#this is terrifying but the only way out is through

[mara-was-naomi]

The moment I graduated college, my parents paid out the nose to ensure I could stay on their coverage (which COBRA gave me the right to do, even if very expensive) for much of the time period COBRA allowed until I found a job that had health insurance coverage. I know a number of people who married whether they were ready to or not, to get on their spouse’s insurance through a job. My late partner and I probably would have done so too if my parents hadn’t been able to help; we had student loans, serious health conditions, and little savings ourselves right out of college.

(The ACA also allows children to stay on their parents’ insurance longer; prior to that the only way you could stay was proof of college enrollment.)

I used to keep a packet of papers in my fire safe box proving I had continuous insurance coverage my whole life every day back to before my health conditions were diagnosed because that was the only way to fight a carrier claiming you had a preexisting condition and denying treatment for that condition or kicking you off their plan entirely. Even if I had gotten a job with health insurance and they wouldn’t kick me off the plan, that insurer could have denied paying for treatment related to my conditions if I had let my previous coverage lapse for a day. I used to be terrified one of us would be hospitalized and not be able to fight the insurer to pay even though we had the papers.

I kind of forgot how scary that was, post-ACA. I still hate my high deductible plan but I don’t worry about catastrophic events just not being covered at ALL.

One thing the analysts back in 2012 were right about is that they’d stop calling it “Obamacare” the second it started working and lo and behold anytime it was actually threatened under Trump it became The ACA and now Leftists who were in Kindergarten when the ACA was passed think Democrats have added nothing to this country.

[yanderedrabbles]

What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 20

This one is a bit shorter than the last 🫠

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 20 >>next(TBC)

The interaction between you and Nolan was still awkward. It was weird to see him this soft and you still felt on edge like you couldn’t quite believe all it took for him to try and do better was some talking to- Bruce didn’t even let you say more than a sentence in his presence, let alone get emotional about things and try to have a conversation about it.

Overall, the past week you’ve been kind of disassociating while working on rebuilding, occupying your time with that and helping Andressa take care of the baby, occasionally texting Debbie anything from updates to “I miss you”, to “I miss your food”, to cute pictures of the little menace being funny, kept you somewhat present-minded.

Your eyes drifted to Andressa, who has been aging more and more. Her movements were slowing down, she was getting more tired, and she was having more problems with her joints. You noticed that with everyone. The kids who helped you sometimes were now teens, the babies were slowly becoming toddlers, and yet your little brother was still in the baby range.

Andressa calling your name brought you back to reality. Your eyes meet as she sighs, sitting on an armchair while you keep playing with her baby’s hair, twirling it into spikes and horns. “I… I need to ask a big favor out of you and your family.” She starts softly, her finger tapping nervously. You stop and give her all the attention as she continues speaking.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Debbie’s day has been… better. It’s all getting better. Slowly, but she’s getting there. She wanted to be petty and give Nolan’s things away, but she had a feeling he’d be coming back with you and Mark, so she did the next best thing and moved his stuff into the smallest bedroom. Well, it was more of an office with a beat-up couch; he didn’t deserve an actual bedroom.

And in hindsight, she was glad she did. “Well… he is cute.” She concedes while smiling softly as the toddler cooed up at her, all coddled up in her lap. Her hand gently ran across his small back. Andressa just smiles. “Thank you. And thank you for wanting to hear me out and for letting me into your home. I know I’m asking for a lot, for way too much even considering everything- but Nolan isn’t exactly the best at being present enough for a kid.”

Debbie laughed at that. “Yeah, I know. Can’t count the times I had to step in for things he promised Mark.” You smiled softly as the two women got along, laughing at Nolan’s actions and awkwardness towards raising the babies. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve gotta go back and make sure the men don’t find us plotting against them.” You joked while opening a portal.

“Bye, sweetheart, make sure your brother eats lunch! Oh, was Nolan scared of holding him? Because he was terrified of holding Mark as a baby- you should have seen him- I think I have some photos-“ You snickered, finally leaving the two to their gossiping.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark and Nolan were too busy helping rebuild buildings to notice you and Andressa being missing. Granted, some men are the biggest gossipers known to mankind. “Yeah, so your dear daughter took a plate of these mini cakes and just smashed it across Bruce’s face- mushing it around. Lex was having a field day. It was so weird to see him so genuinely happy.”

“Is there video footage of it? I would love to see that.” Nolan laughs along. “Dude, there’s so much footage- Lex has like fifteen to thirty cameras in a room, he made compilations of it!” Mark looks at the smiling man. “He even had a camera in the buttons of his suit. He gave that first-row view of the cake smash to the highest bidder.”

“And he still shares the memes on his social media.” Your voice cut through their laughter, making the young man snort. “No! He still does? Is he set on never making Bruce forget that?” Nolan looks at his cackling son. “Would you let the man forget that?” His smirk only gets wider as his son beams with a no.

Nolan gently nudged you away as he told Mark to take a break. “We need to talk.” You pouted at his words while landing on a rooftop. “We talked.” Your grumble was met with a raised eyebrow. “No. We fought, and then you interrogated me about the Justice League.” He chides. “We need to have a serious talk.”

The old Viltrumite could see the nervousness and doubt in you. So, he wanted to make sure you knew where you stood. “I know my actions hurt you in ways I don’t think will be fully salvageable. I won’t try to justify myself, I won’t try to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling any negative sentiments towards me. You have every right to because you are correct in your points. I was a coward, I should have gone to the guardians and faced their ire. I should have trusted that you and Mark had my back.”

“No matter what, if you hate me, if you don’t want to see me again, you’ll always be my daughter, my baby.” The hand he put on your shoulder was warm and slightly shaky, betraying how nervous he actually felt. “I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what, no matter how hard you try to push me away. I’ll make sure to repent for my mistakes towards you, Mark, and Debbie for the rest of my life.”

“Stop it.” You sniff. “You’ll make me cry again. And damn right you’ll repent for what you did. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiles as you gently slap his arm. “I’ll hold you to it.” His eyebrows furrowed, asking if you had seen Andressa since she hadn’t come to check up on them in a while. “She’s taking a nap. Don’t disturb your baby mama, ass.” You roll your eyes while lifting off the ground, flying away as the man pouts.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Harvey Dent raised an eyebrow at the message he received, a shit-eating grin overtaking his mug. “Looks like our little magic girl is coming back to the planet in a few days. With a few stowaways.” Two-Face shows the message to Jason. “How mad do you think Bruce will be?”

Jason just gives the man an evil smile. “Very.” The young man almost purrs as he begins giggling, laughing as if he was snorting Joker Gas. Roy Harper just looks at the scene with a shaky smile. “Ok… I think I need someone to spill some tea about what’s happening.” Harvey just scoffs. “Take a seat if you really want to know. It’s a long story.”

Roy just shrugs, pulling the chair out and dropping into it. "I think you're just exaggerating there, law man." That seems to only make Jason laugh harder, creating doubt into the young father. "Oh- you'll regret saying that by the time we're done." Our favorite crime lord counters, snickering as he pours his friend a glass of whiskey.

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[luvashli]

MORE THEN FRIENDS

Synopsis -> Heeseung has always been your best friend—but lately, the lingering touches and stolen glances feel different. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to realize he’s meant to be more.

Pairing -> best!friend!heeseung x fem!reader

Genre -> oneshot, best friends to lovers, suggestive

Status -> complete

Wc -> 3.4k

Note -> requestet by this ask :) hope you enjoy

The first time you met Heeseung, he was the quiet new kid in your fourth-grade class, staring down at his desk while nervously tapping his pencil. You had been assigned as his seat partner, and while the rest of the class chattered around him, he stayed silent.

Ever the curious one, you nudged his arm with your elbow. “Wanna trade snacks?” you asked, holding up your peanut butter sandwich.

Heeseung hesitated, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for the first time. Then, without a word, he slid his pack of strawberry Pocky across the desk. You grinned, breaking your sandwich in half and handing it to him.

And just like that, you were inseparable.

___

Middle school was a blur of shared lunch trays, inside jokes, and whispered secrets. Heeseung wasn’t as shy anymore—not with you, at least. He still liked to keep to himself, but you were the exception to that rule.

You balanced each other out. Where you were loud and impulsive, he was calm and thoughtful. Where you rushed headfirst into things, he held back and thought things through.

When the other kids teased you for being “too much,” Heeseung was always there, rolling his eyes and telling you they were just jealous. And when Heeseung got called a nerd for acing every math test, you sat beside him at lunch and loudly declared that smart people were hot anyway.

Back then, everything was simple. Heeseung was your best friend, and you were his. No questions asked. No complicated feelings.

But then came high school. And suddenly, things weren’t so simple anymore.

___

Heeseung had always thought you were pretty. Even back in middle school, when you still had braces and a habit of tripping over your own feet, he knew there was something about you that pulled people in—pulled him in. But he never really understood what that feeling meant until sophomore year.

It happened at a school dance, of all places. You had dragged him there, even though he insisted he hated school events. You’d rolled your eyes and called him a grandpa, saying, “Come on, Hee, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst, apparently, was watching you slow dance with someone else.

He hadn’t realized he was gripping his soda can so tightly until Jake nudged him. “Dude, you look like you wanna kill someone.”

Heeseung forced a laugh. “What? No. I just…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on you—on the way you laughed at something your dance partner said, on the way they spun you around like you were weightless. And that’s when it hit him.

He was in love with you.

It was a terrifying realization, one that made his stomach twist into knots. Because the moment he understood his feelings, he also understood something else—you didn’t feel the same way.

After that night, Heeseung tried to ignore his feelings. He told himself it was just a phase, just a stupid crush that would go away if he stopped thinking about it.

He dated other girls. Not many, but enough to convince himself he was over you. But it never worked, because every time something good happened, you were the first person he wanted to tell. And every time something bad happened, you were the only person who could make it better.

So, he buried his feelings. He smiled when you talked about your latest crushes, pretended it didn’t sting when you called him your platonic soulmate, and kept being the best friend you needed him to be.

Because loving you was easy. It was having you that was impossible.

___

Now, standing on the edge of adulthood, you still saw Heeseung as your constant, your safe place. But Heeseung? He had spent years pretending not to love you.

And he was starting to wonder how much longer he could keep up the act.

If someone had told Heeseung years ago that he’d still be hopelessly in love with you, he would’ve laughed it off. He had convinced himself—or at least tried to—that his feelings would fade with time. That someday, he’d wake up and you’d just be his best friend again, nothing more.

But here he was, sitting across from you in your favorite café, watching as you stirred sugar into your coffee with that same absentminded concentration you always had, and he knew—he had never stopped loving you.

“You’re staring,” you teased, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.” You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Heeseung wanted to tell you the truth—that you had his whole heart on your face, that he couldn’t look at you without wanting to memorize every little detail. But instead, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you have ‘annoying’ written all over it.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Is this how you treat your best friend? Unbelievable.”

There it was. That word. Best friend.

Heeseung swallowed down the bitter taste that always followed when you said that. He knew it wasn’t your fault—you had no idea how he felt. How could you? He had spent years making sure you didn’t.

But lately, it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to keep smiling when you told him about your latest date, harder to act normal when you rested your head on his shoulder like it was the most casual thing in the world. Because to you, it was casual. But to Heeseung, every touch, every laugh, every moment with you felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

And it was slowly driving him insane.

“Hello? Earth to Heeseung?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized you were waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what?” He blinked.

“I was saying, do you wanna come over tonight? Movie night, just like old times.” You smiled, eyes bright with excitement.

It was an innocent offer. Just another normal night in your friendship. But to Heeseung, it was another reminder of how much he wanted but could never have.

Still, he nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Because no matter how much it hurt, being close to you—even as just a friend—was better than not having you at all.

___

Movie nights with Heeseung were nothing new. They had been a tradition since high school—just the two of you, a ridiculous amount of snacks, and an unspoken rule that you had to rewatch at least one childhood favorite before the night was over.

But tonight felt… different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the way Heeseung seemed quieter than usual, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe it was the way your heart kept skipping beats whenever his knee brushed against yours on the couch.

You shook the thought away, grabbing a handful of popcorn. It’s just Heeseung. Your best friend. Stop being weird.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, flipping through the streaming options.

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “You pick.”

“You always say that.”

“And yet, you always pick something terrible.” He smirked, reaching over to steal some of your popcorn.

You gasped, smacking his hand away. “Excuse you! I have excellent taste.”

He snorted. “Sure, if excellent taste means forcing me to sit through three-hour-long romance movies where nothing happens except people staring at each other.”

“You like those movies, don’t lie.”

“I like suffering through them for you—big difference,” he muttered under his breath.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread just a little. Heeseung always did that—acted like he was just tolerating the things you loved, when in reality, he indulged you more than anyone ever had.

You ended up picking a random movie, something lighthearted, but halfway through, you barely paid attention. Your focus kept drifting to Heeseung—his stupidly perfect side profile, the way his lips parted slightly when he was concentrating, the little crease in his brow when something in the movie confused him.

It wasn’t like you had never noticed before. You had eyes, after all. But tonight, it was like your brain refused to brush it off as nothing.

You shifted slightly, only to realize just how close the two of you were sitting. At some point, Heeseung had draped his arm across the back of the couch, and without thinking, you had leaned into his side. It wasn’t unusual. You’d done this a hundred times before.

So why did it feel like your whole body was hyper-aware of him?

A scene in the movie made you laugh, and without thinking, you turned to share the moment with him—only to find him already looking at you.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look away.

For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the muffled dialogue from the movie, but everything else faded into the background. His gaze flickered down—to your lips, just for a split second—before returning to your eyes.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew what had been different about tonight. You knew why your heart was racing, why his touches felt electric, why the way he looked at you sent heat rushing through your veins.

Because for the first time, you were seeing Heeseung in a way you had never let yourself before.

And maybe—just maybe—you were falling for your best friend.

Your heart pounded as you stared at Heeseung, the glow of the TV flickering against his face. He wasn’t looking away.

He always looked at you—watching, waiting, as if he had something to say but never quite found the words. But tonight, for the first time, you weren’t oblivious to it. You weren’t brushing off the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers twitched against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you but held himself back.

And maybe, for the first time, you didn’t want him to hold back.

You swallowed, trying to play it off. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Heeseung’s jaw clenched slightly, and his voice came out lower than usual. "You’re the one staring first."

You weren’t. Or maybe you were. It didn’t matter.

The tension between you felt thick, heavy, like a rubber band stretched too tight, on the verge of snapping.

And then it did.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Heeseung’s lips were on yours, crashing into you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. Maybe he had. Maybe you had, too, without realizing it.

A small gasp left your lips, but Heeseung didn’t hesitate—his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him like you had been made to fit there.

The movie long forgotten, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between kisses, the quiet sighs you couldn’t hold back as Heeseung deepened the kiss. His hands roamed—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve felt nervous. This was Heeseung, your best friend. The one who had always been by your side, the one you told everything to. But right now, nothing about this felt wrong. If anything, it felt like something that had been waiting to happen.

His lips trailed down, grazing the corner of your jaw, your neck—hot and unhurried, like he wanted to take his time memorizing every inch of you.

"Hee," you breathed, hands tangling in his hair.

His grip on you tightened, and a low groan rumbled from his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured against your skin.

The confession made your stomach flip. Because if he had wanted this for a long time… why did it take you so long to see it?

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. They were darker than usual, filled with something raw, something unspoken.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Because I was scared you’d never look at me the way I look at you."

Your heart clenched. How had you been so blind?

You cupped his face, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. "I’m looking at you now."

And then, you kissed him again—slow, deep, like you were making up for all the lost time.

This wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of unsaid words, years of stolen glances, years of Heeseung loving you in silence.

And finally, finally, you were listening.

Heeseung’s lips moved against yours like he had been waiting forever—slow at first, savoring every second, but growing more desperate with each passing moment. His fingers dug into your waist as if he was afraid you might slip away, but there was no chance of that happening. Not anymore.

You were completely, hopelessly lost in him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and Heeseung let out a quiet groan against your lips. The sound sent heat rushing through you, making your whole body feel like it was on fire.

He pulled you even closer—if that was even possible—until there was no space left between you. His hands roamed, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

When he kissed you again, it was different—deeper, rougher, like he had finally let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

And you wanted more.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your fingers tracing down his jaw, his neck, the sharp lines of his collarbone. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening around you.

"Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost pleading.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard him sound like that before.

You leaned in, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. "What is it?" you teased softly, barely above a whisper.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "You’re actually going to kill me."

You grinned, feeling a rush of confidence. "Oh? Am I?"

His hands squeezed your hips, grounding himself. "You have no idea."

The air between you was thick, charged with something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before tonight. But now that the line had been crossed, there was no going back.

You stared at him—his swollen lips, the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing. Heeseung had always been beautiful, but right now? Right now, he looked absolutely wrecked.

Because of you.

Something about that realization made your heart pound even harder.

Slowly, you traced your fingers over his jaw, your touch featherlight. "Then maybe you should do something about it," you murmured.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened.

And in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you with a smirk that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured, his voice lower now, sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. "Show me."

Heeseung groaned softly before capturing your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss.

And this time, neither of you held back.

___

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was warmth.

You were tangled in Heeseung—his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in your hair, his steady breathing fanning across your skin. The soft glow of early morning filtered through your curtains, casting everything in golden light.

And then it hit you.

Last night. The kisses, the way he touched you like he had been waiting forever, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Your heart clenched.

What happens now?

You shifted slightly, and Heeseung groaned in protest, tightening his hold on you.

“Mm, don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at how soft he sounded. “Heeseung, we have to get up.”

“No, we don’t.” He buried his face deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Five more minutes.”

You hesitated, staring at the ceiling. What were you supposed to say? Did last night change everything? Were you still just… friends? Did he regret it?

Heeseung must’ve felt the tension in your body because he finally lifted his head, his eyes barely open, but still filled with something softer when they met yours.

“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “I just… what does this mean?”

Heeseung blinked at you sleepily before a small smirk played at his lips. “You want me to confess again, don’t you?”

Your face heated. “That’s not—”

He cut you off by leaning in, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your lips. It was barely a kiss at all, just a soft press of his mouth against yours, but it made your whole body melt.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “I think I always have.”

Your breath hitched.

It was one thing to realize your feelings, to feel them creeping up on you like a slow-burning flame. But hearing him say it—knowing that he had felt this way for so long—made your chest ache.

“I…” You hesitated, but only for a second. Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

You cupped his face, running your thumb along his cheek. “I love you too, Hee.”

Heeseung let out a small, relieved laugh before kissing you again—slow and sweet, like he was savoring every second.

And this time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just you and him, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Heeseung kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if making sure you weren’t just a dream. His hands rested gently on your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin, grounding himself in the moment.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled, fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Waking up late?”

“No.” He pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Waking up with you.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” His smirk was lazy, teasing, but his eyes held nothing but warmth.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was—you liked this side of him. The Heeseung who was completely unfiltered, who didn’t hold back anymore. And maybe, deep down, you always had.

A comfortable silence settled between you as Heeseung shifted, pulling you impossibly closer until your head was resting against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and the warmth of his skin against yours made you wish you could stay here forever.

But reality was waiting.

Eventually, you sighed. “We really should get up.”

“No, we really shouldn’t.”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, grinning when you shot him a glare.

You tried to move, but he tightened his arms around you, effortlessly keeping you trapped against him. “Nope,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re staying right here.”

You huffed, but your resolve was crumbling. He was too warm. Too comfortable. And if you were being honest… you didn’t really want to move either.

“Fine,” you relented, nuzzling closer. “But only for five more minutes.”

Heeseung chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You say that now.”

And, of course, five minutes turned into ten.

Then twenty.

And before you knew it, the two of you were still tangled together, lost in quiet laughter, whispered confessions, and soft, lingering touches.

Because for the first time, there was no rush. No reason to pretend.

For the first time, you weren’t just best friends anymore.

You were his. And he was yours.

Masterlist

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[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 9.7K

Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, NSFW so MDNI

A/N: I’m so touched by all the love on this series ❤️ this is the first explicit smut in this series so let me know how you guys feel about it and if it has a place in this series xo

You barely registered the path you took through the lavish space, your heart pounding in your chest, your vision blurring slightly from the mix of emotions and alcohol. Everything that had happened in the last half hour crashed over you all at once- Whisky’s words, Miles’ offer, the suffocating weight of doubt pressing into your ribs. It was all too much.

You just needed Claire.

You pushed through the doors to the quieter lounge area, your eyes scanning the room desperately until they landed on her. She was standing with Lionel, her expression serious as they spoke in hushed voices. But the second her gaze flicked up and found yours, everything else faded.

"Baby?" Her voice was immediate and alert. She took one look at you, at your glassy eyes and unsteady stance, and her body went rigid with concern. "What’s wrong?"

Lionel sighed, clearly irritated by the interruption, but he took one look at you and seemed to decide against saying anything. "We’ll finish this later," he muttered to Claire before excusing himself. You barely noticed him leave.

Claire was already closing the distance between you, her hands reaching for you, cupping your face gently. "Hey, hey, talk to me, sweetheart," she murmured, her thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Let me make it better. What happened?"

A small, broken sound escaped your lips as you collapsed into her, your arms winding around her neck, your body molding to hers as you clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. Claire caught you instantly, wrapping you up in her strong arms, her warmth anchoring you as you buried your face against her shoulder.

"Shh, I got you," she whispered, running a hand down your back soothingly. "I’ve got you, my baby."

You wanted to speak, to explain, but all that came out was a shaky breath, and Claire’s hold on you only tightened. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her sharp eyes scanning your face, taking in every little detail- the redness in your eyes, the way your lower lip trembled.

Her expression darkened, protective. "Who do I need to kill?" she half-joked, but there was a dangerous edge to her voice. "Tell me what you need, baby."

You just shook your head, your fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress. "Just… you, please, I need you," you murmured, barely coherent.

Something in Claire’s face softened, but the worry never left her eyes. She exhaled slowly, one hand slipping down to your waist as she effortlessly lifted you onto the table behind her, hiking your dress up to your hips as she stepped in between your parted thighs, pressing her body against yours.

"I’m right here," she murmured, one hand still cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to hers. "You’ve got me, baby. Always."

Claire forced herself to pull back, her breathing uneven as she cupped your face between her hands. Your desperation had set her blood on fire, but now that the haze of lust was clearing, she could see just how wrecked you truly were.

"Baby," she murmured, searching your face, brushing her thumbs over your damp cheeks. "No, c’mon, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to pull her back in, trying to press your body closer, anything to get her to give you what you wanted. "Nothing’s wrong, just- please, mommy, please," you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress like you were afraid she might let go. "I just need you, need to feel you close, need-"

"Hey, hey, shhh, baby," Claire soothed, her heart aching at the way your voice cracked. You looked so overwhelmed, so lost, and it killed her that she didn’t know why. "You have me, sweetheart. You always have me."

She softened her hold on you, brushing a hand down your back, grounding you. "But I need to know what’s going on, okay?" she coaxed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Tell me what’s got you like this, my pretty girl."

Claire felt you trembling in her arms, your grip on her tightening like you were afraid she’d slip through your fingers. Her hands instinctively curled around your waist, holding you firm, steady, grounding.

"Baby, hey," she whispered, brushing her lips against your temple. "Tell me what’s going on."

You swallowed thickly, burying your face in her neck for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Your eyes were glassy, desperate. "Whisky… she said you’d never come out," you admitted, voice small. "That after Senate, there will just be another goal, another reason to hide. She said I was stupid to believe you." Your breath hitched, hands clenching in the fabric of her dress. "Tell me she’s wrong. Please, tell me she’s wrong. She doesn’t know you, she doesn’t know us."

Claire’s whole body went rigid.

For a moment, there was only silence- thick, tense, and charged. Then, slowly, her hands slid to your thighs, gripping them as she stepped closer, pressing herself firmly between them. "That bitch needs to stay out of our business," she seethed, voice low, dangerous.

You gasped softly at the sudden shift in her, the fire in her eyes blazing with something fierce, something possessive. Claire was always protective of you, but this- this was different. This was territorial.

"Baby," she murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers, her grip firm but reverent. "Listen to me. You are mine. Nobody gets to come between us, nobody gets to plant doubts in your pretty little head. Whisky doesn’t know shit about us. She doesn’t know how much I love you, how much I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you if I had to."

Your breath came out shaky, your heart hammering. "Claire…"

"No," she cut you off, her hands sliding up your body, one curling around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. "You don’t listen to her. You listen to me. I promised you, didn’t I? I said I’d come out after Senate, and I will. I swear it, baby."

"But-"

"No buts," she interrupted, pressing her forehead against yours. "You belong to me. No one is ever going to take you from me. And I’m going to make sure nobody ever tries again."

Her lips crashed into yours, the sheer dominance in her kiss stealing the breath from your lungs. It was deep, claiming, unwavering. You whimpered against her, gripping onto her shoulders, letting her pull you impossibly closer.

When she finally pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, she pressed one last kiss to your lips- softer this time, but just as firm. "Mine," she whispered, her thumb brushing over your cheek. "Forever."

“Forever” you nodded quickly, eyes looking up at her wide and glassy. “P-please Claire… need you” you breathed.

Claire’s fingertips dig into your hips, hard enough to mark you up with bruises. “Oh baby, I can’t turn you down when you beg for me like that,” she groaned, hooking a finger into the waistband of your lace panties and tugging them off.

She pulls back just enough to get a glimpse of your glistening pussy on display for her, her fingers twitching against your thighs as she inhaled sharply at the sight.

“Fucking hell baby…” she eventually managed, letting her middle finger brush lightly along your glistening folds, lightly flicking your clit with the tip of her finger. “Already so wet for me hm?” She trails kisses up the column of your throat as you tilt your head back to give her unfettered access.

She gently nips at your earlobe, and you shiver at the sensation, gasping out a breathy plea for more. She happily obliges, slipping two of her fingers inside your aching pussy making you feel deliciously full.

“C-can I-?” you panted against her as her fingers slid in and out of you at a maddeningly slow pace.

With a subtle nod of Claire’s permission, you are allowed to take what you need, holding onto her shoulders as your pussy clenched round her long fingers. She’s plunging them in and out of you as you ride her hand, her thumb keeping a relentless pace on your clit as you writhe against her, the two of you working in tandem to bring you to your release.

Claire has spent many a long night committing every last inch of your body to memory, so she knows how to curl her fingers just right to drive you over the edge.

