dating. The only reason it was bothering me lately was because of my own insecurity. It hasn’t caused any problems, so why would it change anything now?”

“God, I love you,” Matt whispered before pulling you into a gentle kiss. 

“I love you too,” you told him as you rested your forehead on his. 

You were quiet for a few moments, letting the peace of the moment soothe your swirling mind, before you pulled away and said cautiously, “I do have a question though… Considering what you do as Daredevil, are you really…?”

“Blind? Yes,” he told you. “My other senses are enhanced, though, so I’m able to navigate the world easily. I’m able to hear what other people can’t. That’s how I get to stuff before the cops do.” He rubbed your back as he admitted quietly, “I could hear you having a panic attack in here, so I… I came in through the window.”

“You could…? How?” you asked, feeling your heart jump into your throat. 

“Your heart rate just sped up when I told you that,” he told you with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m able to hear people’s heart and respiratory rate. I can also smell cortisol levels and adrenaline. All of that was off the charts when I got here so I broke in so I could comfort you,” he said, his smile evident in his voice as he finished the sentence. 

“Oh… This is going to be a learning curve,” you breathed, suddenly feeling very aware of everything your body was doing at the moment. 

“And I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Matt told you before pulling you in for another tender kiss. “Promise me you’ll tell me about whatever’s on your mind from now on?”

“Promise,” you agreed, and Matt could tell by the steady beat of your heart that you were telling the truth. 

a/n: this was basically a way for me to process some personal shit (excuse the lore lmao) because writing is my way of dealing with things!

special thanks to @sunflowersandsapphires for helping me process my thoughts and make my ideas into a story as well as to @a-leg-without-fear @dorothleah and @shouldbestudying41 for beta reading and providing edits! i love you all!

[munsonsreputation]

am i allowed to cry?

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.8k]

warnings: cursing, allusion to depression and anxiety, reader nearly has a mental breakdown over the stress of work/school/and life, steve comes to the rescue don't worry (honestly just wrote this because seasonal depression combined with school and work and life is real as fuck and we all need some comfort), also semi proof-read, sorry!

summary: it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, something too heavy for you to bear all alone, but you do, anyway. and when you finally collapse under pressure, the last person you want to worry is your boyfriend steve, but he’s your safe space, and all he ever wants you to know is that he’s going to be there for you through smiles and tears.

The fatigue settled under your eyes and in the depths of your bones like a heavy weight pulling you down. There was an exhaustion seeping from the inside out, eating you alive until you were merely a shell of yourself. Your stomach twisted in knots unsolvable even with the help of sleep or tea—you felt beyond defeated with no way out.

It didn’t matter where you were and how ‘fine’ you thought you were. The feeling of dread became embedded into your entire existence and it was getting harder to keep up the act and blame it all on school or work. Perhaps it started there, but slowly and surely did the feeling morph into every avenue you steered towards in order to escape.

Your hangouts with friends suddenly turned into an inner panic attack of sorts, feeling the need to keep up with everyone who was doing so well whilst you were barely making it out alive.

Family dinners then turned into interrogations, where they poked and prodded probably with the best intent to figure out why you were so absent, but it all just felt like an attack coming from left and right.

No matter how hard you tried to keep up the facade of being fine and telling everyone they were making a big deal out of nothing, you knew you were moments away from falling apart. At this rate, you were a machine breaking down piece by piece, rusting and stalling until you couldn’t move anymore.

And the absolute last person you wanted to shrink away from was your boyfriend, Steve.

He was the most supportive and present person in your life you could have ever asked for. He never doubted you in anything, and most times he was the one egging you on to go after your dreams. Telling you to take risks and go for it, because you always succeeded in everything you did, and even when it wasn’t on the first try, he knew you were bound to get a hang of it.

A special trait about him that you adored so much was his trust in you. He knew what it was like for people to always question his worth, to try to make it seem like he wasn’t capable or smart enough to make his own decisions so much so that other people had to step in and save him. But to be fair, Steve Harrington never needed to be saved—he just needed the right people around to show him it was okay to make mistakes and learn from it.

And you did just that.

When Steve didn’t know what he wanted to do after graduation, you never pestered him on to go off to college, committing himself to something he wasn’t one hundred percent certain about. Instead, you encouraged him to find his calling, to scour town in order to find different hobbies that had potential job opportunities. To volunteer and possibly shadow in order to widen his options.

You were always supportive and did your best to guide instead of control—and because of that; he was able to find a job that made him happy, surprisingly enough.

And likewise, while Steve never was the biggest fan of structured school, he guided you through your college path. Providing all the moral and emotional support he could offer you, and at times even going as far as to reading a textbook chapter alongside you to help you understand concepts that were all too confusing.

He never pushed too hard, and never made it seem like he didn’t care. There was a perfect balance between your understanding and his—a sort of tune that always was in perfect harmony…until it wasn’t.

You had been assuring Steve that while school and work were surely kicking your butt, you had it all under control, but that was far from the truth. Date nights were seemingly pushed back…not that he minded since he understood you needed to study and rest—but things were beginning to feel more off.

You avoided having him stay the night at your place or even just stopping by to drop you off some food. When you did spend time together, you were physically there, but not mentally. You listened intently to what he had to say, but when it was your turn, you shared little about what was going on with you, and diverted the questions back to him.

A lot of the time, you just seemed out of it. Too far away in your mind for him to reach you, and while he knew everyone had their off days and even off weeks, yours was becoming imminently permanent, and you were beginning to realize it, too.

You sat hunched over at your desk, eyes welling with tears as you stared down at your notes, then back to your textbook, then back to your notes once again. Nothing was making sense, and your patience was slim to none, batting your eyes as the tears fell onto the pages where you were too fed up to care.

Your mind was scattered all over the place, thinking about how you needed to make sense of the content in front of you, but also about the many deadlines of other assignments you had under your belt. On top of that, you had other responsibilities that needed your full attention, yet you sat there wondering how you were even going to complete one of them.

There was something that snapped inside of you. A guttle cry that you let out as you pushed yourself out of your desk chair and stood with your hands threaded roughly in the roots of your hair. Hot, vicious tears floated down your cheeks while you paced in circles attempting to calm yourself down, but nothing worked.

You needed Steve, even when you didn’t want him to see you like this.

He was at your doorstep not even a whole ten minutes after you had phoned him, asking if he would drop by. It was almost midnight, and usually at this hour your nose was buried deep behind textbooks and assignments, but he could just tell something was the matter.

He had asked rushed and worriedly, if everything was okay, but you refused to give him a definite answer, just sniffling back your cries and humming, telling him to come over as soon as he could. The drive was short, and yet for him it felt like eternity until he was face to face with you on your front porch.

“Baby,” His voice was rigid yet gentle, striding closer to you as his warm hands came down to hold your arms, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He breathed, half catching his breath from his haste, and half worried out of his mind.

He bent a little at the knees, trying to get a better look at your face in the dimly lit doorway. All the color was drained from your skin, except the red path your tears took down your cheeks and your bitten lips.

You sniffled hard, an unevenness apparent in your breathing, “N—nothing,” you lied pathetically, closing your eyes as you shook your head, “I’m just a little stressed. You don’t have to worry about m-me.”

There was lots to worry about, especially seeing you in the state that you were in. Steve had seen you stressed out many times before. Worried about running late, leaving something behind, nervous about a final exam, but nothing ever to this extent. This was more than stress, and he knew it.

“Let’s go inside and talk, yeah?” He murmured, ignoring your comment and leading you back into your home, hoping to get you to talk some more.

Guiding you to the kitchen, he switched on the lights, pulling out a chair for you to sit at the dining table while he got you a glass of cold water and some paper towels.

“Have some water, baby,” He knelt on the ground, holding the cup of water to your lips.

You sniffled, closing your eyes tightly as you tried to catch your breath before taking a sip, letting him help you, and pulling the cusp away from your lips before you could cough up. You could feel his eyes boring through you, filled with fret wanting to get down to the bottom of the situation yet letting you go at your own pace.

He took the paper towel, crumbling it up into a small ball to dab over your cheeks and under your eyes, doing his best to soak up all the tears that kept pouring. His heart shook and broke in his chest, wondering what had happened to get you to this state of no return.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” He started, letting one of his hands come to hold your trembling one, giving you a firm squeeze. “What can I do to make it better?” He implored, just wanting to make whatever that was hurting you stop.

The desperation in his voice made another sob rip out from chest, face pinching into something painful as you hung your head low and wept as quietly as you could. You felt so weak and helpless, hating that you pushed yourself to the point where you made the one person who vowed to always be there for you feel as though he wasn’t.

“Babe, shhh, hey c’mon,” He murmured, immediately wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close to him and burying your face in his chest, “It’s okay. I’m right here, baby. S’okay.”

You hadn’t said anything just amounting yourself to a mess of tears and unspoken feelings, not knowing how you could possibly articulate what you had been going through all this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” You muffled against his chest, causing him to pull away slightly, just to look at you and shake his head wondering why you were apologizing.

“You don’t have to be sorry baby—”

“I’m fucked up, I know I am.” You blurted out, a cruelty in your voice Steve could tell was directed towards yourself, not him.

“I-I’ve been so caught up with school and work that I know I haven’t been the best girlfriend, but I swear—”

“Hey stop it.” He didn’t let you finish, furrowing his brows, determined to make you understand the words you were saying about yourself weren’t true.

“This isn’t about you not being a good girlfriend. You’re so good to me, baby and I promise you whatever it is that’s going on, isn’t because of that. Talk to me. Don’t be scared.”

He assured you with warm circles rubbed over your back, just wanting you to focus on your feelings and not on what you thought you were making him feel. The only thing that mattered to him was understanding you, and how he could fit himself into the puzzle to make it all better.

“I’m just so tired,” You broke down once again, “I don’t feel like myself anymore, and even when I look at myself…I don’t see me.” You croaked, voice breaking in between words.

“All I want to do is relax, but my brain is just on a live wire where I can’t stop thinking and then I start spiraling. If it isn’t school, then it’s work, and if it isn’t work, then I’m thinking about all of the others things I don’t have time for in between school and work.” You heaved, just feeling the panic and frustration arise at the mere conversation.

He hated how he could see the contempt you had for yourself. Fingernails biting into the palm of your hands and a deep-seated frown over your lip, as if you wanted to crawl out of your skin to be someone completely different. But there was no one like you, in his eyes. Whatever it was that you were going through he was going to stand beside you and help you get back to feeling like yourself, the girl he couldn’t imagine living without.

“I’m here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” He murmured, pushing the tear soaked strands of hair out of your face. “You work so hard all the time, you deserve a break.”

“I can’t,” you cried, shaking your head, rubbing exhaustingly at your eyes, “I physically can’t. I can’t fall behind when I already am.”

You wanted to listen to his advice, the knowing that deep down he was so very right, but you couldn’t look past the idea of letting people down and falling behind when you knew it was impossible to play catch up.

Steve knew how you operated on a one track mind to get things done and out of the way, which was obviously ideal. However, the amount of physical, emotional, and mental strain the work ethic had put you in was enough confirmation that he needed to step in before it got worse.

“Listen to me, hon,” He said tenderly, grasping your face in his hands, “You need a break. I’m not saying you have to abandon everything, but you need to take it easy on yourself. Learn how to step away and breathe. You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up…and you know I can’t live without you.”

His sentiment was true and sweet, something he was able to be at all times, even at times like this.

“I’m not going to let you fall behind, baby.” He promised you, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss over your lips before he continued, “I’ll help you and we can take it on together, but you can’t keep stuff like this from me okay? The last thing I ever want you to feel is like you have to do it all alone.”

You sniffled, nodding as you swallowed back the lump in your throat, hiccuping slightly, “I-I know, I’m just usually so good at taking on everything, but I don’t know what happened.” You admitted with a shrug.

He nodded understandingly. “You might not feel it, but you’re overworked and that’s okay. I’m going to be here to help any way I can. With school, with work…with breaks.” He smiled softly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You stared up at him apologetically, wishing you hadn’t waited so long to tell him, knowing that he was always your number one confidant and supporter through everything.

Still, he shook his head, caressing your cheeks, “Don’t apologize, I’m here now and I promise it’s going to get better.”

He held you in his arms a little longer, letting you cry the rest of your tears into his chest, before suggesting to head up to your room. Agreeing, he grabbed a fresh cup of water to keep at your bedside before following you up the stairs and into your room.

Books and papers were sprawled out across your desk, hinting to him what had gone down before you called. He knew that school was beginning to take a toll on you with bigger projects and finals approaching, but had no idea it was getting worse and worse as the days passed by—but no longer, not with him around.

“Let me just…” You spoke under your breath, heading towards your desk to get everything cleaned up, now that Steve was spending the night and not wanting him to deal with the mess.

But he was quick to stop you, grabbing you gently by the wrist before you could even close the textbook, causing you to follow his lead to your bed.

“Hey…” He murmured, setting the cup down on the small table beside your lamp, “we’ll figure it out in the morning okay?”

“Hmm,” You hummed with a nod, letting him situate you into bed before toeing off his shoes and getting in beside you.

You turned to face him after he switched off the lamp, encasing you both in complete darkness. Eyes adjusting to the light, enough for you to make out his face, eyes closed peacefully, as his arms went instinctively around your frame, pulling you closer into him—the feeling you had been missing so desperately, wondering why you ever even thought to push it away.

“You know I’ll be here whenever you need me, all the time okay?” His voice broke the silence, nuzzling his face closer to yours, hoping you knew how true every word was.

“I know,” you promised, jutting your chin up to press a kiss to his lips that he smiled into, kissing you back a little harder wanting you to remember the feeling and that alone.

All the stress still lingered in the back of your mind, but the feeling that consumed wasn’t the fear or the exhaustion that had been weighing you down. It was the knowing that you were allowed to feel your feelings around Steve, and the security to know he was your person, rain or shine—and that in itself was enough for you to know it was going to be okay.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: very short one shot in honor of seasonal depression doing its big one on me...but don't worry im surviving through my safe space fiction characters!!! i hope you are all doing well and thank you again for sticking around!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[pretzel-box]

General Tags: Enemies to lovers, mentioning of toxic behaviour, kidnapping, gaslighting, graphic descriptions of gore [Sebastians Past], descriptions of panic attacks, slow-burn

More tags will be added over the time. Each chapter has it's own warning tags, please read accordingly!

Author note: This story is not canon! Some elements will be taken from the story, yes, but most things, including Sebastians Past and other Events will be made-up by me for the sake of the story.

Taglist: Currently no one in it!

Current word count: 5 chapters | above 24k

—SUMMARY

"Sometimes you thought you would die for him, to fight for the justice he deserves. But on other days, you reminded yourself that he would be your murderer, holding your life between his fingers."

or

You start working at Urbanshade and fall deeper into the hidden rabbithole that risks your promotion. To save yourself, you have to accept the task that they throw at you. Get the crystal and eliminate Z-13, Sebastian Solace.

PLOTPOINT DRAFTS [ CLICK HERE] [BEWARE! SPOILER FOR THE STORY!]

—PROLOGUE: WELCOME TO URBANSHADE

status: released

word count: 3,3k | graphic mentions of experiments and surgeries on sebastians body

summary: You get hired by Urbanshade, thanks to your father, but every start has its obstacles. And some obstacles might feel deeper than they should be.

-1- THE CRIMES, THE LIES, THE PRIZE WE CLAIM

status: released

word count: 5,1k | slightly graphic mention of human experiments, anxiety

summary: In between panic and lies, you tried to cover up the mistakes that are hovering above your head like a guillotine, in the worst way possible. And while the lies over lies continue, the camera exposes the truth.

-2- THE WALLS WHICH WILL EAT US

Status: published

word count: 5,2k | graphic mentions of panic attacks, getting attacked

summary: You get shipped to the Hadal Blackside and start your new mission to get the crystal and Z-13, Sebastian Solace. But it seems like the visitors of the Blackside are getting you first.

-3- DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Status: Published

Word count: 5,7k | Fluff, Comfort, Angst, Betrayal

Summary: Sebastian proves to be so much more than anticipated.

-4- Layers Of Your Mind

Status: Posted

Word Count: 5,4k | Mentions of Violence, Abuse, Force Feeding, Isolation and dark content.

Summary: Sebastian shows you his true colors before leaving you all alone. Yet you get the chance to meet one of his dear friends during your little alone time.

[glitter-stained]

As someone who is very much not well-versed in medical things/psychology, I have no idea how to research this efficiently, so, would you say that Jason would in any way benefit from being on some sort of medication, like anti-depressants or something like that? Not in a way of "oooh that would fix him and make him not murderous" or whatever, but to improve some of the very clear mental health issues that affect him in his day-to-day life, first and foremost.

Oh I love that one! Answering quickly for once because I've already dissected it in my head

Fuck yeah he would benefit from medication. Of course, I'm neither a psychiatrist nor a pharmacist, but I did have classes on neuropharmacology and it was one of my favourite things to study, so I'm confident I'm not saying random shit but if someone in there

So- of course, it depends on the era, but there are three molecules I'd consider useful for him :

> Rebirth Jason:

-sertralin

> any and all Jasons:

- lamotrigin

-propanolol

Sertralin

So, the antidepressants. Basically, sertralin is an SSRI, which means it works by altering your brain chemistry to heighten the chances that your neurons will get the possibility to transmit serotonin, a neurotransmitter (brain molecule) that is linked with happiness (very very basically. Please don't misunderstand this as "sertralin/serotonin makes you happy".) I'll admit I haven't read enough of rebirth Jason to establish whether he fits the criteria for a characterized depressive episode rather, but he already displays, at minima, subclinical signs of depression. One reason why I don't need to wait for an established diagnosis to say I think trying out antidepressants would be a good idea is that Jason is suicidal as fuck (has made several attempts on his life + documented suicidal ideation... and at least according to Bruce) has been for a very long time.) This makes it a total emergency.

Now if we're considering post Gotham war Rebirth Jason, this guy has an anxiety disorder (like, I wish Batman #148 had shown Jason abusing benzos so bad.) The thing is, Joker might have made Jason "functional" enough not to be paralyzed by fear in Man Who Stopped Laughing (and hey! Laughter is a good strategy to regulate anxiety. Thanks, Joker.), but that is very much not enough: as Joker says, Jason still feels that anxiety, he's just not having outwards panic attacks about it. The thing with anxiety (aside from the risks of such extreme chronic stress) is that 1) some SSRI, like sertralin, have a positive effect on symptoms and 2) if untreated, it very often leads to depressive symptomatology (kinda like fatigue from all the stress). All of this to say if a patient has anxiety, in my country it's recommended to give them antidepressants, both to soothe the anxiety and to decrease the risk of developing depression. So yeah, I would definitely give him antidepressants!!

Lamotrigin

Listen.

Listen. I know what you're thinking. "Why would you recommend giving Jason an anti-epileptic? He doesn't have epilepsy." He doesn't. Stay with me.

So, lamotrigin is originally an anti-epileptic. However they realized that using smaller doses could make it into a thymoregulator for bipolar disorder (I and II). Now, a thymoregulator is a medicine that people with bipolar take to regulate their emotions. Bipolar disorders are characterized by three phases: mania(or hypomania), depressive phase, and euthymia. Mania (or hypomania) is characterized by elevated mood and/or agressivity (though the most characteristic of mania is still elation/euphoria) that can be associated with overestimation of abilities, augmentation of risk taking, sometimes psychotic symptoms (such as grandiose delusions, etc.) Depressive phases are the symptoms of a characterized depressive episode, but in the context of bipolar (they're often very severe, and can sometimes take on melancholic and/or psychotic characteristics). They're not rapid mood swings: manic and depressive episodes can sometimes last weeks. And then there is euthymia, which is "normal, non-pathologic mood". So basically, your mood is a spectrum from "so high it's harmful and dangerous to you" to "so low it's harmful and dangerous to you", with euthymia in the middle as "neither too high nor too low". The goal of thymoregulators like lamotrigin is to keep the patient in euthymia. That doesn't mean that the person will never feel sad or happy, this isn't a mood dampener: it's just that they won't have to leave with the fear that every stressor or sad moment will send them spiralling in a depressive episode, or that they have to be careful not to feel too much joy in case in tumbles into euphoria. It's just a way to compensate the chemical dysfunction in the brain that makes it so incredibly hard and painful to emotionally regulate.

Now, as we said, mood is a spectrum, and in bipolar, it's like you're swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other. But it's not perfectly symetrical, not for everyone. For example, you can have one patient who has very high mania and severe depressive episodes, but you could also have patients with high mania and less severe depressive symptoms, or patients with severe depressive symptoms and hypomania rather than mania. This is why we need different types of thymoregulators! Each thymoregulator's effect span can be situated on the mood spectrum. For example, lithium works best for patients where there's a symetrical dysregulation (so the mood goes about as high in the maniac phase as it goes low in the depression phase), and lamotrigin works best with patients whose disorder tends more towards the lower end of the mood spectrum (ie patients with very severe depressive episodes and whose high episodes tend more towards hypomania. (That's classically what we get with cohort studies, but of course every patient is unique! This is why it sometimes takes many tries before finding A) the right molecule for the patient and B) the right dosage for the molecule, which requires evaluating and re-evaluating with the psychiatrist as the treatment is established, blood draws to figure out absorption etc... It's a very careful balance to find.)

