#soul shattering sorrow

[michyeosseo]

She is not allowed to go. Quickly, call her back.

Zeng Li as SHEN MUYUE

THE LEGEND OF SHEN LI (2024) 1.23

[save-mohamed-family]

My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan

I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I love to get 2 on

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mmf, polyamory, cursing, smut (fighting over who gets to breed you), dumbification, finger sucking, breeding kink duh, implied size kink, daddy kink, mdni.

An: this is so self indulgent of me to write but idc nothing else is intriguing me besides this thought. this will likely end up being a small series because i have sooooo many ideas about these two nasty fucks.

Having both Toji and Satoru as boyfriends was not for the weak willed because these two men are constantly at each other’s throats when it comes to your attention.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me. ‘m the one givin this pussy what she wants.” Toji’s husky voice growls into your ear, breath fanning across your skin before he grunts.

His hips are slapping against yours — fucking you deep into the mattress while his heavy cock slides in and out of your sloppy hole. Pornographic squelches are coming straight from your pussy, making you cringe, but both of your boyfriends seem to be going feral from it.

Satoru’s pale blue eyes roll as Toji once again steals the show away from him. His palm cups your chin, and he drags your focus right back to his swollen cock. His tip is a pretty shade of pink, and it’s sweltering — leaking beads of precum over and over while he leisurely drags his hand up and down his length .

“Don’t listen to him. Look at Toru.” He coos with a grin, loving how fucked out your face gets when Toji absolutely ruins you. “He’s just a placeholder, riiight~? You’re still going to let me breed you after.”

You’re so pliant for them, nodding your head like a dumb slut. Nothing else in the world is better than when they both take turns breeding you again and again.

“This placeholders ‘bout to make her cum again.” Toji taunts, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he rolls his hips just the way you like. His tip presses kisses of precum so deep inside you. You can barely breathe much less think.

“You better not, princess. Suppose to wait for Toru, remember?” Satoru’s voice grows stern, and his eyes bore into yours in an almost eerie fashion.

“C’mon, doll. Cum for daddy. I can feel you tightening around me. I know ya want to.”

It’s all so much. Watching Satoru fuck into his wrist while Toji’s tip is practically massaging your g-spot. You give Satoru a sorrowful glance before letting out a pleasured cry. Your hands fist at the sheets, and your toes literally curl as juices gush out around the base of Toji’s cock.

“Yeeaah, not bad for a placeholder, right?” Toji’s lips quirk up into a smirk before he presses a kiss to your lips, drinking down your moans just to rub it in Satoru’s face even more.

All it takes is one look from Satoru, and Toji slides out of you with a grin. “I got ‘er warmed up for ya.” Toji laughs as he and Satoru switch positions. You lazily part your thighs for Satoru, still trying to catch your breath from the soul shattering orgasm Toji just gave you.

“Nuh uh. You wanted to be a slut on his cock. ‘m gonna treat you like one.” His hands grab your waist, and he rolls you onto your stomach forcefully.

From the outside, everyone would probably guess that brooding Toji’s the mean one in these scenarios, but they’d be dead wrong.

Satoru, after a life of being spoilt, gets so rude and aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Toji purposefully pushes him to that point — partly so he can watch you get railed deeply into the mattress until tears fall from your eyes.

The heel of Satoru’s palm connects with your back, and he forces your face and shoulders down into the sheets while his other hands guides his cock to your weeping entrance.

You grip at the sheets immediately, letting out a hiss as he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one fluid thrust.

“Fuck.” Satoru groans as if he’s genuinely mad at how wet you are — frustrated that Toji could get you this messy.

Toji brushes your hair away from your face, and his large palm rubs at your cheek gently — a tender reminder to keep your eyes on him while he jerks his cock right in front of your face.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you? I was- ngh.. gonna be nice to you tonight… since hah~ I’m trying to put a baby in you.” Satoru’s hips are forcefully slamming into your backside. He’s not moving fast, but his pace is punishing. “Toji’s already got a kid. It’s my turn.”

Your juices are seeping around his cock, forming a thin white line right around the base that makes Satoru’s cock twitch in delight. His hand slaps at the fat of your ass smack! before he’s pulling on your hips, making you meet him halfway just so he can make his thrusts count.

“Takin’ him so well. Keep it up for, daddy, yeah?” Toji murmurs before pressing a loving kiss to your temple.

Your mouth opens for Toji, and he gives you an affectionate chuckle before placing his thumb against your tongue to soothe that oral fixation you have. He knows that if he fucks your face, Satoru will have even more of a hissy fit and probably fuck you out of commission for a few days.

“Focus on him, doll. Looks like he’s making ya feel real good.” You nod, sucking on Toji’s thumb in between breathless whines and moans.

Satoru’s balls are so heavy, brutally slapping against your puffy clit with each thrust. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! He’s been saving up for you, adamant that he needs to breed you. He’s the upcoming Gojo clan head after all; it’s natural that those old hags want a baby with his blessed genes.

All it takes is feeling your spongy walls clench around him like a vice, and Satoru’s jerking you up by your arms, forcing your back in to an arch to where the imprint of his dick bulges through your belly.

Both of you are so noisy when you cum, Toji thinks. He watches in slight awe as Satoru pumps you full with his sticky seed. He can tell by the look on Satoru’s face that you’re milking him for all he’s worth too, and it’s so fucking hot.

Toji pushes you back down into the bed. Both men aren’t good with words. They’re good at doing. He arches his hips out before rope after rope of white hot cum spurt from his tip all over your face, marking his territory.

After a moment of cleaning up and giving you small tokens of affection through praises and kisses, the men are right back at each other’s throats.

“Ya know, if you’re not able to keep up, I can breed her cunt, and let ya pass off my kid as yours.” Toji taunts with a smirk.

“Yeah, as if your first kid didn’t look like he came from your ass. Fat chance. Sweets and I are gonna make a pretty blue-eyed baby with white hair.” Satoru hums as he affectionately ruffles your hair. “Isn’t that right, pretty~?”

[deathofacupid]

synopsis: heian!era sukuna x blind reader, where he is undoubtedly sure that you wouldn't love him if you could see him. a/n: @salsakiyoomi, thought of you while writing this! i know you love sukuna, here's a gift for you. hope you're having a better day! banner credits to @/dollywons.

the air in the ancient chamber hung thick with the scent of incense and the faintest trace of something wilder, something that clung to sukuna like a phantom limb.

he held you close, your small form nestled against his chest, your breathing soft and even. you were a delicate bloom in his brutal world, a splash of vibrant color against the monochrome backdrop of his existence. he was a creature of shadows, a being woven from malice and power, and you… you were a whisper of sunlight.

he watched you, his crimson eyes burning in the dim light, a stark contrast to the serenity etched on your face. he was a monster, a twisted reflection of humanity, a being whose very presence warped the air around him. and you, his sweet, unsuspecting petal, loved him. the thought was both intoxicating and agonizing.

"tch," he muttered, the sound rumbling in his chest. "if you saw what i looked like, you would not be lying beside me like this." he imagined your soft gasp, the way your eyes, currently closed in peaceful slumber, would widen with horror.

he pictured the revulsion that would twist your delicate features, the fear that would replace the gentle affection you so freely gave. the image was a knife twisting in his gut.

you hummed, a small, contented sound, and snuggled closer. "do not be silly," you murmured, your voice laced with sleepiness.

his brow furrowed. "excuse me?"

"yes," you repeated, your voice gaining a touch more clarity. "whether you would admit it or not, i love you for who you are, 'kuna. there is nothing else to it." you reached a hand up, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scars that marred his cheek.

he flinched at the contact, a visceral reaction to the innocent touch that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

he scoffed, a harsh sound that echoed in the quiet chamber. "you say that because you are robbed of sight. you have not had the displeasure of seeing the world – seeing me." the words dripped with self-loathing. he imagined the revulsion that would fill your sightless eyes if they were suddenly granted the ability to perceive his true form, the grotesque markings that covered his body, the inhuman gleam in his eyes.

you loved him in the dark, in the comforting absence of his true appearance. it was a love built on a foundation of blissful ignorance.

you stilled, your hand pausing its gentle exploration of his face. "i do not need to see it," you said, your voice soft but firm, "to know it for what it is."

you shifted slightly, your face turning towards him, as if you could see him with your heart. "the world… it whispers to me, 'kuna. i feel its beauty, its pain, its joy, its sorrow. and i feel you. i feel the warmth of your heart, the strength of your spirit, even the darkness that you try so hard to hide. and i love all of it, 'kuna. all of it."

your words were a balm to his tormented soul, yet they also pierced him with the sharpest of pains. he didn't deserve this, this pure, unconditional love. he was a monster, and you were a gift he didn't deserve.

he remained silent, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly. he wanted to argue, to push you away, to protect you from the inevitable heartbreak that would come when you finally understood the true depth of his monstrous nature. but he couldn't. he was addicted to your love, to the warmth you brought to his cold, desolate existence.

he knew he was being selfish, clinging to you like a drowning man to a life raft, but he couldn't let you go. not yet. perhaps… perhaps he could keep you in the dark a little longer. perhaps he could bask in the light of your love just a little longer before the inevitable darkness consumed him, and you along with it.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

one thing that i find interesting is that even though we never get to interact with Marika directly, only knowing her via obscure cutscenes and other characters' dialogue... she actually displays a wide range of emotions as much as any other NPCs.

her statues depict her as having a warm, gentle smile:

the Mimic veil description points to her playful, mischievous side:

(it's a popular theory in the JP/Asian side of the fandom that it's sth from her childhood - hence the "Marika's Mischief", not "Queen Marika's", and she used it to escape the grisly fate befalling her family.

additionally, its equivalence in Dark Souls is also something described as "the mischief of a young girl who sought relief from the solitude of the woods at dusk", aka Princess Dusk who hails from "Oolacile, land of ancient golden sorceries", but i digress)

her portrait, the story trailer's "Queen Marika was driven to the brink" and Gideon's dialogue after the player defeated Malenia pointed out her sorrow:

(back when i first played the base game, this is the portrait that drove my eyes most in Roundtable Hold. i kept gazing at her - the Queen with permanently lowered eyes, and thought "there is a girl in there")

The bat lady's song, Messmer's entire Crusade, all those conflicts to establish the Erdtree, shows her anger, and the cruelty she's capable of:

Then there's Shaman's village, the clinic underneath Shadow Keep, the golden braid, the Minor Erdtree, the sealing of Death - that points to grief, trauma, survivor guilt, kindness, and the ruinous drive for revenge that results in the above path down hell:

(there's also a theory for the Crusade's headless statue being a reminder for the Hornsent of what they put Marika's mother through, but it's not concrete canon so here is the link if you want to check it out)

The fact that all of Erdtree's incantations are heal and protection spells (with only one exception of Wrath of Gold spell which was found after the Elden Ring was shattered), the Capitol's Perfumers originally being blessed healers, and that all Erdtree blessings come in the shape of tears give the picture of Marika's gentle wish at the beginning: to heal everything and everyone.

(and to me personally, there's a kind of vulnerability and honesty in showing your tears to the world and let it be your power to heal at the same time.)

the eye she blessed Messmer with (i do think the Eng translation at some part lost the sentiment of the JP text - that the eye is always referred to as a blessing)

the blessing flask that - unlike its Dark Souls equivalent (which ranges from 6-13 flasks), only have 4 available to us player, heal all ailments and status effect, and specified as sth made for Messmer.

the Marika's soreseal in the Haligtree + the waterfall near Godwyn's final resting place

the Regal Omen Bairn (that was fashioned after the Jizo statue - sth made by grieving parents wishing for protection for their deceased child in the afterlife)

the blessing, gifts, equipment that Messmer and Godwyn's personal knights all get

the fact that Marika's bedchamber and the Impaler's Catacomb (which is the only catacomb in the base game to have the spike trap mechanic used in catacombs in the DLC) remain the proof of Messmer's existence in the base game

how Godwyn's ending is the only ending where the mending rune is placed on the position of Marika's womb (the lower arc or the Elden Ring - also referred to as the basin in which its blessings pool)

that's a whole barrage of motherhood. the love, the fear, the postpartum depression, the guilt and anxiety, (the occasional scheming for revenge with her son). and despite how flawed and tragic that love ends up being for all of them, it is there.

(there's a whole subplot about how Messmer is the only demigod to be called ugly in-game (Hornsent npc dialogue) while Boc's questline is about how his mother being the only one to always assure him he's beautiful, despite everyone else calling him ugly. and how each NPCs questline does reflect a wider theme seen in Marika and her children. but again, i digress)

every time i think of her, Marika is a constantly shifting kaleidoscope, holding everything from within (the beauty and the malign, light and dark, birth and death, she's warm and gentle, she's cruel and unjust, she's strong and kind, she's weak and resentful, she's sweet and she's bitterness made flesh)... and i could only stand there and admire it all.

[misswynters]

A Stark’s Fury

Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader

[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm

[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.

[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.

[requested: by anon

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.

Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.

As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.

When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.

After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.

Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.

Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”

The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.

The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”

King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”

Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”

Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”

You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”

As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.

In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”

You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”

As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.

“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”

With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.

Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.

Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.

A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”

Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”

Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”

Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”

Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.

“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.

Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”

You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.

“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.

The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.

In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.

A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”

As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.

The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.

“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”

Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.