“F-Fuck, mommy I‘m coming!” you moan, and it must be louder than you realize, because Claire is quick to wrap a hand round your throat, pressing her lips against yours in a filthy kiss to muffle your desperate moans.

“You’re gonna get us caught pretty girl,” Claire warns you, but she doesn’t slow her pace, determined to make you fall apart on her fingers.

The danger of being discovered with Claire’s fingers knuckle deep inside of you has your orgasm crashing over you, and you cry out Claire’s name as it hits. She allows you to ride out your high till you begin to feel yourself twitch, oversensitive, before removing her fingers from your pussy, bringing them to her mouth and swirling her tongue around them to taste your slick. The sight alone was almost enough to make you cum again.

“You taste fucking delectable baby,” she breaths as her hands pull your limp body against her chest, words going straight to your core.

You were breathless, panting softly against Claire’s lips, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of her kiss. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as you let out a delicate whimper, overwhelmed, overrun by the force of her love, her claim on you.

Claire exhaled sharply, grounding herself, before her hands slid back down your body, gripping your waist as she pulled you up onto your feet. She kept you close, unwilling to let you go for even a second, her arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Baby," she murmured, pressing a flurry of soft kisses over your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose. "My sweet girl. My love. I’ve got you."

You let out another shaky breath, melting into her, eyes fluttering shut as she kissed along your jaw, her lips warm and tender against your skin.

"I love you," she whispered between kisses, her voice soft but unwavering. "So much. More than anything. You’re mine, baby. No one will ever change that."

You whimpered again, clutching at her, your body still sensitive from everything- your emotions, her possessiveness, her fingers deep inside you. Claire held you through it, her hands smoothing up and down your back, grounding you, steadying you.

"Shh, I’ve got you," she soothed, pressing another lingering kiss to your temple. "Always."

You exhaled shakily against Claire’s shoulder, your body still thrumming from everything that had just happened. Her arms remained locked around you, protective and grounding, her lips brushing over your temple like she was afraid you might slip through her fingers if she let go. You wanted to stay in this moment, just wrapped up in her, safe from everything that had happened tonight- but you knew you had to tell her.

You swallowed hard and pulled back slightly, looking up at her, still holding onto her tightly. "Baby," you murmured, voice quiet, almost hesitant. "There’s… something else I need to tell you."

Claire’s body tensed instantly. Her hands tightened on your waist, her protective instincts flaring up the second she heard the shift in your tone. "What is it?" she asked, her voice lower now, sharper.

You hesitated, but then you forced yourself to say it. "Miles- he, um… he offered to help me with my books."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"He said he could get me the best of the best to promote my work," you explained, watching her face carefully. "Make me a household name. Said I’d be a younger, hotter Stephen King or something."

The moment the words left your mouth, Claire’s entire expression hardened. Her jaw clenched, and her grip on you became just a little tighter. "No," she said immediately, her voice firm, unwavering. "Don’t you dare."

You blinked in surprise, confused by how fast and fiercely she shut it down. "What?"

"I mean it," she said, pulling back just enough to cup your face between her hands, forcing you to look at her. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, but her gaze was sharp, serious. "You don’t want to be indebted to him in any way. You don’t want to owe him anything."

"I didn’t say yes," you protested, thrown off by her intensity. "I just said I’d think about it, but I wasn’t actually- "

"Don’t," she interrupted, shaking her head firmly. "Don’t even consider it. That man doesn’t do favors, baby. If he’s offering you something, it’s because he’s expecting something back. And once he has his claws in you, you’ll never get out. He will own you."

You bit your lip, feeling a little uneasy now. You hadn’t really thought about it like that before. At the time, you’d been so overwhelmed that you hadn’t fully considered what it actually meant.

"I wasn’t planning on taking it," you admitted softly, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of Claire’s dress. "It just… caught me off guard, that’s all."

Claire sighed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders, but her hands didn’t leave you. "Good," she muttered, pressing her forehead against yours. "I mean it, baby. Stay away from that offer. You don’t need Miles fucking Bron to make you successful. You’re brilliant all on your own."

Your heart fluttered a little at that, at the raw sincerity in her voice. She believed in you so fully, so completely, in a way that made your chest ache.

"Yeah?" you whispered, searching her face.

Claire pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her fingers tilting your chin up. "Yeah," she murmured, and there was so much certainty in her voice. "And if you ever do need help with promotion, or dealing with your publishers, I will handle it. Not Miles. Not anyone else. You’re mine to take care of, baby."

You exhaled shakily, your eyes growing glassy again. "You always take care of me," you whispered.

"Damn right I do," she murmured, and then she kissed you, slow and deep, like she needed you to understand just how much she meant it.

When she pulled back, her hands stroked down your arms, her touch warm and steady. "Now," she murmured, her voice gentler, but still firm. "Let’s go get through this damn dinner."

~

Claire kept a steady arm wrapped around you as the two of you made your way back to the dinner, her grip firm but careful, guiding you as you still felt slightly unsteady. Between the alcohol, the overwhelming emotions of the night, and the way Claire had just taken care of you, your legs felt weaker than you wanted to admit. But Claire knew. She always knew.

"Easy, baby," she murmured, her voice low and warm as she pulled you just a little closer, adjusting her grip. "You okay?"

You nodded, nuzzling your face into her shoulder, breathing her in. "Mhm. Just need you close."

"I’m not going anywhere," she promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As you stepped back into the dining area, you could already feel the change in atmosphere. The music was softer now, the drinks still flowing, the group still lively- but you could sense the undercurrent of tension between certain people. Your eyes flickered to Whisky, who was seated at the table, her expression unreadable as she stirred her drink. Claire noticed too.

You felt her tense, her grip on you tightening slightly as her gaze burned in Whisky’s direction, her jaw clenching like she was one wrong move away from saying something she shouldn’t.

You exhaled softly, and before she could stew too much in her anger, you curled further into her arms, tilting your head up to look at her.

"Claire," you murmured, voice soft, wanting to pull her focus back to you, back to something good.

She glanced down at you, her brow still furrowed, her body still humming with frustration, but the moment she saw you- saw how soft your gaze was, how safe you felt in her arms- some of the tension melted away.

"You look so pretty," you told her, your voice slightly dreamy, the alcohol still making you a little loose-limbed and affectionate.

Her expression softened instantly, her eyes flickering over your face, studying you like she always did, like you were the most precious thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

"Yeah?" she murmured, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

You nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers against her cheek. "So pretty," you whispered, and you meant it so much.

Claire’s lips parted slightly, something unreadable flickering across her face before she sighed, shaking her head slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping her. "My sweet girl," she murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back.

She held you close as the two of you made your way to the table, and as much as there was still so much left unresolved- Miles, Whisky, the entire tangled mess of the night- right now, you just wanted to exist in this. Just you and her, wrapped up in each other, in the warmth of her arms, in the way she always held onto you like you were the most important thing in the world.

Miles stood at the head of the long dining table, drink in hand, his signature wide, self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. He spread his arms in a grand gesture, commanding the attention of the group as the conversation quieted around him.

"Gang," he started, pausing for effect, his voice warm and performative, "this has been an amazing weekend so far. And let me tell you, the next three days? You’re not ready. We are going to have the most amazing time. I’ve got activities planned, games to play-" he winked, "-a little something for everyone."

There were a few murmurs of anticipation, Birdie clapping her hands together excitedly, Duke raising his glass in agreement. Claire, beside you, exhaled quietly, her fingers still tracing slow, grounding circles against your back as you remained curled into her side.

Miles took a sip of his drink before continuing, his tone turning just sentimental enough to feel practiced. "But more than that, this trip isn’t just about fun- it’s about us. My closest friends. My fellow Disruptors."

At that, a few of them chuckled, nodding along. You caught Lionel’s jaw tightening slightly, his shoulders stiff, but he said nothing.

"You know," Miles went on, "after all this time, after everything we’ve built together, after all those billions… you remain my oldest and dearest friends." His voice dropped into something almost conspiratorial. "And do you know why that is?"

There was a pause. No one answered. Miles grinned.

"Because I appreciate honesty. I value loyalty. I see the real ones when they’re in front of me. And each of you?" He tapped the rim of his glass with a single finger. "You’ve been real ones since day one."

A few voices murmured agreement, Birdie giggling and whispering something to Peg, Whisky taking a long sip of her drink.

"And that’s why we’re here," Miles concluded, raising his glass higher. "To celebrate the bonds that connect us. The trust, the love- the history that’s led us to this moment. So here’s to us, gang. Here’s to the past, the present, and the future of the Disruptors."

Everyone lifted their glasses in a toast, murmuring their own agreements. Claire, beside you, barely lifted hers, her expression unreadable as she stared at Miles with the faintest trace of skepticism.

You swallowed, shifting slightly against her. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he crafted his words that left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

But before you could dwell on it too much, Claire gently pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer, grounding you.

"To us," Miles echoed once more with a wide, satisfied grin.

And everyone drank.

Miles grinned, raising his glass even higher. "Here’s to my OGs!"

There were more murmurs of agreement, glasses clinking together, the mood warm and celebratory- at least on the surface. You absently twirled a piece of your hair around your finger as you listened, your gaze unfocused as Miles continued speaking.

"Because that’s what friends do," he went on smoothly, "we help each other. Just look around. Look at what we’ve built together."

He gestured with his glass as he spoke. "I help Claire with her campaign because I believe in her. And look at her? Throwing a grenade into the machine of politics. Lionel? My guy keeps everything at Alpha running like the genius he is. Duke’s building his brand, and I’m making sure he’s got the platform to do it. Birdie’s got a whole new venture coming up, and I’m investing because that’s what we do. We look out for each other."

You frowned slightly, looking up at him. "So what do you need help with?" you asked.

A brief flicker of frustration crossed Miles’ face. "Excuse me?"

You tilted your head. "This dinner." You gestured loosely around the table. "You brought everyone here to celebrate, but also to remind everyone how you’ve helped them along. So what do you need help with?"

Miles hesitated for just a beat too long. Then he let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if amused. "Well… now you mention it…"

You felt Claire stiffen slightly beside you. As Miles spoke, you caught the faint sound of Lionel muttering under his breath to Claire. "I told you there was a reason he brought up my employment…"

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around her wine glass. You felt her shift beside you, straightening slightly, and you could sense her anxiety growing.

Miles, meanwhile, let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as if the weight of the world had just been placed upon him. “I’ve been going through something recently and I wasn’t going to mention it but…" he said, tone dripping with faux exasperation. "If you must know… Andi’s legal team has been on my ass."

That got everyone’s attention. The mood at the table shifted- subtle, but noticeable. A few glances were exchanged, and Lionel closed his eyes for half a second, as if bracing himself for what was coming next.

"Something about intellectual ownership and the napkin…" Miles continued, waving his hand dismissively. "It’s all bullshit, obviously. We all know I came up with the founding idea of Alpha, right gang?" He gestured around the table, expecting agreement. No one immediately jumped to confirm it.

"Well, anyway," he pushed on, "there’s no way she can actually prove what she’s saying, but… I’m being taken to court anyway."

There it was.

You felt Claire’s breath hitch, the tension in her body clear as day. Lionel sat back slightly in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Birdie, completely oblivious to the shift in mood, took a sip of her drink like this was nothing more than casual dinner conversation. Your own stomach twisted. Even tipsy, even overwhelmed from the night’s emotions, you knew this was huge. And Miles didn’t seem nearly as concerned as he should be.

Duke, ever blunt, frowned and leaned forward. "So… what does that have to do with us?"

Miles let out another one of his exaggerated sighs, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe they were even asking. "Guys, c’mon. If I’m locked in a legal battle where I might lose everything- we lose everything."

Silence fell over the table.

The realization hit like a slow-moving train, the weight of his words sinking into each of them at different speeds. You felt Claire stiffen beside you. Lionel muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch, and Birdie blinked in confusion before tilting her head.

"Why do we lose everything?" she asked, her voice light, still not quite putting the pieces together.

Miles turned to her with the kind of patient condescension he reserved for when he thought he was explaining something so obvious. "Well, Birdie, if Andi takes me to court, I won’t be able to invest in Sweetie Pants. I’ll have to save my money for the lawyers."

Birdie’s mouth dropped open, her freshly glossed lips forming a perfect ‘O’. "What?"

Duke cut in, scowling. "Or my streams? I’m counting on your promotion, dude. That was the whole deal."

Miles sighed again, spreading his hands as if to say what can you do? "And I’d love to give it to you, man, but I can’t… not while Andi is on my ass."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the group.

This wasn’t just about him being sued.

He was making it their problem.

Birdie was the first to break the silence, shifting in her chair, eyes wide with nervous energy. "Well… what do we do?!" And there it was, the first one to show a willingness to stab a friend in the back for the financial security that came with being team Miles.

You swallowed hard. Because the thing was… Birdie might have been the first to say it, but you could feel the same question hanging in the air from everyone else. They were all thinking it.

Miles smiled, like a teacher pleased that his students were finally catching on. "Oh, it’s really simple," he said, spreading his hands. "Something that would make the trial really quick and easy is if you guys just told the court, as witnesses, that you saw me write down the initial idea for Alpha on that napkin at the Glass Onion."

Your stomach turned.

"You know, what really happened," he added smoothly. "Wouldn’t be a lie. Just helping out a friend."

Claire’s grip on your thigh tightened. She was stone still beside you, but you could feel the tension rolling off of her. And that was when it truly clicked. He was asking them to lie.

Under oath.

The silence at the table was thick enough to choke on. Everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first.

Finally, Lionel cleared his throat. "No, man." His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of unease behind his eyes. "We did enough. Cutting out Andi, not protesting when you did what you did… We already stood by while you screwed her over, I’m not doing it again."

Miles sighed heavily, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "That’s too bad, Lionel," he said, his voice calm… too calm. "Because I need friends and employees I can trust."

Claire shifted beside you, she knew what was coming. So did Lionel.

"And if you can’t be here for me in my time of need," Miles continued, "I don’t know if I can trust you to work for me."

Lionel tensed. "Miles-"

"It’s a shame too," Miles interrupted, shrugging. "I was just talking to my investors about funding your work further. Getting you the equipment you need to show off that science brain. But if I can’t rely on you…" He trailed off, shaking his head with a little smirk, before knocking back his drink.

That was it.

It wasn’t a request for help.

It was a threat.

Claire scoffed, shaking her head as she reached for her wine glass. "Miles, can’t your machine of lawyers and power destroy her by sheer dumb force?" She took a sip, voice casual, but her grip on the stem was tight. "Why do you need us?"

Miles tilted his head, flashing that smug, easy grin. "Claire Bear," he said, voice dripping with faux affection.

She ignored the nickname. "Please," she continued, "I’m a politician. You’re asking me to perjure myself."

Miles laughed, leaning forward like she had just said something adorable. "C’mon, Claire. Having you all speak on my behalf will stop this whole back and forth about Alpha, get Andi off my back, and allow us all to-" he made an exaggerated gesture with his hands, "‘inbreathiate’ in the moment again without the threat of Andi hanging over us."

You frowned. "Inbreathiate?"

"Yeah!" Miles grinned. "It means, like, breathe in the energy of life together-"

"That’s not even a word," You muttered under your breath

Miles ignored you, still looking at Claire. "And if we can get this thing settled quickly, I can continue funding the dreams of my fellow disruptors. It’s in all of our best interests, don’t you think?"

Miles clasped his hands together, scanning the table with that same smug, expectant smile. "Yeah? So I can trust you guys, right?"

There was a beat of hesitation, thick and uncomfortable. Everyone glanced at each other, waiting for someone else to speak first.

And then, predictably, Birdie broke the silence. "Oh, Miles, you know I’ve got your back," she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too eager. "I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I just let Andi ruin everything for you? For us?" She laughed like she wasn’t about to commit perjury.

Miles grinned at her. "That’s my baby Birdie," he said approvingly, raising his glass in her direction.

Duke was next, giving a sharp nod. "Okay, man, whatever you need," he said, voice flat but firm. "I got you."

Miles turned to Lionel now, still smiling but with just the right amount of pressure behind it. "And Lionel?"

Lionel swallowed hard. His fingers clenched around his fork, his shoulders stiff. He knew this was wrong. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his eyes darted away from Miles, in the way his knee bounced under the table. But he also knew what saying no would mean for him, for his career, for everything he’d built.

Finally, he exhaled, looking down at his plate, his voice quieter than before. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. "I’ll do it."

You felt sick.

And then all eyes turned to Claire. Claire didn’t look at you. She was staring at Miles, her expression unreadable, her jaw set.

Miles just kept smiling. "Claire Bear?"

Your grip on Claire’s hand tightened until your knuckles went white. "Claire, you can’t do this, baby, please," you whispered, your voice small and trembling under the weight of what was happening. "It’s illegal. It’s- it’s perjury. You’re a politician. You could lose everything- "

Around the table, the others were watching Claire carefully. Birdie, biting her lip, nodding slightly as if encouraging her to just agree and get it over with. Duke was frowning, arms crossed, brows raised in expectation. Lionel was staring hard at his plate, shoulders hunched, looking nauseous.

And Miles, of course, was smiling.

"C’mon, Claire Bear," he said smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I can only bankroll a candidate I can trust. And if I can’t trust you… well," he made a little show of sighing dramatically, "maybe it’s time I start looking at your opponent instead."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What the fuck?" you snapped, whipping your head toward him. "You can’t do that! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Miles only smirked, ever the composed manipulator. "What? You know how it is, babe. Politics is all about trust. I mean think about it. If her constituents found out she cheated on her husband with a much younger woman? She’s never get their trust back."

Your breath was coming fast now, panic making your chest tight. "Claire, don’t do this."

Claire inhaled slowly, lifting her glass to her lips as if she were simply considering her options, as if she weren’t making a deal with the devil right in front of you.

And then, finally, she exhaled and nodded once, her voice cool and controlled. "Fine," she said, "I’ll say what you need me to say."

Your stomach dropped.

Miles grinned like a cat who’d caught the canary. "Ahh, fantastic! Now that that’s sorted" he clapped his hands together, "let’s eat!"

Just like that, the tension dissolved. The others shifted, murmuring their agreements, reaching for their forks as though they hadn’t just been coerced into a legal conspiracy. As though Claire hadn’t just promised to lie under oath.

You turned to her in horror, tugging on her wrist like a desperate child. "Claire you could go to prison," you whispered, your voice cracking, "Claire, please-"

And then she snapped. "Stop it," she hissed, her voice low but sharp, her grip on your thigh suddenly firm enough to still you completely. "Now."

You flinched at the sudden change in her tone. "But, Claire-"

"I said stop," she cut you off, eyes dark and warning. "I’m handling this."

The finality in her words made your chest constrict. You felt helpless, small, completely stripped of your voice.

Her fingers dug in just slightly where she held you, grounding you, keeping you in place. "I need you to trust me, baby," she said, softer this time, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "You trust Mommy, don’t you?"

You swallowed, eyes welling up. "Not when you’re lying," you admitted in a whisper.

Her jaw ticked slightly, but she didn’t break. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice barely above a murmur. "I am doing what needs to be done," she said slowly, deliberately. "And I am not having this conversation here."

You blinked back tears, hands trembling in your lap.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, her voice turning sickeningly sweet, masking the undeniable authority in her tone. "Now be a good girl and eat your food, hmm?"

Your heart twisted painfully. The room carried on as normal, conversation flowing around you, but you felt detached, numb.

Claire squeezed your knee before finally pulling away, acting as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t just shattered your trust right in front of you. And you had no choice but to sit there, staring at your untouched plate, feeling like the only person in the room who realized they had all just signed their souls away.

As the plates were cleared and the glasses refilled, Miles leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of his drink in his glass. With a satisfied smirk, he pushed back from the table, standing with a grandiose stretch.

"Alright, my friends," he announced, clapping his hands together. “Hope you didn’t eat too much, because I have a little surprise for you all."

Everyone looked up, some intrigued, some still reeling from the conversation before.

"I’ve paid for an exclusive nightclub tonight. Whole place is ours, VIP all the way. So let’s get going, yeah?” He checked his watch. "I just need to make a quick call first."

With that, he slid his phone out of his pocket and strolled out of the dining area, already lifting it to his ear.

You shifted, opening your mouth to speak to finally say something, anything, but before you could get a word out Claire shot you a look.

A single glance.

Sharp. Commanding. A silent warning: Don’t you dare. You swallowed hard, your mouth clamping shut.

Birdie, ever the one to fill silence, groaned and stretched her arms over her head, dramatically tossing her napkin onto the table. "Well," she sighed, "if we’re gonna be miserable, we might as well do it in paradise with bottle service and a dance floor, right?" She giggled at her own joke.

You didn’t.

Instead, you scoffed under your breath, standing abruptly. "Yeah," you muttered, leveling the table with a pointed stare. "You certainly have all earned it."

Without another word, you turned on your heel and left the table, feeling Claire’s eyes burning into your back as you strode toward the deck, needing air, needing a drink, needing to be anywhere but sitting in that tension-filled room, pretending everything would be fine.

~

As soon as you disappeared onto the deck, a thick silence settled over the table. The air was still heavy with the weight of what had just been agreed upon, and the tension was palpable.

Duke was the first to break it, shaking his head before turning to Claire. "You gotta get your woman in line."

Claire’s head snapped toward him, her sharp glare cutting through him like a blade. "Excuse me?" she hissed, voice low, dangerous. "Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that."

Duke held up his hands in mock innocence. "I’m just saying," he defended. "She’s got a problem with this whole thing, and if she stirs up too much shit, she could make problems for all of us."

Birdie nodded, swirling the wine in her glass lazily. "Duke’s right," she said as if it were obvious. "She can’t ruin this for us."

Lionel sighed, rubbing his temples. "It seems like she’s the only one left at this table with a strong moral compass," he muttered.

"Exactly," Duke pointed out, looking directly at Claire. "So make sure that doesn’t become an issue."

Claire’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table, anger simmering low in her belly. "Are you threatening me, Duke?" she asked, voice deceptively calm. "Jesus, this isn’t the Mafia."

Duke just smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I’m just saying, use that mommy thing you got going on with her. Works like a charm, right?" His smirk deepened, knowing exactly what he was implying.

Claire’s stomach twisted, shame curling at the edges of her rage.

Birdie gasped, delighted. "Claire!" she giggled, leaning forward with interest. "I didn’t know you had it in you! Dominating politics, yes, but dominating a teenager-"

Claire slammed her hand down on the table, making the glasses tremble. "She isn’t a teenager!" she snapped.

The table fell silent.

Claire shoved her chair back, pushing away from the table, her heart hammering in frustration. She needed to find you. Now.

But as she stormed through the yacht, her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the many times she’d used that very dominance to get you to comply, heat coiling in her belly.

She thought about when you’d first started paying attention to her political career, watching her navigate a world of power you weren’t yet accustomed to. You’d questioned things. Pushed back. Sometimes, you’d gotten upset, and Claire- always knowing exactly how to handle you- had taken control.

"Baby, you need to trust me," she’d murmured once, pulling you onto her lap after a particularly tense evening. You had been anxious, worried about something she'd said in a speech, worried about how much she had to compromise to survive in her world. She had cradled you close, her hands smoothing down your back, her lips at your temple. "I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to carry all of this. Let mommy handle it."

And you had melted. Every time.

She thought about how you had been upset just hours ago, overwhelmed and emotional, looking to her for stability. How easily she had pulled you in, settled you, guided you. How much you needed her to be that for you.

And now here you were, spiraling again, running from her, doubting her, and it made something primal and protective snap inside her. She found herself moving faster. She would find you. And she would make you understand. She had to.

~

You slam the empty shot glass down onto the bar, the burn of tequila barely registering anymore. The bartender eyes you warily, but you don’t acknowledge it. You just tap the counter, wordlessly asking for another. You cannot be sober for another second. Not after this. Not after watching Claire- your Claire- agree to something that could ruin her.

Your head spins, your thoughts a tangled, messy blur. Claire had finally said she’d come out for you, finally promised to make that leap. And now? Now, she could go to prison for perjury.

For Miles Fucking Bron.

It’s like you’re watching everything slip through your fingers in real time. You’d fought so hard for this, for her, for a future where you didn’t have to keep hiding, where Claire didn’t have to keep making excuses, where she could just be yours in the open.

And now it could all be destroyed before it even begins.

You don’t even realize the next shot has been poured until the bartender nudges it toward you. Without hesitation, you grab it and down it, feeling the heat sear down your throat.

It’s not enough.

Nothing feels like enough.

You grip the edge of the bar, staring blankly at the liquor bottles lined up behind it. The voices behind you are a distant hum, the party continuing as if your entire world isn’t currently shattering.

You’re dimly aware of someone coming up beside you, but you don’t look up. Not until a familiar voice cuts through your haze- low, firm, laced with warning.

"That’s enough."

Claire.

You don’t even hesitate. You grab the next shot the second the bartender sets it down and throw it back, the burn barely registering.

"That’s enough," Claire says again, voice sharper now, closer.

You scoff, shaking your head as you set the glass down with a clink. "No, it’s really not."

She moves then, reaching for your wrist, and you whip around so fast she freezes mid-motion.

"Don’t you dare touch me." Your voice is sharp, venomous, shaking.

Claire’s jaw tightens, but her eyes- God, her eyes- are filled with hurt beneath the frustration.

"Baby- "

"Don’t," you snap, stepping back like her presence alone is suffocating. "Don’t ‘baby’ me, don’t ‘mommy’ me, don’t act like you have a right to tell me what the fuck to do after what you just did in there."

Claire exhales through her nose, controlled, composed in a way that makes your blood boil. "You need to calm down."

You let out a humorless laugh, swiping at your mouth. "Calm down? Oh, that’s rich. You want me to calm down when you just agreed to perjure yourself for that manipulative piece of shit? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Claire’s expression flickers, something stormy passing over her face. "Watch it."

"Or what?" You step closer now, alcohol making you reckless, eyes burning. "What are you gonna do, huh? Mommy gonna put me in my place? Gonna tell me to sit pretty and shut up like a good little girl while you destroy your fucking life?"

Claire’s nostrils flare. "You don’t understand what’s at stake here."

"I understand plenty," you snap. "I understand that I fucking love you, and you just made a deal with the devil. I understand that you promised me, Claire. You promised me a future together, and now you’re throwing it all away because Miles fucking Bron dangled your career over your head like a goddamn bone."

Her face hardens. "This is bigger than you and me."

"Oh, fuck you," you spit, voice breaking. "Everything is always bigger than me, isn’t it? Your career, your reputation, your fucking political trajectory- but when do I get to be big enough for you to fight for?"