Now, it's a hc I've seen a bunch, but I don't personally hc Jason as having a bipolar disorder. So why do I think lamo could help him?

As we've seen, lamo's job is basically to help regulate negative emotions. To which, someone had the brilliant idea to realise hey, there are other disorders in which there are major issues with regulating negative emotions because of alterations to brain chemistry, one of the best-known being PTSD! So they conducted studies and it turns out, some thymoregulators (including lamo), in lower doses than those used in treatment for bipolar, are efficient in supporting emotional regulation in PTSD! It's pretty recent, but professionals have started to prescribe those thymoregulators to people with PTSD, and I for one think it's really really cool (partially because research in ptsd is doing amazing rn, and partially because my doctor decided i had enough trauma to qualify for prescribing lamo- i didn't necessarily agree with him, but of all the medication I've been prescribed it's the one that helped the most and I'm really really happy about it.) So with all of that said, I hope it makes sense why Jason, whose brand of complex PTSD (which is imo clearly associated with negative emotional dysregulation) might benefit from lamotrigin or a similar thymoregulator.

[vivicas-dollhouse]

General crp headcannons: updated!!

Oh yeah

Genre: headcannons

Characters featured: kate the chaser, ticci toby, masky, hoodie, jeff the killer, eyeless jack, nina the killer, clockwork, ben drowned, sally williams, lulu

Desc: just some general hcs about my favorite murderers

Cw: mild desc of gore, talk of weed and drug abuse

Enjoy!!

Kate

Has a slight russian accent

When not controlled by slenderman, shes quiet and blunt, but can speak. Still doesn't like light but is mainly normal.

She loves to work out because it helps her get things done without much strain

Shes very tired all the time, being feral while under slenders control takes a toll on her

She is very clean, she prides herself in being as normal as possible to counteract her feral instincts.

She misses being normal, but tries not to dwell on it. Theres no going back though, so she just tries to move on

She listens primarily to breakcore, but enjoys some depressing soft music every once in a while.

She likes to draw, and although shes not great at it she enjoys it a lot.

She and brian are fairly close, toby and tim are too loud

She uses noise canceling headphones almost 24/7

She doesn't like being the only girl in the proxy cabin, but she will still kick the boys asses

She doesnt drink or do drugs, she is 22 though so legally she can

She became a proxy at 18

She goes out and does normal citizen stuff for the proxys because shes never been seen out in public because she has her mask. Shes very good at keeping her true identity hidden

Has a scar on her lower lip

She sleeps wherever and whenever she can

She abuses nyquil and often takes sleeping pills so she can sleep peacefully

Toby

has some BAD bipolar, his mood swings so fast that you cant predict his next move

Finds comfort in burning things, he can't quite remember why but he knows it feels like freedom

Keeps himself clean enough, after a mission he hops in the shower immediately but doesn't do a whole body scrub, just the main areas and forgets deodorant way too often

Dating jack

He is mildly allergic to shellfish, but its not like he can actually afford seafood so its not a problem

Masky always gets on his case, and toby hates that. They never get along, usually exploding at each other every week

Doesnt work out, but hes lean and fit regardless

Has an anxiety disorder that makes him have regular panic attacks but he smokes weed to feel better

Likes to hunt, but has no idea how to butcher the things he kills and has no desire to learn. Brian can do it.

Hes a slob, he barely cleans his room and doesn't wash his clothes often

He likes to think hes secretive and mysterious, but he is Definitely Not

Carries a switchblade at all times

He is barely 21, but has been a proxy since he was 16

Sleeps all day and stays up all night

Masky/tim

Has chronic pain that he needs painkillers for, often goes out of his way to kill elderly people so that he can take their pills

He is bitter about being a proxy, he doesn't like it but its a safe roof over his head and thats more than he can get alone

Listens to grunge/nu metal, blasts it in the car after missions to loosen up his anxiety

He used to take uncalculated risks and pay for it physically when he was younger, but at 27? Hed rather get things done efficiently and quickly

Uses a gun to kill, he doesn't care for the gore and intimacy of using a blade

Hes a clean guy, he takes care of his skin enough that the other proxys bully him for it

He doesn't care

He smokes so much, he definitely is getting lung cancer

Hes allergic to grass, breaks out in hives if it gets on his bare skin too long

Hes been a proxy since he was 21, he has seniority over the others but that doesnt mean much to toby

He drives the others places, he carries a fake id just in case he gets pulled over

He is not the type to be caught and to be pulled over, but when it comes to driving, hes not gonna try and run. He knows he cant get away.

He doesn't work out, he is chubby and doesn't run well but he can get away because he always plans out escape routes beforehand

Barely sleeps, but usually sleeps through the day

Hoodie/brian

not quiet, not loud. He is just there.

He will get drunk to forget his past and current situation and cry in his room

He will take pills and mix it with whatever, he just wants to get out of his mind

Used to be a cheerful outgoing guy, hes a shell of his former self. Hes still happy at times, but its hard to feel anything anymore

He listens to depressing shit, but also likes rap

He takes care of himself, washing his clothes and showering daily. Which is more than toby can say.

He tends to stick around tim, hes a clinger

He likes to cook, will often cook for the proxys

Hes in charge of groceries and meat butchering animals toby hunts

He looks the most normal so he does everything that involves the outside world along with kate

He has a beer gut, and isnt big on weight lifting or anything. As long as he can run and tackle a victim hes fine

He gets along pretty well with kate and toby and is in a weird situationship with tim

He is 26, but became a proxy at 20

Uses a gun and a crowbar to kill, mainly opting for the gun

Can drive but is god awful at it

Has a pretty normal sleep schedule compared to the others, he wakes up at noon and sleeps around 2am if possible

Jeff

gross guy, just sleazy and dirty all around

He doesnt shower very often, much less wash his clothes

He REEKS of axe body spray

He kills for the fun of it, choosing harder targets to get more fun out of it

Always has a broken or fractured bone, he just powers through it until it hurts so bad he has to be in bed for a couple weeks

He plays video games with ben all the time

Very vulgar, doesn't hold back what he thinks of you

Good luck trying to get him to do any chore, bro lays down and doesn't get up for WEEKS

Walks around shirtless way too often

Its not that hes depressed, hes just indifferent to the world around him. He doesn't care if anyone lives or dies, as long as he can do what he wants

Very stalky, a lot of muscle but not a lot of body fat

He listens to heavy metal so loud he has slight hearing loss in his right ear

Has to recut his smile every week and he finds great joy in doing so. Its his self care.

He forgets to eat for days at a time, hes just not willing to get up

Smokes a shit ton of weed with toby and ben

He is 22

Slender HATES him because hes arrogant and doesn't try and hide from police

Rips open bodies and throws their organs everywhere

Nina

Scene queen

She is best friends with clockwork, they cling to each other like glue

She feels like an idiot for idolizing jeff

She still likes killing though. Shes got a taste for it and theres no going back to civilization so she might as well

She finds her victims on dating apps and catfishes them for weeks before killing them

She has some sort of anorexia, she is trying hard to recover though

She works out with clockwork for as long as she can before passing out or getting sick

She wants to go shopping but she doesn't know how to hide her mouth so she uses amazon to the proxy po box

Listens to 2000s clubbing music

Is deeply saddened because she cant go clubbing… shes only 19 and will never be able to be a normal teenager again

She still gets drunk though lmao

She is one of slenders favorites because of her brutality

She carves pieces of flesh out of her victims and rips their hearts out

Has the most clothes out of everyone, her outfits always serve cunt

Jack

some sort of shape shifter and prefers to be a animalistic furry beast

He purrs when happy

Dating toby, it is a very loving relationship

When hes not in a human form, he mainly communicates in chirps and chitters

He has an extensive medical knowledge and acts as a doctor for the rest of the pastas

He keeps his room sterile as possible, often choosing to sleep in tobys room to keep his room clean for his “patients”

He has a high iq but not in a human way. He is more like a super genius dog

He can see but not well

He likes to watch trash tv with toby to fall asleep

He has a “motherly instinct” where he takes care of people who he deems “weak” like nina, ben and sally

He has feral instincts, often going into the woods to rip apart a deer with his mouth and claws

He loves to lick people as a form of affection

He is a gentle giant, he kills only if he craves organs

He uses his medical knowledge to carefully dissect victims and to get the most organs efficiently

Doesn't need sleep, but likes to sleep while toby pets him

Clockwork

tans with self tanner and definitely uses those playboy bunny stickers bc nina gave her some

Works out but only so she can strangle her victims easier

She likes the power to kill people with her hands, she finds it very rewarding

She primarily kills men, and if possible she scopes out sex offenders and takes them out

She has a long self care routine that involves face masks and bath bombs. The bathroom is filled with her stuff

Best friends with nina and they do everything together

Listens to country music unironically and everyone makes fun of her for it. She doesn't think its funny

Thinks her murders are vigilante justice, sees herself as a good person

Aroace queen, she finds platonic love is enough for her

SHREDDED. GAHD DAMN.

Shes 23

Shes not fond of men in general, but gets along with jack well enough.

Carries mace and an eyepatch just in case

She sleeps all day and stays up all night, which is not unusual for the mansion's inhabitants but she sleeps especially hard, she wouldnt wake up if a bomb dropped

Ben

A poltergeist in the truest sense

He enjoys fucking with the apps in other pastas phones, sending messages to people and editing photos

He has a mental age of 18 or 19 but is dead so its not really reflected in his body

Chooses to walk while in the non digital world because he gets antsy

Plays video games all day, chooses to ignore responsibilities in favor of mastering a new game

Eats even though he doesn't have to, he can eat 5 party size chip bags a day easily

He doesn't wear his main outfit all the time, mostly just lounges around in a tee shirt and shorts

He LOVES anime. Hes a total weeb and has so many posters of popular shows. His favorite anime is tokyo ghoul

He listens to japanese music, mainly metal BUT NOT BABYMETAL. He has a weird hatred for babymetal

Has the most electronics of the pastas, 3 pc screens, a laptop, a switch, ps5, phone, xbox 360, and all the old nintendo consoles

His room is so crowded he has to fly to get through the door

Trash is everywhere, hes a total slob

He likes to troll people on twitter (or X if your a loser) and he is able to doxx people easily

Is good friends with jeff and toby

Sally

She is also a poltergeist, but not in the way ben is

Shes still in a kid mindset, despite being dead for years

She cant fly, she just creepily walks around

She can make lights go out

She has tea parties with the other pastas, slender makes sure they are nice to her

She has a beautiful princess room set up by masky

She sees masky as a protector

She likes mice and will sometimes bring home small rodents to play with (aka kill them and play with their corpses)

She likes to just sit and watch people go about their lives. She will sit between whoever is on the couch playing a game or watching tv and just observe

She likes the quiet, but unfortunately she cant really get that in the mansion

She sneaks off to the proxy house often to use kates noise canceling headphones

When kates awake she will play with sally but shes often knocked out

Lulu

very gentle, she kills only when shes mad

Its not easy to piss her off, but when shes mad it doesn't really show through

She cant see very well, but the fog helps her get around well enough

She and the other girls get along well enough but she still has trust issues with girls from The Incident

She loves to read but has to hold the book inches from her face

She didnt really want to be a caregiver, but she welcomes the role

Doesnt really do skin care but she does shower often

She hums a lot and it pisses jeff off

She has a adorable room, its all pastels and lace

She takes things from the kitchen and stashes them in case she ever needs them.

Shes a chronic kleptomaniac because she never knew if another girl would try and take her stuff when she was at school so she would always take extras

She carries a pocket knife with a scraper in case she needs to get eyes out

[soft-girl-musings]

Cry (MK Spring Bingo #1)

Marc Spector x Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: panic/anxiety attacks, possibly inaccurate description of an emergency room visit (i don't remember the exact process i borrowed from my own experience bc i was sick… in the ER…), no use of y/n

wc: 1,356

fic summary: Three times Marc told you it was okay to cry, and one time you returned the favor.

A/N: Finally got around to writing something for someone besides jake lockley, bless. once again this is self-indulgent, but if anything hits home for you i'm glad <3 (based on Adam Melchor's "Cry" , which is the most marc-coded piece of music i've ever heard. in this essay i will)

_____________________

The first time came out of nowhere.

Nothing was wrong per se; no major injury or crisis had come up. All you knew was that you were frozen in the corner of your room, hot tears streaming down your face as your mind raced between a million different things.

“Sweetheart, have you seen my–” Marc’s request stopped the moment he saw you frozen in the darkened room, gripping the sleeves of your shirt as you bit your lip so hard you risked giving yourself another reason to cry.

“I just need a minute,” your voice came out trembling and heavy, as if too many syllables would cause the tears to fall with greater force. Not that you knew how to stop them, or how they even started.

Quick strides across the room brought Marc to your side. His warm hands wrapped around yours, cold and losing color from digging into your arms. 

Words were never his strong suit; Marc’s a man of few, usually letting his presence and actions suffice. So when faced with consoling you against some invisible threat, he could almost hear the sound of his own heart breaking in tandem with your staggered breath.

So he stood there. Until your fingers relaxed and entwined with his, he stood there until he could guide you to the floor. Arms wrapped around your shoulders, he cradled you as you continued to cry.

“This is so stupid,” you groaned as you wiped your face with your sleeve. “So fucking… ugh.”

“Hey,” he shushed you. “Not stupid. You’re feeling what you’re feeling.”

“But I don’t know why,” you choked out. It was hard enough being so distraught; not having a valid reason for it made everything hurt more.

“You don't have to justify it. Don't have to do anything but just… be here.” A hand to your temple eased your head against his chest. “I'm here, as long as you need me to be.”

This was all the permission you needed to let another rush of tears spill down your cheeks, soaking his shirt. He didn't mind.

___________________

The second time was in the emergency room.

You'd never struggled to catch your breath like this before; a common cold turned south and triggered long-dormant childhood asthma, making your lungs betray the rest of your body. Marc drove you to the ER when your hollow coughing didn't let up for the third day in a row. Head spinning and chest aflame, you were rushed to the back as soon as Marc told them you couldn't breathe.

“You've got to breathe steady, honey.”

“I'm trying,” you muttered around the medicated tube in your mouth. It had to be almost 3 in the morning; your body ached like crazy and you didn't catch a word of what the nurse told you to do with your medication. All you knew was that you were cold, exhausted, and grateful to have Marc there to time your breathing.

But even with his hand holding yours, you still felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Every inhalation brought medicine to your airways, but the ragged sensation resonated through your chest and made your body ache more.

“I'm so tired,” you finally said around the device. With that, your tears fell faster than you could swipe at them. Your frown pushed the device from your mouth, but you didn't care.

Marc sprang up, catching the equipment when your grip faltered. He said nothing; instead, he climbed onto the bed with you, leaning your back against his chest and taking your hand in his once more, bringing the medication back to your lips. You let him bear your weight, immediate relief washing over you as he took over keeping the device steady with one hand and gently dabbing a tissue at your cheek with the other. 

“Nothing wrong with a few tears, honey. Means you’re alive.”

When you finally went home, the fire in your lungs extinguished, he held you again until you fell asleep.

_____________________

“.....The movie just started.”

(The third time was on the living room couch.)

You had finally talked Marc into watching La La Land with you (with the promise of his getting to choose the next movie night film, of course). You were barely 30 seconds into the opening number when you'd started crying, eyes glued to the screen as dozens of up-and-comers danced and sang about their dreams to make it in the industry.

“They haven't said anything.”

“They're saying everything.”

“He's dancing on a car.”

“Because he's excited!”

“Why did they stop traffic to dance?”

You didn't hear the rest of his quips, too engrossed in the scene. The colors, the music, and the highly impractical interstate  choreography had a way of getting to you ever since you first saw this movie. Meanwhile, Marc sat with his arms crossed and eyebrows knit together as he tried to follow along.

When you noticed his body language, you reached for the remote and paused the movie. “Do you… want to watch something else?”

Marc's face fell when he realized this new batch of tears wasn’t because of the movie, but because of him. The thought of making your cry hit like a punch to the gut.

He took the remote from you, moving closer to your side. “Nice try, but you're not getting out of it that easily. I need your commentary if I'm gonna keep up.” He hit play and choked down every criticism as he saw your face light up, tears of joy brimming during the remaining 2 hours of the film.

The next morning, while making breakfast, you could have sworn you heard Marc humming Another Day of Sun under his breath.

_____________________

As you'd grown closer, you began to know Marc as your rock, your steady landing place when you had thoughts and feelings too big to deal with on your own. He never had to say much to be there for you. He kept you tethered and together, happy to be of service no matter how ugly your hardships felt. 

It was only a matter of time before you saw a crack in his foundation.

You got home late one night, a thunderstorm hot on your heels. You had shrugged off your coat and shoes, calling out to Marc to see if he was home. No response.

You checked each room diligently, until you found him sitting on the corner of the bed.

“Marc?” You asked softly, walking toward him. You knelt in front of him, and the sight of his face twisted into an unfamiliar expression, a steady stream of tears spilling from his reddened eyes, was more than you could bear.

The first time came out of nowhere.

“Can you give me your hands, Marc?” He complied, his breath short and his eyes fixed on the storm pelting the window with sheet after sheet of rain. His vision darted between drops of water and streaks of lightning. The room shook with the echoes of thunder as the worst of the storm hit.

“Hey,” you urged him. “Just be here. With me.” Your thumb traced his wrist as you tried to stay calm.  “Can you breathe with me, Marc?” You sat up on your knees. He nodded, slowly but surely matching the pace of your breath. 

You didn't know what was on his mind, only that it was racing. You couldn't tell what had him so worked up, only that his breath escaped him even as you counted to ten again, and again, unrelenting in your focus on him. You had no idea what made your rock, your anchor, cry like this.

Maybe he'd tell you later; maybe it'd remain a mystery. None of that mattered in the moment. All that mattered was the rhythm of your breath as the rain let up; the way his tears drenched your sleeves when you dabbed at his flushed cheeks; the steady thrum of his heart as his body relaxed beside yours. All that mattered was how, with your chest pressed to his back as you lay on top of the bedspread, he let you hold him for a change.

_____________________

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added/taken off this wee tag list)

[fanon-elio]

By your side.

Part 3

Summary: You are the CEO of a big company and hired Lycaon as your personal attendant, however it seems that your wolfish butler has developed a crush on you. So while you and him were on a business trip, both of you were forced to confront your growing feelings for eachother.

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and is not canon. You are responsible for the content you consume, so if the following warnings trigger you, you may read at your own risk.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow burn'ish, long fic, mutual pining, reader is smaller than lycaon, lycaon is down bad horrendous, friends to lovers type stuff, some flashbacks here and there, spoilers for lycaon's agent story, lycaon is a teeny tiny bit possessive.

Angst, Mentions of injury, mentions of death, social anxiety, reader lowkey having a panic attack, trauma.

Other warnings: lowkey my first fanfiction, so bare with me here. (T^T)

I added some throw-away characters to the story as plot devices, no they're not oc's and they hold no importance to the story other than providing character development.

We don't know that much about Lycaon's past yet, so take everything you may read here about his backstory with a grain of salt.

This fic contains a lot of scenarios written in Lycaons pov cuz i eat this shit up for breakfast.

Welcome back once again.

I apologize for the short delay, i have been sick these last couple of days. But I managed to get it done, even though Tumblr ate my draft and I had to start from scratch. Shaking, crying, throwing up, ripping my hair out.

Once again, I apologize for possible mistakes you may find, and constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Enjoy!

The sun was slowly setting, bathing the city in a golden hue as you and Lycaon drove through the city. You occupied yourself by looking outside the window, hoping it would ease your nerves about tonight's event. Your eyes wandered with the movement of the car as you noted that the earlier rain had definitely left its mark, the outside area's of the various restaurants and cafes remained empty and the parasol's closed. The sun gently reflected in the puddles of rainwater that still covered the streets, and you watched as life slowly but surely returned to them, smiling as you saw a couple of children jumping into the puddles as the brilliant liquid flew everywhere as it glittered in the sun.

That reminded you of something. Earlier Lycaon had called home, wanting to make sure everything was okay with everyone and the caffee while he was gone "by the way, how's it going at home?" You asked curiously, his ear flicked as you caught his attention "Corin had assured that everything was going well" he answered "everyone is doing fine, and Rina had even kept herself out of the kitchen like I had requested" Lycaon replied with a hint of amusement in his voice, even though Rina accidentally poisoning someone was one of his biggest worries. It was true that Rina was an expert at her job, however cooking had never been her strong suit, and it seemed that no matter how many cooking lessons she took it never improved. So for the time that he was away, they had hired someone to do the cooking and baking in the caffee for them.

"Corin had also asked me to once again thank you for tutoring her" you gasped as you remembered that the exam you had helped her study for was yesterday "oh! How did she do?" You asked, and he smiled, "She has written an A" he responded, and you could have sworn to have heard a tinge of pride in his voice. Even though he was a rather strict boss, he was still very understanding and supportive, you always found it endearing how Lycaon took care of Corin and Ellen as if they were his own daughters.