As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession @giovanna-hyt @r-3dlips

banners: @cafekitsune

[arayapendragon]

shifting is for everyone 🩷

shifting is for the escapists, who want to leave everything behind. shifting is for the heartthrobs, who can’t get their lovers out of their mind. shifting is for the little ones, who dream of worlds so bright. shifting is for the broken, who no longer see the light. shifting is for the fighters, who want to make things right. shifting is for the troubled, who stay awake all night. shifting is for the hurt, whose hearts were cruelly shattered. shifting is for the silent, whose voices truly mattered. shifting is for the hopeless, whose lives feel lacklustre. shifting is for those who could really use a stress buster. shifting is for the healthy, shifting is for the frail. shifting is for those whose worries make them go pale. shifting is for the hopeless, shifting is for those who hope. shifting is there for those who really need something to cope. shifting is for those who drown in their sorrow, shifting is for those who wish for a better tomorrow. shifting is for those who try with all their might, shifting is for those who never left it out of their sight.

shifting is for the rich, shifting is for the poor. shifting is for those who dreamed of so much more. shifting is for the young, shifting is for the old, shifting is for those who turned bitter and cold. shifting is for the bright, shifting is for the wise, shifting is for those who truly realise.  shifting is for the happy, shifting is for the sad. shifting is for those who yearn for something they never had. shifting is real, shifting is your friend, shifting is for those who thought this is the end.

shifting is for the black, shifting is for the white, shifting is for everyone, their souls just as bright. shifting is for he, shifting is for she, shifting is for they who just truly wish to be free. 

shifting will be forever, shifting will always stay. shifting is for everyone, a chance to run away. shifting is for us, shifting loves all. shifting doesn’t discriminate, shifting will be there to catch you when you fall. 

[kingkonoha]

After what happened to you and your son, Satoru can’t stop drinking . . .

content: drinking, mentions of wanting to die, death, blood.

His tongue was numb from the burning alcohol that slipped down his throat in questionable amounts. The bartender had started to grow concerned, discreetly raising one of his eyebrows at the white-haired man.

“Here,” the bartender poured Satoru’s poison into another shot glass and sat it down in front of him with a gentle clank. “This one’s on the house. Do I need to call a cab for you, sir? Or do you have a ride?”

The young bartender was met with glassy, bloodshot eyes. The windows of Satoru’s soul were shattered, reflecting nothing except brokenness and a lack of sobriety.

Satoru didn’t answer. He only blinked at the bartender. It was a slow, mechanical click of the lids as if he had to remind himself to blink.

Blink, blink, blink.

He preferred not to do so, because every time he closed his eyes — even for the second it took to keep his blue orbs from drying out — he saw it.

It, being the reason why he was at the dead, boring bar that smelt of old wood and faint musk in the first place.

He was here almost every night because of you.

Because of what happened to you.

Satoru wrapped his unsteady hand around the shot glass, downing the drink as he tried to drown his sorrows.

He sat the fourth small glass down next to the other ones. He needed more. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t drunk enough. There wasn’t enough alcohol in his belly to wash away the sickness he felt swirling around in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about you.

“Another one,” Satoru’s voice was unrecognizable to his own ears. “Another one . . . Please.”

The bartender hesitated, wiping his hands off on the white towel across his shoulder.

The bar needed money. The other three customers who were lingering around were mainly there for the pool table, and bought a glass of beer just to sip on it while they played.

The family-owned business was at risk of shutting down thanks to the brand new club in the next town over, packed with young adults who were not only drinking, but dancing underneath neon lights and loud music as well.

This old bar could only afford to have the same old country songs on repeat, playing lowly in the background.

Even so, the bartender didn’t want money badly enough to contribute to this man’s horrific habit.

Someone like Satoru should have been at the club in the other town. He appeared to be much too young to drink his life away.

“Sir?” The bartender tilted his head, speaking softly to the depressed man. “I’m not supposed to ask customers why they’re drinking, but you’re a regular here, and . . . I’d love to know why.”

The question didn’t bother Satoru, truth be told. After all, everyone often asked him that, or a variety of similar questions.

“All you do is drink now, Gojo. That won’t solve anything. Why are you being so useless?”

“Why did you quit being a sorcerer? The world needs you! You were the strongest!”

“You don’t smile or laugh anymore. What happened to the old goofball we all love?”

Satoru sadly smiled at the bartender.

“My entire family is dead . . . ‘cause of me.”

The bartender’s eyes widened. He immediately poured Satoru another shot, and one for himself as well.

“I had a-a job. Dangerous one, but I was the best at it. I was a teacher too, and with the kinda work I did, I watched people die more often than I’d like to admit. My . . . My wife. She wanted me to quit. The world was getting more and more dangerous, and she didn’t want me to die. But I was a cocky son-of-a-bitch . . . I was thinking, ‘I’m Satoru Gojo! Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m the strongest!’”

Satoru paused, gulping down another shot. A tear ran down his cheek. “One day, I was out on a mission. My wife didn't want me to go. Typical. When I came home a few days later, I walked through the front door, and . . . her and my three-year-old son. He was three years old.”

“What happened to them?” The bartender asked softly.

“What happened is that I didn’t listen. When you’re the strongest, you make plenty of enemies. And if your enemies are smart, they know that they can’t hurt you directly. They wouldn’t win. So,” Gojo ran his shaky hand across his pale face, “they go after your loved ones. The enemies I had to put up with were heartless. There was so much blood, I couldn’t . . . they killed my-my wife . . . They killed my wife and my boy . . . my baby boy.”

Satoru clenched his fists hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Hot tears fell from his reddened waterline.

“I quit my job after that. Left my students behind.”

“I would’ve quit too,” the bartender said, swallowing down his shot. “I’m sorry that happened to you, sir.”

Gojo nodded, as he was sorry it happened as well.

He didn’t tell the bartender everything, though.

The lump in his throat that formed from choking back a sob wouldn’t allow for any more words to be spoken.

He failed to mention that the blood was fresh, still bright and liquidity, meaning that your death had occurred only moments before he arrived home.

And he didn’t get home fast enough.

He didn’t mention that the blood had soaked his hands, and he nearly burned his skin off trying to boil the red stains off of him.

He didn’t mention the fact that he had lost his mind. He went on a killing spree around the country, murdering every curse and curse user he came across, paying no mind to any innocent civilians who might have gotten caught in the crossfire.

He didn’t mention how badly he wanted to die too, but he was holding on because he couldn’t kill the demon that murdered his family, but he wouldn’t rest until he found a way.

However, there was one thing he would always keep to himself — one thing he wouldn’t dare mention.

It was the fact that your bodies were never found.

Perhaps, if he wasn’t drunk nearly every second of every day — and he visited other places in town aside from the bar — he would have noticed that the kind coffee shop owner who owned a business right down the street looked incredibly identical to you.

And the boy who helped run the shop on the weekends had the same head of white hair as him.

— FIND PART II HERE —

[candy69gurl]

𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄- HOW YOU MET THEM

WARNING: mentions of violence (Toji and Sukuna), flulff SYNOPSIS: Introductory post of my HYBRID JJK VERSE NOTE: Upcoming- Mating season (smut)

ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎- BAT HYBRID

THUD

You jolt up from bed, heart racing, as the sound pierces the silence of the night. Throwing off the covers, you leap out of bed, curiosity mingled with concern driving you to investigate. Creeping to the window, you cautiously peek outside, squinting into the darkness.

There, sprawled on the ground below, lies a figure, human in form but distinctly different. Your breath catches in your throat as you discern the shape of black wings and pointed ears against the dim moonlight. With a rush of adrenaline, you dash downstairs, your mind racing with questions and apprehension.

Approaching the fallen being, you notice the unmistakable mark of fear etched on his face, accentuated by the ominous black mark on his nose. "Hey?" you call out tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper.

Startled, the creature turns to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of fright and pain. His deep, resonant voice trembles as he speaks, "Please… help me. My wings… I think they're broken."

Your initial shock gives way to empathy as you realize the gravity of his plight. "Are you… a vampire?" you inquire, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

He shakes his head slowly, strands of black hair falling across his pale, gaunt face. "No," he replies, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I am half-human, half-bat."

With a surge of determination, you extend a helping hand, offering to assist him to his feet. As he rises, you catch a clearer glimpse of his features - his ebony hair tied back in two distinctive edges, his pallid complexion, and the weary, haunted look in his baggy eyes.

Without hesitation, you guide him back inside your home, the weight of his brokenness heavy on your shoulders. As you lead him inside, you vow to help this mysterious being, to mend his shattered wings and perhaps, in doing so, to heal the wounds of his troubled soul.

You carefully bandage his broken wings, but upon closer inspection, you realize the damage is more severe than initially thought. With a heavy heart, you express your concern, "They don't look too good… I suppose you can't fly for a while."

He meets your gaze with pleading eyes, a silent plea for compassion. "Can I stay with you until then?" he asks, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You pause, contemplating the implications of inviting this enigmatic being into your life. After a moment of reflection, you reply, "Fine… you can stay. It will take time for you to adjust with me."

A mixture of relief and gratitude wash over him as he pulls you into a heartfelt embrace, craving the warmth of connection. You can't help but smile at his earnestness, understanding the yearning for companionship hidden beneath his otherworldly exterior.

ᯓ★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 & 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔- CAT HYBRIDS

You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of chattering coming from your kitchen. Groggy and confused, you sit up in bed.

Something is definitely wrong.

You wobble on unsteady legs as you make your way to the kitchen to find out what’s causing the noise.

The kitchen light is off, but you can hear some rustling sounds. You flip on the light switch, and the noise stops. As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see them—two large cat-human hybrids, one white and one black, wrestling on the floor.

Their eyes immediately meet yours. Milk is spilled all over the floor, adding to the chaos.

Their gazes lock onto yours as spilled milk creates chaos on the floor.

You're stunned, unable to move. The black one gestures at the white one and accuses, "It's all his fault," his voice smooth as velvet. He leans towards the white one, nudging him gently with his muzzle, provoking a growl from the white hybrid. In the dimly lit room, his eyes shine brightly, though slightly smaller than the white one, he carries a similar aura of power. His tail wags eagerly, tapping the floor with excitement.

The white one pushes his muzzle away with a paw, his white-pinkish ears constantly twitching; the action is gentle, the two clearly having a good relationship despite the light teasing, "No, this is Suguru's fault."

Confused and overwhelmed, you blurt out, "Get out of my house!"

They both give you pleading looks. The black one speaks again, "W-We just wanted some milk... We were hungry, and... your windows were unlocked... Please, can we stay here for a few days? We have nowhere else to go."

Exasperated, you sigh. "Fine, but only one of you can stay. I can't take care of both."

They cling to each other, pleading desperately. "Please, we can't be apart."

Rubbing your forehead, you relent. "Okay, but no causing trouble. Both of you can stay."

Instantly, they pounce on you, showering you with joyful licks as they express their gratitude.

ᯓ★ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀- TIGER HYBRID

"Come out of that cave for god's sake," you call out, waiting for the creature to emerge so you can snap a good picture. You've always enjoyed photographing animals, so when you heard about the new tiger-human hybrid at the zoo, you were eager to capture it on film. Choosing the evening when the area is deserted, you head to the enclosure, hoping for uninterrupted photography.

"Oh... Oh, I see it," you mutter, attempting to zoom in with your camera. A glimpse of pink hair catches your eye, but it's not clear. Then disaster strikes. Your camera slips from your grasp, and in your attempt to catch it, you lose your balance and tumble into the cage.

As you hit the ground, the tigers in the cage swarm around you. Panic sets in as you realize there's no one nearby to help. You curse your own recklessness as the tigers prepare to attack. But then, the pink-haired hybrid steps forward, his voice deep and commanding.

"Brave of you to jump into the tiger's cage," he remarks. The other tigers seem to cower in his presence. He kneels down to your level, his tongue darting out, saliva glistening.

"Finally, a good meal," he says, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Desperately, you plead for mercy. "P-please, let me go. I'll do anything."

He chuckles darkly which sounds more like a roar. "Anything, you say? Hmm... Then get me out of this cage," he demands. Fear grips you as you realize the gravity of the situation.

"H-how... I don't..." you stammer, but he interrupts, seizing your throat with a deadly grip.

"Then be my meal," he growls.

Frantically, you agree to help. "F-fine... I'll help," you manage to choke out, hoping it's enough to spare your life.

With the hybrid's grip loosening slightly, you scramble to gather your wits. Your mind races as you try to devise a plan to fulfill his demand.

How can I possibly get him out of this cage? you think, panic rising like bile in your throat.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you. The gate! If I can somehow open the gate... With newfound determination, you manage to croak out, "I need... the keys... to open the gate."

The hybrid regards you with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. "Keys, huh? You expect me to believe that?" he snarls.

You nod frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes, yes! The keys! They're... they're with the zookeeper. I am thinking of a way. Just let go off me!"

The hybrid eyes you warily, then releases his grip on your throat. "Fine," he grumbles. "But make one wrong move, and I'll finish what I started."

As you struggle to come up with a plan to escape the dangerous situation you've found yourself in, you spot movement outside the enclosure. With a surge of hope, you see a zoo staff member approaching. Frantically, you wave and call out for help.

The staff member's eyes widen in shock as they spot you inside the cage. "What on earth are you doing in there?" they exclaim, hurrying over to the gate.

You quickly concoct a story, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "Someone locked me in here! I'm the vet, and I was checking on the hybrid when the gate closed behind me. Please, hurry and bring the keys!"

The staff member looks hesitant, clearly taken aback by the situation, but they nod and rush off to retrieve the keys.

Meanwhile, the hybrid eyes you with suspicion, his predatory instincts on high alert.

"Just make him faint when he brings the key. Don't hurt him, okay?" you plead, hoping to appeal to his sense of self-preservation.

"Why should I listen to you?" he roars, his patience wearing thin.

"Because I'm helping you escape," you reason, desperation creeping into your voice.

Grumbling, the hybrid reluctantly agrees, his gaze never leaving the approaching staff member.

When the staff member returns with the keys, the hybrid pounces without hesitation, pinning the unsuspecting individual to the ground. A deafening roar echoes through the enclosure, and the staff member faints from sheer terror.