Claire’s face actually falters then, just slightly, just for a second.

And it’s that that makes your chest ache so deeply you feel like you might actually shatter. Because you see it. You see the war in her eyes. The way she wants to argue, to rationalize, to convince herself she’s doing the right thing. But you also see something else. You see guilt.

And that’s what breaks you.

You let out a shaking breath, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "You don’t even believe yourself, do you?"

Claire stays silent.

And that tells you everything.

Claire exhales sharply, trying to ground herself, trying to push past the alcohol on your breath and the sharp edge in your voice. She’s seen you upset before, she’s seen you drunk before, but this… this is different. This is you slipping through her fingers, pulling away from her reach. And she can’t allow that.

So she softens. Drops her voice into something warm, something coaxing, something that has always worked on you before.

"C’mon, baby," she murmurs, stepping closer, reaching for you again, gentler this time. "Let’s just go back to the room, okay? We can take a nice, relaxing bath. I’ll hold you. We’ll talk this out."

Her hands cup your face now, fingers stroking against your heated skin, thumbs brushing the high point of your cheekbones, desperate to soothe, to contain, to fix. And oh, she’s desperate. You can hear it. Feel it.

It’s in the way she holds you like you’ll disappear if she lets go. The way her breath stutters when you don’t immediately soften into her. The way she needs you to believe her. And maybe, a few hours ago, you would have. Maybe before dinner, before Miles’ speech, before this entire night became something twisted and tainted, you would have fallen into her arms and let her convince you.

But now?

Your lips curl into something sharp, something bitter. "You do whatever you want, I’m staying here."

"Baby, please," she says, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I know you’re angry. I know this is a mess. But look at me."

You hesitate, but your eyes meet hers. Her hands move, sliding down your arms, fingertips grazing your bare skin like she needs to memorize the shape of you.

"You mean everything to me," she whispers, eyes scanning your face like she’s trying to memorize every detail. "I need you to know that. I need you to feel that. I can’t lose you."

Your heart clenches, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. "Then why are you doing this?"

Claire swallows hard. "Because I’ve worked my whole life for this, I have clawed my way to get where I am. I can’t lose everything because of Miles Bron I can’t," She pauses, shaking her head. She steps closer, hands cupping your face again, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to let her in. "Just tell me what you need, baby," she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. "Tell me how to fix this with you. I will do anything for you."

The words almost break you. Because that’s the thing about Claire- she’s powerful, dominant, used to getting her way. But when it comes to you, she would burn the world down if you asked her to.

You shake your head, lips pressing into a tight line. "Anything," you echo, voice laced with bitterness. "You’ll do anything for me, but you won’t say no to Miles. You won’t stand up to him, not even when you know this is wrong."

Claire inhales sharply, her grip on you tightening for a split second before she forces herself to relax. "Baby," she murmurs, her voice thick, careful. "You don’t know him. Not like I do. Not like I have."

Her gaze flickers away, just for a moment, like she’s seeing something you can’t. Something dark. "What he did to Andi- what we helped him do," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "He ruined her. She had everything, and he took it. And now? Now he has more power than ever." She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing over your cheek, reverent. "I can’t let him do that to us." The way she says ‘us’ makes your breath hitch.

"Please, baby," Claire begs, her forehead pressing against yours, her thumbs stroking along your jaw. "Please, try and understand. I have to do this. I have to play the game. I have to survive. But I can’t do it if you hate me. I can’t breathe without my baby girl."

Her voice cracks on the last words, and something inside you breaks.You’re still furious. Still so hurt. But Claire’s love, her devotion- it’s the one thing in this whole mess that’s real. You exhale slowly, your body finally relaxing against hers, and Claire immediately pulls you in, crushing you against her like she’s terrified you’ll slip through her fingers. Her lips press against your temple, your cheek, your jaw- anywhere she can reach, desperate to ground you both in each other.

"I love you," she breathes against your skin, her hands sliding up your back, cradling you like something precious. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

You sigh, tilting your head just slightly, giving her silent permission. Claire doesn’t waste a second- her lips capture yours, the kiss slow and deep, like she’s trying to pour every unspoken word, every ounce of desperation and devotion, into you.

And god help you, you let her.

Because no matter how angry you are, no matter how messy this all is, you love her too. You always will.

Claire kisses you like she’s trying to memorize the taste of you, the shape of your lips, the way you sigh against her mouth. It’s slow at first, deep and lingering, her hands cradling your face with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. But then you press closer, just slightly, and it breaks something in her. A soft, needy sound escapes her throat as she deepens the kiss, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you flush against her. Her hands roam, spreading across your back, sliding down to grip your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your dress like she needs to feel all of you.

"God, baby," she breathes between kisses, her lips trailing along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You drive me insane."

Her voice is low, husky, full of something dark and desperate. It makes your knees weak.

You grip her shoulders, letting her press you back against the smooth railing of the yacht. The cool night air swirls around you, but Claire’s body is warm, her touch electric.

"I hate fighting with you," she murmurs against your skin, her lips brushing over your collarbone, the words melting into you. "I hate seeing you upset. I just-" She exhales shakily, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are heavy with emotion, with need. "Let me make it better, baby. Let me take care of you."

She kisses you again, deeper this time, more urgent. Like she’s pouring every apology, every ounce of devotion, into you. Her tongue slides against yours, slow and sensual, her hands tightening on your waist. And fuck, you shouldn’t be melting into her so easily. You shouldn’t be letting her touch you like this, making your head spin, making you forget the weight of what’s coming.

But she’s Claire. She’s your mommy. And when she kisses you like this, like you’re her whole world, it’s so easy to just let go. You whimper softly as her fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, just ghosting over the bare skin of your thigh. Claire swallows the sound with another kiss, her body pressing flush against yours.

"Let me take you to bed," she whispers, her lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw. "I don’t care about the club, about Miles, about any of them. I just want you."

And god, you’re tempted. So tempted. But then, from somewhere deeper in the yacht, you hear the distant echo of laughter, the clink of glasses, the unmistakable sound of the others getting ready to leave.

Reality.

Claire hears it too. You feel the way her body tenses, how she forces herself to slow down, to breathe.

She presses one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. "We have to go," she murmurs, reluctantly pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "But when we get back, baby…" She breathes, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh. "You’re mine."

Your breath catches, but before you can say anything, she straightens, smoothing out her dress, slipping back into that effortless, composed version of herself.

The Governor. The politician. The woman who always has to be in control.

Except you know the truth.

That underneath it all, she’s just a woman who worships you.

And as she takes your hand, leading you back inside to rejoin the group, you realize one thing:

No matter how angry you are, no matter how tangled this all gets, you’ll always be hers.

~

The main deck is buzzing with movement as you and Claire step back into the glow of expensive lantern light. Drinks are being passed around, Birdie is twirling in her dress like she’s on a runway, and Miles- smug, fucking insufferable Miles- stands at the center of it all, drinking in the atmosphere like he owns it (which, to be fair, he does.)

Claire keeps her fingers laced with yours, her grip firm, like she’s anchoring herself with you. You can still feel the ghost of her lips against your skin, the lingering heat of her hands, the way her voice had cracked when she begged you not to leave her. And yet, to everyone else, she looks effortlessly composed. Governor Debella. The controlled, pragmatic politician.

But then Lionel catches her eye. He’s standing off to the side, watching the two of you carefully, before stepping forward. "Claire." His voice is quiet, measured. "Did you talk to her?" He asks despite you being close enough for him to ask you himself.

Your stomach tightens, but Claire doesn’t falter. She tilts her head slightly, fingers flexing against yours before letting go, only for a second, to smooth out her dress, like the conversation is nothing.

"It’s handled," she says smoothly. And then, before Lionel can say another word, she pulls you flush against her side, her arm wrapping securely around your waist. It’s subtle. To anyone else, it would look natural, just a casual display of affection. But you can feel the tension in her grip, the way she needs to keep touching you, grounding herself in you.

Lionel studies the two of you for a moment, then nods, exhaling as if that’s one less thing to worry about. "Good," he mutters before stepping away to refill his drink.

Before you can say anything, before you can even react, Claire turns her head slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, murmuring so only you can hear-

"I need you tonight, baby."

Your breath catches, heat curling in your stomach.

And then Miles claps his hands together, grinning like a man who’s never been told no in his life. "Alright, Disruptors!" he calls out. "Let’s hit the club!"

The group erupts into practiced cheers, Peg already groaning as Birdie takes her hand and spins her toward the exit, Whiskey laughing as she leans into Duke’s side.

Claire finally loosens her grip on you, but only enough to take your hand again, threading your fingers together. And as the group moves toward the waiting speedboats, whisking you off toward whatever exclusive, hedonistic paradise Miles has planned, Claire stays right by your side. Like she’s afraid to let go.

The speedboat cuts through the waves, sleek and powerful, carrying you all toward the glittering neon of the exclusive club Miles has chosen for the night. The air is thick with salt and expensive perfume, the promise of excess and indulgence humming between each crashing wave.

Claire hasn’t let go of you once.

Her arm stays wrapped securely around your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress, like she’s making sure you don’t slip away. And you don’t fight it. Even with your stomach twisting, even with the sick weight of what’s coming, you let her hold you.

And then, like the universe just had to test you, Miles slides up beside you both, that smug, practiced grin in place.

"You’re not still upset, are you?" His voice is smooth, faux-concerned, but there’s something pointed beneath it. Something sharper. He glances between you and Claire, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "We Disruptors stick together through everything. We help each other. Lift each other up." His gaze lingers on you, searching. "You get that, right?"

Claire’s fingers tighten slightly against your waist.

You feel sick. But you don’t show it. Instead, you smile. Soft. Sweet. A performance so flawless it would make any politician proud.

"Claire makes the decisions," you say smoothly, tilting your head slightly, watching as Miles’ smirk flickers just the slightest bit. "I trust her judgment."

And then, before he can say another word, you turn fully into Claire, letting your body relax against her, nuzzling into the warm curve of her neck. It’s for her. Because you can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will. And if this is what she needs, if she needs you to play this game, then you will too.

Because, for all her power, all her dominance, she is terrified.

And she needs you.

Claire exhales, long and slow, and you feel the way her grip softens, just slightly. The way she presses her lips to your temple in silent gratitude.

Miles watches for a beat longer, then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Man," he muses, sipping his drink. "You really do have good taste, Claire."

The words are harmless. On the surface. But you know what he’s really saying. You don’t react. Claire doesn’t either. And as the speedboat slows, the flashing lights of the club reflecting in the water around you, you only hold onto Claire a little tighter.

Because this night is far from over.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet @athnastasia @eletricheart @her0in-addicttt @writerspirit @sarahhh-plz

[kingkat12]

forever (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of blood, ANGST (SORRY IN ADVANCE)

summary: nothing will ever be the same again after you've find out what Roman truly is-- you can be sure of that now.

word count: 5,093

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13

a/n: GOSH I'M BACK! 13 is the lucky number (not). this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it's more than enough for this scene... I can't breathe omg. thank you to everyone that has helped me with brainstorming and clearing my mind about this scene, specifically @mentallyscreamingsincebirth who read about 7 different drafts (poor soul), and I'M SO SORRY. SO SO SORRY Y'ALL. ENJOY... tbh that's not the right word, so, good luck!!!

Loving Roman had consequences right from the start.

However, I never imagined it would lead to this. 

My hands trembled as I clutched the knife, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or the sheer weight of the situation. Roman hadn't moved an inch since I'd pointed it at him, but the way he loomed in front of me made every second stretch unbearably long. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge-- my breath caught in my throat as he tilted his head, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable, something quiet.

Then, without warning, a slow exhale left his lips as though he was indifferent-- Roman's shoulders slackened, the tension bleeding from his frame as if this entire moment had bored him. And then, just like that, he put his tux jacket on the kitchen island before he turned away.

I flinched at the movement, but all Roman did was step toward the fridge, peeling it open with a lazy sort of ease. He bent down, rummaging through the shelves, shifting the milk aside like I wasn't still standing there, terrified.

I turned with him, still pointing the blade in his direction as my pulse threatened to rupture my ears-- this was the biggest mind-fuck of the century. This night was. My brows drew together as I dared to speak, confusion drowning my anxious words; "What are you doing?"

Roman shrugged. "I have a feeling this is gonna take a while, and I'm really fucking hungry. Do you know how many calories you burn from beating up assholes?" Another sigh followed--  he continued to speak into the fridge as he shuffled through the vegetables; "You're not wearing your dress."

It sounded like a casual remark, yet I knew it was loaded with the intent of getting me to explain myself. The longer I stayed quiet, the more I could hear my heart pound. "I changed,"

"Where?" 

"... Here?" 

Roman shook his head, remnants of a knowing smirk painting his lips-- it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think we should be starting this conversation off with more lies," 

His words were chilling. I struggled to find mine. I cleared my throat over and over as my hands got clammy around the knife I had yet to lower; "I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Come on," Roman huffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened up, reaching for the handle of the fridge. When he turned his head to meet my gaze, I felt my breathing knot itself in my chest-- I hated this feeling. I hated being scared of my boyfriend. I hated that I couldn't bring myself to put away the kitchen knife I was still pointing at him. Roman continued; "I've been waiting for you for about... what, fifteen minutes? You didn't change here, and those clothes aren't yours."

Fighting the urge to stay tongue-tied, I snapped; "And you shouldn't have broken into my house in the first place! That's crossing all fucking boundaries!--"

BOOM.

The fridge door slammed shut with a force that rattled the shelves.

I jolted. A sharp, pathetic squeak clawed up my throat before I could stop it. My pulse jumped, breath hitching-- fuck.

Roman had never looked more intimidating; "I see we're past talking about boundaries!" he hissed, glancing down at the knife in my trembling hands. His attempts at containing his anger were cracking.

"Fine," I bit back. "Let's talk about the important piece of information you so conveniently failed to tell me, then!"

Roman blinked. I knew him too well; I could see his mind racing behind those big, beautiful eyes. I shouldn't be looking into them. "The car crash?" he asked, attempting to soften his voice. Something told me he got hopeful that he had hit bingo about the subject, and that he could somehow salvage this; "I'll tell you everything you want, baby. No problem, okay? Where do you want me to start?--"

"Don't fuck with me, Roman!" One of my hands left the knife as my tremble subsided, and I steadied my stance. "Enough!" 

Roman's fists clenched, and his gaze pierced mine with rays of ice. It took him some time to let it sink in-- we were about to have this conversation, whether he wanted to or not. We were going to talk about what he was. Despite the horror of the situation, my body filled with a satisfaction unlike anything I had ever felt before; I had pieced it together. I had cornered him. I had caught the liar, and I had done it all by myself. 

However, the liar in question didn't want to relent so easily; "This is about Daniel, isn't it? The little shit who confessed he'd get off to snapping your neck in half?"

"It's... What?" My frustration possessed me as I gestured with the knife, exasperated. "No, Roman! It's not that, and you know it!"

Roman let out a quick, icy breath as his fists clenched and unclenched-- deny, deny, deny. "He had it coming," he breathed. "I don't get why you're holding a knife at me for giving that guy what he deserved!"

"That's not why I'm!--"

"You think I went too far?" Roman scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Deny, deny, deny. "You think I should've let him walk away after hurting you, is that it?"

This was beyond frustrating now. It was infuriating, actually. Roman's dismissal of the real topic of concern drove me into a state I hadn't been in before; it almost made my vision go red. Then, it took me a second to realize my vision was blurring because of more causes than one-- with tears pooling in my eyes, I watched as Roman continued his angry rant;

"I don't get you! Why the fuck are you pulling a knife on your boyfriend for protecting you?! I was the one who saved you, I was the one who made sure you got the revenge you deserved, and what do I get in return? That terrified look on your fucking face?!" 

Roman was yelling now. 

Yelling.

I kept telling myself he didn't mean it, that he was simply anxious to face the truth that I knew his biggest secret, but... now that I knew what he was, it only made me grip the knife harder. What if he suddenly pounced at me? What if he got so overcome by anger that he lunged my way out of pure instinct?

I flinched when Roman raised his hands, yet I let out a shaky breath of relief when they went to his hair, ripping at the tips of his brown locks in frustration; "I have done everything to protect you! I-- I messed him up, okay, but!--"

Enough. "Protect me?! You think this is protection?!"

The panic Roman had painted across his face for sympathy got wiped away the second I raised my voice too. His act wasn't working. His distractions weren't working. Nothing was. "It is," he hissed.

"No!" The tears that had welled in my eyes threatened to spill. "You should've left me alone the second you started feeling anything for me! That would've been protection, that would've mercy!" 

Roman closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp line of air-- "Don't say that," he breathed. "You're crossing the line."

"Crossing... the line?!" 

"You are," he continued, blindly gesturing at the knife. "Point your knives, call me whatever, say all the shit you want, but not that. What we have is damn near holy to me, so keep that out of your mouth."

I had half the mind to throw the knife at him. Enough was enough, I couldn't stand it anymore; "You're insane!" I yelled. "You're batshit crazy, and you're out of your fucking mind if you think that you were protecting me all this time! You've only put me in danger!"

Roman's eyes widened with offence. "I have not!--"

"You urged me to slice my hand in front of you, and you sucked my fucking blood that time you decided you wanted to blood-bind us or whatever the fuck those vials were for! How dare you put me in that situation when you know what you are?!"

Silence.

In the void of sound we had created, I could hear a light tapping against the windows-- it was raining. Outside, the grass was given the opportunity to grow. At this very moment, flowers all around were watered with new energy for life; yet here I was, being drained of all of mine.

Roman's face twitched with multiple emotions, unable to decide which one to settle for as he lowered his gaze. Had he ever prepared for this moment? I wondered if he had. I wondered whether he had ever laid in bed at night, riddled with guilt and the weight of the world, and whether he had ever thought about coming clean. Had he thought he could get away with it, that I would never find out? 

Finally, Roman opened his mouth; "I..." 

It didn't take long before it shut again.

A shaky breath escaped me when I realized my knuckles were going white around the knife. I was about to say something, maybe even dig deep into my soul to search for words of comfort; yet when Roman's eyes fully focused on mine again, I felt my whole world freeze over.

Roman's pupils widened, fixating on me as though I was prey, a big deer in the wilderness. He knew the act was up, that the game was over, and instead of facing it, he fixated on the one thing he felt he could still control. His words came out with a low growl; "You have something of mine,"

... What? 

He took a threatening step forward. 

My breath hitched; I readied my brain for possible combat. 

"The vial," Roman hissed. "Where is it?" 

Another step.

"It's mine. If this is how you want to do this, I want it back,"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Back-- Back off!--"

With Roman's next step, my body tensed up with the realization that he was speeding up--

It was now or never.

With a shriek, I tossed the knife in his direction out of pure fear, and ran out of the kitchen as my screams emptied my lungs. The pounding of my heart filled my ears as I heard the clashing of pots and pans, possibly the sound of Roman jumping over the kitchen island to get to me, and it only made me panic more.

He called out my name, a yell of rage, as I made it past the living room and into the hallway. 

I was running for my life. 

I was running for my life. 

A ragged scream tore from my throat as I snatched the nearest object, a flimsy umbrella, and flung it behind me without looking. It didn't matter. He'd dodge it. He'd always dodge it.

Tears burned down my face, blurring the steps ahead as I bolted up the stairs. My chest heaved, my legs burned, but I pushed-- pushed like my life depended on it, because it did.

I was going to die, wasn't I?

This was it.

But for a second, a stupid, desperate second, my brain tricked me; maybe I could make it? Maybe I could outrun him? Maybe, maybe I could get out of this alive?

I chanced a glance over my shoulder--

Roman wasn't there.

My heart stopped. Relief slammed into me so hard that my knees nearly buckled.

Too soon.

I saw it too late-- the flicker of movement at the edge of my vision.

Roman's hand, appearing at the top of the banister.

He hadn't run up the stairs. He'd jumped. From the first floor to the second in a single, monstrous leap.

A scream ripped from my throat as he vaulted over the railing, his body a blur, his weight crashing into me before I could even think to run.

My back hit the ground hard, but before I could even feel the pain, something else registered.

His hand. Between my head and the floor, cushioning the blow.

My breath stuttered, my body locked in pure terror as I fought, thrashed, pounded my fists against his chest-- but it was useless. He didn't budge.

My heartbeat was a deafening drumbeat of panic; I wasn't getting away. I wasn't getting away.

I wasn't getting away.

Then, Roman grabbed my hands and slammed them to the floor, pinning me down with a groan. His voice was sharp, teetering on the edge of control; "Stop it!" he yelled. "Stop fighting! I'm not going to hurt you!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears still coming. I didn't believe him. I couldn't believe him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he continued. "Since when do you throw knives at me?!" 

I kept trying to kick him off. It didn't work. Nothing did.

Roman's chest heaved above mine, his grip tightening before he seemed to catch himself-- his fingers loosened just slightly. His voice dropped, a thread of disbelief woven through the frustration. "You're really afraid of me, aren't you?"

I let out a quiet sob, unable to speak.

Roman's breath shook, his head tilting as if seeing me for the first time. He exhaled through his nose, but his next words wavered; "After all this time... you really think I could hurt you?"

Something in his voice made me pause. He wasn't just angry anymore, he was... wounded. 

"After everything?" he breathed. His fingers curled around my wrists, but this time, they trembled.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

That silence, that awful, confirming silence, broke him. Roman's expression crumpled as he clutched my wrists like a lifeline, his breath uneven. The anger drained from him in an instant, replaced by something desperate, raw, broken. 

"You're breaking my heart," he breathed.

The words shattered between us.

I stilled, my own heartbeat stammering.

In the muted space of my lack of words, Roman let out a quiet, shuddering laugh, his green eyes glossing over. "Letha told you, didn't she?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper; "You're wearing her clothes, and you kinda smell like her expensive incense for crazy people. Don't tell me she performed some ritual on you?"

I swallowed hard. Telling him the truth felt dangerous; I needed to protect my last ally, didn't I? "No," I whispered. "No rituals. There was no Letha. I figured it out by myself... I-- I read a book." At least there was some truth to what I was saying.

Roman uttered something between a scoff and a choked breath, shaking his head. His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "All by yourself?" he muttered. "That's my girl."

Acid filled my next words, overcome by emotion; "You left me no choice,"

"I didn't?"

"You didn't,"

"That's nonsense," Roman mumbled. "We could've avoided all of this. We could've had a few good years with you in the dark."

His face was too hard to read. His expressive eyes were so cold and hard with his conviction-- he really believed that, didn't he? "Years?" I whispered. "With me... in the dark?"

"Yeah," Breathless. He was breathless. "A decade, maybe."

It didn't take me long to piece it together. It would take a decade until he looked considerably younger than me. Would he have let me in on his secret then? 

"That wouldn't have been enough," I said, choking back my tears. "I wanted a whole life with you, Roman."

His next inhale was shaky, yet quick-- finally, he could be sure that he had lost. "So you... you really know, now?"

I knew.

I knew. 

And I could barely speak it; "That you're a upir? Yeah,"

Roman had yet to let me go. "Fuck..." he breathed, nodding to himself. "There goes that."

There it goes.

All the stolen glances, all the kisses, all the joy, all the love.

It was draining the life out of the both of us. "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me," Roman tried. "But can I at least... please have the vial?" His voice broke at the end of his sentence, and he bit down on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

My words came out with a tremble; "I-- I threw it away. It was affecting you horribly, and I don't want that for you... I don't want you to be in pain, Roman, despite everything you are,"

He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body locking up as if my words had just stabbed into him. "I'll have nothing of you, then?" His voice was barely there, so fragile it made my chest ache. "When you leave me, I'll... I'll have nothing?"

I blinked. When I leave?

Was he... planning to let me go?

"You're breaking my heart," Roman echoed, his shoulders trembling as he let go of my wrists to cradle my face in his hands. 

The touch nearly made me flinch. Had I not been so intent on my survival, I would've pushed him away with a shudder. I didn't want him touching me, not now that I knew who and what he was, yet I endured it for the sake of my life. 

Roman's grip faltered as he watched me fail to hide my fear, and his fingers trailed to my cheeks as he took in the look on my face.

"I can never trust you again," I whispered. "Never hold you, never kiss you... Not now that I know what you are."

Roman's fingers slowly brushed over my cheek, shaking. "But... it was supposed to be you and me," he breathed. "Forever."

Forever.

The word sent a sharp ache through my ribs.

Roman's eyes shut, his face twisting with something too deep to name. "I know I should've stayed away..." A shuddering inhale. "I should've just kept on being miserable." 

I choked down a sob; "Rome," I whispered. What else was there to say?

The nickname hit him like a bullet. Roman's voice was rough when he dared to speak; "I wasn't supposed to feel like this for anyone... That was my one rule," He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw was tight like he was forcing the words out. "I don't know when it happened, and I don't know how it happened, but I woke up one day and realized that I-- fuck!" 

Overcome by his emotions, Roman let out a sharp, bitter laugh; "I didn't want this, okay? I didn't-- God, I didn't fucking want to feel anything for you at all! I didn't want us to ever happen in the first place!"

The words should've hurt. They were meant to hurt, why else would Roman say them? But the way he said them, so wrecked, so lost, made my heart ache instead.

Roman exhaled hard, tilting his head back like he was trying to keep it together. "You have no idea how much I fought feeling anything for you... You have no idea how many times I told myself that it was nothing, that it would go away, and that you were just!--" He stopped, his breath hitching. "That you were just some meaningless girl, something temporary, a distraction at most, and not!--"

He didn't say it.

He couldn't. 

Not yet.

"And I--" Roman stopped, like the next part physically hurt to say. "I should've told you about this, I should've told you who I am. You deserved that much, and I tried, I swear! I-- I wanted to. But every time I got close,  every time I thought, this is it, tell the fucking girl, be a man, I'd look at you and-- and I got scared."

Finally, I could be sure the world was going under. The notorious Roman Godfrey was scared, and even worse, admitting to it. 

"Because if I told you, you'd leave!" he said, voice raw with pain. "And I couldn't-- I can't!--"  He was shattering right before my eyes, shattering into a million pieces. "Fuck, you have to understand! I didn't keep it from you to hurt you, I kept it from you because I'd lose everything!"

Roman swallowed hard, and in the smallest, quietest voice, he whispered; "I never, ever wanted to lose you. Nothing else matters like this, I-- I love you too much to function,"

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Roman Godfrey... loved me?

He loved me.

Roman loved me.