You knew that Lycaon's employees could be a handful sometimes. Be it Corin's clumsiness, after a cup of coffee you had once ordered accidentally landed in your lap instead of on your table. Ellen's tardiness, when you would find her asleep in the most outlandish places. Or Rina's lethal cooking, you had once experienced first hand after having been offered one of her "Chernobyl cocktails" as Ellen called them. And goddamn, you think you could never forget that excruciating stomach ache.

But you knew that they worked hard and had the spirit to do well. And, if you were fully honest, Lycaon had his own lovable peculiarities as well. Like his obsession with cleanliness, the way he attracted the attention of all the dogs in the general vicinity, or even the way he would glare daggers at a squirrel if he spotted one.

The car ride slowly came to an end as Lycaon pulled into the driveway of the building the gala would take place in, you noticed all the expensive and extravagant cars all neatly parked next to each other which made you remember yesterday's mess with Mr. Goldman, much to your dismay, you really hoped not to run into him tonight since you were already nervous enough.

If you were fully honest, high society had always been highly exhausting for you. You came from a humble backround, not having been born into wealth but rather accumilated it over the years thanks to hard work. In truth, everything overly extravagant made you feel rather uncomfortable, you never really understood the appeal of wearing expensive designer clothes, and most of them looked hideous to you anyways. So much so that you and Lycaon would always joke about it when watching fashion shows on TV.

This humbleness reflected in your living situation as well. You lived in a normal house in a normal neighborhood a few minutes away from Lumina square, so if no one knew because you had deleberately told them, they would never suspect you to have a net worth over several billion dennies.

You enjoyed the freedom this gave you, being able to walk around undisturbed without being followed around and having your day to day life broadcasted to everyone on social media. This also allowed you to form genuine bonds with people who stuck by your side for you, and not for your money. And even though your best friend Zhu yuan was rather chaotic you did love her like your own sister. You wondered if your in-person-attendance today could potentially threaten that freedom of yours.

Lycaon seemed to notice your nervousness and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder "don't worry, whatever happens tonight I will not leave your side" you smiled in reply, your heart soared at the way he touched you, gentle as if handling porcelain.

Both of you exited the car and Lycaon offered you his arm as you walked to the front entrance, the smell of rain still hanging strong in the air, and you reminisced of a time before you two had met. Well, officially at least.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually had your eyes on him for much longer than he knows. All of it started when Zhu yuan was forced to take some time off and you tried to distract her from thinking about her job by going shopping. It had rained that day just like earlier, and you had walked down the street with your umbrella in hand. It was then when you had seen him through the window of his maid caffee. You had never actually believed in love at first sight, and always believed it to be a clichee.

Until it hit you pretty much square in the face.

And as luck would have it, your every so worried parents had hired exactly him to watch over you and your mental health, from which day oneward your feelings for the wolf thiren only seemed to grow stronger and stronger.

And since that day, he had never left your side.

You noticed the plethora of photographers and reporters standing by the main entrance, and you stiffen in response. The flashing of the cameras made you feel nauseous, as you made your way over the red carpet trying to stay as unnoticeable as possible "excuse me miss y/n!" But you had no such luck, it seems "I'm from Eridu today, and I must say it is a pleasure to see you this evening, it is not often that you give the public the opportunity to enjoy your company!" The reporter said, holding her microphone at you, and you looked at the cameraman who accompanied her. You noticed your reflection in the void of the camera's lens, and you swallowed, feeling your heart drop to your feet.

A new scent reached Lycaon's nose, one he didn't like. Fear. He had worried that this might happen, you weren't used to such media attention. Naturally, you were overwhelmed by suddenly having everyone's attention on you, with the knowledge that hundreds of thousands of other people were watching you behind their screens.

He discreetly placed his hand against your lower back, his warm palm gently signaling you that he was here, and that he had your back. He noticed you seemingly relax a little in response. Gathering all the confidence you had, you responded "O-of course, being here this evening is a matter of the heart for me" the reporter nodded, her emotions hidden behind a smile that you weren't able to pinpoint. "I see it as my duty to be present for tonight, in solidarity for the victims of the Vision cooperation" you continued, the thunderstorm of camera flashing once again flooding your senses. It was overwhelming. "That is wonderful! It's true that this scandal had shaken the community to its core" the reporter said, and you hoped a simple nod was enough of an answer for her "Master, we should get going" Lycaon responded, and you released a silent breath of relieve. You could kiss him for helping you get out of this situation, well you could always kiss him if you were being honest. With his hand still on your lower back, he gently guided you towards the main entrance.

As soon as Lycaon and you walked through the front door, you could instantly feel the stares of the other guests fall on the two of you; some in surprise, some in awe even and yet some others in confusion.

You tried to swallow the lump that was once again forming in your throat from your growing unease of being the center of attention at the champagne reception. You tried to focus on the feeling of Lycaon's hand on your back in order to distract yourself from the stares that pierced you from every angle. Lycaon himself was still worried of your growing discontent, however he was still so proud of you for having confronted your fears. He himself was used to having others attention on him all the time, be it because of his height and stature, or because of his prosthetics. But you didn't, why else did you keep yourself out of the public eye where you could. He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as a small sign of encouragement. You smiled to yourself, squeezing his hand back. With him here, you were sure you could make it through this night.

Both of you took the drink you were offered, and made your way towards the main hall, you looked around, noticing some familiar faces you've seen once or twice on TV while a lot of the other guests present were completely unfamiliar to you, but you weren't that surprised, you normally never appeared on events like these, always dismissing the invitations, and only rarely ever gave interviews. You couldn't fathom how awful it must be not being able to go outside without paparazzi waiting for you like circling vultures, and wondered how all the famous singers and actors could live like that.

You wondered if Lycaon ever had to deal with them when he was working for other clients, and silently amused yourself on the thought of your wolfish butler trying to fend off a horde of camera wielding paparazzi.

After some time of walking among the sea of attendees, and being greeted by one or two, both of you finally reached your designated table. You thanked Lycaon when he pulled your chair out for you to sit, secretly gushing over his gentlemanly gesture as you went over tonight's schedule in your head again.

For starters, the host was going to hold a speech followed by dinner and afterward a charity auction. "Is everything alright so far, master?" Lycaon asked, and you gave him a playful thumbs up "so far everything is going well, knock on wood it stays that way" you told him, and he nodded in agreement, especially after having seen Mr. Evergreen and his wife amongst the attending guests and even though there was no bad blood between him and the Evergreens, the embarrassment he felt was still quite strong, even though he wanted to ask how Lilac's art classes were coming along.

"Say Lycaon, I'm curious about something" you started, his ears perking up immediately "please master, feel free to share your curiosity with me" he said reaching for his glass to take a little sip "could it be there are other clients of yours here tonight?" you asked mirthfully "there are indeed, may I inquire why you ask?" "Oh it's just that i saw the Evergreens earlier" you told him and he nearly choked on his drink.

Your little banter is interrupted by the sound of someone clinking their glass, blanketing the room in silence. While looking for the source of the sound, you let your gaze wander across the hall, briefly stopping when you noticed a familiar face amongst the crowd. Your brows furrowed in annoyance when you recognized Mr. Goldman and his wife, who looked equally as annoyed as you, sitting just three tables away from you. You silently saluted her for somehow miraculously finding the patience to put up with his bullshit... and his face.

"I'm honored to welcome you all" your eyes shifted to the front of the hall, now finally spotting where that earlier sound came from "it fills me with joy for having you attend tonight's celebration" a woman in a wheelchair spoke, and you could have sworn that you've seen her somewhere before "I dedicate tonight's gala to those who work tirelessly to help those in times of need" she continued "for those stricken with illness and injury, and those in poverty, who need our support dearly" as those words left the woman's mouth and entered Lycaons ears, he internally scoffed at her, wondering where all this support was that they were praising themselves for? Painfully clenching his jaw as he was reminded of his own past.

Where was it when his parents died, and he had to live on the streets, or when he had to join mockingbird just to survive, stealing from those who could have lent their aid but never did, always favoring status and profits above their humanity. Even after the violent injuries inflicted on his body, the memories of which still rob him of his sleep, it was due to his own diligence that helped him regain his life and that allowed him to now sit amongst the people he secretly loathed so much.

However... it seems that amongst the rubble, some gems can still be found; he glanced at you and his gaze softened.

You weren't like them, you actually cared about the lives of others and this is exactly what you modeled your business after, exactly why he loved you so dearly. It was your gentle nature and kind heart what made him fall for you in the first place, and god has he fallen hard for you. You give those stricken with illness and injury the oppertunity to walk through life on their own feet again. You work hard to give them back a shred of normalcy, trying to get them back on track after their life had been so crudely derailed. And yet, you still kept the delicacy of the moment, never prying neither your clients, nor himself for answers. Something he greatly appreciated about you, because he was aware that this question had burned on your tongue for the last one and a half years now. But, as graceful and as kind as you are, you opted to wait for him to open up to you, and he would eventually when he himself has found the courage to lay his heart bare to you.

His tail slowly swished from side to side as he once again marveled at the sight of you just like he had done yesterday in the car. Tonight however, things seemed different somehow, tonight you shined so much brighter; instead of being illuminated by the sun's rays, you have appeared to have become the sun, burning away the shadows of his pain and insecurity.

Memories of you two filled his mind has it really already been one and a half years? Time really does fly by when you're enjoying yourself he thinks to himself and recalls one special moment in peticular, the moment he had fallen for you.

Back then he had taken quite a beating during a comission with master proxy, breaking his prosthetics in the process, and having to spend a night in the hospital due to a concussion. He still remembered the shame he felt when he had called you to inform you about his sudden absence, and the suprise when you showed up not even half an hour later to check up on him. But most of all does he vividly recall the feeling blooming in his chest when you came back the next morning, with his prosthetic in your hands. Fully repaired. He had thanked you, having felt beyond gratefull that, not only had you taken your time, money and effort to get them repaired. But also because you had spared him the feeling of dread and hopelessness when he thought about having to leave the hospital in a wheelchair.

And even though you had helped him get back on his feet, by that time he had, figuratively speaking, already been on his knees for you.

You two had already experienced so much together, having gone through thick and thin, supporting eachother where you could. And he wanted to experience so much more with you. You turn your head, once again feeling his gaze on you, but this time he doesn't turn his head away, locking eyes with you instead and relishes in the smile you grace him with.

Maybe all of his past trageries were worth it if it ment he could remain by your side.

Applause replaced the silence as the host concluded her speech, and dinner was served, though it had been rather uneventfull. However Lycaon chuckled when you celebrated its disctinct lack of caviar. He felt a sense of satisfaction while he watched you eat. He was glad that now he was sitting across from you during an official dinner, instead of some desperate cretin who would constantly make a move on you - on his favourite person.

But not all good things can last forever. It seemes that said desperate cretin had read Lycaon's mind, thinking it a good idea to apporache your table.

"It's nice to see you tonight Ms. Y/n" both you and Lycaon had to fight the groan that desperately wanted to escape you both when Mr. Goldman appeared, sucking out all the positive vibes out of the current situation with his mere pressence alone. "I hope this dinner was more to your liking?" he inquired, which confused you that he had enough self-awareness about the abysmal choice of cuisine during your not-so-fun get together, but apparently not enough that he didn't see a problem in flirting with another woman that wasn't his wife. You were terribly tempted to snitch on him to his wife but scratched that idea, opting to get tonight over with while avoiding any inconveniences.

"It was" you responded shortly, hoping that he'd understand your unwillingness to talk to him right now, but he seems to once again lack the self-awareness necessary to understand. "I just wanted to once again inquire about possible business cooperations with you, since I'm going to be an investor and shareholder soon" he cackled, and you raised an eyebrow at his weird display, Lycaon watching both of you intently. "It is nice of you to inquire, we'll see if you qualify" you said taking a sip from your glass "what do you mean if I qualify?" he asked you rather uncertain if he had understood you correctly, while mimicking air quotes "I say so simply because our last meeting left me on a rather bitter note"

and you weren't just talking about the food, that was for sure

"was it because I didn't invite him-" he once again pointed at Lycaon "-to my party?" He asked "for one, yes" you said putting your glass down "please Ms. Y/n, a pretty Lady like you couldn't possibly be that petty-" you held your hand up, politely stopping his rambling "I have made my decision, please be assured that I will respond to your offer in due time, however-" you crossed one of your legs over the other, gently perching your hands on your knee "-I must disappoint you when I say that the possibility of you becoming a Shareholder has unfortunately never stood in question, I hope you understand" you explained "regardless, I wish you a pleasant evening" you finished.

Mr. Goldman was about to object to your words when Lycaon's voice coldly interrupted him "She wishes to no longer speak with you, I must kindly ask you to leave" Lycaon glared daggers at the smaller man in front of him who didn't budge an inch at first.

It infuriated Lycaon, he wouldn't let anyone ruin this special evening for the both of you, not when everything was going so well.

"Please don't make me ask twice" Lycaon once again sternly inssisted, his gaze rigid as it bore into the individual infront of him. For a while Lycaon and Mr. Goldman just glared daggers at eachother, both not saying a single word. You on the other hand were taken aback by Lycaon's sudden shift in attitude, but nevertheless thankfull. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wondered how he'd become even more attractive to you than he already was to begin. After a while, Mr. Goldman walked off with a huff, visibly upset and, you thanked Lycaon for helping you out. Internally giggling at his display of protectiveness over you.

After a while, the auction began, luring the wealthy participants with expensive artworks and antiques. Even though none of the shown items really interested you, exceptions being a few pictures you thought would look great on your wall at home, you still planned to buy some of the items to resell or donate them instead of letting them catch dust in your or someone else's attic. So around 700k lighter and happy you let the auction go by while you bemusedly observed two people battle it out over a kitschy rooster shaped lamp, while Lycaon thought that everything had come full circle after you bought the Evergreen's painting that had started the whole drama with Lilac, Master proxy and him in the first place, secretly he wondered if maybe he could persuade you to donate it as well so he wasn't forced to look at it while he cleaned.

The auction finishes and the night seems to be slowly coming to a close. Some people had already left; either because they were tired and just really wanted to escape this labyrinth of endless formality, or because they were just really curious about the contents of the goody bag the host had prepared for everyone to collect on their way out as a final little goodbye.

You on the other hand made your way towards the Woman's bathroom, having told Lycaon to wait for you at the table. He had frowned a bit, not liking the thought of you going off on your own while Mr. Goldman was still scurrying around the building like the Rat he is, but you assured him that you'd be fine.

As you walked through the bathroom door, you noticed Mrs. Goldman standing in front of the mirror, fixing her own make-up. You cringed, internally throwing your purse to the ground at mach speed as you cursed your bad luck... "oh hey! I know you!" ...but you were definitely in for a surprise.

---~---

Part 4 ->

To be continued->

Ah I'm glad this part is done, it was so much more complicated than it had to be honestly. A small part of me died when that draft suddenly vanished into thin air, it was so infuriating.

But all is well that ends well.

Speaking of ending, i think this chapter also marks the half way point. I think this fanfiction will maybe have 6 parts in total, but it depends if I feel like writing an epilogue or not.

Until then, I wish you a pleasant day/evening, and hope you'll stay tuned for the next part.

-Elio

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!” 

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms.  He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

[ameenvie]

Last Christmas - Jamie Tartt x fem!reader

masterlist | ao3 | ko-fi | fic recs

"Now I know what a fool I've been, but if you kissed me now, I know you'd fool me again"

@emeraldsandelderberries asked: jaime x reader christmas request :) maybe a second chance romance a la “last christmas” by wham! ? Word count: 4.3k Warnings: none really! I guess anxiety and panic attacks if you squint, but not really Tags: fluff, second chance, christmas, drama, hurt/comfort A/N: This request was soooooooo sweet!!! AH I LOVED IT, I'm so sorry it's this late! 😭 IT might be a bit more dramatic/moody than you've wanted but I really hope you like it! ❤❤

Christmastime in London was always special to you. You loved how the storefronts all dressed up into colourful decorations and cheerful lights, how the smell of warm cookies filled the air as you passed your favourite bakery on your way to work. Excitement and restlessness filled people’s hearts as they were waiting for a little break at the end of the year, a time of reflection and hope. And honestly you could’ve used a fresh start.

Work was hectic in the office before at the end of the year, but you always pushed through by thinking of the holidays approaching faster day by day. The last weeks before Christmas were all about secret Santas and Christmas gatherings at the office as well.

You were having lunch in the small kitchen at work when your phone lit up with your best friend’s name. She usually doesn’t call, so you answered suspiciously.

“I have a huge favour to ask” she said quickly without even saying hello. You put your face into your palm as you braced yourself for what was about to come and even like that you were shocked at her next words. “I need you to come to the company Christmas Party with me.”

“You what?” you asked, trying to conceal the sudden anger in your voice that was bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t like you to get angry easily, especially not on her, but this time it came so out of the blue. Why would she ask that?

“I know babes, I’m so sorry I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t life or death!”

“How can a Christmas party be life or death?” you asked cynically, drumming your fingers on the table next to your lunch. You’ve lost all your appetite.

“I will die if you won’t come with me, that’s how” she joked, trying to lighten your mood.

“You’re so dramatic” you chuckled, but you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Go on.”

“Look, I don’t want to spend all my evening alone with my coworkers and their families and my rich boss, and insufferable football players!” she started. “You know this is not like a few-drinks-in-the-office kind of party, it’s full bling in a fancy hotel and shitton of food and booze!” you could basically see her waving her hand around while talking. “I thought just the two of us could hang out, get hammered and judge others. What do you say?” You rolled your eyes. She knew this was a compelling offer, but not compelling enough. Not when you could risk running into him.

“Okay, but!” You started and held up a finger like she could see it through the phone. “I have the right to leave at any time I want. Deal?” You heard her let out an annoyed groan at the other end of the line.

“Fine, whatever. I know you’ll love it.”

“I sure will. What do I wear?”

“Go all out babe. I’ll meet you tomorrow at 6. Love yous!” She hung up the call and you placed your phone on the table and just stared at it for a moment.

Your best friend was working at Richmond FC. The football club whose every match you’ve seen since you remember, up until last year. It was your family’s team. Now thanks to Jamie Tartt, you couldn’t even think of the name Richmond. And now your friend wants you to go back there, all dressed up, to an event where you could possibly – or even most likely – meet him and have to talk to him. Have to smile at him like he didn’t break your heart. Like you didn’t cry about him for months after he left.

But you weren’t that girl anymore, were you? Time has passed, you moved on, right? You didn’t cry about him anymore. But the twisting feeling in your gut when you thought about him, when someone mentioned him or even the team, when you saw ads with him told you otherwise. Told you that you in fact, have not moved on. But he doesn’t have to know that.

The walk on the way home was chilly and this time you couldn’t admire the flickering Christmas lights around you on the street, nor the sweet smell of cookies coming from the bakery. Your mind was filled with the thought of him, and the possibility of seeing him again. The thought of your friend being an asshole also crossed your mind a few times, but you knew she didn’t mean any harm. For all she knew you were over Jamie. And you were convinced of that too, but the squeezing feeling in your chest told you otherwise. You didn’t listen though. You didn’t care about him. You didn’t.

You told that to yourself the next day as you looked for that beautiful dress in your wardrobe that you might or might not wanted to wear to impress him. To make him feel like an idiot for throwing you away. You didn’t care about him. As you did your makeup a little more elegant than usual. You didn’t care about him. As you did the finishing touches on your hair. You didn’t care about him.

You picked up your purse and locked the door when you saw your friend calling, meaning she was there to pick you up with a cab. The cold air made you shiver a little and you were thankful for the ride. Wintertime was really not made for having these parties. A thin layer of snow covered the streets and the rooftops, the streetlights painting it a warm hue of gold. You let out a relieved sigh, suddenly you felt calm from the peaceful sight. You hopped in the cab and closed the door. Your friend let out an audible gasp as she looked at you.

“You look fucking fit, girl!” she squealed before she hugged you. You scoffed and chuckled before pulling away.

“Thanks, I guess” you smiled, heat crawling to your ears. Your friend gave the address of the venue to the cab driver, and you were off into the night.

“You really did go all the way, huh?”

“Your wish is my command!” you smiled at her, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

“I got you something” she said and started to rummage through her small purse before she pulled out a small bottle of liquor. You laughed.

“Aren’t we going to a party with unlimited free booze?”

“Wanted to have a moment for just the two of us. No offense” she chuckled and looked at the cab driver who smiled back at her. “Thanks for being here.”

“My pleasure” you replied and took a sip out of the bottle. You felt the liquid burn your throat before you handed it to her. Truth be told, you felt alright. Together with your best friend, dressed to the nines, having a fun night out. Who cares about Jamie Tartt?

When you stepped inside the giant ballroom, your breath got caught in your throat. You’ve been to fancy places before – mostly with Jamie -, but nothing of such magnitude. The room was framed by insanely tall walls with red velvet covering, and shiny accents. Christmas ornaments and decorations hung from the ceiling next to the chandeliers, and there was a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner, next to the stage where the band played soft jazz music. Round tables occupied half of the room in a neatly organised pattern, the other half was the dancefloor.

Kind men took your coat, and you clutched your purse to try to calm your nerves. You felt like you didn’t belong, you stuck out like a sore thumb among these gorgeous and rich people. You felt your friend’s hand squeeze your own as she led you further into the room.