Quickly, you snatch the keys from the fallen staff member's hand and unlock the gate. The hybrid bounds out of the cage, his powerful form moving with grace and speed.

As you both make your escape, the other tigers seem almost relieved to see you go, as if they're eager for the chaos to end.

Once you're safely outside the enclosure, you lock the gate behind you and return the keys to the unconscious staff member's hand. Then, under the cover of darkness, you and the hybrid make your way out of the zoo.

But just when you think you're in the clear, the hybrid pounces on you once again, a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Time for my dinner, don't you think?" he growls.

"W-wait! You told me you wouldn't hurt me! I helped you escape!" you cry out, tears welling in your eyes.

He licks your cheek with a smirk. "Well, when Sukuna is hungry, he eats anything that's in front of him."

You try to wriggle free from his grasp, but his paw-like hand holds you firmly in place. "Please... I have food at home. Don't eat me! I'm not tasty!" you plead desperately.

"Do you have meat at your home?" he asks, his tone surprisingly calm.

You nod frantically, hoping beyond hope that he'll spare you.

"Fine. I'll follow you to your home. But if you're lying, I'll eat you right there," he warns, his gaze unwavering.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you lead him to your home, each step heavier than the last. When you arrive, you quickly retrieve some meat from your fridge and offer it to him.

He seems content for the moment, but then he declares, "Very well. This is my new home."

You try to protest, but he cuts you off with a dismissive snort. "As long as you don't tell anybody I'm here, everything will be fine. You know what will happen if you do."

ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎- BLACK PANTHER HYBRID

Sweat drips down your forehead as you run through the dense woods, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear the loud growls and snarls of the tiger getting closer and closer. The adrenaline rushes through your veins as you trip over a fallen log. You hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of you. You look up to see the tiger bearing down on you, its yellow eyes full of hunger.

As your fear intensifies, you can't help but think how you ended up in this situation. Why did you decide to take the shortcut through the woods instead of sticking to the paved streets? Now you're about to become a meal for a wild beast. Your mind races through all the things you could've done differently, the choices that led you here. If only you had taken a different route, your life might be different now.

Your eyes squeeze shut, preparing yourself to face your fate but soon enough an unexpected event unfolds. A massive, black form leaps onto the tiger, sending it tumbling away. The two animals engage in a furious battle, the sound of snapping teeth and growls deafening.

Your body aches and your feet throb, the injury bleeding profusely. The adrenaline is quickly waning, and you can feel your consciousness beginning to slip away. You try to run, but your body won't cooperate. The throbbing in your head intensifies, and the world starts to fade to black.

As your eyelids fall shut, you're left with the knowledge that your life hangs in the balance, an unwitting pawn in this primal struggle. The two animals continue their violent dance, oblivious to the fact that the prize they both seek is barely clinging to life mere feet away. Your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps as blackness engulfs you, consuming your senses, and you slip into the abyss of unconsciousness.

You stir and slowly awaken in a pitch-black space. Your injured foot tingling, and you realize that a warm, rough tongue is lapping at your wound. With your heart pounding and your eyes adapting to the low light, you leap up in surprise to see a big, hybrid figure standing in front of you. Part panther, part man, his muscular form is a testament to its feline heritage. His deep green eyes pierce into you, holding an air of mystery. A scar etches a jagged line along the right side of his mouth, giving his face a dangerous edge.

Despite his menacing demeanour, there is tenderness in the way he looks at you. With a deep, velvety voice, he replies, "I don't eat humans, so don't be afraid."

Your voice trembles as you ask, "W-why did you save me?"

He responds with a casual air, "Ah, that tiger was a menace, always trying to feed on humans. Thought I'd teach him a good lesson." A flick of his panther-like tongue gently traces your cheek, as if silently asking for your trust.

Overwhelmed by the turn of events, you manage to stammer, "Can I go home now?" His face softens, and it's clear that he's reluctant to let you go. He's developed a connection with you, but yea he has to let you go so he eventually nods with a heavy heart.

"Fine, you don't look too good to go by your own. Your foot is injured, and other animals can hurt you." He looks at you with concern, his green eyes fixed on your bleedings. "I will help you return home."

With an unspoken bond formed between the two of you, he gently lifts you onto his back, using his strong, muscular arms to support you. The warmth of his body offers comfort, and you can't help but feel safe and protected, even as you're carried through the still-dangerous woods. He moves with the agility of a panther, his steps sure and confident.

His panther-like ears twitch with each new sound, alert to any potential dangers. He dashes through the woods at a breakneck speed, your directions guiding him towards the safety of your home. Your heart races in your chest as you cling tightly to his neck, grateful for his strength and protection.

The journey seems to go by in a blur, the whirlwind of events leaving you shaken. But, with every passing second, the comforting thought of returning to familiar surroundings grows stronger. The sight of your home, drawing nearer, brings a sense of relief, and you can't help but let out a breath you'

His panther-like ears twitch with each new sound, alert to any potential dangers. He dashes through the woods at a breakneck speed, your directions guiding him towards the safety of your home. Your heart races in your chest as you cling tightly to his neck, grateful for his strength and protection.

The journey seems to go by in a blur, the whirlwind of events leaving you shaken. But, with every passing second, the comforting thought of returning to familiar surroundings grows stronger. The sight of your home, drawing nearer, brings a sense of relief, and you can't help but let out a breath you' have been holding. You slide off his back onto the pavement, the familiar crunch of gravel underfoot a stark contrast to the softness of the woods. You turn to face your savior, words of gratitude tumbling from your lips.

The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape. Your savior begins to turn away, the time for him to leave drawing near. Panic wells up inside you, and without thinking, you reach out and cling to him. The thought of him departing too much to bear. Your voice quivers as you plead, "Please, don't leave. Can you stay with me for a few days?"

He regards you with a mixture of surprise and concern, his green eyes holding a wealth of emotions. "I can't," he responds but your pleading eyes seem to have an effect on him, and after a moment of hesitation, he relents slightly, "All right, just for a day. After that, I'll have to return to my place."

His agreement brings a wave of relief, and you cling to him for a moment longer before stepping back, offering him a grateful smile. "Thank you," you breathe, leading the way inside your home..

Little did he know, the decision he made to spend a day at your house would change everything. As the hours pass and the day turns into night, the sense of comfort and safety he provides begins to weave its way into your heart. You find yourself growing increasingly reluctant to let him go, his presence now a much-needed source of calm amidst the chaos of your life.

ᯓ★ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐆- BEAR HYBRID

As you walk down the street, the cold winds bite at your skin, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, you notice several men trailing behind you. Panic sets in, and you break into a sprint, ducking into an empty alleyway. But as you reach the end of the alley, you realize there's no way out. They've surrounded you.

Alone and terrified, you feel like your luck has run out. But then, a noise startles everyone. Heavy footsteps echo in the alley, and all heads turn. A massive creature lumbers toward you, sending the men into a frenzy. "A bear!" they cry, scrambling to escape over the alley walls. Left behind, you remember a tale about playing dead to evade a bear's wrath. With trembling body, you collapse to the ground, feigning unconsciousness.

As the creature draws closer, it speaks in a human voice, catching you off guard. "Either you're playing dumb or you think I am," it remarks, its features coming into focus. It's a peculiar sight – a man with an average build, sporting short black hair styled longer on top, dark eyes, and a thin mustache. But atop his head are unmistakable brown bear-like ears, and his stature is massive, resembling that of a human-bear hybrid.

Confusion swirls in your mind. Could such a creature exist? Before you can ponder further, he chuckles and remarks, "You owe me a jar of honey."

Bewildered, you sit up, daring to ask, "What are you?"

His response is gentle, "A bear hybrid, I suppose."

You speak again, "I.. don't have any honey with me."

"Too bad," he replies with a smirk, "You seem like honey to me." Fear still grips you, but he reassures, "Don't worry, I won't eat you... yet." His mischievous grin sends shivers down your spine. Uncertain of what to make of this bizarre encounter, you cautiously accept his offer to escort you home.

Despite your initial trepidation, you find yourself trusting him, if only because he saved you from a perilous situation. And so, with this creature by your side, you embark on the journey home, your mind buzzing with questions and disbelief.

As you reach your home, his presence is somehow comforting. "My honey... dear?..." he murmurs softly, and you fidget with your fingers, trying to find an answer. "I don't have it. I will have to buy and then..."

Before you can complete your sentence, he leans in, cupping your cheeks, his lips find yours. Your eyes widen in shock at his sudden, electrifying kiss. It sends a shiver down your spine, grounded by his arrogant proclamation.

"Mhm, you are sweeter than honey," he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet I'm gonna stay with you until my one jar is complete."

You stutter, taken aback by the unanticipated intimacy. "U-until what's complete?" You question, still trying to fully process the bizarre encounter.

The bear-man, now seemingly confident in his claim, swaggers into your home as if he owns the place. You follow hesitantly, lingering at the door.

"Until I get one jar of honey," he clarifies, sitting down on the couch, "But I bet it won't take long. Just the sight of you alone is sweet enough." His voice drips with innuendo, and you blush furiously, unsure how to respond.

"Y-you can't just barge into someone's home," you stammer.

"My apologies, but the circumstances call for it," he responds nonchalantly.

You are stunned by his boldness, yet you cannot overlook the fact that he saved you from those men. Maybe it's the thrill of this wild encounter, but you can't deny that he's charming. "I-I.. I don't know," you reply, unsure of whether you're ready to have your world turned upside down by this enigmatic creature.

ᯓ★ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈, 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈, 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 & 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄- BUNNY HYBRIDS

"This white one, this black one, this brown one, and this grey one... YEYYYY!" you exclaimed in pure delight as you gazed upon the adorable human-bunny hybrids in front of you. Their fluffy ears twitched, their small tails twitched, and their eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you declared, unable to contain your excitement. But your parents, standing nearby, didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea of bringing home four new additions to the family.

"Y/N, choose only two," they urged, trying to reason with you.

But you weren't having it. You wanted all of those charming creatures, each with their unique color and personality. "No, I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you insisted, jumping up and down and throwing a small tantrum.

"All four will be trouble," one of your parents sighed, exchanging a knowing look with the other. "I don't think your kid is going to listen," the latter chuckled.

ᯓ★ 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈, 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 & 𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐄 - DOG HYBRIDS

Before you were born, three special beings were already part of your family: Hiromi, Nanami, and Kusakabe. They're dogs mixed with humans, each with their own unique qualities. Hiromi is the oldest and wisest, Nanami is gentle but strong, and Kusakabe is full of energy and happiness.

In one word- they're family. They were already part of the family long before you arrived. When you were born, they were already there, part of the household. When they first saw you, they felt a strong connection with you, even though you're a bit different from them.

ᯓ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎- SNAKE HYBRID (NAG)

"Big News! The nag broke free from the lab! If you spot it, call this number: 69696969696969."

You switch off the TV, muttering, "Why can't they keep a better eye on animals? They don't deserve this. But I wanna see what it looks like" You head to the kitchen for some food. Suddenly, you hear a hissing noise. "I need to clear my mind. I'm even hearing snake sounds," you smile to yourself, and then you freeze. "Wait... hissing sound?" You turn around to see a huge snake with a human-like upper body and a snake-like lower half—typically mythological character like.

You find yourself in the midst of a gripping situation. The room feels charged with tension as you stand face to face with the escaped nag. Its presence is both captivating and terrifying.

The nag towers over you, its imposing figure a stark contrast against the mundane surroundings of your home. Its upper body bears a resemblance to that of a human, but its lower half is unmistakably serpentine, coiled and ready to strike.

Its face, marked with intricate patchwork patterns, holds an otherworldly allure. Its eyes, one a deep, mysterious blue and the other a haunting shade of gray, seem to pierce through your very soul.

Long strands of grayish-blue hair cascade down its back, swaying with each subtle movement. They are neatly sectioned into three thick strands, each tied off at the end, adding to the creature's enigmatic appearance.

As it grins, you can't help but notice its fangs—two of them, each as large as a snake's, gleaming ominously in the dim light of the room.

But perhaps the most chilling sight is its tail, which coils around your body with a vice-like grip, constricting your every movement and leaving you gasping for air.

In this moment, fear and disbelief course through you as you realize the gravity of the situation. You are face to face with a creature straight out of myth and legend, and it has you firmly in its grasp.

You try to scream, but the nag's grip around your waist is too tight, choking off the sound. You can feel your breathing becoming labored, your chest constricted, the nag's tail seemingly tightening with each panicked attempt to draw in air.

Your heart races as you wait for the jagged teeth to sink into your flesh, but instead of biting, the nag's forked tongue darts out licking your teary cheek. The contrast between anticipating excruciating pain and gentle caress makes your blood run cold.

Your whimpers fade as you gaze into the creature's heterochromia eyes. "Hooman~" Its voice is like the rustling of autumn leaves, soft yet unsettling. "Not gonna hurt you if you don't hurt me."

A look of confusion crosses your face as he releases you, still gripped by confusion as to why a creature capable of such destruction is harming you not. "You escaped from the lab, right?" you ask tentatively.

The nag lets out a small pout, "They treated me very bad..." Tears begin to stream down its patchwork face, and you're left wondering if the display is genuine or nothing more than an act. "I want to be taken care of... Do I not deserve it?"

You find yourself grappling with your own emotions, the nag's pleading expression tugging at your heartstrings. You're still scared of it but somehow, you can't seem to resist its charms. Biting your lip in indecision, you finally reply, "I will tell them to take care of you in a good way. You should return there."

He shakes his head vehemently as his tail coils even tighter around you this time, almost comforting. "No... Not gonna go there AGAIN!" he protests, his voice laced with desperation. "Please... You look like a good hooman... Please take care of mee~" It presses its face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. The nag's cold touch adds to the unsettling atmosphere.