And here he was, looking down at me with those big, pleading, green eyes like it would fix everything. Like it would fix the fact that he could kill me within a second. Like it would fix his blood-thirst. 

"Please," he breathed, heartbroken with my lack of response. "You're not saying anything. Please say something."

All the times I had sensed something was wrong and convinced myself I was crazy rushed through my mind, clouding my shock at Roman's confession. It was torturous how he had let me remain in the dark for so long. Was that love, or was that selfishness?

I knew the answer.

"That's not love, Roman," I whispered. "That's fear."

His face fell. "No," he tried. "Don't-- Don't say that, it's not--"

"You say you didn't tell me because you didn't want to lose me, but what do you think this is? What do you think is happening right now?" My voice wavered, heat rushing to my face. "You talk about love like it's this big, tragic thing you had no control over, but you chose to lie to me above all else! You chose to put me in danger every time you were ever near me!"

I pushed against his chest, my body trembling with the force of my anger; Roman could've easily stayed put, could've easily kept me pinned to the ground, yet he relented, his eyes wide with hurt as he allowed me to push him away and sit up.

"You let me walk around and doubt myself for months, Roman! You let me drive myself crazy, trying to understand what the hell was wrong with me and why I was even doubting you, when this whole time-- this whole time, you were lying to my face!"

Roman ran a hand through his hair, looking wrecked. "What did you want me to do?!--"

"Anything but this, you fucking asshole!" I shoved myself off the floor, feeling my heart pound. "And you don't get to look at me like that, like I've wrecked your life! You don't get to act like this is just something sad that happened to us when this could've been prevented all along if you'd just stayed the fuck away!"

"That's not fair!" Roman yelled through the tears welling in his eyes. "You were basically throwing yourself at me!--"

"And you shouldn't have let me!" 

"Come on!" Desperate, Roman reached for me, but I jerked away so fast that I nearly tripped.

"Don't!" My voice cracked, but it didn't matter. "Don't you fucking touch me, how dare you!" Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to tell him that I loved him too, that we could find a way to make it work, that I would always love him no matter what... but Letha's warnings ran through my head.

She had told me he was dangerous. She told me about his urges, how he would forever be hungry for blood, and that I risked my life every minute I was near him. Letha explained how Roman could hear the heartbeats of everyone within a certain radius, and that every thump reminded him of how hungry he was.

But now, as I looked into his hurt eyes, I could only see...

Pain.

I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't hurt him any longer, as Letha said I needed to do-- I had to move. Roman's voice was a faint echo as I started taking shaky steps toward my bedroom; there was no chance I'd outrun him if he wanted to chase me again, so I walked. It didn't take long before I heard him scrambling up from the floor as well, following me into my room. 

I could feel him behind me when I stepped inside.

The door clicked shut.

My heart pounded, and I knew he could hear it. I knew.

"Baby--"

"Don’t," I breathed, stopping in the middle of the room before I turned around to face him. Even at this moment, he was beautiful. He was breathtaking in his shirt, even though his previously neat hairstyle had fallen apart with all the running and struggling. How was this fair?

I heard the shift in Roman's breathing, and how he tried to swallow the desperation in his throat. "You’re scared of me,”

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yes,”

"You don’t have to be," he whispered. "I would never--"

"I do,"

A sharp, broken exhale. He took a step closer, daring to get in my personal space, and I flinched before I could stop myself.

Roman froze.

Silence. Again.

And then--

He dropped to his knees.

I gasped. His hands clutched the fabric of my shirt, Letha's shirt, his forehead pressing against my stomach like he was praying to me. His breath was shaky, his fingers curling and uncurling as if he didn’t know whether to hold me or let me go.

"Please," His voice was wrecked, hoarse with unshed tears. "Please don’t do this."

I stood frozen, my hands shaking at my sides. I wanted to cradle him, wanted to sink down to the floor and hold him, but I couldn't move.

Roman pressed a kiss to my stomach, then another. Then my ribs. Then my hip. A desperate, reverent kind of touch. Not to seduce, not to possess-- but to beg.

"I love you," His voice cracked, his lips ghosting over the fabric of my shirt. "I love you so much, I can’t-- fuck, I can’t lose you!--"

"Roman--"

His body shuddered against mine, his fingers twitching where they clung to me, like if he just held on tightly enough, none of this would be real. "I can control it," he pleaded. "I swear, I swear, baby, please!--"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. I wanted to believe him so bad, wanted to relent, yet Letha's voice echoed in my head; "He will hurt you,"

"I won’t hurt you," he choked out, contradicting my every thought. "I’d rather die."

My breath hitched as my hands trembled, longing to reach for him. I pressed my lips together, trying to force down the sob rising in my throat; "If you don't want to hurt me, you-- you have to leave. You have to let me go," 

Roman's fingers clutched the fabric of my shirt as he shook his head, a frantic, shattered movement. No, no, no. "I don’t want to," His voice was raw. "Don’t make me. Please don't-- please don't make me."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. "Roman..."

He knew he had lost. It was over. There was nothing more to say. Slowly, painfully, he pulled back, looking up at me with wide, devastated eyes, silent tears streaking his face. He pressed one last, trembling kiss to my hip.

And then--

Roman let go.

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs. Stumbled back, one step, two.

Heavy. 

Everything was, until I felt the relief of his eyes leaving mine. It felt like the weight of his attention lifted a ton from my shoulders. But the momentary solace quickly left me when I watched Roman's gaze shift--

He stilled.

The change was instant. His entire body locked up so tight it was like something inside him had snapped. His breath came shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in sharp, stuttered movements. His fingers flexed and curled like they didn’t know what to do.

I followed his line of sight with my breath catching in my chest, and my stomach dropped when I saw what he was looking at.

The book.

That fucking book. 

The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir.

It lay there on my nightstand, its pages still open, marked by the frantic creases my fingers had pressed into them over and over again. There was no hiding it now.

With a sharp turn, I glanced back at Roman with huge eyes, wondering whether anger would take over his body and trigger him to chew me to death. But alas-- nothing.

Roman didn’t move.

He just stared. His lips parted slightly, his lashes fluttering as he blinked through the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t speak. I could see it, the way the pieces started clicking into place in his mind, how the dots connected in a way that destroyed him.

Finally, we both knew it was over. 

Then--

Defeated, Roman turned away.

It was sudden, almost violent, the way he ripped himself away. He staggered toward my window, one hand swiping at his face as he smeared his tears into his skin, his breath a sharp, hollow sound. His entire body shook like he was barely keeping himself together, like the second he stepped outside, he would completely break apart.

Roman reached for the window.

Shoved it open.

But just for a second, he hesitated.

For a second.

For me.

He waited.

He was begging me to say something, to stop him, to tell him he didn’t have to go.

But I didn’t. I couldn't.

So, Roman climbed through the window I had snuck him in through countless times. We had shared countless kisses there; kisses of passion, kisses of joy, kisses goodbye, kisses hello. But now, there would be no more. 

With one final look back, his green eyes seared into mine with a look I would never forget.

And then--

Roman Godfrey was gone. 

I stood there for longer than I'd ever admit to anyone, staring at the empty space he'd left behind, waiting for him to come back. I could still smell him-- the deep cologne and the faint, metallic tinge of blood clinging to my shirt where he'd been pressed against me just minutes ago. It was Daniel's blood, a trace of what had happened earlier tonight. I couldn't believe I had been happy just a few hours ago. A few hours was all it took to unravel everything. 

It was like he had left a ghost of himself behind--- something half-alive, something that would never quite let go of me.

Nothing but the sound of my own breathing filled up the room. It sounded too loud, too shaky. My fingers drifted into my pocket without thinking, curling around the cold glass buried there.

The vials clinked together as I rolled them between my fingers-- his blood, my blood, trapped inside two fragile little prisons, always touching but never quite meeting.

I brought them to my lips, squeezing my eyes shut— I could never get rid of them. Never.

If I crushed them right now, if I just closed my fist and shattered them into a thousand tiny shards, maybe this whole nightmare would shatter with them? Maybe I would wake up and he would still be here, begging me not to send him away? Maybe I could've made a different choice? Maybe he would wrap his arms around me again and swear that he would never hurt me, and maybe this time I would believe him?

But I didn't crush them-- I couldn't.

Instead, I pressed the glass harder against my lips until I tasted the salt of my tears on the rim.

At least in this form, we could be together.

Forever.

(a/n: ... sorry not sorry. this was heartbreaking to write, believe me. but this isn't the last chapter, that will be the next, and y'all are in for a RIDE!! thank you so so much for reading this, aaaand just quick psa, I will not be compensating anyone for their possible need for an ambulance or any funeral services cause I'm obv evil:))) JK MWAH🥹🌸 THANK YOUUU<333)

here are all the chapters!<3: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13

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[uki01]

Hi I was wondering if you could do yandere (if your comfortable) sonic, shadow, and silver with a gn reader who almost dies

”Living was the Easy Part.”

Sonic The Hedgehog, Shadow The Hedgehog and Silver The Hedgehog x Gender Neutral! Reader (Separately).

Author’s Note: Ooh first Yandere request! Thanks for the request! Time to put my angst and Yandere writing skills to the test! Also remember! It’s not healthy to stay with someone who’s possessive, obsessive with you and doesn’t let you have your own rights, space, freedom or peace. You control yourself, no body does, female? male? any gender? No, you control you, you are you, no body else’s. I don’t support Yandere at all, it’s not okay to do this in real life, if you know anyone like this, tell a close loved one or emergencies immediately. Stay safe y’all 🫶🏽

Warning: Death mentioned, Possessive, Obsessive, Overprotective, Yanderes! Heavy angst, blood, near death experience.

Sonic The Hedgehog

The battle was intense, Dr Eggman wasn’t playing anymore, he got all his robots sending down on Sonic and them.

You try to fend off as much as you can, seeing that all your friends, Tails, Knuckles, Amy and the rest are getting tired.

You looked over at Sonic who was fighting off so much robots as well with Dr Eggman, even if he was tired he still kept fighting through with a cocky grin on his face.

You hated seeing this, as Dr Eggman was about to launch his missile towards Sonic, you panicked and immediately grabbed a nearby weapon you found laying on the battle field.

Running towards Sonic, desperate to save him while Tails and the rest try to stop you from getting hurt, “Y/N! Don’t! It’s way to dangerous you’ll get killed out there!”

But you ignored all that, too focused on saving Sonic.

Even if he was already handling it, the thought of him being hurt made you feel useless, so you pushed Sonic aside as soon as Dr Eggman launched his missile and you whacked the missile away to a different direction but caused an explosion resulting you getting hurt in the process.

After gaining your vision, you were hurt very badly, your arm is burnt, you have scars everywhere and your face is covered in blood, you feel like collapsing but was determined to stay alive.

You can hear someone shouting out your name, you recognised that Blue Blur’s voice, except you didn’t hear the confident tone behind it, only a terrified but desperate one.

Once you found you lying in the middle of the battle field, he was already at your side, basically screaming at you. Carefully treading his arm, making sure he doesn’t hurt you anymore due to your state right now.

”Y/N! Oh my god thank god you’re safe, why the hell would you do that!? I had that handled! You could’ve died from Dr Eggman’s missiles!”

You told him you couldn’t let him die, but Sonic was bubbling with frustration when you said that and shouted back at you.

”But YOU COULD’VE DIED Y/N! Do you think I could go on if you were gone?! What would happen if that missile killed you huh?!… I knew I shouldn’t have let you on the battle field, I’m so sorry Y/N… I should’ve been faster…”

He carefully swoops you up and takes off with you in his arms out of the battle field. Taking you to Tails to aid you in your state right now.

After recovering from that, Sonic hasn’t let you out of his sight ever since, always standing close to you and making sure you are safe and sound.

As much as you we’re grateful for his concern he’s been in your space like almost every time, constantly always just being there with you, every where you go.

You told Sonic that you are fine now but Sonic just shakes his head and says this.

”What if Dr Eggman comes up again huh? What if he has a bigger and more threatening weapon that can kill you in one go? What if I’m not there, fast enough to save you? I cant let that happen, not again, I promise you that.”

As time moved one, the more overprotective Sonic gets, basically just your body guard. Going anywhere you go.

Going to the mall? Oh Sonic will go with you! He can help you carry your shopping bags! Going to the gym? He’ll come and train with you! Doesn’t want anyone looking at you while you workout, going for a jog? Oh he’ll tag along! Sonic loves exercise, it in his name and legs.

This kind of scares you more, as you try to tell Sonic that you need space and alone time, that’s when Sonic’s cocky and carefree demeanour falters and he starts looking like a wild animal or more… crazed.

”Are you serious? Space? After what just happened? No, no no no I can’t let you walk around free knowing that Dr Eggman can strike any time and I am not there to save you in time, you need me to protect you, I won’t let anything hurt you ever.”

Ever since, he has never let you out of his sight, he won’t trap you anywhere at the house you and Sonic are staying at since he hates oppression, but I’ll tell you one thing, if you try to run away from him, don’t even do it again, he’ll always be faster than you.

”Please don’t run away babe, you’re breaking my heart, I’m just protecting you, can’t you see that? I won’t let anyone dare to lay a finger on you, ever. Plus you can’t run away from me babe, so don’t run away, you’ll know I’ll always catch you.”

So no matter what you do. You cannot outrun him, Sonic will always be faster than you.

Shadow The Hedgehog

This battle was tough. Dr Eggman was not giving up, his robots fighting against Team Dark and you.

You can see across the battle field that Rouge is visibly tired but still fighting and so is Omega, who can’t get visibly tired but is getting bombarded with Dr Eggman’s robots. You look across to see Shadow who is fine but has a ton of robots on him too, hate to see him like this, so you grabbed a weapon that can shoot blasters.

You start running towards Shadow to save him, Rouge seeing you run over, confused but figured out what you are doing “Y/N! Stop! You’ll get killed!” She gets bombarded with other Dr Eggman’s robots.

You didn’t care though, what matters now is saving Shadow, as soon as the robots were launched onto him and so was Dr Eggman, he slide in just in time and hold Shadow close to your chest as protecting and aim the blaster towards the robots and Dr Eggman, blasting them far away but resulted an explosions blowing you and Shadow away from each other.

After you woke up, your vision finally starts to clear, you see Shadow watching over you.

Soon as he sees you finally awake, to your surprise, he hugs you tight, so close, afraid that he’ll let you go and basically scolding you.

”You idiot! Why would you do that! I had it handled! You know I can survive these kind of situations, you cannot throw yourself in like that you’ll get hurt! Or worse! Dead!”

You sighed at this, there wasn’t any malice in those words, he was just upset at what you did, telling him you didn’t want to see him get hurt in the process which makes him more angry with you.

”So you think it was a good idea to throw yourself, against Dr Eggman’s robots? You could’ve died Y/N, I am suppose to protect you, from now on, I am not letting you into any battles, ever.”

Ever since, Shadow started looming over you, watching your every move.

You feel like it’s just you whenever you go somewhere but Shadow’s always there, watching in the shadows like a hawk.

You’ve been feeling uneasy over these past few months, one day you confronted Shadow, you try to tell him in the most politest and nicest way possible that you need your own space, you are fine and you can handle yourself. But Shadow doesn’t take it lightly, he takes it like you said something offensive, so he narrows his eyes and scowls at you.

”You think you are better off without me? What just happened the last time we battled Dr Eggman huh? You almost died and you say you can handle yourself when we both know you are very selfless when it comes to saving people, so I am not going anywhere, there’s no one strong enough to protect you, you have me, only me.”

After you said that, he will always be with you if you need to go somewhere, you aren’t going out of his sights ever and if Dr Eggman is nearby, he forces you to stay inside the house. If you are ver tried to run off, Shadow will immediately chaos control to you, he’ll find you like a snap of a finger.

”You know this is all worth nothing right?, I can get to you just quickly as that, so stop trying to run damnit, can’t you see I’m trying to protect you? And your making it harder for me, especially when Dr Eggman is on the loose and I can’t check in to see if your okay, so please my love, stop running away.”

Shadow will always remind you if you try to run that he, is The Ultimate Lifeform.

Silver The Hedgehog

This battle felt like it went on for ages. Dr Eggman felt persistent today and it for sure was working.

Silver was using his telekinetic powers aganist Dr Eggman’s robots while Blaze was doing the same with her pyrotechnics powers.

You can see both of them visibly struggling, you grabbed a nearby rocket launcher lying around and run towards Silver who was trying to catch his breath while still fighting.

Blaze sees you running and tries to yell out to you “Y/N stop! Don’t go in there! It’s too dangerous!”

It didn’t matter though, what mattered is helping Silver.

As soon as Dr Eggman showed up and one of his robots were launched towards Silver, you stepped in front of him just in time and blasted the rocket launcher, aiming towards the robot and Dr Eggman.

But it caused an explosion which knocked you out unconscious.

Soon as you start stirring, you say up and see Silver by your side, soon as he sees you awake, he’s immediately hugging you, tightly while his voice cracks slightly.

”Why would you do that?! You almost died out there Y/N! Don’t you ever! Ever do that again! I should’ve have let you out there, I am so sorry sweetheart…”

You hugged him back reassuringly but this is just the start of your torture.

Ever since, Silver has been at your side, constantly sticking close to you, like a koala clinging onto a tree.

Always helping you to get something, find, lift or anything really, barely letting you do anything yourself or give some time to yourself as well, basically like your personal bubble wasn’t even a thing.

This was becoming overwhelming when the time passes by ever day, so you told Silver that as much as you appreciated his concern, it was just becoming too much now and ask for personal space and alone time, unfortunately Silver doesn’t take it very well.

”B-But I have protected you all these times! Does this not mean anything to you?! I swore that I would protect you with all my life, strength and what I’ve got left in me! Please please don’t let me go sweetheart!”

After that, it just became worse, you always saw Silver, every time, every day, never letting you go, never letting you have your own air or anything.

If you try to run off, Silver will use his telekinetic powers to find you.

”Sweetheart don’t you see what I’m trying to do for you? I don’t understand why you insist on leaving me when I’ve been the one by your side unlike anyone else, so please… I beg of you sweetheart… please don’t run, it’s no use.”

Silver will always be there, reminding you that it’s no use to run away from him, so please, just stay with him.

Author’s Note: This was fun to make, hope you enjoyed this!

REMEMBER! NONE OF THIS IS HEALTHY AND I DO NOT SUPPORT THIS. PLEASE CONTACT A CLOSE LOVED ONE OR EMERGENCIES IF YOU SEE ANY OF THIS BEHAVIOUR TOWARDS YOU OR ANYONE. No one deserves to be treated like a prize, you are human.

Love y’all , stay safe 🫶🏽💕

[prettyangellllll]

The cross

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You (Enemies-to-Allies-to-Betrayal)

Summary:

You and Rafe Cameron were never supposed to be on the same side, but greed makes desperate allies. With the golden cross finally in your possession, you think you've won—until everything goes downhill. When the Pogues storm the ship, Rafe’s paranoia takes over. Convinced you betrayed him, he does the unthinkable.

One shove. Cold water. Open ocean.

Warnings: Betrayal, attempted drowning, violence, language, paranoia, enemies-to-allies tension, themes of survival, morally gray characters.

---

You and Rafe Cameron have never been on the same side before. In fact, you’re practically enemies—both stubborn, reckless, and willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want. But when it comes to the golden cross, you realize you have no choice but to work together.

The partnership is anything but smooth. You have the inside knowledge—whispers of a shipment, hidden clues that no one else has caught onto. Rafe, on the other hand, has the connections, the brute force, and the reckless confidence to get you past security. It’s a temporary alliance, one that neither of you trusts.

Every interaction is a battle. Tense car rides, sharp words, and the constant threat of betrayal hanging in the air. Rafe doesn’t trust you, and you don’t trust him. You both know that when the time comes, only one of you can walk away with everything.

But the deeper you go, the more complicated it gets. Near-death experiences force you to rely on each other. Close encounters with Ward, the Pogues, and even Carla Limbrey keep pushing you together. The constant proximity turns your partnership into something more—something dangerously intoxicating. Late nights spent strategizing turn into lingering stares. Heated arguments turn into something else entirely, something neither of you are ready to name.

---

The golden cross is finally yours. After months of planning, chasing, and risking your lives, you and Rafe finally have it secured. The two of you haul it onto the ship, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the weight of your victory settles in.

But the celebration doesn’t last. The sound of footsteps—ones that don’t belong to either of you—echoes from the deck above. Before you can react, a gun cocks, and everything spirals out of control.

The Pogues.

They came back for what was theirs, and somehow, they found you. A full-on battle erupts on the ship, chaos spilling across the deck. Fists fly, gunshots crack through the night air, and the ship rocks violently against the waves. You’re dodging attacks, trying to figure out how the hell they knew where to find you, when suddenly—

Rafe turns on you.

There’s a wild, unhinged look in his eyes, one you’ve seen before but never directed at you like this. He grabs your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You snitched," he snarls.

You barely have time to react. "Are you insane? I didn’t—"

But he doesn’t listen. He never does when he’s like this. His paranoia, his obsession, the way he never really trusted you—it all snaps into place as he shoves you backward. Your foot catches on the edge of the ship, and before you can steady yourself, Rafe shoves you again—

And you’re falling.

The cold ocean swallows you whole, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. The salt burns your eyes as you fight to resurface, gasping for breath. Above you, chaos rages on, but Rafe doesn’t look down. He doesn’t hesitate.

He just turned on you.

As the ship grows smaller in the distance, the weight of betrayal sinks in harder than the freezing water around you.

The moment Rafe shoves you, it happens too fast to stop. The cold ocean swallows you whole, knocking the breath from your lungs as you sink beneath the surface. For a terrifying second, everything is black—just endless water, freezing and suffocating, pressing in on all sides. Your arms flail as you fight to break through, lungs burning, heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

When you finally surface, gasping for air, the ship looms above you, rocking violently against the choppy waves. The stormy sea churns around you, sending icy tendrils of panic through your veins. You kick your legs, trying to stay afloat, but the current is strong, the exhaustion creeping in fast.

And then you see him.

Rafe is still standing at the edge of the ship, watching. His grip is white-knuckled on the railing, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might break.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t help you.

He just stands there, eyes locked on yours, breathing hard like he’s trying to convince himself that this is what had to happen. That you betrayed him. That you deserved it.

The waves crash into you again, pulling you under for half a second before you break through, coughing, struggling to keep your head above the water. "Rafe!" You choke on saltwater, reaching toward the ship instinctively, but he still doesn’t move.

The betrayal sinks in deeper than the cold.

"You think I told them?" Your voice is hoarse, shaking, but filled with something else now—rage. "Are you that fucking paranoid?"

His lips part like he wants to say something. Maybe even like he regrets it. But before he can, another gunshot rings out on the deck behind him, and he flinches, whipping his head toward the chaos still unfolding on the ship.

Your limbs are going numb. The current keeps dragging you further, the ship drifting just enough that your fingers grasp at nothing but air. Rafe turns back to you, conflict flashing across his face—like he’s debating whether to pull you up or let the ocean take you.

You hold his gaze, chest rising and falling, waiting for him to make a move.

And then—

The ship lurches.

The cross shifts.

And just like that, the decision is made.

Rafe steps back.

And you’re left to the sea.

[hyukascampfire]

THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

⠀(🍂 ) 𝓡EVENANT in folklore, a revenant is a spirit or animated corpse that is believed to have been revived from death to haunt the living ... ( 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 )

1︎5.5k revenant!yeonjun · ƒ ! r ft. soobin ⸺ ✴︎ 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ... smut, violence, angst, death, animal death & vivid descriptions of animal death, major character death, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dry humping (because bring it back), biting, dom yeonjun sub reader, mentions of death in childbirth, reincarnation, teasing, breast worship, yj calls reader ‘my love’, def some typos

🪶 ⦂ how fun is this collab? :,) this fic was so fun to write. i personally believe that tsfawc enjoyers will love this one,, but you'll have to read it to confirm that, right? hehe. and of course, go read everybody else's if you love this one! they're all set in the same world, and everybody worked so hard on these fics. send some love their way!

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

𝒪𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝒰𝑃𝑂𝑁 𝒶 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸, in a land far, far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky and the water sparkled under the glowing sun, where mountains rose high, and long, deep caves ran through them, where the sea met shore in collisions of swirling, foamy punches, where the undead walked among the living, where the winged flew above the finned, there was a land where things beyond reason and rhyme existed perfectly true. Among those strange beings and within the veils of Aethera, there was a girl loved by death. 

He sits on your shoulder, a dark, boding shadow and glared at those around you with promise in his eyes.

That’s how it seems, anyway. That’s how everybody looks at you. They dodge you, whisper about you, evade your gaze as if he might reach his claws for them next if they linger for too long.

Crows with dead eyes arrive at your doorstep like some lover’s cheeky gift, other poor creatures like fat grey mice are left to rot in the wheatfields, and yarrow stocks wilt outside the wall of your room. If Death thinks that you are flattered, he misunderstands you. You are terrified of nothing more than dying. The first time, it was a sly joke. Then it happened again, and you watched their eyes change. And it happened again and again, and your people are a suspicious type. Something can only be a coincidence so many times.

When you began to sneak into a little shack with a village boy, you thought that maybe, somehow, this would all pass. He died too. There’s really no coming back from that, is there? You don’t blame them. You’re not the freak that they all believe you to be—none of them get close enough anymore to know that, though.

The wickerbasket’s handle creaks under your fist. You usually only forage along the shallow line of the forest; you pluck from bramble bushes topped with plump berries that crawl between trees during the summer, and when the crab apple tree’s branches hang heavy with the fruit, you snatch those up too. You’re more useful to your family out here, in the woods that they deem just as cursed as you. Where you won’t be their burden.

Crisp autumn leaves crunch under your boots. You scan between them—more grey and rotted this late in the season than fresh and orangey—for the edible mushrooms and roots that you usually forage at this time of year. The basket’s already pretty heavy with a variety, black morels and sorrel and burdock, as you bend down to pull a truffle from the dirt against a tree.

You drop it down with the rest of your finds. The basket smells like earth, no doubt your hands do too. You dust your palms off on your skirts and go to rise back from your squat.

A deep, billowing horn pierces the forest’s silence. It’s both far away, wiggling between the whispers of rustling leaves, and much too close. It draws out. Long. Bone-chilling. You freeze, scanning between each tree trunk and praying that you won’t find what you fear you might.