“It’s gonna be fine. We’re eating, getting wasted, dancing then going home, ‘kay?”

“Okay” you breathed. You didn’t dare to look around the room in case you recognised someone. Him.

The two of you made a beeline towards the bar and ordered your favourite shot that you drank immediately. You hoped it would calm your nerves a little.

“Easy girl, the night is still young!”

“That’s especially why I’m drinking” you chuckled. You felt a tap on your shoulder and your heart dropped to your stomach, blood freezing in your veins. That was until you’ve turned and saw Sam’s face and his thousand-watt smile.

“I knew it was you! It’s so good to see you!” he cheered, his accented voice ringing in your ear as he hugged you.

“Sam, oh my God! Look at you, you look amazing!” you answered and rested your hand on his arms. “How you’ve been?”

“Good, good! We have a lot to catch up on, you should write sometimes y’know!” Fuck.

“I know, I’m sorry.” A frown settled on your face, and he immediately tried to lighten the mood.

“Just messing with you. But hey, make sure to come say hi to the others later, okay?” he said, and he gestured to the other side of the room, and your gaze instinctively followed. Mistake.

There he was, in all his glory, as tall and handsome as ever. His hair was different, a bit longer and had highlights in it. It really suited him. He wore a slightly unbuttoned shirt and had its sleeves rolled up, his jacket discarded on a nearby chair.

You’ve felt like throwing up, the content of your stomach making somersaults nonstop. Yet you smiled like nothing happened and nodded at Sam. Your friend who you haven’t spoken to in months because he reminded you of Jamie. What an asshole move. And he was so kind he just forgave you.

“We sure will” you answered and squeezed his arm before you let go. And as he turned you sneaked another peek in Jamie’s direction. You felt lightheaded as his gaze caught yours and you looked away in a blink of an eye, turning your back at him.

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry, look, we can just leave” your friend whispered as she looked at you concerned, but you just shook your head.

“I’m fine, really. When is dinner again?”

“In like half an hour” she replied.

“Mint, I’ll catch my breath outside and I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s fine, really” you protested. “It’ll be just a minute, promise.”

“Fine” she sighed as she rubbed your arms. “But just a word and we’ll be out of here!” You nodded and headed towards the door that led to the back garden. Your steps were quick, and you had your head low to avoid anyone stopping you in your track. But you felt like your heels were too loud, that everyone was looking at you, that he was looking at you. In reality, only one of those was true.

As you opened the door, the cold air bit into your skin as you stepped outside. The garden was gigantic, and the grass was covered in a thin layer of snow. There were gravel paths going around in twisty patterns curving around shrubbery and statues.

To your surprise there were standing tables outside accompanied by tall heaters. You weren’t cold but you knew it was just temporary, so you took a beeline towards one of the heaters and stood next to the table under it. It was kind of magical, hearing only the distant music from the ballroom and nothing else, watching the snow-covered garden. You felt your heartbeat slow down and anxious thoughts leaving your head.

You heard footsteps approaching and you turned towards them with a smile, thinking it was Sam or your best friend. Of course, that was not the case. He took his jacket back on, but the top buttons on his shirt were still undone. He looked at you with a shy smile.

“I knew I saw you” he said, his hands in his pockets. You knew he was fiddling with them like he always did. You didn’t reply and you weren’t sure if it was the nerves or the anger. You stood in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “It’s good to see you again. I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Me neither” you replied, and your voice was colder than you thought it would be. It was perfect. He just couldn't see how he ruined you. He just couldn't.

“I can leave if you want?” he said, but it was almost like a question. A question you didn’t really know the answer for. Did you want him to leave? Or were you just over the moon that he was there, standing in front of you, with a heavy heart and a shy smile? You kind of never wanted that moment to end. You felt pathetic and you looked away from him, which he took as a cue to leave. “It’s alright. It was nice seeing you. You look beautiful.” What an asshole. What right does he have to call you that?

He turned his back on you, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked at your shoes. The fancy shoes that you might or might not picked out to impress him. You did get what you wanted didn’t you? He did call you beautiful. So why was it making you so angry?

“I just” he hesitated before continuing. “Wanted to say I’m sorry. Truly.” You looked up at him. His body was halfway turned from you, and he looked back, head hung low and a few strands of his hair fell into his eyes. Your ears were ringing as your heart was pounding in your chest.

“I was a royal prick. And you-“ he scratched his throat. “You deserved better. And you deserve better than me ruining your night, so I’ll leave you be. Sorry. Truly, it was nice seeing you.” he said and turned away. You felt like your mouth acted on its own as you called out after him. His gaze snapped back and met yours.

“Would you-“ you paused. “Like to stay a bit?” You could see his shoulders relax as he let out a breath he was holding. A smile found its way past his lips as he stepped closer to you under the heater.

“I’m glad you asked because I started to freeze my arse off” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. But he was still very aware of his situation.

“Yeah, why can’t these company parties be held in the summer? You get all dressed up only to freeze your tits off” you smiled back at him. He was leaning against the table as he looked at you. It somehow felt right, being there with him.

“Well, some of us are more dressed up than others” he grinned as his eyes wandered up and down on your body. You pretended you didn’t see it, but the rising heat in your body said otherwise.

“I know, Rebecca looks insanely good tonight” you said to deflect the compliment.

“Yeah, she’s really good at this glam thing. Kinda jealous of her.” You cocked your eyebrow at him, but you didn’t say a word. Signalling him to go on. “Most of the times I just can’t wait to bolt at these events.”

“Why don’t you? Are you on the clock or something?” you asked, clutching your purse for dear life. The more reasonable part of your brain said you should just tell him to piss off. But you didn’t.

“Nah” he shrugged. “I just like the company a bit more than usual.”

You felt your heart flutter at the compliment. Then you immediately felt sadness. Then anger.

“Jamie, why on earth are you here?”

“Umm, it’s a company Christmas party?” he answered with a question, feigning ignorance.

“I meant here. And you know that. If you really would've liked my company, you probably wouldn't have dumped me to fuck around” you snapped at him and straightened your back, preparing to leave him. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

You turned on your heels and headed towards the main building. Now that you’ve stepped away from the heater the cold winter air crawled against your skin once more, tears prickling your eyes. You were stupid for coming here.

You picked up your pace before you felt a warm hand grip your wrist. You felt tired. You felt like you had no energy to do this right now.

“Please, love. Just give me a chance.”

“A chance for what, Jamie? To break my heart again?” you asked in a choked voice from holding the tears at bay. He let go of you and ran his hands through his hair. You hated how you knew he always did that when he was nervous. All this knowledge of him, all that love for him. What were you supposed to do with them now?

“What can I do to make it right? I’ll do anything.”

“Stop making a fool out of me. What do you want? A good nostalgia lay? A charity one, because it’s Christmas?” You were so angry at him. If all these were true, why did he just dump you? Say all those things he said. But at the same time, you wanted this to be true. But you weren’t ready for another heartbreak.

“Piss off, I’ve cried enough because of you already.” You turned your back on him again and stormed off. You saw your friend's silhouette at the door, and you felt relieved.

“I’m so sorry babes, I’ll call a cab, okay? I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s fine. I won’t give him the satisfaction of leaving” you let out a shaky breath and hugged your friend.

“What did he want anyway?”

“He said” you started but your voice choked up. “He said he was sorry. That he wanted to make it right.”

“You’re kidding. What did you say?”

“I told him to piss off, as you can see” you answered and let out a dry laugh.

“I can see that, but why?” she asked, and you snapped your gaze at her.

“What do you mean why? Don’t you remember he broke up with me to chase models instead?”

“But maybe he does want to make it right… and you love-“ she said but you broke her off.

“I don’t. Please can we just drop this? Let’s have dinner, what do you think?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Dinner was served by elegant waiters, all different kinds of soups, meats, salads, whatever you could’ve wished for. And fortunately, they didn’t hesitate to bring you drinks as well.

“No way!” you laughed at another guy who was sitting at your table. He was your friend’s coworker, or something like that. You actually had a really great time since the dinner started. These people were nice and funny, and took your mind off of Jamie for a bit. That was all you could’ve asked for.

“It’s nice to meet finally meet you guys in person, I’ve heard so much about you I feel like I’ve known you for ages!”

“Only good I hope!” another girl, Jenna chimed in and chuckled while your friend just rolled her eyes to hide her awkwardness. Mixing friend groups was always a stressful experience for her. Suddenly Jenna whispered something to the person who was sitting next to her – you remembered her name being Ellie.

“Yeah, for sure” Ellie said, covering her mouth while laughing.

“C’mon girls, didn’t they tell you it’s rude to whisper when you have company? Spill it!” your friend whined as she took another sip from her drink. Jenna rolled her eyes playfully before she leaned closer to the two of you.

“We were just talking about how shaggable some of our footballers are” she giggled, and you choked on your drink, what earned you a few weird looks.

“I’m sorry, I just tried to laugh and swallow at the same time” you replied quickly. During your exchange the wait staff started to clear your tables as the dinner was about to end, leaving place for the music, dancing, and drinking.

“Or maybe you fancy the gaffer? No shame in that he’s pretty fit himself” Ellie continued before Jenna cut her off.

“You bet he is. And he’s such a gentleman, I’ve ran into him at the cafeteria once. Maybe even too much of a gentleman.” She gave a knowing look before she chuckled. You knew this was going to be bad.

“C’mon girls, stop it! Anybody can hear you!” your friend tried to stop the situation from getting worse, but it was of no use.

“So, new girl, what do you say? Do you have a favourite guy on the team?” Jenna rested her head in her hands as she was looking at you, batting her eyelashes. She didn’t mean no harm; she had no way of knowing that you were in fact an ex-girlfriend of one of them.

“You know what, I’m kind of a Roy Kent girl myself” you said, and your friend snorted next to you, almost spitting her drink. You flashed a huge smile at her before clinking your glass against hers. The rest of the girls made approving noises before they got interrupted.

“That kinda hurts” his voice pierced your ears, and your heart went into overdrive. Of course. You turned towards him, and you swore your eyes shot daggers at him. He had one of his hands held out towards you, inviting you to take it. “Spare me a dance?”

You already drank enough to consider his offer. You felt everyone’s eyes on you and for a second you didn’t care.

“Sure” you replied in a low voice as you stood up. You heard a gasp from behind you, but you weren’t sure who it came from. You took Jamie’s hand as he led you towards the dancefloor. You heard your friend say “I told you anyone could hear it!” in the background and you smiled.

After you reached the centre of the dancefloor, he spun you around and put one of his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. You didn’t look him in the eye, but scanned the room for anything else to focus on. The band was playing a slow song and couples started to flock to the floor next to you. You saw Ted asking Rebecca for a dance and even your friend stood up and made her way to the floor with someone. You felt Jamie trying to be sneaky and pulling you closer into him with every sway, but you didn’t say anything.

“Do you remember when you taught me how to dance?” he asked, and you heard the smile in his voice. You did remember.

“Of course” you said, barely audible.

“We moved the couch to make space. And even then, I hit my foot into it.” He spun you around to the rhythm of the music, then pulled you closer than before. And you let him, as you rested your head next to his collarbone. He smelled so good, and you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment as you closed your eyes. Like you were in your living room again, like he didn’t break your heart.

“Do you think you can forgive me?” he asked abruptly.

“It’s not-“ you hesitated. “It’s not that I can’t forgive you.” You knew you could forgive him in a second, because you loved him. You loved him so much, not a day went by without you missing him.

“What is it then?”

“I just don’t want to be hurt again. I know you just take whatever you want and when you’re bored you just toss it aside.” You fought your tears as you buried your face into his chest.

“I’m not that person anymore, love” he said and stopped the two of you, lifting your chin up so your gaze met his. “I promise.”

“Why should I believe you? You promised before you’d never leave me and then you tossed me aside. Made me feel worthless.”

“Fuck” he exhaled, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Can we talk somewhere else? Can’t hear my own thoughts.” You didn’t reply just nodded before he took your hands and led you outside to the same spot you’ve talked earlier. Tears were prickling the corner of your eyes as you followed him, looking down at your joint hands. He stood under the heater before he turned to you and placed both his hands on the side of your face.

“Look. I was a major prick, I know that.” He searched your face as he spoke. “But I promise, I’ve changed. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, I was an asshole. I know that now” he paused.

“But I-“ he started then he stopped, his eyes frantically scanning your face.

Don’t say it.

“I just-“

Don’t say it.

“Fuck, I-“

Just say it!

“I love you.” You let out a relieved sigh as you closed your eyes. He pulled you closer as he planted a kiss on your lips, shy and chaste. Your heart was stammering against your ribcage, and you felt like it was your first kiss ever.

“I love you too” you whispered as warm tears rolled down your cheeks, contrasting the cold air. He kissed you again, this time braver, and he poured his heart and soul into it as he pulled you in with his hand on the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your heart felt like a thousand suns exploded inside it.

“Please let me make it right.”

“Just make sure you won’t make a fool out of me again for saying yes to this, okay?”

“I promise” he said before he kissed you again. “But I have another question.”

“Yes?” you asked and raised your eyebrow.

“Are you really a Roy Kent girl?” You laughed at how real the concern was on his face as he looked at you with his puppy eyes.

“No, actually I’m a huge Jamie Tartt girl, have you heard of him?” you grinned as you caressed his face.

“Huh, sounds like he’s a lucky fella” he smiled before he leaned in for another kiss. Maybe it wasn’t so bad your friend invited you after all.

[klausysworld]

Hi hi!! I was wondering if you could write a Daddy Klaus fluff where the little reader has a really bad issue with her heart (prone to heart failure and has a defib implant like me) and when she's having a bad anxiety attack he helps calm her down, makes sure her heart is beating okay, etc???

His Sweet Little Heart

Klaus had noticed something off with Y/n's heart since day one when Marcel begrudgingly introduced them. Apparently she was one of Marcels only human friends, and he made it very clear that she wasn’t for Klaus to play with.

“Leave her be, Klaus” he muttered, not a hint of anything other than seriousness as Y/n approached them with a smile.

It only took one incident, Klaus had grabbed the poor girl, threatened her and pushed her into a panic. Marcel quite literally threw Klaus off her and was stroking her hair. After he took Y/n home and came back to yell at the hybrid, he spat out that Y/n had a heart condition and that he wouldn’t allow Klaus or anyone to risk her life.

Klaus didn’t really understand how Marcel and Y/n had become friends, perhaps through Davina who Y/n was also close with as it turned out.

She never spent too much time with Klaus to begin with but once everything happened with the baby, and she was under the impression that he had lost his child to witches, she tried to be as kind as possible to him. Klaus latched onto that kindness quickly.

He fed on it, he needed it. And she was so willing to give in. She’d talk with him for hours, sit and watch him paint and listen to him explain what the paint strokes meant. She would ask if he liked human foods, he said he liked beignets and she offered to go get some but he shook his head. “You do enough sweetheart, I’ll get them for us” he smiled and she softened, nodding and sitting back in the round snuggle chair he had bought for her.

Everything was quite sweet for a while, the Mikaelsons rarely went out and Klaus spent all his time with Y/n.

But then Hope turned out to be alive and suddenly the world was chaos again. Esther, Mikael, Dahlia, and anyone else was at the doorstep. Suddenly Y/n had a target over her head due to her relationship with Klaus and she couldn’t handle that well at all.

Far too often she would be wheezing for air, her heart failing to keep up with her breaths. Klaus would find her just in time, worry spread across his face as he wrapped his arms around her and held her in his lap. “It’s okay” he whispered “it’s okay, I’m sorry” he repeated, stroking her hair. His attention would be solely focused on her heart, waiting for it to beat correctly. There were few occasions when the fear settled in and he would pick her up, promising it was okay and speeding her to a hospital to make sure she was actually alright.

They always said to keep away from stressful situations.

Klaus never knew how to respond to that.

Often he would suggest she stay indoors, in his room preferably but that upset her. She wasn’t incapable and he knew that but he didn’t know how else to keep her safe.

Sometimes she would get herself so worked up about not being able to help that she’d push herself into a panic or anxiety attack. The first time it happened, Klaus had thought someone hurt her and was desperately trying to find a wound on her but after they kept happening and she refused to talk about it, he knew what was happening. And it scared him as much as it did her.

He would sit and listen to her heart weakly patter in her chest, the irregular pattern became familiar to him and alarm bells rang as soon as it went away from its peculiar rhythm.

On instinct he would scoop her into his lap, hips lips would find her face and soft words would be whispered into her ear. Gently he would caress his hand over the spot where her heart lay, waiting for it to calm down. “It’s alright my sweet little heart, let Daddy hold you” He would soothe quietly, his face nuzzling into her neck.

He sighs a sigh of relief when she snuggles back against him, her heart stabilising and her breaths coming out slower. “Mm sorry daddy” she would whisper but Klaus would always shake his head

“Don’t be sorry for something that’s not your fault” he would tell her with a loving smile and a soft kiss. Her head would rest against his chest and he would hum softly while picking her up and carrying her to their bed or the sofa so that they could be together and bask in the warmth of the other.

(It’s short but it’s something 😄 Once again struggling to write. That’s a lie, I’m struggling to write on here, Im actually trying to plan out a proper book that I wanna write one day. Probably won’t happen but it’s nice to have goals?)

[ghostandsoap]

The Sound of Silence

Captain John Price x Fem! "Peach" Reader Tags: Angst. Anxiety. Panic attack. Mentions of death (a lot of it). Word Count: 5.2k "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

There were a lot of risks when it came to this job.

The physical demands were intense, the mental strain was immense, and the emotional toll was heavy. Not to mention the biggest one.

Danger was a guarantee. Survival was not.

Despite these challenges, for those who chose this career, it was a type of calling that was felt deep within their souls.

The training was hard, pushing their bodies to the limit and beyond. They learned to work as a team, trusting their team with their lives. They faced danger head-on, knowing that every mission could be their last.

This was something that Price and Peach had talked about before. It was a bit difficult not to address this possibility.

When it was only discussed, it was a hypothetical scenario. Neither of them went into any kind of mission with the expectation of dying...they understood it was a possibility, but it wasn't something they counted on.

They had listed and discussed just about every possible way to die on a mission. Getting shot, blown up, stabbed, drowned, poisoned, beaten, etc. You name it, and they had talked about it.

To an outsider, this was freaky weird. Who in their right mind would actively talk to their significant other about dying in awfully traumatic ways? For them, it was more of a preparation thing.

Of course neither of them ever wanted to see the day where one of those scenarios became true for the other. As a matter of fact, they actively did everything they could to not meet any one of these fates.

But the truth was that it was a very real possibility. And even though they never, ever wanted to have it happen...it was something they both needed to be prepared for.

To avoid having this come up all the time though, they talked about their futures in a way that didn't have anything to do with dying.

For example, Price had his life with Peach all planned out.

There was a rumor that Price had bought an engagement ring when they were six months in, and he held on to it everywhere he went for when the moment was right.

According to this rumor, John actively took the ring in and out of the box. When he was on the go and needed extra pocket space, he took the ring out of the box. When he didn't need the space, he put it back in the box and took the whole thing.

Peach didn't really believe it, because she could hardly imagine John Price walking around with an engagement ring in his pocket, fiddling with it when he felt an inkling that it was time to propose.

Price did seriously want to marry Peach, though. He wanted to have kids with her (two specifically, a boy and a girl). He wanted to buy a house out in the middle of the country with no neighbors, but close enough to civilization to where they weren't cut off.

All of these things he had mentioned to her, and they talked about it in decent detail. It was hard to get too in depth with it though, because it seemed that work always got in the way.

And the thing was, they could never walk away from this job. None of Force 141 could.

Each of them had specific skills and talents that made them the perfect team. A family even.

They worked well together. Every mission with them together was almost always a guaranteed success.

But this mission had been different.

It was extremely rare for a mission like this to come up. It wasn't really the mission that was the problem, it was the execution plan.

Price didn't like splitting up. He never liked any of his team going out alone. He liked his team to have backup at all times, someone there for support when things went wrong.

However, this mission was special in the sense that there was no other way to complete it without having everybody be on their own for the majority of the night.

This mission had all kinds of moving parts, and for the sake of time and efficiency, it was best for everyone (despite Price's reservations) to go solo and reconvene at the end for extraction.

They were going to a place that was only accessible by water, meaning that there was only one way on and off the island. It was no tropical vacation by any means, and there was a lot at stake.

In theory, the plan was simple. Everyone was to split up, complete their tasks without getting compromised, and meet back up at the docks. There was a boat set to go for them when they were ready, and assuming all went well, this mission was supposed to be a piece of cake.

Supposed to be.

The mission almost went without a hitch. Everybody was able to successfully complete their job without detection. Gaz returned to the docks first, followed by Soap and then Ghost. Peach rolled up fourth, adrenaline running and satisfaction flowing.

The docks were well hidden, which was intentional. The air was thick and warm with the smell of salt and fish, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the wooden piers.

The sky was just getting dark now, little specks of stars dotting the canvas above.

She was relieved to see Ghost, Gaz, and Soap unscathed and well. Not that she minded having to stitch them up or anything, but it did make her job easier when she didn't have to.