"Are you sure... you can stay with me?" you ask, mindful of the consequences but feeling a strange kinship forming. The nag's face lights up, and you can see how desperately it wants this. "Yes... yes, please."

Given the situation, you sigh and agree to the nag's request. You realize that it's not going to leave you alone anyway. Plus, it's not like having a nag as a house pet is an everyday occurrence.

ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎- GORILLA HYBRID

As the sun shone down on the lush greenery of the picnic area, innocent you sat with your family, enjoying a delightful family picnic. Amidst the laughter and chatter, you decided to indulge in one of your favorite snacks - bananas. Grabbing one from the fruit basket, you eagerly peeled it open and devoured it in no time, savoring its sweet flavor.

Bananas Bananas Bananas, I LOVE BANANAS

But one banana was not enough to satisfy your craving, and you reached for another. As you peeled it open, a sudden poke on your shoulder startled you. Whipping around, you found nobody there. Shrugging off the odd sensation, you turned back to your banana, only to find it mysteriously missing, leaving only the peel in your hand.

Confused and slightly unnerved, you grabbed another banana from the basket, determined to enjoy it without any interruptions. Yet, once again, a poke on your shoulder disrupted your moment, and when you looked back, the banana was gone, just like before.

Frustration mounting, you stood up and scanned the surroundings, searching for the prankster responsible for the disappearing bananas. Your eyes fell upon a figure giggling mischievously nearby.

"You did it!" you accused, rushing towards the person, but it darted away with surprising agility, effortlessly climbing up a nearby tree.

In your attempt to follow, you ended up stumbling and falling, landing with a painful thud. As you winced in pain, the laughter ceased, replaced by a sense of guilt. The figure descended from the tree and approached you cautiously.

"Sorry," he muttered, extending a hand to help you up. Looking up, you found yourself face-to-face with an unusual sight - a hybrid creature with a big body and chest like a gorilla but the face and features of a human. Despite his intimidating physique, he seemed of your age.

"You could have asked me," you scolded, rubbing your sore limbs.

He hung his head in apology once more, explaining that he couldn't resist the opportunity to play a harmless prank.

As you talked, you realized that despite his unusual appearance, you felt a strange connection with him. He was just like you, craving friendship and acceptance.

When it was time to leave, you hesitated, not wanting to part ways with your newfound friend. Gathering your courage, you introduced him to your parents, who were taken aback by the sight of the hybrid creature.

"That's not a human," they exclaimed, exchanging worried glances.

But as you pleaded with them to let your new friend come home with you, they relented, touched by your earnestness and compassion.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Back to You | LN4

💥 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, heartbroken after Lando vanished nine months ago, sees a tabloid photo of him with another woman. Determined for answers, she flies to Monaco. Their confrontation turns heated, months of tension igniting into passion. As anger and desire blur, they realize they still want each other

💥 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💥 word count ━━━━━━━ 6.6k

💥 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex

Based on this request.

Y/N sat alone in her apartment, the twilight sky outside mirroring the quiet desolation inside. The low hum of the bustling city seeped through the large windows—a constant reminder that life was moving on outside, even if her own world had come to a standstill. Every familiar sound—the distant rumble of traffic, the soft murmur of pedestrians, even the clink of glasses from a nearby rooftop bar—seemed to mock the heavy silence of her phone. For nine long months, ever since the argument that had shattered what little connection they once shared, Lando had vanished without a trace.

Her heart ached with each morning that began the same way: with her eyes opening to a screen filled with unanswered messages and missed calls, a relentless echo of his absence. She found herself mechanically scrolling through old photos on her phone—captured moments of laughter, shared secrets, and the tender surprises he’d sent her. Each image was a bittersweet reminder of a time when his presence had been a balm to her insecurities, when his gestures of gifting exquisite perfumes and designer handbags made her feel seen. Now, every memory only deepened the question that tormented her:

Was I ever enough?

She recalled his words, once so full of promise: “You’re incredible, Y/N. There’s something about you I can’t explain.” That text, once a spark of hope, now felt like a relic from a life that had slipped irretrievably away—a promise broken by months of silence. The very thought made her eyes sting with unshed tears and her chest tighten with a mix of sorrow and anger.

Just as she was about to sink deeper into despair, her phone vibrated—a sharp, unexpected buzz that sliced through the stillness. The notification was from a mutual friend, and the message appeared with an almost aggressive urgency:

Friend: “Hey, have you seen the tabloids? Lando was snapped outside a club last night in Monaco with a girl. They’re saying she was with him as he left.”

The words hit her like a cold splash of water. Her stomach churned, and a bitter taste spread across her tongue. The image of Lando—whose eyes had always held a spark just for her, even amidst the glitter of glamorous company—transformed in her mind into something unrecognizable and distant. So this is how you treat me? she thought bitterly. Ghost me for months, and then let a rumor paint you as nothing more than an option.

Her mind reeled with memories of their past—the whispered promises during quiet evenings, the extravagant gifts that had arrived like tokens of an unspoken devotion, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Yet here she was, feeling discarded and small—a solitary soul amidst a sprawling metropolis that had once held so much promise.

The room felt colder, the familiar surroundings now tinted with the sharp edge of betrayal. Every object in her apartment—the well-worn armchair by the window, the stack of books on her coffee table, even the gentle hum of the air conditioning—seemed to conspire with the silence of her phone, reminding her of the void Lando had left behind.

A surge of determination began to kindle within her, battling the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. I deserve better than this endless waiting, she resolved, her voice barely above a whisper. The sting of betrayal was too raw, too painful to let fester in isolation. She needed answers, a chance to reclaim her dignity, and perhaps—most of all—a way to understand why the man who had once made her feel like the center of the universe had chosen silence over solace.

Her thoughts churned as she considered her next move. Confrontation was daunting, yet the idea of sitting in perpetual uncertainty was unbearable. With a mix of trepidation and fierce resolve, she decided that the only way to mend the fractured pieces of her heart was to face him directly. Without a second thought, she booked a flight to Monaco—a place that now symbolized both his presence and her desperate need for closure.

As she closed the door behind her that evening, leaving the familiar comfort of her apartment, every step she took was laden with a heavy mix of sorrow, anger, and a spark of hope. The bustling city around her might have been indifferent to her inner turmoil, but within her burned a singular determination: to shatter the barrier of silence that had grown between them and to confront the man who had left her questioning her very worth.

—

The air in Lando’s apartment in Monaco was heavy with tension, the kind that could only come from weeks of silence and unanswered texts. Y/N stood in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her breathing shallow but steady. She had flown from London on a whim, driven by a mix of anger, hurt, and something she couldn’t quite name. That something had brought her here, to his doorstep, uninvited but unyielding.

Lando leaned against the kitchen counter, his expression unreadable. He wore a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to style it all week. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and warmth, were cold now, distant.

“You can’t just show up here, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

She laughed, but it was hollow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have sent you a text? Oh wait, you’ve been ignoring those for months.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had replayed their last argument in her head a hundred times, each time feeling the sting of his words cutting deeper.

“You’re acting like a child,” she said finally, her voice shaking. “Ghosting me? Really? Is that how you handle things now?”

Lando’s eyes flicked up to hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he said, his voice flat. “I just needed space.”

“Space?” she repeated, incredulous. “You mean you needed to go out clubbing with some random girl while I was left wondering if I’d done something wrong?”

His expression darkened. “That wasn’t what it looked like. I wasn’t with her. She just happened to be—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I don’t care about the details, Lando. I care about the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me. You just disappeared.”

He pushed off the counter and took a step toward her, his voice rising. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to walk away? You’re so damn stubborn, Y/N. You push people away, and then you act surprised when they leave.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she felt the familiar ache of insecurity creeping in.

“I don’t push people away,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he shot back, his voice softening. “You keep everyone at arm’s length because you’re scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable. But guess what? I’m scared too.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of losing you,” he admitted, his voice low and raw, his hands dropping from her face to hang at his sides. “But it’s more than that. That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I care about you—more than anyone else. But sometimes, I felt pressured to prove that I could have you. And I...I got scared.”

His words burned through her, their weight pressing against her chest. Her jaw tightened, her emotions twisting into something sharp and defensive. “You felt pressured? To prove what? That you’re worthy? Or that I’m just another conquest?” 

He stepped back, his face hardening. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.” “Do I?” Her voice cracked, anger and hurt colliding in a storm that threatened to spill over. “Because that’s what it sounds like. That’s always what it sounds like with you. Like I’m just some prize you’re trying to win.” 

“Stop twisting my words,” he shot back, his voice rising. “You’re not a prize. You’re not something to be won. But you keep pushing me away, acting like I’m some shallow, unfeeling idiot who doesn’t know what he wants. And it...it pisses me off.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “I’m scared too, Lando. I’m scared that I’m not enough, that I’m just the girl no one truly wants. I see the echoes of your past—the women you once admired so freely—and I can’t help but wonder if I’m merely another fleeting distraction in your life.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step forward, his tone simmering with frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re not a distraction. You’re not some temporary fling. God, Y/N, how many times do I have to say it before you believe me? Before you stop comparing yourself to people who don’t matter?”

“Don’t matter?” she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. “How can they not matter when they’re a part of you? When I see their faces every time I close my eyes, wondering if that’s what you really want? Wondering if you’re just settling for me because I’m the one who said no?”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. You think I’m here, now, because you said no? That’s what you think? That I’m just some egomaniac who couldn’t stand the idea of a woman rejecting him?”

“I don’t know what to think!” she shouted, her hands flying up in frustration. “Because you’ve never made it clear! You’ve never given me a reason to trust that this is real!”

“I’ve tried!” he roared, stepping closer, his chest heaving. “I’ve tried everything to show you how I feel, and all you do is shut me out. You don’t let me in. You don’t let me love you!”

She stared at him, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, her heart pounding so loudly it felt like it would break free from her chest. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved.” 

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice rough and desperate. He closed the distance between them, his hands grabbing her face with a force that sent her head tilting back. And then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding, a storm of anger and longing tangled in one desperate gesture.

For a split second, she froze, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to push him back, to protect herself. But then something inside her snapped, and she kissed him back with a ferocity that matched his own. Her hands fisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer as the fight dissolved into something far more primal.

Their lips moved in a chaotic rhythm, anger and passion combusting into something undeniable. His hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping her so tightly she stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud. He pressed into her, his body pinning hers, the heat between them unbearable.

“You’re not a distraction,” he murmured against her lips, his voice fierce and unyielding. “You’re the only damn thing I’ve wanted in months.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was kiss him again, her hands clawing at the fabric of his hoodie as if she could tear it away. The anger, the fear, the doubt—it all melted into the heat of his body against hers, the truth they’d both been too scared to admit finally breaking free.

And in that moment, she stopped fighting. Against him. Against herself. Against whatever this was that had always terrified her. Because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Their lips crashed together again, hungry and desperate, a tangle of anger and need. His hands were everywhere—her hips, her waist, her back—pulling her closer, tighter, as if he could erase the distance that had grown between them. She clawed at his hoodie, her nails digging into the fabric, her voice breaking as she gasped against his mouth, “Take this off. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he pulled the hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, his chest heaving as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with a mix of rage and desire. “Happy?” he growled, his voice rough.

“No,” she shot back, her hands immediately finding their way to his bare skin, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back as she pulled him back into the kiss. Her lips were demanding, bruising, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that made him groan.

He lifted her effortlessly, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as he carried her to the sofa, their lips never parting. The moment her back hit the cushions, he was on her, his body pressing into hers, his hands roaming wildly as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “Every moment without you was torture.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her top, his movements hurried and impatient. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Or because you don’t believe me?”

She didn’t answer, her breath hitching as he finally managed to get her top off, his hands moving to her bra. He undid the clasp with ease, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple in a way that made her cry out.

“I’ve craved your kiss in my darkest moments,” he murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. “I’ve been longing for your touch.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as she tried to push him away, her body a contradiction of anger and need. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his lips trailing up her neck to capture hers once more. “But it’s a damn good start.”

His hands slid down her body, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them off her hips along with her panties. She kicked them aside, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moved between them, his own jeans and boxers discarded in a heap on the floor.

When he finally entered her, it was with a deep, urgent thrust that made her moan, her nails digging into his back. He paused for a moment, his breath ragged as he looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve missed feeling your pussy wrapped around my cock,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Her body tightened around him, a visceral reaction to the way his cock stretched her, filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive nerve she had. The friction was electric, his thickness pressing so deep it felt like he was stealing the air from her lungs. His thrusts were relentless, hard and furious, the kind that made her bones rattle and her mind go blank. Each time he pushed into her, his hips slammed against hers, the force of it sending shockwaves through her body. She could feel the anger in his movements, the pent-up frustration of weeks without her driving him to fuck her with a ferocity that bordered on savage.

Her walls clenched around him, slick and tight, her body betraying her mind as it welcomed the invasion. The pleasure was unbearable, every stroke of his cock inside her sending her closer to the edge. She hated how good it felt, how much her body craved him even as her mind screamed at her to resist. “I hate you for this,” she gasped, her voice trembling, her nails digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. “You don’t get to just— fuck your way back into my life.”

“Yes, I do,” he growled against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her hips higher, angling himself so he could plunge even deeper. The tip of his cock brushed against that spot inside her that made her vision blur, her breath hitching in her throat. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how much you want to deny it, your body knows it. I can feel it—how wet you are for me, how fucking perfect you are.”