You are much deeper into the woods than you usually are. Than you ought to be. And you know what that horn means—you know that it means something far worse than what you’d been afraid of, coming into these woods. Much more primordial than the hide-behinds you were scared you might find this deep, much less avoidable than the faerie rings you stepped around.

Why would The Wild Hunt be here? A shudder runs down your spine, and you curl your fingers into your skirts and lift them as if to prepare to run, but you don’t. Your feet find root in the forest floor and all you can do is stand terribly still in catatonia. Their horn sounds again, and a procession of wicked whoops and howls follow. Wild hoofbeat rumbles under it all—the hunt and their rides. You hope that they’re just passing through, and you won’t so much as see one of those wild riders. There were plenty of folktales that the matrons of your village would bolster to terrify you as children, but you knew even then that their stories of the riders, with their flesh falling away from them and their pale or beady eyes and their gnarled maws and frightening figures as they rode on the backs of equally terrible steeds, were not fabricated. They are not a bogeyman or a wailing banshee; they are death made in the flesh, and they are here. In your forest. 

Your legs won’t work. You curl your clammy fingers tighter around your basket and lean into the tree beside you. How deep had you wandered into the forest? Hopefully not too far; when you gain the courage to run, you hope that they do not send their hounds to snap their foul breath on your heels. Maybe just standing here and blending into the trees is best. The Hunt would love a chase, and you don’t want to become their next.

The next call comes and you throw that all to the wind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you let your basket clatter to the leaves and you take off. You fly over roots and shrubbery and between the trees, your blood roaring in your ears faster. You’d oblige if you could.

Above the loudness of your frantic mind, the harrowing whinnies and The Hunt’s ruckus dulls until it’s faraway again, and then it’s gone. Well, you don’t stop to check if they’ve really passed through the forest. You just run.

“There you are, love.”

His voice cuts through your frantic escape and stops you dead in your path. You almost go crashing down over the ground with the force that you dig your heels into it. Though the voice is non-threatening, you don’t turn to face the source.

He speaks again. You already know who it is. He, old as the earth you stand on itself, leads that band of wild riders. Is the king of the undead, collects souls for reaping.

And he’s the one who’s plagued you with his attention. Death.

“Why do you keep your back turned to me?” he says. “I frighten you. That hurts.” His voice lilts with amusement and sharpness. “I wish that you would face me.”

You’re not fond of the way that he speaks to you with a familiarity. But then again, you’re not fond of dying, either. Your legs are boneless beneath you. Turning, you slowly indulge him, though it takes a great amount of willpower to not run again like your jittering jaw and trembling hands ask you to.

The King of Death stands tall and utterly preternatural, leaned against a crooked tree in the woods behind you. His smile cracks across his face in a jagged way that suggests he finds you amusing, but none of that meets his eyes. They’re the color of the greyish, rotted leaves beneath you. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are the only thing belying the weight that his infinite life might have on him. That, and the hollowness that rings from him.

And though he sounded entirely playful, you are shaken by the sorrow that you find in him now that you’ve turned. Even more so, you’re not sure why you feel it echoed somewhere in the hollows of your bones. “I’m sorry,” you say. It trembles terribly. You want to say that you’re sorry you caught his attention, but it seems you’ve always had his attention. It’s more that you are petrified down to your marrow that the time’s come that you face this… strange infatuation. Here he stands: the one who leaves hollowed out husks of creatures at your doorstep. Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? “I don’t mean to…”

He pushes off his tree, fixing his cape that cascades over only one of his shoulders. It’s tattered and falling apart like the rest of his clothing, though you think that the bronze stitching and swirling oakleaf patterns in the black say that they might have been immaculate at some point. Or maybe they weren’t, and they had started that way. He is Death, anyway. “You’re sorry?” he says. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’ve hardly done a thing to warrant it.”

Faltering, you wet your chapped lips. You’re not really sure. Holding back another apology for fear that you’ve offended him and he’ll now strike you down for it, you say, “I thought that, maybe the hunt was…” Wow, you sound stupid. You can see in the sly smile his lips form that it amuses him. That’s almost worse than angering him: intriguing him. What you really should be doing is boring him so that he’ll find you a waste of his time. Then, maybe, he’d give up haunting you.

“After you?” he finishes. Shaking his head, he says, “My hunters only answer to me.”

“Oh,” you say plainly. Part of you wants to ask why that should comfort you, especially when you’re the one that he sends little bits of death to, but rationality keeps those words in the back of your throat. You don’t really want to know. “Why are you passing by here?”

Something akin to old longing passes through those witty eyes, and then he eats up the distance between you with languid steps of his long legs until he’s nothing more than one last step in front of you. The closeness consumes the air in your lungs, leaving nothing for you but short and shallow drags. The forest has gone dead silent aside from the sound of it. His voice is even more magnetic now that he’s so close.

You recoil when he brings a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb over your cheek and then cup your jaw, as if afraid that he might snuff you out here and now. His fingers are softer than you thought they might be, and the lines of his face sharpen into what you think is hurt. Hurt that you flinched?

“We go here and there,” he says, “but it’s been a very long time since we came here.” There’s a certain thickness to his words; a certain tension coiled over them from something that you’re not privy to. And yet, there’s a farawayness, too. You bet he’s full of a lifetime of secrets. Lifetimes of secrets. “But I think I’ve found myself a reason to finally return.”

Breathy and still struggling to flatten out your breathing, you ask him, “Why?”

The Undead King’s smile turns wicked once more, and he doesn’t answer you. It’s awfully eerie.

“Do you have… business here?” you try again. It’s a roundabout way of asking, do you have someone to take away?

“I have business wherever the living go,” he says, letting your face go but not giving you any more room. You narrow your eyes. He’s quite good at non-answers. “Nothing is more certain than that I will greet every living thing eventually. I’ll come to take you, too, when the time comes.”

Your mouth dries up. The entirety of your home, all the people you’ve ever known, fear you for all the death you bring. Not one of them fears it more than you do. You’ve seen it enough to fear its frightening finality.

The drop of your face must’ve told him how much that scared you. “Dying is not such an awful thing, love. Living pales in comparison.” Searching your eyes, he adds, “But I’ve not come to take you.”

That’s easy for him to say: that death isn’t something to fear. His words don’t calm your thundering heart, but you offer him a, “Thank you…” It trails off toward the end when you realize that you don’t have his name. If he has one, anyway.

“Yeonjun.” He tilts his head, strands of sparrow hair brushing over his watching eyes. “Most don’t know it, but you’re not most people, are you?”

Your breathing had just begun evening out. It’s a shame, the way that it kicks back up at the way he looks at you. “What do you mean?” you say, but of course you know. Nobody else is given dead things like you. It’s not like you yourself are very strange; you like pretty dresses and sharing gossip with friends just as much as any other girl your age.

Giving you another one of those knowing smiles that he uses just like words, he steps back. “I’m sorry that I scare you how I do.”

You don’t answer him. What could you say to that? That he doesn’t? That would be a lie, and he would know it.

Yeonjun’s eyes flit over your face, over your cheeks made pink by the autumn cold, lingering on your lips for a few unexplainable beats, and then landing on your eyes where he searches and finds something that sends his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t mean to be your monster. It’s only that…” He steps back again. “You remind me a terrible amount of someone I once knew.”

“Who?” Though your shoulders relax a bit with some distance between the two of you, you do your best to not let your guard down. All the stories that you recall being told, all those cautionary tales passed down through word of mouth around a fire, end with some stupid girl thinking that the monster could be changed or tricked. You’re willing to bet that the man in front of you, no matter how human he looks or how enchanting his words are, could be neither.

That doesn’t explain the ache in your chest when he holds your eyes for too long. But you shove that feeling way, way down. It’s nonsensical.

His voice takes on a parting tilt when he says, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Death takes us all.” Yeonjun dips his head at you. His smile wavers. You’d think that crooked smile on his mouth was indelible had you not seen it twitch down at the corners only for a moment. If you’d have blinked, you’d have missed it. “You think I’ll hurt you,” he says, “well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, run. I apologize for your basket.”

Death takes us all. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, coming from him, but it sends a cold wind up your spine and goosebumps crawling over your skin.

He watches you go. You don’t look back when you do, but his gaze sits on your back until you’re sure you’re out of his sight. When you return to your home, your mother asks where the basket full of ingredients for supper went.

You imagine what her face might look like if you told her the truth. But that was impossible, so instead you tell her some stupid story about a wolf that startled you so bad that you ran home paying no mind to where your basket was. It’s close enough to the truth.

༺ ꘏ ༻

It doesn’t matter what you do; you can’t get his face out of your head. While you cut butter into flour and then roll out dough, simmer fruits over flame and you slice cheese off blocks, you replay that meeting in the forest. The memory spins and turns over no matter how hard you try to put it away from your thoughts.

It’s not every day that somebody meets the likes of him. You can’t blame yourself; he had such captivating eyes. Dark, playful, and endless. There they are again. You sigh and dust your hands off. Maybe you are just as strange as they all think that you are. Morbid curiosity is like that, though. Taking the most normal of us and making you wonder what you absolutely should not wonder about.

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

The sun has begun to hang high in the sky, but the breeze that crawls through the window you pulled open before you got to work is a crisp one. Autumn’s really come, now. Outside the window, a huddle of children play around in the leaves that you’d raked up. You’ll have to rake those back up, but you hardly have the heart to tell them to take their playing elsewhere. Their giggles and small voices waft in with the breeze, and a traitorous part of you yearns for a family that you know you’ll never have. No man would risk that fate, not after what happened to the last man who paid you any attention. You grit your teeth at the memory.

Having a face for the thing that’s made your life the way it is is strange. Seeing him in the flesh, with handsome eyes and a taunting mouth, looking something near human, you think you’ve come to resent him for it. How dare he ruin your life? He, more than anybody, should know how fleeting life is. What is in it for him to deface what little time you have? You keep going back to that thought: why did he ever even appear to you in that forest? There is not one story in which you remember Yeonjun showing his face to those he hasn’t come to claim. Death makes his visits swift and purposeful.

Moreover, why on earth would he even look your way? You wish there was a plain way to ask him why, or even to plead with him to stop. Whatever it is he’d ask of you, you think you might give him. To get back to living, you would.

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough.

“As if,” you dismiss and gesture at his dirty hands. He’d no doubt been out working his family’s field, his tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.”

Anybody else might’ve scoffed or taken offense, but he just laughs and invites himself in anyway. It never fazes Soobin. He doesn’t let you push him away.

It’d be better if he did. How long before he ends up dead, too? Alive one moment, and then a husk without a soul next. You don’t think you could handle seeing cold, dead eyes where the annoying, warm shine should be. Of course it would be better if he stayed away, if he had half the mind to. Even most of the children have heard enough from their mothers to stay a healthy distance. He’s not too much better than a child, though.

“Isn’t it?” he says. His cheek is smudged with whatever sort of dirt he’s got on his hands and under his nails. “I’m done with work for the day. Want to go out to the field?”

You two have always ran off and avoided your life in between willowy, flaxen wheat stocks. They were just tall enough at this time of year to hide you away. But, for some reason, your stomach does a quick flip at the thought of being outside. It’s silly; couldn’t he find you here, too? “I’m busy,” you say. You’d already kneaded this roll of dough plenty, but you dig your fingers into it and begin again.

“Busy?” he scoffs, “Since when are you too busy to get away from work?”

Gritting your teeth, you let the sounds of your kneading answer. Now, more than ever, he should keep his distance. You know one thing that you’re sure nobody else does: Death’s come to visit. 

His brows shoot up in your peripherals. “I don’t get answers today?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, giving up working the over-kneaded dough only because your arms ache. “Why don’t you go talk off the ear of some other poor village girl? I’ve heard as much as I can handle today. And then when that one’s tired, you can bother the next, I’m sure.”  You soften the words with a quick smile his way. No matter how many times you say something sour in hopes that it’ll send him away, as soon as you glance up at his face, you reel it in.

His company is all you’ve ever had. The least you can do for him is make sure he doesn’t end up like carrion, even if he chooses to take that risk himself. You don’t know why he does.

Voice playful, he says, “I’m glad to hear that you believe I’ve got ladies falling at my feet, but I’d rather not annoy a pretty girl, so you’re my only option.” He pokes at the sleeve of your simple cotton dress. “Should I drag you out of here? Don’t your arms hurt doing all that?”

“Oh, you are a refined man, aren’t you?” you say, shuffling out of his reach. Damn him, he makes it difficult. “Well, I am a pretty girl, so you should take yourself elsewhere.”

Soobin smiles easy. “I’m bored out of my mind. You’re just going to let me suffer?”

“That’s not my issue.”

“I’d argue that it is,” he says. “Come on. Why are you giving me a cold shoulder?” Leaning, he tries to get a look at your face. “Did I upset you? I wasn’t aware that you cared much about what I thought.” When you spare him a sharp glance, he says, “I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?”

You wish you could fall into the easy banter that comes with being around Soobin, but you can’t. You can’t let him be around you. “Soobin, stop it,” you say, draining your voice. You don’t look at him while you say it.

Going quiet, he seems to notice that today’s different. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you for a few long moments. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asks, “What happened?”

You swallow. “Nothing. I’m just doing something.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, tone inflicting in a way that says he doesn’t believe you one bit. He pushes off the counter. “I’ve put up with you pushing me away for years. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Soobin,” you warn. If you look at him, you fear you’ll be forced to watch the only one who never cared much what a risk it was being around you leaving. So you don’t.

Your friend raises his hands in the air defensively. “Okay, then.” He makes for the doorway with languid, lingering steps. As if he doesn’t want to leave. “Tomorrow..”

That’s both a threat and a promise, knowing him. Sighing and watching the rowan tree out your window sway, you bid him a curt goodbye.

If only that jerk took offense to things. It would make things an awful lot easier for you.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Being out in the wheat fields brings you peace when you’re alone, but you find it to be terribly lonely. The earthy, sweet scent of it wraps around you, and the stalks whisper against each other in a soothing way.

When you look beside you, the patch of wheat imprinted with the shape of your bodies is empty on his side. You are quite weak; it makes you want to go knocking at his door for his company. But that would be the selfish thing to do, so you card your fingers between the golden straw instead.

A chill trickles down your spine. You feel his presence before you even see him; it’s a feeling that you used to get fleetingly, as if something far away was tugging at you. But then he became real, a living thing in front of you that can touch, and that is much different.

“Why is it that I always find you out in the wilderness?” Yeonjun says. His voice comes from behind you.

Has he been watching you? You stand and dust your bottom off, heart kicking to life. “It’s nice out here,” you say. In truth, you haven’t come outside since that day. You’ve dodged Soobin and made a million excuses as to why you won’t go anywhere past the fences of your home. “I like to… watch people go about their days. It’s interesting.” It’s true—you always watch from afar how the village folk interact. How groups of girls your age link arms and whisper to each other, how neighbors come together to fix up a shoddy fence. You watch them be a community that you are not a part of. Watching it tastes bitter sometimes, but mostly you take pleasure in imagining yourself there with them. You’re not sure why you try making small talk with him, but what else? Should you go running again? If you were to listen to your pattering heart, maybe that’s what you’d do. He’s hardly shown you any bad will, though, and he’s the one that’s come to you. Maybe it’s silly to wait until something bad happens to be cautious.

A thousand pounds in stones sit at the center of your chest, though, and his voice makes them feel lighter. Why on earth that is, you’re not sure. It’s a nice relief regardless.

He smiles. It's different from the ones he showed you before. It’s knowing; more sweet than cracking over his face like the smile you would expect from the likes of him. What use might he have in being sweet? “Could I join you?”

Blinking dumbly at him for a second, you nod. “Oh, uh… Yeah.” Settling back down into your spot, you spare him a few curious sideways glances.

The breeze billows over the gold stems, moving them like gentle waves over the ocean and blowing your hair in it too. The flattened bits rustle under his weight. He doesn’t even turn his face toward the village; instantly, his gravitational eyes are on you.

“Do you come here often?”

“I do,” you answer. Mostly when you and Soobin have too much to do and not enough will to do it. “It’s nice. The village doesn’t like me much, so it’s easier out here.” You don’t mention that mostly you don’t come here alone.

Yeonjun’s face becomes far away. It looks strikingly like somebody forced into an old, unpleasant memory. “Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?”

“They fear me. Things go wrong around me, that’s all.” You pluck at the hay absentmindedly. “Things die. They’re smart to stay away.”

The hay whispers much louder for the long moment he remains quiet, digesting what you’ve said. Maybe deciding what to say, considering that it’s his fault.

“Die?” he asks, voice inflected with surprise.

Turning to him, your brow creases. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the one that’s done it to you. “Everything that gets too close ends up dead. Everything,” you say, resting your temple on your knee. “So, I guess, I just keep it all at arm’s length.” You look back at your tiny village, a collection of familiar, un-familiar thatch-roof homes. 

Continuing to blink at you, his eyes narrowed in a strange grimace, Yeonjun says, “Death follows me, too.”

What? A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest. Of course, death follows him. You cover your mouth with a hand to obscure your laugh, but you just giggle at him harder.

A laugh twitches at the corners of his mouth, too. “I mean it,” he says. The lines of his face become distant again, eyes both trained on your face and melancholic as if the sight reminds him of something.

It ignites a question in your mind about something he said in the forest. “You said that I reminded you of somebody,” you say, testing the waters. “Who?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He looks away, as if he can’t look at you while he says it. “I loved a girl from this village once. When I was human, no less than you.”

You falter, mouth falling open to ask all the questions that flurry through your thoughts. You settle on one. “You were human?”

“I was,” he says ruefully. “And I had everything. I had the love of my life. I think that even the most bitter of creatures on this island had envy for our love. She would braid dandelions into my hair, and then I’d braid them into hers.” He swallows thickly and pauses, as if the wound was still festering and fresh. “And then she died. She died starting our family. She died because of me, in my arms.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just look into his shining eyes as if that’ll help. You’re not very useful with people, much less comforting them.

“I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t. So I went where I shouldn’t have gone, and angered something much bigger than myself. They thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to live an eternity, the King of Death who could not bring back his dead lover.” The harrowed look that he gives you, only briefly, has your chest heavy all over again. “They have a sense of humor, the forces.”

You imagine what it would’ve been like for him to lose his lover in that way. How far he’d gone to try and have her back, but death does not give back. Where had he gone to have been turned into this? An immortal thing, forced to roam the world and scoop up the souls of the living for an eternity? To be bound in ancient bones and made to remember forever how you had lost your lover?

The grandness of what you want to say is too big, but all those words feel pitying and patronizing in a way that you don’t think will actually bring him any comfort. Rather, you doubt anything you say will be able to patch up a wound older than you could imagine. Simply, you offer him a raw, “I’m so sorry.”

Yeonjun lets a crooked smile replace the trembling at his lips. “As long as I live, so too will she,” he says, placing his palm over his heart. “Death doesn’t so much happen when we leave behind our bodies, but when we’ve left the minds of the living.” Narrowing his eyes at you, he brushes hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “I know she lives on, somewhere out there. Somewhere. I’ll find her.”

That intrigues you. “Is there some way that you could bring her back?”

The grim light in his eyes tells you his answer. “My curse is to take life,” he says, “not to give it. But the one who made me this, he is cruel in a twisted way. If I were to find her, as a human or an animal or a blade of grass in the forest, only then could I rest.”

It is cruel. “You’ve been searching, then,” you conclude. “When you find her, you’ll both be able to rest.” But how could he find her, if as he says, she could be any living thing? Where would he even begin?

Slowly, he shakes his head, throat bobbing. “Death needs a farrier.”

She would become what he is. You swallow thickly. Was it not him who caused the deaths that follow you? Or, at least, it was not on purpose?

Opening your mouth, you go to tell him that you’ll help him look. You’re sure you’ll be of no help. He’s spent an immortal lifetime searching, and he still hasn’t found his dead lover. Nobody would know better than him where to look.

The ground shakes beneath your palms with impact, and something cuts through the wheat. The noise of its bleating becomes nearer until the both of you scramble up to find out what’s in such distress.

A deer stumbles around wildly. It looks lame, but you don’t see anything wrong with its legs. Your throat tightens at the awful sound, piercing and sad. Frozen, you watch it try to stay upright before it finally collapses down, legs still kicking as though it still wants to run but its body has begun weakening on it. “Oh my god,” you say, stumbling back. The sounds; its sounds are awful, echoing in your bones and constricting your thoughts until they’re a pinched panic.

There’s an arrow lodged into its ribcage, deep and at a terrible angle. You already know that it’s pierced some vital organs, if not its heart. It continues to writhe on the ground, not ready to give up. You’re not sure if you should approach it—you don’t want to scare it, and you can tell by the look in its wet eyes that it already wants to be away from you.

Or, maybe it had come to you. How else had it found the two of you in the middle of this field?

Yeonjun’s already on it. He puts his knees into the dirt and dried wheat to kneel by it, running his hand over the beast's pelt in long strokes. The small buck flinches at first but relaxes once he learns that his touches are gentle, not the gnashing of hungry teeth ready to make him a meal.

Blood runs like lead through your veins. You say, “Can we help it?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

Whip-lashed, you swallow thickly. He says it so unphased, and you’re sure he is. You can hardly make yourself mirror that serenity that he exudes as he runs his hand over its flank, but you get on the ground beside him anyway.

The buck’s breaths slow to desperate drags for breath. For a few long minutes, the two of you sit in silence and stay with him until he no longer fights, until his breaths are ragged. You feel his side, still warm and alive, but you see the life going from his eyes. You sit here, talking to each other about nothing just so it hears gentle voices as it goes, for a while.

Eventually, he’s gone. Quiet and at peace, no longer hurting. This time, when you look over to Yeonjun who still smooths over the deer’s skin even as he goes, guiding him delicately into whatever greets us when we go, you see death as a gentle thing.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Though you never seek him out, Yeonjun always finds you. In hidden places, away from prying eyes, he appears behind you and makes himself known. Well, you have a feeling that he watches you for a while before saying anything. It’s hard not to feel the strange tingling of his gaze over your form. It’s akin to the sixth sense that’s supposed to keep you safe out in the dark hearts of forests, an innate feeling that tells you some beast with a rotten, pale maw watches you between the trees.

Yeonjun doesn’t feel rotten, though, preternatural and eerie as he is. As you shirk your duties and talk with him for hours, you stare into ancient eyes and watch his crooked mouth move around his words and you feel an odd comfort. As if he’s the only one who’s ever understood you, or maybe that your strangeness pales beside him and for once you’re nothing but who you are. So many nights, the sun fell on your talking until the night insects buzzed from the grasses and your eyes were heavy.

Sometimes, as you dozed off with your back to a hay bale or a hardwood wall of the abandoned home beside yours with its sagging thatched roof, you caught such festering longing in his his eyes that you’d let your lashes fall and pretend to sleep so that you could imagine what it was that he longed for. No doubt his lost lover. When you imagine him, bound in bones and coming back to haunt the living for an eternity as he mourns her infinitely, searching for her in impossible places, your chest aches with a gnawing intensity.

It’s a terrible, cursed existence. Even the nothingness of death becomes a paradise beside it.

“Is it scary?” you ask into the air, sat criss-crossed on the thick duvet of the bed. He sits across from you, looking perfectly lazy. Moonlight pools in like sterling mist through the shutters.

“What?” He watches you, sitting in your plain dress, as though you’re the only thing in the world.

You’ve begun to wonder. Wonder about those looks he gives you.

Shifting, you fix the shoulder of your soft chemise where it’s slipped down when you catch his eyes lingering on it. His throat bobs. “Dying,” you elaborate. “Is it really nothing? After we go, all of it was for nothing?”

A slow smile tugs his full lips, made a bit red in the middle where he likes to worry it. It’s such a human habit to see on something so far from human. “Hardly,” he says. “It’s like going home, right where your soul is supposed to be. Who do you think rides with me?”

Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head toward one shoulder and let your hair pool there. “The riders are dead?” You had thought they were undead in some way like Yeonjun, other sorts of revenants come back to life with their own purposes. Then, are their creepy horses dead, too? A chill goes down your arms. Sometimes, sitting here with him when his face is made soft by the orange glow of the fire he puts on, you forget what he is.

“They are.” He nods, leaned back onto his elbows, his eyes alight with a hunger that makes your insides feel funny. “It doesn’t stop once we’ve died. You don’t need to be scared, my love. So many things end, but then so many things begin. The earth no longer holds you down, the weight of being is gone. You don’t know anything like it; you don’t know leaving behind the pleasures of earth to know the ones that only the afterlife can show you.”

His eyes laced with something entirely else, he adds, “And it’s not the end. Not for everything. For some it’s only the beginning, and for others, those who have not yet fulfilled their purpose, they come back to the flesh. They return.”

You can’t tell if he means himself, or something else. The weight in his eyes, dark, endlessly swirling pools, makes you wonder again why it is that he’s lingering here: the place that he had not visited once since the death of his lover, for the fact that it still hurts too much. Why his shadow of death, his fault or not, was tangled in your soul enough to brush its fingers over the things around you.

“It’s scary,” you say, breathy. The thought of eternity.

Soft hairs brush over his eyes as he tilts his head at you. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“No?” he echos, pushing himself up so that he leans back onto his palms. “Isn’t that strange? Pretty little thing says she’s not afraid of death, but her heart races when I’m near. Her sweet heart jumps at just the brush of my leg. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth, love?”

Your blood roars in your veins, inflaming your cheeks and making your head dizzy. Nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. Hair prickles on your skin. “Yes,” you breathe.

Feral delight sparks in his eyes, black as pitch. His smile turns up all feline at the crooked corners. “Crawl to me, then.”

Like how fire licks up oxygen in any room it is in, his words steal the breath right from your lungs. What does he think you are? You blink at him wide-eyed and dumb for a moment.

How can he say that as though it were nothing? Moreover, how does the ravenous flare in his eyes, his head tilted back as he watches you down his nose expectantly, do that to your belly?

Your mind glazes over with something thick and heady, and you damn the nerves in your belly and begin to crawl from your end of the bed to his. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making sure you feel every inch of the taunt in his eyes as he trains them on you. When you’ve gotten to him through the thickness in the air, you settle into his lap and bracket his waist with your thighs.

Yeonjun takes the soft fat of your hips in his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. It sounds like he’s barely holding the gates on something endlessly consuming. Something that might break loose on the two of you, and leave you changed forever with its hungry, gnashing teeth. His head hits your collarbone. “Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop. I want it, Yeonjun. I want this.”

He straightens, pupils blown and eyes as tense as his set jaw. “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.”