She immediately noticed that Price wasn't there, and she turned to Ghost.

"Price isn't back yet?" She asked, brows furrowed.

"No," Ghost shook his head. "Should be here any minute."

Price was known to take longer than expected. He did things the right way every time, and if that meant adding some time to his estimate, then so be it.

No one worried yet. Price could handle himself. They started packing up the boat, making sure everything was in place so that they could leave as soon as Price showed up.

Once the boat was packed, the four of them took a load off. They sat in a semicircle, really just chatting more than anything.

Of course, Soap did most of the talking.

"Hey, Peaches..." Soap said, and he went on when she looked at him. "Remember I was trying t'come up with a nickname for you n' Price?"

She stifled a laugh. Soap had thrown out some crazy suggestions in the last few weeks -- Peachy Price, PP (Price strongly disliked this one), P&P...just to name a few.

She couldn't even imagine what he had come up with this time.

"Let's hear it." She said.

"Get ready," He beamed. "P squared."

There was a beat of quiet, and then Gaz spoke.

"What?" He asked.

"Price n' Peach...both start with P. Two names, both starting with P," Soap explained. "P Squared!"

"Johnny, that sucks." Ghost was honest, and Soap's jaw dropped a little.

"It's clever," Soap corrected. "It's a layered joke."

Peach laughed.

"P squared..." She repeated, pondering on it. "I actually don't hate that. I can't promise the same for Price though."

"He's gonna love it!" Soap laughed, which earned chuckles and head shakes from Gaz and Ghost.

The playful banter went on for a while...too long, as a matter of fact. The sky was fully dark now, a testament as to how much time had passed. There had been no sign of or word from Price.

Peach's intuition was firing off. She knew something was wrong with Price. She began to fidget with her hands, her mind going through all the possible scenarios.

Now she was starting to worry.

"Where's Price?" Peach asked, the beginning of a pit of dread opening up in her gut as she stood to her feet. "He should've been back by now."

He knew the plan. Price wouldn't stray from a plan like this...not intentionally anyway. The rest of them got to their feet as well, beginning to prepare to go looking for him.

"How long has it been?" Gaz asked, and Soap looked at his watch.

"Hour n' a half."

That was way too long. This wasn't just Price getting caught up doing something. Something was telling her that he was in trouble.

Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Peach all shared a look -- and the first drop of panic pooled in her stomach. She reached for her radio, trying to keep her composure.

"Price, what's your status?" She asked, hoping that he could hear her from wherever he was.

There was only a few seconds of silence before she got a response.

"Got a bit of a situation here." Price said, and his voice had that sharp edge to it that showed up whenever he was in survival mode.

There was the sound of movement in the background. Her heart skipped a couple of beats. "A situation" could mean anything.

"What kind of situation?" She stared at the lapping water underneath the dock she was standing on.

She was already planning on going after him. If she went to his last known location, she could track him and figure out where he was.

"Got some unexpected company," He said, and you could hear the sound of his heavy footsteps hitting the ground and his gear getting tossed around. He was running. "I've been compromised."

That definitely meant that he was in trouble.

"What's your location?" She asked, her heart beginning to thud in her chest.

"I"m by the warehouse, northwest of the-"

His transmission was abruptly cut off. A mixture of sounds emitted from Price's end -- rapid gunfire, an ear-splitting explosion, and then silence.

The only sound now was crackling static of an open line, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just ensued.

Peach's eyes were wide. Her stomach frozen and her brain beginning to fog.

This couldn't mean...he wasn't...

"Captain Price, this is Peach...do you copy?" She asked, a tingling sensation beginning to appear in her fingers and hands.

But there was no response. Only the haunting echo of the unanswered call lingered in the air. The only noises that graced her ears were radio static and the sound of her thumping heart.

"Captain, how copy?" She tried again, the tingling in her hands turning into trembling as she gripped her radio harder.

Her vision was beginning to tunnel, and her breathing was getting shallow and short. A surge of panic rushed through her, causing a certain numbness in her extremities.

"John, can you hear me?" She asked desperately, her voice quavering with each word.

The seconds that passed felt like hours. The feeling of helplessness suffocated her, the knowledge of not being able to do a single thing bringing a horrible sense of doom to her body.

Her eyes were glued to the sky as if she was trying to memorize every star pattern that was visible to her. But instead, she was wishing on every single one that this wasn't happening and that this wasn't real.

He couldn't be gone. Fate hadn't been very kind to Peach in her lifetime, but John...

John had been her biggest blessing. Her solace, her energy, her comfort, her love. There was no way that he was gone just like that. He couldn't have been stolen away from her and ripped from her heart.

He couldn't be dead. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the plan. They were supposed to settle down and get married and have kids...have a real life together. Suddenly, their future was blurred.

The love and warmth of her soul had just vanished and slipped through her fingers.

Hot tears were stinging her eyes, pressing hard against her lash line and bringing an aching lump to her throat. There was a shuffle behind her, the sound of weight shifting between feet.

Her grip on her radio tightened even harder as if her only possible contact with John would disintegrate if she let go. She turned around at the noise, and she was met with the sight of the three strongest, most confident men that she knew were suddenly withdrawn.

She couldn't hear anything anymore. It was like her ears were filtering every little noise out so that they would be able to hear the one sound she was desperate for.

She couldn't hear the breeze rustling the trees or the birds fluttering in the sky above. The water beneath the docks was suddenly still and flat.

Ghost kept his gaze on her, his fists clenched into fists at his sides. Soap couldn't bring himself to look at her, his eyes pointed at his boots and the earth beneath him. Gaz's brows were furrowed in horror, his eyes struck with disbelief and sorrow.

"Ghost..." She whispered, their silence scaring her more than anything. "S-Soap?"

Their silence was unnerving. All three of them were too afraid to say anything to her. This was her worst nightmare coming true and unfolding right in front of her. Losing her beloved John Price at the hands of evil.

Her heart beat for John Price. The thought of Peach without Price or Price without Peach was just unfathomable.

Too many moments passed. It was just Peach staring at the three men who couldn't come up with something to say even if their life depended on it. Eventually, Ghost just had to say something.

"Peach..." Ghost said, reaching out for her with a slow, gentle hand like she was a frightened animal. "Come here."

She shook her head frantically, backing away from the three of them.

"I can't...J-John..." Her chest was heaving now, her entire system succumbing to anxiety and pure panic.

She was falling apart. Her life as she knew it crumbling in front of her and there wasn't a single thing that she could do about it.

They were supposed to get married...have a boy and a girl...have a countryside house that was just far enough away from the real world.

How could all of that just be gone? It couldn't be gone.

All four of them were trained to face death on the battlefield, but this…this was different. This was Peach -- their comrade, their friend, their own family -- breaking down right in front of them.

Peach was the strongest woman they knew, and they were watching her fall apart.

They all watched her grow worse by the second. Her face turned a sort of color that they had never seen, her breathing starting to stall and come out in short gasps.

“Peach,” Gaz tried this time, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I-I need you to breathe."

Gaz was genuinely concerned that she was literally going to croak and die right in front of him from the shock of losing Price.

That's how much she loved him.

The next four decades of Peach's life was flashing right before her eyes. All of those years she had counted on Price being with her. Now she couldn't imagine her future at all.

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap knew there wasn't a thing they could say. A very still, eerie silence was shared between the three men. They watched and listened to Peach as she began to spiral.

The silence was killing her ears. She had a headache creeping its way to the front of her skull. She was sure that if she stood in this silence any longer, her head would literally explode.

But before that could happen, there was a sound. It was two sounds actually. Two different sounds. Two beautiful, wonderful, welcomed sounds.

Radio static and a voice.

"Peaches..." A gravelly, beautifully familiar voice sounded over comms. "This is Price. You read me?"

Suddenly, her life re-entered her in a rush and all at once.

He was alive.

"John..." She almost squeaked, a heat rising into her throat until she swallowed it back down. "I-I read you. Loud n' clear."

"Affirmative. You still at the docks?" He sounded breathless, like he was trying to control his breathing.

Her brain was sprinting at a million miles an hour. Every piece of information that she was hearing was flying into one ear and out the other without any processing in the middle.

The only response she could manage was a collection of stammering, which eventually cracked the dam and opened the floodgates. Overcome with emotion and anxiety, she practically collapsed in place. The only thing that kept her from hitting the ground was Soap, who swooped in at the last second to catch her.

"Captain. This is Ghost," He filled in for her. "Affirmative. We're northwest of your location, right behind the..."

The rest of Ghost's directions were a jumbled mess of sounds that she couldn't comprehend. There was a ringing in her ears, and the only thing louder than that was her own cries.

"It's alright," Soap held onto her as she clutched onto him for dear life. "He's alright, Peach. Price is alright."

Soap held her as tight as he could and spoke in his most gentle voice, despite the fact that he knew that his presence was nothing compared to whenever Price could get his arms around her.

"We're gonna get him," Soap made eye contact with Ghost, who was communicating with him through a certain expression. "Ghost and Gaz are goin' to get him right now."

Peach could only nod, her grip on Soap tightening. She watched as Ghost and Gaz moved swiftly towards the direction Ghost had indicated, disappearing into the darkness.

The wait was agonizing...it was painful. Each second felt like an eternity as Peach clung to Soap, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio.

Suddenly, a burst of static came through the radio, followed by a familiar voice.

“Ghost, this is Price. I’m on your six.”

A wave of relief washed over Peach. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, her body sagging against Soap, who was holding onto her like he was the only thing keeping her together.

“Copy.” Ghost’s voice came through the radio, a hint of relief evident in his tone.

About ten minutes later, Ghost and Gaz emerged from the darkness, a figure limping between them.

It was Price, battered, burned, and bruised...but alive.

Her cheeks were soaked with tears, her hair sticking to her face as she laid eyes on her lover that was standing before her. On wobbly legs, she rushed to her feet and over to him. Peach threw her arms around him with a desperate, yet thankful exhale. He grunted in discomfort at the feeling of being jostled, but he wrapped an arm around her and held her close.

"John..." She squeaked, unable to say anything else.

Being able to say his name while actually holding him felt like a blessing. He smelled like gasoline, gunpowder, and sweat, but she had never been more relieved to smell such a mix.

"I'm alright, Peaches..." He shuddered out an exhale that came from far within. "I'm fine, darling."

He didn't sound fine. His voice was strained and groggy, and the slight quiver in his words didn't make him sound fine. But he was here, alive, heart beating, and breathing -- so "fine" was something she could work with.

Price had no doubt in his mind that he had scared her to death. He had been scared to death. This was one of those "unmentionable moments" that the two of them had talked about before. Now that he was living it in real time, it felt so, so horribly surreal.

The hypothetical had become reality.

They found a break in their embrace, Ghost and Gaz stepping away to give them their space. Price held onto Peach's forearms to stay upright, a searing pain in his side making it hard to stand.

His cheeks were covered with soot and dirt, his left eye was slightly swollen and bruised, he had a slight burn on the right side of his face, and he had a fairly deep cut on his lip

Frankly, he looked terrible, but to her -- it was the best he had ever looked.

They sat there in silence, their arms locked together, as the chaos of the world around them seemed to fade into the background. It was just them - Peach and Price - two souls intertwined in a dance as old as time itself.

They were talking to one another without saying anything at all. Their eyes were communicating. He was telling her that he was there and alive...and on the flip side, she was telling him that he was there and alive.

She felt like she was watching their life together pass by in the reflection of his eyes. He knew how much she meant to him, but this was a reminder all over again.

She was everything to him.

He knew that this would make them stronger individually and as a couple. It would definitely take some time before she moved past this in an emotional context...and he had to tackle the emotional and physical aspect of it.

They would be having a long talk about this...more than one for sure. But for now, she was just beyond thankful that he was there, and he was thankful to still be there.

"Where are you hurt?" She asked, another set of tears rolling down her cheeks and she spoke through sniffles.

Her question was pretty empty. She wasn't quite sure what else to say, and the medic in her was coming forth.

Peach would examine him from head to toe when they were out of here and in a safe place. She could tell just by looking at his outer injuries and the way he was holding himself that his body had taken the most damage, and that he had several weeks of recovery ahead of him.

She would be there for him every step of the way. She was his rock after all, his anchor in the stormy sea of recovery.

"Everywhere," Price chuckled, but it wasn't an amused laugh. "Let's get out of here first."

Gaz, Ghost, and Soap took that as their cue, coming in for assistance. Ghost and Soap guided Price from the dock to the boat, and Gaz held Peach's hand and led her as well.

As they all boarded the boat, Gaz gave Peach a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

"We've got him, P. He's going to be fine." He said.

Peach nodded, her gaze never leaving her beloved Captain Price. She watched as Ghost and Soap carefully settled him down, their movements gentle yet efficient. She knew they were trained for this, but it was still hard to see Price in such a state.

It was hard to see any of them hurt.

Once everyone was on board, Ghost started the boat engines and began to pull out from the dock. Normally, Peach would've been a little nervous with Ghost driving, but she was far too distracted with John to even give it a second thought.

Once they were on route back to safety, Peach moved to sit beside John, holding his hands in hers as she spoke to him.

"John, what happened out there?" She asked, almost scared to.

He shook his head. His hands were still shaking.

"Complete ambush. They knew I was coming I suppose," He said. "Some kind of explosive took me out for a bit. Hell, I don't even know what it was."

She really shouldn't have even asked. Chills shuddered down her spine. She couldn't bear to think about this anymore.

Peach had her medic pack with her, and she was beginning to rummage through her pack and looking him over.

"I'll get you fixed up," She said, something she always said when starting to patch someone up. "Let's start with that cut."

Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the boat's engine and the wind, but Price could literally only hear her over everything else.

They were quiet for a bit as she cleaned him up and tended to his wounds. She was seeing him in better light now, and she definitely could tell that his eye was going to be swollen shut and purple by the time morning came around.

Thankfully, the burns on his face weren't too bad. They would irritate him for the next few days, but she didn't see any real threat with them.

He complained about his side the most, saying that's where most of his pain was. He had some definite tenderness there, and while she didn't feel any broken ribs, there was some bruising and evidence of impact there. She would have to more thoroughly check him out when they were back on land, but she was doing what she could for him now.

When she was finished with him for the time being, she didn't do anything else but sit with him. They sat together quietly. Just listening and feeling the other.

She rested her head on his shoulder, his hands still resting in hers. He never wanted to let go of her ever again. He would super glue himself to her if he had to.

He had almost died today. And the thought of leaving her was tearing him up more than death itself.

He thought about all the times they had talked about those hypothetical death scenarios. All the "preparation" they had done didn't seem to matter at all when it really came down to it. That was when it dawned on him.

Dying he was prepared for. Leaving her was a different story.

Price's thoughts were interrupted when he realized Soap was standing in front of them, hands jammed into his pockets and a stoic look on his face.

"Hey there, P Squared." Soap said. "Take it easy, Captain. We need you around."

That was Soap's way of saying: "You scared me, and I'm glad you're okay."

Soap walked away after that, leaving just as fast as he had come. He didn't even give either of them a chance to respond. John turned his head to look at Peach, who's coloration in her face was looking much better finally.

"P Squared?" John asked, and she grinned her first smile of the night.

"Our new nickname." She said without even raising her head from his shoulder.

John thought about it for a moment. Then let out a short chuckle.

"Not bad."

It was quiet again after that, and Peach just accepted that there wouldn't be very much talking tonight.

They would both recover on their own time. This feeling of anxiety and emotional distress would pass for both of them. Price would be up and about in a few weeks, and she would return to normal soon enough as well.

This was a process like any other. One that needed time, patience, and love from one another.

It felt like hours and hours of the boat gliding across black water into seemingly nothingness. Not a single wave or bump interrupted the boat's course, which was much appreciated considering that Ghost had the throttle pushed as far as it could go.

With one arm wrapped around her, and the other one free -- John took his free hand and slipped it into his pocket. His fingertips brushed against something familiar -- it was cold and small. Something that he had forgotten about for the first time since he bought it.

Price fiddled with it, a sense of remembrance and a bit of nerves rushing through every system he had. He touched the metal band of the ring and the diamond centered on it. He had memorized how it felt, because he had been playing with it and carrying it around since the day he bought it.

For a moment, he seriously thought about proposing to her. In no way was this the setting or circumstances he had imagined when it came to asking her to marry him, but he felt so connected and so in love with her in this moment that it felt all too right.

But he knew that this wasn't a good time. He was fresh off of almost dying and Peach was literally traumatized from it -- not a great proposal setting. Besides, he would never forgive himself if she associated her proposal with one of the worst nights of their life.

Yeah, definitely not the right time.

Good call, John. He thought to himself. Her emotions have been through enough tonight.

Suddenly, the first bit of land became barely visible on the horizon, and Price spoke.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight." He couldn't help but chuckle, and this time it was because he was amused.

After a near death experience, that wasn't surprising.

"Me neither," She whispered, raising her head to look at him. "Stay up with me?"

He felt like he could melt. She was staring at him like she was petrified that he was going to disintegrate if she let go of him. He kissed her then, ignoring the sting and ache in his lip as he did so.

The kiss was real. It reminded her that he was really alive and would see another day. Their future was still intact.

"Yes," He said. "Of course."

And, as promised, the two of them stayed up for the remainder of the night. As soon as their feet hit solid ground, Gaz and Soap delivered Price to a place where Peach could finally take a real look at him.

She took her time, looking over every inch of him and checking for anything he might have missed. By the time she was satisfied and content with her thorough examination, it had been almost two hours.

Honestly, she would've kept checking his vitals and examining him until the sun came up. But he had been through quite enough today, so she figured poking and prodding him wasn't the best call.

Considering what had happened, Price was extremely lucky to have gotten away with the injuries that he did. A couple of bone bruises, mild burns, and several superficial lacerations was a cakewalk.

Peach gave him extra cherry suckers that night out of her pack. Even though he didn't have the appetite for them, he took them with appreciation and downed every single one that she gave him. He would never take those cherry lollipops for granted ever again.

The two of them spent the late night hours together. Holding one another, continuing to be thankful and grateful that John Price didn't die that night.

They found solace in each other's arms. They were no doubt shaken to their cores, but there was peace with one another. John, who had brushed death, was alive and breathing in real time next to her.

Each breath he took was a reminder of the fact that each one was a miracle.

They held each other tighter, their hearts beating in sync, as if trying to make up for the beats that could have been lost. They spoke in hushed tones, their words a mix of relief, love, and a newfound appreciation for life.

John was still counting on marriage, two kids (still one boy and one girl), and a countryside house that was far, but not too far. After this, he wanted it even more than before.

They watched night turn into morning. Each moment was precious. A gift. A blessing.

John Price didn’t die that day. For that, she was eternally grateful. He was eternally grateful.

They were eternally grateful.

[xuchiya]

"everyday" || jung wooyoung || mini-series || chapter 8

|genre: non!idol wooyoung. advisor-unvercover! reader. fluff. a lil bit of humor(?) angst. violence |mentions: guns. knives. blood. a lil bit gore. anxiety attack

back to masterlist || chapter 9

The palace was a whirlwind of activity— this time something more stressful. News vans lined the outer gates, and reporters swarmed like vultures, their cameras flashing and microphones thrusting into every possible angle. The media had caught wind of the rumors, the suspicions, and now the palace was under siege. News after news broke out, each one more alarming than the last, turning the entire royal residence into a media frenzy.

Security had heightened, staff scurried about in panic, and meetings were delayed or canceled. The entire palace seemed to hold its breath, the threat hanging like a storm cloud, with every member of the Jung family at risk. Wooyoung could feel the weight of it pressing down on his chest.

Inside his room, he paced back and forth, his thoughts racing faster than his steps. He felt trapped in a maze of uncertainty, where each turn only brought more questions and fewer answers. San stood at the door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his eyes following Wooyoung’s every move.

“You have to let go of this thought— she’s just a new advisor. That is all.”

Wooyoung whipped around, his voice rising sharply. “No! I know you and Yunho are hiding something from me so I want to know more about Hyejin!” His words exploded in the room, loud enough to make San flinch. The sharpness of his tone cut through the thick tension that filled the space, his frustration leaking out like a dam about to burst.

San’s eyes softened, but Wooyoung was beyond caring. He took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “Who is she?” His voice trembled, but not from fear—more from the disbelief he could no longer contain. “Who is she really? Is she even working here? Does she even work as an advisor? Or is she just hiding something? What the hell is going on, San?” His eyes, wide with panic and confusion, locked onto San’s. 

“This isn’t just about the threat hanging over me anymore.” San’s chest tightened, a knot of guilt and empathy coiling in his stomach. Seeing Wooyoung caught in an impossible situation—trapped between loyalty and danger—only deepened the weight on San’s shoulders. He had sworn to protect Wooyoung from every harm, both physical and emotional, yet the circumstances had turned his resolve into a painful compromise.

A feeling of something dark and heavy twisted in Wooyoung’s gut. His head ached from the barrage of conflicting thoughts, the past few months replaying in his mind like a broken record. It had all started when his mother’s voice crackled through the phone, filled with terror, begging him to protect his son—her son. He hadn’t understood then, but now, the fragments were slowly falling into place.