She hated how right he was. She hated the way her pussy clung to him, pulsing around his cock as if it had been made for him. The stretch of him, the way he filled her so completely, it was maddening. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slid in and out of her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting through her body. Her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, the rhythm wild and unhinged, her body moving on instinct, chasing the release she so desperately needed.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. His hands tightened on her hips, keeping her in place as he drove into her again, the slap of their skin echoing in the room. She opened her eyes to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made her stomach clench. “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Every goddamn second without you, I’ve wanted to be inside you, to feel you come around me.”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. “I hate you,” she whispered again, but it was weak, half-hearted, her body betraying her words as she arched into him, her walls fluttering around his cock. “I hate that I need you.”

“Say it again,” he urged, his lips brushing against hers, his thrusts slowing slightly, becoming deeper, more deliberate. The tip of his cock pressed against that spot inside her again, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Say you hate me.”

“I hate you,” she said, her voice breaking as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her, her body clenching around him so hard it was almost painful. Her head fell back, her back arching as she came, her pussy pulsing around his cock, pulling him deeper.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice ragged with need. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me. So fucking perfect.” His thrusts became erratic, harder, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. “I’ve missed feeling you come around me. Missed the way you squeeze my cock like you never want to let go.”

She could feel it—the way his body tensed, the way his cock pulsed inside her, thick and heavy, as if it were demanding every drop of her attention. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow and uncoordinated, and then he was there, right on the edge. His hips jerked forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and she felt the first hot surge of his release flooding her, filling her in a way that made her toes curl.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice guttural, almost animalistic, as his cock twitched and spilled inside her. She could feel every pulse, every jet of his cum, hot and insistent, coating her walls. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His hands, which had been gripping her hips so tightly she was sure she’d have bruises, now trembled against her skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

“Y/N,” he whispered, her name sounding broken on his lips, like a prayer and a plea all at once. His body shuddered against hers, his cock still throbbing inside her, the warmth of his release pooling deep within. She could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself up, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, tangled together in the aftermath of something that felt as raw and unrelenting as the fight that had brought them here.

His breath was warm against her neck as he finally stilled, collapsing half on her, half beside her, his cock still buried inside her, softening but undeniably present. She could feel him there, a heavy, grounding weight, and for the first time in weeks, there was a strange, unexpected sense of completeness. But it was fleeting, and as her fingers traced the curve of his spine, she knew the fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing ragged, sweat slicking their bodies. He didn’t pull out, his cock still buried deep inside her, as if even now he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not again.”

She closed her eyes, her body still trembling, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but for now, it was muted by the sheer liquid heat of what had just happened between them.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin.

She didn’t respond, her eyes still closed as she tried to process everything that had just happened. The anger, the passion, the way he had touched her as if he never wanted to let her go—it was all too much.

He shifted slightly, pulling her closer as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not giving up on us.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, longing. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intense as he looked at her. “Then let me earn it,” he said, his voice steady. “Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t answer, her heart torn between wanting to believe him and the fear that he would only hurt her again. But before she could say anything, he was kissing her again, his lips soft and gentle this time, a stark contrast to the earlier frenzy.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low but firm, laced with a quiet desperation that she hadn’t heard before. His forehead pressed against hers, their bodies still tangled together, his hand gripping her hip like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

She let out a bitter laugh, her chest rising and falling as she stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “You told me that before. And then you disappeared for months. Just vanished. Like I meant nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the anger in her tone breaking open to reveal the raw hurt underneath.

His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against her skin. “I didn’t vanish. You threw me out. You screamed at me to leave, Y/N. What was I supposed to do? Stay and beg?” His voice rose, frustration seeping into every word, but there was something else there too—something vulnerable, almost pleading.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body tensing beneath him. “You were supposed to fight for us! Not ignore my calls, not ghost me like some coward. Do you know how much that hurt? How many nights I laid awake wondering if you ever even cared?”

He flinched, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting hers again, his eyes dark and burning. “Do you know how much it killed me to stay away? To see your texts and not respond, to hear your voice and not answer? I hated myself for it, Y/N. Every single day. But you... you made it sound like you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely think. “You were supposed to come back,” she whispered, her voice trembling now, the fight draining out of her. “You were supposed to come back and tell me you weren’t done with me.”

His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, his touch gentle despite the storm raging in his eyes. “Because I’m not,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not done with you. I’ll never be done with you. You’re it for me, Y/N. You always have been. Even when I was being an idiot, even when I was fucking things up—it was always you.”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to look away, but he didn’t let her. He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, his expression torn between anger and adoration. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t shut me out. Not again.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared you’ll do it again. Scared you’ll leave me.”

His lips crashed against hers then, fierce and desperate, his arms wrapping around her like he was trying to merge them into one. “I’m not leaving,” he said when he finally pulled away, his breath hot against her skin. “Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands fisting in his hair as she pulled him closer. “I hate you,” she muttered, but there was no real venom behind it—just vulnerability, just fear, just the truth of how badly she wanted to believe him.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead, his tone soft but defiant. “Hate me all you want. But you’re still mine. And this time, I’m not letting go.”

Their breaths tangled in the air, heavy and uneven, the room humming with the echoes of their raw intensity. Lando’s body hovered over hers, their skin still fused together with the heat of what had just unfolded. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself out of her, his cock slipping free with a wet, unmistakable sound. A trail of his cum followed, trickling down her thigh, marking her in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Don’t move.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but it carried a weight that made her obey instantly. 

She stayed still, her body limp against the cushions as he slid off the couch, his movements deliberate. He didn’t look away from her as he walked to the bathroom, his eyes lingering on her sprawled form, the way her chest rose and fell, the curve of her hips glowing in the dim light. The room felt smaller with him gone, the air heavier, as if it were waiting for him to return. She could hear the faint sound of water running, the rustle of a towel being pulled from the rack. Her skin tingled where he had touched her, where he had been inside her, and she fought the urge to reach down and feel the warmth he’d left behind.

He returned with a warm towel in hand, the soft fabric damp against his palms. Gently, he knelt between her legs, his touch reverent as he cleaned her, wiping away the evidence of their shared desperation. His fingers brushed against her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache, his focus entirely on her, on the way her body responded to his care. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, her eyes fixed on him. His face was softer now, the edges of his earlier intensity smoothed by something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze traveled over her, savoring every inch, every curve, every imperfection she’d tried so hard to hide. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice breaking the quiet, his hand pausing over her hip as if he was memorizing the feel of her under his touch. “Not a single part of you that isn’t mine.” Her breath caught, her chest rising sharply as his words sank in. She wanted to argue, to push back, but the way he looked at her—so soft, so full of something she couldn’t quite name—left her paralyzed.

He sat down on the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions, his bare skin still glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. She shifted awkwardly, pushing herself up from the sprawled position she’d been in, her back leaning against the soft fabric of the sofa. He didn’t speak, didn’t move to help her, just watched as she settled into a seated position, her legs crossed loosely in front of her. The cool air of the room brushed against her naked skin, raising tiny bumps across her arms and thighs, but she barely noticed. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on him. She still hadn’t uttered a word, her anger simmering just beneath the surface, a heated pulse that made her chest tighten every time he glanced at her.

He reached over, his fingers brushing against the underside of her thigh, a feather-light touch that made her breath catch in her throat. His eyes darted down, sweeping over her body once, twice, his gaze lingering long enough to send a shiver down her spine. She clenched her jaw, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest, her legs pressing tighter together. His calmness grated on her nerves. It was infuriating how gentle he could still be, even now. He kept his hand there, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on her skin, like he was memorizing her, like he needed to touch her to believe she was real. She wanted to shove him away, to snap at him, but her own body betrayed her, leaning into his touch just enough that she cursed herself silently.

Something flickered in his eyes—something deep and unspeakable. It didn’t matter that she was angry, that she was conflicted, that she hadn’t said a word since it happened. He was still there, still touching her, still looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. Her heart pulsed in her chest, a heavy, uneven throb that made her stomach twist. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice low. When she finally did, his eyes were earnest, a soft warmth chasing away the last vestiges of the cold distance she’d seen earlier.

“I swear to you,” he said, “the woman in those pictures is no one. She isn’t some new fling or anything like that. I didn’t even catch her name. We just happened to leave the club at the same time, and I guess the paparazzi decided to make it a story. I—I would never—” His voice tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he shook his head, as if trying to fling away the mere thought of betrayal. “I’d never move on like that. Especially not after everything with us. You have to believe me.”

She heard the raw plea in his voice, and it squeezed her heart. She wanted to cling to her anger—it felt safer, in some warped way—but her body and soul knew the truth: she still loved him. Even after all the agony and heartbreak, even after the months of silence that nearly broke her, part of her wanted to trust him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she whispered, her eyes drifting down to where his fingertips rubbed soft, comforting circles on her thigh. “Why let me think the worst, after I flew all this way?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his messy curls. “I panicked,” he admitted. “I thought... maybe you’d already decided I wasn’t worth it. Or that you’d never forgive me. When I got your messages about the tabloid story, I—I freaked out. I’ve handled everything so badly, Y/N. I know that.”

She studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit. But the exhaustion and remorse in his gaze looked painfully real. “You hurt me,” she said plainly, not as an accusation but as a truth that hung between them.

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “It kills me to know that. But I’m here now—and so are you. And if you’ll let me, I want to make it right.”

The anger in her chest wavered, replaced by a tender ache. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m tired of fighting you,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “Tired of feeling like I’m chasing ghosts in my own head. You shut me out for so long, Lando. I thought... maybe you’d moved on. Or you realized I wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flared with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he murmured, reaching to cup her chin and guide her gaze to his. “You’ve always been more than enough. You’re my reason. You think I spent those nine months partying or living it up? I was miserable without you. I was just too proud—too damn stupid—to admit it.”

She felt her defenses begin to crumble. The sincerity in his eyes made her chest tighten, and despite the chaos that still swirled inside her, a quiet warmth began to spread.

He dipped his head closer, voice husky with emotion. “I’m not here to give you excuses. I’m here to do better. If you’ll let me.”

Something in the way he said it made her pulse stutter. “I don’t know how to fix us,” she whispered.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles—hopeful, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. “We can figure it out, one day at a time. I’ll give you all the space you need, but I won’t vanish again. That’s a promise.”

Y/N let her eyes slip shut for a moment, recalling the jarring stillness of her apartment, the sense of betrayal when she’d read that tabloid message, and the constant, relentless question of her own worth. Then she thought of his texts from long ago—the sweet promises he used to make, the way he’d spin her around his apartment in a spontaneous dance, the unexpected, thoughtful gifts that were more about making her smile than showing off.

She opened her eyes again, looking into his. “If you ever disappear on me again...”

He shook his head, already understanding the weight of her threat. “I won’t.”

A fragile moment of silence passed, and then, quietly, she slid closer. It wasn’t the desperate need from earlier, but a gentle, tentative reach for comfort. His arms enveloped her, and for once, she let herself sink into him—breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Each thud was like a quiet pledge that he was still here, that he wasn’t running.

“You really don’t know her?” she asked after a moment, referencing the girl in the tabloid photos. There was no bitterness left in her tone—only a vulnerable request for the truth.

Lando snorted softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise you—I have no idea who she is. The tabloids saw a chance to stir drama, and they took it. But if I could rewind time and see the flash of those cameras, I’d have run in the opposite direction just to spare you that pain.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “So dramatic, Norris.”

He grinned, a flash of his usual mischief finally returning. “You know me. I’m a sucker for the dramatic.”

Something about that smile, about the lightening of his mood, allowed her to hope. She lifted her head and traced a finger along his jaw. “You’re a fool,” she said softly.

“But you still love me anyway.” He caught her hand, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, remembering her self-doubts, her fears. “I do,” she admitted, voice hushed. “And I hate how much I do.”

His fingers interlocked with hers. “I’ll do my best to make you hate it less. Starting now.”

Slowly, he guided her to sit up, then reached for the blankets crumpled at the edge of the couch. Pulling one around her shoulders, he tucked her in gently, his gaze never leaving her face. There was a sweet, soothing quiet in the gesture, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged between them just moments before.

He cleared his throat, looking almost shy. “Look, I—I’m sorry if this is too soon, but... I can’t let you stay in a hotel tonight. Stay here.” When he registered her sudden tension, he shook his head. “I’m not asking for—any of that. I just want you close. Let me prove that I’m serious about fixing this, about us.”

Her mind flickered with a thousand possible retorts, but instead, she simply nodded. “Okay.”

A small, relieved smile touched his lips. He bent down, scooped her clothes from the floor, and handed them to her with uncharacteristic care. As they dressed in silence, the conversation that still needed to happen—about the past, about forgiveness—hovered unspoken, but for once, it didn’t feel insurmountable.

When they were both clothed again, Lando reached for her hand, leading her to the bedroom. The lights of Monaco glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the space in soft gold and silver. She hesitated at the threshold, her heart pounding. But he just guided her to the edge of the bed, turned down the blankets, and held them open for her.

The gesture was so gentle that fresh tears stung at her eyes. She slid beneath the covers, and he lay down beside her, maintaining a careful distance until she inched closer, bridging the gap. His arm went around her shoulders, and her head found its home against his chest.

They lay there, the tension of the night still throbbing in the background, but now there was something else—a quiet, cautious kind of peace. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

“Lando,” she whispered, “I don’t know how we move past everything that’s happened. But for tonight... can we just be here together?”

He pressed his lips to her hairline, his breath warm against her skin. “Tonight, tomorrow, every day after if you’ll let me,” he answered softly. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

She felt a tear slip free, but it wasn’t one of sorrow. In the glow of the Monaco lights, pressed against the warmth of his body, she found the faintest flicker of hope flickering in her chest—a fragile promise that maybe, this time, they could find their way back to each other.

“I believe you,” she whispered, letting herself relax into the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed a small, hopeful smile to curve her lips. “And I’m tired of pushing you away.”