That rings bells somewhere outside the heavy fog that’s infiltrated your mind, but they don’t sound too alarming when he looks as though he wants to drag his teeth over your heart to taste its beating. It doesn’t touch the ground, when you want him to, so badly. So badly that you taste it on your tongue and it tinges your words as you tell him, “I do know what I’m asking for. I want you. Yeonjun. Don’t you want me too?” Voice and confidence wavering, you pull back. Maybe you’ve read this all wrong. A tickling shame crawls over your skull. “Do you not want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?” he says, straightening up and meeting your gaze. His breath is hot on your mouth. “I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.”

He takes your hand and places it over his chest, where a heart should be. Beneath your palm, you do not feel the thumping of an alive thing. Yeonjun has no heart. You knit your brows and examine the strain of his features. Does he think that you’ll be disgusted? Maybe the girl you were in that forest might’ve been, but being near Yeonjun has changed you in ways you couldn’t start to put your finger on. “I’m asking you to,” you say. “Show me what you want to do to me. What you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Searing silence burns between you as he drinks that in, and then he shoves you onto your back. Supporting himself with an arm beside your head, he curls his fingers into your hip and nudges your thighs wider. He doesn’t lift the hem of your chemise like you expect him to. No—Yeonjun begins to grind himself into your cunt through all the layers of your clothes. Though your dress is bunched up and his pants lay between any real contact, Yeonjun’s hard and that friction tastes fleetingly sweet.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.”

You let little sounds linger in that back of your throat and become hungrier each time he grinds against you. It’s so much, mind swimming and sparks spraying up your spine, and yet each time it is not near enough. Damn that foxish smile on his face; you beg for him anyway. “Yeonjun,” you breathe, curling your fingers around the wrist of that hand with which he pins your hip. “P…lease, will you help me? It feels so good; I want more, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and an eager grind comes right over your throbbing clit. 

You know he wants more than that, but mortification already is making your voice unsteady and your cheeks burn. “Yeonjun,” you huff, hips wiggling.

The king of the undead delights fully in your shame and rewards you with more of those pointed, dry grinds. Your legs tremble; he’s giving you so little, and yet your need takes it and magnifies it into something grand.

Though he pretends he’s on some high ground, you hear his shuddering breaths each time his fucks his hips against you. He feels that roiling, liquid need in his belly just as vehemently as you do. The room fills with your breathy pants and grinding bodies. You catch your lip in your teeth and begin to meet him half-way. Your moans are low and sweet, and each one sends his jaw tighter. 

You twist and grind against each other like fumbling teens until you’re coiled up so tight that he has to pull himself away. Your throbbing cunt protests, but you know he doesn’t want you cumming like this.

“You want me to show you what I’ve wanted to do to you?” he says, working at his pants. His eyes are so drunk on you, and his cheeks betray his state. “Open your legs, my love. Let me show you a little death.”

Throat gone dry, you slowly let your thighs fall open. The dull throbbing between your thighs roars to life. He slides your skirt up your leg, stopping when he frees your knee to pepper a few hot kisses into it. Once he’s got it bunched up at your ribcage, he runs his tongue over his dry lips to wet them. “Fuck. Such a pretty pussy. I want to fucking eat you up.”

“Yeonjun,” you whine. His name is all you can muster out, anticipation sharpened to a knife point.

Flashing his teeth, he purrs, “You like that, you filthy thing. I bet you’d like for me to fuck you till your brain’s gone and all that’s left is my name. Isn’t that right? Is that what you want?”

Your thoughts stall and you nod, making your mouth into a filthy pout. God, how you want that. Maybe he’s right about you being filthy. Coming from him, it sounds like a delicious thing to be.

The pretty, leaking tip of his cock brushes your clit as he slides it up and down your slit to collect the mess there. Your thighs jump to close before your mind gets the better of it. He does this a few times—up and down, letting you feel and get used to the size and length of him all the way till his cockhead kisses your clit and you squeak.

“Are you comfortable, love?” he asks, shifting your hips with strong hands. “Do you need anything from me?”

It’s so at odds with his other, nastier words. Your head spins, the moonlight blurring. “I’m okay,” you tell him. “I… just want you. Want you to put it in, want to feel you.”

His cock catches on your hole, and he begins to push forward with promising pressure. But then he pulls back, smiling downturned. You whine; why can’t he save his capriciousness for later? You’d almost had it…

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?”

You flutter around nothing. Every inch of your body buzzes. Alive. You are more alive now, at the promise of Death’s touch, than ever before. The irony might be something to wonder about if you weren’t dribbling down onto the bed sheets with crude need. “Stop it,” you say. Your voice is whiny. You’re glad you can hardly hear yourself past the pounding in your bloodstream.

That delights the King of Death. He wrinkles his nose at you, burning you alive with his eyes as he presses his palm to your belly and guides himself into you with his free hand. You wrap around each inch of him slowly. The air between you bows under the weight of your gazes; he holds your eyes the whole way, inch by inch until he’s seated fully into you with his groin flush to your body. He stretches you to fit, and yet it’s just right. You could ask for no more or no less; you might even think your body was made for him, were you not too busy circling your hips to feel him.

“Good?” he says, squeezing your hip. “Do you need a moment?”

Pursing your lips, you test out the shape of him with another wiggle. “Maybe… Maybe a second.” Truth be told, you need a moment to grapple with the sparks sprinkling over your mind more than you need a moment to adjust to his stretch. You let out a shuddering breath.

He traces circles into your belly, just beneath your navel. The pad of his thumb goes round and round, warm on your flesh. “As long as you need,” he says, but it’s more like a triumphant, playful coo. There’s that lopsided smirk. One day, you’d like to kiss it off him. Taking that hypnotizing finger, Yeonjun trails it up your stomach, over your ribcage. He hooks it beneath your dress and drags it higher, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to the air. You shudder, body so, so hot that your nipples peak and tighten against the cool air.

“Such pretty tits,” he says, brushing his knuckle up the underside of one. “Everything about you. Such a pretty, pretty body. God, I don’t know if I want to worship it or ruin it.” His breaths fan over your skin as he bends down and pops an eager nipple into his mouth, lavishing it before releasing it with a lewd pop and letting his mouth fall all over your breast. Lick here, nip there, until you’re squirming adequately and squeezing him like a virgin. Then he blows cool air over it and watches with eyes like a cat toying with its prey as you shudder harder, your chest jumping. “Fucking look at you,” he sneers.

“Junnie,” you say, lost for breath. You think you’ve walked yourself into the lion’s den.

His breathy laughs fall over your breast. Taking his teeth, he drags them over your skin, right over where your heart thunders a rhythm fully for him, and then he bites. Nothing more than a shallow mark, the shape of his teeth in your soft tit. He lingers there, admiring the sight before he straightens himself up again.

“Fine.” He pulls out of you slowly, but you know what comes after that, so you savor every second of it. “I suppose you’ve wanted after it long enough. Let me hear your sweet voice again, my love.”

Yeonjun fucks you just right. His cock nudges right up on your sweet spot as if he’s done this before. Like he knows where to find it. You gasp and whine—you’re just happy he’s finally giving you something. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl. His shoulders wear the red crescent marks of your nails. “That’s—so good right there.”

Ever egotistical and cocky, he croons, “Yeah?” Rolling himself back, he makes it his mission to hit it ruthlessly.

A sharp, pitchy sound comes tumbling past your lips. You bring your hand up over your mouth, letting your eyelids dust your burning cheeks so that you can brave the flipping in your spine and deep in your belly. It’s nearly insufferable—the way pleasure licks up your spine, how it spreads out into your veins and takes control of you.

“No,” Yeonjun growls. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Let me see that look in your eyes when you cum.”

Your eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but you open them. The sight that greets you is worth the effort. Yeonjun’s lip twitches and then he throws his head back, the column of his neck on display as his Adam's apple jumps around a thick swallow.

If that sight wasn’t enough to send you teetering down into whatever depths of lust and ecstasy that he crawled out from, then the angle he hits as he pushes one of your thighs to your chest is. The world frays, deep tremors starting at one small point in your cunt and then exploding up through your stomach and down the back of your thighs. Your chest arches off the bed and you mewl helplessly, fighting and embracing your orgasm in an intoxicating death.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeonjun growls, strained with something whinier as he watches you shake beneath him. “Fuck. I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum…” His voice chokes as his hips become stuttered more than pointed, the slick sounds of your own release tangling up with his grunts and pants until he shudders and stills, cumming into your puffy, fluttering cunt.

You both catch your breaths as if there’s no air in the room left for a while. His hair’s damp on his forehead, as is yours on your neck, and his eyes droop lazily. More lazy and content than you’ve ever seen him.

Collecting you to his chest, where only your heart thumps away frantically, he presses his mouth to your ear and says, “Do you think death is so scary now?”

With your limbs nothing more than boneless and liquid pleasure floating slowly through your thoughts, you smile.

A little death can be more visceral than living, you think.

༺ ꘏ ༻

The tree stump beneath you makes your tailbone ache. You sit criss-crossed, watching Soobin work away at the soil and tend to that section of the fence that’s begun to rot and sag. Your mouth moves endlessly, filling the space that would otherwise just be made up of his grunts of hard work.

“You know, you ought to help me if you’re just going to sit and watch,” he says, straightening to swipe at his forehead, sweaty despite the cold in the air.

“Totally improper,” you say, smiling at him cheekily. “Are you saying that you can’t handle yourself, strong man?”

He glares at you with the venom only somebody made to put up with hours of chatter could muster. “What’s got you so talkative?” he says.

You know he means why you’re suddenly not glaring him away. You can’t tell him that you’ve spoken with Death himself, so instead you say, “Nothing.” Letting your legs dangle down, you smile at him.

Yeonjun hadn’t done any of it. It’s a comfort, to some degrees, to know that. It’s not your fault that they died. Being around them, being around Soobin, won’t make them turn up dead. The rest of them still don’t know that—and they wouldn’t believe it, anyway—but the black shadow hanging over your shoulders dissipates.

For the first time in so, so long, you do not feel marked by death.

“Sure.” His smile tilts. “A week ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to give him a hard time. “Not true. You just have a way of getting on my nerves.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

Crinkling his nose, he says, “Knowing how to bother you best.”

“Get back to work, stupid.” Your heart soars. It’s good to have friends. To let yourself have friends is an ever better thing. Is this how it is? To be with others and not feel like their burden, or like they’re crossing their fingers behind their back to ward off whatever bad things you might bring onto them? He’s made it his mission to hover around you no matter what, but this feels different.

Maybe, for so long, part of it has been your own gloom that’s obscured it all. Maybe if you didn’t bare your teeth to anybody who got too close, it could’ve been like this always. You hate to think that your own isolation could be some part your own fault. But how were you not to show your teeth when someone tried to reach their hand out to you?

It doesn’t matter now. You shove that all down and let yourself feel the slight warmth of the sun’s glow on your skin where it peeks through the clouds. It’s a nice day, you shouldn’t ruin it with those thoughts.

The sun’s begun making its descent when Soobin’s done. He takes a long drink of water, hissing with relief and crumpling down to the ground with his back to your stump.

“Are you making any way with that girl you were talking to me about?” you prompt.

Giving you a long look over his shoulder, he says, “Don’t.”

“What?” You laugh a little, raising your brows down at him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says, voice flat as he picks stickers out of his fingers.

Soobin’s had a thousand different crushes. There was that daughter of the shepherd, and then the wealthy merchant’s daughter and her long pretty hair, and then the neighbor… Well, you could go on. None of them ever really came to fruition for the poor guy. He thinks that it’s because he’s a poor farmer’s son, but you always tell him that it’s because he’s got an insistent mouth, and that he should be more grateful that you deal with him. Your lips turn up at the corners a little thinking about it—he’ll find the one eventually, but you like the indignant look on his face when you say it.

“I mean it!” you say, nudging him with your leg. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s happening with you. Until one of us quits keeping secrets,” he says, placing accusation heavy over the words, “I’ll keep my dealings to myself. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Feeling the weight of his head as he lets it loll lazily against your thigh, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to tell him. The itch to tell somebody crawls under your skin. Especially to tell him. “You know the other day? When I was… being awful?”

His body shakes with a vindicated laugh. “If you’re nothing else, at least you’re self-aware.”

You skirt around that with your own, more awkward, laugh. It’s nice that he thinks so, but you don’t feel it. “Stop,” you huff and nudge him again. “I was foraging out where I usually go. But I guess I wandered out farther than I thought I did. You remember when they used to tell us stories, right? Like the bogeyman. That he’d come snatch us up if we didn’t listen.” Your mom especially had loved that one, back when she cared what became of you. Would she care again, if you told her that everything was fine? “Well, I don’t know if you remember the one about The Wild Hunt, but… Anyway, I was picking some stuff, and…”

Sitting up from his exhausted slouch, Soobin looks like he’s suddenly come back to life. “What?” he interrupts. His voice is strangely serious.

“What?” you say, brow creasing. “They travel here and there… but they were here. In the woods. Like, I heard them.”

Tersely, he asks, “What were you doing that deep in the woods?”

“I mean, I just kept on finding nice stuff until I just… was deeper.” You survey him. You hadn’t thought that he’d react like this. “So I ran, and then there was this guy,” you say, watching realization fall over his face. He knew those stories as much as you do—knew where you were going with this. He is as starkly superstitious as the rest of your people, you forgot. Pushing past the grimace on his face, you say, “And I knew that he was the king. The one from the stories. It was so weird; it’s like you can feel it. And I spoke to him, and then…”

Stood up now, he cuts you off once more. “Are you kidding?”

“Why are you being like that?” you say, messing with your skirts to quell the defensive bite in your tone. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything? Are you trying to get killed?” He throws up his hard-working hands. “We have rules for a reason. Don’t go out into the forest, don’t make deals with faeries, don’t follow a banshee scream. And then you go and talk to the king of death? How am I not supposed to be upset about that? You know that…” Soobin blinks a few times as if second-guessing what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “You know that he’s the reason that they treat you how they do. You know that he’s the one who ruined your life. Why would you ever mess with that?”

You push yourself up from the ground, eyes burning. That stings like a cut. “He didn’t do it. None of it is his fault,” you say, furrowing your brows. “What are you trying to say, Soobin? Just say what you want to say. Come on.”

“He didn’t do anything?” He scoffs, letting a heavy silence hang suspended in the air for a moment before saying, “Is that what he told you? And you just believed it? Listen to yourself, does that make any sense? He’s played with your life like it’s some fucking toy, and now he’s come to rub it in your face. Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.”

Mouth opening and closing, you don’t know what to say. 

He sees the hurt in your burning eyes and tries to reel it back in. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, grabbing up the lunch you’ve been nibbling on. “I know exactly what you’re saying. I just never thought you’d say it out loud.”

“Say what?” Soobin says, his voice raising behind you as you storm off.

That you think it’s my fault, you want to say. That they all die because I am a plague, and you are a charity worker for being my friend. Instead, you just leave and try to choke down the tightness in your throat.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You curl your arms around yourself, the night biting cold. Yeonjun had dragged you from bed, and who knows what hour of the night it is? If the heaviness beneath your eyes is to judge it by, it’s far too deep in the dead of night to be outside with your boots half-laced and nothing but your sleep chemise on.

You might’ve just stayed wrapped up in your blankets if you weren’t so lonely as you’ve been. Soobin’s been scarce. The most you see of him is in the fields from morning to afternoons. You hope that he’ll stop by your doorstep and knock so that you can groan about it but swing the door open anyway each time, but he doesn’t. He thinks that you won’t want to see him, and so he allows you your space.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard to be the one to come back after a conversation like that, though. You watch him from the windows and hope he understands at some point instead. It’s an awful lot easier.

Other than preparing meals and window watching, you’ve been up to nothing much at all. You hadn’t realized how much you had, but you feel him in his absence. 

“It’s cold…” you say. The fog of breath that punctuates it makes your point. Whatever he’s brought you out here for, you have no doubt it’ll be something strange. The grin on his face tells you as much.

Leading the way, he heads for the Darkwood. “Only you would come rushing out without a cloak for your shoulders.”

“Well, only you would drag me from my nice, warm bed at this time of night. For what?”

“Can’t anything be a surprise with you?” he says, shooting you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Surprises are fun.”

“Surprises!” you say, working your legs to catch him. “Not surprises that involve you bringing me out into the woods. You know, it’s awfully suspicious. Somebody who sees this might think that I am the type to… sneak out with men.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Your lips tug down. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs in his airy way, a twig snapping under his foot. You’re well in the woods, now. Probably somewhere near where you’d first met him.

Lifting a brow, you look at him expectantly. Maybe a will-o’-the-wisp will come floating through with its light bouncing off the trees. That would be a nice surprise, you admit.

Yeonjun circles you. His presence behind you tingles in the way it always does, but true chills erupt when his breath puffs against your ear. “Close your eyes. I have something I want to show you.”

Your mind wanders back to what Soobin had gotten so twisted up about. It might be naive and reckless and against everything you ever learned, but you let your eyes fall shut to blackness. If he was going to hurt you, you imagine he’d have had that opportunity a mind-numbing amount of times before.

“Are they shut?” he asks, waiting for your nod. His voice comes from in front of you now. “I want you to keep them shut. You can’t open your eyes, or it will all go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, mind full of a bounty of questions. You don’t even know where to begin to assume what he’s got going on, so you stand there shifting your antsy feet.

There’s a strange, rustling sound that catches you off guard with your eyes closed. It drags on for a long moment. Curiosity pries at your eyes; you want nothing more than to just crack an eye open to spy the source of the ruckus. 

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

You let out a surprised squeak as something rises up beneath you, as if risen from nothing more than the dirt and roots of the forest floor, bringing you up from the earth. You wobble and send your hands out to find a perch.

A horse. It’s a horse, its mane so tangled and windswept, but matted and clumped with leaves that crunch under your palm when you find them. It reeks of mud—everything around you begins to smell of earth and decomposition.

You know that if you open your eyes, you’ll find yourself sat upon the pale white steed of the Undead King, its eyes white and its knobby knees almost as famous as the leader of The Hunt himself. It chuffs beneath you.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun says over your shoulder. You can hear the feral grin in his voice. It’s the leader of The Hunt, a creature of folklore, that sits behind you now. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to him, securing you against the wall of his chest. “Hold on tight, my love.”

The call of the wild, that horn, bellows again like it had the first time you heard it. Rather than coming from nearby as you thought it would, it dances between trees far off just like it had that time, too. Your heart jumps up into your throat.

Taking off with a howl, the Wild Hunt follows it.

You dig your fingers into Yeonjun’s at your waist. Weight melts away, and you know you’re in the air. Your belly swoops in tandem with the howls and hoots of the riders, heart palpitating to the hoofbeats. How there’s hoofbeats as you ride through the air, you’re not sure. The ghostly fleet manifests around you in vivid imagery, though you squeeze your eyes shut. They are wild enough to imagine just what they might look like: with their clothes and flesh in tatters, with their eyes beady or pale, with their hounds piercing the air with their calls and running alongside them, they are a perfect personification of freedom.

Whip-lash sends you reeling, body going rigid. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes harder, wishing that you’ll touch ground soon and that everything would become real again.

Yeonjun feels you go stiff. Bringing his head back to your shoulder from his own delight, he says, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Let it into your bones. Do you think I would let it hurt you?”

He is their leader. If it got too much, you know Yeonjun would be there to catch you. Curling your fingers into his, you release that tension and allow their drumbeat to echo through you.

And when it does, your blood begins to sing along. The wind whips your cheeks and your hair, and you begin to laugh with them. The Hunt twists and turns and dances through the air, an apparition in the night, but nothing more than that.

It comes to a slow, eventually, until the noise and even your steed crumbles back down into the dirt it appeared from. Your eyes pop open hoping to catch at least a glimpse of them, but only the dark forest and pale moonlight answer. Your legs threaten to give out on you, veins still thrumming, but, oh, do you feel alive.

You feel more alive than you ever have, more than you ever could have hoped to have known. Mind spinning, you stumble. Yeonjun catches and steadies you before you can go scraping your knees on a rock.

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

The laugh that Yeonjun breaks into has you sending him a glare, but you break too. Everything about him is ironic; and how ironic indeed that Death himself should show you how to be alive, rather than to just live?

༺ ꘏ ༻

The air is so fresh in your lungs when you step outside that it nearly burns. You clutch your basket of warm fig tarts. Songbirds trill and fly between tree tops that slowly become more bare the deeper you fall into the season, singing their sweet songs that sound like new beginnings.

Raising your hem from the ground churned up into mud from the afternoon’s trickle, you prance into town with a lively pep in your step. You spent all last night making these—Yeonjun had kept you company, watching you how he always does as you pored over making them just right. His cruel snicker when the jam had simmered over flame for too long and became too thick bounces off your bones in a sweet melody. You’ve come to adore his wicked delight, the way his smile cracks over his face and the facetious raise of his brows, more than you fear it.

Sending small smiles to the people that you pass, you stop by a huddle of kids digging sticks into the mud. They look up at you with curious eyes, stopping to gawk.

“Hey, guys,” you say, pulling back the cloth laid over the sweets. “I’ve made some fig tarts. Do you like fig? I bet you’ll like them; they’re sweet.”

The kids stand up, eyes big as they share a look. They don’t let out so much as a peep before they scurry off home.

You blink. Well, you’re used to weird reactions, but that was… different. Picking up your deflated shoulders and hesitant limbs, you make a shoddy attempt at not letting it dampen your good morning. You were expecting wary looks, anyway.

You head down a little further toward the far side of your home village, the side that breaks off after a fenceline into a great, grassy field. There’s a bustle, mothers washing their clothes in pails and hanging them up to dry and a few others whispering at each other lowly as they go about their days.

An old woman so old her back curves and her fingers have gone knobby makes her way to wherever the day’s duty demands her to be. Your neighbor—an eccentric old lady bound in her times. You decide on her: the elderly are forgotten by the young. She might enjoy knowing that her neighbors still know she exists.

“Hello,” you say, showing her your basket with a hopeful, excited heart. “I have some treats that I was wanting to give out. I know they might not be much, but would you like one? I’m not the best baker, but I do it often enough.” A face like that, dragged down by her years on this earth and not long to death, has no doubt spent many years making meals for her family. You imagine your goods would be nothing beside hers, but it’s the gesture, no?

“Oh, girl,” she says, voice crackling as she clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s best if you found yourself missing from this place. Hurry yourself up and spare the drama.”

The incessant cawing of a crow from a clawed tree fades into the background as you furrow your brows and lower your basket to ask, “...Huh?” Your belly goes up in knots; terrible knots done up tight and fast. You haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Elders always did speak a bit strange, though. It could be nothing much; she’s a stern old lady.

But her eyes are not angry and glaring in the way that a harrowed old hag might turn her nose up at the youth. They drag down with a cold pity.

“Listen to me, girl.” She points at you with one of those worn, sun-spotted hands. “You had best leave. The boy’s gone, and they are already not fond of you. Who will they point their fingers to?” the woman says. “I hardly know you, but I would hate to see it.”

The rest of her words fade into the roaring in your ears, the feral drumbeat of your heart like a wardrum in the cage of your ribs as it beats against them as if to escape from you. You don’t feel the basket in your hands, don’t feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, and don’t feel a single one of your thoughts like tangible things. They flit as if liquidated into a rotten, sick mush.

Nothing. You can think of nothing. Nothing real; nothing holding you to the earth.

“What?” Your voice hardly reaches your ears, but what does is weak and broken and like a plea for her to tell you that it’s not really what you think it is.

And if you could see or hear anything beyond your fraying little rift in reality, you would’ve heard the man coming up to you. You would’ve heard the words coming from his angry, sneering mouth, and would’ve done something when he picked up a pail of water, and you would’ve been shaken by the nasty ice water that runs down your frozen body and plasters your hair and clothes down as he pours it over you. But none of it cuts through your stupor.

He yells some awful, stabbing things at you, and a few others join him. They tell you that you are nothing but a plague, tell you to leave and to not come back here.

But this is your home. Where else would you go?

With your sopping wet dress clutched in your shaking fists as though that might keep you grounded, you choke down the tightening of your throat and sift through their faces, searching for his face. Those brown eyes, brown and always shining with nagging playfulness, do not come up anywhere. Jaw trembling, you search harder. Out on the field where he should be at this time of day, at your doorstep demanding that you go spend the day doing nothing with him, in someone’s yard helping them fix up a broken fence, no matter where you look, neither his broad silhouette nor his cheeky, dimpled face is there. You continue to stand stricken dumb, looking for him even though you know by the churning in your belly that it’s true, and you’re just hurting yourself trying to find him right where he should be.

Fine. Alive. Untouched by your disgusting, destructive presence.

When you can no longer fight the strangling tightness in your lungs and your dress is as heavy as your heart, you take off. The hem of your dress drags in mud and sticker bushes and catches on stray twigs, and you don’t know where you’re going, but you just run. You’ll give them what they want. 

You stumble, probably like some lost, undead thing, until you find yourself at the edge of the forest. Only then do you let the wall of whittle-edged tears roll down your face. And you assume you sound like a choking, dying animal with how you choke and heave on them, but he was the one you might’ve dropped your head and cried to, so what’s the use of making it pretty? No; you let it all fall as it is.

Soobin’s dead. Soobin’s dead, and it’s nobody else’s but your own fault. You clutch your chest to staunch that old ache that’s grown teeth and tears at your heart; you have and will always be the end of everything that comes near. You are just as much the plague that you began to pretend, to believe, you weren’t. It was your stupid hope that maybe you could have something and not watch it become carrion that drove that pick. It was by your hope that he’s gone.

The hair on your arms begins to raise. You pick your head up and find Yeonjun standing in front of you.

There’s a few beats of long, dreadful quiet as he takes in the state of you. He drags his eyes down and they become liquid flame—something different from the impious delight that he is made of. He becomes the King of Death.

“What happened?” he says. The chills on your arms prickle furiously at the words, furling out distant and yet furious like the center of the fire.

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he growls again, taking your face into his hand. “Who did this? Who did this to you, my love? I need you to tell me who the fuck did this to you.”