His hands were shaking, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. “I don’t understand!” Wooyoung choked out, his voice rising in frustration. His breath came faster now, his chest tightening. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. It’s like... everything’s been spinning out of control, and I’ve just been too blind to see it.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his voice breaking. The tension in the room felt suffocating, as though the air itself had turned thick with confusion and dread. Wooyoung stopped pacing, standing still for a moment as if the weight of it all was too much to bear. His eyes met San’s—wide, desperate, seeking any answer, any clarity, even as his own mind struggled to make sense of it all.

“San... what the fuck is going on?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked with the rawness of his emotions. He wasn’t just asking about Hyejin anymore; he was pleading for answers to everything—his mother's warnings, Yeosang’s sudden changes, and the terrifying realization that his world was slowly coming apart at the seams.

San watched him closely— his childhood best friend, the usual calmness in his expression now shadowed by concern. Wooyoung wasn’t just the prince—he was a man fighting to hold on to something he was slowly starting to lose, and San knew that this moment, this unraveling, was something that would define the days to come.

With a sigh, the sound that is defeated as he moves towards his desk, sitting down as he locks his gaze with Wooyoung, “Sit down then…”

Hyejin couldn’t sleep. The same image kept flashing in her mind—the figure disappearing into the shadows, the haunting letters. It both made sense and didn’t, all at once. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt herself slipping into a state of panic.

“This whole time?!” Lia’s voice echoed sharply with disbelief  bouncing around Hyejin’s room. Hyejin had her hands full of pictures and files she had sorted through all night. Lia wasn’t surprised by the history in their system, but the fact that the code pointed to Hyejin herself was unsettling. Lia knew Hyejin’s patterns—she was someone who prided herself on her focus and dedication, especially when it came to sleep. 

So if Hyejin was restless, something was clearly wrong.

Hyejin’s fingers gripped the edge of the table, as if anchoring herself to something solid in the midst of the storm inside her head. She had seen those eyes before—his eyes. There was no doubt in her mind.

“I can’t say— I just saw his eyes... but I know, I know I’ve seen them before. I can’t be mistaken…” Her voice trailed off as she placed a picture on the board, her frustration mounting. She clicked her tongue in irritation, pushing the photo aside before tossing it onto the table.

“But you know who?” Lia pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. Hyejin didn’t respond, instead moving toward the other table in a daze. As she walked, her foot caught on the edge of the chair, and before she could steady herself, everything on the table went flying. Papers scattered like confetti, the noise loud in the silence of the room.

“Damn it…” Hyejin groaned as she crouched down to pick up the mess. As she gathered the papers, something caught her eye—a letter. The same letter that had been sent to Wooyoung—the one she had received the night she arrived at the palace as the new advisor. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes were drawn to the familiar handwriting, her heart hammering in her chest. She stood, holding the letter in her hands, staring at it. Her gaze flicked back to the papers spread out on the table, the notes she’d been reviewing for Wooyoung’s next class—notes that had seemed irrelevant until now.

It clicked.

Her heart raced as she hurried to the board, pinning the letter next to the other papers. She began rummaging through the pile, pulling out the threat letter, the newspaper clippings—everything she had gathered over the past few days. She grabbed her notepad, a marker in hand, and started circling connections, writing down fragments of clues she was slowly uncovering. The more she pieced it together, the clearer it became... and yet, it was still incomplete.

“One more… One more clue…” she muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the room for anything she might have missed.

“Hyejin?” Lia’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. Hyejin blinked, realizing she had completely forgotten about their call. She moved toward her phone, picking it up in a daze. “Lia, I need everything you can find about him... about his family. Right now. Please.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a slight hesitation in Lia’s voice. “Hyejin, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I don’t have time. Just—please.” The urgency in her voice brooked no argument. Lia, sensing the gravity of her words, reluctantly agreed. “Okay, I’ll be back with everything I can find.”

As the call ended, Hyejin stood frozen, her mind a storm of disbelief and betrayal. Her hand hovered over the table, fingers brushing against something smooth and familiar. She didn’t need to look to know what it was—it was already etched in her mind as a symbol of trust, now fractured beyond repair.

Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven, as the weight of realization settled in her chest like a stone. Trembling, she picked it up, her fingers unsteady for the first time in years. The object felt heavier than it should, its meaning now burdened with betrayal.

She moved toward the board, each step dragging as though her body resisted confronting the truth. Seven months in the palace, seven months of navigating its labyrinth of politics and secrets, and yet, it still hurts. It hurt to know that someone she had trusted could be the one to point the tip of a gun at her head.

Her hands fumbled as she pinned the piece into place, the act almost mechanical. But the sight before her wasn’t just a revelation—it was a reckoning. The pieces on the board painted a picture of not just betrayal but deliberate, calculated treachery. And the person behind it wasn’t a faceless stranger or a distant threat. No, it was someone who knows who he is—his colleagues know him, his childhood friends know him.

Her lips parted in a shaky breath as her stoic mask began to crack, her emotions teetering on the edge of control. She had faced betrayal before—it was part of her job, after all—but this was different. This wasn’t just about duty or deception. It was personal.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the tremble of anger and disbelief coursing through her. The unshakable Hyejin, the calm and composed investigator, felt her foundation faltering under the weight of it all. And for the first time in a long time, the walls she had so carefully built around herself felt paper-thin, the truth threatening to tear through them completely.

It was all connected. And in that moment, Hyejin understood something she had been refusing to acknowledge—everything was about to change.

The palace corridors were eerily silent at night, the stillness broken only by the faint hum of security cameras and the occasional echo of guards’ footsteps. Hyejin pressed herself against the cold marble wall, her heart pounding as she counted the seconds between each patrol’s pass. The weight of her discovery sat heavy in her chest, but determination burned brighter than fear.

She couldn’t let this wait until morning. Not after what she’d uncovered.

“…I’m not lying, Hyejin. His father is Joshua. Both of them are planning something. I don’t know exactly what, but it doesn’t sit well with the records either…”

The words echoed in her mind, each syllable cutting deeper than the last as she darted down the dimly lit hallway. Her footsteps were silent against the marble floor, her shadow weaving through the gaps in the pools of light cast by the ornate chandeliers above. The curfew for palace staff was strict, but that was a distant worry. This confrontation couldn’t wait.

The thought of leaving it unanswered—of letting silence and secrets continue to fester—was unbearable.

When she reached his room, she paused, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling with hesitation. A single question burned in her mind: What if I’m wrong?

Her pulse thundered in her ears as doubts clawed at the edges of her resolve. But then she thought of the months spent in the palace, the lies and shadows she had untangled, only to find herself here, at this moment. No. This is the truth. It has to be.

She swallowed hard and twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked.

The room was draped in shadow, the pale glow of moonlight spilling through the half-drawn curtains. It painted everything in muted silver, softening the edges of the ornate furniture and casting long shadows across the floor.

He was there. Sitting by the window, his back to her, his silhouette framed against the night sky. He didn’t flinch at her intrusion, didn’t turn. But his voice broke the silence, low and calm, carrying an undercurrent of something unreadable.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to figure it out, investigator Hwang.” Hyejin froze in the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. The weight of his words hit her like a tidal wave, crashing against her composure. She tightened her grip on the doorframe, her knuckles whitening as anger and disbelief surged within her.                     

“You knew?” Her voice was sharp, trembling with the strain of emotions she couldn’t suppress.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for the moonlight to catch the edge of his face. His profile was calm—too calm. It was the kind of calm that masked a storm raging beneath the surface. His eyes, however, betrayed him. They gleamed with something she couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps, or resignation.

“Of course I knew, you may be the best of the best of your team but I know better.” he said quietly, his tone carrying a weight that made her chest tighten. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

The rawness in his voice struck her harder than any confession could. Hyejin stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The barrier between them felt heavier now, charged with tension and unspoken words.

“Waiting for what?” Hyejin demanded, stepping closer. “For me to confront you? For me to—” She stopped herself, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. 

“Why, Yeosang? Why are you doing this?” He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he were preparing for a blow. He sighs, “Because I didn’t have a choice.”

“You didn’t have a choice?” Hyejin’s voice rose, disbelief and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re telling me you’ve been part of this—this game—and you didn’t have a choice? You’ve been lying to all of us!”

“I wasn’t lying,” he said softly, his gaze meeting hers. “Not about everything.”

Hyejin’s eyes narrowed. “Then tell me the truth! Right now. What are you doing here? Who sent you? And why?”

Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was sent as a warning,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “A messenger, meant to deliver a simple truth: if Wooyoung is crowned prince, it will set events in motion that none of us can stop. War. Chaos. Something far worse than anything you can imagine.”

Hyejin stared at him, her mind reeling. “A warning? That’s it? You’ve been sitting here, watching, waiting, while the rest of us scramble to protect him from threats we don’t even understand—and all this time, you’re the one delivering the threat?”

“It’s not like that,” Yeosang said quickly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I’m not the one pulling the strings. I’m just a piece on the board, Hyejin. A pawn. If I didn’t do what they asked, they would have sent someone else. Someone far less… gentle.”

A scoff left her lips, tongue poking the inside of her cheeks, “Gentle?” Hyejin’s laugh was bitter, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her arms gesturing around her. Something out of character or maybe something out of the ordinary of the situation. “You think this is gentle? Watching the people around you live in fear?That’s not gentleness, Yeosang. That’s betrayal.”

He flinched at her words, his mask cracking. “Do you think I wanted this?” he said, his voice rising, firm and angry. “Do you think I don’t hate myself every single day for being part of this? For not being strong enough to fight back?”

“Then fight back now,” Hyejin said, stepping closer, her voice low but firm. “Tell me everything. If you can’t help them—help me.”

Hyejin stood in front of Yeosang, “Help me stop this.” Yeosang looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something else she couldn’t quite place. “Even if I told you everything,” he said quietly, “it wouldn’t change what’s coming.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Hyejin shot back. “You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t do, Yeosang.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up, meeting her eyes. Yeosang took a shaky breath, his gaze locking onto hers. “I didn’t choose this, Hyejin. But if I don’t play my part, everything will fall apart even faster. And then… none of us will stand a chance.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of his confession hanging heavily between them. Hyejin’s heart ached with conflicting emotions—anger, sadness, confusion—but above all, a growing determination.

“Yeosang,” she said softly, stepping closer. “I don’t know how much of this we can undo, but we’re going to fight. And you—” She looked him in the eye, her voice firm. “You’re going to decide whose side you’re really on. Not as their pawn. As yourself.”

Yeosang’s lips parted slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of speaking, but instead, he gave a single, solemn nod. Hyejin turned away, her mind already racing with plans. There was no time to waste—not when the stakes were this high.

Behind her, Yeosang’s voice broke the silence. “I never wanted to hurt him. Or you.”

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Then prove it.”

The corridors of the palace were eerily silent, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel amplified. The faint glow of moonlight streamed through the tall arched windows, casting elongated shadows along the walls. Wooyoung moved swiftly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the polished marble floor.

The conversation with San replayed in his mind, each word heavier than the last.

“She’s an undercover investigator,” San had said, his voice low but firm, the weight of the revelation hanging between them. “She works with us as an agent and with Yeosang as an advisor. The moment these people find out there’s an agent inside the palace… it might put you in an even tighter situation, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s chest tightened at the memory, frustration and disbelief swirling within him. He groaned softly, running a hand through his hair. His mind felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse, burdened by the weight of too many secrets, too many lies.

“She’s an investigator,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. But his mind, stubborn and unwilling to relent, pushed beyond that single, stark label. Hyejin was more than just an investigator. She was more than the advisor who had stood stoically by his side through countless trials.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the image that had been seared into his memory��the night he had seen her in a state so unlike her usual composed self.

It was a rare, raw moment. Hyejin, who was always so unyielding, had been fragile, her defenses crumbling under the weight of emotions she usually kept hidden. For the first time, he hadn’t seen the impenetrable advisor, but the woman behind the title. Her trembling hands, her distant gaze, the way her voice wavered as she struggled to hold herself together—it was a version of her he had never known existed.

That night had stirred something in him, something he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t pity; no, it was something fiercer, more resolute. An urge to protect her, to shield her from the very world she seemed so determined to guard against.

Wooyoung groaned again, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he dragged a hand down his face. How had things become so tangled? How had she managed to weave herself so intricately into his life without him even realizing it?

His mind flitted back to San’s warning. “If they find out…”

The implications were staggering. If word got out that Hyejin was an undercover agent, the repercussions would be catastrophic—not just for her, but for him as well. The palace was a labyrinth of power struggles and hidden agendas, a place where secrets were currency and trust was a rarity.

And yet, despite the risk, despite the lies, Wooyoung found himself questioning whether he even cared about the danger. He had seen Hyejin’s resolve, her unwavering determination to fulfill her duties no matter the cost. But he had also seen her vulnerability, her humanity.

He stopped abruptly, leaning against the cool stone wall, his breathing uneven. The weight of everything—the palace’s politics, the expectations placed upon him, the tangled emotions he felt toward Hyejin—it was all too much.

“I just…” he whispered to himself, his voice breaking slightly. “I just need to know the truth.”

But even as he said the words, he knew the truth wouldn’t make things easier. If anything, it would complicate matters further. Because no matter what Hyejin’s role truly was, Wooyoung couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her—the way she challenged him, frustrated him, and, somehow, inspired him all at once.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed off the wall and continued down the corridor, his steps slower now, each one tinged with uncertainty. The air felt heavier, the silence more oppressive, as though the palace itself was holding its breath, waiting for the moment everything would come to light.

And deep down, Wooyoung knew that moment was approaching far too quickly.

,

Hyejin navigated the dimly lit halls with precision, her every movement deliberate. The faint flicker of torchlight illuminated the marble walls, but the shadows cast by the towering columns seemed to stretch endlessly. Her expression remained stoic, betraying none of the whirlwind of thoughts simmering beneath the surface. She had her reasons for venturing out at this late hour, though her purposeful silence offered no clues. Like a phantom, her steps were measured, careful to avoid detection.

Her mind returned to the moment Yeosang’s suspicions were finally confirmed. It was as though a puzzle she had been piecing together for weeks had begun to take shape, yet it raised more questions than answers.

"…Each of my grandfather who works here is known as the keeper of history—not only for the Jung dynasty but for the neighboring kingdoms as well," Yeosang had admitted earlier, his voice strained with the weight of an unwanted legacy. "When my father found out about my work here…"

Hyejin had frowned, her voice soft but firm. "What did he do, Yeosang?"

Yeosang’s gaze faltered, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "He threatened me. He said he’d… disown me, bury me alive in cement if I didn’t deliver his threats to Wooyoung."

The words hung in the air like a specter, chilling her to the core. Hyejin's brow furrowed, confusion and frustration intertwining. "But why? Why would your father hate Wooyoung and his family so much? Does he have an issue with the late king? Or the current queen?"

Yeosang shook his head, his eyes flitting nervously around the corridor as if expecting the very walls to whisper his secrets. "No, not them. It’s the business."

"The shipping business?" Hyejin guessed, piecing together fragments of the rumors she’d heard.

Yeosang nodded solemnly. "My younger brother works with the shipping crew. One of the ships—one he was on—tilted and capsized. Many lives were lost."

Hyejin’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. "Your brother…"

Yeosang nodded again, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Ever since then, my father has changed. He became bitter, blaming the Jung family for the tragedy. He said their oversight caused the ship’s faulty construction."

"But still," Hyejin pressed, her frown deepening. "That doesn’t explain why your father would target Wooyoung so viciously."

Yeosang hesitated, his eyes darting once more to the shadows before leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because Wooyoung was never meant to be a prince in the first place."

Hyejin froze, her heart pounding as disbelief washed over her. "W-What do you mean?!"

Yeosang sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. "Wooyoung is the adoptive son of the late king. He’s not of royal blood. Do you know the Jung dynasty’s historical edict—Chapter 16, Line 20?"

Hyejin’s voice was barely audible as she recited, “‘A half-blood shall not sit the throne, for only full blood may rule.’”

The realization struck her like a thunderclap. The pieces fell into place, yet one part of the story continued to gnaw at her. "So… your father’s targeting Wooyoung because he’s not a true Jung. This is revenge? A way to ruin the family? To seek justice? This is insane."

"As you put it," Yeosang said with a slight shrug, his tone resigned. "He might be. My role was only to deliver the letters. That’s all I know about his plan."

Hyejin groaned, running her hands through her hair in frustration. The truth was a tangled web, each thread more confounding than the last. The weight of it all bore down on her—Yeosang’s role, his father’s vendetta, and most of all, Wooyoung’s unspoken truths.

“When the public finds out about this, it could ruin their business and also, the Jung  family could face punishment for it.”

Her heart ached at the thought of Wooyoung’s quiet burden. She could still see his face in her mind—the easy smile that often masked the turbulence beneath. And now she knows why. The real crown prince had died of an illness, and Wooyoung, the orphaned childhood friend of the late prince, had been taken in by the king. The late king had cared for him as though he were his own blood, and when the crown prince passed, Wooyoung stepped into a role he had never sought nor desired.

"Wooyoung knows his place as the prince and commoner," Yeosang murmured, breaking the silence. Hyejin looked up, her chest tightening. "That’s why he insists on being a preschool teacher whilst carrying the burden of being a prince," she whispered, her voice heavy with understanding.

Yeosang nodded, his expression softening. "He doesn’t want the throne. He’s always said he’d rather teach and care for children than rule a kingdom."

The weight of everything settled over Hyejin, but her resolve only hardened. This wasn’t just about royal bloodlines or family grudges—it was about Wooyoung, a man who carried an unimaginable burden with quiet strength. And if she could, she would do whatever it took to stand by him, no matter the cost.

A nagging thought, buried in the chaos of revelations, resurfaced with alarming clarity. She stopped breathing for a moment, her chest heavy as the thought of his father again, her posture enough to betray her usual stoic demeanor.

“Yeosang…” she began, her breath hitching slightly. “H-How does your father know me?”

Yeosang frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “By how?”

Hyejin shrugged, her gaze distant as she struggled to articulate the unease blooming in her chest. “I don’t know. At first, I thought he only knew of me because I’m working here—as an advisor. But…” Her voice faltered as her eyes locked onto his, searching for answers. “He knows something more. Something about who I am.”

The weight of her words hung heavily in the air. For the first time that night, her stoicism cracked, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath her usually composed exterior.

Yeosang’s frown deepened, his brows knitting together as his mind raced. “Are you after something?”

Hyejin’s lips parted to respond, but no words came out. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, frustration and uncertainty warring within her. She had always prided herself on staying ten steps ahead, yet this… this was a blind spot she hadn’t anticipated.

“Just the truth” she admitted quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “But if he knows something about my past—about who I really am—it could change everything.”

Yeosang’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his features. “You think he has something to do with…?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Hyejin cut him off, her tone sharper now, though not directed at him. “But if he knows something about my past, then I can’t ignore it. This isn’t just about Wooyoung anymore—it’s about me too.”

Yeosang studied her for a moment, his own internal conflict evident. “Hyejin, if my father knows something, it won’t be by accident. He’s meticulous. Every move he makes, every word he speaks—it’s calculated. If he knows who you are, it means he’s been watching you for a long time.”

The weight of his words pressed against her chest like a boulder. Hyejin swallowed hard, the realization settling over her like a storm cloud.

“I need to find out what he knows,” she said, her voice steadier now, determination replacing her earlier doubt. “And why he’s been keeping tabs on me.” Yeosang hesitated, his own unease surfacing. “You realize that means putting yourself in his crosshairs. My father doesn’t play fair, Hyejin. If you’re not careful…”

“I’ve never been careful,” she interrupted, her lips curving into a small, humorless smile. “But I don’t have a choice. If this ties back to me, I need to know.” Yeosang nodded reluctantly, sensing the unwavering resolve in her tone. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. My father… he’s not someone you can outmaneuver easily.”

Hyejin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she took a deep breath, the weight of her decision settling fully in her chest. When she finally looked at Yeosang, her expression was unreadable, her voice steady, “I’ve been outmaneuvering people my entire life, Yeosang. If your father wants to play a game, he’d better be prepared for me to play back.”

The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding passing between their gazes. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that the threads of their pasts were far more tangled than either of them had realized.

Unbeknownst to the two frustrated souls, their paths converged in the dimly lit hallways, where shadows seemed to stretch endlessly. Both lost in their spiraling thoughts, neither noticed the faint echo of footsteps mirroring their own.

Hyejin’s mind churned with unease, her fingers brushing against the cool stone walls as if seeking some sense of stability. Wooyoung, on the other hand, clenched his fists at his sides, the storm of emotions within him threatening to boil over.

They rounded the same corner at the exact moment, colliding sharply. The impact jolted them both out of their thoughts, a sharp intake of breath escaping Hyejin’s lips as she stumbled back. Wooyoung instinctively reached out, his hand grasping her arm to steady her.

“Hyejin?” he blurted, his voice a mix of surprise and concern.

Hyejin’s hand instinctively moved to her dagger, though her grip relaxed slightly when she recognized him, her hand placed back to her side. 

“Your Highness,” she echoed, her tone sharper, guarded. Her eyes narrowed as she instinctively took a step back, pulling herself free from his grasp.