He tightened his hold on her, his thumb tracing idle circles on her arm. “Then don’t,” he murmured.

She sighed, contentment blooming slowly in her chest. “I won’t.”

In the quiet that followed, there were no more words—just the soft cadence of their breathing, the hush of the night sky outside, and the unspoken vow settling between them. No matter how broken things had seemed, they would try. And for now, that was enough.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ swan song ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please be sure to check out their profile for squid game fanfictions, they have helped me with my works and their writing is perfection! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the rain cascaded in a relentless downpour, burying the world in its somber rhythm. you stood motionless, soaked to the bone, your tattered black satin gown clinging to your pallid skin, pearls glinting faintly in the dim moonlight. across from you stood cho sang-woo, his tailored suit stained with smears of blood that had long since dried, a stark contrast to the high-class reputation he once upheld. there had been a time when the sight of him would have filled you with affection, a time when you had imagined him as your husband, the man you would spent all of eternity with.

˚ ༘♡ the man before you now bore no resemblance to the one you had loved so deeply. where once there had been kindness, there was now a malicious cruelty. the charm that had drawn you in, the quiet strength and righteous honesty, had been nothing more than a facade. before the games, your lives had seemed perfect, lavish dinners at exclusive steakhouses, extravagant shopping trips, the allure of wealth. yet it was never the riches that held your heart. you had loved him for the moments of vulnerability, the whispered dreams during midnight strolls, the promises of a future built on trust. now, those memories felt like lies, twisted shadows of a man who no longer existed.

˚ ༘♡ his grip on the knife was steady, the same blade he had used to take sae-byeok’s life. you could still see her fragile form laid on the ground, blood swarming under her stiff body as her she weakly murmured her little brother’s name. she had begged for another chance to see him again, her eyes glazed with fear and dread, only to be silenced in a merciless slashing. that moment was etched into your soul, an infested wound that refused to heal. you had pleaded with gi-hun to spare sang-woo when the opportunity arose, your love for him, a ghost of what it once was, still clinging to the hope that he could be saved. however, sparing him had been a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo had demonstrated no remorse. he had turned his blade on gi-hun after being confronted for sae-byeok’s murder, killing his childhood best friend with little hesitation, leaving you as the only two left to face the end. now, as the rain fell in endless torrents, you stood in the storm’s heart, the past unraveling between you. the love you had once cherished lay shattered at your feet, replaced by a chasm of betrayal and regret.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called out, your voice steady despite the quivering in your limbs. your gaze locked onto his, and slowly, deliberately, you let the knife slip from your grasp. it landed in the rain-soaked sand with a muted thud, quickly swallowed by the muck. droplets cascaded down your face, obscuring your vision, but you didn’t look away. “you’ve killed so many,” you said, your voice carrying over the storm, though faint and muffled. “innocent strangers, people who trusted you, those who loved you. i’m no different.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched as his face contorted with rage. “pick up the damn knife!” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged. his body shook, a mix of fury and something more fragile, a deep, unspoken torment etched into his expression. his eyes betrayed him, scorned and sorrowful.

˚ ༘♡ “i will not,” you replied softly, your soaked hair sticking to your melancholic face. “i won’t fight you. i can’t.” your breathing troubled as you continued, words tumbling out between the harsh pouring of the rain. “even if i won… what would it matter? what’s left for me to go back to? the money won’t mend this. it can’t rid what’s been done, the people we’ve lost, the pieces of ourselves we’ll never get back.”

˚ ༘♡ for a split second, his grip on the knife loosened, his fingers moving as though fighting an internal war, but just as quickly, they tightened. blood trailed down the cut across his face, mingling with the rain, streaking his skin with crimson. “damn it!” he barked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “stop being so difficult and come here! let’s finish this!”

˚ ༘♡ “no, sang-woo,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, unarmed, your hands open at your sides. “if the money is all you care about, if you’re so desperate to go back and see your mother, to undo all your mistakes, to lead the life you desire, to have a beautiful home, a loving wife, good children, then kill me. go ahead. take the knife and end the game.”

˚ ༘♡ tears burned your eyes, falling hot and salty down your face before the rain could wash them away. you moved closer, mere inches from him now, your voice low and steady, almost a whisper. “do it,” you murmured. “you’ll have to, or neither of us gets anything, and i won’t hurt you, sang-woo.”

˚ ༘♡ his arm lifted, the knife angled toward your chest. his jaw tightened, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t strike. the blade hovered between you, shaking ever so slightly. “i… i can’t kill you,” he said, his voice breaking as the words escaped him.

˚ ༘♡ “but you could kill sae-byeok?” you asked, voice hoarse, choking on your words, your lips curving downward in a frown. “you could kill gi-hun? their lives meant less than mine? sae-byeok had her little brother waiting for her, and gi-hun has a daughter who will never understand why her father didn’t come back.” your voice grew softer, mellowed by despair. “their lives were important, sang-woo. their lives held no less value than yours or mine.”

˚ ༘♡ his face became grim, a flash of anguish breaking through his hardened mask. “don’t you think i understand that?” he shouted, his voice catching on the words. his free hand pressed against his chest as though the pain inside was physical, unbearable. “i didn’t do it because i wanted to! you think i enjoyed it? you think i’m a sadist?” his voice cracked, his desperation bleeding into every word. “everything i’ve done… i had no choice! i have to fix this. i have to make it right. otherwise, what was all of this for? the sacrifices, the suffering, it will mean nothing!”

˚ ༘♡ the rain fell harder, drowning out the quietude, as his words hung in the air, each one more bitter than the last. you could see it, the guilt embedded into his aged face, the torment tearing him apart, but it didn’t undo the blood on his hands.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, guiding the blade to your throat. the cold metal kissed your skin, and your voice was composed despite the tears falling freely down your face. “go home, sang-woo,” you said softly, your grip strengthened to keep his hand close to you.

˚ ༘♡ his face was streaked with rain and tears now, his composure unraveling. his breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he tried to pull the knife away. “i won’t do it,” he choked out, his voice hoarse, trembling with something between anguish and resolve. his fingers curled tighter around the hilt, but not to push forward, only to keep it from you. “i won’t kill you.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rain pounding against the earth. your gaze shifted to the stormy horizon, staring blankly at the void ahead. “sang-woo,” you whispered, your tone solemn, distant. “do you remember that night you stayed over at my place? you said you liked my cooking, even though we both knew it was awful. and i laughed at all your ridiculous, outdated jokes and listened to your business jargon, even when i didn’t know half the terms you used, i liked being the woman you spent your days with.” a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, though it was short-lived, disappearing as quickly as it came. “that’s the day i remember the most. not the gifts, not the trips, not the money. none of it mattered to me. only mattered. i wanted you, nothing else.”

˚ ༘♡ his breath snagged, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, meeting his tormented gaze. “it will never be like that again,” you said, your voice breaking. “we can’t go back, sang-woo. not after everything.”

˚ ༘♡ before he could react, you wrenched the knife from his hand with a sudden, sharp motion. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he reached for you. but it was too far too late. the blade pierced your throat with brutal precision, and the warmth of your blood poured over your trembling hands. you staggered, the world moving and fading around you, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo…” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you crumpled to the wet sand. scarlet-red ichor spilled out in thick rivers, melding with the rain-soaked earth.

˚ ༘♡ “no!” he screamed, his voice raw and broken, as he fell to his knees beside you. quivering hands reached for you, lifting your head from the wet sand as rain pelted down in icy sheets. his tears mingled with the blood streaking your face, his sobs shaking his entire body. “please, no… don’t do this,” he choked out, desperation lacing every word. “stay with me, please.”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but the words came weak, barely audible over the thunderous rain. “my… my family,” you sputtered, your voice thick with the blood flooding your throat. each breath was a struggle, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “tell them… tell them i won’t be there anymore, okay?” your fingers, trembling and cold, lifted to brush against his bloodied cheek. your touch was feather-light, tender despite your waning strength. “sang-woo… please, don’t forget me, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ his face was agonized, tears streaming past the injuries that marred his angular features, it was rare to see him so emotional, so delirious with grief. “i won’t,” he swore, his voice cracking beneath the strain of his grief. “i won’t forget you. i’ll never…” he stopped, his words caught in his throat as he pressed his hands to the gaping wound on your neck, desperate to stop the flow of blood. it was a futile effort, the red blood spilled through his fingers, staining the sand beneath you. “please, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice shatterred into a sob. “don’t leave me. please. i can’t live without you.”

˚ ༘♡ his desperate efforts were all in vain. the life was draining from your body, the world dimming around you. your breaths came slower, softer, each one feeling close to your last. his frantic cries grew distant, muffled as if you were slipping underwater. your vision blurred, the storm above fading into oblivion. and yet, through it all, his face remained clear as could be, the pain in his dark eyes burned into your thoughts.

˚ ༘♡ the last sound you heard was not his voice, but something colder, emptier. an emotionless voice echoed through the air, chilling and robotic, void of anything human.

˚ ༘♡ “player 177, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled one final breath, your hand falling limply from sang-woo’s bloodied face as the darkness consumed you.

a/n: another cho sang-woo fanfiction!! he’s my favorite character so there will definitely be more for him!!! please let me know you if any requests and your thoughts on this story! 🤍

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Collateral Damage.

Spencer Reid x Wife!reader

Summary: When you accompany your husband to an interrogation, the last thing you expect is to learn that the woman who ruined your lives has gotten what you've always wanted: a baby.

Words: 3,7k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of infertility, pregnancy loss, jail, hospital, therapy. angst WITHOUT a happy ending. cat adams is warning all by herself. again, so much angst. spoilers for s12 e22 ("red light"). english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is incredibly sad and one of the first parts of me trying to clean up my drafts (I literally cried reading this last night, love it so much).

“We’re pregnant.”

They were the words you had always dreamed of hearing, the words you had imagined sharing with your husband countless times in the quiet moments of your life. The dream of a family. The idea of motherhood. You had fought so hard against the crushing reality of your biological struggles. Every test, every disappointment, every doctor’s visit had carved deeper into your soul. But you had always held onto hope, clinging to the belief that one day, it would happen. You and Spencer would have a family. He would be a good father, and you would be a good mother.

But now…now those words came not from your lips, not from the man you loved with all your heart, but from the mouth of the woman who had shattered your world, who ruined everything good and pulled you two apart for months. Cat Adams. It was her. Again.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your body was frozen, rooted to the spot just outside the interrogation room. You and JJ stood in the dim hallway, watching through the glass, but it felt like you were miles away, like you had been pulled into some parallel universe where nothing in your life made sense. The world had tilted. Your thoughts tangled in a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and a deep, aching sorrow you couldn’t yet name.

You wanted to shout. You wanted to scream. You wanted to run into that room and demand the truth from her. How could he—how could she—say something like that? You wanted to storm in there and tell Cat that she was lying, that she was trying to manipulate him, that this couldn’t possibly be real. It was a very low blow, so unfair and cowardly even for someone like her.

But you were paralyzed. Your chest ached with a heaviness that felt like it would suffocate you. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s face as his expression slowly morphed into something you didn’t recognize. He looked…lost. His brow furrowed, his lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came. His body language screamed confusion, disbelief, and a deep, gnawing fear. He was in shock, and you couldn’t blame him. The revelation was something you knew he had been wanting for years but not in this way.

“There must be an explanation,” Jennifer whispered beside you, her voice low but urgent, trying to cut through the suffocating tension. Her hand brushed against your arm, grounding you for a moment.

An explanation. Of course, there had to be one. Your husband would never…He couldn’t…But the sharp edge of pain and guilt gnawed at the edges of your mind, insidious and cruel. This moment was supposed to be yours, only yours.

Your mind raced, desperate to calm and find a way to rationalize what you had just heard. Cat was a master manipulator, a pathological liar who thrived on twisting the truth to suit her twisted games. This had to be another one of her ploys, another cruel trick designed to break Spencer. But was more, was a lower hint for you too. You were always the collateral damage, but this time it was hurting like hell.

Suddenly the guard of the prison entered, a folder clutched in her hands, her expression grim. She approached agent Jareau, handing her the medical records as if they were a death sentence for you. And the worst part was how your friend hesitated before opening them, glancing at you for a split second, her lips pressed into a thin line. The pity can be seen even for a blind person.

You didn’t need to see the contents of the folder to know the truth, to feel it inside. Jennifer’s sharp intake of breath told you everything. She flipped through the pages quickly, her frown deepening with every word she read. Finally, she looked up, meeting your eyes with an expression that was equal parts anger and more pity.

“She’s pregnant,” JJ confirmed, her voice low and reluctant. “Three months…it makes sense.”

The words made your knees weak. You reached out, gripping the edge of the table in front of you for support, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and torn your heart out, leaving behind a hollow, aching void devouring each of your other organs.

Inside the interrogation room, Spencer was still frozen. His hands rested on the table, trembling slightly, as he stared at Adams with wide, disbelieving eyes. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the single word. “That’s…that’s impossible. I would never—”

He would never cheat you. He would never touch or even think of another woman. He loved you like it was his life purpose since he met you.

“But you did,” Cat interrupted, her tone calm and smug, as though she had already won. She leaned back in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach with a sense of triumph that made you want to scream. “You were so sweet that night. So trusting. But then again, I made it easy for you, didn’t I? You thought it was her. You thought Lindsay was your wife.”

Your breath caught, the implication of her words crashing over you like a tidal wave and making you want to scream. You felt JJ’s hand on your arm, grounding you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

She continued, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “I mean, you didn’t even question it. And you, so desperate for a family, so desperate for her, fell for it. You let her in. And when the time was right…” Cat leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms smugly. “Well, you did what needed to be done. Now, here we are. You’re finally going to be a daddy.”