Letting the venom in your mouth out, you shove his chest and say, “Get away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeonjun’s face twists up, looking scalded. Not surprised, though. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Let me hold you while it hurts. Don’t push me away. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

All the pieces that you had been putting into the corners of your mind snap together at that. As many suspicions as you had, though, it feels sour hearing it confirmed from his mouth. That you are his dead past lover, reincarnated or whatever you are. That it was his presence—because even though he stayed away for centuries, a part of him still lingered with you—that now has torn down everything you ever thought you could love. He, standing there in front of you like a kicked puppy, is the ruination of your life in the flesh. The flipping of your stomach is nauseating.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you so much.” You repeat it a few more times, and you sob it into his chest as he takes you into his arms. “Is this what you wanted? You’ve been waiting for this forever, haven’t you? To find me again, so that you can die and fucking leave me here. So that you can make me exactly what you are, while you get your peace. You are a liar and a thief. All you’ve ever done is steal and take. How could you do it? Huh? Tell me…” Your voice trembles and staggers off. “Tell me how you made love to me, how you made me believe that you loved me, and all you ever wanted was to save yourself? You betrayed me.”

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

“Yes,” you say, stumbling back away from him with a shaking, accusatory finger pointed at him. “Yes you did.”

Fingers itching to reach out to you, he holds them back by curling them into fists. “No. That’s not fair. I have spent an eternity loving you. I spent the entirety of my immortal, monstrous life searching for you, just so that I might find you in any form. I would have been glad to find you as a leaf in a tree, as long as I found you. But, then, I find you alive. Alive and back, as if… it never happened.” He steps toward you, aching to be near you. His voice wavers. “Please, don’t do this to me, love. Please, just let me have you again. I’ve waited… I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I finally have you, and now you’re looking at me like I… Like I’d ever hurt you. Finding death—finally getting to die would be worth nothing if you weren’t there with me. It was never about that.”

“I could never love you,” you say, matching his steps forward with steps away from him. “I could never love a monster that does… Does nothing but kill. Take.”  You know your words are cruel, but you need them to be. You need him to hurt, you need him to go so far away from you that never again will you cause another living thing’s death. 

“You did.” Yeonjun’s mouth cracks into a pained smile, sharp at the corners. “You loved me just as much as I love you, once.”

“Just leave me. Leave me, and I wish to never see you again. If you love me, then you’ll give me that.” 

He looks at you, clever eyes intense and glassy, for a long time. And then he says, “Would that make you happy? Would it make it so that you could live a happy life, and find yourself something to live for?”

What’s left for you? A small village that won’t ever embrace you? No, it wouldn’t fix your life. But you open your mouth and tell him, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks reverently. He swallows in your features, running over them for what he knows is the last time he’ll be seeing you—the very last time he’ll see the face of his undying love. When he finally opens his mouth again, his voice is gentle. “I’ll leave you. If my being here hurts you, then I won’t be selfish. I love you, darling.”

Don’t go, you want to tell him. Please don’t leave. Please, hold me. But your mouth is dry, and you let the radiant hurt in your chest stop you. You let him go.

༺ ꘏ ༻

There’s only one place you can think of going to. It’s the only place your vagrant feet take you.

His spot still is held sacred by the flattened, gold wheat stalks. Your best friend, still living here on Earth in at least one way even if he’s not here to listen to your stupid rambling. And he would maybe complain, but he’d always listen.

The last thing you’d done was fight with him. What an awful thing—what an awful way to repay him for being the only one who ever dared to get close.

You sit in your spot, beside his, and rest your chin on your knees. If only the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you whole. You’d deserve it.

What’s left for you? Is there a place in the world that would keep you happily once they see what you do? No. There is not. You wish you knew what to do; you wish you had somebody to ask.

Releasing a long, tight breath, you just sit and wait for something to give you answers. A gentle breeze makes your hair dance, but it does not whisper anything to your ears. Something’s circling over head, but it doesn’t caw in the cadence of his laughter.

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it.

Conceding, you begin to push yourself up from the ground. A rustle in between the foliage stops you before you stand.

A tawny hare leaps out in front of you. It sniffs around you, nose twitching. Then it stands back on its haunches. It stares straight at you, an intelligent light in its eyes that knits your brows. The wild thing stands there with a purpose that is uncharacteristic of a forest animal.

But entirely familiar in the face of your best friend. That shine in its eyes as it stands there, nose still twitching, makes your chest tighten up.

“Hey,” you say, as if it might answer you. Your eyes well up with hot tears again. Of course, it doesn’t. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, but you know that it’s him. That idiot, coming to show you that he’s okay in the afterlife—to visit one last time and to let you know that you shouldn’t worry for him or cry for him. Look at him, full of life once again, he seems to say. The hare blinks its beady eyes. It lingers there for a long time, the ease of peace found in his gaze that Soobin hadn’t had in this life, saying that there is still something waiting out there for us once we go. You reach out a hand. He does not flinch as you scratch behind its ear.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m glad to know you’re alright. I know what I need to do, now.”

He blinks.

You laugh a hoarse, breathy laugh, familiar in only the way that Soobin could achieve. “You look stupid.”

Indignantly, the hare stops a bratty foot in a way reminiscent of one of Soobin’s huffs before it settles back down onto its forelegs and scurries off. He goes to live out this new form of life, because it’s true: life does not end in death. He’s shown you that.

Maybe, like this, he’ll find that pretty lady that loves him the way he deserves. That loser.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You spend only one night in your home and you know that what you’ve chosen is right. After spending your day out in the field, you sneak under night’s cover into your husk of a room and let yourself sleep there under the covers one last time. When morning breaks through the window, you gather your weary bones up and leave. 

You run into your mother on the way out. She doesn’t yell at you to leave, but her eyes have gone cold. Colder than you’re used to. You’ve killed again, in every way that counts. So you don’t bother with bidding her or any of them any grand goodbyes. You couldn’t handle the relief you might find falling over them, should you.

Plopping down to the floor, you take a few bites of the cheese and bread lathered in sweet jam that you’d swiped from the kitchen. The grass is long and willows in the wind, bending and dancing prettily. It’s so soft; you enjoy the feeling of it beneath your fingers in your quiet serenity. The scent of it, fresh over the baseness of dirt, you breathe into your lungs.

It would be the loveliest place to spend the rest of eternity.

For the first time, Yeonjun appears in front of you rather than behind you. He materializes from nothing, his elbow on his knee as casual as if he’d been sat there the whole time. The darkness beneath his eyes seems heavier, but then again you know that exact heaviness. It sits right in the very center of you.

You both are quiet for a bit. You let the tall grass whisper, instead.

“Bread?” you say and slant your lips into a smile. Bringing it up, you offer it to him.

His smile wrinkles his nose and curls at the edges. Entirely him. Yeonjun accepts the bread, ripping a bite out before throwing it away into the sea of green. Once he’s chewed, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s utterly at odds with his sharp mouth. Your lips move over each other gently, save for an indulgent nip or bite here and there.

He pushes you back into a bed of sweetgrass, never letting your lips go. Not to breathe, not to say something that’ll pale in comparison to the sweetness of your mouths on one another. He kisses you until he’s had enough to fulfill a lifetime without it, and then some more.

“My love,” he whispers into your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Mine,” he says, pressing a kiss into the column of your neck, and then he says it again with a hot kiss to the place where your dress suggests your breasts. He says it a handful more times as he pushes your skirts up your thighs. “My love forever. I waited for you so long, and I would do it again.” Lowering his voice to a honeyed whisper, he adds, “I would find you no matter what.”

Laughing softly, you run your fingers through his raven hair to better see his eyes. You know he would.

Gently giving you one more of his lingering kisses that make your skin tingle, right into your bare shoulder, he presses into you. You loose a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The beating in your chest slows to a content purr as he begins languid thrusts in and out of you, rolling pointedly and unhurried.

Yeonjun makes love to you in a thousand dusted kisses and sweet words, your hands holding each other’s soft edges. Yeonjun traces the lines of you, taking the pads of his thumb down your cheeks and your lips and then his hand over the swell of your breasts and down your belly and over your thighs. Clamping down on him as your belly grows tight in the way it had the first time you had done this, your thighs begin to shake.

 Breathlessly, as you hurdle over the edge, all that you can say is, “I love you, ‘Junnie.” 

Yeonjun smiles at you and then presses his face into your neck. He doesn’t even brace himself against the grass to chase his own peak. Neither of you want this to end; you want to hold on to this moment and let it span forever. Slowly, Yeonjun rolls up into you until his hips finally stutter and he cums into you, his cheeks pink. The weight of him above you as he shakes with your shared ecstasy, and even as you both have come down and are nothing but lazy, is the only thing in this world. He is the only thing in this world.

Once you’ve both evened your breathing out, you roll apart and face each other, still just two forms bending the grass into your shapes. Blinking slowly and digesting his features one at a time—the angle of his eyes, softened but never tamed, the line of his nose, the line of his mouth always so proud and playful, and that pretty dot below his left eye—you let them solidify fully in your mind.

“Yeonjun,” you say, finally meeting his eyes across from you. “I want to go. I’m ready.”

The gentle, knowing look that he gives you soothes over the way your heart begins to race in your chest in rebellion. “I know,” he says.

Of course he had known. Yeonjun had been called here to ferry you into the afterlife. He had known the moment he appeared in front of you that his last soul to reap would be you; an ironic circle of karma that should be cruel, but you two make it something sweet. Chewing on your lip, you will your hands to not shake as you curl toward him. You’re no longer scared of going. You know that if you’ll be with him, it will be okay. It won’t be so scary. A hot tear rolls down your temple and then drops into your hair. “Will you be with me? I won’t be there alone?”

He tucks some hair behind your ear reverently and then leaves his hand there. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You lay there for a long time. Chatting and giggling and just looking into each other's eyes, until your heart becomes slow and all you feel is the wind singing in your blood. Yeonjun presses one final kiss to your forehead.

Maybe, in some years, somebody might dig up your bones and find you immortalized like this in your love. Your bones bowing toward each other, as if even death were not enough to stop you from reaching for each other. Or maybe they’ll just find yours, and Yeonjun still curling into them how you know he will for an eternity more.

Either way, the going is still slow and gentle, as death always is.

🪶 ⦂ tears. omfg i cried writing this which could totally be me being a bitch baby but it DAMN. omfg.

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

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[deadchannelradio]

i just think bruce isn't very good at grief. not that it's something anybody can be "good" at it's an emotion and loss is just loss there's no moral good or evil attached to loss but he has built his entire life as a monument to the dead in a way that makes it so he can never really interact with the living. bruce himself is pushing through the veil of the dead to interact with his (living) (sometimes undead) children in essence he does haunt them and because he is incapable of seeing them as anything other than pre-dead individuals they haunt him right back.

in a way this is something of the issue he has with dick when dick is a child- Bruce loves Dick terribly, fiercely, and with his entire heart, which is why he is so brutally controlling and awful to dick. he is terrified of losing him- to other pursuits, to growing up, to death- and so he ends up sabotaging himself over and over by becoming violent in the face of those threats. when you spend all of your time pre-mourning it almost is a relief to actually mourn- kicking Dick out of the manor is easier than experiencing Dick leaving, so he kicks Dick out before Dick can grow out of him.

the issue there- both in the metanarrative and in bruce's life itself, is that batman needs a robin. Robin is in essence Batman's rubber ducky to allow him to verbalize things to the reader, so he's more opaque, and without robin he's just less fun, and Nightwing is making big waves that are almost drowning batman stories out. and in the narrative Bruce is unmoored from his grounding point (robin) and adrift and unsure and misses him terribly, so he finds another little boy and puts him in robin's clothes!

Jason and Bruce have such an. ugh. it's kind of so insane it's so fast paced and so close so rapidly in a way that you only really get from people going through stressful situations together. Bruce does everything in his power to not make the same mistakes he made with dick- he adopts jason immediately he made sure their relationship had no ambiguity he is trying to hold on to jason in the ways he could not hold on to dick and like Yes they loved each other Yes jason was good for bruce and bruce was good for jason Yes it was some of Bruce's best (arguably only) parenting (the first child to call bruce his father!) yes they loved each other fiercely. but it was so mind bogglingly codependent. ive said this before sorry friends but i have to say it again Jason is the only robin who like. did not have friends. did not have a team. did not have A Life Outside Of The Batman. he didn't have peers, who might make him want to change or grow in ways bruce isnt ready for. he just had batman!

and so in this completely insular world when Jason fucks up (you can read how that situation broke down in whatever way you want to- i personally think felipe garzonas jumped tho [shrug]) and Bruce sees a way Jason might change and leave him and freaks and immediately falls back on How He Acted With Dick. but jason and bruce don't have dick and bruce's relationship and jason has nobody else and so it is just like an all out rejection to jason, who immediately starts looking for a new parent.

this is all because of Dick and Bruce's previous relationship with a sidekick! he's haunted by dick. he says over and over he wishes he could go back to those days of batman and robin. those days were Bruces high point as a person if not as a parent and he wants them back so badly he is willing to try and recreate it with someone else- everything Jason is as robin only exists because Dick grayson carved that path in the hillside for him- he's wearing dick's colors and his fucking name, for christssakes. And not only does this attempted redemption/recreation not work (because people are people and cannot be replaced) but it does work in the worst way possible, because now Jason Todd is never going to be able to grow up, just like bruce wanted. worst monkeys paw curl in the world.

Bruce is an extremely reactionary person. All of this ^ is a reaction to loss. everything that comes after is reaction to loss. Bruce has been mourning for so long that he doesn't actually know how to function outside of it- who he is outside of grief does not actually exist. it could! arguably it even does! but bruce does not believe he exists without the dead and his grief, and so he keeps writing his own joy out of existence in his internal narrative, thusly denying himself from actually experiencing it. And he is insistent on dragging everyone else down with him! and in some ways they are dragging themselves down, but Bruce is the only one literally sitting in a dark hole in the ground with some poor baby's clothes on a mannequin with biohazard brain juices all over it. He doesn't want to lose anybody but he knows he will because he believes everything to already be over, and so he reacts to things as though it's already done, and in his mourning of things yet to happen he does not live in the now, and so he loses people. over and over and over again, and without having spent the time with them that he wanted to spend.

its kind of a classic tale. Bruce is just the only man unlucky enough to have to do it over and over again.

so yeah. long rant about basically what you just said. bruce would rather lose exactly 0 children but he has already lost them all in his mind (and in some cases has actually put them in the ground) and all of his relationships with his kids are highly valuable to him, and acting like only one exists or is more important than the others actually shoots your own narrative in its foot because they all dont actually exist without each other. except for dick grayson. who kind of did just Do That. he set the precedent for all this & Bruce is reacting to Dick's ghost in many of his decisions. it's like how when you were a kid and you would do the food web demonstrations in science class and with every string you cut more of the web falls apart way beyond that one string. except dickie g is a keystone species like mosquitos or something and when you get rid of him 80% of the ecosystem dies off because the thing that ate the thing before them that ate the thing before them that ate the thing before them that ate mostly dickie g died due to dickie g being gone

tldr relationships are incredibly complicated and build off of each other and so cutting one out or trying to cheapen it actually ruins the whole thing but you know what you do you booboo [skull] [crylaugh]

i love when people try to make bruce and jason's relationship cuter by making it sound like dick does NOT exist AT ALL like "batman's first son and he loved him" and "he would rather lose everybody than lose jason" like im pretty sure that bruce would prefer to lose neither dick nor jason but you know what you do you 💀😂

[not-rigel]

She'll come to you, when she's ready

a man, my father, ruined my day so i wrote vika's daddy issues

warnings: be prepared thius is going to hurt to read, some emotional neglect, bad parenting, sevika crying, sevika's first kill (not explicitly described but continually referenced). angst all the way, then some comfort for like 6 sentences

WC: 887

not proof read

When Seviika was a girl, her father put her to bed everynight. Sometimes he’d tell her a sweet story, sometimes he’d tell her she’s his only reason to live. But once, and only once, he gave her a terrible prediction about her future. 

“In one way or another, we all have blood on our hands. One day, we will do something and someone will die. One day, you will have someone’s blood on your hands. That’s what living down here is. It's what it does to you. Bug, you promise me one thing. Learn how to wipe your hands afterward, and never mind the smears.” 

It terrified her at six years old. It was her second biggest fear, after him dying, that one day she would kill someone. And the only comfort her father offered was to pay it no mind. And that's the way he became with everything. Any issue in the Undercity invoked the same reaction in him. No reaction at all. If someone was being mugged two feet from him, he kept walking. If enforcers were making an unjust arrest in a neighboring apartment, he locked the door and never spoke of it. If there was screaming heard from below, he played a record to better ignore the sound. Sevika hated it all. Hated that she would be a killer one day. Hated that her father wants her to be indifferent to that fact. Hated that he wanted her to be indifferent to everything. So she ran. At fifteen, she took what she could carry and left. And she found people so opposite from her father. People who kicked in the teeth of anyone picking on the weak. People who brought food to the children whose father was taken away. People like Vander. Her life didn't have to be what her father said it was. She finally felt allowed to care. The less she stuck her head in the dirt, the less she believed all his lessons. But at nineteen years old, the worst lesson he taught her came back to test her. 

She scrubbed as hard as she could, but the blood never washed away. Sevika didn't want this. Her entire life should've prepared her for this, her father prepared her for this… Vander tried so hard to reassure Sevika it isn’t her fault but she doesn’t hear him out. Now she wishes she had listened to her father, had learned at least something before leaving home. Home… Her father… he would know what to do. He never cared about death or about killing. He never thought twice about anything at all. 

So Sevika went home, seeking him when she needed his apathy. She walked through the streets, thinking of all the ways he would scold her. But she knew she could rely on him to make her ignore the revulsion she feels toward herself. She thinks until she finds herself at his door, their door. She knocks on the door and prays he answers instead of turning the lock. So she calls out to him. 

“I need you to open the door, Baba please.” 

First the lock clicks, then the door opens and her father has aged far past four years. His head is more grey than black and his face has more wrinkles. He takes one look at her, seeing the dried blood clinging to her hands and clothes. And the way she stared at it. Just as he told her not to do. 

“Oh, bug. Come in. Let's get you cleaned up,” he said and that was all it took for Sevika to fall apart. She cried for the first time since she was twelve, and she forgot how much she hated the feeling. It is wet and messy and ugly and makes breathing so hard. She won’t wipe the tears or snot away, not wanting someone's blood on her face. He guides her indoors by the shoulder, shutting and locking the door behind them. He didn’t allow her to explain, sitting her down and washing her hands and face as he repeated that old lesson to her. 

“I wasn't being fair to you. I shouldn't have expected you to understand it then. Violence, this blood, it isn’t your fault. Violence is a symptom, and Piltover is our illness. This city is sick, and it is Piltover’s fault. Unless we’re cured of our disease, our symptoms will linger and get worse. The best thing you can do is accept that we are not strong enough to fight them and move on. You hear me, bug?” 

Sevika hears him, but now in the way he intended. What she heard from him was “Unless we are cured of our disease’ and finally one thing her father said felt true. She knew she needed to cure the Undercity of its disease. If she was destined to wipe blood off her hands a hundred times over, she’d do it curing her city. 

“I hear you Baba,” she nods and he pats her shoulder. Again, all her childish emotions rush over her and she needs something to hold onto. She hasn’t hugged her father since she was nine, but she rushes to his arms like the past decade never happened. And for the first time in her life, her arms can fully wrap around him.

[blairxbear]

When they realise they are in love with you...

Class 1A / Other UA Students / Pro Heroes / Villains

How will these villains react to realising that they are in love with you?

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi/Toya Todoroki, Shuichi Iguchi/Spinner, Kai Chisake/Overhaul, Jin Bubaigawara/Twice, Atsuhiro Sako/Mr. Compress, Young All For One

Tomura Shigaraki

• Love is foreign to him—it’s something he associates with weakness, pain, and loss.

• He doesn’t understand his own emotions at first—he just knows he wants you close but is terrified of hurting you.

• The moment he truly realizes it? One night, you fall asleep near him, completely unafraid. He stares at you for hours, his hands shaking.

• “They trust me. No one’s ever trusted me like this before.”

• He tries pushing you away at first, convinced you deserve better.

• But when he sees you smiling at him like he’s more than a villain, he breaks. He’s yours now. No escape.

• His confession is raw and broken, whispered against your skin like a secret he’s too scared to say out loud.

• “I don’t want to ruin you… but I think I love you.”

Toya Todoroki (Dabi)

• Dabi doesn’t believe in love—to him, it’s just another lie, another way to get hurt.

• But when he realizes he feels safe with you, it scares the hell out of him.

• The moment he knows? He sees you patching up his burns, touching his scarred skin without flinching, and something in him shatters.

• “Why aren’t they afraid of me?”

• He tries dismissing it as lust, obsession—anything but love.

• But when he sees you laughing at one of his dumb jokes, he realizes he’d burn the whole world down to keep you safe.

• His confession is casual but intense—maybe after a mission, cigarette between his lips, acting like it’s nothing.

• “Tch. Guess I love you. Sucks for you, huh?”

Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner)

• Spinner is completely awkward about romance—he never thought anyone would look at him that way.

• He realizes it slowly, over time—when you’re the only one who really listens to him.

• The moment it hits him like a truck? You defend his ideals in front of the League, proving you actually believe in him.

• “Holy shit. They actually care.”

• Suddenly, he can’t stop thinking about you, watching your reactions, hanging on your words.

• His confession is embarrassingly nervous, probably stammering through it.

• “Uh… okay, don’t laugh, but I think I might be, um… kinda in love with you? Shit, that sounds dumb—”

Kai Chisaki (Overhaul)

• Love is a weakness, something that doesn’t belong in his world.

• He tries to rationalize it, seeing you as an asset, a necessity—but that excuse crumbles fast.

• The moment he realizes? You touch him without hesitation, and for the first time in years, he doesn’t flinch or feel disgusted.

• “They’re not… dirty. They’re not tainted. How?”

• He spirals—overanalyzing, avoiding, obsessing.

• When someone threatens you, and he feels pure, unfiltered rage, it clicks. He’s in love.

• His confession is cold and clinical but deeply possessive.

• “You belong to me now. Don’t argue.”

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice)

• Love is messy, complicated, and dangerous—and he’s already got too many voices in his head.

• He realizes it when he starts thinking about you more than himself, more than his own survival.

• The moment it hits him hard? You remember something small about him—his favorite snack, his childhood memories—and he just… freezes.

• “No one’s ever cared that much about me.”

• His emotions become even more chaotic, flipping between being clingy and pulling away out of fear.

• His confession is a total nervous wreck—probably talking to himself about it first before blurting it out to you.

• “Shit, shit, I love you! Wait, do I? YES, I DO—oh god, is this a bad idea?!”

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress)

• He’s suave and theatrical, but love? Love is tricky. Dangerous. A gamble.

• He realizes it when he starts protecting you first, putting you above the mission.

• The moment it fully sinks in? You call him out on his loneliness, and he realizes you see through his mask.

• “They know me. The real me.”

• Suddenly, his usual charm feels meaningless unless it’s you he’s entertaining.

• His confession is smooth but deeply genuine—probably whispered against your ear, teasing yet serious.

• “My dear, you’ve stolen something precious from me… my heart.”

Young All For One

• Love, to him, is power—a tool to manipulate, to control.

• Or at least… that’s what he thought before you.

• He realizes he’s in love when he stops seeing you as replaceable—when he wants to keep you, not as an asset, but as something more.

• The moment it truly hits? You defy him, looking him in the eyes without fear, and instead of being furious… he’s intrigued.

• “They’re… mine.”

• Suddenly, he finds himself protecting you, indulging you, giving you power instead of taking it away.

• His confession is low and dangerous, more of a claim than a request.

• “You belong to me, little one. And I belong to you.”

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER TWO

Chapter 2:BEWARE!

The box ghost approached the boys slowly and began firing a flurry of ghost rays at them but they barely managed to dodge that.The boys who were terrified at the events that was currently transpiring realized that they were sitting ducks out in the open so they took refuge behind Tuckers work desk and began trying to formulate a plan. 

Tucker :”Danny do something!!?”

Dan:”Why me!!?”

Tucker :”dude you literally have super powers!”

Dan scratched the back of his head in response to Tucker's words. 

Dan:” why don't you do something?”

Tucker :”no way man, he's a ghost and I'm black. I've seen enough horror movies to know that this won't end well for me!”

As soon as that sentence left Tucker's mouth a ghost ray hit his work desk disintegrating it on the spot. Dan, not having any other options, took Tucker's advice and jumped in front of the box ghost preparing to face him. 

Box ghost :”ahh a human with a death wish, your soul would be the perfect accessory for my boxes.” 

Dan:”I'm not even sure I have a soul anymore, but if I did I'm sure I wouldn't let you have it. “

Box ghost :”ahhh so you wanna challenge me boy? your death will be swift.”

Dan clenched his fist and began concentrating just as he had before, if he could turn from ghost to human then surely he should be able to do the reverse right? His theory was right and in a flash of light he regained his ghostly appearance. Turning towards the box ghost, his eyes glowing green with anger , Dan now had a new air of confidence around him. 

Dan: “alright ghost, let's rumble!”

This sudden change surprised the box ghost,while shapeshifting was a common ghost power a human being able to switch from human to ghost at will was unheard of.

Box ghost :”a ghost, who can willingly shift from human to ghost is unheard of.”

A sinister grin spread across his face. 

Box ghost : “your soul just became 10 times more valua....”

The ghost's words were cut short as Danny delivered a strong right hook at his jaw and then followed up with another one to his stomach knocking the ghost through a wall.

He followed up with a furious barrage of  punches to his face, leaving it practically unrecognizable. 

Tucker:”dude thats amazing! how'd you get used to your powers so fast?”

Dan shrugs.

Dan:”I haven't. I'm just fighting how I normally would, I think my ghost strength is the thing that's actually damaging him.” 

Tucker:”well whatever you did seems to have worked you knocked him out.” 

Box ghost :”oh child, you have no idea how wrong you truly are.” 

The box ghost immediately recovered and useing his ecto energy created many box shaped projectiles, he launched them  at Dan , Dan who was still unfamiliar with his powers was blindsided by them and was buried under more than a dozen of the ghosts boxes. Tucker continued hiding from a safe distance. 

Dan: “boxes? I survive a portal exploding in my face only to die by boxes!?”

Dan's words upset the box ghost, almost as if they had some kind of deeper meaning to him. 

Box ghost : “You think this is funny!!You think this Is some kinda joke!??’

In a fit of rage the box ghost  seized Tucker by the throat and threw him out the window, leaving him to perish. 

Box ghost: “your soul is as good as mine ghost boy, you haven't won, I'll be back another day to reclaim it!”

And like that he disappeared. Dan without a second jumped out of the window diving  after Tucker, he managed to get a hold of him but they were still falling at a rapid  speed. 