“What are you doing here?” they demanded in unison, their voices overlapping. The tension crackled in the air like static electricity. Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, brushing off his robes. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Her gaze didn’t waver, her posture straight and unyielding. “Patrolling,” she replied simply. He didn’t mean to stare but the way San’s words echo inside his head made him make a quick scan on her outfit before raising an eyebrow. “In plain clothes? With no other guards around?” he shot back, his tone laced with suspicion. 

Hyejin hadn’t expected this sudden interaction, least of all with the one person she had hoped to avoid. The last remnants of that night still clung to her like a phantom, a memory she couldn’t quite shake. Vulnerability wasn’t something she allowed herself to feel, but Wooyoung had seen a side of her she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, let alone confront.

Her pulse quickened for just a moment, but she willed herself to remain calm, her expression schooled into its usual impassivity. She straightened her posture, meeting his gaze head-on.

“My methods,” she began, her voice carefully measured, steady, “aren’t always conventional, but they are effective.”

The words came out firm, but beneath the surface, a quiet tension simmered. Hyejin knew she had to maintain control, to keep the walls she had so carefully constructed from crumbling any further. Even now, in the dim light of the corridor, she could feel Wooyoung’s scrutiny, his sharp eyes searching hers for something she wasn’t ready to give.

Wooyoung let out a dry chuckle, the sound low and bitter as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Drop the act, Hyejin. You’re not a real advisor, and we both know it.”

Her expression remained impeccably composed, but her hand tightened imperceptibly at her side, the only betrayal of the storm brewing within her. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Your Highness,” she replied evenly, her voice carrying the same controlled calm that had always served as her shield.

His eyes narrowed, his tone sharpening as he stepped closer, invading the space between them. “Oh, don’t play coy with me,” he said, his words laced with accusation. “I know who you really are—an investigator, sent here to infiltrate the palace and keep tabs on me. So, Hyejin,” he leaned in slightly, his gaze unrelenting, “what’s the real reason you’re out here?”

The air between them crackled with tension, his probing words pressing against the fortress of her composure. Still, Hyejin didn’t flinch, even as her heart pounded in her chest. Wooyoung’s nearness was both a challenge and a reminder of the precarious line she walked in his world.

For a moment, the tension between them hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. Hyejin’s eyes locked onto his, her stoicism as unyielding as ever. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice calm yet laced with an undertone of weariness. “And how long have you known, Your Highness?”

“Not long,” Wooyoung admitted, his tone quieter now, though it carried an edge. “But long enough to question everything.”

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “The answer is simple. I was assigned to ensure your safety. My role hasn’t changed.”

His frustration bubbled to the surface, spilling into his voice. “And yet, you’ve been lying to me the entire time. How am I supposed to trust you when you can’t even trust me with the truth?”

Her posture remained rigid, her gaze steady. “I have never failed in my duties. That should be all that matters.”

“It’s not,” Wooyoung shot back, his voice cracking slightly as the vulnerability he rarely showed seeped through. “Not to me. You’re not just some advisor to me, Hyejin. You’re someone I’ve trusted—someone I thought I knew. And now I’m standing here, realizing I might not know you at all.”

A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossed her features, but it was gone before he could grasp it. “You know everything you need to know, Your Highness,” she replied, her tone firm but quieter now. Wooyoung let out a bitter laugh, his hands clenching at his sides. “Do I? Because right now, it feels like I’ve been walking blind, trusting someone who’s been keeping me in the dark.”

Her jaw tightened slightly, a crack in her otherwise impenetrable armor. “You’re overthinking this,” she said, her voice steady but lacking its usual edge.

“Maybe I am,” he conceded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “But can you blame me? All this time, I thought you were my ally, someone who had my back. And now I find out you’ve been sent to watch me, to investigate me.” His voice softened, but his words carried the weight of his disappointment. “Was any of it real, Hyejin?”

Her silence stretched unbearably between them, but her stoic facade didn’t waver. Yet, deep in her eyes, there was a flicker of something—remorse, hesitation, or perhaps a truth she wasn’t ready to voice.

Finally, Wooyoung sighed, the tension in his shoulders softening just enough to reveal the toll of their conversation. “Look, I don’t care who sent you or why. I just need to know—are you on my side? Or am I just another mission to you?”

For the first time, her voice dropped to a softer, almost vulnerable tone. “I am on your side, Your Highness,” she said, each word deliberate. “Always.”

His gaze searched her face, desperate for a sign, a crack in her armor that would reassure him. Slowly, he nodded, though his expression remained troubled. “If you’re really on my side, trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Hyejin inclined her head, her calm voice returning. “When the time is right, you’ll know everything.”

“Right,” he muttered, his frustration barely veiled. “Because that’s supposed to comfort me.” 

She stepped aside, her movements precise and composed. “It’s late, Your Highness. You should return to your chambers.”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze lingering on her as if searching for something more. Finally, he turned, his steps echoing softly as he headed towards the garden instead. If he retreats to his room, he might not be able to get a wink when his head is full of overwhelming truth. 

“Goodnight, Hyejin,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” she replied, her tone unshaken.

As his silhouette disappeared into the shadows, Hyejin remained motionless in the corridor, her stoic mask firmly in place. But beneath it, doubts churned, and questions she couldn’t yet face lingered in the corners of her mind. Interrupting

taglist: @chngbnwf . @passerbyforfun

[self-indulgent-paw-patrol]

Someone pointed out that the scene from the first movie where Ryder brings Chase back to where he found him to boost his confidence doesn't make any sense. At least on the scene where Ryder rescued Chase from the truck then say that He sees something heroic and braveness in Chase when he didn't really do much at all other than being scared. Like that scene should've been Chase confronting his fears by rescuing someone in danger.

Ah, THAT scene. I actually believe it MADE SENSE, so let me try to explain why they made it like that. Under the cut because it got kinda long too XD

First, let's take a look at the dialogue in that scene:

Ryder: I remember the first time I saw you. You were a tiny little pup, all alone in a big city. Chase: I know. You saw me and took pity on me. Ryder: Not at all. What I saw was a brave, heroic pup. Even though you were too small to look after yourself and you were up against all the scary things, you got back up and kept going. I didn't adopt you because I felt sorry for you. I chose you because you were the bravest pup I've ever seen.

Now let me just celebrate a moment here because HELL YES I'M DOING A LOT BETTER AT UNDERSTANDING DIALOGUES IN ENGLISH OMG I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF RIGHT NOW THAT PART ABOUT BEING TOO SMALL TO LOOK AFTER HIMSELF HE SAID IT SO FAST AND STILL I UNDERSTOOD IT PERFECTLY IN THE FIRST ATTEMPT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I'M SO HAPPY ok let's go

Now, it's time to break it down!

"I know. You saw me and took pity on me."

Here we see what has been Chase's point of view about that moment, which he believed in it all his life so far. He wholeheartedly believed that he was just an insignificant scared little puppy, worth nothing but pity. He was a nobody. He was nothing, and since then, up to now, he believes that it was Ryder who turned him into something, into the brave rescue pup he now is- or believed to be, until he's now back in the big city, feeling all his fears and trauma of being a nobody coming back up to swallow him whole, reminding him that he is nothing.

But then, Ryder tells Chase what was his OWN point of view of the whole thing, and what was his motivation to rescue and adopt Chase. First, let's see his point of view.

"What I saw was a brave, heroic pup. Even though you were too small to look after yourself and you were up against all the scary things, you got back up and kept going."

This is literally what Ryder saw. Chase was small, yeah. And instead of staying in a corner, of keeping quiet, or hiding somewhere, where he would be certainly safer, because he literally could NOT fend for himself... Chase was out there. In middle of the people, SO MUCH BIGGER than him. Risking being stepped on. Risking a car running over him. Risking an aggressive stray possibly finding and attacking him. He was out there, trying to move, trying to go - no matter where, he was on the move. He'd take a couple steps back to avoid being stepped on, and still press on to advance again, trying to cross the street.

He was afraid? Of course. Did it stop him? No.

THIS is the key for understanding Ryder's quote here. No matter how threatening things were for Chase, Ryder saw him out there, insisting, persisting, pressing on, even with all odds against him. Even if what moved him was the fear and uncertainty and confusion as to why his owners abandoned him there, Chase was NOT hiding away. He was trying for whatever, braving into the unknown, into the scary terrifying world of the big city. And it was traumatic, he was probably having a bad anxiety attack right there at that moment (note it's different than a panic attack, I explained a bit about it when I answered another ask earlier). But he was out there and not hiding.

While Chase saw himself as just a scared good-for-nothing baby, Ryder saw him as someone who didn't hide when faced with probably the scariest things ever in his life and facing it all alone. Which brings to the last part:

"I chose you because you were the bravest pup I've ever seen."

Not many puppies would do the same as Chase did, not in such conditions. "Oh but I've seen stray puppies following people and trying to play with them", yeah, same. I've had dozens of dogs in my life so far and all but one were strays I rescued from the street (or were born from said rescued strays). I've also seen tiny puppies trying to interact with people passing by. But in a crowded sidewalk? People walking nonstop, a wall of stomping feet not caring if you're in their way? With so many loud noises of people talking, cars driving by? Cell phones, cars honking, so many echoing steps. This is a complete nightmare to any puppy, they tend to cower in fear and wait for when the chaos is over or at least less chaotic until they venture out again.

This is the reason why Ryder saw Chase as the bravest pup ever. He was terrified, he was risking his life, but he was still out there.

Which contrasts with what has happened in the movie so far up to that point, if you think about it! Since Chase was taken back to the very city that left him traumatized as a puppy, his fears have been taking over stronger than ever and rendering him unable to keep going, much unlike what happened when he was a baby. And why's that so?

The answer is also simple, it's because since then, Chase's point of view was that it was Ryder who made him brave - he didn't believe he was already brave from the very beginning. He never thought of those moments as moments of bravery, like Ryder did. He thought of those moments as cowardice. These thoughts were what caused him to begin freezing and inducing him into this constant feeling of anxiety crisis and eventually leading to panic attacks, making him believe even more that he has always been nothing, and it's Ryder who made something else of him.

Chase never gave himself any credit for what he has become. For him, it has always been Ryder - and for Ryder, it has always been there with him from even before they first met. Chase just never associated it, until Ryder took him to that very place where they met and told him his own point of view, for the very first time, as apparently those two never addressed why Ryder adopted Chase ever before, which explains why Chase always held this belief that Ryder adopted him out of pity.

You see a scared puppy in the middle of a crosswalk, nearly being ran over by a car.

I see a brave little soul, pushing through against all odds and trying to get somewhere, anywhere, just for the sake of not standing still and waiting for who knows what, which might never even come.

And he fucking GOT somewhere and is indeed the bravest pup I've ever seen.

And he's not even my favorite pup XD

[me-beef]

i am going to finally start posting what I’ve been working on!!!

my girlfriend and I have been world-building together for a homebrew pathfinder campaign that she started running for us and some friends- this is a character i’ve had for 3 years now, but only really started developing her story and whirling her around in my brain at mach speeds in the last couple months or so

i’ll put some lore and a couple other sketches under the cut. i’m also going to try and set up a queue for the other art and sketches i’ve made for the campaign so far, so watch out for that!

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

Have you heard of a whale fall?

Imagine being a creature living on the bottom of the ocean floor- life is hard. It's cold, it's dark, food is scarce. Suddenly, a giant, incomprehensible being floats down from the heavens. You and hundreds, maybe thousands of organisms clamor to the remains of the beast, a sudden beacon of prosperity in this wasteland, desperate to get even a scrap of its of life-giving nutrients. Every creature that partakes will have a piece of that being inside of them forever- fueling them, giving them life, becoming a part of them. Do you think these creatures would worship such a being? Would they consider it a god? Salvation? In the world of Omna, remnants of old gods past have fallen down from the divine realm and settled in the mortal plane. Their remains are what have created the landscapes of this world (mountain ranges, valleys, islands, etc). Mortals who live and dwell upon the remains find themselves changed slowly throughout the generations- changed by the faint fragments of the gods lingering power. --------------------------------------------------------

ok. now for my character Name: Felise Pfeiffer (Fell) Age: 19 Class: Cosmos Oracle Background: Scholar (Arcane) Felise is a cosmos oracle- which means her powers come at the cost of a curse that slowly takes over her body. Instead of something like stars, I wanted her curse to appear as this sort of.... corrupted, glitchy, chaos-y aura. It's very closely tied to her emotions, so when she gets really worked up, the static progressively expands around her. After she was "cursed", if she let her emotions get away from her, she risked hurting herself or other students at her academy. In order to avoid becoming a threat to the other students and faculty, and ultimately getting kicked out of school, she devised a number of strategies to help keep her emotions in check. (mechanically this is her settle emotions/refocus action. I'd like to think she uses the time to focus on slowing down her breathing. She uses her dancing lights cantrip to help- i imagine her spinning the lights around in her hands meditatively, kind of like baoding balls if you know what those are) (also yes, her curse magic manifesting is the equivalent of a panic attack) She's covered up a lot of her body to try and hide as much of it as possible, but her hair is always a dead giveaway. She leaves her fingers exposed since it's easier to channel magic through exposed skin (gloves, unless made of a special magic-conducting material, tend to dampen spells just a bit) - but this means others can see her fingers start to shift into static as she uses her cursed magic. I had a lot of really intense anxiety in junior high/high school/college, so she's become a really neat vessel for me to conceptualize and process those experiences and emotions. But, like, instead of having undiagnozed ADHD and RSD she gets like. cool magical girl powers BIO: Felise was the sole child of local inventor and archeologist, Atticus Pfeiffer. Her father's lifelong devotion was to study and uncover the mysteries of the ancient winged people known as the Featherfolk, who had seemingly vanished some 1000 years before. She grew up in a cottage built on the coast of a mysterious bird-shaped lake, where she and her father would excavate broken murals, walls of hieroglyphs, and other artifacts that hinted at the lives of this forgotten feathered-society. Until just under 10 years ago- when her father mysteriously vanished. From then on, reports of strange attacks began sprouting up all over Aton and other neighboring regions. Attacks fronted by giant, chimera-like bird monsters that would descend from the sky to snatch up unsuspecting victims- carrying them away to some unknown in the sky. Felise did her best to pick up the pieces of her father's research- hoping to find the cause behind the sudden appearance of these monstrous aberrations, the reason for their attacks, and maybe, just maybe, where her father disappeared to all those years ago.

-------------------------------------------------------- you did it!! i give you tasty treat for reading my lore dump! even if you didnt thats ok, you must have at least clicked the read more and scrolled down. you can still have a little treat

an unfinished reference sheet for her dad, atticus

these are my girlfriend @im-ashl sketches - Skraaw, The Carrion King - the BBEG of the campaign, an Evil Bird who is Awful

and finally some sketches of- whos this? the featherfolk princess??

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 18: Who Are You?

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The ruins stippling the mountainous valley look ominous at night when the chalky light of the moon stumbles upon the toothed edges of broken walls and sharp-angled vestiges of what used to be a grand temple. The wilderness has reclaimed the land stolen, and the spindly trees forge stringy shadows that squirm when the wind tangles through the cliffs.   

Your legs dangle over the brink of a dizzyingly sheer precipice, and you’re laid flat on your back to stare at the celestial blanket, embroidered with flecks of stars. The party will leave this behind come dawn and enter the Shadowlands. You’ve never ventured there; not many have after the curse eclipsed the land in Shar’s dark silhouette, but from what you know, it’s entirely possible you will not make it out alive. If that is to be the case, you want to remember that there is light in the universe.   

The serene silence is fractured by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of dried leaves and underbrush. You sit up with orbs of fire already hovering above you in an arcing semicircle.   

Astarion stands with his hands up, but a haughty smirk quirks up the corners of his lips. “And here I thought we were friends,” he drawls.   

“You really should learn to announce yourself when you’re lurking around in the dark.” The balls of fire descend into your hand and fade out. “It’s not like you to be so careless with your feet.”   

“Careless? Hardly.” Astarion crosses his arms, jutting his hip out. “I was loud on purpose. I feared that if I popped out of the shadows, you might throw yourself off the damn cliff.”   

“You know what would have worked? Saying, “Kamena, it’s Astarion. Please don’t burn me to death.” You throttle the laughter that threatens to snap out.   

“Oh, please. You’re no fun. I think I was being very polite giving you any warning at all.” Astarion saunters over, lying beside you. “What are you doing out here anyway? Should you not be trying to get some rest?”   

“Probably, but I wanted to see the stars before we entered the land of monotonous darkness.”   

Astarion nods. “I’ll miss the sun.”   

“You’ll see it again,” you reassure, even though you know it’s entirely possible he won’t. The thought makes your lower lip quiver, but you’re swept up in a sudden surge of pure defiance. You will survive the Shadowlands, if only to get him back into the sun. “I’ll make sure of it.”   

“You’re sweet,” he quirks a brow at you, rolls onto his side, and props himself up on his forearm. “But I am no fool. I know well enough that the odds do not favour us. You don’t have to coddle me.”   

“Coddle? Gods forbid anyone tries to reassure you!” You roll your eyes at him. “The odds might not be particularly charitable, but neither were the odds of making it this far in the first place. We seem to make impossibilities into possibilities daily right now.”   

“True. The odds of a vampire spawn being infected with a tadpole that just so happens to break his master’s compulsion and most of the other rather pesky downsides of vampirism are infinitely minuscule, yet here I am.”   

“Wow, that sounded very close to optimism,” you quip. “I’m impressed!”   

He scoffs, deigning not to answer, and flops down onto his back.   

You bashfully whisper. “Can I ask you some questions about vampires?”   

“I suppose,” Astarion says hesitantly, sitting up to look at you with a furrowed brow. “I guess I am the only one here with a wealth of knowledge on the subject. What exactly would you like to know?”   

“Vampire Lords, how do you kill them?”   

He shrugs. “Like most vampires, a stake, beheading, dismembering, incinerating. The trick is not so much how to kill them; it’s actually getting them weak enough for it to even be plausible. They are incredibly powerful and resilient bastards.”   

You sit up, crossing your legs, and peer out into the valley. “But it can be done?”   

“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Astarion looks at you skeptically, leaning back and away.  

“And what happens to the Vampire Lords spawn if they perish?” 

“They are free to do as they please.” Astarion’s forehead pinches, creating a line between his brows. “Why?”  

“Cazador is in Baldur's Gate, correct?”   

“Yes, but…” Astarion’s eyes bulge, and he starts shaking his head. “Kamena. No. Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing what I think you are?”   

You smile at him angelically. “I would, but it would be a lie, and I don’t relish the idea of bullshitting you.”  

“Cazador is not to be trifled with.” Astarion blurts out hastily. “He will kill you. I was not exaggerating when I said he could walk into our camp and kill us all before we even woke.”   

“Oh, Astarion, don’t worry. I don’t plan on trifling with him. I plan on killing him outright.”   

“You’re actually serious?” Astarion exclaims.  

“Dead serious.”   

“I…” Astarion looks around. “Why would you do that for me?”  

Because I’m in love with you. 

It nearly leaps off your tongue like a startled frog off a lily pad, but you manage to snare it before it can be ejected from your lips. You feel the heat rush to your face as if your skin is trying to mimic the scarlet of his dissecting gaze. You glance away, clearing your throat and regaining the poise that was misplaced when your judgment nearly lapsed.   

“You’re my friend, and you deserve to be free. I will do everything in my power to make that possible.”   

Astarion looks down, picking up a rock and idly running his fingers over the surface. “I do not believe the others will share your sentiments.”   

“You leave the others to me. You have not yet witnessed exactly how persuasive I can be.” You smirk with a foxlike guise. “Plus, I think they all rather like you even if you do annoy the shit out of them.”   

Astarion chuckles. “Perhaps with the exception of Gale.”  

You quirk a brow at him, not quite understanding. Gale seems no more annoyed than the rest of the group at Astarion’s antics. “Why do you think Gale has anything against you?”   

Astarion’s eyes snap to you, and a handsome, crooked grin coils one side of his lips upward. “I have become rather close friends with a charming sorceress he fancies, I presume. Intimately close, one might say.”   

You flush red again and flop onto your back with a groan, hoping it might hide the rosy hue of your skin. Unfortunately, your traitorous heart lurches into a rapid pace you know he can hear, and he giggles spritely and genuine. You close your eyes and smile at the lightness and mirth that remind you of softly tinging windchimes. It’s not a sound you are granted too often, but you would do anything to hear it.   

“You’re so easy to fluster. It’s utterly adorable,” he purrs. Astarion lays back down beside you, looking up at the sky.   

The light of dawn is breaching the horizon, and the stars are starting to appear faint. The coolness of Astarion’s hand butting up against yours surprises you, and you tentatively lock your pinkie with his. Gradually, your hands seem to move of their own volition until his hand covers yours. You splay your fingers, his curl, and fit themselves perfectly in the spaces between, like your hand was made to hold his.   

“I envy you,” he murmurs. “Even when a literal God appears and threatens your very existence, you are fearless.”   

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you say, shaking your head. You crane your neck to the side to look at him. “I’m terrified.”   

He seems surprised by your candidness. His jaw clenches, making the muscles in his neck strain and pop out. You want to reach out and soothe that tension away, but instead you twist your hand into the earth to keep it from roaming where it shouldn’t.   