Finally. Finally. Finally.

Spencer’s head whipped violently, his fists slamming onto the table with a force that seemed to shake the very air around you. His voice cracked with disbelief, raw and desperate. “No,” he said again, but this time, it was louder, like he was trying to make the world believe it too, trying to make you hear it, feel it. “You’re lying.”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her eyes glittering with cruel amusement, as if savoring every painful second. “What’s the matter? Not quite the picture you had in your head when you imagined your happy little family?” Her words sliced through the silence, her mockery dripping with venom. “I mean, let’s be honest—she was never going to give you a baby, was she? Not after what happened before.”

Before.

The word reverberated in your mind, jagged and relentless. You didn’t need to hear anything else. The floodgates opened and started to bleed again.

The sterile scent of the hospital room hit you like a tidal wave, the cold, mechanical hum of machines echoing in your ears. You could still feel the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on you, the cruel finality of them. Your body, it seemed, was incapable of carrying life. The crushing reality hit harder than you could ever have prepared for. Spencer’s face had been pale, his lips trembling as he squeezed your hand, his own sorrow mirrored in your tears.

“We’ll get through this, love,” he had whispered, his voice trembling but determined. “It’s okay. We’ll find a way. It’s okay.”

But now, as you stood there in the present, surrounded by the fallout of broken dreams, that promise felt like an empty echo in the vast, aching space between you. Nothing was okay. Absolutely nothing was ever to be okay again.

Cat had come for what you could never give him, and now she was twisting the knife, ensuring you bled with every word that left her mouth. She wanted you to drown in the aftermath, wanted you to suffer, to feel like you’d been erased. As if you hadn't suffered enough, as if you weren't yet broken and traumatized enough.

You stumbled into the hallway, your legs giving way beneath you as if the very foundation of your existence had crumbled. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick, suffocating. Tears burned your eyes, spilling unchecked as years of grief poured from a place you thought had long since healed. JJ was behind you, her movements steady but soft as she followed.

“Come here. Sit down for a second,” she urged, her voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline thrown to someone drowning. She wanted to pull you in, to cradle you, but you couldn’t even hold yourself together.

You shook your head, your breath coming in shallow gasps, each one too short, too sharp. “I—I can’t. I can’t breathe.” You pressed your hands against the cool wall, your palms slick with sweat, desperate for some grounding, for something solid to stop the world from spinning out of control.

Please, just make it stop.

She placed a firm but soothing hand on your shoulder, guiding you to a nearby bench. “Just sit for a moment. Take a deep breath. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”

Her words were kind, but they only made the ache in your chest burn hotter. You dropped your head into your hands, unable to hold it in anymore. “It’s not fair. She has everything,” you choked out without even thinking. “Everything I wanted. She took it. She—” Your voice faltered, the lump in your throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.

So, why'd it cost a woman like her anything? Was she going to give a better life to a baby than you could? Had you ever been such a bad person? Was that it?

Jennifer sat down beside you, not saying a word, just letting you find the strength to speak when you were ready.

When you finally did, your voice was broken. “You know…when Spencer and I moved in together, we picked the biggest house,” you said, the words spilling out in a torrent you couldn’t stop. “Not because we needed it, or because we wanted to live some fancy, luxury life—but because we were planning for the future. We talked about kids. We talked about filling that house with the chaos of family. We even set up a room…” Your voice faltered again, the memory of that room too painful to bear. “We called it the nursery.”

JJ’s expression softened, her eyes growing distant with empathy. She’d heard Reid talk about your dreams countless times—how he’d ask her for suggestions about baby names, recommendations for things he should know about raising kids, and everything to be a good husband and father at the same time.

“We bought baby clothes,” you whispered, your voice cracking again. “I still do it sometimes when I see something cute. Tiny little onesies, hats, socks…He always said we needed to be ready. That we’d want those things when the time came. And so we kept them, in a drawer, neatly folded. Waiting.”

God, you were so tired of always waiting.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Do you know how many times I opened that drawer? How many times have I picked up those tiny clothes and imagined what it would feel like to hold our baby in them? To see Spencer cradling them, smiling the way only he can when he’s happy? Every time I see him with your kids, I want to see that for the rest of my life.”

Her hand covered yours, her grip warm and steady.

“And now Cat has that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “She gets to have a baby. She gets to take away the one thing I’ve been holding onto, the dream that kept me going after…after the loss.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of what you’d never spoken about, what you’d kept buried ever since you walked out of that sterile hospital room. You had never talked about that day, not really—not since it happened. Not until now. Only in therapy, where the walls were thick, where no one could see you break, could you admit the rawness of it.

“I keep thinking about our house,” you continued, your voice distant and lost in memories. “How we’d sit up late at night, dreaming about how we’d decorate the nursery. We even picked names. Spencer wanted to name a boy after a scientist—he was obsessed with that idea. And I always thought, for a girl…we’d name her after his mom.”

JJ smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes. “You two still can do it and be the best parents in the world; don’t let her ruin everything.”

Having a good mom tell you that you were going to be a good mom was as filling as it was raw.

You shook your head, tears falling without restraint. You didn’t try to stop them. “How can I face him again? How can I look at him and not feel like I failed him? Like my body failed him, failed us, over and over again?”

Her voice was unwavering, strong, and full of conviction. “You didn’t fail him. You’ve never failed him, or yourself. This isn’t your fault. Spencer loves you. You’re going to get through this, together. And Cat…Cat didn’t win, okay?”

You wanted to believe her. You needed to believe her. But the suffocating weight of everything made it hard to see the truth. The face of the woman who had torn apart everything you thought you’d have was still vivid in your mind, her words echoing like a funeral bell.

“She said I couldn’t give him what he wanted,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “What if she’s right? What if—” What if your husband stopped loving you? What if he starts to hate you for not being enough? Can he?

“No,” she cut you off, her voice sharp but compassionate. “Don’t do that. Don’t let her poison your mind like that. He chose you. Not her, not anyone else. You. And this…this nightmare? It wasn’t his choice, and it wasn’t yours. But you’re going to get through it.” She knew what she was talking about.

JJ’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, her warmth enveloping you as the sobs you had been holding back finally broke free. She didn’t say anything more, just held you tightly, her presence a steady anchor in the storm. The sound of your sobs, the harsh, guttural sounds of a heart breaking, filled the hallway, but in her arms, you felt a small fragment of peace.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” you whispered into her shoulder, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to handle it all right now,” she said softly. “Just breathe. I’m here, and I understand you, okay? It’s okay.”

For a moment, you let yourself collapse into the comfort she offered, letting the peace of her presence block out the memory of Cat’s cruel face, her words slicing into your soul. But that fleeting peace was shattered as hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, and then, just as suddenly, Spencer stood there with medical papers strewn on the floor and an agitated look.

His face was pale and a little sweaty, his fists clenched as if he wanted to throw the table in front of him away, and as soon as he saw you, everything stopped; he watched you with concern, and his breath caught in his throat. “Are you okay, love? I—I came as soon as I could, I’m sorry.” His voice was soft, almost a plea, as he took a tentative step closer.

You straightened, quickly wiping at your face, trying to pull yourself together. But the moment your eyes met his, the dam broke all over again.

Your husband moved to sit beside you, his hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching you, as though he was afraid he might hurt you more. “Hear me, whatever she said in there—it’s a lie. It has to be. She’s trying to get into our heads.”

JJ left quietly, her steps fading as she walked away, leaving the two of you alone. The silence between you and Spencer was suffocating, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything you were both feeling. You couldn’t look at him, not yet. Not when you knew the depth of his concern, the love in his eyes that you felt you didn’t deserve. Not when you felt like everything was unraveling and you had no way of holding it all together.

The moment his gaze softened, you felt it—a crack in the walls you had been desperately trying to keep intact. But you couldn’t—couldn’t carry it anymore, couldn’t wear that mask any longer. It was like trying to keep the ocean contained in a single glass jar.

You shook your head, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice thin and fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. But even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. They sounded like a lie, and you hated yourself for saying them. “I just need to go home. I’m so tired. I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.”

His eyes searched yours, as though hoping he could find the answers to your pain somewhere in the depths of your soul. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face flexing as he fought to understand, to fix it, but you knew he couldn’t. No one could. Not with this.

“You don’t have to go alone,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent, the kind of voice that pulled at your heart, that made you want to reach out and hold on to him. “Let me be there for you. Please.”

You flinched inwardly, the urge to push him away overwhelming. If he touched you now, you feared you’d crumble entirely. “No,” you said, your voice cutting through the fragile silence that had fallen between you. The word hung in the air, sharp, like a weapon you didn’t want to wield. But you had to. You had to. “I just need to be by myself for a moment.”

His expression shifted, hurt flashing across his face. He blinked, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something—anything—to make it better. But what could he say? He couldn’t take away the hurt, couldn’t undo the mess that had built up over the last few months. The raw, searing weight of grief and longing, of losing something you’d never even gotten to hold, hung between you like a thick fog.

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “Please, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just…I need time. Please.”

He recoiled slightly, but then he nodded. Slowly. His gaze softened with an ache that matched your own, but there was also something else there—something deep and unwavering. Love. Love that hurt, love that clung to you even as you tried to push it away.

“I love you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I love you so much. And whatever happens, whatever she said or done…it doesn’t change that. Nothing will change that. You and me—we’ll get through this.”

The words pierced you, not in the way you wanted, not in the way that would have given you comfort. Instead, they felt like a reminder of everything you had lost, everything you might never have. You look at your ring, trying to hold on to the meaning.

“I need to go,” you whispered, your hand trembling as you touched his arm, just briefly. It wasn’t a comfort; it was a goodbye. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to drag him down with you, even though you knew he’d follow you into hell if you asked. But you couldn’t let him. Not now.

Spencer hesitated, as if he might argue, but then he just sighed softly, nodding again, his face pale with worry. “Okay. But you know I’m here, right? If you change your mind—if you need me…” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a look of such pure concern that it almost broke you. Almost.

You nodded without meeting his eyes, wiping at your cheeks quickly before giving him a quick hug and walking away, each step a little heavier than the last. You couldn’t even look back.

The door of your car slammed shut behind you with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. For a long moment, you sat there, the engine still off, staring straight ahead as the weight of everything settled over you like an oppressive storm cloud. You wanted to breathe, to take in the air, but it felt too thick, too heavy.

Finally, your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the tension. You pressed your forehead against the wheel, trying to still the trembling that was slowly overtaking your body. And then, just like that, the dam broke. It wasn’t a sob at first. It was a sharp intake of breath—a gasp that felt like it was being ripped from you. And then came the tears, hot and fast, flowing down your face without mercy. Your chest ached as the sobs wracked your body, each one pulling something from you that you couldn’t even name. The quiet of the car only made the pain more acute, the isolation more unbearable.

The tears didn’t stop—they couldn’t. You cried for the dream you’d lost, the dream you’d clung to for so long, the dream you had built with him. You cried for the tiny clothes, the nursery, the baby names you’d never get to say. You cried for Spencer, for all the ways you felt like you were failing him. For all the ways you felt like you were breaking him, too.

Your sobs grew louder, more desperate, until your chest felt like it might collapse in on itself. There was nothing left to hold onto, no one to fix this, no way out.

And as the tears kept falling, as the sorrow consumed you, all you could do was let it happen. To sink into the ache, to let it wash over you, until you were nothing but an empty shell of the person you once were.

[edenesth]

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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[solxamber]

Hi, this is For the Valentine's Event: Malleus, Romantic, "Loving You Keeps Me Alive" (Feat. James Barbour) by Frank Wildhorn (This song is from Dracula the Musical, I just love it so much, plus thought it matched him...)?

"The first time I set eyes on you" || Malleus Draconia

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Loving You Keeps Me Alive by Frank Wildhorn

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 680

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Fated love, Love across lifetimes

In every lifetime, Malleus Draconia remembers.

The memories cling to him like mist after rain—soft but inescapable. A thousand lifetimes, a thousand different versions of you, and yet his heart remains untouched by time’s cruel indifference. Always, you return to him, a constant thread woven into the fabric of his endless existence.

In one life, you had met beneath moonlit skies, laughter spilling from your lips like stardust, while Malleus, silent and awestruck, had memorized every note of your joy. In yet another, you were a healer who pressed trembling hands against his chest, mending wounds you didn’t understand, while his heart bled with the unspoken fear of losing you again.

This time, though, he swears he’ll let you go.

You arrive in his life like the first breath of spring—warm, full of promise, unknowingly awakening the ache inside him. You’re not a noble or a mage of great power. No, you’re simply you, with laughter that spills too easily and eyes that catch his attention without effort. You stumble into his world with no memory of the lives you’ve shared before, and Malleus tells himself it’s better that way.

He watches from afar, the heir to the Briar Valley throne wrapped in centuries of duty and silence. But every word you speak feels like a thread tightening around his heart, pulling him closer to a fate he both longs for and fears.

You become his friend first—because how could he not? You talk to him without fear, without reverence, as though he’s not royalty or Fae but just… Malleus. You drag him out of his brooding silences with warmth, teasing him when he’s too serious, daring him to walk the line between loneliness and connection. For the first time in centuries, he feels alive.

But love, Malleus knows, is a curse as much as it is a gift.

In every lifetime, he’s lost you. Sometimes to time’s natural cruelty, sometimes to fate’s merciless games. This time, he resolves to protect you from himself, convinced his presence only weaves sorrow into your life.

And yet, how could he resist the pull?

The turning point comes late one night, beneath a sky thick with stars. You’re both lying on the grass, the cool air filled with the scent of dew and wildflowers. You talk about dreams—how you wish for simple things: laughter, love, a future without regret.

"Malleus," you murmur, turning to him with eyes full of unspoken trust, "you always seem so far away. Like you’re waiting for something terrible to happen."

He doesn’t respond, because the truth would terrify you. How does he explain centuries of loss, of watching you fade in his arms across countless lives?

But then your hand brushes his—soft, gentle—and it feels like fate cracking open.

Time stretches on. Malleus tries to stay away. You, persistent as ever, refuse to let him retreat. Every touch, every glance, every shared laugh pulls him deeper into the possibility of hope.

Finally, one night, the dam breaks.

He confesses—not with grand gestures, but with soft, trembling words. "You are the one constant in every life I’ve lived. But every time, I lose you. I fear I’ll be the reason your happiness withers."

The pain in his voice is raw, centuries-old.

But instead of pulling away, you reach for him, cupping his cheek with a tenderness that shatters his resolve. "If loving you keeps me alive," you whisper, eyes shimmering with a clarity he’s never seen before, "then how can leaving you be right?"

The world falls silent. It’s just you and him, two souls bound by threads older than time.

In that moment, Malleus realizes the truth: fate doesn’t curse him to lose you. It gives him the chance to find you, again and again, until he gets it right.

He kisses you then, not as a prince or a Fae, but as a man who’s waited too many lifetimes for this one perfect moment.

And for the first time, he lets himself believe that forever could finally belong to both of you.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[mooooonnnzz]

holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same. 

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford. 

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes. 

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears. 

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved. 

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands. 

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!” 

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!” 

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?” 

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford,  buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on. 

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.” 

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[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Whispers of Him

Or the shadows of Jason Todd always seem to linger. Hurt/Comfort ~2.8k words

Jason Todd's death changed you irrevocably. It was the ache in your bones, the pounding of your veins, the dull throb in your heart that never seemed to leave.

It was a weight on your mind, and it wore away at everything you were, until you weren't sure what was grief and what was you.

The doctors tried to help, the therapists and all their medications that made your head foggy and your body sluggish.

It's not like you didn't want to get better, you did, but the agonizing guilt and despair always seemed to rise in your throat.

They told you it wasn't healthy to constantly mourn, and maybe they were right. Well, they were right, but even knowing that little fact couldn't seem to help you find your way out of the sorrow in your soul.

They said that's why you started to see him. Not just in dreams or visions, but really see him. Hallucinations, they diagnosed you with, your mind and heart desperately trying to cope with a loss you shouldn't have experienced so young.

It scared you at first, seeing him around and in your space like he belonged there. Then you were excited, hopeful, that somehow they were wrong and he was alive. But then you blinked. And he was gone.

It shattered you all over again.

The second time, you were more prepared, and just as hopeful. It was delusional, you knew, to believe he was some kind of ghost, some figment of magic you don't understand. At least, then, he would be real.

(It was Bruce, stony faced and cold, who told you it wasn't possible. That Jason was really, truly gone.)

You learned to take it as it was. A comfort. A solace when you had no other.

The Jason your head conjured never spoke, but he always listened. He never got close, but he always hovered. It became reassuring, to see him in the corner of your vision while you went about your day.

Sometimes, he wore a hoodie, an ever-present sly smile painted on his face and pointed at you.

Sometimes, he wore his Robin suit, practically glowing as you rambled idly to something that wasn't really there.

Not all of the hallucinations were a relief to see, though.

Sometimes your mind would conjure him at his worst. Bloody hair. Bruised face. Torn costume. Twisted limbs.

No matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your mind to fix it, the truth of what happened didn't change. You knew he was there. Waiting for you to open your eyes.

You always did.

Even after all the years after his death, years of illusions of him, you still haven't managed to let go.

The delusions change, as you grow older. Sometimes, your head creates visions of what he would have looked like, what he could have been if he had gotten to grow at your side.

It wasn't common, though. At least, it wasn't until last week.

The same hallucination had been visiting you on your fire escape nearly every night.

At first, you weren't even convinced he was an illusion. But he just stared at you, and when you stared back, you began to recognize him.

The same eyes that haunt your every day, the familiar, and unfamiliar, scars that cover his skin, the steadiness in his gaze, all things your brain had created for you to see before.

So you treated him like all the other visions, only noting half-heartedly that he's not completely like the other Jason's.

He's always silent, always watchful, just like others, but his appearance never changes. He doesn't exactly move like all the rest either.

He stays still, tense, careful, while the others always seem to be swaying or rocking. But he tilts his head towards you when you talk the same as they do, picks at the ends of his clothes the same way the real Jason did when he was alive.

His constant presence, always after the sun goes down, is honestly the most routine you've had in years.

You told him that, a day or two ago, and he seemed to stiffen. None of your hallucinations had ever done that before, and you told him that, too.

It's just– you really can't get over how alive he seems. You think it's somewhat cruel of your brain to have created such a perfect image of him, but you can't help but relish in it, spilling your secrets and feelings to your quiet companion.

"I think I was in love with you," You say into the cold, Gotham air. The illusion flinches at the edge of your vision, but you don't turn to look, half afraid he'll fade into nothingness in front of you.

"Maybe that's why I never really moved on," You ramble, words you've never admitted before spilling off your tongue, "We were just kids, ya know? But, you were special. Always were. Guess that's why my brain keeps doing this."

You shift your weight, almost embarrassed to be confessing to no one but yourself, "Isn't that sad? That I can't move on? People die all the time," Your voice breaks a little at your own words, misery making its way onto your face, "Especially in Gotham."

"There's no timeline on grief."

Your head snaps towards him. That– that's never happened before. They've never spoken to you, not once, not ever. He's not supposed to talk.

Your chest tightens, and you jump through scenarios, that you've been talking to some random stranger on your fire escape for a week, that you're going crazy (crazier at least) and need to be put into arkham, or that he's really Jason.

"What," You stutter out, eyes wide and locked on him.

He leans back against the wall, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, "Everyone grieves differently. What you feel isn't any less just because other people cope faster."

You blink, half expecting him to disappear, "What are you saying?"

"You're too hard on yourself," he mutters, lacing his fingers behind your head, "that's all I'm saying."

You blink again, hard, willing him to disappear this time, to show that this is all in your head. But he's still there when you open your eyes, "Okay."

You both fall silent. You want to talk, to hear his voice, to pretend he got to grow up. Maybe the two of you would sit out here like this, find safety in the mundane of just being together.

But a part of you knows it would only hurt more to pretend. So you stay quiet.

You're not sure how long you sit there, but it's long enough you start to yawn.

"Go on inside," he suggests, voice even and soft.

You nod, as much as you don't want to break the moment, to stay with the Jason that actually talks to you, to hear more of his steady, gravelly tone, you know falling asleep out here would be dangerous, "Can you come back?"

You know it's a farfetched request, to ask your own hallucination to return, but the tension leaves your body when he nods.

You tug your window open, shooting him one last glance before he calls your name.

"Yeah," You breathe out, halfway inside your apartment.

"Were– are you sure? You loved..." his voice trails off, and you think it's a bit strange of him to ask.

"I'm sure," You tell him, firm and without a hint of doubt.

He doesn't respond, but something in your chest seems to fix itself.

You thought maybe that it was some kind of breakthrough, opening up to yourself, hearing him speak. Maybe you would get better, maybe you wouldn't see him again.

But as you're getting ready to sit on the fire escape the next night, Jason, dressed in the bright colors of Robin, appears at your side.

You're strangely disappointed, as he waves at you. A part of you hoped the illusion that talked to you would come back. You slip outside anyway, Robin practically on your heels as he settles on the railing, kicking his legs and showing off his handstands.

You don't bother hiding a giggle, even if you were well practiced in not reacting to the illusions in public.

"What's so funny," a voice asks lazily.

Jason's there. The older one. But that can't be right. You've never seen two of them at once.

Your gaze flicks between Robin balancing on the railing and the man pulling himself up on the edge of the fire escape, "I– um, you can't see him," You ask dumbly, half considering making an emergency call to your therapist.

He quirks an eyebrow at you before his face grows more serious, "It's just us here. Promise."

You take in a slow breath. Us. Us implies more than you're ready to deal with. Us implies that he's real.

You're not thinking when you reach out to grab the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch, only cocks his head at you in a way that's so Jason it nearly makes you sick.

You rub the rough leather between your fingers for a moment, grappling with the stark realization that you've been trauma dumping on this stranger, on the person who reminds you so much of the boy you lost, for the past week.

You tug a little at his sleeve, weighing the facts. Jason is dead. The man in front of you acts like him, looks like him. You've been taking your medication. Nothing worse has happened this week to have set off your brain to create something like this.

So that leaves three options. There's a random stranger letting you touch him outside your apartment window. You're actually doing so poorly that you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Or Jason is alive, and he hasn't felt the need to explain that to you for the past week.

You drop his sleeve. A part of you doesn't want to know. It would be easier to stay in the limbo you've created, to settle against the cold grating of the fire escape and pretend nothing has changed while you talk about your day.

The Robin your brain created waves at you again, catching your eye. He twists in the air, shooting a line that attaches to nothing before disappearing into thin air.

The man calls your name, soft and careful, as you draw your attention back to him, "You still with me?"

"I– feel kinda lightheaded," You admit, and you do. Your heart feels like it's in your throat and in your stomach at the same time. Because this can't be real, can't be right.

Jason is dead. It's been drilled into your head at every therapy session, by everyone you've ever known. Jason is dead, and you've been making him up.

So why is this Jason hooking his arm around your waist? Why is he helping you into your apartment? Squeezing you to his side when you stumble? Helping you sit on the couch as your vision gets darker and your head spins faster?

You want to cry when he brushes his fingers over your jaw, "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I don't know how to do this. I thought this would be easier."

His eyebrows knit together when you shudder, and he drops his hand, "I shouldn't have– this was selfish of me."

"Don't," You plead, panic lacing your features as you reach for him, "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

He looks conflicted, but grabs your hand, threading his fingers with yours. They're rough, calloused. And they're warm.

It makes you hold him all the more tighter.

"I'll only make things worse," he warns you, but there's no malice in his tone, only an emotion you can't quite pick up on.

You shake your head, trying to steady yourself, "You won't. You help. You always help."

He frowns, eyes dropping to your linked hands, "I did this to you."

"No," You breathe out, squeezing his fingers.

He doesn't respond, just stares at your hands like he's scared that they'll break, like he's waiting for you to come to your senses and rip yourself away from him.

He eventually nods a little, and settles himself against the edge of the couch, "Just get some rest," he sighs out, idly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.

"I don't want to," You protest, not wanting him to disappear once you've fallen asleep, "I want– I want–" You stutter over your words.

You don't know what you want. Answers? Maybe, but it's clearly something he's not willing to give. To talk to him? Sure, but you don't even know where to begin.

"We can figure it out later," he says, trying to soothe you into sleeping.

It frustrates you, and you confront him through the heaviness threatening to close your eyes for you, "You'll leave."

He presses his mouth into a tight line, unable to deny your accusation, his thumb stilling its motions over your knuckles, "I would come back."

"And if you don't," You choke out, tense and almost afraid to ask.

"I came back today, didn't I," he murmurs, seemingly unbothered by your anxious state.

"Jason," You plead, almost begging, but you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. You think you want proof. To know that this isn't something you're making up. To know that he's real.

He freezes at his name on your tongue, the air leaving his lungs. You have the distinct feeling that he would run if your fingers weren't curled around his.

"I would come back," he says, voice growing stronger, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, "Okay?"

"Okay," You echo. For some reason, you believe him, and that belief lets you succumb to the exhaustion that's settled over your body. You close your eyes, pushing back the gnawing feeling that falling asleep would be a mistake.

Dreams win you over fast enough. The drowsiness so heavy, you miss it when he starts to trace his thumb over the back of your hand again.

He's gone when you wake up.

You wake up dazed, the events feeling like a dream, and you inspect your apartment in a near frenzy, looking for any signs that he was actually there.

You find none.

No visions of Jason visit you that day, and neither does he. You wait on the fire escape as the sun sets.

He doesn't show.

Even as the hours grow late and the air chills, he still doesn't show.

But when you fall asleep on the cold metal, you find yourself curled in your bed in the morning. It almost makes you angry. No, it does make you angry, that he didn't wake you up.

Another part of you thinks that you messed up. Asked for too much. Told him too many things. The thought hangs heavy as you make your way to the kitchen.

You guess your brain tries to make up for it, because there's a Jason sitting at the counter and a paper bag resting in front of him.

You can tell he's not real by the way he fidgets when you walk in. So, you ignore him, more focused on figuring out breakfast.

"I got you food," he says, hesitant.

You nearly trip over yourself as you twist to face him.

"From that spot we liked when we were kids," he continues, clearly unsure of himself as he pushes the bag towards you, "I just– I don't know if you still like it, but I ordered your favorite."

"It's still my favorite," You tell him softly. The fact that he remembered, the fact that he's here and equally as unconfident as you are, it strokes at your heart, makes your anger and hurt evaporate into nothing.

He almost smiles, relaxing under your awestruck gaze.

You pick up the bag, feeling its weight in your hands grounds you as your gaze darts over him, "Are you going to stay?"

"If you'll let me," he says, voice pitching to a question.

"I– yeah. I want you to," you affirm, moving to sit next to him.

He knocks his knee against yours when you do, something so familiar it nauseates you and soothes you all at once, "We're gonna be okay. You know that, right? We'll figure it out."

He sounds confident, so self-assured that you immediately believe him. You fumble with the paper bag, pulling out your breakfast, "I know," you relent.

You eat in between quiet, easy conversation, his thigh pressed along the length of yours.

Only one Jason stays by your side that day. His presence steady and warm and real. And for the first time in a long time, the claws of grief seemed to ease their hold on your heart.