Tucker:”Now would be a good time to practice flying Danny!!!”

Dan:”you don't think I want to?!I don't know how!!”

Tucker:”Then this is gonna hurt!!”

Dan:”no it won’t!”

Just as the two were about to hit the ground, Dan managed to switch places with Tucker cushioning his fall. His body crashed into the ground with a loud thud but successfully managed to prevent Tucker from getting hurt.

Dan:”ouch!you okay?”

Tucker immediately stood up and began inspecting his body for bruises.

Tucker:”Yeah I’m good,you?”

Dan:”in excruciating pain but no major “damage.

Tucker offers him a hand and pulls him up.

Tucker:”how’d you know that you’d survive that?”

Dan:”I.. didn’t.:

Tucker simply stared at him in silence.

Dan:”what!?”

He gives Dan a fistbunp.

Tucker:”Thanks for saving me man.You’re an idiot..but thanks.“

Dan rubbed the back of his head

Dan:”don't mention it, but that freak will be back again and I don't think I'm strong enough to beat him.”

Tucker :”Then we just gotta make you stronger. Time for a little training session.”

Dan:”you're acting like I'm some kind of superhero.”

Another grin spreads on Tucker's face.

Tucker :”That's not such a bad idea, you could actually be a hero.” 

Dan chuckles 

Dan:”I'm not so sure about that,besides what would I even call myself?”

Tucker:”How about Danny Phantom?”

Dan:”That sounds super lame, just Phantom is alright.”

Tucker playfully punches Dan in his arm.

Tucker:”Don't be a hater.”

The boys returned to their room and almost immediately began preparations for Dan's training unbeknownst to them the box ghost  wasn't working alone.

After leaving the scene he flew around Amity city until he met a swirly green vortex,entered it and arrived at an eerie area, where the sky was black and the surroundings were green,it was so unsightly that it made hell itself look like a nice place to live, it was almost an empty void that seemed to stretch forever in each direction a void that could drive the sanest man mad just for daring to ponder what lay beyond it. He continued his journey until he landed on what appeared to be a floating island enveloped in an ominous green glow , the island resembled a battered skull, with demonic glowing red eyes,after walking around for awhile he was greeted by another ghost , he was a humanoid machine who stood roughly 8 ft tall, his face was structured like a skull with piercing green eyes, the top of his head expelled a strong green Mohawk like flame, while the sides of his face and chin expelled a similar flame that resembled a beard. His upper body was heavily clad in metallic armor, his arms were large enough to make the biggest bodybuilders look small and in place of his right hand was a green glowing hook. He sat on a throne of bones and kept 3 ghosts on leashes, two of them looked like a green octopus with glowing red eyes and the other was a green 3 headed bulldog. Upon seeing the box ghost he let out deep growl and spoke In what can only be described as a demons tone

???? :”What are you doing here and where are the 20 human souls that you promised me?”

The authority that this ghost commanded was so powerful that the Boxghost who to Danny appeared like a frightening monster felt like no more than a small messenger boy.

box ghost :”I have them.”

He levitated 18 small boxes and placed them at the Ghost's feet. After counting them the ghost stood up furiously and using his hook seized the box ghost by his throat. 

???? :”Is this some kind of joke!? Where are the last 2!??”

Box ghost :”I'm sorry skulker I had some difficulties acquiring the last 2..”

Skulker :”What kind of difficulties? What are you too weak to slaughter a few humans? Pathetic.”

Box ghost :”it wasn't a human at least I'm sure it wasn't..”

Skulker tightened his grip on the box ghost's throat.

Skulker :”you'd better start making sense before I take your head as compensation for the missing souls.”

Box ghost :”one of them could switch from ghost to human at will. I don't know how he did it but he wasn't a full ghost!!”

Skulker's demeanor dropped for a moment before regaining his composure.

Skulker :”Is that all? Hah! you're more useless than I thought. What happened to the box ghost who was feared around the entire ghost zone? now you can't handle one ghostly brat it's a shame. “

In frustration, Box ghost fires a punch at Skulker but misses.

Box ghost :”I'm telling you the brat was tough!Not tough enough to beat me but tough enough that if left alone with his powers for longer he could!”

Skulker :”So you're saying this boy isn’t used to his powers yet.”

Box ghost :”fairly new with them from what I’ve seen. “

Skulker:”Interesting,Masters might want to know about this.”

Box ghost:”You’re still working with that human?The bastard’s a ghost hunter,you sure we can trust him?”

Skulker swiftly grabbed the box ghost by his shoulder and began slowly sliding his hook across the box ghost's throat, green blood began oozing out of his neck dripping down the handle of his hook. A chill went up the ghosts' spine, skulker had managed to make a deadman fear death. He then dropped the box ghost to the floor, leaving him holding his neck as Skulker stood on his back.The box ghost squirmed trying to break free but even his muscled physique was weak against skulker's strength. 

Skulker:”You don’t question me.Get it!?”

Hesitantly the box ghost nodded in response.

Skulker:good.

He tossed the ghost aside and sat back on his throne.

Skulker:”but if you must know me and Masters have a very favorable arrangement.”

Box ghost:”how so?”

He asked while rubbing his wounded neck.

Skulker:”It’s simple,we run a few errands for him and on top of supplying me with his new tech he turns a blind eye whenever our crew invades the human world.Those ghost hunters he works with are good but with with him keeping them on such a tight leash we won’t have anything to worry about.”

Box ghost: “not bad but what would he want with the ghost brat?”

Skulker flashes him a sinister grin.

Skulker:”the same thing we all want!”

Box ghost:”Well he can have what's left of the brat after I’m through with him!”

Skulker:”no! You’re done with him for now!This brat is much too Valuable to leave in your hands.”

In anger, the box ghost punches against the ground.

Box ghost:”Dammit! And what the hell am I supposed to do!”

Skulker takes his hook and stabs it into the ghost's chest!

Skulker :”You’ll do well to watch your  mouth when you speak to me!! As for what you’ll be doing,you’ll be getting me 50 more souls to compensate for the 2 you let get away!!Do I Make Myself Clear!?”

The box ghost hesitantly nods.

Box ghost :”But what about the ghost boy?? 

Skulker pressed his foot harder into the ghosts back, cracking what could only be his spine. 

Skulker :”Leave him to me, he interfered in my business so it's only fitting that I deal with him accordingly.But until I can properly assess his value my pets will keep him company In the meantime.”

He glanced at his pets and as if on cue one octopus and one dog both flew away.

Skulker:”That should keep the boy busy.” 

He directed his attention back to the box ghost.

Skulker:”You're still here? get out of my sight!”

He kicked the ghost away and left. 

Box ghost :”You may be stronger now, but soon I'll reign supreme once more!!!.”

The box ghost immediately set out to complete the task that skulker instructed him Unbeknownst to him Skulker was there watching his every move. 

Skulker : “Does that fool really believe that he could overthrow me? Ha! After I get the souls from him, and I'm done with the ghost boy I'll mount both their heads over my wall.”

To be continued

Chapter 1

Authors note..

Thanks for reading🙂

Hope you enjoyed

this chapter marks the first appearance of Skulker one of the big bads of this season hope you guys liked him.

Next chapter will be out next week.

[pwurrz]

truthless recluse really disassociated so hard he basically became a completely different person. he fought so hard to convince shadow milk cookie that all the torture and torment he was putting him through wasn’t effecting him, that he was finally broken down and apathetic to all that was happening around him.. but on the inside he was terrified.

the trauma of everything he’d experienced, of learning his entire life, everything he worked for, what he had decided was his entire worth and purpose in the world was destined for a path of corruption before the moment he was even born shook him to his very core, but he couldn’t let that show. he couldn’t even hint at how lonely and full of pure despair he was because that’s a sign of weakness, and he knows very well how shadow milk cookie responds to that.

i can’t imagine how utterly miserable pure vanilla must have felt at that moment in time. the light inside his eyes died, nothing left but a lifeless husk of the person he used to be. when he offered to become a cookie of deceit, to share his soul jam with shadow milk so they could rule the world together through chaos and lies… i almost believed him.

and then he pulled the rug out from underneath everyone’s feet by taking control of the soul jam, once he had gotten shadow milk to trust him and put his power into it, shattering it and creating a new one using nothing but sheer willpower. do you understand how insane that is?? the soul jam was given to the ancient heroes as gifts from their ‘gods’, granting them immortality as well as unprecedented power. it’s divine power, a power that took a team of the world’s greatest scientists with the most advanced technology to figure out how to borrow and wield even a fraction of its power.

and pure vanilla not only broke that, but then proceeded to forge an entirely new one.

i lost the plot somewhere along the way, but the point was originally supposed to be: don’t let anyone tell you cookie run kingdom is a childish game for children. it absolutely is not. the fact that they’re all cute cookies is a way to lower your guard before ambushing you with the most fucked up and traumatizing establishing lore ever seen in a mobile game about fucking baked goods.

[sombaf]

Just a little something to wrap up femslash february😉

Kara plays the part well.

She smiles at the right moments, lets herself be pulled into tight embraces, laughs in the way she’s supposed to. She tells Alex she’s fine, tells J’onn she’s okay, tells Nia she’s happy to be home.

And they believe her.

They want–need–to believe her.

Lena is the only one who doesn’t.

She sees the way Kara’s fingers twitch at her sides when she thinks no one is looking. The way her eyes keep darting to the shadows, searching, flickering, doubtful. The way she smiles but it never reaches her eyes.

She sees it all.

And it terrifies her.

So she stays quiet. Watches. Waits.

And when Alex finally pulls Kara away, murmuring something about rest, about taking it easy, Lena lets her go.

Because she knows.

Knows that Kara is going to break.

And when she does—

Lena will be there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s late when she goes to Kara’s apartment.

She hesitates for only a second before she knocks.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then—soft footsteps, a slow turning of the knob.

And then Kara is standing there.

Her hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, like she’s just showered. She’s in sweatpants and a hoodie—one that looks too big, swallowing her whole.

Lena’s chest aches.

Kara’s face is blank. Her eyes unreadable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, but there’s no weight to it.

Lena ignores it. “Can I come in?”

A pause.

Then, finally—Kara steps back.

Lena steps inside.

The apartment is dark, save for the moonlight spilling through the windows.

Everything is where Kara left it. A sweater draped over the couch. A book left open on the coffee table. A mug resting beside the sink.

It looks the same.

But it feels wrong.

Empty.

Like a place abandoned.

Kara stands in the middle of it, arms wrapped around herself, as if bracing for something unseen.

Lena watches her for a long moment.

Then, softly— “Kara.”

Kara’s breath hitches.

She shakes her head. “Don’t.”

“Kara—”

“Don’t.”

Lena stills.

And then—Kara laughs.

But it’s hollow, sharp, wrong.

“You know what’s funny?” she says, voice thick. “I thought coming back would feel good.”

Lena doesn’t move.

“I thought—” Kara lets out a breath, shaky, uneven. “I thought I’d open my eyes and I’d just be me again.” A pause. “But I don’t—I don’t feel like me.”

Lena steps closer. “You are you.”

Kara shakes her head, fast, desperate. “I don’t—I don’t know how to be. I feel like—” She swallows, voice breaking. “Like I left parts of myself back there.”

Lena’s throat tightens.

Kara lets out a short, sharp breath, pressing her hands against her temples, frustrated. “I don’t—I don’t even know if this is real.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

Lena’s heart shatters.

She closes the space between them, hands reaching out—but Kara flinches.

Lena stops instantly.

Kara looks at her with something frantic in her eyes. Something terrified.

“What if this isn’t real?” she chokes. “What if this is just—just another trick? What if I wake up and I’m still there?”

Lena’s vision blurs.

She needs Kara to know.

So she reaches again—slowly this time—hands ghosting over Kara’s arms, waiting, waiting.

“Kara—”

Kara sways toward her.

And then she falls.

Into Lena’s arms. Into warmth. Into something solid, real, safe.

A broken, gasping sob tears from Kara’s throat, her fingers curling tight into Lena’s sweater, clinging.

And Lena—Lena holds her.

One hand in golden hair, the other rubbing slow, steady circles on her back. “I’ve got you, darling. I’ve got you.”

Kara shakes.

Her breath is sharp, uneven, frantic.

Lena presses a kiss to her temple, then another, whispering, You’re here. You’re safe. This is real. I am real.

Slowly—so, so slowly—Kara’s breathing evens out.

Not steady. Not even.

But better.

And then, after a long moment—

“Stay?”

The word is small.

So small Lena almost doesn’t hear it.

But when she looks down, Kara’s blue, blue eyes are pleading.

“Of course,” Lena breathes.

Kara swallows. “Will you—” A pause. A breath. “Will you hold me?”

Lena softens.

“Oh, darling.”

She presses another kiss to Kara’s temple, so, so gentle.

“Of course I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They lie together in Kara’s bed, tangled close.

Kara is pressed against Lena, her face tucked into the curve of Lena’s neck, their legs entwined, bodies blurred together until neither of them is sure where one begins and the other ends.

Lena runs her fingers through golden hair, slow and steady, grounding them both.

It’s quiet.

Kara’s breath is warm against her collarbone.

For the first time in months, she feels warm.

Safe.

Real.

And then—

Kara shifts.

Sits up slightly, leaning on one elbow, looking at Lena.

Moonlight catches in her eyes, turning them into deep, endless pools of sapphire, glistening with unshed tears. Tiny reflections scattering across her lashes, fragile and shimmering—like distant stars trembling on the verge of falling, like the universe itself is holding its sorrow within her gaze.

Lena reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “What is it, darling?”

Kara hesitates.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Lena’s heart aches.

She reaches for Kara’s hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing gently. “But you did.”

Kara’s breath hitches.

She swallows hard, gaze flickering over Lena’s face, searching, memorizing.

Like she’s afraid this moment will slip away.

Lena brings their joined hands up, presses a kiss to Kara’s knuckles.

Kara swallows again. Then—soft, hesitant—

“I thought I’d never get the chance to—”

She stops.

Bites her lip, breath uneven, scared.

Lena’s thumb strokes gently over her hand. “The chance to what?”

Kara’s eyes shimmer.

She exhales sharply, blinking fast, lips trembling—

And then, in a voice so small, so fragile—

“To tell you I love you.”

Lena’s breath catches.

Kara looks like she might break apart, eyes darting down like she regrets saying it.

But Lena won’t let her.

She reaches up, cradling Kara’s face, guiding her gaze back.

A soft, trembling smile.

“I love you too.”

Kara shudders.

A tear slips down her cheek.

Lena catches it with her thumb, brushing it away as gently as possible.

And then Kara is leaning in.

Slow, hesitant, searching—

And Lena meets her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first. Just a press of lips, just a breath shared, just confirmation.

But then Kara makes a small, aching sound—a sound like relief, like hope, like something that has been waiting to be felt again—

And Lena deepens it.

Kara’s hands find her, fingertips brushing over Lena’s jaw, holding her close.

Lena sighs into her mouth, fingers threading into golden hair, pulling her in.

And Kara—

Kara lets herself feel it.

Lets herself fall into warmth.

Into love.

Into something real.

And when they finally break apart, Kara presses her forehead against Lena’s, breath still uneven, fingers still curled tight into her sweater.

And Lena just holds her.

Lets herself be held.

Lets herself fall.

Kara exhales, slow and shaky.

And then Lena is pulling her down, arms wrapping tight around her, whispering it again and again—

“I love you, baby. I love you so so much.”

And as Kara buries herself into Lena’s warmth, breath hitching, fingers gripping tight—

She finally, finally believes that this is real.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombaf/works

[chokememaximoff]

Red Wolf I

Y/N, a fierce underground fighter trapped under Hydra’s control, knows only survival—until Wanda Maximoff’s mission to save her turns into something more. But even after escaping, Hydra won’t let go. As Wanda fights to protect her, Y/N must learn to trust love and reclaim her freedom.

TW: Violence, Torture, Blood, Injury, Trauma, Kidnapping, Abuse, PTSD

The park was alive with the sounds of laughter, birds chirping, and the crunch of gravel beneath Y/N’s sneakers as she walked beside her mom. Her hand was clasped tightly in her mother’s warm grip, the air tinged with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. They were heading toward the pond to feed the ducks, a bag of breadcrumbs tucked under Y/N’s arm.

Her mother smiled down at her. “You’re growing up so fast, Y/N. Sometimes I can’t believe my little girl is already ten.”

Y/N grinned, her eyes lighting up. She didn’t notice the shadow that passed over her mother’s face or the group of men lingering too close for comfort.

The attack came without warning. Rough hands yanked Y/N away, her mother’s startled scream splitting the air.

“Mom!” Y/N shrieked, struggling as the world seemed to tilt sideways. Her mother lunged for her, but one of the men shoved her back with brutal force. Y/N kicked and screamed, but her cries were muffled as a cloth was pressed against her face. The sickly sweet scent filled her nostrils, and the world went dark.

When Y/N woke, her head throbbed. Her cheek was pressed against cold concrete, the air damp and heavy. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the dim light. The first thing she noticed was the sound—muffled sobs, soft whimpers, and the faint clinking of chains.

“Where am I?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

A heavy hand grabbed her arm, yanking her upright. The cloth covering her face was ripped away, and she gasped, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. She was in a large, barred cell, surrounded by other children. Their eyes, wide and terrified, mirrored her own fear.

Before she could say a word, the door creaked open, and several enormous men in dark suits entered. Their presence was oppressive, their faces emotionless.

“Welcome to your new life,” one of them announced, his voice cold and commanding. “You have been chosen because you have potential. But only the strongest among you will survive.”

Y/N’s stomach turned, her breath hitching.

“Each week, there will be a tournament. Five of you will be eliminated. To survive, you must be the best fighter. There are no rules except this: the only way to eliminate someone is to kill them.”

The room erupted in chaos—cries, protests, and panicked questions. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest.

“You will fight tonight,” the man continued, ignoring the uproar. “Prepare yourselves.”

The first fight was a nightmare. Y/N was shoved into a makeshift ring—a square outlined with chains. The other children huddled around, their eyes wide and brimming with tears.

Her opponent was a boy about her age, his face pale and streaked with dirt. He looked as terrified as she felt.

“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

But the moment the signal to start was given, the boy lunged at her. Y/N screamed, ducking to the side. Her instincts kicked in, and she ran, darting around the ring as he chased her.

“Stop running!” someone shouted.

The boy finally caught her, tackling her to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped, clawing at his hands as he pinned her down.

“No!” she screamed, adrenaline surging through her. She twisted, slamming her elbow into his ribs. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip just enough for her to roll free.

She scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as the boy charged at her again. This time, she stood her ground, swinging her fist blindly. It connected with his jaw, the shock of the impact reverberating up her arm.

The boy stumbled, but he didn’t fall. He lunged again, and they grappled, a chaotic tangle of fists and desperate kicks. Y/N’s head throbbed, her body aching, but survival instincts overrode her fear.

Finally, she managed to grab a heavy rock from the ground. As the boy lunged one last time, she swung it with all her strength. It struck his temple, and he crumpled to the ground.

She froze, staring at him, her chest heaving. Blood pooled beneath his head, staining the dirt.

“Finish it,” one of the men growled.

Tears streamed down her face as she crouched over the boy. Her hands trembled as she lifted the rock again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before bringing it down.

Y/N stumbled out of the ring, her legs barely supporting her. Her hands were slick with blood, her stomach churning violently. She collapsed in a corner, curling into herself as sobs wracked her body.

She had won. But the weight of what she had done was unbearable.

“I’m a monster,” she whispered, her voice choked with tears.

Around her, the other children huddled together, their faces pale and haunted. Y/N’s chest ached with guilt, but deep down, she knew she had no choice. To survive, she would have to keep fighting. And with each fight, a piece of her would be lost.

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

Y/N could barely stand. Her body was a patchwork of bruises and cuts, her muscles screaming with every movement. The air in the cold, damp chamber was suffocating, heavy with the stench of blood and sweat. Around her, the once-crowded cell was now empty. She was the last one left.

The other kids, those who had fought and lost, haunted her thoughts. Their screams, their faces contorted in fear and pain—each memory gnawed at her sanity. Y/N had stopped crying weeks ago. She had no tears left.

Now, it was time for the final fight.

The gate at the far end of the room creaked open. Y/N looked up, her heart pounding as she waited for her opponent. She braced herself for another stranger, another desperate child forced to kill for survival. But when the figure was shoved into the ring, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

It was Ellie.

Her Ellie.

The girl she used to play tag with at the playground. The one who always shared her snacks and laughed at Y/N’s silly jokes. Ellie’s once-bright eyes were now dim and hollow, her face marred with scars from the weeks they had spent in this hell.

“Y/N…” Ellie’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was laced with disbelief.

“Ellie, no,” Y/N said, shaking her head as she stepped back. “I can’t… I can’t fight you.”

But Ellie didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward, her fists swinging. Y/N dodged the first blow, her body screaming in protest as she moved.

“Stop!” Y/N pleaded, her voice cracking. “Ellie, it’s me! It’s Y/N!”

Ellie didn’t stop. The desperation in her attacks was palpable, her punches wild but powerful. Y/N kept dodging, avoiding each strike by a hair’s breadth. She couldn’t bring herself to fight back.

“Fight me!” Ellie screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t make me do this!”

Y/N backed into the corner of the ring, her hands raised defensively. “I won’t hurt you!”

But Ellie didn’t hold back. Her fist connected with Y/N’s jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground. Pain exploded in her head, and she tasted blood. Ellie didn’t stop. She kicked Y/N in the ribs, the impact stealing the air from her lungs.

Y/N tried to crawl away, but Ellie grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up before slamming her back down. The world spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of Y/N’s vision. She coughed, blood splattering the ground beneath her.

“Get up!” Ellie shouted, her voice cracking with anguish. “Get up and fight me!”

Y/N’s body screamed for her to give up, to let the darkness take her. But then she saw Ellie’s face—contorted with rage, tears streaming down her cheeks. This wasn’t Ellie. This was what they had turned her into.

“No,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

Ellie raised her fist to deliver another blow, but Y/N caught it. With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had, Y/N twisted her arm, forcing Ellie to the ground. She straddled her, pinning her down.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N choked out, tears blurring her vision. “I’m so sorry, Ellie.”

Ellie struggled beneath her, screaming and thrashing, but Y/N didn’t let go. She grabbed a sharp piece of metal from the ground—a shard from the broken ring—and hesitated.

“Please forgive me,” Y/N whispered before driving it into Ellie’s chest.

Ellie gasped, her body going still. Y/N sobbed, cradling her friend’s lifeless body as blood pooled beneath them.

Y/N staggered to her feet, her vision blurry, her body trembling. The room spun as she looked around, her hands slick with blood. She was the last one standing.

The men in suits entered the room, their expressions cold and emotionless. One of them tossed something at her feet—a black shirt emblazoned with a hydra symbol.

“Congratulations,” the man said, his voice flat. “You’ve survived. The first time we’ve tried this experiment, and you’ve been successful. Welcome, Y/N. You’re going to be our little fighting project.”

Y/N stared at the shirt, her mind numb. She clutched it in her bloodied hands, her fingers trembling. She was alive, but she didn’t feel like it.

She fell to her knees, the weight of what she had done crashing down on her. Her sobs echoed through the empty room, a hollow sound that carried the shattered remains of her innocence.

9 years later...

The cage was a brutal stage of carnage, its bars slick with blood and grime from countless battles. The air was thick with the metallic scent of it, mingling with the roaring cheers of the bloodthirsty crowd. Lights flashed overhead, illuminating the two figures inside.

Y/N stood at one end of the cage, her crimson hair tied back, revealing intricate tattoos snaking up her arms and neck. Her piercing eyes were locked on her opponent, a tall, muscular girl with scars lining her face. This wasn’t a fight of survival. It was a spectacle, a display of power.

From the shadows of the crowd, Wanda Maximoff watched, her stomach twisting. She whispered into her concealed earpiece, her voice barely audible over the deafening crowd.

“Which one am I supposed to be watching?”

Tony Stark’s voice crackled in her ear. “Redhead. Tattoos. That’s Y/N. Hydra’s prized fighter. They call her the Red Wolf.”

Wanda’s eyes found her immediately. There was no mistaking her—Y/N was a predator in human form, her movements fluid and deadly.

The fight began.

Y/N closed the distance between her and her opponent with terrifying speed, her fists striking with precision. She didn’t waste energy; every move was calculated, every strike meant to maim. Her opponent swung wildly, trying to land a punch, but Y/N ducked under it with ease, retaliating with a brutal uppercut that sent the girl staggering.

The crowd roared, chanting, “Red Wolf! Red Wolf!”

Wanda watched in stunned silence as Y/N delivered a spinning kick to the girl’s ribs, the sickening crack audible even over the noise. The opponent fell to her knees, gasping for air, but Y/N didn’t relent. She grabbed the girl by the hair, pulling her upright before slamming her knee into her face. Blood sprayed across the cage.

Wanda’s breath caught. This wasn’t just fighting—it was destruction. Y/N was relentless, her movements a seamless blend of skill and brutality. There was no hesitation, no mercy.

The opponent collapsed to the ground, motionless. The referee stepped forward to check, but it was already clear: the girl was dead.

Y/N stood over her fallen opponent, blood dripping from her fists. She turned to the roaring crowd, her face splitting into a smirk. Then, in one swift motion, she climbed the cage, scaling it like a beast until she perched at the top.

She raised her bloodied hands, her smirk widening as the crowd erupted into deafening cheers.

“And once again,” the announcer bellowed, “the undefeated Red Wolf!”

The chant of “Red Wolf” grew louder, echoing through the arena. Y/N tilted her head back, basking in the chaos, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

From her spot in the crowd, Wanda stared at the woman before her. This wasn’t a victim of Hydra—this was their masterpiece, their perfect creation. Y/N wasn’t just surviving; she was thriving in the blood-soaked world they had built for her.

“What am I supposed to do with her?” Wanda murmured into her earpiece, her voice laced with uncertainty. “There’s no way to change this monster.”

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end. Then Tony’s voice came through, quiet but firm.

“You’re going to find a way, Wanda. That’s why we sent you.”

Wanda’s eyes didn’t leave Y/N as she climbed down from the cage, her bloodied hands still raised in victory. The crowd surged forward, trying to touch her, to feel the power radiating from their champion.

Y/N’s smirk never wavered, but for the briefest moment, Wanda thought she saw something flicker in her eyes—something buried deep beneath the layers of Hydra’s conditioning.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Wanda whispered, her heart heavy with doubt.