“How do you do it, then?” He finally asks, looking deeply into your eyes. There’s an openness there that makes you feel as though you’re truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time. “How do you keep going?”   

“I place one foot in front of the other, and then I do it again, and again, and again.”   

“You make it sound easy,” he breathes with a frown that’s weighted in the heaviness of sorrow.   

You know, at some point, he’s let fear paralyze him. Does he have any memories of true happiness? Are his memories all pain, torture and slavery at the hands of a barbaric master?  

“It’s not easy.” You conclude tightly. “Every step is hard, and sometimes you have to take a break between steps, but eventually, you take another step.”  

“Hmm.” A silence stretches out, and you just gaze at each other as the first rays of sun begin to plod over the land. “Take another step… May I kiss you?”   

The young beams of sunlight appear to infuse his eyes, lighting up the desperation in them. His stare is intense, like that of a coiled viper that’s ready to strike. You sit up, letting your hand drift toward him like it’s been yearning to do, but you hover just shy of his cheek. If he wants to be touched, he will close the gap. He glances at your hand, smiles sweetly, and pushes into your touch, closing his eyes when your thumb sweeps across his cheek.

"Of course.” 

Before the consent can even finish sighing from your lips, Astarion’s hand winds into your hair, and his lips catch yours with a greedy fervour that makes you groan into his mouth. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring, tentatively stroking yours in a slow erotic dance that’s all sensation and passion.  

His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed tightly against the muscles of his chest. Your fingers twist into his shirt. You’ve never been kissed quite like this. It feels like he steals the air straight from your lungs and replaces it with him until you’re drowning in him.   

You can’t say you mind that much.

Astarion breaks the kiss only when your heart is racing like you’ve been running up a mountain. He smirks, placing one more chaste kiss on your still parted, swollen lips as you try to iron out this disequilibrium making your head swoon.

“Do you kiss all your friends like that?” Astarion quips playfully.  

“No!” You squeak too high and a little too hastily.   

“Good,” he surmises plainly with a curt nod.  

“Good?”   

“Good. I think I would rather like to keep it that way.” Astarion stands, offering you his hands. “Come on, darling. We best get back to camp before Gale’s brain starts to conjure up images of the sinful delights we’ve snuck away to partake in. I fear he might explode and kill us all out of sheer jealousy.”   

You slip your hands into Astarion’s, and he helps you to your feet. Your eyes drop to your embraced hands with a million questions revolving in your head, but you don’t dare ask any of them as you let him lead you back to camp hand-in-hand.

The courtyard door clicks closed behind you, and you lean on it with a resigned sigh. The woman you used to be, who now only lives in memories, would never have entertained such a proposition, but she had nothing to lose. Now, you have your soulmate, friends, and yourself, who all stand to lose their lives if you decide to pursue this fight to its inconclusive end. 

Does a ring with the power Aldous described even exist, or is this just a very clever rouse to pique your interest? It would be smart to prey on your greatest desires, and it’s something a Vampire Lord would certainly take advantage of. 

But ... a little voice whispers, But what if it’s true? What if the answer to Astarion’s sun intolerance is sitting somewhere in Waterdeep, and all you have to do is make a deal and walk away? 

Astarion likely won’t agree, let alone let them sketch his scars, but you’ve been trailing your fingers over those scars every night. You might not be much of an artist, but you could replicate them closely enough. 

Your back slides down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, shivering, with your fingers twisted in your drenched hair. You can’t seriously be considering this, can you? Who are you anymore? Are you too far gone? You used to be so fucking unshakable, and now you’re shaking on the floor, stuck between what you are and what you think you should be. 

It feels like the vultures are circling, the walls are closing, and the devil is knocking. 

But you will always do whatever it takes to keep those you love safe, and they will never be safe if you allow another Vampire Lord to ascend. There is always the risk that, as soon as your usefulness has been depleted, they will kill you, Astarion, and your friends. 

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take. 

“Sorceress?” Tara’s eyes gleam in the low light as she trots in from the corridor with her tail held high. “You are soaked! Did no one ever teach you how to dry yourself?” 

You let your chin rest on your knees and hold your hand out. At the invitation, Tara comes trotting over, and you scratch behind her ears while she gives you a rumbly purr and butts her head against your palm. 

“You are burdened this night.” Tara states, sitting and wrapping her tail around herself. Her words make tears prick your eyes, but you force them away. You are so tired of crying. “I see how the others look to you for answers you do not have. You carry much responsibility on your shoulders. Yet, I do not believe this is what bothers you this night.” 

“Astute, as always, Tara.” You push yourself up to your feet, grab the milk, and pour some into a bowl, letting your palms heat until the milk steams slightly. 

Tara’s tail sticks straight up in the air and vibrates happily as you put the bowl down for her and return to your spot on the floor. She waits for you to speak while she laps up her milk.  

“I feel like I’m constantly falling apart. I’ve changed. When I look in the mirror, I don’t always recognize the woman who is reflected back.” 

“And this is a bad thing?” Tara asks, taking a break from lapping at her milk and licking her lips and chin. “Change is inevitable, sorceress. Seasons change. Time changes. People change. Even the stars change given enough time.” 

“It’s not the change itself; it’s what I’ve changed into,” you sigh, letting your head rest on your knees. “The me in my memories was dependable, sure, and bold. Even when I was afraid, I was at least steadfast and reliable. I cannot say that’s the case any longer. Now, sometimes, I fear the dark or storms — things I would not have batted an eyelash at before.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now. Despite your restraint, the rivulets inch from the corners of your eyes. “I’m just so fucking sick of crying, of being afraid, of running, of being this version of me.” 

“Yes, you have struggled with fear since you came to stay.” Tara looks at her feet, almost as if she’s contemplating what you need to hear, but more likely, she’s trying to decide if she needs to clean her face. “Fear is a serpent whispering uncertainties and breeding unease about moving forward into the unknown. It convinces you to remain rooted in your misery simply because misery is known and safe. Sometimes it helps us avoid legitimate danger, but other times it keeps us stuck in a self-perpetuating cycle.” 

“I don’t know how to break the cycle.” You wipe the wetness from your cheeks and eyes. “But I know I will never be who I was again.” 

“Nor should you be.” Tara scoffs. Her lips curl, pulling back her snout, clearly dissatisfied. “Stop glancing backward and look forward toward growth and change. Let go of this foolish notion that you should be who you were.” 

“I liked myself better that way.” Your voice is harsh and bitter, but Tara does not so much as flick an ear or twitch her skin. 

“Stop being so stubborn, Kamena.” Tara scolds you with a hiss, arching her back. “It is okay to be afraid, to be hurt, and to feel broken, but you needn’t wallow in it. You have two options. You can either let your fears chase you and run, or you can chase your fears and make them run from you.” 

“What if I make the wrong choice and get us all killed?” 

“Well, then you’ll be dead, and you won’t have the capacity to dwell on it.” Tara concludes brashly. 

She’s not wrong.   

“I would hug you if I wasn’t worried you would scratch my eyes out.” You hiccup out a laugh. 

“You are positively sodden!” Tara scampers back, far out of reach, and crouches low to the ground, ready to flee. “You would wet my fur! I would have to leave a dead mouse in your bed for such an egregious trespass!” 

“Hmm,” you hum, patting your lips with your index finger. “Worth it, I think.” 

When you sneak down the quiet halls back to your room, you’re surprised to see soft light radiating out under the doorway. Depending on how long he’s been awake, he likely heard the entire conversation with Tara and probably Aldous as well. 

Stupid vampiric hearing.   

You let yourself in and suck in a sharp breath at the incredulous scowl on Astarion’s face. A small fire is popping and crackling in the fireplace, eating away at the timber and suffusing the room with a light pine scent. 

Astarion sits in bed, leaning against the headboard with one knee up and the sheets pooled around his waist. Even though you know you’re likely in for an earful, your eyes still devour the sight of him — chiselled, toned muscles, pristine ivory skin, and those scarlet eyes that are seemingly burning as bright as the fire, bleeding into you. 

“Well?” Astarion asks. 

“Well what?” 

“Come now,” Astarion drawls, but his intonation is bordering on cruel, rougher than any stone. “I heard the little deal that worm offered you. Please tell me you’re not truly thinking about this. I do not have to remind you that Vampire Lords are not trustworthy.” 

You slip out of your wet clothes, grab a towel, and dry your hair. “I’ll admit, it’s tempting.” 

“Have you lost your godsdamned mind?” Astarion balks, eyes narrow, with a scowl so menacing that if you didn’t know him, it might scare you. 

“Probably,” you say solemnly, staring at your feet. “I was going to discuss it with you first.” 

“Oh,” Astarion’s scowl eases, and he looks askance. “I… Why?” 

“Because it’s your life, your siblings, your body, and your scars,” you state, sitting on the bed cross-legged and staring at him. “If what he said is true, and I’m not saying it is, there’s also the matter of that ring. You could walk in the sun without worrying again. I want that for you more than anything, but I won’t make these kinds of decisions without you. We are a team.” 

Astarion racks his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “If it were me a couple years ago, I’d likely have taken the deal and ran, but... I’m not that selfish a man any longer. Even if the ring does exist, it’s not worth all the lives that will be lost should we turn a blind eye.” 

“I suppose not,” you murmur, looking down at your lap. Your damp, wavy hair creates a wavy curtain between you and him, and you’re thankful for the coverage. 

“You would turn a blind eye to it?” Astarion asks, brushing your hair back. “All the lives the Rite would cost, and all the deaths that would come after?” 

“To ensure your safety and gain the ring to let you enjoy the sun again?” You breathe heavily. “Yes, I think I would. I would take the deal, run, and never look back.” 

Astarion cradles your cheek, bringing your gaze back up. “Tell me where this truly comes from, because it does not sound like you.” 

“Maybe this is the new me,” you growl. The fire sparks angrily as your emotions become manic. 

You want to yell. You want to cry. You want to turn back time and forget all of the last years. 

You want peace. 

But peace has shunned you. 

You dig your fingernails into your palms, jerking away from his fingers poised under your chin, and lower your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am; maybe I never was. Maybe all that’s left of me is broken pieces and ragged edges.” 

One of your legs jiggles erratically, shaking the bed. The old urge to run or hide is overwhelming, and you cannot keep your body still. Poisonous resentment and spiteful thoughts cross your mind. It’s his fault you’re this shattered shard of the person you once were; your soul a broken mirror that reflects some recognizable pieces of you, but some - most - of the splinters are too small to retain anything. You gave him your heart, and he absconded with it, like he had done to so many naive people before you. 

Now, he thinks he can return and tell you that you don’t sound like yourself without any consequences? Of course, you are not yourself! How could you be? But if you are not you, then who the fuck are you? 

Will whatever remains be enough? Are you enough? It would be so easy to blame him, so splendidly simple to lay the burden of pain at his feet, and he would shoulder it, likely without complaint. You don’t truly believe any of these thoughts. They are misguided animosities searching for anyone or anything to blame other than yourself, because at the crux of it all, you loathe what you’ve become. 

“Darling, tell me what’s going through your head,” Astarion urges, and his voice breaks you from your spiral and makes your head jerk up. 

“No.” 

You know your response and tone are clipped. Pulling away from him seems like the easiest way to keep yourself from hurting him needlessly in moments like this when your pain and anger coalesce into venom. Though it seems you’ve failed as you watch the hurt skip across his features and settle in his imploring eyes. 

“You talk to the cat more openly than you talk to me.” Astarion shakes his head, clearly frustrated. 

“Tara’s never abandoned me in the middle of the night,” you hiss through a clenched jaw. 

The memories of waking up to a tomblike silence, the creaks and groans of the wooden walls well up in your mind, his voice whispering to you that everything was going to be okay, which was a blatant lie. He had known he was going to leave. He had premeditated the breaking of your heart, and it stings. 

“I did,” he snaps, his shoulder tense. “I left you in the middle of the night. I abandoned you, and I knew what I was doing. I knew it would hurt,” he goads. 

His intention to provoke you into lashing out is obvious, but you seethe nonetheless. The guilt of having such toxic thoughts is gnawing at you, making your stomach unsettled. How could you even consider hurting him for a moment? He is your heart. Your soul. Your world. Your everything. 

He could kill you, by accident or purposefully, and somehow you would still find a way to crawl out of your grave and back to him, to love him so completely that you wonder if there’s even enough room left in your heart to love yourself. 

Astarion examines you for a moment, searching and trying to read you. Most days, you like being seen, but right now, it’s only intensifying your pique. 

“Stop it,” you sneer as the hurt simmering in you only grows. 

“Do you remember asking me if something was wrong that night?” He continues with a forced calm. His pain is carefully hidden behind a stone-cold expression, but you see it because, try as he might, he cannot keep it from his eyes. “Do you remember telling me you were scared, and I lied to you, didn’t I? I told you everything was fine when it was anything but.” 

Nothing will ever be able to erase that night from your memories. No amount of alcohol, tears, or running will ever be enough. You need him to shut up, lest you lose your tongue with unreasonable cruelty. White-hot rage clouds your mind, and there is a creeping sense of wanting to hurt him, wanting to let the corrosive words rise from your tongue and burn him. There is a sick part of you that wants to see just how far you can push him to see if he will leave. 

This conversation has become too much, and you do the worst possible thing you can in your desperation to hide. You lunge at him, slamming your lips into his in a bruising kiss and twisting your fingers into his hair hard enough to be painful. Astarion is not the only one who can use sex as a weapon, as a means of avoidance, or as a way to distract. 

His surprise is barely registered in the half-yelp he was able to get out before your lips mould to his despairingly, but his discomfort is abundantly obvious. There is a rigidity to his body; all his muscles are tense and flexing under you like someone who is waiting to be struck. Though he returns the kiss, it is mechanical. You know that this is wrong, but you press ahead heedlessly. 

“Stop,” he gasps against your lips. 

You throw yourself off the side of the bed as soon as the tight plea skitters across your lips. You clutch at your heaving chest, staring at him wide-eyed and wild with the horror of your actions. You stand awkwardly, half-lurched over, and unable to think straight. 

The same question keeps plaguing your mind: Who are you? 

“Astarion, I—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. “No, don’t be sorry. I know better than most what that was. I see you. I understand you. You do not need to use sex to hide from me.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

He smiles kindly when he looks up at you. It only makes you feel worse. His arms spread, offering you sanctuary. As much as your first impulse is to dive into the safety promised, you take small, careful steps, keeping a close eye on him. Astarion waits patiently, and you see no signs of discomfort or the blankness that echos in his eyes when he withdraws. 

Climbing up the bed, you slide into his embrace. He pulls the duvet up, tucking you both in, and you settle into the comfort of being tangled up with one another. Your head rests on his shoulder, your forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, and your legs hooked over his lap. Astarion wipes away the wetness from your cheeks that you didn't even realize was there. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just—“ 

“Can’t get enough of me,” Astarion says, keeping his tone lighthearted. You can feel the smug smirk slink across his lips. “I’m not surprised.” 

But you know what you’ve done is a serious offence, so you try again. “Astarion, I’m serious. I feel terrible and sick over it.” 

“If kissing me makes you feel sick, I think we have bigger problems than you throwing yourself at me to get me to shut up, my love,” he quips, but his arms hug you tighter, pulling your flush against him. 

You’re flooded with warmth and gratitude, and you wordlessly press a small peck to his throat. It’s not nearly enough to express your appreciation or make amends for the boundary you just crossed, though. 

“We will get through this, Kamena,” he assures in a low baritone. “But we will have to talk about it at some point. You cannot keep running and hiding from this conversation. It must be had. I’m trying to be patient, and I can wait. Gods know I have a literal eternity, but I do not like to see you suffer so. I do not know what you need from me to feel safe.” 

“Was it easy to leave me?” You blurt out before you can rethink. 

Astarion jolts as if you’ve slapped him, easing back just enough to see your face but not enough to break the amount of contact between your bodies. “Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Two centuries of torture, and nothing has ever hurt me that much. Nothing.” 

This information sickens and stirs a revolting sense of gratification in equal measure. It is comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has suffered at the hands of his desertion. It should not console you, though, should it? You should not be relieved that he hurt just as you did. The knowledge of just how far you’ve fallen disgusts you to your core, and you have to smother the urge to retch as if you might be able to purge this darkness your soul harbours. 

Maybe that is why you’re so afraid to move forward, one step at a time, into the future and away from the miseries that cast their grim shadows across your past. You are afraid that you will not like what you find there and that you will not like the iteration of you that awaits. 

All you can think about is how you wish for him to spread you open and fill you with him, with pleasure, with his love, as a reminder that you are still capable of feelings beyond fear, loathing, and disgust. You can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, afraid he will see the delight reflected in your eyes. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but I will keep saying it until the end of time; I’m sorry,” Astarion starts. “I—“ 

You clutch at the blankets and pull them up to your chest in a foolish attempt to shield your heart with something, anything. You cut him off. “We’ve discussed this. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in—“ 

“Stop,” he barks, and you can feel his glare, the heat of his eyes boring into the crown of your head. “Enough, love. Stop granting me avenues of excuses and room to distance myself from what I’ve done at your expense. You need to hear this, and I need to say it. Listen to me — I’m begging you.” 

You freeze, your fingers curling into his chest with enough force to leave red welts on his skin. Astarion doesn’t so much as flinch. If it hurts him, he does not show an iota of it. He cups your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you refuse, squeezing your eyes shut. 

He continues anyway, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across your cheek. “What I did was cowardly. I was terrified to lose this, the love we share, due to my difficulties. You deserve so much more than I can ever hope to give you. By leaving, I thought I was protecting you from a lifetime of pain.” 

You mean to tell him to stop before your heart bursts, but words do not form, and it comes out as a pleading whine as you press further into him. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your breaths come quicker and quicker, progressively getting shallower until you’re dizzy. His arms tighten, and the hand on your cheek gently presses your face against his chest. He kisses the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair. 

Astarion inhales deeply. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “Breathe, my love,” he coos. “With me now.” 

It is a difficult task to sync your panicked breathing to his calm, and it takes minutes before you’re able to do so. He waits patiently, humming in a deep dulcet like he used to. 

When you begin to relax, he picks up where he left off. “I knew I should have spoken to you about my worries and told you my doubts and fears, but I didn’t. It has always been my way; for centuries, I suffered in silence. I lost the fight between what I knew to be right and two hundred years of programmed behaviour. I am sorry for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you, for making you doubt how much I care for you, for making you afraid — all of it. I cannot undo what I've done. Gods, I wish I could go back and change it, but I cannot.” Astarion strokes your hair. 

His voice is becoming strained with emotion as he forces himself to bare his heart to you. “I hope we can rebuild what we’ve lost, and maybe it’s different than before; maybe we are both different than before, but that’s okay. It’s okay to be different. Whether you are light or dark, fire or ice, good or evil, you are still you, Kamena. You remain the same wild, goddess-like woman I met on the beach and referred to as a shrew." 

A raspy giggle sighs from your throat, and you finally tilt your head up to look at him. A small smile breaks through onto his perfect lips, and you trace them in the perfect bow as they curve upwards slightly. 

“You would still love me if I were evil?” You ask a little shyly, with your thumb still brushing over his bottom lip. 

If he can love you, even in darkness, maybe you can face whatever lurks in the future you’ve been avoiding by digging in your heels and sitting in your misery. 

If the only thing you have left is him at the end of this, you can live with whatever life throws at you. 

“Oh,” he smiles fiendishly, grabbing your hand and kissing each finger with his attention completely rapt on you. “Most certainly. If you want to burn the whole of Faerûn to the ground and dance in its ashes, I will hand you the match and help you start the fires.” He smirks momentarily. “Not that you would need matches, of course. You are fire incarnate, but you understand my point.” 

He pauses, placing a kiss on your wrist against your veins. His eyes comb over your face, studying you and reading the hidden language of your soul as if it were etched upon your skin. 

Pain and anxiety are largely writ on Astarion’s face. “I love you. I wish you would tell me every dark thought you’re having, even if they are about me — every wicked inclination, every doubt, and every fear. I would have you tell me every thought that goes through your head, so I can show you that I will always love you anyway and that I am not going anywhere.” 

The fact of the matter is that you resent yourself for being stubborn and unable to fully trust him when he is so evidently trying to show you in any way he can think of. It’s not that you don’t see it; it’s that you purposefully ignore it, but there is no ignoring it tonight. 

You must do better than this. You steel yourself. Take the step. 

“I’m scared, Astarion. I’m scared that if I take the steps to move forward, you will not like the person I’ve become. Underneath all these broken pieces, there is a darkness there that wasn’t there before. I can lose everything, but I cannot lose you.” 

It may not be healthy, but you would rather spend your lifetime in his broken state, battling with yourself all the while, if it means that you will rest, wake, and do everything in between with him by your side. 

“Come here, my heart.” Astarion shifts you so that you’re straddling him, arms wrapped around his neck, and your head resting on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss on your shoulder, rubbing your back. “You could never be unloved by me, Kamena.” 

You are better than this ; your shame whispers in your ear. Try harder. Be better. The way forward is clear, and you can walk into it at any time. Why do you languish here?   

What rises tends to fall, you answer solemnly. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts