#tw previous suicidal thoughts

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize (Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader)

18+ MDNI, on Ao3

Chapter 2

Oops! Accidentally wrote another yandere story. This time its Alpha Shanks and Omega Reader.

If I have to keep thinking about it, you can read about it. It’s cringe, it’s overdone, it’s annoying and I don’t care. I did proofread this, but I'll likely do so again in the coming days.

TW: depression, suicidal ideation mentioned, non-con, dubcon, whump, abuse

MIND THE TAGS!

~

Shanks gets more than just the Poneglyphs when he destroys the Victoria Punk, he gets you too. Shanks is kinder than your previous owner, but an Emperor doesn't let treasures slip through his fingers.

~

As you sat on the floor in Kid’s cabin, wrists shackled and chained to his bed, you heard the tell tale sounds of fighting. You knew that Kid was going after Red Haired Shanks in an effort to dislodge the Emperor and take his title. You would never say anything for fear of being slapped across the face or worse, but you didn’t think he was going to win. At least, you hoped he didn’t. You hoped the Emperor killed everyone on board, yourself included. It was what the crew deserved, and your torment would finally end. You would be free of the hell your life had become since the Kid Pirates had taken you from your home. It would probably be a better ending for you than anything else that would happen, anyway.

You’d been living on Beta Island incognito, hiding your status as an Omega. You didn’t want to be sold to a Celestial Dragon in your late teens, as your parents had planned for you. So you’d escaped your home island shortly before your 13th birthday, evading patrol after patrol, living your life on the run. Eventually, you found yourself on Beta Island, which suited you just fine. Only Betas were allowed to live on the island, avoiding all the trouble that the other two dynamics brought with them. You’d taken suppressants since your escape and because you’d never gone into heat, you were able to pass yourself off as a regular Beta. It had been an idyllic time for you, as you worked and made friends with the Betas on your island. You had even deluded yourself into thinking that maybe your life would be alright, when the Kid pirates attacked the island.

You were running away from the chaos and destruction downtown, trying to keep from being spotted as well as you could. Scrambling through an alley, you passed the Captain himself, who was laughing at the bloodshed and pain he was causing innocent people. You thought he hadn’t seen you but you suddenly felt yourself being dragged backwards, back towards the pirate. Panicking, you tried even harder to wriggle away and escape but it proved to be pointless. Later, you found out that he was magnetizing the grommets in your clothes to bring you towards him. Captain Kid grabbed you in his metallic hand once you were close and inhaled a deep whiff of your scent. When you were on suppressants, your ability to scent was dulled but you could still tell you didn’t like his acrid aroma. Kid smelled like sweat, blood, oil, and anger, not an appealing combination. Pushing on the gigantic metallic arm, you tried in vain to dislodge yourself from his grasp. 

“What’s an Omega like you doing on Beta Island?” he asked, crushing your ribs with his gigantic fist. You weren’t sure if he knew his own strength, but he was keeping you in his clutches with ease.

“N-not O-omega,” you grunted out, trying to breathe through the constriction of his hand. You were still squirming, trying to get away from the large pirate.

“Oh yeah? You sure? Your pussy smells like Omega. It’s practically cryin’ for me to take you right here,” he sneered. “Oi! Killer! Take this one back to the ship, lock ‘er in my cabin.” He yelled to a man in a full face mask. Leaning closer to your face, he licked your neck and leered at you. “We’ll find out later if that pussy is Omega or not,” he said, handing you off to Killer. You tried to get away from the masked man, to no avail. Killer was just as strong as his Captain and wasn’t letting you down. Kicking, screaming, pounding his back did nothing as the first mate advanced towards the ship. 

Quickly chaining you to the Captains bed, the first mate considered you for a moment. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Omega. Lose the attitude. Otherwise, you won’t last long here.” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

Kid had come back to his cabin once the pirates had sufficiently destroyed your peaceful home. You huddled in the corner of the room, as far as your chains would let you, but the Captain had you before him in seconds. Covered in the blood of your former friends, the Captain had disrobed you, ripping through your clothes like they were paper. 

“Lemme see yer,” Kid said, ogling your now naked form. You tried not to cower, but you couldn’t help but tremble before the raw bloodlust in his eyes. You’d never taken a lover before, you had been too nervous it would interfere with your hormones and expose you as an Omega. Kid's leering had led to groping, which led to much more. That first night he’d bitten, clawed, bruised, kissed, and abused you, leaving you broken in spirit and body. You never fully recovered. You quickly learned he didn’t want you talking, didn't want you making eye contact, didn’t want to hear your crying, didn’t want anything from you except your body. He used you as he saw fit, as ruthless to you as he had been to your island. He never even asked your name, most often calling you ‘Omega,’ or ‘Bitch,’ among other colorful names.

You were the Captain’s sex doll, and the crew treated you as such. No one paid you any mind except to tell you to move the fuck out of the way, or to laugh at you as you stumbled out of the Captain’s quarters when he let you. Killer would occasionally bandage your wounds, but Kid preferred you to wear the marks he put on you. Kid wanted the mating bond to form between the two of you, to solidify the fact that you were his and prevent any rivals from taking you. To do that, he needed to bring you into heat. To try to get you to go into heat, he had tried any old wives tale he could find. He locked you in his quarters, denied you food except for his cum, kept you naked for days on end, bit your neck in a claiming bite, anything that might work. None of it did, but it all left you weakened, depleted, and suicidal. 

Even though you could practically feel his disdain for you, Kid sometimes told you his plans late at night after he finished pumping you full of his come. As you laid with tears drying on your cheeks and blood dripping from fresh wounds he’d given you, he told you about his simmering hatred for Red Haired Shanks and how he wanted his revenge. During these conversations, you encouraged him, praising his strength and skill, and told him that he absolutely was powerful enough to take on the Emperor. You were surprised that your voice held out while you were talking, both from disuse as well as from the effort you had to put into lying to his face. Once when you voiced these opinions, he’d stroked your skin while in thought, the first time his touch hadn’t hurt you. 

The day finally came that he attacked the Emperor. You’d heard him powering up his attack, laughing maniacally as he planned to wipe out the fleet of ships you could see from his cabin window. You cringed, waiting for the sounds of the dying….except it never came. Instead, a sonorous voice boomed out “Divine Departure,” bringing a deafening blast to your ship. Screams had followed, but not the ones you were used to. Rather, you detected the screams coming from the crew, yelling that they didn’t want to die, that the Captain had been defeated, that Killer was also knocked out. 

You couldn’t help it, you laughed long and hard, cackling into the darkness that had consumed the ship. You knew your voice had been ruined from too much choking and screaming, your vocal chords permanently damaged at the hands of your would be Alpha. The sounds you made were harsh and coarse, like a ghoul laughing from beyond the grave. Normally you were too ashamed to speak with your butchered voice, but you were too joyous to care. You were happy he’d received vengeance for some of the violence he brought to the world. You could only hope the ship sank and the rest of you with it. 

A few moments later, the door banged open and Emma stood before you, tears running down her face. She didn’t address you, just unchained you from the post on the Captain's bed and pulled you along with her. She was carrying the Poneglyphs, the Captain’s most prized possession aside from you. Emma was running, giving you barely enough time to avoid being dragged, as she brought you to the center of the deck. She bowed, and when you didn’t follow suit right away, kicked you so that you fell to your knees. Glancing up, you saw why.

All powerful Emperor Red Haired Shanks was on the Victoria Punk, staring down the crew impassively as they pleaded for their lives. You dropped your head, not making eye contact with the Emperor. You’d been hit enough to know that Alphas didn’t want you making eye contact with them in any capacity. Shanks approached Heat, who now held both the Poneglyphs and the end of your chain.

Shanks POV

Shanks observed the panicking Commander as he advanced towards their Captain. Kid’s crew were begging for Shanks’s forgiveness, something that would not be given. They had tried to annihilate his subordinate crews and would have, if Shanks hadn’t acted so quickly. Drawing a gun was dangerous, it put your life on the line. And Kid had been given a warning when Beckman shot off his arm. Some lessons had to be learned the hard way. 

A young woman brought the Road Poneglyphs in her hands, along with someone attached to the end of a chain. Handing her Commander both items, the blue haired girl bowed in supplication to Shanks, awaiting his judgment. Noting the chained woman didn’t do the same, the girl kicked the battered woman, bringing her to her knees. Shanks took the Poneglyphs from the Commander, who also handed him the end of the chain of the cowering woman. Shanks had no interest in slaves, he didn’t keep or want any. The slave kept her gaze averted, looking at the ground as she trembled. Her body was littered with bruises in various stages of healing, as well as cuts and welts. She bore a savage mating bite that was clearly infected, along with bruising circling her neck. Breathing in deeply, Shanks hid his surprise as he realized the small woman was an Omega. 

Omegas were exceedingly rare in the world, they were either sold to Celestial Dragons for an incredible amount of money, or outright stolen from their homes. If an Omega bred with an Alpha or Apex Alpha during their heat, the offspring was guaranteed to be either an Alpha or Omega, unlike other pairings. Because the Celestial Dragons took or bought nearly all of the Omegas in the world, wild Omegas were unbelievably scarce. Shanks hadn’t heard of one being found in over a decade. How the Kid pirates had managed to find one and kept her a secret, Shanks didn’t know. 

He said nothing as his own ship passed by, his crew calling out to him. Shanks removed his Emperor’s cloak, covering the shivering woman in its warmth and his scent. Your small trembling fingers took the fabric and held it shut around your body, as you sniffed the material. You still hadn’t said a word or looked at anything besides the floor, but there would be time to investigate later. Throwing the Omega over his shoulder, Shanks took the Poneglyphs in hand and stepped on the railing of the enemy ship. You were light and put up no struggle when Shanks took you, the only sound emanating from you was the clinking of your chains.

“Look over on the island!” Shanks heard the offending crew yell as he launched himself onto the Red Force. The Omega didn’t shout or scream, just gripped his shoulder a little more tightly as he darted into the air. Landing on the Red Force, Shanks yelled out for Hongo.

“Meet me in my cabin. Ten minutes,” Shanks ordered. The doctor nodded his assent, and went below deck, likely to the infirmary to gather supplies. Handing the Poneglyphs to Beckman, Shanks shifted the Omega in his arms so he was carrying you with his arm under your legs. You moved your face so it was buried in the crook of Shanks’s neck, avoiding looking at either the ship or the crew assembled on the deck. He hoped you were acclimating yourself to his scent, it would make your transition away from your previous mate easier. Even through the fear and pain Shanks smelled on you, he could tell your scent was absolutely delicious, like no other woman he’d smelled before. His cock twitched with the thought of claiming you for his own, though your medical issues needed attention first.

Bringing you to his cabin, Shanks shut the door behind you quietly. Depositing the woman onto his bed, you shrank back further into the cloak as if to hide yourself. You gripped the hem of the garment so hard that your fingers were turning white, matching your face as the color drained out. Ah , Shanks thought to himself, she thinks I’m going to ravage her right now like some animal . It made sense, he’d put you on his bed, what else were you going to think? 

Sitting down next to you on the bed, Shanks didn’t speak. Instead, for the first time in the Emperor’s life, he purred. He was an Apex Alpha, a rare breed of Alpha who was able to control other Alphas. It came with Conqueror’s Haki, the two traits going hand in hand. Purring came to him instinctively, but he’d never felt the urge to do so before. He’d had lovers who’d requested it, but Shanks had always laughed them off like they’d told a joke. But seeing you distressed made the rumble come almost unbidden, rising from his chest like a balm. You still didn’t look at him, but your fingers relaxed incrementally. Shanks continued purring for you as you tensed at his presence next to you, tenderly picking you up to sit on his lap. You sat upright, stiff, your body rigid with fear and apprehension.

“Easy, little Omega, easy,” Shanks said between purrs. You didn’t respond but didn’t object either physically or verbally to anything he was doing. Shanks wound his arm around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The rhythmic sounds were working, lulling you into a state of relaxation and calm as your hands dropped to your lap and your head relaxed against his chest.

Your POV

You were gripping onto the Emperor’s black cloak like it was going to shield you from whatever was going to happen next. It was heavy and warm, smelling like tobacco, cloves, and oranges, a heady combination. Even if your life would be no better under the Emperor, at least this scent wouldn’t make the bile rise in your throat. 

You were still avoiding his gaze, your wrists shaking in the chains under his watch. He’d put you on his bed, likely for the same reasons Kid always had. At least he hadn’t thrown you against the wall or forced you to suck his cock first, making you choke until you cried or passed out. Much to your dismay, he began to purr for you. You’d heard stories during your childhood about the Alpha purr. There were whispers that it was a form of mind control, that it was used to beguile Omegas into doing things against their will. Kid had already done a lot of things against your will, the Emperor didn’t need to purr to make you do anything. You hoped this wasn't a precursor to something vile, though you were long past wishful thinking.

But as the Emperor continued to purr and moved you into his lap, you felt it working despite your efforts to remain alert. The soothing rumble had you taking deep breaths and relaxing your hands. You felt your exhaustion returning to you, adrenaline finally having run its course. Against your better judgment, you laid your head on the broad chest of the Emperor behind you. His well muscled arm encircled you, and you were content to forget the horrors that would likely await you in the coming days, feeling only the warmth and comfort of an Apex Alpha’s purr.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door of the cabin, making you jerk upright once again. You’d looked at the door when you’d been surprised, but you quickly affixed your gaze to the floor once again. You hoped Shanks hadn’t seen your mistake, or that he would be willing to forgive you if he did. But he didn’t move to strike you at all, just called out to whoever had the audacity to bother the Captain. 

“Come in, Hongo,” he said calmly. You wanted to hide your face in the crook of his neck again, but you knew there would be no solace found seeking comfort where there was none. Opening the door, a large man with blonde hair came inside, carrying a black leather doctor’s case. You said nothing and remained in place, it was the safest route for the time being. The man, whose name you now knew to be Hongo, walked slowly towards you and his Captain, as if he was walking towards a wild animal.

“How’re we doin’, Captain?” he asked, surveying the scene in front of him. The Captain obviously hadn’t been hurt, he was talking about you.

“Alright,” Shanks answered, arm squeezing you a little tighter. You flinched as the memories of being crushed by Kid’s arm came flooding back to you. “They had an Omega. She needs some help,” he said softly, patting your thigh over his cloak. You were acutely aware that you were completely nude below the cloak. You hoped Shanks wouldn’t take you in front of Hongo, or at least not for the first time. Kid had done whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter to him who saw what he did to you. 

“Sure, no problem,” Hongo replied easily, opening his bag. He brought out a stethoscope first, something you were familiar with. Winding the scope around his neck, he slowly pried the cloak out of your fingers in order to put the bell on your skin. You desperately wanted to stay within the safety of the cloak, but you knew you had no power. If they wanted to see you naked, they were going to get what they wanted. Surprisingly, Hongo didn’t remove the cloak completely, allowing you use it to cover your breasts and lower half while he worked. As Hongo placed the buds in his ears and reached towards you with the scope, you leaned back and away from the advancing hands. You hadn’t meant to, it was instinctive. Shanks started purring for you again as he gently but firmly kept you in place for Hongo, his arm across your waist.

“You’re safe, Omega, he’s not going to hurt you. He’s just checking your lungs and heart,” the Captain said softly. Hongo took his time listening, moving the scope around your back and front. Once he was done, he put the scope away and took out medical gloves. 

“I’m gonna check the wounds on your top half and neck, OK?” Hongo informed you. You said nothing as he began touching the injuries that you’d suffered at the hands of Kid. You kept yourself from making any noises of pain or recoiling when he touched something painful. You knew you looked beaten and ugly, despite avoiding the mirror. Kid always left bite marks, bruises, hickeys, and cuts whenever he was with you. Your breasts looked like they’d been mauled the last time you’d checked them. But the worst of all was your neck - between the times he’d choked you, the bite he’d given you, and the attention he gave your scent glands nightly, it was a column of black and blue. In spite of your efforts, you hissed when Hongo touched your neck tried to move away from his efficient hands. 

But the men weren’t going to let you shrink away from the medical inspection. Shanks cradled your head against his shoulder when Hongo inspected the agonizing bite on the spot between your neck and shoulder, purring all the while. You knew there was something wrong with it, but Kid had never let you touch it or clean the wound, saying that it would affect your mating bond. You thanked the seas that the bond hadn’t formed, but the throbbing pain of the bite had only gotten worse.

“You’ve got a lot of wounds on your torso and neck. Are there more below?” Hongo asked quietly when he was done inspecting your top half. You waited, not knowing if they wanted you to respond or not. Sometimes it was a trick, people would talk about you while you were there but if you responded, you got in trouble. 

“Hm, do you? I thought I saw some before,” Shanks asked you benignly, rubbing his fingers in circles over your skin. They were both quiet for a few moments and you realized they were waiting for you to respond. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk, so you gave a shaky nod while continuing to look at the floor.

“I’m gonna have to look, OK?” Hongo said, crouching down in front of the Captain. He was trying to make eye contact, but you steadfastly stared down, in order to show your obedience. You blinked rapidly several times, willing the tears not to fall from your eyes. You’d been naked in front of so many people, but the fact that Hongo was asking made you feel more vulnerable than ever. You nodded again, but your hands were frozen in place, gripping the cloak with all your meager strength.

“Brave little Omega, doing so well,” the Emperor said into your hair, kissing the top of your head. You didn’t know when the last time you’d been allowed to bathe was, you were sure you smelled disgusting. Shanks unwound his arm from your waist, and slowly tugged the fabric from your hands, letting it fall onto your lap. You tried not to squirm, not to move as the doctor touched your welts and cuts, but you felt humiliated and debased as he poked and prodded you. After a few minutes of inspection, Hongo sighed, stood up to his full towering height and snapped off the gloves.

“There’s a lot going on,” he said to the Emperor, who had rapidly covered you back in the cloak. “She’s got a lot of wounds, some healing, some new. That bite on her neck is infected, it needs to be taken care of immediately. She’s malnourished and has at least one broken rib. And she’s going to go into heat soon.” 

Your eyes finally snapped to the doctor’s, everything lost to the panic suddenly overwhelming you. 

Shanks POV

Perhaps having Dorry and Broggy destroy the ship wasn’t enough. As Shanks watched you flinch away from Hongo’s inspection, his rage rose by the second. He’d seen your naked form on the ship, but the dim light hadn’t revealed to him the depth of your injuries. It was practically a miracle that you were still alive, Shanks thought. It was well known that Omegas weren’t as durable as Betas and Alphas, they were generally treated with care like the treasures they were. But not only were you littered with wounds from head to toe, but you were a shell of a person. You hadn’t said a single word, you hadn’t made eye contact with him yet, and you hadn’t moved an inch outside of where Shanks had placed you. 

Now, with the information that you were going into heat soon, you were panicking. Shanks could feel your heart beating rapidly and saw your chest rising and falling too quickly. The Alpha in him was worried, wanting to soothe the Omega still perched on his lap. Shanks put his hand over your chest, trying to slow the beating of your heart. Even if the Alpha in him wanted to purr and cuddle you until you calmed down, the Captain needed to get a little more information out of you first. You were still lost in your own world, not responding to any stimulus.

“It’s alright, Sweetheart. Everything is going to be just fine. When was your last heat, hmm?” Shanks asked, holding your face in his hand. The touch seemed to ground you, causing you to blink rapidly as if you suddenly remembered there were other people in the room. You shook your head at his question, making Shanks frown at your answer. The longer an Omega went without a heat, the lengthier and more severe the symptoms were when it reappeared. Shanks hoped you hadn’t gone into heat during your time in captivity, it would increase the likelihood of an unwanted pregnancy. Looking at your body, he couldn’t imagine you were capable of carrying life in your current state. 

“What do you mean, little Omega? You haven’t had a heat in a year? Or longer?” Shanks asked. He knew you were scared and upset, but he and Hongo needed to know this information, it was part of the way they would take care of you. He gently turned your face towards his, forcing you to look up at him. You finally looked at his face, though you didn’t meet his eyes. You shook your head again.

“Tell me more, I need to know how to help you,” Shanks prompted, stroking your cheek. You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to gather yourself before speaking.

“Never,” you said in a hoarse whisper. Shanks recognized the voice from the laughter in the wake of battle.

“Never? What do you mean? This would be your first heat?” Hongo asked incredulously. Shanks hadn’t met another Omega, but it was known that they typically had their first heat cycle in their upper teens. 

You nodded, a tear running down your cheek. 

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 2

Day 2: Fate [Yandere M. Ghost x Gn. Reader]

Using @ozzgin's Yantober prompt list

Tipjar :)

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI! Tw. Possession, Death, Murder, Forced suicide, haunting, general ghost stuff, Nsfw themes, groping, soulmates

In which you find out your soulmate haunts your new apartment.

1.9k words

Everyone had a red string tied around their pinky finger that connected them to their soulmate. You were no different. For years you had absently twirled the thread around, dreaming about the day when you would meet your one and only.

That all came crashing down one day in your early 20s. 

You had been sitting in a lecture, diligently taking notes and listening when the red string, normally taut, went gray and grew limp in your lap. You had instantly broken down, screamed, cried and clutched the last vestiges of your other half leaving the realm of the living. 

Your soulmate died one cold autumn day, and you had felt hopeless ever since.

Years later, in your late twenties after you had worked like a slave in a corporate office, you had finally managed to save up to be able to afford a nice place in the heart of the city. You began touring different apartments you could potentially live in, and, though there were many options, you ended up going with a cozy and surprisingly cheap one bedroom place with a great view of the nearby river.

Upon further inspection, about almost a decade ago, a young man died here from a surprising and tragic accident.

It was a bit of a turn off, but it was too nice to pass up. You could picture yourself having a life there, and for whatever reason, your heartstrings tugged every time you let your hands run over the antique carvings on the doorway.

So you put down a deposit, packed up all your things, and moved into the place within a week. 

The windows were large and wide, lighting the whole place light up with sun and a cool breeze, The floorboards were made of a rich, old mahogany that creaked under your every footstep, and each of the rooms had this nice, homey feel to it that seemed like it would be perfect for a young couple living together for the first time. You felt relaxed there. It suited your needs perfectly, and never once did the thought of the previous owner cross your mind.

A few weeks into living there, and suddenly strange noises would be made beyond your bedroom door. 

Squeaking, groaning noises, too. They sounded like heavy, uncoordinated footsteps, and you grabbed a knife you kept near your bedside and peered out with fear twisted in your gut into the rest of your home. There was no one there, and you were left feeling paranoid and confused, unaware of your severed thread twitching despite the lack of wind.

Stranger happenings began to occur after that.

Lights would flicker, objects would be knocked over randomly, and you’d feel a chill take over your body randomly. They were all things you could consider to be kind of normal, so you tried your best to ignore them for the sake of your own sanity. Your pinky would ache slightly with each thing, though. It gave you pause, but your thread remained lax and gray as the day the other owner died.

But other things weren’t as easy to brush off.

It would become so cold in your house that you could see your breath come out in wispy puffs, your teeth chattering as the mirrors and windows would become frosted over in the dead of summer, only for the whole frigid interior to disappear with a quick blink of the eye. It would drive you crazy, but you could only chalk it up to being stressed from work and the recent change of scenery. Another odd thing was the fact that when you would come back from a long day at your job to find that nearly every object on your bookshelf, your couch pillows, and shoes had been scattered on the ground.

You called the police and contacted the building in a panic, but nothing came out of it. No one had broken in, nothing was stolen, and nothing happened. Your finger burned the entire time they searched your apartment. 

You began to feel unsettled in your own home. Something was most definitely wrong. There was this familiar, twisting feeling deep in your gut. It was the same feeling you had that fateful day, the one where you had screamed and cried out for someone you had never actually met before. There was nothing to justify it, but you felt it anyway. You felt it when the candles you had lit would suddenly blow out despite the windows being closed. You felt it when the doors would remain shut no matter how hard you tried to open them when it was time to leave for the day. 

It was only when you saw someone else standing in the mirror behind you when you knew it was validated.

You froze in shock, your heart nearly stopping in your chest. You let out a little whimper and slowly turned your head to face the tall, slouched man whose face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hair. But there was no one there. You blinked, your hands trembling and laughed as you wiped your face.

“Holy fuck… I really am losing it,” You gasped out in a mix of relief and dread, yet it was cut short when your eyes met your pinky finger. The thread was still ashen in color, but it was taut once again for the first time in years. It was connected to the open air.

Your expression was blank, and you turned back to the mirror. The man was still there.

“What the fuck?” 

You stared in horror at the mirror as he approached you. You felt like your feet were rooted to the ground, but for some reason, a glimmer of hope ignited in you.

“Are you… are you my soulmate?” You asked, barely a whisper, and the shadowy figure paused in his steps(?). It tilted its head, and you could faintly make out the fully connected string, scarlet as blood. A dark hand reached for you, and you stayed still, allowing it.

Cold. He was so cold. You gasped, your lips trembling, and you realized you were crying. His hand passed through you, and you shuddered. “O-oh,” you whimpered, and you could feel him in your bones, your organs, your everything. You raised your head as a transparent, frigid finger prompted you to raise your head back. 

It was exploratory, almost innocent at first. He was like a shepherd guiding a flock of lambs, gilding your fingers, limbs and body into different poses, and you felt how amazed he was. You could only keep your gaze ahead, for you were afraid that if you blinked or turned away, this would all somehow vanish. There were alarm bells screaming in the back of your head, but the chill embraced you. He embraced you. It was all you had ever wanted.

And then it felt like something inside of you had been grabbed.

“Urk!” You let out a shocked noise as the feeling spread through your entire form. Every cell, every follicle of hair, even the way your nose wrinkles and twitched as whoever inside of you, no… no as your soulmate smelled for the first time in years. A hand you didn’t control touched your face. You touched your face.

He made you examine your face, laughing softly as he traced over your features with your own fingers. You wanted to scream and cry tears of joy at the same time. Instead, he smiled, and in the mirror you smiled back.

“I can’t believe it,” He spoke in a way you would never, the words feeling unnatural as they left your grinning lips. He laughed, you laughed, and he hugged you. He trailed up his touch over your body, shuddering with pleasure as your cheeks flushed red. 

“Stop that,” You wanted to say. “Don’t touch me there.” But your tongue even belonged to him now, and the thread on your pinky had formed into a little loop, twitching on itself every now and then. He looked at it, and you viewed everything through your eyes. It was a strange feeling, as if you were watching a show where you could feel, smell, taste and hear what was happening on screen. 

“I hoped it would be you. I hoped that I was right. I thought I was going to spend forever without you,” He whispered, a solemn expression crossing over you both. You wanted to throw up for some reason. It was like you could sense what he was thinking. Was it because he was your soulmate? Or was it because he was actually inside of you?

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you,” he said, a giddy warmth blooming in him, but your stomach dropped. His face twitched, you both flinched, and he hummed.

“You know… I was so happy when I realized you were mine. I’m glad that I finally got to talk to you,” He looked directly into the mirror, so you looked into your own eyes, so you could stare at him. You couldn’t look away. He touched you, and pulled open your shirt. You felt sweat roll down your temple as did he. He just kept going.

 More. He pulled your pants down. More, he shoved your own fingers down your throat. More. He posed you as he pleased, touched were he wanted, groaned and laughed in euphoric bliss as he made you watch. Goosebumps raised all over your skin, and he clicked his tongue.

“You just don’t understand. You wouldn’t get it. I watched you for months and you never even noticed. And then you would try to drive me out when all I was doing was trying to talk to you. Do you know what I thought when I died? I thought of how devastated I was that I was never going to get the chance to meet you.”

Your hands crept up, trailing over your naked torso, tracing your chest, until the reached your neck and began to squeeze. You gasped, and he laughed in two disjointed noises, both vying to use your vocal cords.

“Plea-”

“I would’ve died for you, you know? If you died. I wouldn’t be able to live unless I had you. I think you owe me that,” He drawled in wheezing, short gasps.

Fear gripped you, and you crashed to the ground. No, no he didn’t understand! He didn’t know how long you mourned, how long you grieved for the loss of him, how many times you wished you could join him. He didn’t know. Tears slipped out of your eyes, and he darted your tongue out to taste them. Your heart began to beat rapidly within your chest, trying to fight for your life.

“Die for me [Name], die for me.”

You curled onto the cold floor, almost as cold as his embrace. Your lips parted like a gaping fish, your skin turning blue. You could feel him smile despite it all. You heard your pulse thundering in your ears.

"Our.. forever.. starts …now.” Your voice was so foreign now. In your dimming, fuzzy vision, you could almost pretend he was whispering in your ear. It was like your feelings echoed and overlapped over themselves. Betrayal, anger, sorrow. All of it clashed with his absolute excitement. You were hurting, and your soulmate didn’t care.  Your body shook one last time, his freezing grip tightening, and then your heart stopped.

[dumbkiri]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 3

χα∂єη яισяѕση χ ƒ! мαιяι! яєα∂єя

ρℓσт: Training. RSC. Bodhi. Xaden. Can anything get worse than the future you see for yourself? The dream of falling out of the dark sky with a shrill roar of heartbreak? No, you think your fate is sealed in stone.

(slight Bodhi bc ngl im feeling this sweet goober)

PART THREE

TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE

Training Violet wasn’t so bad after all. 

However she did talk too much, always reciting some story, the Codex or a book to keep herself motivated. You could never get her to close her mouth these past days. She asked too many questions about your signet and this time, you chucked your dagger into the tree she was kicking to get her to shut up. 

“Seriously, Sorrengail,” Your shoulders dropped in defeat, yet tone laced with a threat “If I have to hear another word come out of your mouth instead of a grunt, I will cut your tongue out.”

Violet’s eyes turned away from you and she went back to kicking the tree. Good, she is smart after all. 

“Tairn told me that Sgaeyl watched you kill six people during your Threshing.”

You don’t see what Xaden sees in her. Everyone goes off about how smart Violet is, but here she stands testing your patience. Perhaps the feeling of a new person stirred something inside of him. The excitement of sneaking around and-

“She said that if Xaden never existed, she would have chosen you.” 

“Then it’s a good thing he does,” You grumbled, your face falling into your hands. Damn it, if she doesn’t understand your story or relationship with Xaden she’s just going to keep talking. 

“Come join me over here,” You tear your hands from your face and gesture to the spot in front of the boulder you sat on. 

Violet, slightly limping from the extensive exercise, made her way over to you and sat on the dirt ground across from you. 

“Since you cannot focus on your training, ask me only three questions,” You leaned back on your palms and looked at her expectantly. 

“Why did you kill those people? Were you fighting them to have Lenin claim you?” 

You narrowed your eyes at the ground and shook your head, “No.” Then you looked back at her, “These people were bullies, picture Jack Barlowe cloned six times and have them band up together. That is the type of group that targeted me. Although it was a woman that led the group and her name was Lara, she is the seventh. Lenin killed her and I swear, I can hear her pleas and the way her body crunched in his mouth.”

Violet, appalled by your description leaned in, “Lenin didn’t burn her? Tairn burned-” 

“Nah, Lenin saw my memories and knew about all the pain she put me through. He wanted her to suffer and I’m telling you it was a very scary situation.” You huffed out a laugh without humor. 

“We were surrounded by a dense fog, you could barely see five feet in front of you. I just got done killing the sixth when Lara froze up. I thought maybe she couldn’t believe that I killed all her friends. Hell I barely remember killing them, it was like I was possessed.”

Again, you can feel the rain wash the blood from your enemies tainted on your body. You spun your dagger with your middle finger remembering the feeling so well. Like it happened yesterday. Your heart pounded against your chest, the breath that left your lips vaporized, your muscles forced you to move on to your next target.

You cleared your throat and said, “When I finally moved to her, having the itch to drive my dagger into her heart that is when I felt that tugging Professor Kaori informed us about. Then I heard his voice way before his tail came in, swiping her from under the floor. Can you imagine it? Having Tairn hide in the dark fog, his deep voice rumbling in your head?”

Violet nodded her head, “I think I can, but he says his son is very attached to you. It’s why Lenin showed no mercy to that Lara woman.” 

You smile back at her, “Because I’m his first rider. I’m sure Sgaeyl and Tairn have told Lenin about their previous riders. That the death of a rider isn’t improbable. So Lenin is attached to my hip, and he’s still young. We got a special bond going on. He makes me stronger.” 

“My cloak and dagger,” Lenin hummed with gratification, his feelings drowning you through the bond. You swear he felt a strong desire to protect you. Not wanting to give you a Rider’s death. One of pain and suffering. Lenin does not want to almost die like his father because of a rider. 

“You will not die.” Lenin ordered.

“Are you and Xaden dating?” 

What a weird question to ask. It’s almost fucked up to ask. Xaden hasn’t spared time for you and she wants to ask if you’re dating him? She should know Xaden is wrapped around her finger and yep, you’re starting to hate the both of them for their audacity. Xaden’s jealousy and Violet’s insensitive question got you riled up. This honestly pissed you off and you didn’t hold back questioning Tairn’s decision for this girl. 

“Lenin, can you ask your dad if he really chose her for her intelligence?”

“I wouldn’t answer her question, Dagger,” Lenin said, “Almost seems like a trap.”

You take his words into consideration. How would this be a trap? If you said the truth, which is no, would she go on pursuing Xaden? Not that it matters anymore. You lost Xaden to her. Watching them together made you feel blue. Out with the old and in with the new. 

You shook your head and sighed, “Dating didn’t seem problematic for us. We might as well have been with the amount of times we’ve slept together.” 

Suddenly his scars came to mind the moment you thought about him. The pain he burdened himself to keep all the children alive. Violet’s mother, the one who made him go through that, showed no mercy to him. He paid the price of mercy, you reminded yourself and your heart grew heavy with the reminder. 

How can he look at Violet and think she’s the one for him. Especially after what her mother did to him. 

“You asked three questions,” You pointed at her tree, “Now go back to kicking.” 

Violet looked at you like she wanted to say more, yet she held her tongue for once. Then she started kicking the tree with her right leg. She couldn’t get your words out of her head, and she asked with heavy breaths, “What do you mean by ‘dating didn’t seem problematic’? Why didn’t you guys-” 

When she turned back around to direct the last bit of her question to you, you were gone. 

“[Name]?” She called out into the silent day. 

……

“Well this is probably the worst group I’d want to be in,” You muttered under your breath, sitting across from Dain. He gave you a look that said he’d rather be kidnapped with someone else too. You’d forgotten about the whole kidnapping part in the RSC. 

Then he straightened out his back, trying to size you up it seemed. Dain spoke with slight annoyance, focusing on how close you and Imogen stuck to one another, “We have to work together, and believe me. If I had a choice, I would be stuck with another group.” 

“Since you’re Colonel Aetos’ son couldn’t you, I don’t know,” You waved your hand lazily, “Get your way with a group for RSC?” 

“I like to do things by the rules, Mairi,” Dain huffed. 

You laughed with your shoulders, “Oh yeah, I forgot about you and your rules. God, no wonder Violet moved on to Xaden. Your girl just stole my man because you couldn’t keep a tight leash on her.” 

“Maybe it was you,” Dain bit back, not liking how you pulled Violet into the conversation, “Aren’t you two supposed to be endgame? Xaden had no problem flaunting you like a trophy, but like every trophy…they’re left on the shelf. To be looked at as a memory of the past.” 

You shook your head and said unbothered, “Ouch. Although I’m glad you described me as a trophy, it’s better than a rebound. Or gum stuck under someone’s boot.” 

“You’re starting to piss me off, [Name],” Dain spat as he rose from his seat. 

You stood up to meet him halfway, “Oh no, did I break a rule doing so? Hurt your fragile ego?” You reached for your dagger at your hip and forgot that you’ve been unarmed. Well that ruined your threatening nature because Dain’s frustrated look turned into a smirk as he looked down at you. 

“Listen, we need to share our secrets with one another,” Pam said, growing tired of the back and forth between you and Dain, “ I also feel like there’s some sexual tension you’re sharing with one another.” 

Appalled, you and Dain reeled back in utter disgust.

“Fuck no.” 

“Hell no.” 

Pam laughed and shrugged her shoulders, “Your responses are close enough too. It’s not wrong for the both of you to get together especially after being replaced.” 

“She’s right,” Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and when she saw the hurt on your face, she corrected herself, “we need to focus on the secret part. Mine is I’ve slept with [Name] twice before her relationship with Xaden was even a thing.” 

“Imogen!” You shouted, pink tinting your face, “That is like the ultimate secret! It’s supposed to stick with us. Now they know!” 

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “That's the whole point of this RSC training, woman. I didn’t describe our situation and-“ 

“Can I use the same secret?” You asked, interrupting her so she really wouldn’t say anything else and Dain shook his head. 

“Nice try.” 

Rolling your eyes, you thought hard about a secret. You really didn’t have any. Besides Xaden and the rebellion…revolution. Fuck, do you know if it’ll be fine to say your signet is stronger? 

“[Name], what’s yours?” Pam asked. You must have missed hers and Dain’s when you were thinking of one. 

You looked at Imogen then back to Dain. Yep, you were really doing this. 

“I can cloak more than two people.” 

“What.” Pam and Dain stared at you incredulously. 

“I can cloak more than two people,” You reiterated. 

“[Name], that’s…amazing! You can-“ 

“It’s dangerous,” Dain cut in, his eyes narrowed with a threat. You knew what he was implying. You can cloak three or more Marked people without the chance of getting caught. You have done so many times. Not that he needs this information.

Now he could ruin everything by telling his dad this shit. You put yourself and everyone else in danger with this secret out. 

“Look,” You said with a grim smile, “If anything it allows us to escape this RSC exercise. We can be the first group to achieve this.” 

You tried to make things better for you. Keyword: tried. The way you caught Imogen giving you a hard stare implied that she really wasn’t happy about you spilling this secret. 

“You’re right!” Pam jumped up from her seat and said, “Your cloak will trick the interrogators when they come back in! We can just hang in the back and wait.” 

Without a word, your cloak moved over them and they shuddered in the cold. You wanted to get this thing over with, as fast as you can so Imogen could wipe their memory. 

“I’m sorry, it’s a new feeling, but you’ll get used to it.” 

“I can’t believe you can do this,” Dain whispered, entranced by the darkness that covered him. 

“I only started doing this when Professor Kaori caught Bodhi and I-” You shook your head and said, “Professor Kaori told me I should work on my signet because it’s unique. So I did, not everyone knows I can do this. It’s why it's a secret, a really huge one.” 

“I don’t understand why you’d keep it a secret,” Dain muttered, “With you being a Marked one-” 

“Aetos, shut your mouth,” You whispered and the door to the classroom opened up. 

Show time. 

……

“Bodhi, I messed up.” 

Your eyes skimmed over the bruises on his muscled arms in deep thought over the consequences that may follow you. This is how you should have come out of RSC two days ago. Or at least one of your group members. 

Recovering from bruises and a rough interrogation. Instead your group walked out because of your signet, easy as pie. No bruises, not cuts or fractured bones. You guys walked out of the room under your cloak. Being invisible to the eye really worked wonders. 

The patch on your flight jacket didn’t even bring joy to you. You earned it at what cost…

“How so?” He hummed while resting his head back onto your pillow. He stared at you with his crown of black curls framing his handsome face. God, those eyes melted your worries away until you remember the hardened ones that belonged to Dain. 

You were in deep shit. Shit you couldn’t swim your way out of even if you did have help. No one wants to help someone who literally dug their own grave.

With Bodhi’s knees bent, you leaned over them with your arms crossed on top of them. 

You didn’t dare look back into his eyes, afraid of the initial reaction. You can barely stand the one Imogen gives you now. 

She didn’t outwardly tell you, but you knew she had to tell Xaden. To warn him and the others that your signet is out. You’re going to be monitored by all the professors and more importantly, Dain. 

“I told Dain Aetos that I can cloak multiple people as my secret for the interrogation.” 

“Oh.” 

Great. You pulled away from him, but he was quick to catch your hands in his. And he tugged you down to him, “You didn’t let me finish.” 

“What is there to say? I fucked up and when Xaden catches wind of this…I’m utterly screwed.” You tried one more time to pull away from him, yet his arms circled around your waist with gentle care. 

“Please listen to what I have to say then you can wallow about the future.” 

“If I have one,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. This made him chuckle and lift you a little higher to his face. Your head rested on his chest and he began playing with the strands of your hair. 

“We know, everyone knows that you told Dain this. Do I think telling the guy who can search through memories that you can cloak multiple people is a good idea…no.” He said flatly, his fingers running through your hair. 

“But do I think your mind is a strong force to penetrate, yes. Why do you think Xaden spent all his time questioning you, he can never read you. Yet he reads the rest of us like open books. Our shields mean jack shit to him. My point is; Xaden isn’t worried about you spilling anything because he trusts that fortress inside your head too much. We all do.” 

“Bodhi, that is the literal point,” You worriedly argued, “I’m going to be questioned and have my memories searched. Just because Xaden can't "read" my mind like he does you- do you really think I’m safe within these walls now that my signet is-”

You started to worry about the truth of your signet. You can move objects now. If Dain finds out about this-

“They don’t know your signet, [Name],” Bodhi reassured, “They don’t realize the real strength you have. You still have a dagger up your sleeve. You just told Dain the easiest part of your signet.” 

He moved his hand down to your shoulder and rubbed up and down your arm. He shared his warmth with you and you can feel sleep gradually whisk you away as time went on in the silence. His relaxed breathing lulled you to sleep as you both got comfortable on your bed. 

Tomorrow you will think more about the consequences. Right now, you will happily enjoy Bodhi’s gentle company. 

……

“Liam, listen to me!” You begged, grabbing onto his hand. 

“No, you listen,” Liam shouted back, his blue eyes glaring into your soul, “I’m sorry, alright? I haven’t spent any time with you and I’m sorry. But you know how important it is to keep Violet alive! I’m doing a favor for everyone and I’m sorry you can’t get past the hatred you have towards her. It’s not my fault Xaden forgot you! It’s not my fault Violet is easier to be around with!” 

Shattered. 

Your brother heaved as he focused on his breathing, to get all the air he let out into yelling at you. Deigh’s throat rumbled in dissatisfaction, looming over Liam and you paid no attention to the dragon that wanted to claim you before Lenin got to you. 

Although Deigh must have said something to your brother, the way his eyes softened at your desperate expression forced himself to calm down. 

“[Name], those last parts- I didn’t mean…” His words drowned out in the back of his throat because the look you gave him broke his heart. 

“I just want you to save yourself,” You whispered, then your hands pushed against his sturdy chest. The anger in you boiled inside and you had to let it out, let it out, “but if you want to die then do it! Kill yourself and leave Sloane to deal with me! You’d leave her alone with the worst older sibling, is that what you want? To have our baby sister hate Violet, your precious best friend! To have Sloane deal with me!” 

“I want them to live!”

“And I want you to live!” You countered back. 

Liam sighed heavily, burdened by the choice of his sisters or everyone’s fate, “We all can’t get what we want. Whatever ends up happening, I will still be your brother. You should know that I love you and Sloane and I will do anything to come back to you guys.” 

“This isn’t just for love,” You stressed the words in your sentence, “This more than that. Losing you, I-I cannot let that happen.”

Liam enveloped you into his hug, he felt like nothing. 

“I’ll be safe, I won’t do anything reckless.”

……

The moon never looked so pretty. You always looked at it with privilege and now you enjoyed the graceful light. It stared at you, enveloped you in a chill that allowed you to accept your fate. 

Because if Liam can sacrifice himself for Violet, why can’t you make the same sacrifice for him?

You fell in what felt like slow motion as you kept your eyes on the moon. Liam was right. Sloane would be better off with him alive and mourning you. She needed him more than you, the bitter sister of the Mairi Family. 

“Hold on, Dagger!”

No, you didn’t want to. You’re too far gone. The edges of your vision darkened, but the moon still kept its beautiful glow on you as it watched you fall. What a beautiful sight to close your eyes to. The last image of your ending. 

Then your ears hurt at the sound of a piercing cry of a weak roar. One that begged you to keep your eyes open. One that said, don’t leave me. 

............................

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[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 3

previous part

tw: alcohol use, brief mentions of suicide, soft ghost <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Day six.

You made it another day in your deal with Ghost, and it was supposed to feel good. The entire point was to prove to him and yourself that you didn’t want to die, that you could figure out the demons in your head and summon them out, but it was proving to be a much more difficult task than you thought.

Waking up on the morning of your sixth day didn’t feel all that good like you thought it would. Ghost hadn’t returned to your apartment since he stayed to see you make it to day five, and you weren’t sure when he was coming back.

It wasn’t clear why you were taking a liking to his company. Maybe you were lonely, maybe you just needed a friend, and he happened to be there in the right place at the right time.

The thought of it scared you, though. You hadn’t let anybody into your life since your ex-boyfriend, and you always preferred it that way – keeping a distance meant you wouldn’t get hurt again, and certainly, this masked man would eventually do the same thing to you if he decided to stick around.

You wanted to call the deal off. Not because you still wanted him to kill you, not because you wanted your life to end, but because you didn’t want to grow attached, just for you to not have a change of heart in the end.

It would be fucked up of you if you allowed a bond to form between you and Ghost, only to take it away through an act of death after the deal was up. That would just be plain selfish.

So, you tried distracting yourself instead.

It was a nice day today, and the weather, albeit chilly with that slight bite of cold wind, was an almost perfect excuse to take a night off and have fun by yourself in a bar. Surely, that doesn’t count as you going against Ghost’s deal of self-healing bullshit if it’s just for fun, right?

That’s exactly what led you to appear at a local bar downtown. Ironically, it was right down the street from the coffee shop where you first met Simon in the meeting to discuss your self-proclaimed suicide mission. You passed it on your walk to the bar, and a slight feeling of guilt tugged at your heartstrings as your eyes drifted to it, even as it was already behind you.

Shaking the guilt away, you continued on your journey along the sidewalk. There was no reason to feel guilty. You owed nothing to Ghost, and you were still technically keeping up your end of the bargain. A harmless night of fun was something you needed to shoo away those demons, at least that’s what you told yourself.

The bar wasn’t packed, which you didn’t mind. After all, it was only a Thursday night and most people had work the next morning. Lucky for you, that meant the bar wouldn’t take a long time for your drink orders, so you wasted no time in diving in, conversing with the bartender as the night went on.

About four drinks in, you could feel the weight of the alcohol lay heavy on your mind. It made things a bit hazy, like a brewing fog was beginning to loom over you. Your arms rested comfortably on the bar counter, head slightly bowed down as you attempted to keep yourself upright. Being an ex-alcoholic (you absolutely were not an ex, you just loved to float down the river of denial), alcohol was unpredictable in the way it affected your body.

Sometimes, it forced you to loosen up and have fun.

Other times, it made the weight of your issues much heavier.

Right now, it was an awkward middle, like your body was torn between wanting to enjoy this moment of serene relaxation, and wanting to plop right into bed and sleep your worries away, pretending they never existed in the first place.

The sound of somebody plunking themselves down on the stool next to you forced your head to lift, and when you came in sight of that damned mask, you wanted to stand up and let your legs lead you right to the bar’s exit.

Ghost sat unbothered, ordered himself a bourbon from the kind bartender. She flashed him a polite smile, throwing me a slight glance, and when you gave her a shrug, she left the two of you alone after retrieving Ghost’s drink.

“You a stalker now or something?” you grumbled in feigned annoyance, letting your head loll back down on the counter with a huff.

Ghost’s hand wrapped around the glass of bourbon while the other lifted his mask enough to reveal his mouth. You noticed instantly that he wasn’t wearing his gloves, and you stared at the littered scars on his hands as well as the veins that ran up from his knuckles and beneath the cuff of his hoodie sleeve.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to look away from them, opting on his eyes.

“Somethin’ like that,” he hummed, tipping the glass to his mouth to take a sip of the bitter alcohol. You wrinkled your nose up at it, not quite fond of dark liquor (though, who were you to be picky, seeing your collection of scattered bottles that consumed your home?).

“‘M not gonna kill myself, y’know,” you slurred out in defense, rolling your head so your cheek rested flat on the counter as you stared at him with what you hoped was perceived as disapproval.

“I know, love. Wouldn’t hire me if you were.”

Touche.

Frowning to yourself, you observed the way his lips parted to allow more of the murky liquor to pour into his mouth and down his throat, your eyes dropping to see his throat bob as he swallowed. The small scar on his lips caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment more, taking in the slight curve of it over his top lip, the scar tissue white in contrast to the light pinkess of his mouth.

“Why are you here?” you managed to ask, having to practically pry your eyes away from him.

The alcohol must’ve been getting to your brain too much, because you had the brief thought that he looked pretty. Gosh, half of his face was still covered by the mask, what was wrong with you?

“Went by your place. Saw you weren’t there.”

“You mean broke into my place,” you corrected, and you swore you nearly saw stars from the way his lip curled up in amusement.

“Mm. Maybe that,” he agreed with a careless shrug.

He leaned one of his arms on the counter, tilting his head in your direction. You could feel his eyes taking you in, studying you as always, as if you were a book he was analyzing every time he saw you. They stare at your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol. Your hair, which was lazily falling in your face from where your head lay. Your mouth, which was pulled into a mix of a frown and a pout that you clearly had no intentions of wiping off.

“Why are you here?” He repeated the question back to you, and you gave him the same shrug he had given you.

“I can’t have fun?”

“This fun to you?”

“...No.”

He chuckled out a laugh that rumbled you to the core, and you blinked stupidly at him as he downed the rest of the bourbon.

“Thought so, sweetheart. It’s a bit dingy in here, innit?”

You shifted your eyes to take in the bar, and sad to say, he was right. The bar itself wasn’t all that great, though you didn’t necessarily come because it was lavish. It was pretty old and outdated, with wooden counters, old floors, and stools that creaked under every movement. But hey, they had a pool table and a dart board, so it wasn’t all that bad.

“Maybe just a bit,” you sighed out, and he smiled at you.

“Right. So why are you here?” He asked again, and you stared at him for a moment before sighing again.

“Figuring myself out like you wanted me to,” you offered, and he raised an unimpressed eyebrow under the balaclava.

“Figurin’ yourself out with half a dozen vodka cranberries isn’t somethin’ I see as helpful. Weird choice in drink, by the way.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but promptly shut it, because damn it, vodka cranberries really weren’t all that good.

His fingers tapped mindlessly along the empty glass in front of him, and you found your gaze once again drifting to take in the rough pads of his fingers and healed cuts on the back of his hand. For a moment, a very, very brief moment, you wished you could reach out and take hold of it, just to feel what it was like to hold somebody else’s hand again.

It had been a long time since you’d had any sort of touch, both innocent and intimate, and your ex-boyfriend certainly wasn’t the type of man to hold your hand like delicate glass and place kisses along the back of it.

Ghost let out a long sigh through his nose as he took note of your mental absence. “That pretty head of yours is always runnin’ around.”

Pretty head. He always said that, and now, it caused a weird clench in your chest.

“You’re pretty,” you blurted out drunkenly, and when Ghost stared at you in silence, you prayed that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Never in your life had something so embarrassing happened, and you weren’t even sure why you said that.

You’d met Ghost a total of three times, and it wasn’t under normal circumstances. Most people meet a man on dating apps or at a damn park where they accidentally bump into one another and have a moment of love at first sight. You met Ghost off of the fucking dark web.

“You’re pretty too, sweetheart.” He chuckled in amusement, seemingly unbothered by your sudden display of admiration, and you felt your cheeks warm.

You aggressively turned your head away from him, plopping your other cheek on the counter so you wouldn’t have to look at him. He made no move to stop you, which you were thankful for.

“Think it’s ‘bout time you start goin’ home and get yourself ready for day seven, yeah?”

Ghost’s voice sent a buzz through your already fuzzy body, and instead of protesting, you found yourself nodding despite him being unable to see your face.

Yeah, home sounded good. Your bed sounded good. Sleeping this shame off sounded good.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, and when you felt a hand lightly rest on your shoulder, you picked your head up to look at him.

His mask was back over his mouth, but his eyes crinkled in a familiar smile as he gestured his head to the bar door.

Oh. He wanted to walk you.

You stood on legs of jelly, lightly swaying as you gained your balance. His hand reached out to grab hold of your elbow, and when you met his soft gaze, you felt small underneath it. Tall was what he was, towering over you, but instead of feeling intimidated like you did in your first meeting, you felt a wave of security.

Ghost had somehow knew you would be here, drinking away your sorrows, and he showed up with no judgment. Now he was offering to walk you to your apartment, even though he barely knew you.

Were hitmen always this sweet? Or was it just Ghost?

You let your mind run astray as he gently guided you out of the bar and on the sidewalk of downtown, keeping a light grip on you the entire way. No words were said, but none needed to be. The silence was comforting, and it allowed you your moment of serenity while you processed just how much this man was doing for you on his own free whim.

You expected Ghost to simply drop you off at your door and leave you to go inside, but when he fumbled with the doorknob and led you into your home, you realized he wasn’t that kind of asshole and he wanted to make sure you made it to bed instead of a heap on the floor.

His hand remained on your elbow as he took you to your room. The sight of your bed was one that could’ve brought you to tears, and you happily crawled into it, curling up in a ball the moment your head hit the pillow.

Ghost stood by your bedside as he waited for you to get comfortable, before stepping out of the room. At first, you thought he left you without saying goodbye.

Your mind plagued you in those futile seconds. Was he mad at you? Did you disappoint him by going out and drinking again?

Then you heard the tell tale signs of him rummaging around in cabinets, and you could only guess he was in the kitchen. You continued to lay there patiently while he proceeded with whatever task he busied himself with, eyes staring into the darkness that filled the room.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water, which he set carefully on the nightstand near your head.

You didn’t understand. Nobody had ever shown you such kindness before. Life had only ever given you the hands of people who would use you up until you were wrung dry. People always expected things in return, and your fear was making you wonder if that was what Ghost was expecting.

To make things worse, you practically invited that idea into his head by saying he was pretty.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. It came out in a tone that revealed your hidden uncertainty, and he instantly took note of it from the way his eyes softened beneath the fabric of his mask.

“You’re drunk. Not goin’ to just leave you there to dehydrate.”

“No.” You shook your head, frowning up at him. “I mean, why are you doing any of this? The deal, helping me, watching me, I– I don’t understand. I can’t give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want, sweetheart?” he asked you, crouching down by your bedside so he could be eye level with you. You wanted to look away, you should’ve looked away, but you had never seen such gentle eyes before.

“I… I don’t know. Sex? More money? Isn’t this all some sort of trick?”

“Sex? A trick?” His tone was slightly offended, perhaps even hurt, and you instantly wanted to take your words back. “No, sweetheart, that’s not why I’m doin’ any of this. I’m doin’ this ‘cause I care.”

“But why?”

The air filled with silence as we competed in a staredown, and the sobering side of you was regretting every moment of this conversation. Stupid girl, always ruining good things, why can’t you ever keep your mouth shut–

“I see myself in you,” he confessed, and you shut your mind up. You didn’t respond, only continuing to stare at him, waiting for him to continue. “You’re hurtin’. I can see that. Life’s treated you real bad, hasn’t it?”

His words felt both like salt being poured into your open wounds, while simultaneously placing a bandaid over them with loving hands.

“You’re the only person who’s ever tried to hire me to kill themselves. Couldn’t just leave you high ‘n dry like that, not when you’re hurtin’ that bad. I don’t want to kill you, sweetheart.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“But… you will, if I end up deciding that’s what I want, right?” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or convincing him.

Ghost stared at you, eyes flickering over your face that was dimly lit up from the stray rays of moonlight peeking in through your sliding door of your balcony. Your eyes were slightly glossed over from both the alcohol and unshed tears that threatened to spill, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, to encourage you to let them fall.

“Don’t know if I have the willpower to do that to you anymore, sweetheart.”

He stood up from where he was crouched beside your bed, and your eyes followed, staying locked on his.For a pause in time, the two of you said nothing, and the room filled with a deafening silence that made it hard to breathe.

It was broken when he carefully lifted his hand, reaching to your face to brush a stray hair that was hanging over your eyes. The rough pad of his finger lingered, tracing along your eyebrow and tracing out the feature before promptly pulling back.

“Get some rest,” he said, voice soft and quiet, but still with the tinges of gravelly undertone that made it sound like a sweet lullaby.

Your nod was confirmation for him to leave, and as he stepped out of your bedroom, you called out to him.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Ghost,” you thanked with a grateful smile.

He looked at you for a moment before smiling himself, evident in the way his eyes wrinkled.

“Call me Simon, love.”

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x

waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is Velvet Ring by Big Thief

tws: physical/emotional abuse, sexual harassment, self harm/suicidal thoughts, trauma/ PTSD

previous chapter → chapter 5 -> next chapter

word count: 2.7k

The next two days are spent watching random TV shows and eating the random soups Simon cooks up and taking sluggish walks up and down your street, bundled up in a hat, gloves, and jacket Simon made you put on before you go. He insisted that getting outside would help, even though it's hardly 35 degrees. “You need to get outside,” he insisted, standing in your doorway with his arms crossed and a wool beanie tugged low over his ears. “Fresh air’ll do you good.”

“It’s barely above freezing,” you’d protested, sinking deeper into the cocoon of your blanket on the futon.

“Good for the immune system,” Simon said, deadpan, as he tossed your gloves onto the armrest beside you. “Hat. Gloves. Jacket. Let’s go. You’re not stayin’ cooped up like this.” Next thing you know, he was herding you out the door like a sheep, your protests muffled by the scarf he wrapped snugly around your neck.

 So, as he whips up some more soup and toast, you pace up and down the street twiddling your thumbs until you hear him beckoning you back inside. “Soup’s ready. Come in before you turn into an icicle.”

Back inside, the aroma of simmering soup and freshly toasted bread filled the air. You sat at your small, slightly wobbly table, a steaming bowl in front of you. Simon pulled out the chair across from you but never took a seat; instead, he leaned against the counter, arms folded, sipping tea from one of your mismatched mugs.

“Not hungry?” you asked, gesturing to the untouched pot on the stove.

“I’ll eat later,” he replied.

Simon doesn’t eat much while he’s here—you’ve noticed that. He focuses on making sure you’re eating instead, dishing out ladles of creamy broth or chunky stew, nudging the toast plate closer when it looks like you’re slowing down.

Conversation didn’t come easily. You didn’t feel up to it, and Simon never seemed to mind the quiet. He filled the space with odd little remarks—a fact about some bird he saw once, a sarcastic jab about your cluttered counter.

“Nice tapestry,” he said once, nodding at the woven fabric hanging crookedly on your wall. “Very… thrift store chic.”

“It was $2.50,” you replied dryly, between spoonfuls.

“Bargain.”

When he wasn’t orchestrating your meals or sending you out into the cold for what he called “revitalizing,” Simon kept busy. He cleaned your bandages with careful precision, his hands steady and warm as they worked. The first time, he winced as he crouched down beside you, and you caught the slightest hiss of pain under his breath.

“Are you okay?” you asked, craning your neck to look at him.

“Fine,” he replied quickly, but you noticed the way his knuckles looked bruised and raw, like he’d been punching something—or someone.

You gestured at his hand. “What happened there?”

“Work,” he said simply, pulling the gauze tight over your wound.

“What kind of work leaves you with knuckles like that?”

“The kind that pays.” He glanced up, catching your narrowed eyes. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

But you did. And it wasn’t just his knuckles. You caught the way he’d press his hand to his ribs when he thought you weren’t looking or the tightness in his jaw whenever he had to bend over. You didn’t push, though. It wasn’t your place, and besides, Simon was an immovable object when it came to talking about himself.

“You could’ve been a nurse,” you’d said, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, right. Imagine me in scrubs.”

You huffed a laugh, but the motion tugged at the burn, and Simon shook his head, muttering something about you being a nightmare patient.

This filled the gaps in what you can remember of that 4-day haze. The four S’s: Soup. Strolls. Sanitize. Simon.  

“Nice of you to show up,” Ronny sneered from behind the counter, a smile on his lips that makes your stomach curl into itself. You’d just walked in, jacket still slung over your shoulders that were already pinched tight.

“I was sick,” you go to explain yourself, but you’re cut off buy his scoff.

“Don’t give a fuck if you were dyin’, you answer my damn calls. Got it, peach?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, not waiting for you to answer, before turning back to his office and slamming his door, a gust of wind blowing back in your face.  

The day crawls by, thick and sluggish, like wading through molasses. Alamort weights down your limbs, dragging you closer to the dead with every passing hour. When a silverware pair slips from your hands and clatters against the floor, Ronny is on you in an instant. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking you upright, making you squeak. His voice adust as he hissed against the shell of your ear. You keep your eyes anywhere but on him—on the grimy tiles, the peeling paint, the water stains seeping through the drop-ceiling. This only makes him angrier.

His thumb and forefinger clamp down on your cheeks, pressing deep enough to leave dimples against your lithe skin, shaking your head like a rag doll’s. The motion rattles more than just your skull; it sends tremors down your spine, sparking shame and fury in equal measure. You wonder, not for the first time, how no one notices.

But maybe they do. Maybe they’ve just decided it’s easier to pretend they don’t.

Tony must have some idea. The kitchen isn’t far from the office Ronny so often drags you into, and his voice has a way of carrying even when he tries to keep it contained. But Tony doesn’t say anything. None of them do. Not Olive, not the other girls whose names you can’t remember. Those girls, so fleeting they’re like whispers caught on the wind, here one moment and gone the next. Scooped up and whisked away to better things—or maybe just different ones.

You wish you had it that easy.

Your leash is tighter than theirs, short and choking, pulling taut every time Ronny drags you back toward him. You feel it constantly, the invisible leather, rubbing raw against your throat.

Even while you're crouched on a flipped-over milk crate in the stockroom, Olive rambling about some rude costumer, you can still feel Ronny's fingers dimpling your cheeks.

Worthless ditz.

Worthless, due to being spat in your face at least weekly during any minor mistake, has lost its meaning. It’s punch. So overused and washed out it’s almost laughable when Ronny attempts to reprimand you with it.

“You look like shit,” Olive says, interrupting your thoughts. Her mouth is full of bread and cheese, sliding the plate over to you while she speaks.

“Thanks,” you muttered, picking at the crust of the sandwich instead of eating it. Your stomach churned too much for food to feel like anything but a burden.

“I mean it,” she pressed, chewing on her half. “You’ve been off for, what? Four days? You’re not better yet?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, forcing a shrug.

Olive gives you a skeptical look, tearing off another bite from the grilled cheese you’re both sharing. “I told you Simon’s a good guy, didn’t I? Even if he doesn’t seem like it. So, how did it go anyway?”

You glance at the crust in your hand, pulling it apart bit by bit. “He didn’t need to come,” you say, the words quiet but resolute. “I would’ve handled it.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Olive says, smirking as she leans back slightly. “Simon said you were snappy as hell. Didn’t even want him there.”

“I wasn’t—” You stop yourself with a sharp sigh, shaking your head. “I just… I wanted to rest on my own. That’s it.”

“Right. And rest yourself into oblivion,” Olive says with a dramatic eye roll, taking another bite. “And let me guess, you didn’t say thank you, did you?”

You hesitate, shuffling through false memories. “I thanked him.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” she teases, grinning around her bite. “Well, you’re welcome for the cream, just so we’re clear.”

A reluctant smile pulls at your lips. “Thank you.”

“Good. And you’re welcome for this too.” She gestures with the half-eaten sandwich before tearing off another piece and passing it to you. “Next time, just tell me, alright? I had to send Simon since I couldn’t call off, but I could’ve been there, y’know?”

You chew on her words more than the sandwich, your stomach tying itself in a knot. “I know. I just didn’t…didn’t want to worry you.”  

Olive gives you a look that’s both soft and stern, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “Blue, you being you means I’m always gonna worry. That’s how this works.”

Her words settle warmly in your chest, even as you avoid her gaze and focus on the sandwich. You tear another piece but hesitate to eat it. Olive notices immediately, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “You’re still not eating,” she says pointedly, nudging your arm with her elbow.

“I’ll eat,” you grumble, forcing a bite. The sandwich is dry as it crumbles against your tongue, but you manage.

Olive watches you with a raised brow, making sure you finish before leaning back with a satisfied nod. “Good. I wasn’t about to let you waste half of my lunch.” She didn’t press you further, instead leaning her head back against a shelf. Her brown curls caught the light, forming a kind of messy halo. “Hey, by the way. You doing anything Saturday night?”

You blinked at her, confused. “Why?”

“It’s Friendsgiving at my place. Just a small thing—me, Price, a couple of his work buddies. You should come. I already told Simon to swing by for a bit, so you won’t be totally out of place.”

You winced inwardly at the mention of a social gathering, though you couldn’t explain why.

“I don’t know…” you started.

“Don’t be like that,” she interrupted. “You’re coming. No excuses. Besides,” she added with a sly grin, “I don’t have any other friends, so you have to come. For me, at least. I’ve got Gaz and Soap showing up, too. Thought I’d finally introduce you properly.”

You groaned, rubbing your face with your hands. “Jesus, Olive. I’m bad enough at talking to you. You really think I can handle three more of you?”

She laughed, honeyed and dulcet, like the warmth of sun on your back. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. I’ll even make you a plate to take home if you survive.”

You smiled faintly despite yourself. The thought of her elysian little flat—lush dining room chairs, bergamot candles, hanging plants—felt like a foreign concept. But a small part of you was curious—curious enough to consider it.

“Guys,” Tony’s voice cut through the quiet of the storage room, his head appearing in the doorway like a jack-in-the-box. “You might wanna clear outta here. Ronny’s on one—don’t need him catching you two splitting a grilled cheese, y’know?”

Before either of you could reply, he was gone, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

You sighed, grabbing the plate from the floor. “Did you invite him to Friendsgiving?”

“Yeah,” Olive replied, brushing crumbs from her lap. “But he said he’s got his kids this year. First time in a while. Wants to spend it with them.”

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “I didn’t know he had kids.”

“Yeah, four and seven. Two girls,” Olive said, her voice softening at the mention of them.

“He’s so old,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Olive stopped mid-step as you both exited the room, giving you a look that was half incredulous, half amused. “Blue, he’s five years older than me.”

You shrugged innocently, barely holding back a grin. “I’m just kidding!”

The day drags, but you survive—barely. The bell over the door jingles one last time as the final customer leaves, and you begin wiping down tables while Olive sweeps the floor. The clink of glasses and the hum of the lights were your only companions as you scrubbed counters. Olive hummed some forgotten tune while sweeping the floor, the rhythm of her movements steady and grounding.

Ronny’s voice shattered the quiet. “Hey. You.”

Your spine stiffened, the rag freezing in your hand. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator— saccharine visions of tearing through the meat of your skin with pointy teeth and a bloody maw.

“Come here. Now.”

You cast a glance at Olive, who arched a brow but said nothing. Setting the rag down, you followed him into the cramped cage of his office, walking right into his territory.

The door shut behind you, and the air turned heavy, suffocating. You’re waiting for him to pounce. To strike.

“Take off for a week, and then sit around slackin’? Messin’ shit up?” He was backing you against his desk, only stopping once you were pressed against the chipping wood.

“I—I wasn’t sla—” you started, but he cut you off.

“The fuck you were, lazy skank.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up.” His breath was hot against your head, towering over you with something resembling repugnance in his Tartarean eyes.

His hands were on your throat before you could process it, his grip tightening as he slammed you against his desk. His right hand braced against your nape as his left squeezed the column of your throat making you wheeze. Hot tears were already streaming down your cheek before you could recognize the feeling in your chest as panic. It quickly spread like wildfire. You were grabbing at his wrists frantically, crescent shaped holes littering his arms as you tried to pry him off.

“You think you can disrespect me?” he hissed, his face inches from yours. You let out a meek sound—a cry, maybe?—with all the air you had. It was no use. Black started to creep into the corners of your vision, and you were almost glad: Glad that maybe he’d put an end to your misery, glad that you’d get to stop seeing his wicked sneer as you clamped down harder. Which one you’d father prefer was a mystery to you.

Then, as suddenly as it began, he released you.

You stumbled onto your knees, choking on shallow breaths, your fingers clawing at your throat, desperate for anything thinner than air to rush in and soothe the ache. Weeping into the carpet, tears staining it a darker shade of tan.

“Get the fuck up,” he barked, his voice a cruel whip. You tried—you really did—but the oxygen hadn’t yet traveled back to your brain, and you floundered right into his desk with another choked sob. “Out! Get out!” He grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you at the door. With your legs trembling beneath you, you escaped as quickly as you could with what strength you had.

Olive looked up when you reentered the dining area. Your efforts to swallow the sobs and catch your breath did nothing to hide the mess you were. She paused, broom in hand, her expression morphing into something soft and concerned.

The sight of that worry on her face made the pit in your stomach grow, swallowing up your bones and tissue.

“Blue—honey—oh no…oh no.” She quickly dropped the broom and pulled you into her arms. “What happened?”

The words jammed in your throat, thick and lumpy. You swallowed hard, trying to force them down without choking. “N-nothing. He was j-just...really me-mean.”

Her lips pressed lips against the top of your head, pulling you closer to her chest. “That man’s a nightmare,” she muttered. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded quickly, your voice cracking when you spoke. “I’m f-fine. Let’s just finish up.” You wiped your face with a trembling hand, and even as you did, the dampness was already seeping through your fingers.

Olive didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. She resumed sweeping, her movements slow and careful, as if testing the water before continuing. You turned back to the counter, your hands shaking as you scrubbed at spots that weren't even there, trying to make sense of the silence that stretched between you and the world.

Later, at home, the mirror told the truth. Through the cracks and the dust, the bruises on your neck flourished like flowers in May, purple and blue spreading against pale skin. You traced them with trembling fingers before you could notice the tears running down your cheeks and dripping onto your hands.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence. A text from Olive.

friendsgiving. don’t forget. saturday. pls be there

You hesitated, the words blurring before your eyes. Finally, you typed back:

i will.

The reply felt fragile, a candle’s flickering flame, but it was something.

In the quiet that followed, you leaned against the counter, staring at the message. Somewhere, beneath the weight of bruises and silence, a small hope burned. The violent desire for something new. But even a worm will turn.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[circadi1an]

// inspired by mr queen, cybertronian gn reader (but mentioned to be attracted to both genders), megatron x reader

tw for suicide (but its mostly interefered so nothin bad)

— I see your isekai to another world fics, and raise you a reader, whose a former mechanic / petriologist, transported into the world of transformers as a decepticon lackey. The war had just recently destroyed cybertron's life force, leaving only a dead world to inhabit the corpses among the streets. The nemesis is currently still recovering from the lack of medics on board / searching for a new location supplying energon.

— your previous host turns out to be someone who filled out that quota, unfortunate for you. you would've thought you be reincarnated into a forgettable casualty in the war, but noo it seems that everyone recognizes you, vividly you may say.

— actually, you won't forget to mention the elephant in the room. how could you overlook the last person on the list when he always reminded you of his existence every cycle when he visits your lab. the first time it happened was probably the day you found out if cybertronians can get an equivalent of a heart attack (sadly no, the spark isn't strong enough to penetrate through hard metal).

— whoever your previous body used to be seems to have a relationship with every mech in the ship – the frequent greetings from the group of vehicons passing by the hallway, the consistent mocking, with a pinch of manipulation, from the conniving second-in-command, and a surprising rare nod of acknowledgement coming from the silent brood that is the chief of communications whenever you two happened to meet one another.

— overall, your life here as a decepticon is quite comfortable. you would even say you've won the lucky lottery of not reincarnating into a... low ranking vehicon for example. but the truth is, you could honestly care less about all this bullshit. You've had a pretty good life before, working in a high paying job, hanging around with other (wo)men, drinking all day, all the good stuff really.

— So in your desperate attempt to return to your old body, you tried every method to offline yourself. Attempting to cut off your limb? You realize cybertronians can still reattach parts like they were mere toys. Jumping off to space and suffocating from the lack of air? You don't even have a nose, how the hell do you live without olfactory senses. Stabbing yourself in the stomach? Good luck trying, you wouldn't even be able to complete the job without a random vehicon appearing from the walls and jumping you from behind.

—One day you overheard a vehicon, who had just recently interfered with another one of your attempts, murmuring his woes of receiving the lord's ire for not thwarting your plan of early death much earlier. You didn't think of yourself to be that important of a person for Megatron himself to be concern of your life. Sure you're the medic / energon specialist, but in a war where millions of lives were lost as fast as a raging tide over the sand, were you really worth that much to be kept alive?

— It isn't until you had a confrontation with starscream that he had mockingly teased you, you were still kept alive only because you used to have a history together back in your old miner life. You laugh, chuckle even, at his face. There's no way. megatron, the megatron the ruthless leader of the decepticons, who had caused a million lifeless sparks, has a soft spot for you? When you realize the silence around you, every vehicon worker had stopped what they're doing. (wait when did soundwave arrive in the room.) their unspoken words only confirming the seeker's folly, of you and the warlord's past relationship and the seeming favoritism he has over you.

(You'll never mention the regular visits Megatron likes to do in his freetime, coming over to your lab and discussing of your current progress in your recent project. You'll also never mention how this 35 ft behemoth of boss who, for some reason, doesn't know what personal space mean and loves going in close proximity with you. You couldve sworn he either does it for the thrill of one upping over others.... or he just likes playing these games with you, specfically.)

.... perhaps overdosing on medicated energon is worth the shot.

[lordprettyflackotara]

Chapter Thirteen || Hitchhiker || The Proxies

tw: PLEASE READ: mentions of suicidal thoughts, various torture methods mentioned & described, descriptions of gore, depression, etc. this chapter is one of the darker ones. viewer discretion is advised.

<— previous chapter

Brian Thomas was the first. He had seen everything.

Hoodie was the first proxy. He had done everything.

Being the first can make you feel alone, if Hoodie was being honest with you. He had not only had his own mind corrupted, but he watched The Operator corrupt everyone else's around him too. Brian refused to crack at first, putting up quite a fight. Mentally and physically he fought. He refused to be The Operator's puppet. The static torture was enough to knock him down for a few days, but it didn't shatter his determination like The Operator had hoped. Brian began to try to escape. He begged, cried, and ran. Each time he landed himself in the same basement, the air stale and cold. Each time he would curl himself into a ball, his cheek laying on the raw concrete. The static would make him incapable of moving, unable to even sit up.

Once that failed, Brian tried a different tactic. He tried every method of suicide he could think of. He tried to drown himself in the mansions pond. He attempted to silt his wrist. He even had hung himself. Unfortunately, death was not his friend and feared The Operator just as much as he did. With each attempt The Operator would haul his body to Eyeless Jack, a tall demon with endless medical knowledge. With his expertise and The Operator's supernatural abilities, Brian was never granted his wish. His soul was always yanked back into his body, his wish for death never even having a consideration of being granted.

The Operator did not enjoy Brian's resistance. He had only tried to create a proxy before, Jeff the killer not the pick of the litter he soon learned. But if he could start with someone like Brian, sane but with darker underlying tendencies. He would have a much better chance of successfully crafting a personal proxy. Brian however, was much more tough than he thought. All of these death attempts, mixed in with his orders not getting completed, did not sit well with him. He knew Brian was doing it on purpose, in an attempt to get him to torture him to death. Unfortunately for Brian, The Operator had much larger plans. One that included his dear friend Tim. Brian didn't take that knowledge well, landing himself strapped to a chair in the basement he was imprisoned in.

The Operator hadn't considered traditional human torture methods, but he was growing bored of Brian's antics. Brian's memory gets spotty at this point, remembering endless buckets of water being thrown on him. At one point he swore a hose of that same water was shoved down his throat, but he may have been hallucinating at that point. The Operator attached electric wires to the man, turning the switch on. He watched his newest toys body twitch against the restraints, cries of pain escaping his lips. Seeing The Operator looming over him sopping wet, was Hoodie's first memory. He wasn't sure what he was doing there, but his wrist and ankles had been burned raw from the rope that restrained him. The Operator could see the switch in his newest proxy's eyes, his long white fingers gripping Hoodie's face.

Hoodie stared at him blankly, blinking a few times to ensure what he was seeing was real. The Operator had done it. He had corrupted Brian into what he needed him to be.

The next few years after that went by in a flash. First thing was first after Hoodie's creation: The Operator wanted him to have a partner. Who else better to join him in his new life of misery other than Tim Wright? Hoodie recognized why he wanted Tim right away, something Brian would've never spotted. Tim had anger issues, ones that were uncontrolled. He was also smart, seeking psychological help after seeing The Operator. The pills that were given to him kept The Operator away. Brian wished he had thought of that. But it was too late for that. It was too late for him. Hoodie didn't feel bad stealing the medication. If anything, he was overjoyed. Finally, a companion in this lonesome life of slavery. His joy was selfish, he knew this. He also knew Tim would never forgive him once he found out. But to Hoodie that was the glorious part: he didn't have a choice.

Neither of them did. Tim's approach was much more aggressive than Brian's, his retaliation more homicidal than suicidal. What Tim didn't realize, was that this was exactly what The Operator wanted. Masky's grand appearance was made after a long night of static, Tim's ears bleeding and raw by the time The Operator was done with him. Even when Brian and Tim fronted, Brian knew that a part of Tim would never ever forgive him. But the boys didn't have anyone else beside each other, it was a forced friendship. Toby was next, Hoodie more than unamused when he was recruited. The kid was unstable, constantly ticking and seeing things that weren't there. His story was all over the news, Hoodie didn't need to ask questions. Not like he would've anyways.

It was a different ball game with Toby. He didn't need an alter. The kid so unstable with his list of disorders he hardly needed any mental manipulation at all. Masky nor Hoodie liked this, the kid completely off of his rockers. Hoodie hated to see that he was genuinely happy slaughtering people. He hated the way he walked. The way he talked. The sound of his laughter. Masky and Hoodie tried to shove the kid off, Toby always following them around like a lost puppy. The Operator had a soft spot for the kid, one Hoodie could never pinpoint as to why. Maybe it was because he didn't need to waste his time scrambling his brains. He had lost his sanity a long time ago. The Operator didn't need to force it. With the three of them Hoodie figured he wouldn't need anymore proxies. They got the work done efficiently, the blood and gore becoming a desensitized sight to both Hoodie and Brian.

Kate the Chaser came next. She was a scrawny little thing when The Operator first brought her around, her face covered by a sunken in and stained mask. Empty black eyes and white porcelain stared back at him when he looked at her. She was borderline feral, snarling and growling anytime the three of them tried to talk to her. Hoodie suspected The Operator wanted her to become a member of their band of misfit toys, but the girl was too out of touch with human nature. She behaved like an animal, her snowy white skin constantly covered in coal dust. Hoodie suspected he had sent her down to coal mines for prolonged amounts of time, creating lack of vitamin d and animal like behavior. It was a grand mystery to Hoodie why he recruited her until he saw her run. The girl could've been a track star if her life hadn't steered so far off course. Eventually The Operator took her out of the mines, allowing her to work alone. She gained human like tendencies again, but despised sunlight.

Hoodie thought The Operator was done, until he met Cat Hunter. The Operator typically didn't present a proxy to him until they were completely mentally diminished. Hoodie was surprised that The Operator was so open about his torture of the new proxy, his tentacles wrapped around his throat as he dragged him down the hallway. Cat Hunter was a resistant one come to find out, more resistant than him. It made Hoodie feel spiteful in a way, despising the new proxy for being able to hold out longer than him. Even when Cat Hunter had fully mentally submitted, he didn't form an alter like Brian and Tim did. This only made Hoodie resent him more. The sadistic side of Hoodie relished in his corruption when he was finally instructed to meet them.

Cat Hunter was a new, more shiny toy. One The Operator took great pride in. He didn't attempt to force them to be a group this time, announcing straight away that Cat Hunter would be working alone. His metal claws were eerie, his cat mask concealing his face entirely. He only spoken when spoken to, his reclusive behavior reminding Hoodie of his own. Hoodie couldn't stand this. This life of jealousy, rage, and despair. The mourning of his own loss a constant nagging factor that ate at his brain, while being forced to watch more innocent individuals become homicidal slaves. Hoodie hadn't thought of escape in a long time. But Cat Hunter. Something about Cat Hunter brought it out of him. The desire to escape. The will to escape.

A few weeks after Cat Hunter had officially settled in, The Operator assigned the two of them on a mission together. Hoodie didn't know why, but it wasn't his job to ask why. If anything, this was the perfect opportunity for him to make his grand escape. The two were walking back from their mission, the leafs crunching below them as they trudged through the Slender woods. There was always the chance of getting caught by The Rake, a creature from hell who fed off of human flesh. But Hoodie was never afraid, always sure if The Rake got him that he would finally be granted his wish for death. But with hope carrying him every step, he didn't want to think about The Rake at all.

A rusty pipe sat in his hand, an unusual weapon. He hadn't picked one he was used to yet, all of them feeling uncomfortable in his hand. Hoodie shifted his grip on the pipe, raising it above Cat Hunter's head. He slammed it down on his skull, the newest proxies body falling onto the ground. Hoodie panicked at the sight of a small pool of blood forming around his head. He threw the pipe aside, throwing himself in a random direction. He had come to the conclusion as he ran that if he killed Cat Hunter, it would be for his own good. He weaved in and out of the giant trees, jumping over overgrown vines. His heart was pounding, his head spinning at the thought of Jack possibly hearing him.

Unfortunately for him Jack wouldn’t kill him, he had trained himself to not crave the proxies meat. If Jack were to catch him, he’d haul him back to The Operator. His lungs began to burn as they carried him deeper into the forest, his breath becoming shallow. He cringed as the muscles in his leg began to feel strained, every fiber in him screaming at him to run faster. Maybe if he had trained as much Cat Hunter he would have more stamina, Hoodie falling short as he slowed down to a stand still. He leaned against a tree, a gush of wind ripping past him as he looked up.

Over the horizon was a city. He didn’t know which one. He didn’t need to know which one. The city lights twinkled in the night, multiple shapes and colors blowing Hoodie’s pupils. He grinned as he straightened his back, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. Looking down he noted a very steep hill, one littered with overgrown grass. He knew he’d have to be careful going down, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that he could taste his freedom. He’d have to spend the rest of his life on the run, but none of that mattered. He let out a laugh of relief, his mind wondering to what he’d do first.

He’d have to try to find everyone. His parents. He could buy a phone, listen to all of the music that was getting him through college. Could he do college while traveling? He’d need a career that took him around the world, not just the country. He sighed in relief, that glorious feeling then swiped away from him in an instant. It was hard for him to describe what came next. A sharp pain swiped its way through his ankles, a cry escaping his lips and echoing into the night. Before Hoodie knew it he was falling forward, colliding with the hard ground roughly. Grass and dirty flung around him as he rolled down the hill, unable to stop himself. His body only stopped when he collided with a tree, the air being knocked out of his lungs. Hoodie gasped for oxygen as he tried to see past his blurry vision full of tears.

Blinking profusely he forced himself to look down. Three blades had cleaned swiped through his ankles, the flesh now mangled and hanging loosely in various chunks. His tendons and muscles had been ripped out, his left ankle broken. His breath was shaky as he looked at it, the foot turned completely around. He cringed at the sight, his raw bones exposed through the mutilated flesh and blood. He felt his stomach churn, nausea washing over him like a violent wave. He propped himself up on his elbows, trying to prepare himself for what came next. He was surprised to hear footsteps coming down the hill, his gaze avoiding the attacker. The footsteps stopped beside him, Hoodie able to feel the attackers set of eyes study him.

Forcing himself to look up, he wanted to be surprised he saw Cat Hunter. Despite his mask concealing his expression, he could feel his pitiful look as he watched Hoodie shiver with pain. Hoodie practically bit tongue, refusing to let the strings of pleas or cries of pain out. Cat Hunter tilted his head to the side. The faint sound of static could be heard, Hoodie’s ears ringing from the agony he was under. Cat Hunter crouched down beside him, taking out a small handgun.

“I’m gonna do you a favor. Thank me later.”

It was then he was knocked out cold.

All of these years later Hoodie could remember it like it was yesterday. He rocked slowly back and forth on the back porch’s rocking chair, his hands clasped together. He watched as the snow slowly fell from the sky, coating the ground. The memories circulated his brain as he tried to make sense of Cat Hunter’s mistake. He ignored the back porch door opening, his mind heavy on Cat Hunter. You made your way over to Hoodie, hugging a blanket around your shoulders. “Can I sit?” You asked. You could see your breath in front of you. Hoodie silently gestured for you to have a seat in the rocking chair beside him.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked. You knew about the discovery of the claw. The next morning Toby was cradling you like a baby, afraid that if he didn’t have his eyes directly on you that Cat Hunter would strike. You got given the stale answer upon asking who he was. Hoodie had been avoiding you all morning. Not only was that a red flag, but it was also a red flag to you that Brian hadn’t fronted once since the discovery of the claw. Hoodie didn’t answer for a moment, watching snowflakes fall onto the earth. “You can tell me anything you know. I’m here for you,” You say. Hoodie remained silent, pondering his choices. “Hoodie,” You say, catching his attention. You lifted yourself out of your rocking chair, your hands slipping onto the sides of his hood.

You slipped the hood downwards, before slowly grabbing the hem of his ski mask. You were surprised he didn’t stop you, allowing you to unmask him. You cupped his face with your hands, your small fingers shaking from the cold. “You really should be wearing gloves,” Hoodie scolded softly. You gave him a smile, planting a kiss on his head. “Dont change the subject. Tell me what’s wrong,” You insisted. Hoodie sighed, his gaze finally meeting yours. Yeah, his life had been absolutely miserable. Until he had met you. With your stupid smile and stupid doe eyes. As he looked up into your eyes, he understood why Tim was so determined to let you live.

“Cat Hunter and I have history. If it wasn’t for Jack I wouldn’t be able to walk,” Hoodie admitted. He grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap. You threw your legs over the arm rest, his large hands pulling you closer to him. He rewrapped the blanket around you, his body radiating warmth like a personalized heater. “I can’t imagine him hurting you like that. It bothers me,” He confessed. You nuzzled yourself into his neck, his stubble poking at your skin. “I’m pretty tough you know, i’m not just an easy target for him to kill off,” You say. Hoodie rocked you both back and forth in the rocking chair slowly, the ancient wood creaking each time the chair went backwards. “It’s not about being tough. He’s spent every waking moment of his free time becoming a better proxy. He’s made it his life’s mission to be the best,” He explained.

Your fingers found their way to his hair, running it through his locs, which had grown quite long since the two of you had met. “I’ll make you a deal,” You say. It was a long shot at making him feel better, but Hoodie appeared to be the type who preferred to handle his issues more physically than not. “I’m listening,” Hoodie mused. You pulled away from his neck, looking up into his eyes. “Let me give you a haircut and you can train me. Fighting, weapons, whatever you want. Whatever you think is best,” You offered. Hoodie gave you a cocky grin, running his fingers through his overgrown hair. “Not digging the mullet huh?” He chuckled. You playfully rolled your eyes. “I’d adore you with whatever haircut you decide to have, but if I have a say so and a pair of scissors i’d say you’re due for a trim,” You replied.

You nuzzled back into his neck, his warmth so enticing you almost forgot entirely that it was snowing. As Hoodie rocked you back and forth he could feel his chest radiating with an unfamiliar warmth, only the kind you could produce. He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, your breathing growing heavy. You were so perfect like this, so peaceful and content. For the first time in Hoodie’s existence he didn’t want to corrupt you. He wanted to keep you pure and intact. It was an odd feeling, wanting to persevere one’s innocence instead of taking it. He felt his heart skip a beat as he realized why that was. How long could this really last? Could they really pull this off? Escaping The Operator once and for all? Hoodie had done horrible, hellish things under The Operators influence. What if in the end he pinned him against you?

The feeling that had embedded itself inside of him was a parasite known as one of pure endearment. Hoodie sighed, continuing to rock you back and forth. He loved you and he’d do everything in his power to protect you. Even if that meant protecting you from himself.

—> next chapter

[itz-pandora]

Doomed Sonadow AU (A-1)

TW for vomiting and suicidal thoughts

it’s not super essential to plot, it’s just explaining some stuff about Shadow

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[worlds-we-write]

Shelter in the Storm

Chapter 6: Smolder

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x Fem!reader

summary: The past resurfaces in the cruel form of memory, pulling you back into fear and shame you thought you’d left behind. Overwhelmed by pain, you spiral—until the only thing left is reaching for someone who won’t let you go.

WC: 7.5K

TW: Hey everyone—this chapter deals with some heavier themes including trauma, self-harm, and suicidal ideation. I wrote it with as much care and compassion as I could, but please take care while reading. Your well-being always comes first. If you need to step away, skip this one, or come back when you’re ready, that’s more than okay. I promise there’s comfort and gentleness on the other side. Thank you for trusting me to tell this part of her story.

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist

Sleep had finally come softly, gently, for the first time in what felt like forever—only to turn cruel without warning. The peace you’d barely grasped suddenly shattered, replaced by an all-too-vivid memory that clawed through your dreams with painful clarity.

You were back in that place again, the air thick, suffocating. You felt your heart pounding sharply in your chest, your wrists burning from the chains digging deeply into your skin. You twisted desperately, panic surging hot and bitter through your veins, trying to pull away—but the harder you struggled, the deeper the chain cut.

Voices echoed nearby, harsh laughter punctuated by distant, careless cruelty. You heard footsteps, heavy boots scraping across cold concrete, coming closer. Your breath caught sharply in your chest, fear choking you, freezing you in place.

A hand gripped your chin roughly, forcing you to look up, and suddenly you were staring directly into eyes filled with cold, empty cruelty. The raider’s voice was rough, a harsh whisper tinged with dark amusement.

"Don’t fight it," he sneered quietly, gripping harder, fingers bruising your jaw. "It’ll only hurt worse."

You whimpered softly, terror paralyzing your limbs as his touch burned against your skin. You were screaming silently inside your head, pleading desperately for help, for mercy—but no one was coming. You were alone, trapped, helpless.

Your heart hammered painfully, your entire body trembling violently, every muscle screaming for escape. You fought harder, chains cutting deeper, skin breaking, panic blurring your vision. Your voice finally tore from your throat—a raw, desperate scream, echoing uselessly around the dark, cold walls—

—and suddenly you jolted awake, back in your own bed, your chest heaving, throat tight, face damp with tears. Your wrists ached deeply from phantom chains no longer there, yet you could still feel their cruel bite on your skin, a ghostly echo of pain and helplessness.

Frantic eyes darted around the room, seeking something familiar, something grounding—but your cabin was dark and empty, the silence oppressive. You pressed a shaking hand to your chest, desperately trying to slow your racing heart, your breathing harsh and shallow, the terror from your nightmare lingering vividly, refusing to let go.

You curled into yourself tightly, knees drawn to your chest, feeling unbearably vulnerable. Your body still remembered too clearly—the cruelty, the helplessness, the fear. It was like no time had passed at all, like you were still trapped in that dark, suffocating room.

"No," you whispered hoarsely into the darkness, trembling violently, voice breaking on the single word. You tried to remind yourself it wasn't real—not now—but the feelings remained painfully vivid, lingering on your skin like a fresh bruise.

You glanced at the gentle tokens resting quietly nearby—the tiny knit hat, Ellie’s carving—desperate for something grounding. Yet tonight they felt distant, impossibly far away, as if you no longer deserved their gentle comfort or quiet warmth.

Your breaths still came sharply, ragged and desperate, and no matter how deeply you tried to breathe, the fear held on stubbornly. You couldn’t shake the sharp sense of being alone again, trapped, helpless. All your careful progress felt suddenly fragile, shattered in an instant by the vividness of a nightmare that wasn't truly over.

You sank deeper into your bed, pulling the blankets tight around yourself, quietly sobbing into the fabric, trying to muffle the sound as shame and terror twisted sharply in your chest. The darkness around you felt deeper, colder now, filled with cruel whispers of memories you'd tried so carefully to forget.

Tonight, the past refused to stay buried, and you felt powerless once again—alone, vulnerable, and quietly afraid.

The nightmare’s echoes stayed with you well beyond dawn, refusing to fade even as soft morning sunlight seeped gently into your cabin. Your eyes burned from lack of sleep, your limbs heavy, your mind hazy—yet the emotional pain lingered sharply, crystal-clear in your chest.

You moved through the day quietly, mechanically, barely noticing your surroundings. Tasks that once felt soothing and grounding now seemed hollow, meaningless. You worked carefully in the stables, brushing Dusty’s soft coat and filling her bucket, but the motions felt distant and automatic, as if someone else were quietly controlling your hands.

Dusty gently nudged your shoulder, sensing something off. You forced a soft smile, stroking her muzzle absently, hoping she’d believe the quiet reassurance you didn't genuinely feel. Your hands trembled slightly as you worked, fatigue deepening your bones, your body gently reminding you of its subtle, careful changes.

The physical signs of pregnancy were becoming quietly undeniable now—soft tenderness, the subtle curve forming beneath your clothes, quiet reminders of a life you still weren't certain how to face. Today, these gentle shifts felt cruel rather than comforting, intensifying the shame and helplessness your nightmare had so sharply rekindled.

You quietly withdrew from others, carefully avoiding Ellie’s concerned eyes and Joel’s gentle, watchful presence. Every time someone approached, asking if you were okay, you deflected quietly, offering soft excuses and careful reassurances that felt increasingly false, hollow, insincere.

Your thoughts slowly darkened, becoming more intrusive, persistent whispers echoing cruelly within your mind. The nightmare had opened something inside you, something you'd carefully buried, releasing dark feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness, and quiet despair.

You’re broken. You can’t do this. You don’t deserve their kindness. You don’t deserve Joel. You’d be better off disappearing.

These thoughts wrapped gently but insistently around your heart, whispering cruel truths you couldn't fully push away. Shame deepened quietly, whispering that you'd failed—not just yourself, but Joel, Ellie, Maria, everyone who had offered gentle care and support.

You sat quietly alone at dinner, eyes fixed carefully downward, unable to eat, unable to face the gentle warmth and concern around you. When Joel approached cautiously, asking if you were alright, your heart tightened painfully. You forced a quiet, false smile, murmuring excuses about tiredness, needing rest—anything to quietly hide the truth burning beneath your skin.

He hesitated briefly, gentle worry evident in his eyes, but eventually nodded quietly, respecting the careful boundaries you’d silently built again. Watching him quietly walk away hurt more deeply than you expected, intensifying your shame, reinforcing the darkness quietly tightening around your chest.

Returning to your cabin later, the silence closed around you oppressively, each careful breath feeling heavier, harder. You lay quietly in bed, unable to sleep, thoughts spiraling softly but insistently, pulling you deeper into darkness. Your heart ached painfully, overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy, despair, quiet desperation.

You’re weak. They’d be better without you. Joel deserves better. This baby deserves better.

The quiet cruelty of your mind became suffocating, exhausting. Tears spilled softly down your cheeks, silent sobs shaking your body, desperation growing carefully but uncontrollably within you. You pressed your hands gently over your face, trying to quiet your thoughts, trying to ground yourself again, but nothing worked. The darkness felt endless, relentless.

Your mind drifted softly toward thoughts you'd carefully avoided, quietly terrifying but suddenly appearing as a dark, desperate escape from this overwhelming pain. Your breath caught sharply at the intrusive images, frightening yet tempting in their cruel simplicity.

You knew these thoughts were dangerous, knew you should seek help, but the shame was too powerful, the fear too deep. You carefully isolated yourself further, quietly promising you could handle this darkness alone, though your heart knew otherwise.

As evening deepened quietly outside, shadows stretching softly across your cabin walls, you lay curled tightly in bed, afraid and fragile, your careful emotional progress now feeling impossibly distant, shattered. The gentle warmth you'd found with Joel, Ellie, and Maria felt unreachable, undeserved. You felt alone—utterly, deeply alone—and terrified by the quiet realization that you were losing yourself again.

And quietly, desperately, you wondered if anyone would even notice if you slipped away into the darkness forever.

You'd done your best to quietly avoid everyone that day, carefully slipping into solitude whenever possible—but Ellie was always too perceptive, too intuitive to miss the subtle shift in your behavior.

It was late afternoon when you felt her careful approach, glancing up to see her lingering quietly by the paddock gate, studying you with gentle concern in her eyes. Her usual casual bravado was absent now, replaced by genuine worry she couldn't quite hide behind her careful mask of indifference.

"You okay?" Ellie asked softly, stepping closer but still giving you careful space. She watched your face intently, clearly looking for answers you weren't sure you could offer.

You forced yourself to nod, keeping your gaze carefully averted, focusing quietly on the fence post beneath your fingertips. "I'm fine," you answered softly, voice distant, hollow-sounding even to your own ears.

Ellie shifted gently, clearly unconvinced, worry deepening her expression. "You don't look fine," she murmured quietly, her voice careful but sincere, cutting through your weak assurances.

You sighed softly, heart tightening painfully as you struggled to maintain your careful distance. "Just tired, Ellie," you whispered quietly, forcing a weak, reassuring smile. "Didn't sleep well last night."

Ellie's brows knitted gently, her sharp eyes searching your face carefully, clearly sensing something deeper beneath your careful words. She stepped closer again, cautiously, clearly hesitant to press too hard—but unwilling to let this go.

"Did something happen?" Ellie asked quietly, gently but directly. "You seemed—better lately. And now… you’re acting weird again."

You felt a sharp pang of shame twist painfully inside your chest, her honest words unintentionally piercing your careful facade. Ellie’s gentle bluntness was always painfully accurate. You forced another small smile, but it felt wrong, artificial, and Ellie clearly noticed.

"No, nothing happened," you murmured softly, carefully hiding your trembling hands behind your back. "I just… I'm just having a rough day."

Ellie’s eyes softened quietly, clearly seeing through your careful attempt to deflect. She stepped forward again, gently touching your arm—softly, tentatively, a gesture of quiet concern that nearly shattered your resolve completely.

"Hey," she said gently, voice lower, softer now. "You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is… you don't have to handle it alone."

Her quiet, sincere words hurt deeply, tearing painfully at your carefully constructed walls. Your throat tightened sharply, eyes burning softly as tears threatened to spill. You pulled away gently, ashamed and embarrassed by how close you suddenly felt to breaking down completely.

"Ellie, please…" you whispered quietly, voice trembling, unable to fully meet her gentle gaze. "I—I appreciate it, but I just need some space right now."

Ellie hesitated quietly, her expression pained by your gentle rejection. But she finally nodded softly, carefully stepping back, clearly uncertain but unwilling to push you further. Her eyes remained gentle, deeply worried as she spoke again, softly and cautiously.

"Alright," she murmured quietly. "But…if it gets worse, you'll tell someone, right? Me, or Joel, or Maria—someone?"

You nodded carefully, voice too tight to speak clearly. You turned away slightly, hiding your face as tears gently blurred your vision. Ellie hesitated again, clearly torn between staying and giving you the careful space you'd asked for. Finally, she sighed softly, carefully stepping back further.

"Just—just be careful," Ellie whispered gently, a quiet, deeply earnest plea hidden within her careful tone. "I'm serious. We—we care about you."

Her soft words lingered painfully between you, the sincerity and worry in her voice quietly evident. Your chest tightened again, painfully sharp, shame overwhelming you as Ellie quietly turned and walked away, her gentle footsteps slowly fading into silence.

Once alone, you leaned heavily against the fence, heart aching deeply, tears finally spilling softly down your cheeks. Ellie's quiet concern had nearly broken you completely, her gentle sincerity and genuine care more painful now than comforting.

She'd seen you clearly—recognized your pain, sensed your fragility—and yet you’d quietly pushed her away, isolating yourself further in your shame and fear. The weight of her careful worry felt heavy now, impossible to carry. You quietly wondered how much longer you could keep pretending, carefully hiding the darkness growing within.

Your hands shook softly as you wiped your eyes, your breathing shallow, painful. Quietly, desperately, you wished you could've accepted Ellie's gentle care, let her help you—but the fear and shame were still too powerful, too consuming.

Instead, you sank deeper into careful isolation, quietly deciding you'd spare Ellie—and Joel—the pain of knowing just how deeply broken you truly felt inside.

Joel felt something shift long before he understood exactly what it was.

He’d spent years carefully watching, quietly attuned to subtle changes—the faintest tremors in someone’s voice, small hesitations, careful silences that spoke louder than words. He knew how easily things could slip away, how quickly quiet suffering could deepen into something dangerous and hidden.

And now, watching you carefully distance yourself again, Joel recognized it all too clearly.

He first noticed your withdrawal during breakfast, your eyes quietly downcast, the soft smile he’d grown used to seeing now carefully absent. You’d spoken quietly, distant and mechanical, clearly forcing yourself through the motions. Joel’s heart tightened softly at the quiet emptiness behind your careful expression, his instincts whispering softly that something was deeply wrong.

He’d quietly hoped giving you space was the right approach, respecting your careful boundaries and allowing you room to heal at your own pace. But now, watching your careful retreat, Joel worried that he'd given you too much distance—that in his quiet respect for your privacy, he'd missed something important.

He observed carefully from afar throughout the day, noting your interactions with Ellie—how you’d gently but firmly deflected her obvious concern, pulling away into careful solitude. Joel’s chest tightened softly, recognizing the quiet desperation and shame behind your careful distance.

Something in his gut twisted painfully, memories resurfacing—familiar feelings from another life, another time. Joel knew this quiet withdrawal too well, remembered vividly how easily silence could turn dangerous, how isolation could quietly deepen wounds rather than heal them.

He quietly cursed himself for not acting sooner, wondering softly if his careful, cautious distance had unintentionally reinforced your isolation. He’d thought you needed careful space to heal, but now he worried he'd inadvertently allowed you to drift into something darker, more dangerous.

Late in the afternoon, Joel found himself lingering quietly near the stables, carefully watching as you worked, seeing your movements slow and heavy, filled with quiet exhaustion. His heart ached softly, instincts urging him to approach gently, to reach out—but he hesitated, uncertain if pushing now might drive you further away.

He felt deeply conflicted, torn between quiet caution and urgent worry. Joel knew all too clearly the careful line between offering comfort and pushing someone deeper into isolation. He'd walked it himself countless times, careful and cautious, knowing how easily emotional wounds could reopen if handled too roughly.

But tonight, as evening fell gently across Jackson, Joel’s instincts quietly grew louder, more insistent. He couldn't ignore the careful alarm ringing softly but insistently within him anymore. He sensed intuitively that your quiet withdrawal was becoming dangerous, that you needed someone close, someone present—someone steady.

And quietly, deeply, Joel knew he wanted to be that someone for you.

Returning to his cabin, Joel sat quietly by the fire, his thoughts swirling gently with quiet worry and careful determination. He couldn’t shake the quiet fear that something was deeply wrong—that you were quietly spiraling, alone and vulnerable. The thought twisted painfully inside his chest, quietly terrifying him in a way he hadn't expected.

Joel closed his eyes softly, breathing deeply, carefully gathering quiet resolve. He couldn't control what had already happened, couldn't change what he’d missed—but he could be there now, close and steady, ready when you finally allowed yourself to reach out.

He knew, deeply and quietly, that he couldn't force you to open up—but he could quietly ensure that when you did, he’d be ready. Ready to listen, ready to support, ready to gently help carry whatever burden you'd quietly tried to shoulder alone.

Joel felt a quiet, careful promise form softly within him, solidifying his quiet determination:

I won’t let you face this alone.

He quietly whispered it to himself, a gentle vow, deeply sincere and unwavering. Whatever darkness you faced, whatever pain you'd quietly carried alone—Joel was quietly determined you'd never have to carry it by yourself again.

For tonight, he’d watch carefully, patiently—quietly holding onto the hope that you’d eventually trust him enough to let him share your darkness, gently and safely, together.

Joel exhaled softly, quietly holding onto that careful resolve, determined to remain close, steady, ready—until you were finally ready to reach back toward him.

The quiet cabin seemed darker tonight, shadows clinging heavily to every corner, filling the space with suffocating silence. You’d tried to rest, tried desperately to push away the painful whispers echoing through your mind—but tonight, the darkness felt relentless, overwhelming in its quiet cruelty.

Your thoughts had grown harsher, more insistent, every passing hour quietly reinforcing feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, deep shame.

You remembered everything too clearly—every sensation, every terrifying heartbeat. The cold, damp concrete beneath your knees, the rough ropes that burned raw circles into your wrists. Your throat felt scraped dry from screaming, though no sound ever seemed to escape those thick walls.

Footsteps echoed nearby, heavy boots against the dirty floor, careless in their cruelty. You shivered violently, fear gripping your chest like ice, making each shallow breath hurt. You pulled uselessly against the ropes, wrists already bloodied, your heartbeat a desperate drumbeat in your ears.

The raider appeared suddenly from the darkness, crouching down slowly in front of you. You shrank back instinctively, breath quickening as his cruel eyes roamed your body, lingering in ways that made your stomach churn with dread.

"Not so tough now, are you?" he drawled, his voice rough, mocking. He reached out slowly, gripping your chin roughly, forcing your gaze upward. "Thought you'd fight longer. Kinda disappointing."

You spat weakly, defiantly, your eyes filling with angry tears. His grip tightened sharply, fingers bruising your skin. He laughed—a low, cold sound that sliced right through you, leaving a sickening, hollow echo inside your chest.

"You keep fightin'," he murmured darkly, voice dropping to a whisper as his face leaned closer, breath hot and foul against your skin. "Makes it more fun for me."

You twisted desperately, panic flaring, the ropes biting deeper into your skin, agony sharp and unrelenting. He grabbed your shoulder roughly, forcing you still, overpowering you easily.

"Please," you whispered hoarsely, desperation breaking your voice, pride shattered in that cruel moment. "Please don't—"

"Too late for beggin'," he sneered quietly, his eyes cold, empty. "I told you it'd only hurt worse."

His rough hands gripped you painfully, cruel fingers tearing at your clothing, shame and fear burning through your body like poison, drowning out your silent screams. The air felt thick, suffocating, your heartbeat wild, every desperate struggle futile—

You jolted awake violently, gasping, trembling uncontrollably, drenched in cold sweat. Your cabin felt suddenly oppressive, the walls too close, your heartbeat pounding painfully against your ribs.

"No, please—" you whimpered softly, instinctively clutching your stomach, where life quietly grew within you—a cruel reminder of trauma you couldn't escape. You struggled desperately to shake the vivid memories, but your mind felt trapped, relentlessly replaying the horror you'd barely survived.

You staggered upright, breathing shallow, eyes blurring with panic and tears. The shame and helplessness surged uncontrollably, memories blurring cruelly into reality. You could still feel his touch burning your skin, hear his cold laughter echoing through your head.

You stumbled toward your dresser, blindly reaching for something—anything—to distract, to silence the torment inside your mind. Your fingers closed around something small, sharp, familiar. Your breathing quickened further, desperate, panicked sobs tearing through your throat.

You weren't thinking clearly now—only seeking relief, escape from memories that threatened to shatter you completely. Without hesitation, driven by desperation, you pressed the sharp edge firmly against your skin, the pain sudden and vivid, drowning out everything else, if only briefly.

Warm blood trickled down your wrist, dripping softly onto the wooden floor beneath your feet, reality crashing sharply back, horrifying clarity slicing through the desperate haze. Shame surged fiercely, choking you. Your heart raced with sudden, terrified panic at what you'd done.

"Oh god," you whispered hoarsely, trembling violently, the horror of your actions instantly overwhelming you. Tears spilled hotly down your cheeks, sobs wracking your body as your knees buckled beneath you. You dropped weakly to the floor, terrified and ashamed.

Your breath came sharply, raggedly, panic rising unbearably inside your chest. You knew immediately you couldn't handle this alone anymore—your fear, your desperation, your self-loathing had finally driven you past a terrifying boundary.

Shakily, painfully, you pressed a towel tightly against the wound, heart hammering in your chest, the room spinning softly around you. You needed help urgently—someone safe, strong enough to hold the weight of your fear and pain.

Joel’s quiet strength appeared suddenly in your mind—a gentle, steady presence that instantly felt like safety. You sobbed softly again, breath trembling with panic and shame. Carefully, desperately, you stood, clutching your wrist, moving slowly toward your door, driven by the fragile hope Joel could somehow hold the pieces you’d quietly shattered apart.

As you stepped out into the cold night air, your eyes blurred with tears, heart racing painfully. Each careful step toward Joel’s cabin felt unbearably heavy—your shame nearly crushing you—but you forced yourself onward, desperate for comfort, safety, and reassurance only he could gently provide.

With one final, shaking breath, you lifted your uninjured hand softly, knocking weakly on Joel’s door—quietly, desperately praying he’d hear your silent plea for help.

The air outside was shockingly cold, biting sharply against your tear-streaked face, but the chill was grounding, clearing your mind just enough to keep moving forward. Your heart pounded painfully, your breath shallow and uneven as you stumbled along the quiet path, each step heavy with fear and shame.

Your injured wrist throbbed painfully, the cloth you’d hastily wrapped around it already staining softly with blood. Each careful glance downward reignited your panic, shame choking you sharply as you fully grasped the depth of what you'd done. Your thoughts spiraled painfully, whispers of self-blame echoing cruelly through your mind, urging you to run, to hide, to withdraw again into silence.

Yet beneath the quiet terror and shame, something stronger persisted—an urgent, desperate need for safety, for comfort, for someone strong enough to handle the darkness overwhelming you. Joel’s gentle, steady presence had never felt more crucial, more necessary than in this frightening moment. The thought of him—the quiet strength of his gaze, the calm reassurance in his voice—propelled you forward, even as fear and embarrassment tried desperately to hold you back.

You approached his cabin hesitantly, legs trembling beneath you, your body wracked with quiet sobs that refused to stop. The simple act of lifting your hand to knock felt unbearably difficult, your fingers weak, shaking with exhaustion and panic. But somehow, through sheer desperation, you managed to raise your hand softly, gently tapping against the wood.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you were met only with silence. Panic surged sharply in your chest, whispering that Joel wouldn't answer—that you'd finally pushed him away. Tears blurred your vision, a quiet sob catching painfully in your throat as you stepped back, fear clawing harshly at your heart.

But then, softly, you heard footsteps from within—slow, steady, familiar—and the gentle click of the door unlocking. Your breath caught sharply, relief and shame flooding you simultaneously as the door slowly opened, revealing Joel standing there, sleep-tousled but immediately alert, his gaze sharpening with gentle concern as he took in your trembling form.

"Joel," you whispered hoarsely, voice breaking softly, desperation and shame evident in that single word.

His eyes widened gently in alarm, instantly noticing your injury and the panic clearly etched across your face. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, gently grasping your shoulders, pulling you carefully into the warmth of his cabin.

"What happened?" he asked softly, voice careful but firm, filled with quiet urgency as his gentle eyes searched your face for answers.

Your chest tightened painfully, shame deepening sharply as you struggled for words. Your throat felt impossibly tight, each breath shallow and ragged. You shook your head weakly, unable to explain fully, terrified of disappointing him further.

Joel’s touch softened immediately, voice lowering gently as he guided you carefully to sit on his couch. "It's okay," he murmured gently, voice steady, calming. "You're safe now. Let's just—let's take care of this first, alright?"

You nodded weakly, trembling uncontrollably as Joel moved carefully, calmly, grabbing supplies—clean cloth, warm water, bandages—with gentle efficiency. He knelt quietly before you, his movements slow and tender as he gently took your injured wrist into his hands.

He unwrapped the cloth carefully, his expression briefly tightening in quiet pain when he saw the wound clearly. But he hid his concern well, immediately returning his gaze to yours, gentle reassurance filling his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered brokenly, voice barely audible, tears spilling hotly down your cheeks. "I—I didn't mean—I just—"

Joel shook his head gently, voice firm but deeply gentle. "Don't apologize," he murmured softly, carefully cleaning the wound. His touch was so tender, so steady, that your panic slowly began easing, replaced by quiet trust and tentative safety. "You're alright. You're here now. That's what matters."

His gentle reassurance softened something inside your chest, allowing the heavy weight of shame and fear to finally begin easing. Joel’s quiet strength felt safe, steady, an anchor amidst the terrifying storm you'd been fighting alone.

He finished carefully bandaging your wrist, his movements tender, gentle, filled with quiet affection. When he was done, he gently brushed his thumb over your knuckles, careful eyes meeting yours again, gaze filled with compassion rather than judgment.

You felt your chest tighten again, the depth of his gentle care overwhelming your fragile control. Your breathing quickened softly, quiet sobs shaking your body again, tears falling freely now—uncontrollable, desperate.

Joel didn't hesitate this time, gently pulling you into his strong embrace, holding you carefully but firmly against his chest. You melted softly against him, sobbing openly, finally allowing yourself to break completely, trusting Joel to gently hold the shattered pieces of your heart.

"It's alright," he whispered softly, voice gentle and deeply comforting, rocking you carefully in his arms. "I got you now. You're safe."

You clung to him desperately, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and warmth, slowly calming beneath his gentle, steady presence. His strong heartbeat soothed your frayed nerves, gradually quieting your panic, softening the overwhelming fear.

For the first time all night, you truly felt safe. Joel’s quiet strength held you firmly, grounding you gently back to reality, silently promising you wouldn't have to carry this unbearable darkness alone.

Joel’s steady presence anchored you softly to reality, the gentle rhythm of his breathing gradually soothing your racing heart. As your sobs slowly quieted, his careful embrace loosened just enough for him to gently cup your face, his touch tender, deeply compassionate, and filled with quiet worry.

He brushed your tears softly away with roughened thumbs, his expression gentle but deeply serious, eyes searching yours carefully. “Talk to me,” he whispered quietly, his voice low and steady, carrying a gentle urgency beneath the softness. “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Your chest tightened painfully, shame flooding back sharply as you dropped your gaze, unable to meet his careful eyes. “I—I just…” you whispered brokenly, voice trembling again, throat impossibly tight. “It all got too much. I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

Joel’s fingers gently tilted your chin upward, his eyes soft but unwavering, filled with quiet understanding. “Take your time,” he murmured softly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just breathe.”

His quiet strength grounded you again, allowing you to take a shaky breath, heart still pounding but slower now. Joel watched carefully, patient and calm, clearly willing to wait however long you needed. His gentle, steady patience only deepened the trust softly forming between you.

“It was the nightmares,” you finally managed quietly, voice breaking softly with shame. “They just—they kept getting worse. I couldn’t escape. And tonight—” your voice faltered sharply, the shameful words heavy in your throat. “Tonight I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t know how else to feel anything else.”

Joel’s jaw tightened gently, concern deepening in his eyes—but no judgment appeared, only a quiet, powerful tenderness. He exhaled softly, carefully brushing your hair back from your damp forehead, his touch lingering softly, grounding you further.

“You don’t gotta go through that alone,” Joel murmured gently, voice quiet but fiercely sincere. “You hear me? You don’t ever have to deal with that kind of pain by yourself.”

Your throat tightened sharply again, eyes burning softly as fresh tears blurred your vision. “I’m sorry,” you whispered brokenly again, the weight of guilt unbearable. “I didn’t want you to see me like this—”

“Stop,” Joel interrupted gently, voice firm but soft, quiet determination filling his eyes. “You never gotta apologize for needing help. Not to me.”

His quiet reassurance broke something inside your chest—something deeply guarded and fragile. You felt your walls crumble softly, your body sinking weakly against his chest once more. Joel embraced you carefully again, his touch strong, protective, holding you as if you might shatter—gentle yet firm enough to quietly remind you he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Don’t push me away,” Joel whispered softly against your hair, his voice thick with quiet emotion. “Please. Let me help you.”

His gentle plea, whispered so quietly, broke your remaining resistance completely. You clung tightly to him, breathing shakily, feeling deeply safe in his arms, your body finally relaxing softly beneath his steady warmth. You nodded weakly, your face pressed gently against his chest, finally allowing yourself the comfort and vulnerability you’d denied for so long.

Joel held you quietly for a long moment, simply breathing softly, patiently, allowing your panic and shame to gently subside beneath his steady care. He quietly traced soothing circles along your back, his touch careful and tender, until your trembling slowly ceased, your breathing finally evening out.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured softly, voice gentle and deeply comforting. “I promise you’re safe. I got you.”

You nodded softly against him, breathing deeply, finally trusting the quiet sincerity of his words. Joel slowly leaned back, his hands carefully resting on your shoulders as he studied your face, searching quietly for any lingering fear or pain.

He gently brushed one final tear from your cheek, his expression deeply tender, eyes filled with quiet warmth and resolve. “You’re gonna stay here tonight,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle, leaving no room for argument. “Alright? You're not going anywhere alone.”

You nodded weakly, relief washing softly through you, grateful beyond words that he wouldn’t let you face the darkness alone again. His gentle insistence quietly reassured you—proof that you no longer had to suffer silently, that someone truly cared enough to hold you gently through your worst moments.

Joel carefully guided you to his bed, helping you sit gently on its edge, his movements filled with quiet care and tender caution. He knelt slowly before you again, carefully examining your bandaged wrist, ensuring it was secure, his touch gentle and soothing.

When he was satisfied, he sat quietly beside you, your shoulders softly brushing as his steady warmth filled the small space between you. He gently took your uninjured hand in his, holding it firmly but tenderly, offering quiet, comforting reassurance without needing further words.

You sat silently beside him, heart finally calming, feeling quietly safe and deeply protected for the first time all night. Joel’s gentle presence filled the quiet around you, his calm breathing grounding you further, quietly promising you wouldn’t face the darkness alone again.

Joel’s quiet, steady presence filled the room, calming your frayed nerves as you sat silently beside him. After a few gentle moments, he carefully stood, moving slowly across the room, leaving you briefly alone on the edge of his bed. Your heart fluttered anxiously in his absence, irrational fear whispering briefly—but Joel quickly returned, quietly carrying a glass of water and a soft, clean blanket.

He handed you the glass gently, eyes filled with quiet encouragement. “Drink this,” he murmured softly, carefully watching as you took small, tentative sips, the cool water soothing your aching throat. Joel nodded quietly in gentle approval, patiently waiting until you finished, then carefully placed the empty glass aside.

Without a word, he gently unfolded the soft blanket, carefully wrapping it around your trembling shoulders, his hands lingering tenderly, adjusting it softly until you felt safely cocooned in warmth. His touch was gentle, careful, deeply attentive—quietly ensuring your comfort without pressing too hard.

“Better?” Joel asked softly, eyes searching yours gently, still filled with quiet concern.

You nodded weakly, heart softening further beneath his gentle care. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice barely audible but deeply sincere. “Thank you.”

He shook his head gently, a small, quiet smile softening his lips. “You don’t gotta thank me,” Joel murmured softly, voice deeply reassuring. “You deserve this kind of care.”

Your chest tightened gently, heart aching softly at the sincerity in his words. Quiet tears blurred your vision again, a small sob softly escaping despite your efforts to contain it. Joel immediately moved closer, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders, carefully pulling you to lean softly against him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly, voice gentle and patient. “You can let it out. You don’t gotta hide from me.”

His quiet reassurance broke the fragile hold you had left on your emotions. You buried your face gently into his shoulder, quietly sobbing again—softly, helplessly—finally releasing the overwhelming pain you'd kept carefully hidden for far too long. Joel held you tenderly, strong arms wrapped protectively around you, gently rocking you, quietly whispering soft words of reassurance as you cried.

After a long while, your tears finally slowed, quiet exhaustion settling heavily into your bones. Joel sensed your quiet calm returning, gently brushing his hand across your hair, his voice low and comforting.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he murmured softly, voice deeply sincere. “You hear me? Not now, not ever again.”

You nodded weakly, believing him deeply, desperately. “I don’t deserve this,” you whispered hoarsely, voice trembling again with shame. “After everything—I don’t deserve you being so kind.”

Joel sighed softly, carefully shifting so he could gently tilt your chin upward, his gaze firm but filled with quiet compassion. “Listen to me,” he murmured gently, eyes softly serious. “Everyone deserves kindness. Especially you. You hear me? Especially after everythin’ you’ve been through.”

His quiet, heartfelt words resonated deeply inside your chest, softening your self-doubt, carefully challenging the darkness that had whispered cruel lies for so long. You stared quietly into Joel’s gentle, steady eyes, finding only genuine sincerity and quiet affection reflected clearly back at you.

Slowly, hesitantly, you nodded again, finally allowing yourself to believe—at least for tonight—that you were truly worthy of gentle care, of compassion, of the warmth Joel offered without hesitation. His soft reassurance began quietly mending the shattered edges of your heart, promising a safety you’d longed for so deeply.

Joel carefully adjusted the blankets again, making sure you felt warm and safe before gently guiding you to lie down. You sank softly into his pillows, deeply comforted by his quiet, lingering presence nearby. He moved carefully, sitting at the edge of the bed beside you, gently resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“You can sleep now,” he whispered softly, voice gentle and calming. “I’m right here. I ain’t leavin’ you.”

Your eyelids felt heavier, gentle exhaustion finally catching up to your fragile body. Joel’s steady touch grounded you softly, his quiet breathing a comforting rhythm in the darkness, reminding you gently of his promise. Slowly, carefully, you allowed yourself to drift into peaceful sleep, wrapped safely in Joel’s quiet care, your fears finally easing gently beneath his watchful presence.

And as sleep quietly claimed you, Joel stayed exactly as promised—silent and steady, gently keeping watch, quietly determined that you’d never have to face the darkness alone again.

Sleep came softly at first, briefly wrapping you in gentle darkness—but it was fragile, short-lived. Soon, your dreams twisted cruelly once more, painful images resurfacing, memories of chains and cruel laughter flooding vividly through your mind. You jolted awake again, gasping sharply, panic clawing painfully at your chest.

Joel reacted immediately, shifting gently closer, voice calm and reassuring in the darkness. “Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, quickly placing a soothing hand against your shoulder. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

You trembled uncontrollably, tears spilling helplessly down your cheeks, fear and shame overwhelming you once more. Joel carefully sat upright beside you, his warmth quietly anchoring you back to reality, his gentle touch offering steady reassurance.

Without thinking, you reached for him desperately, grasping at the front of his shirt with shaking fingers, needing something solid to hold onto—needing him. “Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, voice thick with tears, panic trembling through each word. “Please—I—I can’t—”

He understood immediately, carefully pulling you against him without hesitation, wrapping strong arms protectively around you. His warmth enveloped you softly, immediately soothing your racing heart, offering quiet safety you desperately needed.

“I got you,” Joel whispered gently, holding you close, his voice deeply comforting. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me.”

You pressed closer instinctively, face buried softly against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat grounding you again. Joel rocked you gently, slowly tracing soothing circles against your back, patiently guiding your breathing into a calmer rhythm. You matched his steady breaths carefully, slowly calming beneath his patient, gentle guidance.

After a long, quiet moment, your breathing evened slightly, though tears still slipped softly down your cheeks, grief and pain lingering quietly. Joel’s gentle touch never faltered, his embrace steady and unwavering, quietly holding space for your vulnerability.

“I’m sorry,” you finally whispered brokenly, voice muffled softly against his shirt, shame thick in your throat again. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to burden you like this.”

Joel exhaled softly, gently cupping the back of your head, carefully holding you closer. “Listen to me,” he murmured gently, voice quiet but deeply firm. “You are never a burden. Not to me. You hear?”

You nodded weakly against him, tears softly falling anew, your fragile control shattering again beneath his quiet sincerity. Joel continued holding you tenderly, allowing your quiet sobs to gently shake your body, offering careful comfort without demanding explanations or apologies.

“I just—I don’t know how to stop feeling this way,” you confessed quietly, voice trembling softly with exhaustion and deep vulnerability. “It hurts so much, Joel.”

Joel’s chest tightened gently, the quiet pain in your voice clearly resonating deeply with him. He leaned back slightly, gently brushing your tears away, his own eyes filled softly with genuine empathy and care.

“You ain’t gotta fix this alone,” Joel murmured softly, voice quiet but unwavering in its sincerity. “Whatever you’re feelin’—you can share it with me. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

His gentle reassurance finally broke down the last of your emotional defenses. You clung tightly to him, sobbing openly again—this time deeply, fully, trusting Joel to hold your pain gently, carefully, safely. He held you steadily, patiently, quietly accepting your tears, allowing you space to finally let go of the heavy grief you’d carried alone for far too long.

Joel never wavered, never pulled away—he simply held you tenderly, quietly supporting your weight, murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance as you cried. Gradually, slowly, your sobs quieted again, replaced by soft exhaustion and deep emotional release.

You breathed shakily against him, feeling lighter, relieved, and quietly grateful beyond words for his gentle strength. Joel carefully brushed your hair back from your face, gazing softly into your tear-filled eyes, his expression deeply tender.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered gently, voice filled with quiet certainty. “Not anymore. You got me. Whatever comes, we’ll handle it together.”

Your heart softened deeply, quiet warmth and trust filling the painful void inside your chest. You nodded softly, finally fully believing his gentle promise, allowing yourself to trust deeply in Joel’s careful, steady presence.

Joel leaned forward slightly, gently pressing a tender, protective kiss against your forehead, lingering softly—a silent, powerful reassurance that spoke louder than any words. His quiet tenderness warmed you deeply, finally reassuring you completely that you were safe, cared for, gently protected.

Quietly, gently, you allowed yourself to relax fully into Joel’s steady embrace, heart calm, breathing finally peaceful. He continued holding you carefully, patiently, never pulling away—silently promising he’d remain as long as you needed him.

And for tonight, held gently and safely in Joel’s steady arms, finally feeling deeply protected and quietly loved, that promise was more than enough.

Gradually, the darkness outside Joel’s cabin softened, gentle moonlight filtering softly through the curtains, casting quiet shadows across the walls. Wrapped carefully in Joel’s steady embrace, you finally felt safe enough to truly relax, your breathing slow and steady, heart quietly calm for the first time in what felt like days.

Joel continued holding you gently, your head resting softly against his chest, comforted deeply by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You knew he was tired—could sense quiet exhaustion lingering softly beneath his calm—but he made no move to pull away, his steady presence unwavering beside you.

“You should get some sleep,” you whispered softly after a long, quiet pause, voice gentle and hesitant, suddenly worried you'd kept him awake far too long.

Joel chuckled quietly, softly rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “Sleep ain’t what’s important right now,” he murmured gently, brushing his fingers slowly through your hair, a soothing rhythm carefully grounding you again. “Right now, makin’ sure you’re alright is all I care about.”

Your chest tightened softly again, overwhelmed by his quiet sincerity and unwavering care. Joel’s tenderness felt deeply reassuring, slowly mending the fragile pieces of your heart you'd thought beyond repair.

“You don’t have to stay up all night,” you murmured softly, voice thick with gentle gratitude. “I think I’ll be okay now.”

Joel shifted gently, leaning back just enough to softly meet your gaze, his expression quietly serious yet tender. “I know you will,” he whispered softly. “But I’m stayin’ right here anyway. Long as you need.”

Your heart warmed deeply, softened by the quiet determination in his voice. Joel was giving you something precious—time, presence, patience. Gentle care you’d needed so desperately, yet never thought you deserved.

“Okay,” you whispered softly, gently, feeling your eyes grow heavy again beneath quiet exhaustion and deep comfort. “Stay.”

Joel exhaled softly, carefully shifting until you were both resting comfortably, his arm wrapped protectively around you, holding you close enough to feel secure but gently enough that you never felt trapped. You closed your eyes softly, breathing slowly, deeply, letting his quiet warmth finally soothe the lingering ache inside your chest.

For a long while, silence filled the cabin gently, comforting rather than oppressive now. You felt Joel’s breathing slowly begin matching yours, calm and steady, his heartbeat quiet and reassuring beneath your fingertips. Each gentle rise and fall of his chest soothed you further, quietly promising safety, comfort, warmth.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whispered softly, voice barely audible in the gentle stillness.

Joel tightened his arm gently around you, his voice quiet but filled with firm sincerity. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured softly. “Just promise me you’ll come to me sooner next time. Promise me you won’t carry it alone again.”

You nodded softly, eyes still closed, genuinely meaning your quiet promise. “I promise,” you whispered gently, finally fully believing you didn’t have to face any darkness alone—not anymore.

Joel pressed another soft, tender kiss against your forehead, his quiet affection deeply comforting, silently reinforcing his gentle promise to keep you safe.

“You deserve better days,” he murmured softly, voice gentle and filled with quiet emotion. “And I’m gonna be right here with you for every single one of them.”

His quiet words gently settled inside your heart, warming you deeply, softly, finally allowing you to truly believe that better days could come—that quiet healing was genuinely possible.

Your breathing finally evened softly into gentle sleep, comforted deeply by Joel’s unwavering presence, his steady touch, his quiet care. The darkness around you now felt soft, peaceful, safe. The pain and fear of earlier felt distant, carefully replaced by gentle hope and quiet trust—fragile still, but genuinely growing.

Joel remained awake for a long while, quietly watching over you, determined never to let you fall into darkness alone again. His gentle eyes traced softly over your peaceful features, silently promising to protect you, to hold you, to quietly walk every careful step of this journey beside you.

Tonight, he knew something had shifted quietly, deeply, irrevocably between you—a gentle intimacy forged through vulnerability and quiet comfort, slowly becoming something deeply precious and carefully cherished.

And as sleep gently claimed him as well, Joel’s last conscious thought was quiet but deeply sincere—a soft, unwavering promise to himself, and to you:

Whatever happens, you’re never gonna face it alone again.

AN: Thank you so much for reading this one—it was a hard chapter to write, but one I knew was important. Healing isn’t linear, and sometimes the steps backward are what make the steps forward possible. If this chapter meant something to you, I’m sending you the biggest, softest hug. And if you’re struggling, please remember you’re not alone. You are worthy of care, of gentleness, of love. Always.

[thelov3lybookworm]

I Didn't Ask For This (part four)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: Marriage had always been something sacred to little Y/n, something dream like, where her husband would come and whisk her away to a fairyland. At least, that's what she had always thought.

All her dreams would be shattered.

But maybe she can salvage them?

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: forced marriage, azzie being and asshole(obviously, he's been forced), suicidal thoughts, almost death, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I promise it gets better. Future chapters are going to get happier.(that was a note to myself so I don't get carried away again)

•○🌑○•

Y/n blinked the sleep from her eyes as male voices reached her, jerking upright when she realised she was not in her bed. Where was she?

Then, as her eyes passed over the red walls around her and the expensive furniture, everything that happened the previous day came rushing back.

Her head swung around to try and find the source of the voices that she had heard, now quieted. She found the General and the High Lord standing right by the door, now staring at her.

As she registered the fact that she probably looked like a mess, she hurried to stand, nearly faceplanting in the process. Blood climbed up her neck and cheeks as she turned to look at the High Lord who had stepped forward.

"Good morning Y/n. Did you have a peaceful sleep?" He asked, his tone gentle. Though she hadn't, she nodded. His eyes were filled with understanding, and he sighed. "May I ask you a question?" When she gave a curt nod, he continued. "Why were you sleeping here? Cassian says he showed you to Azriel's room."

"I'm not–" She began, her voice raspy, before cleared her throat. "I'm not sure I can tell you that my Lord."

"Rhysand, please." He said. "It's okay, you can tell us anything. Did he kick you out?"

Her eyes darted around nervously. Maybe this could be some kind of test? Maybe Azriel was hiding in a corner of the room, looking for a reason to hate her more if she spoke bad about him out to his brothers.

When she didn't respond, the General spoke up. "There are guest rooms here. You didn't have to sleep on the couch. It would have been uncomfortable."

The door next to the General opened abruptly, then slammed back shut, making him jump. As if the house was trying to say that it tried to get her to a better place. A tiny smile bloomed on Y/n's lips.

The house was... adorable to say the least.

"The house tried to get me to go somewhere else, but I was tired and decided to stay here." A wind that sounded a lot like a huff passed through the room, making Y/n shake her head. "I hope that's okay."

"That is completely fine." The High Lord– Rhysand, she had to chide herself internally– grinned. "I've got a feeling you and the House are getting together well?" At that, Y/n smiled. A real one.

"You could say that."

The door creaked open then, the General's mate peeking in.

"Oh, I've been searching for you." She said, staring straight at Y/n. Stepping in, she pointed to the two males. "Get out."

"Why?" The General all but pouted.

"Becuase I say so."

He grumbled, but left with the High Lord. The female–Nesta, Y/n now remembered– came closer.

"I was going out with my friends today, and I was wondering if you would like to come along."

Y/n shook her head slowly. "I don't know them, and I wouldn't want to intrude–"

"You wouldn't be intruding. Plus, I'm pretty sure I can introduce you to them. And other than that, they would love to meet you. You can become a part of our group." She said, an undertone of excitement in her voice, which made Y/n falter, wondering if she should accept the offer.

Then, she sighed and nodded. Nesta let out a squeal of happiness and linked her arms with Y/n, pulling her away and into a guest bedroom, getting ready for the meeting.

•○🌑○•

Y/n settled on a simple white gown and a braid for her hair, despite Nesta's very weird preferences. Her bag had appeared in the room as soon as they entered, increasing the love she already felt for the house.

Now they were sitting in a cafe, waiting for the others to show up. From what she knew of the two females, they had tragic pasts. One of them hadn't stepped foot out of the House of Wind for two years, and she only started a few months back.

Soon, they arrived. It wasn't anything like she expected. She thought I would be uncomfortable and awkward, but they behaved as if Y/n was their childhood friend. As the evening progressed, they talked and laughed, returned to the house and settled in one of the smaller libraries, then talked about their pasts. Them telling her about their pasts without an ounce of hesitation prompted her into speaking of her childhood too, and they were horrified to say the least.

At one point, Emerie was even ready to go and murder Y/n's father, but settled down after a few moments, still fuming. It warmed Y/n immensely that someone she had barely known for a few hours would care so much for her.

She just prayed that her husband would stop being an asshole too.

•○🌑○•

It had been two weeks of absolute hell for Y/n. Because of him.

Whenever she walked into a room he was in, he would give a huge sigh of annoyance, glare at her and walk away. Whenever she tried to speak with him, he would yell at her, just like the first night. Everytime, she had to hold back tears.

She didn't understand it, this hatred. Did he not remember that she was forced into this as well? Or did he think she went to Hewn City purposefully trying to force him into a marriage? Or did he not want to accept the fact that no one was to fault in this situation? Did he just hate Y/n?

As she turned a corner, she was met with a sight that broke whatever hope she had, and probably answered all of her questions.

Standing there was Azriel, with a female pressed between him and the wall, and, he was kissing her, passionately.

Elain. The High Lady and Nesta's sister.

Y/n stood frozen for a moment before she stepped back and away from sight. She pressed herself against a wall, her breaths coming shorter and shorter. How could he? How–

She knew she didn't own him, but it hurt her all the same. They were married for Cauldrons sake! And even though their relationship was nonexistent at best, she never would do what he was doing.

That was when she noticed a shadow right in front of her face, bobbing up and down. All blood drained from Y/n's face when the shadow darted away, back to its master. There was nothing Y/n could do except run.

So she did, as fast as she could, towards her room. As she pressed herself against the door, footsteps sounded, coming closer to her room. Panic clawed at Y/n, her heart clenching when the person knocked.

She didn't answer, trying to quiet her breaths. But then a voice called her name, and she started to calm down.

Nesta.

Y/n opened the door and Nesta walked in as if she owned the place.

"I was searching for you and saw you running, so I wanted to check if everything's alright." She declared, but then she faltered, her features softening when she saw the state Y/n was in. "What happened?"

It all came pouring out of Y/n as she sat down in an armchair. Nesta was fuming, so Y/n added, "It's okay. He doesn't owe me anything."

A mischievous glint entered Nesta's eyes and she grinned. "If he doesn't owe you anything, you dont owe him anything."

"What do you mean?" Though Y/n had an inkling of what might be brewing in Nesta's mind, she still asked carefully.

"Oh you just wait darling."

•○🌑○•

"I–I can't wear this, Nesta." Y/n mumbled as she stared at herself in the mirror. Nesta had come to Mor, telling her of her mastermind plan, all while Y/n had stood in a corner face-palming. They had then informed her that everyone was going to a place called Rita's, which had been the main reason Nesta had been searching for her.

Now they had forced her into something that barely had the right to be called a rag, let alone a dress.

"You can and you will." She was adamant. But when Y/n refused to budge, Nesta handed her another dress. This one, thank the cauldron, could be called a dress, but for someone who didn't need to breathe. As she tried it on, she had to wonder why she was even here in the first place when she could be peacefully sleeping right now.

This dress was stretchy and fully black, like a second skin on Y/n with a high neck and long sleeves that both left everything to the imagination as well as nothing.

"Will this be alright?" Mor asked. When Y/n nodded, they both launched into what their plan was as Y/n blushed.

•○🌑○•

She wasn't really fond of this place, Y/n decided in the first few moments she was there. It was a little too loud for her. But she had a purpose, or rather, Mor and Nesta had a purpose.

When everyone, including Azriel had arrived at Rita's, the two females had pulled Y/n away to the bar, where they sat on high stools and sipped drinks. Mor and Nesta were having wine, and Y/n had some non alcoholic drink that Mor had ordered for her.

According to their plan, they were going to get Y/n a man, as Nesta put it. Someone who might want to have Y/n, because when Azriel and she had promised themselves to each other, there was no rule stating that they could have a relationship with someone else. And while Y/n didn't really like the idea, she had to distract herself with something.

Soon enough, a male slid into the stool next to her, giving her a wink and a smile. She panicked, turning to Nesta, who nodded enthusiastically. So Y/n gave him a small smile back as he started up a conversation. Nothing much, just where she was from and what her interests were. It all went smoothly, until it didn't.

The male glanced behind Y/n, going pale. She turned too, wanting to know what happened. And there he stood.

Her husband.

He looked... scary, for the lack of a better word in her mind.

"Who are you?" He asked the male in a deadly voice, completely ignoring Y/n.

"I could ask the same of you." The male said, though his voice trembled.

"But you won't, you already know who I am. So, run, little boy. Before my generosity ends." The male opened his mouth to argue, but Azriel continued. "That's my wife you're–"

Y/n stopped hearing anything he said then, a ringing in her ears. He had just called her his wife, when he would not even look at her when she tried to talk to him. She stared at him, wondering if he was serious. But then he turned to her.

"We're going home." And she wanted to slap him. He didn't give her a choice, taking her hand and winnowing away. The next moment they were standing in one of the sitting rooms in the House.

And then, he had the audacity to turn and walk away. Every other time when she had tried to speak with him and he had walked away, she had let him do that, but not now. Not when one moment he was calling her his wife and scaring away males who wanted to talk to her, and the next he pretended as if she didn't exist.

So she walked ahead of him and blocked his path. He stopped, but didn't look at her, increasing her fury. "Why would you do that?"

He didn't answer, starting forward again, trying to go around her. She pushed against his chest. He finally looked at her, his eyes cold. "Let me go, Y/n."

"Then tell me why you did that!"

A sigh escaped his lips. "Because it felt right at the time, but now I feel like that was a mistake. If I hadn't taken you away, then maybe you would have left me alone."

She gaped at him, at a loss for words as he again tried to walk away. When she didn't move, he turned towards a nearby balcony and took off. Her heart was breaking, and the agony was unbearable.

So she silenced everything around her, and, her resolve hardening, she walked towards a staircase nearby.

She just wanted some peace. And peace she would get.

•○🌑○•

The cool night air stung Y/n's cheeks, but she didn't feel it through the numbness in her body. She just wondered what the air would feel like when she sped through it towards the ground.

She was standing on the edge of a landing, one that didn't have a railing. These past weeks she'd had nothing to do except explore the house, and she had come across a secret stairway full of dust and spider webs which led to here. From the looks of it, no one knew about this place.

She took a deep breath and lifted a leg, suspending it in the air as she stared below her and imagined what would happen if she took a step forward. A smile bloomed on her lips. She could finally have her peace, and she won't be a burden for anyone any longer. Freedom lay just a few inches from her feet, all she had to do was let go of the restrains holding her in place.

Of course, she wasn't going to take that step. Not because she wanted to live or anything like that. No, she wouldn't take that step because she had come to care for the Inner Circle, mainly Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn. Maybe Mor too. So she wouldn't take that step.

But when did life ever go according to what she wanted? Was it even life when she didn't know what it felt like to be alive?

She started to take her feet back, to set it on the firmness of the floor below her. But then, it got caught against the rough stone. She lost her balance. And fell forward.

All thoughts fled her mind except the fact that she was falling too fast. Even though it might have given her some relief, she didn't want to die.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.

But she did neither. If she was going to die, she would die with dignity. She would die with all the confidence she never had.

The ground was getting closer, the air tearing at her hair and cheeks and eyes. So she closed her eyes and waited for the pain. Or would it not hurt? Maybe she'd stop feeling the moment she touched the ground.

A loud flapping sound came from somewhere above her, and then suddenly Y/n's body was jerked in the other direction, all the air fleeing her lungs as she felt two solid bands of muscle and fire wrap around her. Despite not knowing who had become her saviour, she didn't care. She was just grateful for being saved.

But then she opened her eyes to find herself staring at Azriel, who pointedly ignored her. All the thoughts of why she had wanted to do this in the first place came back to her, and she pushed against his chest. He looked down to glare at her, flying faster.

He landed in the training area, but even though they they were both standing on stable ground, he didn't let go. When Y/n tried to push him away, he pulled her impossibly closer.

"Are you insane?" He murmured, his eyes churning like a storm. She didn't answer, still trying to untangle him from her. After a few moments, he let go. She stumbled back, trying to put as much space between them as she could, panting. "That was stupid. You can't throw your life away like that!"

His breathing mirrored hers as his voice echoed around them.

"What do you care about my life? And if you have somehow forgotten, you told me to do that yourself."

"I didn't!"

"Oh you most certainly did."

"When?" His eyes were so wide, Y/n wondered if his eyeballs would fall out.

"The first night."

"I didnt mean it!"

Y/n turned away, not having the energy to argue with him. But of course he was not one to be ignored. He caught her wrist and whipped her around, snarling.

"Didn't you want to talk? Talk. I'm ready to hear."

"Now you're ready to listen? Then answer my question first. Why do you hate me so much?" She didn't want to talk right now, still shaken from her encounter with near death, but she didn't know when he'd be ready to talk again. This could be her only chance, and she would take it.

"Bec–because you ruined my life."

"I ruined your life? Do you think I had any choice in the matter? I didn't ask for this, Azriel."

"I know you didn't, but–"

"But what Azriel? Do you think I didn't try to stop him from taking me to Hewn City that day? How do you think that went?" He was silent, staring at her, so she forged on, laughing. "You say I ruined your life, but atleast you had one. You lived. I didn't Azriel. Everyday I woke up hoping that you would come, and take me away to a better place, just like you told me you would. That was all you ever talked about when we were kids. That you would take me away when we grew up and always be my friend." He flinched at the venom in her voice. "I prayed you weren't dead. Because in that home, Azriel? I didn't live, I existed. My father wouldn't let me live. You left and had most of your life to enjoy, but do you know what I went through in that cauldron forsaken place?"

"You can't blame me for what your father did." There was no bite to his words and they sounded more like a question.

"Oh? And you can blame me for what our fathers did?" He stayed quiet. She continued laughing, tears now streaming down her face. "The suffering I went through everyday was not enough for my father. Almost everyday, he'd taunt and tell at me that I was burden and if you didn't come back, he'd kill me. I had to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to fulfil that promise."

"You could have left..."

Y/n raised a brow, an incredulous smile on her face. "Do you even want me to answer that?" All the energy that had been in her drained, the venom in her voice now gone. She turned away. "When you don't know what someone's life has been like, don't speak about it like you do." She paused, then asked one last question. "Why did you... bring me back from Rita's?"

"Because you're my wife and you're supposed to be mine..." He sounded so guilty and sad that for a moment Y/n pitied him. He probably loved Elain, and he was now stuck with Y/n.

She turned halfway, looking at him. "If I'm yours, are you supposed to be mine? Because when I saw you and Elain today, it didn't seem like it."

The blood drained from his face as he stared at her. Her brows furrowed. Had the shadow not told him about her presence? She glanced at them where they churned restlessly around him. Feeling something cool caressing her wrist, she glanced down. It was a shadow, slithering against her skin. A corner of her lips lifted as the shadow darted back to its master. She turned away again.

She left him there, planning on going to sleep.

Hoping to never wake up.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @maxxieluvs @bubbbllee @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @waytoomanyteenagefeels @tell-me-a-poem @the-lake-is-calling @spaxxxi @japanese-wonderland-blog @valeridarkness @moonlwghts @deadratio @esposadomd @harrystylesfan2686 @missusbarnes-rogers @whatthefuckshappeningrn @hyacinthoideshispanica @historygeekqueen @lizziesfirstwife @nastynesta @aroseinvelaris @nightless @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kodokunarisu-blog @selillusion @eos-princess @moonfawnx @a-court-of-milkandhoney @emilyo-218 @wannabewolf @ailyr92 @chronically-online-cheese @myheartfollower @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @marina468 @menaosama @starryhiraeth @hereticdance @mali22 @valencia-rou @azrielsstarlight @marvelouslovely-barnes

Part 5

[boujiestpoet]

STARCROSSED (charles leclerc x oc)

SOCIAL MEDIA/NEWS CHAPTER 2

PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

Summary: Is it a pr suicide to post criptic messages

FACECLAIM: The extraordinary Tems

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. THE BEHAVIOUR OF THE CHARACTERS DOES NOT REFLECT THE REAL PERSONALITIES OF THE INDIVIDUAL UPON WHOM THEY ARE BASED. I AM MERELY BORROWING THEIR PHYSICAL LIKENESS AND THE PROFESSION THEY HAVE FOR THE SAKE OF THIS NARRATIVE

TW: Cringiness from the writer, grammatical errors (have mercy english is my semi firsr language)

renee_bennett

like by reneerapp, normani, cocojones and others

renee_bennett: I justcame back from Norway as promised, here's the first part of the photo dump

This users have deactivated the comments.........

charles_leclerc

like by ferrari and others

"Hey everyone, I wish I didn't have to write this, but I owe it to you, my amazing fans, to be honest about something personal. It’s with a heavy heart that I need to share some news. After a lot of thought, Leah and I have decided to end our relationship. This isn’t something I ever imagined saying, and it’s not easy.

Many of you know how much I cared for Leah. We shared so many memories, laughs, and incredible moments together. But sometimes, life takes unexpected turns, and I’ve learned some things that left me blindsided. I found out that Leah had been seeing someone else behind my back – a model named Ben Fields. To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

I never saw this coming, and it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever faced. As much as it hurts, I’m trying to move forward with dignity, staying focused on my career and the people who have always had my back. Trust is something I value deeply, and it’s something I’ll never compromise on.

I just want to say thank you to all of you who have shown us support over the years. I ask for privacy as I try to heal and process everything. I’ll always be grateful for your love, and I promise to keep giving my best on and off the track.

Stay kind. Stay true. And keep racing. 💔

This users have deactivated the comments.........

Author's Note: I'm back with another chapter I saw that in the real life chapter is not getting alot of views, that's fine, I'm having fun. So probably I will blend smau chapter with the irl chapter. If you guys have any advice, advice is welcomed.

[tojiscrack]

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋: 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑

summary: 18.1k words — you and the rest of your friend group experience all the changes and activities that high school has to offer.

notes: so during the making of this chapter, i put up a poll where i left it up to my little liars (you guys) on what colour the school should be. as much as i absolutely HATED that the majority of you picked blue over red (i'm still salty about it) i'm glad 132 of you actually participated in the vote. now enjoy this monstrosity.

tw: swearing, mention of dicks, mention of suicide in a metaphor, and that's probably it lmao

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

2017-2018 freshman year

"i don't like this."

"nobody cares, porcupine."

the two of you were currently sat in satoru's — correction: mr gojo's — office at school. it was orientation week and both you and megumi had collected your ID cards and your locker numbers. you were yet to receive your timetable for the coming year, but you were certain that they'd hand it to you some time this week, seeing as freshman year officially started in the coming week.

megumi had put up a pretty stubborn front when it came to admiring the larger corridors and the midnight blue lockers littered around the entire school (which was pretty massive, you had to note). you imagined that it would be terribly easy to get lost in, with the corridors no longer as narrow as the ones back in your middle school and with several other buildings attached to the main one in order to make room for specific departments for specific subjects. currently, you found yourself in the science department, satoru's — mr gojo's — expertise, fiddling with the new keys you'd have to take extra care of.

you'd read about jujutsu high all over the internet (and heard quite a lot about it from satoru himself). apparently, he, ieiri, and suguru attended here back in their youth. the pictures you'd seen in his camera roll, and on several polaroids, indicated that it had been a really good time ("the best time of my life," satoru would never fail to remind you). changing schools for the third time had become much easier knowing that you might experience everything that they did. it also didn't hurt that high school lasted for four long years. there were plenty of things you could do to make tons of memories in that time, especially due to the fact that yuji and nobara had both found seats in jujutsu high too.

sato— mr gojo's office was pretty decent. the walls around you were littered with several display boards showcasing a bunch of his students' work and diagrams of subcellular structures. he clearly took pride in his teaching, even if he randomly spurts out that he'd rather have their yearbook pictures up instead. apparently they had been horrendous, but a good laugh all the same. though, you'd hate to think what this man would do after you and megumi left the school. probably put up our identification pictures, you thought with a grimace.

"so," he'd said, leaning back in his spinning chair with a grin, "you nervous?"

as megumi eyed the display boards with a look of concentration you'd only seen on him when he would read the questions presented to him in an exam, you answered cheerfully.

"excited, mainly." you were seated on the chair opposite your future teacher. "but megumi was throwing a fit about it on the way here —"

"i was not," he harshly interrupted you. you did not have to look over your shoulder to tell that he was glaring at the back of your head.

sa— mr gojo paid his reaction no mind, only continued to tease him as though he hadn't spoken at all.

"i can tell! you look kinda roughed up, kid," he said, and you nearly laughed when megumi patted down his haywire hair as if it were a new thing for it to be standing on different ends. mr gojo merely flashed him a toothy smile. "i mean, that picture on your ID card —"

"that wasn't my fault," megumi snapped coldly, fiddling with his lanyard that was falling out of the pocket of his pants. "the lady kept telling me to smile."

you perked up excitedly. "but get this: he told her that is him smiling."

the picture itself was megumi being typical megumi, a bored expression that could very well be mistaken for anger. you'd never let him hear the end of it. mr gojo threw his head back and laughed.

"i'm leaving —"

"okay, okay, we're sorry!" you said hurriedly, sitting up in your chair because slouching meant that you wouldn't be able to turn and face your friend with urgency.

megumi glowered at you, but did not leave. you took that as a win as he came to stand behind you, eyes narrowed at s— mr gojo.

"i hope we get ieiri as our teacher," he grumbled, because apparently, ieiri had also taken a job here to teach.

mr gojo, looking mildly offended, simply laughed his statement off, tilting his head forward to present his weirdly-blue eyes to the two of you behind his sunglasses. you wished someone would get this man brown contacts.

"keep an eye out for your timetables, yeah?" he responded, his tone all too teasing.

you did not mind having mr gojo as a teacher, to be perfectly honest. as annoying as he could be, he was extremely laidback and matched your humour in ways many adults could not. megumi might hate him, but you supposed that it was only because you and mr gojo would team up to make fun of him, no matter the situation. there were, however, instances where you thought megumi didn't actually hate him. not really, at least. but that was a story for another time.

sitting up straight, your back to the head of the chair, you tilted your head slightly. "wait... did you do something so that we'd be the unlucky few to have you as our teacher?"

mr gojo's lips pursed. if it hadn't been for his sunglasses, you supposed that his eyes were probably wide enough to give you a shock wave and send you straight to a hospital bed.

"why would you be unlucky to have me as your teacher?" he demanded, clearly offended.

mr gojo had always put himself on this pedestal where nobody could ever find him anything but endearing. in short, he truly believed that he was above everyone and that if you have a class with him, you should be grateful, if anything.

you barely had time to respond before megumi cut in coldly:

"you'd lose your own head if it wasn't screwed on tight."

mr gojo raised a brow at him, pulling out a small mirror from his desk drawer and holding it up to take long glances at himself. "how could i ever lose such a beautiful thing?"

megumi looked as though he wanted to shatter the mirror and everything else in the room just from louring.

"you keep a mirror in your office?" you questioned, confused.

mr gojo lowered the mirror and frowned. "you don't?"

"millennials," you heard megumi sigh from behind you.

mr gojo tucked the mirror away and fiddled with the framed picture he seemed to have propped up on his desk, its back facing you. since both you and megumi had entered his office, he seemed reluctant to show it to the both of you, storing it away with a cheeky grin you felt meant trouble. even now, he seemed to be taking glances at it and chuckling to himself, as if the two of you were part of an inside joke you had no knowledge of.

with the framed picture now resting on his lap, cleanly out of your sight, he looked up at you, lazily spinning on his chair.

"are you guys taking any extra-curriculars here?" he asked, perhaps the first ever serious question he'd posed to you that day.

"no, not me," you answered truthfully. you actually hadn't even given it a slight bit of thought. "but megumi wants to take football!"

mr gojo beamed. "really?"

megumi nodded. "heard they had a good pitch and everything."

"great coach too," the white haired male added. "the old one left last year. i had to fill in for him till the new one came around. you'll like him."

in saying that, you had expected his gaze to be directed at megumi, who had shown genuine interest in the sport. however, his head had lowered ever so slightly, showing that he was looking at you instead; you, who had shown no interest in taking an extra-curricular, namely football, at all.

"were you on the football team when you were here?" asked megumi, the harsh tone he usually used with mr gojo now lowered and at ease.

mr gojo shot him a lazy grin. "nah, i did basketball."

"so why did you fill in for the football team then?"

"i'm not bad at football," he said calmly, but you already knew that seeing as the annual family football game was usually dominated by either him or toji. but for once, he didn't sound cocky about it either. "i'm really good at it, obviously. i just prefer basketball."

before either of you could respond, the door behind you opened abruptly. annoyance ran through you, swift as an arrow, for the conversation had just begun to get interesting. all three of you peered at the door, watching as a head of a blonde, stern woman popped through the gap, lips pursing at the sight of you and megumi.

"no students allowed in the teacher's lounge, mr gojo," the woman had stated icily.

you decided that whoever this karen was, you didn't like her much. she stirred up old memories of a teacher from kindergarten that you weren't too fond of, and judging by the bored look on megumi's face, you were certain that he also agreed (a rare occurrence, seeing as the two of you were usually on opposing ends of several arguments).

mr gojo didn't look too pleased at the interruption either. already slouching in his chair as it was, he barely sat up straight to respond to her.

"i'm their legal guardian," he sneered, discontent. "and this is my office."

the woman, clearly disoriented, left without another word. you let out a low whistle.

"who was that beauty?" you said, looking back at mr gojo with raised brows.

"i like to call her negative nancy," he said, before standing up and walking around his desk to gesture to the door, ushering you out. "but anyway, you should check out the football pitch! i think the new coach is out there too, it'd be good to introduce yourselves!"

you and megumi made your way over to the door, a sense of delirium washing over you. the one major thing you'd been looking forward to out of everything was the football pitch and the late night games that would take place. due to mai showing you several clips of how rowdy the games could get, you only wished that high school would come sooner in order to experience it all in real time.

as the two of you made your way down to the football pitch, passing several classrooms filled with people listening intently to an adult doing a speech, you spotted tsumiki leading a line of students down to what looked like the school library. you instinctively glanced at megumi.

"she's part of the student council," he reminded you, continuing to walk past the library and then outside the building. "she has to help out with this stuff."

"ooh, maybe i could do that too," you commented determinedly.

megumi looked down at you, monotonous.

"you have to be elected in."

"that's no big deal!"

"no one would vote for you," he said at last, continuing to walk and not stopping even though you had, stumped and stupefied.

"that's rude, porcupine!"

he ignored you, figuring that you'd follow him eventually; you did.

it wasn't long before your constant bickering had lead you to the football pitch in no time... and it was everything you'd imagined and more.

it was like any old football field, but wider, larger, bigger: surrounding the field of grass was the running track that went round in one giant oval. behind you were the seats, benches upon benches that went higher with each step in order to make space for every viewer to sit comfortably. the field itself was adorned with several white lines, each marked with expert precision, ready and prepared for any football game that would take place. on much higher ground, behind the benches, was a wide, dark blue building, with speakers attached to the left, middle, and right sides of the roof. it was also adorned with several massive windows on the front, allowing you to see that the inside also had seats. you squinted your eyes to clear your vision a bit and found that there was a microphone for each chair.

"i was hoping for the school to be red, like the one your mom wanted us to go to," you stated, eyeing the blue on the benches with disgust. 

"i like blue," megumi countered calmly. 

you scowled at him. "no, red is better. who the hell made the decision to decorate it all blue?"

megumi stared off into the distance, breaking the fourth wall and peering at the people who were left the responsibility to make the choice, deadpanned.

until you broke the silence, tugging on the arm of his shirt to grab his attention.

"am i seeing things or is there someone standing over there?" you asked quietly, pointing at the figure standing in the middle of the field, unmoving. 

you and megumi were on the pink track, therefore the distance between the two of you and the mysterious person in the centre of the field was great. you wouldn't be at fault for making a mistake with your presumption.

 "probably the new coach," your stoic friend responded, simultaneously leering at the person. 

upon further inspection, it looked to be a pretty tall man, perhaps tall enough to be at even satoru's height (and satoru was pretty damn tall, which he never let anyone forget).

"let's go," said megumi, turning away to leave the pitch.

you hadn't moved, blinking at him in confusion. 

"you don't want to introduce yourself?" you questioned, addled.

megumi shook his head; you sighed exaggeratedly and pulled him in by his arm. surprisingly, you didn't need to put any extra effort in doing so: megumi put up no fight when you dragged him along.

"don't be so shy, porcupine," you said, your tone teasing because you knew pretty well that he wouldn't like it one bit. hell would freeze over before you ever neglected a single day of annoying him till he snapped. "the emo in you is showing."

"i'll hit you."

"you wouldn't," you sang, and weren't surprised when he didn't argue with you on that. "now c'mon, malakai —"

"you're really testing my patience, mermaid —"

but you'd found no time to start a brawl with him (as you usually would) at his cruel comment. instead, you stopped dead in your tracks, your arms still wrapped around one of megumi's against your torso, but your eyes were no longer focused on him. instead, you were ogling at something in front of you, namely the peculiar being that the two of you had questioned only a few minutes prior. 

you felt megumi's free hand poke at your cheek.

"what's wrong with you—"

"MASAMICHI?" you yelled, uncaring of the fact that your emo friend had flinched at the sudden volume of your voice. 

initially, megumi had thought your cry of the name of your former p.e teacher from middle school was a mistake. after all, there were numerous times in the long years that he'd known you where you were wrong, whether it be in an argument, a factual comment, or even your opinion on something (he held no regard for the fact that an opinion can't actually be wrong, but you were always an exception for him). however, when the figure at the centre of the field became stiff with your call, he had a pressing feeling that today must've been the night of the blue moon or something: you were actually right.

"MASAMICHI YAGA!" you repeated, louder and with less questioning in your voice. 

megumi's arm had become loose in your hold, he slowly took it back, grateful for the distraction. you didn't mind.

the man had finally turned around as you hurriedly dived forward, more excitement in you at the idea that your favourite former teacher (no matter how many times he'd yelled at you) had followed you here! you had to be dreaming, there was no way this was happening.

coach yaga's appearance had changed over the years since you'd first met him. he was still as tall as ever with a muscular frame and tanned skin. though what stuck out to you the most was his hair. where it used to lie flat on his head, barely any to run his hands through, now he was sporting some that were flying up on different ends, short yet spiky. the rest of his head had remained shaved.

the final thing, along with his frame, moustache and goatee combination that had remained the same, was the tired, annoyed, and exasperated expression on his face, as if simply being in your presence was a chore.

"megumi, pinch me," you said once you'd arrived in front of your former teacher, staring up at him in awe.

"gladly," your friend had responded.

from the corner of your eye, you could see his hand flying towards yours — you slapped it away without a second thought or a single glance. 

"of all the high schools you could've gone to," coach yaga sighed, staring down at you as if you were the bane of his existence (you might as well have been), "it's the one i happened to join this year."

"right?" you perked up, thrilled. "isn't that great?"

megumi thought he looked anything but thrilled. he seemed to be questioning his choice in partaking in that long process of application forms and interviews for the job here, clearly. and when megumi caught a glimpse of you, practically buzzing with excitement, it was as if all the memories of your troublesome nature had come flooding back to him in one go. he thought he understood what coach yaga was so distraught about. he thinks he might have even experienced it once or twice.

coach yaga seemed to have come to terms with it, for he let out a long, drawn out sigh and then turned to face megumi with a critical look.

"you been practicing over the summer, fushiguro?" he said, voice gruff and stern. "you once said you wanted to take football properly in high school. you haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"no."

coach yaga regarded him stoically. 

"don't bother turning up to try-outs," he'd said after a few seconds of merely nodding. "you're on the team."

you felt megumi stiffen up beside you, so when you looked up at him, gauging out his expression, you were concerned to see that he'd completely frozen, and not even with a half-smile curling at his lips whenever he was secretly happy about something. megumi's face was morphed into an expression of distress, you might even say that it bordered annoyance. 

you couldn't help but question why: he'd been given a free position on the football team without even having to (as a theatre kid would see it) audition for the part. 

unless he was being righteous again, which always managed to irk you to a certain degree. uncle ogi called him foolish because of it, yet his mother had called him an angel. 

"favouritism!" you accused, pointing at him in shock. "masamichi is doing favouritism!"

"if you don't lower your voice, girl —" your former teacher threatened, raising a fist at you, though you knew it was a completely empty threat.

ah, this was the teacher you remembered. 

"...and it's coach yaga to you, for the millionth time." 

"sorry, but i can't accept that," megumi had intervened (though that probably was not the right word for it, seeing as the topic was centred around him to begin with).

both your heads had turned to face him. it was, perhaps, the first time that you and coach yaga could see eye-to-eye on something: you weren't happy with megumi's refusal to the offer. you couldn't understand it. 

megumi was incredibly good at football. in fact, you had so much faith in him, you were certain that even if he did take part in try-outs, he'd get in without question. you had no doubt about it. so why, you thought in your head, ready to voice it if need be, did he have to go on this whole righteous tangent if the offer could save time for both him and coach yaga?

"what the hell do you mean by that?" snapped coach yaga. "you were on my team last year, different school, but my team nonetheless. you've got a talent, i don't need to see it again to decide. you're on the team, that's final."

"you can decide after i turn up to try-outs," said megumi, clearly unmoving on his view. "it's only fair."

"fair?" sputtered coach yaga, as if he hadn't heard of the word in his entire life. you couldn't blame him, simmering in silence as you watched the interaction between them with irritation. "life's not fair, boy! you're on the team. i saw the line-up for the team last year: inumaki's on it, so you'll have a familiar face to work with."

"that doesn't matter," megumi stubbornly continued. "yuji's coming here too."

"well you can tell him he's on the team too, then," said coach yaga, also stubborn. 

megumi glowered at him. "i'm not doing that —"

"then i will!" you added, pulling out your phone from the pocket of your jeans and hurriedly opening up your texts with yuji. 

you could feel two holes being burned into your left cheek where megumi was glaring daggers at you, but you didn't care. you were happy for him and yuji. it was a moment to be proud of. the two were so good at the sport, that coach yaga felt the need to eliminate them from even trying out for the team, insisting that they were that talented. this, if anything, was something to celebrate. you knew that megumi would probably hold a grudge against coach yaga for the rest of his miserable life, but you were also aware of the fact that your grumpy teacher just simply would not care. so long as he has a winning team in his hands, he could not care less. that, you were grateful for.

in the end, like you had expected, megumi gave in (though not without a word; it was routine for him to complain about something) albeit reluctantly. later that day, when you met up with yuji and nobara, your pink haired friend had been as ecstatic as you, only to feel guilty at the look on megumi's face. one righteous grump was enough, how had he influenced yuji to be the same (minus the being-grumpy part)?

as the week continued to roll on — and you began to question when it was that they'd finally hand you your timetables — all four of you had found yourselves sitting around a table at the school, your first official day as a high schooler, excited...

only to deflate the second you examined megumi's sheet, eyes darting left and right, up and down, just to go on repeat.

"megumi!" you gasped, feeling more disappointed than angry.

the only classes that you shared with megumi, out of the nine that you were in, were chemistry, biology, and math. you didn't even share the same homeroom, and aside from the three mentioned, the only time you would be able to see him again would be during study-hall and lunch, all of which were not nearly long enough to compensate for the time lost with each other.

eyes bulging out of their sockets, when you'd darted them to ogle at your dear friend, you thought he seemed to be thinking the same thing. megumi never usually smiled, so it wasn't a shock when his lips pressed themselves into a thin line, but you could differentiate each and every one of his expressions as if they were your own, and megumi (though he'd never admit it) was not pleased with the arrangement of each of your timetables. 

at all.

"this is all your fault," you said, shaking his timetable aggressively. he snatched it out of your hands with a look of irritation. you let him. "what did you have to go and pick business for?"

he glowered at you. "can you imagine me on stage doing performing arts?"

"of course i can!" you snapped, waving a hand dismissively. "i literally edited you on a stage once, don't you remember —"

"you did?" yuji perked up, to megumi's annoyance. "show it to us!"

"yeah, let's see!" added nobara, extending her arm across the table and making a 'hand it over' motion.

"let's not see," megumi interrupted icily, slapping nobara's hand away with enough force, the sound reverberated around the hall; nobara hadn't taken that lightly either, kicking him under the table with an expression of pain and vexation.

you ignored them all, staring down at his timetable, which you'd swiftly swiped off the table again, with confusion. how was it possible that you only shared three classes with him? it seemed that these classes were based off of the end of year exams from middle school, and megumi was at the top of the class for everything, to no one's surprise. but so were you, except for math. last year, the only reason you passed with flying colours was because of megumi, because even though he'd made rude and judgemental comments when tutoring you, he actually happened to be a very good teacher.

the thought did not compute to you. when you'd compared your timetables with yuji and nobara's, you'd been over the moon at the fact that you shared several classes with them, whether it be individually or as a group. it wasn't mentioned enough (mainly because you were quite careless about it) but you had done just as well as megumi in the exams for every other subject, so why were you in only three classes with him?

clearly you'd committed a terrible crime in your past life to be punished with such a sentence. who else will blame megumi for the funny writing on the board the second everyone enters the class? who, other than you, will frame him for the aeroplanes thrown at that one kid you despised for being so cruel for no apparent reason? who, but you, will provoke him enough to start a dictionary fight from two opposite ends of the classroom simply because his angry face was belly-ache-laughter inducing?

from the looks of it, it seemed that you'd have to pass the torch on to yuji. you did always think he would be your replacement... ever since you first met the annoyance.

"this isn't fair," you sighed.

megumi agreed, shaking his head, monotoned and bored. "yeah it's just not fair."

"anyway, megumi might physically abuse me if i show it to you guys right now," you said, changing the subject begrudgingly, only to smile just as soon as a lightbulb flicked on over your head. "but satoru has a ton of pictures of him from our christmas play back in elementary school!"

you did not have to glance at megumi to know that he was scowling (what was new?). yuji beamed at your statement, eyes sparkling with curiosity that was certainly not mild enough to restrain him from demanding that you send every single one of those images to him.

"did you play baby jesus?" he asked loudly, smiling from ear-to-ear as he awaited megumi's response.

"you're intellectually challenged," your dark haired friend snapped, visibly irked at the way you and nobara laughed at the thought of little megumi, ever the grumpy one, playing baby jesus. "how the hell would anyone play a new born?"

"just... wrap them in a towel or something," yuji suggested, though he sounded less passionate now that megumi had set the record straight. if it wasn't yuji, you might have actually felt bad. 

"so what did you play then?" nobara swiftly questioned. "the shepherds?"

"maybe he played the livestock!" yuji perked up excitedly, turning to you for confirmation. he seemd to have effectively recovered from the disheartening moment of being told he wasn't very clever. "he's always loved animals, right?"

megumi let out an exhale of disbelief. "the hell makes you think i wanted to be one?"

"wouldn't put it past you," scoffed nobara. "didn't you try and stay at the zoo when your family went to visit, like, a decade ago?"

surprised at the prospect of megumi's head remaining in tact with his neck due to how fast he'd snapped it round to face you in apparent annoyance, you did not meet his gaze, resting your chin on your hands held up by the table, still examining his timetable that you hadn't returned.

"why'd you tell her?" he questioned, when it became crystal clear that you had no intention of voicing the elephant in the room. 

"it was supposed to be a secret?" you replied, looking up at him with faux innocence. but megumi knew you, and he knew you very well; well enough to tell that you had done this on purpose. if there was one thing you were an expert in, it was trying your absolute best in annoying, shaming, and angering megumi fushiguro. 

and he hated it.

how it worked, mostly, but he hated it all the same.

"uncle ogi said we couldn't tell anyone," he reminded you, firm and very visibly offended. 

you grinned at him. "what, because of the reputation of the zenin family?" you continued before he could answer. "well guess what, porcupine? i'm not a zenin."

"and neither am i," he stated, the frown on his face deepening with each passing second.

"by name, maybe not. you're literally toji's son —"

"i would've found out anyway," nobara intervened confidently. she twirled a piece of her short hair around her finger mindlessly. "you ended up on national television —"

"national television?" yuji repeated, his voice raising several octaves. you expected him to look a bit more impressed, but your pink-haired friend merely pouted at the three of you. "why am i being segregated? what happened on national tv?"

that particular day had been very hectic. a visit to the zoo with the rest of the family (along with suguru and his two girls, mimiko and nanako), was meant to be how any other family would act, admiring the animals and walking in sync with one another... only for it to turn into absolute chaos when little megumi had ended up in the gorilla enclosure and decided that he wanted to live there.

you never let him live that one down.

"megumi became one with the gorillas —"

"did you tell them about your interest in the aquarium?" he cut through your statement coldly.

your eyes widened, gawking at him in something in between disbelief and complete annoyance. if there was one thing megumi knew embarrassed you (and you don't tend to get embarrassed by much) it was the mermaid lie you'd made years ago. 

"i was interested in the sharks," you explained, growing more and more agitated with the way megumi's face became more and more dismissive, as if you were lying. "they were scary but i liked it —"

"makes sense," he interrupted again, "they're a danger to your species."

you could see yuji laughing; the knife lodged itself deep in your heart. you could see nobara holding hers in; you felt the knife twist in its place.

the irritating part of it all was the fact that your dark-haired, cruel friend deserved credit for that one. it was good, and if it hadn't been directed at you, you might have even voiced how impressed you were.

"okay i'll give you that one," you said, turning away with your nose in the air. "it was good, you got me there. but only this time, porcupine."

you hoped and prayed that yuji and nobara would forget this moment: it happened to be the only time your constant teasing came back to bite you right in the ass. you wondered to yourself how many times the four of you could sit like this together, pester megumi because it happened to be something you, yuji and nobara all had in common, a habit you did not believe would ever break for as long as you lived on this great, green earth. from the looks of your timetables, there weren't many classes where the four of you would be in altogether, only a the three that had been previously mentioned: chemistry with ieiri (who you'll now have to refer to as miss shoko), biology with satoru (who you'll now have to refer to as mr gojo) and one of the teachers you'd never met here, math, with mr kento nanami. 

he sounded strict. 

you didn't like strict.

but you also could have sworn that the name sounded familiar. 

you happened to be correct, and you'd found that out in one of your first lessons with mr kento nanami:

he was a tall man, with blonde hair that had been styled in a neat side part. his cheeks were hollow, making the cheekbones on his face seem more prominent and emphasised. he didn't smile, not even during the first lesson, which had mainly been an introduction, and he spoke very formally, like a business man. you had learned that the business attire (the suit, tie, formal pants and pointy shoes) had not been a one-off dress code for him. after attending several of his  lessons, getting to know him better, you'd found that this was an everyday fit for him. 

that tie was a bit weird though, and mr nanami was anything but weird.

so you'd been correct in assuming that his name sounded familiar. he was just a year younger than satoru, suguru and ieiri, a mutual friend (though he did seem adamant that satoru and him were most definitely not friends, no matter how many times the white-haired beanstalk declared that they were). 

mr kento nanami was a funny man, you'd decided. strict, firm, and constantly exasperated, but funny nonetheless. without even trying, that is. you liked his lessons very much. the one thing that you didn't like, however, was the learning part of it — math was not your strong suit. that had been established years ago when you first started learning it, but it only became more emphasised in his classes.

"i can't do it," you declared out loud, using an eraser to erase yet another one of your miscalculations. "this is too hard —"

"you can do it," said kento nanami, who had made you sit right across from his desk because you seemed to need the most help out of everyone in the class. it turned out, this very class had been one of the top sets. it was a miracle you'd been placed there, let alone managed to stay there. though, arguably, you had been moved down several times, only for you to fail even more because apparently, only kento nanami's teachings stuck in your head, even if it was a struggle.

"i can't," you sighed, rubbing your temples, feeling a headache starting to form. whoever created math was going to wish they hadn't. "i'm going to die —"

kento nanami pinched the bridge of his nose: he didn't like it when you became dramatic.

"you're not going to —"

"yes i am." 

"you cannot expect to do even remotely well with that attitude," he said, completely disregarding your dramatic comment. "the last exam you completed —"

you grimaced. "don't remind me! even yuji did better than me... and he never studies!"

"i do study!" the pink-haired idiot lied from somewhere behind you. 

you knew he never studied. in fact, one time, when you spent most of the day at nobara's, her grandmother had forced you to sit and work through multiple equations, meanwhile yuji spent the day teaching football to the neighbours' kids. you knew — you watched him enjoy himself through the window.

"you can't believe him kento, he's lying to you to impress you —"

"i have half a mind to believe him simply out of spite," kento firmly told you, and there was a tick in his jaw. "for the millionth time, y/n, you will refer to me as mr nanami."

there was a habit that you'd adopted, which applied to teachers you really liked, but not limited to teachers you really hated. it was something that had always existed, calling teachers by their first names rather than their last names, if only to show them that they were your friends (or you simply had no respect for them if they were seen as your foe). masamichi, kento, satoru, ieiri, are candidates you liked very much. other teachers... not so much.

"mr kento nanami —"

"mr nanami," he repeated, stoic and stubborn. "as i was saying, the last exam you completed was notably better than the one prior. that shows improvement."

you stared at him, deadpanned. "i was only two points higher."

"any improvement is improvement."

you never considered yourself a pessimist. in fact, you always looked at the brighter side of things when no one else would. but with math, it almost felt like you would become a whole different person, and the last person you wanted to be like was emo, depressed, careless megumi. the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"this is too hard," you sighed, placing your pencil down on the table with a look of defeat. "just bury me already —"

kento gave you a long and hard look, his expression stern and brows furrowed to the point where a deep line had been formed between them. he looked at you... perhaps not at you, maybe something or someone behind you, as his eyes fell over your shoulder meeting someone else's.

you would soon find out that it had been megumi. 

as if they'd created their own form of communication through the eyes itself, you found yourself sitting by megumi's desk now, his judgemental and critical look only serving to offend you.

"i'm helping you —"

"you literally called me dumb," you scoffed, brow raised in scepticism. 

megumi's eyes grew half-lidded, apparently bored with your accusation. "no i never."

"yes you did," you said firmly. "you said i'm as 'sharp as a marble'." 

the offender simply raised his own brow at you in apparent confusion, as if to say 'and?'. 

"marbles aren't sharp!" you snapped angrily, taking everyone around you by surprise at the sudden volume of your voice.

megumi ran a hand through his hair, dragged it down his face, and let out a small groan, muffled so as to not distract the rest of the class any further. he did not seem impressed, but you didn't care. the audacity he had to call you dumb when his teaching was clearly not working spoke volumes for you. 

you leaned back in your chair, arms folded over your chest, reluctantly sliding your completed work across from you and over to him. 

"mark my work," you demanded, with every intent to make it sound as bossy as you could.

he glared at you, but did not oppose, picking his pen up and going through the questions with you with a look of deep concentration. at times, he would scratch the back of his neck, rub his brow, grasp his chin, shake his head, and you had no idea what any of those actions meant (probably that you got every question wrong, again). 

only for you to be completely stumped when he looked up and met your eyes once more, no longer sporting the look of exhaustion, but one of pride. 

at least, you thought it was pride. all of megumi's expressions tended to be the same: his mouth a straight line, his eyes half-lidded, his brows unmoving, etc. though with time, you had managed to dissect each and every one and figure out whether he was happy, or sad, or angry, and so on. right now, you thought he looked impressed. you knew for sure that he didn't seem annoyed with you — that was usually his default, too!

cautiously and gradually, you leaned over and pulled the sheet towards yourself, eyes darting up and down before finding the final mark:

7/10 - good.

beaming, you met his eyes with a toothy smile, brows raised in pleasant shock.

"i'm so smart!" you declared, confidently and immensely proud.

he let out a long exhale through his nose. "why did you have to go and ruin it?"

you ignored him, snatching the paper and rushing over to kento's desk, taking enough care to slide in between the discarded chairs and tables people are sitting at, and swiping yuji's pencil case off the table just for the fun of it. at his wail of despair, you merely responded with a quiet 'oops' knowing quite well that your actions had been very much intentional. 

you did nearly slip on one of the stray pencils that had rolled out of his discarded pencil case, to your doom, but politely flipped yuji off when he laughed 'karma'. 

by the desk, on kento's chair, sat a baffled nobara, her eyes drooping and her soft, short hair dishevelled through, no doubt, constantly running her hands through it in obvious exhaustion. like you, math was not her strong spot. also like you, she looked ready to absolutely throttle whoever decided to add letters to numbers and make it part of the compulsory curriculum. 

kento himself stood opposite her, bent forward and holding himself up with his hands on the desk, pointing at the numerous equations on her own paper, and giving her extra guidance and clarification on them.

"do you understand it now?" your teacher asked her, looking down, sombre yet patient.

her hands were hidden somewhere beneath her hair, holding her head up as she stared grimly down at her own messy work, slowly nodding.

"yeah... but i'm going to torture, and murder, and torture —"

"— the guy that created math," kento finished off, looking slightly tense as he stood up to his full height, straightening himself seriously, "i've heard it, nobara." he looked over his shoulder and noticed you standing excitedly behind him. "what's wrong, y/n —"

"i get it now!" you informed him honestly, though you could tell the enthusiasm in your voice simply encouraged kento to feel more suspicion than anything else. "i got everything right!"

the small gasp of envy from nobara did not go unnoticed by you; kento tilted his chin downwards to take a better look at your paper, held up proudly by yourself. his narrowed eyes darted left and right, examining each question, each neat tick megumi had left behind, and finally reached the bottom of the page where your impressive score had been written in a bold red. 

kento nodded at you. 

"seven out of ten," he quoted, almost like a machine. "that's more than fifty percent."

"please, ken— i mean mr nanami —" you added when you'd caught sight of the pursing of his lips, "no more numbers. i've retired from being the genius i was just two minutes ago. i got everything right!"

"seven out of ten," kento repeated, voice gruff. "definitely an achievement, but not one hundred perce—"

"i'm still a genius," you interrupted, apparently choosing to select which parts of his statement you truly wanted to hear. "megumi said so —"

"no i never," your traitor of a friend had intervened from somewhere behind you. 

you regarded him, boot-faced and unimpressed. he was sitting next to yuji now, finishing off his own work. but apparently, your little white lie was enough to break him out of this cycle of work, work, and more work. 

"stop lying," he gracefully added.

you felt your eye twitch in indignation, turning around to face kento and plastering on a smile to mask your obvious discontent.

"he's the one lying," you whispered, though that did not stop kento from believing him over you. it became a habit over time, you'd noticed. you were still trying to figure out a way to break it.

"be more humble," grumbled nobara, still slouching on kento's chair with a permanent scowl painted over her face. "some of us are being beaten black and blue with all of this."

"i can teach you!" you offered, relishing in the smile that nobara's face had formed, extending to her eyes where the spark that usually lay there had been re-lighted. 

giddy, you skipped around kento and his desk to reach nobara on the other side, ignoring his weak protests about how he wasn't sure that you were absolutely confident in your skills at the particular topic. you and nobara were in your own world, sitting on the thin arm of his spinning chair, one half of your body slumped against her side and the other hovering above her as you guided her on the questions.

it was later found that kento had been correct. helping nobara only served to take away the knowledge that your teacher had already tirelessly given her. you walked away in shame after that, completely unaware of the fact that half of the method you'd used to solve the equations out were actually correct...

and not just over fifty percent, but one hundred percent. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

due to a series of upcoming exams, you and the rest of your little group had spent majority of your break times at study hall, looking over a bunch of your notes from social studies, to performing arts, to biology, chemistry, physics. however, the only one you had to truly focus on was math.

you slumped over your textbook, your expression a mix of frustration and defeat as you stared at the seemingly indecipherable equations before you. to you, math was a labyrinth of confusion, a tangled web of numbers and symbols that ensnared your mind with its complexity. each problem felt like a battle, with your thoughts colliding like opposing armies on a chaotic battlefield. the numbers mocked you, dancing tauntingly on the page as if daring you to unravel their secrets. it was as if you were trying to navigate through a dense fog, each step forwards only leading to a hundred steps backwards. math, to you, was a relentless adversary, an insurmountable mountain that you could never hope to conquer. 

your gaze flickered over to yuji, who seemed to effortlessly breeze through the math problems with a nonchalant ease that left you envious. he was like a graceful dancer, effortlessly gliding across the stage of equations while you stumbled clumsily in the wings. each correct answer he produced felt like a dagger to your pride, a reminder of your own inadequacy in the face of his natural talent. it was as if he had been born with a mathematical compass embedded in his mind, guiding him effortlessly through the labyrinth of numbers and formulas. you couldn't help but feel like a mere spectator in the shadow of his brilliance, your own struggles magnified in comparison to his effortless mastery.

what pissed you off more was the fact that this was yuji. 

yuji.

he barely studied (no matter what lies he fed to kento, your sensible math teacher). you could pass him a math paper without a warning and he would bring it back to you without a single strand of grey in the field of pink on his head. 

so, naturally, whilst megumi tutored an ever-growing depressed nobara, you asked yuji to help you...

you wished you hadn't made fun of megumi's hair that morning, that way, mustering up your courage to ask him for help instead probably would have been easier.

"so first," yuji began slowly, carefully writing out the numbers over your blank sheet. and then it was as if your life went by in two times speed. "you do that, and then that, and then that."

you took a careful glance at megumi's watch. your life hadn't zoomed by that fast: yuji was just a terrible tutor.

he dropped the pencil in front of you, letting it roll right next to where your hand lay, sitting back on his seat with a happy smile on his face, as if he'd actually accomplished something.

you felt your eye twitch.

"how about i show you how i do this, and then this, and then this!" you said, each emphasised word paired with a harsh smack on yuji's head with a rolled up booklet you snatched off the table. you did not know who it belonged to, probably megumi, but you did not care.

"okay okay okay! — ow! — okay, woman!"

"is that my business booklet?" megumi icily interrupted, eyes narrowed, following each and every movement of your hand that waved it around.

you shot him a glance, mild fury smouldering in your eyes.

"no..."

megumi fixed his gaze on you, his face a mask of calm that barely hinted at the storm brewing in his head. his eyes were like twin daggers, piercing through your facade with chilling precision. a muscle in his jaw twitched slightly, the only betrayal of his controlled exterior. 

"it has my name in bold," he informed you, bored.

"okay..." you said, peering down at the booklet in your hands with a masked expression. "you can have it back if you teach me how to do algebra?"

megumi's mouth set itself in a firm line, conveying a silent but unmistakable challenge. though his expression remained stoic, the intensity of his gaze was like a glacier, cold and unyielding, and also a bit tired, as though he'd expected nothing less from you. with a grin, you knew what it meant: you won.

before you could carry out your plan to throw yuji off his seat and reach megumi and nobara, an external voice jolted you out of your intense focus.

the four of you looked up, distracted: it was noritoshi kamo accompanied by chad montgomery, both of whom were part of the school's official football team alongside yuji and megumi. noritoshi (who preferred to simply go by kamo) had dark, straight hair that stopped a little further down his chin whereas chad was rather big, tall, and blonde, with a friendly face to match. it was a running joke that chad was very unlike the typical chads you'd see on tv. he was kinder, friendlier, yet still rather well-known.

"nice catch at gym today, y/n," kamo had said, barely smiling. you thought he had some sort of face freeze like megumi.

"thank you!" you beamed, turning to your friends as the two boys casually walked off. "see? people do appreciate the effort i put in at sports."

"you and nobara weren't meant to be in our class to begin with," said megumi, sliding a worksheet in your direction. you accepted it gratefully, though your attention was hardly on the paper.

"touche," nobara muttered into her own hand, her other scribbling over the doodles she'd drawn around her paper. "our class is boring."

"huh? i thought you liked coach lauren?" said yuji, visibly surprised.

you tapped the back of your pen on your worksheet impatiently. 

"we do! but it's not as fun when she doesn't care about us not participating," you told him thoughtfully. "but when it's coach yaga —"

megumi scowled. "he lost his voice because of the two of you."

you mirrored his scowl. "hey, we didn't tell him to yell and chase us across the field, did we?" 

"and he wouldn't have even noticed us if you hadn't ratted us out, snitch," nobara helpfully added, levelling an accusatory look at megumi while pointing the end of her pen at him.

megumi regarded you and nobara with a blank, almost bored expression. his mouth remained a straight line, devoid of any hint of emotion, as if he were staring at an unremarkable, distant horizon. the only movement was the slow blink of his eyelids, which seemed to convey a sense of enduring your antics with the patience of a stone statue.

"you guys were standing at the back and laughing at everyone," he stated.

"wrong," you hummed. "we were laughing at you."

yuji's laughter erupted, nearly causing him to topple from his chair as he doubled over, resting against the table. his whole body shook with mirth, his laughter filling the room with its infectious energy. 

nobara sliced through it with unbridled ease.

"we were laughing at you too, you clown," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "you and that todo guy being in your own little word —"

"it's not my fault!" said yuji, defensive. "he keeps following me, even when i go to megumi! he keeps saying we're brothers — i don't even know him!"

"i can't imagine you with a brother anyway," you said, barely registering yuji's alarm and stress, but it had completely disappeared at your comment, now masked over with an expression of pure confusion.

"but i do have a brother," he'd said, resulting in all three of you to look up at him with raised brows, parted mouths and narrowed eyes.

"huh?" nobara voiced, aggressive. "what do you mean? you never told us you —"

"i did!" he interrupted, eyes darting from megumi to you to nobara and then back again. "my half brother!"

"half brother?" you repeated, outraged. 

you spent the next few seconds thinking deep and hard as nobara verbally assaulted him for causing the three of you such distress with such a lie, racking your brain for a time where yuji had voiced to you that he had a half brother, something that you'd been blissfully unaware of for the last four years you had known him. 

"what's his name?" megumi asked, intervening loudly so that yuji would hear him over nobara's attacks.

"choso," said yuji, as though it were the most obvious and easiest thing to remember. "i told you guys!"

"so every time we watched movies at your place, how come it was only ever gramps and your parents?" you asked, notably surprised. 

on the days you'd sleep over at yuji's, you'd see mr and mrs itadori, both of whom insisted you'd call them kaori and jin, as their day shifts at their respective work places would end. never once did you see another being, another male by the name choso.

"he's much older than us, so he's already got his own place to live in," yuji explained, which, as much as you hated to admit it, made sense.

the initial shock of finding out that yuji had a half brother by the name choso had worn out after the next few minutes had been spent looking at different pictures of him and his odd family. they looked nothing alike, with choso sporting dark hair styled in odd pigtails and a more mature face and yuji having pink hair (you still insisted that it wasn't natural) and a more friendly, soft face. they didn't even have the same eye colour or remotely similar features.

somehow, the conversation had spun back to yuji's alleged brother, todo:

"maki told me that when he gets to senior year, he's planning on doing it twice," said nobara, glancing between a panicked-yuji and an exasperated-megumi for confirmation.

you nodded in agreement. "yeah, toge said the same thing."

nobara grinned at yuji. "looks like you'll be dealing with him for as long as we stay here."

yuji looked like he could be physically ill.

the rest of the day had gone by with yuji making multiple attempts to persuade the three of you that him and todo were most definitely not related by any means, and he only grew more and more panicked and alarmed when nobara would make sly comments about how todo would replace megumi as yuji's best friend and run off into the distance together, to which megumi pretended not to care (but you practically spoke in megumi-facial-expressions, and could tell that he very much did).

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

satoru's classroom was significantly larger than any of the other classes in the school. you noticed this the second you'd entered it back in september. he said it was because of the fact that he's a science teacher and therefore needs a larger room for laboratory experiments and so on, but you knew it was a lie. why did ieiri, who was also a science teacher, have a classroom slightly smaller than his? 

you ran the thought in your head multiple times, before ultimately deciding that he had probably thrown a fit over it and bribed his way up that ladder. it helped that he was also filthy rich, not that anyone else needed to know that.

there were three lab tables in his room, his desk on the left of the whiteboard and projector, and the door on the right. windows surrounded two of the four walls in the room, brightening it up so much so that on the days that you were plagued with headaches, satoru's classes became dreadful (which was saying a lot, seeing as you and several others thoroughly enjoyed his lessons).

you, megumi, yuji and nobara sat on the table in the far left, closest to satoru's desk. there wasn't necessarily a seating plan, but the one time you and nobara sat on the table furthest from his desk, he did act pretty prissy about it the entire day. 

"reproduction!" he said, a little too enthusiastically though knowing him, he most likely meant to. adjusting the circular glasses on his nose, he gestured to the board where a presentation of said-topic demanded each and every viewer's attention. no other topic within the subject of biology ever had this many balloon stickers or confetti gifs. "my favourite topic!"

"fuck's sake," you heard megumi mutter under his breath from across yuji, who was sitting nervously on your right.

the other boys in your class, sitting around the table in the middle and the table on the far right seemed to be getting a little too excited, in your humble opinion: sitting up straighter with ugly grins forming on their ugly faces, looking around and making cheeky eye contact with one another. 

"i know a lot about that," you heard tyler jenson announce, his too-happy face only serving to irk you in ways even megumi could not. but whilst you sat there with a sour expression forming second by second, nobara (seated next to megumi) turned around and voiced your thoughts.

"and yet you've never been touched by a woman."

the classroom was then filled with muffled laughter as many hid the lower halves of their faces behind their hands, giggling and chuckling as tyler's face became more compatible to the colour of a cherry rather than the colour of the skin on his hands and arms. nobara turned back around with her lips in a straight, thin line, shaking her head due to some of the hair that had fallen over her eyes. 

"mr gojo," one of tyler's minion-friends spoke up, very clearly offended. it became quite clear that tyler would not speak for himself from here on out. "aren't you going to — like — say something about that..?"

satoru raised a brow, the smile he usually adorned with pearly-white teeth non-existent, almost as if it were never there. 

"no," he said, hands resting in the pockets of his pants, "because she just demolished you."

he went back to teaching as though nothing had happened. 

the rest of the lesson had gone by quite well. few of tyler's minion friends had gotten the message and remained silent for the remainder of the hour, chalking it up to 'favouritism', though everyone knew otherwise. as many odd jokes that satoru had made, he did eventually teach the curriculum, even when the comments from tyler's other foolish friends had irked everyone by opening their mouths:

"okay," nodded satoru, visibly tense as he stood up and slammed his entire hand against the whiteboard so suddenly, with such aggression, the projector wobbled. "listen here! reproduction? sex? it's bad. who can tell me why?"

you looked around. everyone seemed just as startled as you. as fun as satoru's classes were, when he pulled random shit like this, you were more inclined to feel scared than enraptured. but it wasn't a class lead by satoru gojo unless satoru gojo became melodramatic at some point during it. 

"no one?" he continued, head turning left and right. "megumi?"

"leave me alone."

satoru promptly turned to your other friend instead. "yuji!"

"er... because... it distracts you from school work?" yuji guessed, scratching the back of his ear, a random habit you realised he'd picked up over the last few months. 

satoru nodded slowly. 

"warmer..." he'd said; yuji beamed. "nobara!"

"because men don't perform —"

"no, but i should've seen that comin'," your teacher interrupted mindlessly, the smile unwavering as he turned his gaze to you. although, it was hard to tell for certain, for the silly sunglasses he wore indoors concealed his eyes. "y/n!"

"it's a sin —"

"why on earth did i ask you to begin with?" he said, turning away and shaking his head. "okay, note this down, all of you. you can die if you have sex, yeah?"

clement roy, who was seated by the middle table (also one of the smartest in the class) spoke up with a frown:

"no you can't. having intercourse isn't dangerous."

satoru did not seem impressed. he stared at clement roy with the expression a child would give to their parent over rejection of candy before dinner. 

"all right smarty-pants, want to explain to the class what'll happen when you get chlamydia?" hedemanded, visibly nettled. before clement could even think of a response, the drama queen had already pressed on. "you'll die. you'll suffer in silence because you won't want to communicate to another responsible human being about how you were being irresponsible and then die because chlamydia got you."

you could drop a pin on the floor and the sound would echo around the room and bounce off of the walls with how eerily quiet it had gotten. had it not been broad daylight, you were certain the croaking of crickets would be the only thing perceived in this awkward silence. 

"don't just stare at me, write it down!"

barely fifteen minutes later, satoru had gone back to behaving more positively playful than negatively dramatic. 

at some point in the lesson, he'd handed out worksheets for everyone to go through and complete, filled with a series of questions based on what he managed to teach for the last thirty to forty minutes. the questions hadn't been too hard; you whizzed through them in no time. to check your answers, you stretched your body over the table and snatched megumi's paper without warning, sitting back down comfortably and ignoring his demands of handing it back.

"give it," he'd said, but the look on his face was too funny to pass up. 

megumi's default expression was always that bored, grumpy look. his angry expression, however, was much more emphasised: his nose had a way of scrunching itself up the tiniest bit, his jaw became tighter, and when his brows closed in on each other, he looked as though he'd aged ten times faster. this expression was harder to catch on camera because he always managed to swipe your phone out of your hands whenever you'd reach for it, like his sixth sense was knowing just when you'd go for the kill, the oddbot. that was why it mattered a million times more when he'd look more angry than he did bored or careless.

"i have to mark my work," you told him, placing it side-by-side with your own.

"ha! thanks, megumi!" added yuji, adding his worksheet (with scribbles, writing, and more scribbles on it) next to yours and megumi's. 

"you're not welcome. give it back, y/n —"

"hand it to me when you're done. think i got the last few wrong," said nobara, and without looking up, you raised your thumb, giving her your affirmative. 

megumi growled. "no —"

"what're you gonna do, huh?" said nobara, poking him on the shoulder with the end of her pen. "tell mr gojo?"

"what is this, mean girls?" megumi grumbled, deadpanned. "oi, regina, give me back my sheet —"

you shook your head. yuji came to your defence:

"we're not done —"

"shut up karen."

he gasped. you probably would have laughed if you weren't so occupied with scribbling out the few answers that you'd gotten wrong (based off of megumi's own work, which tended to be correct nine times out of ten). 

before you could blink, megumi's work had been swiped away from you, but not by the owner himself (you were silently surprised that he hadn't marched around the table to snag it from you by now) but by an audibly annoyed yuji, who was mumbling curses under his breath as he sketched something in the top left corner of the paper. 

vexed, exasperated, and disturbed, you pinched yuji's thigh before snatching the paper back, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. your hardened expression became less tight at the sight of the literal penis that yuji had drawn. two seconds had barely passed before you found yourself gasping for breath, hand over your mouth at a futile attempt at muffling your own laughter. 

nobara perked up, interested and offended.

"hey, don't leave me out," she snapped, back straight and chin held high. "what's so funny?"

with the deliberate intention of ensuring that the sulky boy seated diagonally across from you had also seen his own paper, you lifted it and showed it to her. 

"what the hell?" he demanded, making a move at swiping it out of your hands, but you were quicker, sliding it across the table to nobara instead. 

megumi's face twisted in irritation as his dark eyes landed on the defaced worksheet. a faint flush spread across his pale cheeks, a rare sign of his mounting frustration. his jaw clenched, muscles tensing visibly under his skin as he took a slow, deep breath, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, betraying the effort it took to suppress a scathing retort. he glared at yuji, his gaze as cold and hard as steel, before flicking back to the offending drawing. with a huff of exasperation, he snatched the paper back, his movements quick and brusque, clearly indicating his annoyance. for a moment, he sat still, radiating a palpable aura of vexation, before muttering under his breath and looking up at you all, clearly done with your antics.

nobara whistled lowly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "damn, who pissed in your cereal, megumi?"

"why would you do that?" megumi demanded, his voice edged with irritation as he fixed Yuji with a piercing glare, completely ignoring nobara's teasing remark.

yuji, with his arms folded over his chest with a look akin to a child after throwing a tantrum, returned megumi's glare with one of his own. 

"revenge," he stated simply, his tone carrying a quiet but unmistakable resolve. 

before anyone could chime in with their own thoughts, satoru materialised from behind megumi, sporting his trademark easy grin, which only widened at megumi's apparent annoyance.

"who rained on megumi's parade?" he'd asked, sounding curious yet looking devious. it wasn't a surprise to anyone that satoru enjoyed anything that made megumi unhappy (in terms of teasing, of course).

"yuji doodled a bit on his paper," you said, rolling your eyes. "now he's throwing a fit over it."

megumi shot you a sharp glare, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. his eyes narrowed slightly, silently questioning your choice of words, but refrained from saying anything, opting instead to let his disapproval speak for itself.

until he couldn't.

"stop being such a grump, megumi," satoru chortled, his teasing only exacerbating the tension brewing within megumi fushiguro. "it just makes you look more like your dad, and who the hell wants to look like toji —"

"he drew a dick on my paper," megumi interjected sharply, his frustration evident in his tone, like a rope pulled taut in a tug-of-war.

satoru's laughter bubbled up, a blend of genuine surprise and amusement twinkling in his eyes as he shook his head, a grin playing on his lips. he had obviously not expected megumi’s straightforwardness and yuji’s unexpected action.

"big deal," he said, forcing himself in between nobara and megumi. "let's see de vinci's art —"

"ugh, you're squashing us!" nobara snapped, but satoru had paid no mind to her. in fact, her comment had only seemed to have encouraged him to force himself between them further, all with a knowing smile on his face.

his laughter continued to burst forth as he caught sight of the drawing, genuine amusement evident in the barely-noticeable crinkles that had formed around his eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed mirth as he took in the absurdity of the situation. this had eventually caused him to double over, and he instinctively reached out, grabbing onto nobara's shoulder for support. his fingers gripped onto her firmly — though not aggressively — just enough to steady himself as he attempted to regain his composure.

nobara's irritation became palpable at satoru's hand that had landed on her shoulder for support. she shot him a pointed look, her body stiffening slightly as she made subtle attempts to wriggle out of his grasp.

"as wonderful as this is," he sighed, wiping an imaginary tear from his shielded eye, "i have to get rid of it."

it was, perhaps, the first time in that lesson that megumi had looked up in approval.

yuji shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact. 

"i don't care, i did it to prove a point," he stated, his brows furrowing in mild annoyance.

"what point?" said nobara, apparently having given up on trying to pry satoru's hand off her shoulder. even so, she didn't look too pleased about it. 

yuji shrugged, his expression easing as the tension left his jaw and his furrowed brows smoothed out. eyes widened, and his brows lifted slightly, yuji's lips parted, and his forehead smoothed itself out.

the overall expression on his face was one of genuine puzzlement. 

"i... can't really remember to be honest —"

"erase it," megumi commanded, his voice tight with irritation.

"no," yuji shot back, defensive. "maybe you should learn to be more nice to me —"

"after this?" said megumi, voice sharp and cutting, brimming with barely restrained fury. "like hell."

"there's too much testosterone on this table," said nobara, eyeing your other male classmates that sat down a little further down from the four of you. "y/n and i should've sat near the door —"

"oh yeah?" began satoru, bending down slightly to level his face with hers. he did not look too pleased. "and how well did that work for you last time, huh?"

but before she could actually answer his question, he had already moved on, looking around at you, yuji and megumi, and pointing at the cursed sketch on the paper.

"i don't want to do this," he said, leaning over to grab it and slide it towards the end of the table where he stood with an eraser in his hand. 

he pressed it against the drawing, letting out false sobs of despair with each swipe, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the class. it was ugly, drawn-out, and extremely sonorous. you regarded him with a look of disgust; megumi slouched in his seat, as though that would conceal him from the onlookers; nobara pressed a hand to her forehead, head bent and gaze averted; yuji watched satoru without shame, apparently still his biggest cheerleader.

"okay you can stop now," you added, when it became crystal clear that satoru would go on and on just for the sake of someone finally addressing his shameless acting. you would rather die than have it continue. 

he grinned, radiating self-assured pride as he addressed your little group.

"now i wish i took a picture before i got rid of it," he sighed, placing the paper in front of its rightful owner. 

from where you were sat, you could still see the outline of the sketch, faded yet visible. it seemed that yuji had released his anger from his hand straight to the pencil, applying enough pressure to leave a mark even when erased. if that didn't teach megumi to be more polite, you didn't know what would. 

a deep voice suddenly interrupted the commotion, cutting through the conversation like a knife. the speaker's tone was unnervingly calm and composed, each word enunciated with precision and the use of complete formal english added an air of false-authority and distance, sounding almost archaic due to the lack of contractions. 

all five of you turned your heads to stare at the figure hiding beneath the table surrounding the outer-edge of the classroom where multiple sinks were built in: malakai the emo, who you had first met in middle school. he just so happened to attend the same high school too. even so, the only classes that the two of you shared were satoru's biology and physics ones.

"there is a disturbance occurring on that table near the desk belonging to the teacher," he began, voice slow, almost snarling. "and i do not like it very much..."

satoru frowned, watching him with obvious exasperation. if there was one being that threw even satoru gojo, the drama queen off, it was malakai the emo (who, if anyone had forgotten, preferred to be called 'kai' and will visibly glitch if referred to as 'malakai').

"disturbances should never occur inside classrooms..."

you scoffed. "coming from the biggest attention-whore of today's history."

satoru waved a hand in your direction, a silent dismissal, one that very clearly communicated that he would handle the issue. 

"and this is my class," he told the emo, raising a white brow. 

"mr gojo..." malakai began, still borderline snarling, "you do not know how to manage this class very well..."

you couldn't exactly tell due to his opaque glasses, but judging from the way his brows shot up dramatically, nearly disappearing beneath his white hair, you knew that satoru's eyes widened in exaggerated shock. his mouth dropped open in a perfect 'O' of disbelief. he gasped audibly, the sound loud and theatrical. his usually playful demeanour transformed into one of theatrical indignation, his entire face a portrait of mock outrage. his head tilted back slightly, as if to better display his expression to everyone present.

"you don't even know how to stand without glitching, kid," he teased, with every intent of offending malakai. "ah-ah, not another word outta ya," he added, pointer finger raised with a smile. "i'd send you to miss shoko —"

you did not need to take a look at malakai to know that he was smiling hopefully. if there was one teacher he loved, it was ieiri, for her classroom was shielded from the light outside, and she did not have a care in the world for whatever he did.

"— but she said she'll beat my ass if i do that again. so, i'll make sure you sit on the table, kai, not under it."

context: malakai had this thing where he detested sitting in the light, hated classrooms where the blinds weren't down, and loathed anyone who wore bright colours. according to him, the 'darkness will consume him'. on the first day of high school, he'd sat underneath the sink where it was dark, tight, and cramped. when satoru made an attempt to get him to sit on the table (like everybody else) he visibly shook and caused a scene, turning animalistic over nothing.

satoru had never made another attempt since.

at some point in the year, it had come to your attention that the teachers in his other classes had forced him to sit on the tables, but not without a negotiation: he would sit on a table on his own, so long as he was at the very back of the classroom, in a secluded corner, where no visible sunlight would reach him. even then, he would glitch and tweak, but he would sit there quietly nonetheless. 

there was a time where kento had to teach one of his math classes due to his regular teacher falling ill, and when you'd asked malakai about it, he'd described it as 'hell'. you could only assume that kento hadn't let him sit under a table, nor made an effort in following any negotiations. 

but, surprisingly enough, malakai's grades in satoru's classes were the highest out of the rest of his classes. perhaps sitting under a table like he wants actually has its benefits. 

malakai let out a loud hiss at satoru's words, as if they'd burned him to the point of no recovery. 

satoru had given up.

"okay i'll risk the ass kicking, go to miss shoko."

malakai crawled out from his spot beneath the sink and sprang up, a maniacal grin plastered on his face. his arms flailed wildly, as if he had downed ten bottles of alcohol in one sitting. malakai's eyes widened, the gleam of anticipation shining through the heavy kohl lining his eyes. a wide, ecstatic grin stretched across his face, revealing a flash of his sharp canines (apparently he loved to use charcoal toothpaste). he practically bounced on his feet, his whole body vibrating with eager energy as he ran across the classroom in that weird way that he runs — body bent forward and arms extended backwards (satoru once said that he should be part of the ninjas in naruto — you couldn't get the image out of your head now).

"yes — miss shoko — and her dark, dark under-eyes —"

the rest of you watched him ninja-run out of the classroom and down the hall, his footsteps echoing and fading. 

satoru adjusted the glasses on his nose with an air of quiet concern. "there is something seriously wrong with that kid."

barely five minutes had gone by before his phone vibrated in his pocket; he took it out, checked it, and then smiled up at you all.

"if i don't turn up tomorrow, it was ieiri shoko: thirty one years old, brown hair, brown eyes, about this short —"

he did show up the next day, but with a cut on his lower lip and quite the story to tell. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

as several other paying customers walked into the quaint cafe, the bell above the door chimed softly, announcing their arrival. the interior was a charming blend of rustic and modern elements, creating an inviting atmosphere for its patrons. the space was not overly large, you'd noticed since your introduction to the place, but it was very clearly thoughtfully designed to maximize comfort, with several circular tables made of beige wood on each side of the room, all of which were adorned with fresh flowers in small vases. your favourite part, however, was the soft ambient lighting from the hanging pendant lamps that created a warm glow, casting a muted illumination all over the space.

the walls were also furnished with framed artwork and vintage posters, which you thought added some character and charm to the place. where you and megumi sat on the stools by the counter, a large chalkboard stood behind it displayed the day's menu offerings, written in elegant script with colourful chalk illustrations of pastries and beverages. the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted through the air, tempting your senses and inviting customers to indulge in the cafe's delectable offerings. 

you and megumi tended to avoid the place during peak time, but if you just so happened to be passing by, sometimes you'd force your way to the front to offer some help to the distressed, kind lady (also known as miss B) serving everyone. since it also happened to be local, you had become regular customers and people she looked forward to seeing during the day. 

with kento's gruelling homework laid out messily over the counter before you, the gentle chatter and soft music filled the air, further distracting you from the cruel equations on the papers waiting to be solved. 

while you and megumi had come here to study together, you only did so for, perhaps, twenty minutes before the laptop you'd stolen from the bakery woman working diligently behind the counter had been used for activities other than studying math. it wasn't a new occurrence: it was a daily routine to search up the reviews on the cafe (buttercup brew) and respond to any that were badmouthing miss B, the food, or the place itself since the two of you both acknowledged the fact that she was too lenient and nice to do so herself.

"'what's the opposite of delicious?'" you read out, leaning in to megumi's side to read off of the laptop that he had pulled towards himself.

megumi scoffed, his pale fingers typing away aggressively at the keyboard before him. 

what's the opposite of clever? he had silently written.

your eyes widened in both surprise and delight, a bright, melodious laugh escaping your lips, eyes crinkling at the corners, sparkling with amusement. your laughter eventually subsided into soft giggles, and you looked at megumi with a twinkle in your eye.

"impressive," you praised, glancing back at the laptop, intrigued. "any more?"

megumi nodded, a carefully manicured finger gently swiping down the touchpad.

"'came in the day they were trialling savoury dishes. the food was bland. this is a bakery, stick to sweets,'" he'd read out, monotoned. "by a woman, this time."

your cheerful demeanour fades slightly as megumi read out the negative comment, brows furrowed as a small frown tugged at the corners of your lips. you pulled the laptop towards yourself, eyes narrowed in mild irritation.

"i got this one," you told him, reading as you typed. "you'd... know... all... about... bland... wouldn't you... no-season-susan?"

you hit 'enter' and smiled, self-satisfied. 

but before you or megumi could voice your thoughts on your comment, the soft sound of the bell chiming behind you had the two of you turning in your stools to examine the stoic man walking into the cafe. you pinched megumi's thigh, hard enough for him to angrily slap your hand away with a low grunt. you didn't mind, smiling as you watched the aloof man with the undercut walk up to the other side of the counter and order his food.

"i want to do this one," you said, voice low so as to not attract the attention of the man. "he dressed up as levi and went to the military, asking to join the scout regiment."

megumi peered down at you, blank faced. "where the hell are you going with this?"

"he got sent home."

you watched his face carefully, noting how his eyes shifted away from yours, as if he were suppressing his emotions. you could tell he wanted to laugh; it was evident in the subtle curl of his lips and the slight tremor of his shoulders as he exhaled through his nose.

"that's not levi," he finally settled on saying, glancing at the man in question. "that's ivel."

you grinned. "close enough... i was thinking more along the lines of evil."

your usually stoic friend let out a rare chuckle. with a broad smile, you nudged his side, eager to show him that you had the unique ability to make even him laugh.

"look," you called out to miss B, preparing what looked to be black coffee for mr evil-not-levi, the strong aroma of the coffee beans wafting in the air. "porcupine's smiling! quick, take a picture!"

miss B chuckled, her brows raising so that her soft bangs fell over her closed eyes as she stirred the mixture in the cup. megumi, on the other hand, scowled, any trace of what once held a small smile eradicated.

"too late," he'd said, moving the laptop so it was in front of him instead, and holding the bottom arrow to scroll further down the website with critical eyes.

"you should just take it secretly from now on," you told miss B, watching as she handed the fake-levi his coffee and politely told him to take a seat. she now stood opposite you, smiling as she adjusted the red baker's hat resting on her head. "megumi smiling is a super rare occurrence."

"why would you say that in front of me?" said megumi, looking up and facing you with an expression of mild irritation. "defeats the purpose of secrecy."

"what are you gonna do, attack us?" you challenged, rolling your eyes. "i'll tell my dad never to bring you any of those weird artifacts that you like."

"stop lying."

"okay so maybe i wouldn't do that... but i could change my mind! so you're treading on thin ice, porcupine! i'd be really careful if i were you."

megumi's eyes grew half-lidded, his expression teetering between a scowl and a look of complete disinterest as he stared down at you.

"i'm so scared right now," he stated, the obvious sarcasm making miss B giggle at the interaction. 

you had a witty response resting at the tip of your tongue, but could not execute it in time before the bell by the door had chimed again. all three of you had turned your heads so as to check who had entered. you beamed in excitement, watching as a rather beefy man waddled up to the counter to place his order.

before he had reached it, however, you glanced at miss B, lip curled in interest.

"why don't you have a go?" you asked her, sounding slightly pleading. "i promise you, it'll be fun!"

"because no matter what you say, they're paying my wages," she said calmly, though not unkindly as she prepared to walk over to the other end of the counter to take the man's order. "and it's mean!"

you pouted, looking over at megumi with slightly puckered lips and a frown.

he got the message and (as always) feigned reluctance before turning to scrutinise the stranger. you sat up straighter, a rush of excitement coursing through your veins as you awaited his theory, the disappointment that you had been feeling for all of two seconds evaporating as if it had never been there to begin with.

"he definitely had a wife and three kids with him years ago," he began leisurely, as if to build some suspense to this unconfirmed story, "but someone called cps on him because they would resemble skeletons and he'd resemble the do-the-roar-kid , but if he was older."

"he ate all their food?" you gasped, surprised at the dark turn of events. 

"and their plates too."

"oh!" you nodded, focused. "so like your dad?"

the corners of his mouth turned downwards, and his eyes narrowed, darkening with annoyance.

"i'm not having this conversation with you," he stated matter-of-factly.

you smiled sheepishly. "yeah, don't tell him i said that."

"won't make any promises."

"well then i'll tell satoru that you and hana reunited at the hilltop downtown —"

"he knows you like lying."

"doesn't mean he won't tease you for it regardless."

"..."

"yeah, that's what i thoug—"

"i'll tell everyone tonight about what happened when you lied about being a mermaid —"

your embarrassment surged like a wave, your face growing uncomfortably warm. you felt the heat radiating from your cheeks, a prickling sensation spreading across your skin. your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of anger and mortification causing your pulse to quicken, the heat of your blush intensifying as the urge to defend yourself burned inside you, evident in the way you jammed your elbow into his side. 

you relished in the pained grunt he let out as he rubbed the targeted area, slightly bent forward as he glared up at you through narrowed eyes.

satisfied and proud, you pulled the laptop towards you and scrolled down to find more rude and dishonest reviews to casually debunk and argue with. 

 "'saw rats around in the shape of two kids... they should get an exterminator'..." you read out slowly, a tense silence falling over the two of you and (in your mind) the entire cafe too. your stomach dropped, eyes widening as you snapped your head over to face an already-disgruntled megumi. "is this incel talking about us?"

"ye—"

"how dare it?" you gasped, angrily typing up a response, the sounds of the buttons on the keyboard being pressed more aggressively than it should be resonated around the small interior. "look at the profile picture, that's the guy we shouted at last week!"

megumi leaned in, chin resting a little over your right shoulder as he examined the image with a glower. 

"he could afford to skip a few sweet treats —"

"it, megumi," you corrected, hitting 'enter' after you finished typing up your response. "it could afford to skip a few sweet treats."

he read out your response, tone bland and unwavering:

"'is that why they call you the rat whisperer?'"

he locked eyes with you, his usual blank expression barely masking the faint trace of amusement in his gaze. you looked away, back at the laptop to find another rude comment to respond to. 

"oh, one star review! look!" you said, pointing at the screen enthusiastically. "'chocolate too sweet. bad.'" you stared at the review, unimpressed. "i mean, it's almost as if that's the point."

you sighed and rolled your eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed a response to the absurd comment. megumi watched quietly, noting the way your eyes narrowed in unimpressed concentration as you crafted your reply. you wouldn't be actively defending this cafe and miss B if you truly believed that her food and service was not good: her bread, pastries, cupcakes, sweet treats were the best in the town. people ought to know that.

your response was quite simple, written in the same manner this liar wrote his:

dave schlager too stupid (chocolate is meant to be sweet). bad.

the bell behind you gave a soft chime, heralding the arrival of yet another customer. however, when you and megumi eagerly and robotically looked over your shoulders to observe the newcomer, you hadn't expected to feel that familiar strain in your stomach, an itch that ran all the way up to your throat, prompting you to laugh. you usually had this reaction when you'd see men, but the sight before you proved otherwise.

the woman who had entered the cafe was a sight to behold. her hair was an untamed mass, sticking out at odd angles that defied any sense of natural order. strands of grey wove through the wild mane, giving it a streaked, chaotic appearance. her eyes were wide and bulging, darting around the room with a manic energy that made them seem even larger. her clothes were dishevelled, adding to her overall rugged and eccentric look, only making it more of a struggle for you to suppress a laugh, her appearance so wildly unconventional, that it seemed almost surreal. you had half a mind to ask megumi to pinch you, but refrained, knowing he'd enjoy it too much. 

the two of you faced the front again. megumi didn't seem too fazed, face stony and tired. you, on the other hand, found your shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back several incoming giggles. he looked down at you, very clearly unmoved. 

"i'm gonna take a wild guess and assume you want to take this one?"

you slapped a hand over your mouth and faked a cough, forehead nearly meeting the table as you hid your laughter, bent forward and chest heaving. you felt megumi's hand tapping and rubbing at your back, almost as if to hold up the act that you were ill. 

you almost thanked him before you heard his low, grumpy voice.

"you're not embarrassing me today."

you didn't even have it in you to shrug his hand off. instead, you straightened up and made an attempt to mask your expression as much as possible, facing him with a sheepish smile.

"her story's not too long," you began, almost letting a giggle slip. almost. "megumi... she stole from the bank and the fbi tased her. and then — and then she got electrocuted!"

you laughed harder at that, making little effort to conceal it. even megumi, who barely ever smiled in a day — and who you very much expected to scold you for this one — looked like he was struggling to hide one (but just scarcely).

he eventually let out a small chuckle, which only encouraged you to laugh some more. you doubled over slightly, gripping onto the counter for support, some of your abandoned math sheets falling on the floor, your infectious giggles filling the quiet air. megumi's lips twitched slightly, a silent chuckle escaping him as he watched your reaction, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. at the sight of him joining in on the fun, you pointed at him, realising something else.

"why are you laughing?" you inquired, then reached down to retrieve a mirror, holding it up so he was met with his own reflection. "haha! you both got struck by lightning!"

his smile had disintegrated, only watching you as you rocked yourself back and forth at his expression, feeling a stitch in your side with how funny the situation was. silently and angrily, he swiped the mirror out of your hands, raising his own hand to flick at your forehead. 

you choked, the minor pain at the centre of your forehead jolting you awake from your laughing fit. scowling, you rubbed at the area he'd intentionally hurt, barely registering the fact that he had taken the laptop to continue attacking the bad reviews.

you let him, acknowledging the fact that what you had said was rather mean. 

"'i came not once, not twice but THREE times for food, every time it tasted not up to par,'" megumi's disinterested voice read aloud, the annoyance from what you'd said still lacing each word with slight venom. you laughed. "why would you go back to a place if you didn't like it? idiot."

"you tell 'em, porcupine," you encouraged, anticipating his response. 

megumi's witty comebacks were always funny. he didn't even mean to make you laugh with them, but even then, they were enough to have you practically rolling around on the floor, belly aching and heart running a million miles per second. his nonchalant behaviour only added to the amusement.

he wrote his reply, sent it, and then slid the laptop over to you. you leaned forward, reading and judging:

stop coming for breakfast, lunch and dinner, we're not a food bank.

you gave that one an 11/10 — the man behind the account would need to change his name, date of birth and identity, and then remove himself from the face of the earth if he ever wanted to recover from that, you concluded wisely.

your praise sat at the tip of your tongue, only to be abandoned at the echo of the bell's chimes that bounced off of the walls, signalling the arrival of another customer. figuring that this would be megumi's turn to create a theory, you turned on your stool excitedly, only to have your jaw drop to the floor and under.

standing in front of the door was none other than your favourite (and only) math teacher of the year: mr kento nanami! 

your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of your math teacher entering the cafe. shock painted your features as you gawked, wide-eyed, hardly believing that the business-attire man was standing in a setting that wasn't your typical school environment. you exchanged a quick, incredulous glance with megumi before hastily adjusting your posture, trying to appear composed despite the unexpected surprise.

it was typical. he still wore the same clothes (which made sense since you and megumi had too seeing as you went straight to the cafe right after school had finished). but something about seeing him enter such a cottage-vibe, almost feminine cafe made you recoil, not that you were displeased at all. in fact, you thought that this was the best arrival that the bell had drawn your attention to yet!

"kento nanami!" you yelled, ignoring megumi wincing at the sudden volume of your voice as you raised an arm over your head to enthusiastically wave at him. 

a slight scowl of annoyance marred his usually composed face when he heard you call out to him using his government name. his brows furrowed, and a hint of disapproval flashed in his eyes, portraying his strict demeanour, but you didn't mind. surely school rules did not apply outside of the school environment? surely it didn't matter whether you referred to him as kento or mr nanami or whatever?

"kento, look!" you tried again, turning halfway to grab your math homework sheets and present them to him. "i'm sitting here doing your homework! in this beautiful cafe! because of you!"

"actually, you spent the last thirty minutes laughing at my customers and arguing with the bad reviews again," miss B corrected you, apparently materialising out of thin air. 

you jumped slightly, the sheets scattering and your brows furrowing as you watched her shut the laptop and take it away. kento's response also took you by surprise.

"i was correct in believing that it wasn't you disrespectfully responding to them."

he had made his way further down the interior, leading up to the counter where miss B, you, and megumi were.

you beamed. "no, it was megumi and i."

megumi grumbled something along the lines of 'wasn't me', which you knew was a complete and utter lie. megumi was your accomplice in all of this; it didn't matter whether you were the mastermind behind it all. he still served his purpose and did it brilliantly too. you couldn't have asked for a better partner. except, perhaps, nobara, who was equally as good as him at silencing people when it was necessary.

although, kento did not look as though he believed you. you didn't like that much.

"keep an eye out for the one where he told the guy that he shouldn't come so often because we're not a food bank!" you told him honestly, still smiling despite kento's obvious disbelief.

he glanced at megumi as if to say is-this-true? 

you chortled, knowing full well that megumi would not lie with his chest, especially not in front of you.

"megumi is sensible," said kento, with such confidence, you almost felt bad for him. you wondered what his reaction would be if you told him about that one zoo incident where megumi jumped into the gorilla enclosure and declared that he'd stay there for the rest of his life? or the occasion where little you and megumi had been scolded by your parents so badly, he made the suggestion of running away together (and went through with it) even though it was bound to have failed from the beginning? or the time where he helped you torment your unfriendly, rival neighbour mrs daphne on facebook to the point where she had marched down to your houses to complain to your parents? 

megumi is sensible, you thought, and nearly laughed. how comical, loud, and wrong.

"why do you think the punctuation is so perfect?" you asked, raising a brow. "you think i'd care enough to put capital letters and full stops everywhere?"

kento's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he processed the unexpected news. a momentary pause followed, during which his features tensed with mild astonishment, and yours only grew more joyful. megumi, on the other hand, was silently forcing down the urge to push you off your stool and walk home without you (he would never).

"the usual?" miss B interrupted, still smiling the elegant way that she does. 

kento nodded slowly, she began organising his order behind the counter. you blinked several times.

"the usual?" you repeated, bewildered. "kento nana—"

"y/n," he snapped, still composed even so. "refrain from referring to me with my first name."

"we're not at school," you reminded him.

he adjusted the odd, spotted tie he wore, looking irked. "doesn't matter —"

"you come here a lot?" you asked, curious. even megumi seemed interested, and he had been frowning and grumbling the second kento had walked past the door. 

"this place has the best bread in town," he told you, stiff. "better than my local supermarkets."

you grinned. "and miss B is the best cashier and server ever, right?"

you sensed megumi's gaze on you, causing you to adjust the way you sat slightly in your seat. you ignored the feeling, understanding that megumi knew what you were trying to do and was making it extremely clear that he wanted you to look at him for a second, if the way he was tugging at the bottom of your sleeve aggressively was anything to go by. you slapped his hand away, grin widening ever so slightly as the hiss he let out, still getting into character. your role? temporary matchmaker.

kento watched miss B work behind the counter.

"i respect her a lot," he said, barely answering the question. 

you wanted to gruel him for some more information, but your time had been cut short when miss B's soft voice had driven a smooth knife through the heated conversation.

"here you are," she said, handing him his food in a bag. 

he exchanged it for some money, she tried to give him some change, he told her she could keep it. with a final look at you, megumi, and the homework he'd assigned you, he told you to take care of yourselves and left the cafe, his strides even and his back straight. 

what took you by surprise was the fact that miss B had followed him out, waving at him from the door and telling him to come again after a brief conversation with him that you and megumi, from where you were sat, could not hear. she never did this with any of her other customers. you were here so often that you knew she did not. the two of you exchanged looks of obvious bafflement, sitting up straighter and raising your chins to nosily observe the sight before you.

when she returned, you did not miss the rosy pink in her cheeks. 

"miss B —" you began, only for her to interrupt you with a laugh.

"he's a regular customer, quite like the two of you," she said, and then looked around at the mess on the counter that were your unorganised math papers. "and he told me to tell you that you only needed to do page ten and eleven of the booklet."

you felt your stomach flip itself upside down.

you had fried your brain for no reason at all, for you'd completed nearly half of the booklet instead of the assigned designated pages. perhaps that would teach you to meddle in business that wasn't yours, you thought you heard megumi grumble from next to you, but you weren't so sure...

not when you'd dropped your head on the table, hopeless.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

bonus scene:

megumi and yuji were both traitors. 

during gym class, coach lauren did not seem to mind that you and nobara had migrated to the corner of the gymnasium, gossiping and laughing about who-knows-what. naturally, the class grew quite boring for the two of you, so you'd snuck out and gone to the football field where you knew coach yaga's class would be residing. 

long story short: megumi and yuji both rat you out and coach yaga had kicked the two of you off his field and had you stay with him for detention. 

all. because. of. them.

so in conclusion, the two of you had seated yourselves far, far away from them in any class that you could, which included satoru's physics class.

you were wary not to sit near malakai, who always had something odd to say to nobara. in fact, when she'd come into school with a brighter, new hair-do (no longer the dark colour that you were so used to) malakai had a few things to say... but that was a story for another day. 

now, you only just realised the mistake you had made sitting on the middle table instead of your regular seats. and it was not because of megumi or yuji, no.

it was because of the drama queen that just so happened to be your male, adult, mature teacher: satoru gojo. 

when taking the register, which usually went by pretty quickly, the second he had come to either of your names, he had started an act that made you believe that perhaps he should have been the one taking performing arts as a subject:

"y/n?" he'd called out, looking around the class as if you were not seated across the whiteboard, the first seat on the middle table. 

"here," you said, unfazed. 

"huh — oh!" he said, resulting in the eyes of everyone in your class to look at you as though you'd done something wrong, as though you were malakai, even. "oh, right, y/n... are you new here?"

you scrunched your nose up in something in between confusion and annoyance. what the hell was he talking about? unlike majority of the people sitting in the classroom, this man knew of your existence since you were four years old. what game was he playing?

"you're joking, right?" you said, watching him carefully as he scratched the top of his head and shrugged. "sa—"

"o-kay!" he perked up, rushing through the register with such ease, you hadn't expected him to stop and squint a second time. but he had. "i might get this one wrong so forgive me but... no— nobara? nobara?" he called out, once more, looking up and all around the classroom as though he couldn't see her sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

unlike you, she had a much shorter fuse that he'd lit.

"what's wrong with you?" she demanded, eyes narrowed. "i'm here."

he raised his eyebrows up at her and nodded, muttering to himself. the two of you were both equally confused, and so was the rest of the class, it seemed, if the whispers were anything to go by.

the register had been completed not long after that. you assumed his weird antics would also finish too, but you were proven wrong once the idiot had opened his mouth to address the class again.

"so we have two new students with us today!" he said, excited. "make them feel welcome! their names are... nobara and..." he thought long and hard before looking over at you, tilting his head forward so you could see the terrifying blues that were hiding behind the circular lenses. "hmm... what's your name again?"

your anger simmered like a pot left too long on the stove, bubbling beneath the surface. as you stared back at satoru's clueless expression, it felt like a storm brewing in your chest, thunderclouds gathering with each passing moment. his feigned ignorance was like a slap in the face, a sharp thorn pricking at your patience, igniting the flames of your frustration.

how dare he?

he moved on to teaching the class before either of you got to call him out for his bullshit. 

only for it to slowly get worse as the time went by. 

he was sat at his desk, explaining the slide from the powerpoint that he'd presented on the board with a lazy smile and stretched out legs that resting on a spare chair.

"what's at the centre of an animal cell?" he asked the class, encouraging people to raise their hands.

nobara raised hers, eager to answer.

"new kid!" he said, and when she glared at him, he backtracked. "i mean nobara! — that was scary — what's at the centre of an animal cell?"

"the nucleus," she answered. 

he frowned. "huh?"

she frowned. "the nucleus," she repeated helpfully.

he leaned forwards, a hand cupping his ear. "sorry, i can't hear you, you're too far away."

oh, it made sense now, you thought in your head. he was throwing a fit over the fact that the two of you had chosen to sit in the centre of the room, a little further away from his desk, than at the back table with megumi and yuji, closer to him.

what a diva.

he directed the question to maryam, who sat at the table closest to the door and furthest from his desk.

"you're right! it's the nucleus!" he cheerfully praised her, continuing to teach as though he hadn't just distracted the entire class due to his theatrics. even malakai sensed something was wrong, claiming that 'the darkness is starting to reach the lightness of his hair... it is consuming him', whatever the hell that meant.

it hadn't ended there though, for when the worksheets were being handed out by yuji, he had completely skipped over you and nobara (though he looked quite frightened at doing so). it was no doubt satoru's instructions he was acting on behalf of.

"give it," nobara demanded, standing up and approaching him.

yuji held the papers close to his chest. "but mr gojo said —"

"mr gojo also once said that he's married with thirteen kids, do you believe that?" 

she forcefully snatched two sheets from him, marching back to where she was sat with you and slammed them down onto the table with such force, it shook, your pencil committing suicide off the edge.

"men will be the death of everyone, mark my words," she'd said.

when you raised a hand for help, your pencil clasped in your curled fingers, he asked what happened to gravity and why an inanimate object was suddenly floating. 

that was the last straw for you. 

if he was going to pretend that you had miraculously turned invisible, then you were going to do as you pleased with this ability. pencil still in your tight grasp, you stood up, made eye contact with your childish teacher, and sprinted out of the classroom.

satoru perked up, alarmed as he ordered for help.

"whoever's closest to the door, close it before she —"

you'd already left.

he let out a long sigh, only to raise a brow when you'd returned the second you'd disappeared from view, running across the classroom to take nobara's hand, glance up at your teacher, and say...

"malakai."

— before taking off with your friend, chaos ensuing behind you.

the chaos being malakai emerging from under the sink, arms flailing around himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head, snarling and growling as he shook, only creating more issues for satoru who, everyone knew, hated dealing with the odd emo.

that'd teach him to pretend that you (out of everyone) were invisible.

lesson learned, he thought in his head, letting out a loud and drawn out groan when malakai refused to stop.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

(random tweets cuz i think you guys waited long enough for this chapter to come out, eat well 😁)

(p.s. ignore the date on the tweet, it was meant to say 2017 lmao)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

notes: i'm so tired, gonna take a longgg nap. not my favourite chapter tbh, but it's needed to set the scene for high school because the real part of the story (the one where all the drama starts and stuff) is arriving in less than three chapters!! and we also have a lovely character, important to the plot, to introduce next chapter, so stay tuned my little liars?

previous chapter :)

next chapter :)

taglist (send an ask or comment to be added):

@1l-ynn @shaigimo @shuupiu @myguumi @momoewn @xbarrjallenx @reinaswrld @anintrovertedechoe

© tojiscrack (previously ack4rwoman)

if you enjoyed my writing, i’d really appreciate it if you tipped me — tumblr no longer has the tip function, so maybe here in my tip jar :)

i do not own any of the characters of jjk, i only own the character of y/n and her mother. the other characters belong to gege akutami.

[maggstar]

𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐞

───────────────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────────────────

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+, mni DNI!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 365 days since the incident, in which Heeseung's life turned upside down, is today. Will he be able to save her this time?

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, hard angst, veryyy emotional, trauma bonding/coping, cop!Hee (injured reader, guns, shooting, kidnapping, violence, death) kissing, biting, marking, handjob, oral (f. receiving) , fingering, vanilla, very intimiate and loving unprotected s3x, missionary, spooning, lotus.

!!!TW: ED, suicidal thoughts, mentioned attempts, s3lf harm (both characters)

𝐖𝐂: 21k+ (ehm..., yea)

𝐀/𝐍: Finally. It is here. this one is for ♡ anon. ily. I want to say I loved writing this whole fic even though it was emotionally difficult. I wrote about heavy topics, so please be aware before reading as this might not be everyone's cup of tea! Both characters are in pretty messed up mental states, but their love to each other is what keeps them going. I hope you guys enjoy this fic as I never put this much effort into any fic before.

Please leave any sort of feedback: reblogging and commenting is the best for me, so let me know!! ───────────────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────────────────

As Heeseung approached the town, he immediately recognized the steep, rocky road that led to the street of his most ominous memories. Despite the passing of a year, everything remained the same. The familiar layout felt like coming home after years of being abroad. In a way, he had been. 

He found it amusing how visiting his past brought such mixed feelings. Given how messed up things were before his departure, he was afraid to face all the negative emotions. Merely thinking about the events crawled an uncanny sensation. 

Yet, here he was, letting the comforting sentimentality alight on his heart and beam at the faint breeze entering through his window as he soaked up the evocative atmosphere. It had a hint of gloom as the rain amplified with his reappearance, making the ominous night colder than usual. Goosebumps took over his body, observing the surroundings while the car shifted its gear to neutral. 

The park was abandoned at this time, reminiscing on the children's laughter in the evenings, playing for hours without a care. He liked to come there after work, sit for a few minutes, and listen to them. They still had the monkey bars and pirate-themed wooden ship in the middle of the playground, which he helped paint. 

He examined the residences next to his old one, all appearing the same. Looking at the colorful houses with picturesque gardens pierced an arduous nostalgia. A few had undergone reconstructions as the previous owners seemed to have parted. 

Some even had new furniture or repainting, their garages containing bigger and more luxurious vehicles. New additions like swings or slides for children were also notable. A small number of areas were also seemingly building new homes for the future, expanding the population in the tainted town.

With a glance beside, he examined the house he spent his student years in. 

"Would you look at that," he scoffed, studying the untouched exterior, still covered in that sensational buttermilk paint. 

Even the pecan concrete tiles on the roof were there, with additional solar panels. The current owners also installed a masonry chimney to the side - something he had always wished for but couldn't afford. 

They were definitely more knowledgeable in Botanics than he was. The garden looked completely different. The condition Heeseung left it in was atrocious, with dead flowers and dried weeds scattering the place. Zora Neale Hurston once quoted: "Trees and plants always look like the people they live with." He didn't know if this disclosure was comical or tragic, heavily soughing instead. 

Currently, the place had more of a Japanese style: a little lake in the middle underneath beautiful white lotuses. Oak and cherry trees surrounded the layout, whereas perfectly cut bonsai trees greeted passers-by in the front. The family likely had their roots there because it was uncommon to opt for this type in this area. Yet again, he was inexperienced in this topic, so who was he to say anything? 

He sighed, lowering his head to take a deep breath to process all the garnering memories reaching the surface from the seabed. It was bound to happen, and he still didn't manage to prepare for it. 

Back then, there was too much weight on his shoulders. From college to his family, there was only so much a teenager could handle. 90% of his memories were the ones he sincerely wished to omit evermore. He didn't want to rub salt into his wounds by reliving them, aiming to concentrate on the better side.

After all, it was this place he achieved and lost everything at once. The city that welcomed the lost pup with open arms after the death of his parents, soothing with empty promises and fraudulent head pats. 

Back then, he was too naive to differentiate malicious intentions, foolishly jumping onto every proposition. He thought people wanted to help and not take advantage of his incapacity, that they would aid the broken one with the loving words he needed. 

Fundamentally, he was an emotional wreck, emptiness and numbness following him all day. 

There wasn't anyone left in his life, just miscellaneous pictures gathered in a photo album and recollections of happy moments in carton boxes. Going through their belongings hurt more than anything, smudging their smiles with tears and repeated callouts to which no one could respond anymore. 

In other words, it was the worst period of his life.

His nights were established on puffy eyes, a terrible headache, and a stuffy nose, suffering in silence for months. The money he was supposed to spend on food went to tissues, trashing the whole place. Getting up in the mornings was incredibly demanding, failing often at convincing himself. Staying in and laying in his PJs permanently tolled more promising.

No one seemed to care about his late arrival to classes anyway. The teachers were the exclusive individuals, questioning his defect of attendance and interest. They often came to various false conclusions. They didn't consider asking for the real reason behind his struggles at handing in assignments and essays on time without lying to dodge admonitions. 

In the same way, no one doubted the sunglasses he wore every day. They assumed it was part of a fashion trend when, in reality, it was an excuse to hide the redness and semicircle exhaustion. 

The clothes that fit him weeks ago began loosening, appearing enormous on his underweight body. When his friends pointed out his lack of appetite during lunch, he put it behind him and led the conversation in another direction. That way, he felt he had control over reality. 

In reality, he knew it was avoidance. He wasn't ready to concede he was struggling. Something wasn't alright, and he deteriorated with each passing day. 

Reminiscing on the past, optimistic Heeseung wearing a warming smile mirrored the numb motionlessness, not containing enough confidence to face the drastic and tragic change.

The only courageous people were the Choi family. 

He turned his head to the left, catching a glimpse of the elderly couple sitting at the table inside their closed terrace. They were laughing and enjoying dinner, accompanied by two other people, handing out the freshly grilled food on their plates. A little boy was attending the meal as well, gesturing widely. He leaned forward to examine the guests, scanning their faces. For some reason, they were so familiar...

"No way," a gasp forsake, realizing that turn of events. 

The handsome, tall young man with an athletic build was no other than Choi Hyun-woo, the son of the married pair. Heeseung facepalmed himself for taking so long to figure out his identity, doubting his dexterities.

His parents had introduced the two after a few weeks of Heeseung visiting. Around that time, he was in a custody battle with his dangerous wife. That adjective was an understatement when considering her malicious threats. They were predominantly about hurting their son if he didn't leave her alone or running away with him.

That wasn't the only crazy part. The more unsettling information he learned, the more he feared for the safety of the small boy. Besides being mentally unstable, she also struggled with psychosis. The doctors warned her countless times, but she didn't reflect on any of their words when entering a new relationship. If anyone was the victim in this situation, it was Hyun-woo. 

Seeing them reunited was all he could have ever wished for them, smiling at the cheerful sight. 

"Thank you for being here for us, Heeseung. We just want you to know we're also here for you," he could hear the oldster sighing while patting his back, sensing the weariness from the mere flicker.

"We're all humans in the end. Even the strongest ones cannot lift the weight the world pushes on us." The stogie burned further whenever he would take a whiff, passing it on for a moment of peace.

"Life hasn't been easy on you, has it?" the bearded man turned to face the youngster, quietly sitting and observing the night sky. 

"No, sir, it hasn't," he took the long roll of tobacco to try it out, analyzing its shape and thickness.

"Pretending to be happy when you're in pain is an example of how strong you are as a person, Lee."

"Never doubt your strength, you hear me?" he repeatedly swung his index finger to reprimand him. 

"Yessir," Heeseung nodded before inhaling the cigar, not foreseeing its power. On the other hand, the veteran couldn't help but enjoy the outcome, laughing as he expectorated. 

"How can you smoke this?" he punched his chest numerous times to get the bubble of smoke out of his system. 

"Times were different back in my days. We had nothing else."

"Still..."

"Do one thing for me," the senior flipped the page, taking another load and slowly exhaling a white cloud into the cold fall night. Heeseung faced him after successfully getting rid of the awful irritation in his throat. He sat there, waiting for another round of sagacious words from the wise man. 

"Don't give up. Whatever it takes, don't give up, son. Even when you feel like there's no purpose, don't because nothing lasts forever. It will get better."

It was those words that made Heeseung push through the days. It was almost unbelievable how much of an impact it had on him. Never in a million years would he have thought a motivational speech could get him back on his feet. Then again, he never gave anyone a chance to see behind his facade.

Although they were the ones who required assistance, Heeseung ended up receiving all of the help. 

"Have you eaten? No? That's unacceptable! Come over as soon as you're done with school!"

Mrs. Choi's disappointment still rang through his ears, envisioning her in her French kitchen with a spatula in her hand. It was a vista he missed, alongside the delectable smell of her exceptional cooking.

She constantly checked on him, calling once his school was over and asking if he needed anything. Cooking him meals became a habit whenever he stopped by to help in the garden, practically shoving packets of food into his chest. She knew it wasn't much, but for Heeseung, it meant the world. Knowing that someone actually appreciated his company and cared about his well-being without solely thinking about theirs was unknown. 

So unknown that in the beginning, he assumed the lunch boxes in his backpack ended up by accident and that Mrs. Choi had mixed it up. 

That's how messed up people have been to him that his mind found it unbelievable. Every bit of aid had to have a twisted meaning behind it because why would anyone care about him? No one was there when he was bereaved. No one came to say their condolences or ask if he was alright. It was just him in the columbarium as he placed the ceramic pot with the last remains of his loved ones into the repository. The sole visitor on his free days, leaving the deceased ones' favorite snacks underneath their memorial. He was the boy the guard always had to wake up and send home. 

"It's just thee, thy, and thou, huh?"

"Yes, Mr. Choi."

It is how he achieved his dream and became a successful officer and the person he is now. 

All the hardships and woes he underwent in his early adulthood built up the future he worked for without resting. The mornings and nights would meld into one, struggling to distinguish AM from PM. Around that time, his coffee intake started slipping out, and he tried out every possibility to stay awake and finish everything. 

So much he had to do in such little time. Heeseung didn't understand how he finished it, but his body did. It was giving up, slowly but gradually, because he wouldn't stop pushing the limits. He thought he could do more each time, twisting the meaning of "just a bit more."

One day, the strings finally tore off, and his body had enough. 

Without looking back, it gave in. It handed in the shattered pieces of his soul to the unknown, streaming down like a feather. Nothing had left within, no recollections to reflect on his actions. All his hopes had dashed, molding his fears into a vase of entrapment. The more he tried to climb out of the well, the deeper he fell back, the walls elevating. He screamed into the darkness, the exclamations reflecting due to the scarcity of allowance. 

The next thing you know, he woke up in an unfamiliar and cold environment, with doctors coming in and out. They kept asking various questions and filling out some forms before leaving. The 

He expected the nurses checking up on him now and then to answer the question marks in his head, watching them flush the tube in his nostrils.

It was when he opened his mouth to ask about it that one of the nurses responded, explaining its essential purpose.

She called it "Nasogastric tube feeding". A line delivering nutrients directly into his stomach through his nose. Heeseung kept listening while the woman cleaned the skin around his nose with a warm washcloth, describing his situation. 

Apparently, he had been in the ICU for a few days, and the doctors ran various tests to unravel his deficiencies. The stats showed the deceleration of cardiac activity, leading to low heart rate and blood pressure. They also mentioned low body temperature, which Heeseung had been battling for centuries. It exemplified why he felt faint and weak all the time. Maybe it even answered his apathy toward life.

The results of his BMI indicated severe underweight, whereas the blood test showcased micronutrient imbalances. Heeseung couldn't fathom all of the details his doctor kept streaming, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to ignore the consequences of his stubbornness and lack of eating. 

Not only did he have to wear a plastic tube, but he also had to talk with dietologists and healthcare professionals to make changes in his life.  

Heeseung loathed it and didn't listen to anything they had to offer because, in his mind, he had already decided what was best for him. Suggestions like attending occupational therapy gave him a laugh, not comprehending the reason for such an absurd and useless alternative. There was still a belief that everything was alright, and the situation was being blown out of proportion. 

Even after all that information, he refused to accept reality. If he did, he would have to reconcile with his aggravating condition and shape. He would have to acknowledge how bad the situation was. That if he didn't take action now, it could end terribly. 

And Heeseung wasn't prepared to admit it aloud. Admit he had been suffering for so long that he lost track of days because they began blending into one endless loop where he couldn't live in peace. Confess the terrible feelings of hopelessness, loneliness, and emptiness. The feeling that he woke up to bypass that motivating bright sun hiding behind those dark, self-destructive clouds. The ones which slowly perished his soul.

Disclose the deep yearning for love, tenderness, and affection lingering in his sore throat. Reveal the hope to knit his tattered heart, wrapping around his neck so delicately that he didn't want it to stop. Divulge the need to end everything trussing in the back of his head, increasing whenever an obstacle occurred, doubting everything about himself. Concede the crossing between life and death, questioning the meaning of existence. 

Relent that the word suicide kept repeating in his mind like an old cassette player, seeing the curse inscribed over everything. Allow the guilt to take over and condemn him for leaning towards the balcony whenever it whispered the word "jump". It conveyed it so alluringly that it made him go crazy, holding onto the railings in pure despair. 

Describe how sharp blades appeared veracious. Explain why he deleted the Google search history to hide the questions on overdoes. 

He wasn't ready, but he had to be. Otherwise, he would ultimately lose himself in the hollowness and disperse forever. 

So, he decided to bite the bullet and push through by turning the page.

Thanks to his determination, he could now sit in a police car and help those in need. Do a job where he could be the person he needed others to be at his lowest. 

There had been one. However, Heeseung was forbidden from ever thinking about that person. 

Why? Because he made the biggest mistake of his life, which he atoned for till today.

A beautiful mistake that he deeply missed every hour, every minute, every second.

"Dispatch to Patrol One," the sudden statistic transmitted through the two-way radio, pulling back the officer from daydreaming. 

"10-04," he quickly responded, grabbing the transmitter and acknowledging the callsign. 

"Are you alright, sir?" the worry conveyed, belonging to none other than Seo-Jun. 

"Yes," He sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel. 

"Sir, pardon me, but you don't sound like it," the young officer evoked, tentative about probing her senior. 

She could hear him repeat the proverb: "Curiosity killed the cat." It wasn't her best trait, and she knew it. It was always these times she couldn't help but push it forward and let concern get the better of her. 

After all, it was Lee Heeseung, the guy who managed to turn her life over. 

If he hadn't helped her escape from her toxic ex-boyfriend last summer, she wouldn't be sitting in the obsolete office now. She was lucky to dial 112 in time and come out alive. If he had been a few minutes late, she could have suffered to death from the undying abuse. The memory was deeply engraved in the depth of her heart, recalling him standing by her side during the hospital procedures. He never wanted to admit it, but he was the town's hero for saving the mayor's daughter. 

Therefore, her gratitude towards him was prodigious. And for the same reason, she wanted to be there for him during tough times. No matter how hard she tried, her approach would emerge unsuited and unfit each time. People told her to get ahold of her steps countless times, and she still made the same slips every time. Nevertheless, she didn't give up and reached out to dial the official. 

"Seo-Jun, I-"

"My apologies, sir. I've crossed my line," she hastily tried to cover up her actions, slapping her forehead for being nosy and pushy. 

"I'm not okay," the voice on the other side emitted into the discomfiting silence, a heavy sigh following the statement. Seo-Jun opened her eyes to perceive the sentence, staring at the floor beneath her as the declaration reiterated in her brain. She widened her pupils when she finally realized what he had uttered, almost falling off her chair after swiftly turning and grabbing back the radio. 

"Sir, is this about the note you've received?"

"What note?" he frowned, backing up. 

"Well, you've got a message on your account, and you know it goes through me first, so I might have accidentally read what was on it-"

"What note are you talking about?" The stern change in speech startled her, contemplating if it was due to her admitting her horrible demeanor or the want of information. 

"The one that states: Broadway 123, 11:30 PM," she reread the email, stuffing her mouth with another strawberry-flavored lollipop. At this point, it was a miracle her teeth hadn't fallen out yet. 

"Any signatures?"

"Just two initials: K.J."

Heeseung's stomach dropped at the revelation, which only confirmed his prior thoughts. It was the 13th of March, after all. What was he thinking?

He looked at the time on the display, typing in the coordinates to the navigation. It showed an estimated arrival in 15 minutes. His jaw clenched, attempting to pulverize the inexhaustible alarm ringing in his skull.

"Fuck, why didn't you tell me earlier?" his panic disseminated into anger, hastily starting up the car. He grabbed the gearstick, his leg pressing the accelerator. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought you knew about it."

"You know goddamn well I never check my email," he shifted to 3rd gear already, turning on the emergency lights on the car. They switched from one color to the other, the sound of sirens following right after every blick. 

"I'm really sorry, sir, but what does it even tell? It sounds dangerous."

"Cause it is," Heeseung cut her off, "and that's why you should have told me earlier." 

Seo-jun's voice went quiet, the time on the call prolonging without either side speaking. 

She had nothing to say, as she realized the severity of her actions. 

Frankly, she had difficulty understanding the whole situation and why it aggravated Heeseung this much. She stared at the email, trying to find a hidden clue or something that would cure her curiosity. 

Despite her attempts, she ended with disappointment, leaning back on the chair with a loud sigh. 

She turned her head to the side while Heeseung turned his back on the road, which was moderately clean, with no traffic jams preventing him from reaching his destination. Most cars quickly reacted to the situation and pulled to the side of the road. 

He looked in the rear mirror, seeing a silhouette sitting in the backseat with blood all over her face, a faded smile visible. 

"Help her, I beg you," The voice echoed in his ears as he made a left, entering the mentioned street. 

He fought the unwanted shakiness in his body, the sentence replaying like a broken cassette, causing him to break down the walls he had built in the past months.

He had to be more collected. His duty was to stay calm under pressure and not to invoke panic, but here he was, gripping the wheel too much. His nails began to hurt from the prolonged force, eyes ungluing from the road for a split second. He looked at his image in the mirror, sensing a faint taste of blood. There, he could see the deep cut on his lip, his teeth responsible for choosing the wrong coping mechanism. 

He could also see the same hopeless look as the one on that day, anger building up from within to curse him for being a wreck in such a crucial situation again. The consequences of it taunted him, internally punching him for his incompetence. An officer who couldn't control his emotions was the same one trying to rescue someone. He couldn't even stop himself from deteriorating, and here he was, seeking to thwart others.

It was all foolish, just like he was at this moment. 

What a fool he was for wanting a chance to right the wrongs. 

Without a second thought, Heeseung immediately parked near the reported location, practically jumping out of the car. He checked if his gun was locked and loaded again before heading out. 

He looked around, eyes looking for potential gang associates in the surroundings. He expected at least some bodyguards or watchdogs near the building, but no one was around. Grabbing his flashlight, he took an overhand grip, shortening the distance to the building with each cautious but fast step. 

The residence was outdated, definitely abandoned by the looks of its upkeep. What seemed like a factory was now an empty, deserted residence. No one had visited this place for a long time. 

He approached the door, reaching the porch to see if anything was happening inside. 

The front door was locked from the other side, the darkness concealing the image inside. Heeseung had to go through the back to enter, listening for any noise on his way. It was too quiet for his liking, not a single peep emanating from the residence. He climbed over the wire fence, sucking up the pain the metal left after puncturing his skin. 

Nothing was more important than reaching inside.

He did suspect the message, wondering if it was another prank pulled by the bored teenagers. Sadly, it happened quite too often, with them lining up the emergency number and creating false stories to bring out the hirelings for their entertainment.

Still, none of them knew about his past, so the chances were nearly impossible. Not even his colleagues knew why he decided to take a day off today. They had zero keen on why this day was so important for him. They had no idea it was this day that turned his life around.

He took a position behind the wall as he glanced for the back door, peeking out carefully. To his surprise, it was wide open, bestowing him an entrance. 

He approached it slowly, looking out for a possible intruder since the unusual stillness wasn't preventing the tension in his muscles from stiffening. When he met no obstacles, he determined it was clear to proceed, stepping inside.

The uneven concrete underneath welcomed him back, permitting a path towards the middle. Just like last time, he thought to himself, before approaching the cursed center. 

Here.

It all happened here.

It was where he found Seo-Jun. Right here. 

He could see the silhouette in the wooden chair, bound by duct tape. He could still feel the hopelessness and helplessness.

A supposed rescue mission turned into a shootout, in which he had zero back-ups to overcome the opponents. 6v1, and Heeseung barely came out alive, with one bullet shot in his right arm. The female he was supposed to save bled out on the spot because of fatal injuries, and there was nothing he could do to help her. He tried so hard to stop the bleeding and apply as much pressure as he could in his injured condition. All just to witness her slowly part away in his arms with a painful "thank you".

Heeseung blamed himself for her death till today. After all, he was the one to blame for it. That's what her parents kept repeating.

"Murderer! It was your job to protect her!"

"She's dead because of you!"

"It should have been you who died, not her!"

They were right. 

He agreed with everything they said. It was the truth. He had failed, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. 

Nightmares of the terror night practically became the fairytale of his sleep. He would wake up drenched in sweat, pushing himself to successfully save her in his dreams. He was so close but so far away at the same time. 

It was all humorous. How returning to this unfortunate place stirred the wrong memories. How it managed to discern the familiar gut-wrenching feeling in his system. The one he had to take medication for every day to keep his head clear. To stop seeing the silhouettes of her everywhere. 

"Seo-Jun, don't do this to me," his head dropped to his feet, refusing to reexperience his trauma. 

"You're not here anymore," he bit down on his lip, gulping down the ascending guilt.

"But it's not me, Heeseung." 

His eyes rose, staring at the silhouette. They struggled to decipher the person in front of them, barely having the energy to stay open. 

He stepped closer, his heavy steps echoing through the enormous vacant room. He was expecting it to disappear as it was a part of his imagination. However, it stayed there, clear as a day.  

It was her.

Not her her, but her.

The voice that haunted him every night in his nightmares. The one that begged him to save her sister from those psychopaths, putting the last bits of hope into him. The screams replayed in his nightmares when he had come out with her sister in his arms, barely holding the victim as he was close to passing out himself. They soon turned into weeps, coughing up the pain in her system, unable to stop her body from shaking at the sight of her sibling in agonizing pain. 

He remembered the way she looked up at him while the paramedics carried her inside the ambulance, face covered in shock and desperation. 

It was as if both knew the outcome awaiting them in the hospital, not prepared to admit the painful reality. They wanted to pretend like they didn't know, even if it was only for a minute. 

He recalled her running after the car, legs giving out in the middle, getting up over and over again without thinking twice about the damage on her knees. 

The same pain he felt back then kicked in right now, pounding into his stomach because despite disappointing her, she was the one who checked up on him in the ER. She was the only person who turned up. The only one worried about his condition, holding in the tears.

"I know my sister was glad someone tried. That someone cared and wanted to save her."

"I'm happy to know that the last face she saw was yours and not those bastards'."

"Mr. Lee, thank you. Thank you for everything."

Despite everything, she said those words to him, managing to smile at him before leaving. He felt her release the painful ache through the door, mourning for the lost one as the hospital tiles created a path stained with sorrow. 

"It's your chance, Heeseung."

"To do what you couldn't with me."

He looked around to glimpse a ghost of Seo-Jun, to believe it was all real and not a part of his disturbed imagination. 

But she was nowhere to be found. 

It was Y/N instead, encircled by the cause of her sister's death.

The same person he stopped visiting every day after the incident, too thoughtless to leave her all alone in that big city while the perpetrators roamed around freely. 

He thought it would have been for the better to give her space to grieve properly, without him appearing at the door to remind her of the incident. 

She never complained, though, but rather showed her gratitude for the concern, not managing to function alone with her parents passing on their sadness to her. 

It was a difficult time for her to be in, especially alone. That's why Heeseung's presence brought her the peace and comfort she needed. He helped her move out her sister's furniture, going as far as to seclude a deal to sell the apartment so the family could have a proper funeral, which he ended up attending himself. 

Her parents weren't exactly hiding their anger at his presence at such a personal event, holding him accountable for the happening of the ceremony. 

However, she was the one who had invited him. She chewed their disapproval and asked him to stay beside her. She needed someone to hold on during the event, both mentally and physically, thankful for his hand lingering on hers as she watched her other half disappear into the ground. 

He stayed with her for a long time after that, coming every morning to help her get out of bed and get ready for the day, becoming her caregiver for the following weeks. 

She was suffering inside, and he could tell by her blankly staring into the walls, movements so slow it looked like it hurt. It was difficult to convince her to eat, noticing the loss in appetite she kept ignoring, blaming it on her stomach troubles. 

Nonetheless, she never protested when he wanted to feed her, always cooking or ordering something from outside. She felt like a baby in those moments, with him practically begging her to open her mouth, putting a smile on her face instead. 

They talked a lot over those weeks, with Heeseung opening up about his past and traumatic childhood, sharing the fragments of his parent's death and how it has affected him. He talked about the car accident, the one he was also in. He was the sole survivor, the sole person to exit the hospital and not be transferred into the morgue.

He had never told anyone before, and conveying the lingering heartache was such a relief that he couldn't stop talking, gathering up every detail he had in his memories. 

In a way, it connected the two more, having gone through the tragedy of losing a loved one. Y/N couldn't help but notice the feeling of safety in his company. The more he transmitted, the closer she felt, like she could trust him with her whole life.

While she was fully aware of the effects he was having on her, Heeseung was too busy focusing on her condition to catch the sparkles of joy. 

Whenever she opened the door to him, he couldn't help but beam. His heart would fill up with contentment, dopamine levels increasing at the brief touches they shared, hiding the butterflies amassing inside. It was wrong for him to catch feelings after everything he caused her, and the guilt expanded in his chest at the realization.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had caught up on the situation. Soon enough, her parents personally contacted him and asked to meet without their daughter's knowledge. They were the real reason for his departure, the why for abandoning her when she needed him the most. 

He never had the opportunity to tell her the truth, to tell her he didn't go on his will but was forced into that decision. He wished he could have told her he was threatened with being sued and losing his career forever due to their belief about his negligence on the mission. Either that or he had to leave her alone and go as far away as possible if he didn't want his life to be over. 

That is what he meant when he said he was a coward: a coward who couldn't even tell the truth. It followed him wherever he went, the mere image of her constantly transmitting in his thoughts.  

And now, the image was trapped in another nightmare with little time, falling into his hands yet again. 

This wasn't how he wanted to meet up, but fate had its way of managing things. The only thing Heeseung knew was that he couldn't let her down again. 

She had to come out of here alive.

No matter what it would take.

"You came," a raspy voice loomed from the darkness, causing Heeseung to hastily stand up and point his gun at its origin. 

His stomach dropped when he locked gazes with the criminal. 

"Kang Joon-Woo."

"It is I indeed," he fixed his tie covered in a fleur de lis pattern, showing off his wealth in the black tuxedo. His auburn slick hair drew attention to his green eyes, which turned stone cold once his gaze landed on the officer in front. They were empty, vacant, without any emotion. It was like staring into a deep well at night, manifesting fright and unpleasantness. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Lee." his silver crown shone as the moonlight sheathed his face, lowering his head before looking back at him again. He exuded the same stare that day, slicing through deeply and threatening with its lethal power. 

Kang Joon-Woo, one of the lead rings of the cooperation of Kang Holding, was the chairman and the mastermind of the whole operation a year ago. Kang Jun-Seo was his right hand, more like a lap dog. 

They were both known criminals in the district he used to work in, successful businessmen who led one of the most influential companies in the city. They ran many hotels scattered over the country, using them as a front to conceal their actual intents by managing and commencing new deals. 

Beneath the surface, they hid several classified secrets, ordering various exchanges between dangerous parties. Some reports revealed drug usage and distribution, contacts with the black market, and even active participation on the deep web.

However, their main focus was on sex trafficking, exploiting young women for their income. It has been going on for many years, with the two predators selling out females to different countries, motivated by the big numbers on the cheque. They were both aware of how these girls would end up, forced to become objects for whoever had bought them. That was the twisted part in itself. The fact that the two went off to doing this.

He found out himself when he got ordered to take over one of these cases since the department had a lead and had a high chance of uncovering the trafficker's location, hopeful about the retrieval. So was Heeseung, especially after the Chief of Police had picked him out personally for the case along with two other ambitious corporals as the sergeant was sick that week, unable to operate. It was his biggest chance to prove himself and stand out amongst his coworkers. 

"Months of searching, and now I have you both at my feet," the snarky laugh punctured through.

"What have you done to her?" Heeseung looked back at Y/N from the corner of his eye, unable to bypass her drugged state. He knew he had to act before it was too late, struggling to piece a plan together at the revelation. 

"I just gave her some candy. You know the ones that bring you to another dimension?" he pulled out a pack of Arrirangs from his pockets, finding the whole situation hilarious. It was uproarious to watch the terror in Heeseung's eyes, darting from the girl back to him. 

"You fucker," Heeseung quickly hovered over her, checking her pulse and breathing. 

"Calm down," he scoffed in amusement, taking a whiff of the toxic elements his body lacked. "I need her to be alive as well." 

"What do you want?"

"Come on, Heeseung. You're smart enough to know," a sigh parted in the heavy ambiance, playing with the cigar between his fingers.

"You know goddamn well someone has to pay for the losses you caused on that day."

"Leave her out of it. She has done nothing."

"Who called you on us?"

"She did the right thing. They just chose the wrong officer."

"Fucking pathetic indeed. You couldn't even save her in the end, could you?" the man burst into laughter, brushing back his hair. He was loving every second of this.

"Since you failed to save her. Now, we need someone to replace her place."

"Jun-Seo was thinking about this beauty right here, but I told him it was too dangerous. Didn't I, brother?"

Heeseung froze at the callout, feeling the mentioned one's presence behind him. He also felt the weapon pointed at his head, threatening to be blasted at a slight movement. Every possible curse flashed in his mind, all pointing towards him.

He was screwed.

"Drop it," the baritone ordered. 

Before he could even look at the famous criminal, the man punched him in his back, amplifying his directive. Heeseung had no other option but to comply, slowly placing his gun on the floor. The guy immediately kicked away the weapon, far away from their reach. He stood there with his hands aloft, looking back at the man ahead.

"And what did I also say?" his tongue clicked, putting on a pair of black leather gloves.

"To have her, we must get rid of the cop."

"That's right." He snickered, approaching the injured girl. 

"Poor girl, she has no idea what's happening," his fingers wrapped around her neck, snickering at the beauty. He turned her face to the side, his filthy eyes scanning her features.

"Don't touch her!" Heeseung shouted, attempting to step closer.

"You better calm down." 

"Or do you want my brother to pull the trigger already?" her hair twirled around his finger, "I want her to see it first." He quickly pulled onto it, causing her head to fall with the snatch.

"No, she has nothing to do with this. I killed your men, not her. Let her go, now!" 

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Heeseung. My client wants a replacement for his previous loss."

"And we decided to give him the other sister," the twin snickered, licking his lips. 

"You're fucking sick." Heeseung looked at the man above Y/N, passing on a distrustful smile. 

"I think we have waited far too long for this one," The snarky laugh punctured through, running his hands on her exposed thighs. 

"I said don't fucking touch her!" 

The delinquent just laughed and took a knife, putting it under her neck. He played with her hair, leaning closer to her ear, whispering something, and smirking right after. Whatever it was, Heeseung was sure it was appalling and lewd. 

"So," the edge of the weapon traveled down her T-shirt, "I'm going to have my fun." He sneered as its sharpness cut the clothing in two, exposing her body to the filthy losers. 

"And you're going to watch."

"You fucking piece of shit!" he jumped the guy, not thinking twice about it. They both rolled down the floor, one trying to keep the weapon, whereas the other risked to grab it. 

"I'll kill you. Right here, right now," Heeseung hissed, head-bumping him as soon as he had the opportunity. 

"You fucker," Joon-woo immediately covered his nose, staining his hand with his very own blood. He was sure it was broken, but it wasn't enough to stop him from returning the favor. 

Heeseung looked back at the other brother, who attempted to shoot the man in black, raising his arm to carry out the movement. 

However, Heeseung was quicker, avoiding the fatal hit by rolling over in time. He still had Joon-woo on his back, getting on his hands to perform a leg sweep. With that, he fell on his back, pushing all the air out of his lungs with a curse.

"You are dead meat, Mr. Lee," the man coughed out, barely having the energy to properly look him in the eye.

Heeseung knew he was minutes away from another blast from Jun-Seo's gun. Without wasting time, he quickly stood up and ran into the other perpetrator with full force. He successfully knocked both of them over, the firearm vanishing in the far distance. The stunt in the movement allowed him to yank and throw the firearm into the far distance. 

"Get him!" the other twin ordered, quickly taking out his Glock 19 to point it at Heeseung. Jun-Seo got on his feet again, shooting a death glare. Despite not having anything to defend himself with, he relied on his strength, rushing to him. His arm extended toward Heeseung's direction, and a sudden hand appeared in front of his face. 

"I should have killed both of you when I had the chance," Heeseung panted, evading each punch like a pro. It was too easy to fight with such an incompetent loser like him, managing to switch positions in the meantime. 

"We should have gotten rid of you two sooner," Joon-woo yelled, shooting into the brawl. He only didn't predict Heeseung doing the unthinkable by pushing the brother in front of him. The bullet entered the wrong body, disappearing in Jun-Seo's chest with a loud gasp. 

"No!" The shooter yelled at the turn of events, watching his twin fall to the ground right next to his feet. He panted in pain and brought his hands to the wound his sibling unintentionally caused, his eyelids losing their tension as his pupils dilated. 

"You piece of shit!" The scourge unleashed from between his lips, a pair of heartless eyes darting back. He looked back to see the cop with his gun right back where it belonged, pointed at him, the main suspect.

"You did all of this just for this stupid bitch!" He raised his arm, turning in the direction of the abducted innocence. 

"Step away from her," Heeseung yelled, blood rushing through his veins.

It was a relief to have taken down one of the obstacles in his way without getting his hands dirty. Nevertheless, there was still the main problem standing in front of him, aiming to assassinate his victim. 

He knew the sicko could pull off a dangerous stunt since his actions were unpredictable, scanning the expressions on his face. He was expecting furrowed brows, hands clenched into fists, or a death glare at least. 

All he got was a loud sigh, followed by a prolongated laughter. The kind of laughter you would hear The Joker do in a quarrel with Batman whenever the two would argue. It was almost as if he was amused or pleased with the outcome, even though his brother was lying inches away in a puddle of blood, practically minutes away from dying.

"You really are a jokester, Mr. Lee," he lowered his gun, ignoring the confusion on the cop's face.

He just passed on a stare and a scowl, fidgeting with the weapon in his hand like it was a toy with no bullets in it. His behavior was so bizarre that Heeseung couldn't help but stare at him in confusion. 

The thing was, the stare he carried didn't belong to someone who had just given up. It wasn't of someone who just surrendered and accepted his fucked-up fate. 

It was the complete opposite of what it was supposed to be -malicious, daring to some degree as if he was taunting him with his capability. He challenged him with a gradually growing smirk. 

At that moment, Heeseung realized it wasn't a renunciation but a part of the plan. The plan that had been constructed from the beginning. Composed to every little point to lure out the enemy. She was his weakness, and they damn well knew about it. They were cruel enough to use it against him. 

With another look, he noticed the turnabout in Joon-Woo's glare, the shade of wrath igniting. 

"For thinking I would let her off so easily," the loud bang emitted through the silence, a sharp "pop" following right after. The noise yielded Heeseung to register the situation, his eyes widening as they quickly scanned for the landing. His gaze landed on the girl in the chair, uncovering a bullet point of entrance on her chest. 

Heeseung's heart dropped as he looked over to the side. 

His eyes widened in horror, staring blankly at the injured girl.

His body went numb, but he still tried to remain as stoic as possible.

All he could do was stare, frozen in fear, as the girl's white shirt slowly turned red.

Heeseung knew he couldn't repeat the same mistake, not hesitating to respond as he pointed his gun directly at the shooter. It was what had to be done. Jun-Seo was going to die today, next to his brother.

His heart skipped a beat as the adrenaline rush towards his veins intensified. He pressed the trigger, watching the evil twin staring back at him in shock, falling back. 

The loud thud confirmed the man was no longer alive, the bullet in his head adding to reason. 

Heeseung slowly approached the corpse, looking at him one last time to ensure himself. 

At that moment, he indeed felt the unbearable weight on his shoulders falling off, all of it evaporating in the air. 

Heeseung finally exhales, dropping his gun to the floor. His heart rate slows down, but the poundage in his body becomes heavier, almost as if the world was collapsing in on him.

"Where-" he quickly turned around at the origin of the sound, his eyes meeting the girl's.

Heeseung instantly rushed to her side, trying to assess the damage.

Her blood flowed onto his hand as he pressed it on the entrance wound, attempting to stop the bleeding.

"I'm going to save you, just hang on..." he whispered, applying pressure after dialing his collegaue. 

As she struggled to remain conscious, her eyes locked into his.

She was unable to express her gratitude with words, so she gave his hand a light squeeze, letting him know that she understood his intentions.

She trusted the man for some reason, even though she couldn't see his face. Everything was pitch dark.

She hoped for the misery to end soon, letting her eyelids rest.

She only waited for the moment to end, for the afterlife to welcome her.

Heeseung was overwhelmed with worry and fear. He knew how close she was to dying, watching her breath grow shallower and more shallow after each passing moment.

He saw her eyes flickering in and out of consciousness, but all he could do was gently stroke her hair away from her face, hoping and wishing for a miracule. 

His hand rested on her chest, feeling her heartbeat. He desperately implored it to keep going, pleading with the higher powers, begging them not to let her slip through his fingers.

"Don't leave me, please," he whispered, kissing her hand.

Heeseung noticed her breathing pattern becoming erratic, her pulse slowly becoming weak, indicating that she was losing the battle for her life.

"Don't go," he whispered, placing his face closer to hers, willing her not to leave. The tears rolled down his cheeks, shaking his head in denial. He desperately tried to keep them from falling again.

"Please stay with me," he beged, unable to handle the thought of her dying in his arms. He continued to caress her cheeks, his voice muffled as his face grew redder and redder.

"Please..."

He recalled all the memories they encountered, the bad and the good, and burst into tears again. He didn't even try to stop them, unable to hold it in any longer.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you..."

Heeseung's voice filled with anguish, and ha piece of his heart ripped out of his chest. 

His desperation grew as her heartbeat grew weaker and weaker. Her chest rose and fell, labored. 

Each breath was battle for her life, and her body was not winning the fight. It started to grow cold, and her heartbeat became even fainter, as if it was trying to slip through his grasp.

"I'm so sorry." 

"I should have protected you," he cried, pressing into her chest. 

"I love you, Y/N."

Her hand rested on his, a faint smile spreading across her face. 

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

"Y/N," 

"You-"

"It's you?" her brain refused to believe the alternative, pacing back and forth, forth and back, like a spectator at a tennis match. 

Lee Heeseung? 

Her Lee Heeseung?

No, that's impossible.

She foolishly wanted to hold onto the strand of hope even though it was perilous. She knew it would relish on painting her walls within in qualm, scribbling various disquietude lines, and doodling frightening visions.

It appeared so compulsive, eyelids concealing the water amassing beside. The droplets traced her rubicund cold cheeks, reaching the corners of her quivering mouth. She tasted the woeful hopelessness accumulated over the past months. 

How hopelessly she wished for it to be real.

For him to be with her. 

If there was one thing she had been yearning for, it was his return. 

Somewhere deep down in her shattered soul, she dreamed of a reunion. A reconvene in which she could hold onto him without fear. Without having to worry about him letting go once she would look away. Without being afraid of falling asleep because he wouldn't be there in the morning. 

It was the only thing she had been longing for. 

"No. You're not here. I'm seeing things again, right?" She looked around, laughing while groping the mattress. Doing so, she failed to detect the unknown material, repeating the same motion. It wasn't the same at home. It wasn't the latex filling she was used to. 

She swiftly looked around, eyes darting around the unknown layout. They glanced over its walls sheathed in snow without a single trace of a painting, the dim lamp gleaming in the corner. It smothered the gloominess in a soothing tint of beige, strangely comforting. 

It was so familiar, yet so unknown. 

Was it because this wasn't her first time being in this room?

"Why am I here?" Her rapid breathing complicated the question's delivery, hands clutching onto the duvet to prevent them from shaking even more. 

You fool.

She looked down, studying the IV line inserted in her vein. Her eyes popped out of their sockets, desperately trying to recall what had happened to put her in this situation in the first place. 

"Calm down," the man beside appeased, holding her hand. 

Compared to her ice skin, he was a burning flame. 

He wanted to believe it was because of his anticipation and not because of her declining health. 

He didn't want to be attentive to her paper skin or her bones visibly sticking out. Oh, how much he wanted to believe her knuckles weren't poking out next to his hand. 

However, he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to denial when these were all the signs he harbored before. 

The last time he saw her, his thumb couldn't reach his pinky finger. When he wrapped them around her tender wrist now, they managed to join. 

All of these signals were so familiar that he couldn't ignore them. They weren't normal and he knew from experience what effects it could have if not properly treated. Consulting with the doctor during her sleep was a necessary procedure, but he couldn't tell her everything now. 

For God's sake, she couldn't even acknowledge it was him caressing her hand. 

He felt like a stranger sitting there, with a worried expression and no response. He didn't know what to do. The only thing he wanted was to hold her and tell her everything was over. That he had finally accomplished what he should have done a year ago. Something he owed her from the day they met.

Where was the feeling of joy he was supposed to encounter? First and foremost, he executed an outstanding performance on the job tonight. Thanks to him, the case that was open for years had finally come to an end. It was due to his commission the two criminals now lingered behind bars.

"Is this one of those dreams again?" she suddenly grasped his shirt, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality. She held on to the cotton fabric with dear life, knuckles beginning to hurt as the grip amplified. The oaky fragrance disbanded into the air, entering through her nostrils to allow a segment of remembrance. 

Her fingers slid against the black clothing, studying the outlines of it, tracing down and up again. His chest rose with each unanticipated touch, brows sliding upwards to inscribe a few lines. Worry was written all over them when she gaped at him in confusion, refusing to accept his existence.

"Where I hopelessly look for you and never manage to find you?"

The headache was overlapping her brain in confusion, and she struggled to fathom her surroundings. She didn't comprehend the quick change of emotions on his face, looking at her as if she had announced the death of a close relative. In the end, she went through these nightmares almost every night. So, it wasn't abnormal to her. Yet, his stare was intense and frightened, screaming in concern, the complete opposite of her disclosure.

It wasn't.

It couldn't be after all.

He left a long time ago.

"I'm tired of those dreams," her voice broke down, replacing it with a weep, "because I never manage to find you." She broke down, releasing the suppressed pain gathered in her system. 

The mere thought of them ran shivers down her spine, completely despising the state they left her in. The number of times she woke up crying, desperately trying to hold onto the comfort beside was too much to count. The way she would open her eyelids only to realize there was nothing but a cold and untouched bedside. 

She would always look at the empty spot with hope. 

Hope he would come into the room with that dazzling look and hop back in the bed to hold her tight in his embrace. She wanted him to say everything would be okay, just like he used to. She wanted to hear his smile again, see his laughter, and feel his love in her hands. 

Was it that selfish to ask for the undoable? 

It was.

After all, he had always been a far stretch - an unreachable beauty, like a star in the sky she could only admire from afar. Too unreal to be authentic. Too perfect to exist. Too good to be true. Just like their relationship. 

Even stars die eventually and gradually start fading away. It was simply natural for them to end as well. 

So why was it so hard to say goodbye?

Over 365 days have passed since the day, and Y/N still stood at the beginning of the road. It was as if her feet were glued to the floor, trapping her in the moment she desperately tried to eradicate. 

If a samurai's katana could slice through her stomach now, it wouldn't manage to do more damage. Nor his bow stricken to embed in her lungs. It would simply sting for a second before disappearing into the mist, just like everything else in her life. It would form a pool of blood beneath, assembling a shattered reflection. A reflection she would reach for and fall into its never-ending well of hatred and pangs of conscience.

"I did something wrong, right? That's why you left. I was so annoying with my constant mood swings, wasn't I?" 

Heeseung closed his eyelids to prevent the accumulated sadness from firing, trying to stay collected so as not to evoke more sorrow. 

His hands turned into fists, aching to swing on the coward's head.

What a selfish idiot he was. 

He was going to cry? Him? When he was the reason they were both in this room right now?

It was his decision that caused all of this. He wouldn't be right back at the start if he hadn't given her up for his stupid career. If only he had just listened to his inner heart, things could have been different, better.

It was like someone was ripping him open, cutting and slicing with the sharpest blade, puncturing endless rebukes. Not only was he screaming from the pain, but also from witnessing Y/N uncontrollably crying in front of him. 

Her petite hands held onto her hospital gown, slanting over to let out all the misery he had caused her. She couldn't stop herself from wailing in agony and torment, feeling so hopeless and confused with him reappearing in her life. It was a hard pill to swallow. The kind that gets stuck in your throat, and water cannot drown it. 

"I'm so sorry I couldn't control it," she sniveled, clutching her hair tightly and pulling it to inflict more pain on herself. 

"I'm so sorry," she screamed into the duvet, countlessly snuffling. Her cries were muffled, the airways between her lungs and nose becoming tighter with each one. She was practically yelping for air, hyperventilating. 

"I love you, Lee Heeseung. I love you so much that it hurts," her trembling index pointed towards her heart, repeatedly tapping her chest.

At this point, she was out of breath, wailing and gripping her clothes as if they could release the painful embrace around her chest. She lifted her gaze to meet the apples of his eyes. They were glutted with sorrow and guilt, heartbreak and commiseration. They were merely reflecting his feelings - complete hopelessness. 

"I can't live without you, Heeseung. I can't-" Her sob got cut off by his sudden maneuver, palms gently cupping her cheeks before drawing her face closer to him. Now, he stared into her chocolate eyes, gazing at his hickory ones with surprise. 

"I love you more, Y/N." His nose rubbed against hers, foreheads aligning with one another to create an intimate moment between the lovers. They used to do this often, almost every morning, just holding each other and laughing in joy. It was like a routine, something mandatory before getting out of bed.

"More than anything else in this world," his tears caressed hers, tracing them upwards with his lips. He replaced the traces of sorrow with caring pecks, making sure to collect every drop. 

"Heeseung," her hand clutched his shirt, trying to stay sane even though, deep down, she was melting in his touch. 

He lightly tilted her head back, gaining access to her quivering mouth. She had it slightly ajar, huffing the compressed air through the small gap. Waves of electricity were dashing down her cells, causing an upheaval of homeostasis. The more he looked at her, the harder it got to breathe without a strain on her lungs. She had no choice but to say, "Please, just kiss me."

There was no time for that request to have been adequately thought through, as the circumstances deemed the opposite effect. For once, Y/N didn't want to think over her decisions. She wanted them to happen and worry about the consequences later. 

"Can I really?" his hand slid back, holding her head to grant her maximum relaxation. 

"You fool, I just told you to do it."

"I only want to make sure," he murmured, his lips automatically attracting with hers, like two magnets of opposite poles. 

Perhaps it was a lofty comparison, but the way neither side hesitated before carrying out the deed proved otherwise. They have been yearning for this moment ever since they have parted ways. 

Hell, they spent all of their time convincing themselves they weren't a match made to last for centuries when they were. Their love was so powerful that the glue in their bond never dried out. 

Even though they were two completely different people, it was their love that brought them together. No one could change that.

"No one."

"Not ever," he whispered while he damped her lips with his wet and warm tongue, panting with each smacking sound.

It was like entering heaven. 

He could almost feel the bright rays of happiness encircling them with its mighty power, not to mention Y/N's whimpers, which were like music to his ears.

Or maybe it was his poetic description of this incredible ecstasy that made it appear so illusory. 

He felt like a teenage boy again. His hormones were all over the place, and his heartbeat was agitated with an uncomfortable tension in his boxers.

God was cruel for putting his body into this state, especially in this situation. However, he couldn't control it. A whole year without Y/N meant a year full of bottled-up pain and tension. He never went out and slept with someone else because he knew too well no one could compare to her. 

Fuck, no one could be her, so there was no point in doing anything reckless. Plus, his heart wouldn't be able to do something so dishonest. It was loyal, unlike him, and it never erased nor forgot the name of his soulmate.

"I missed you so much," she cried, her grip around him tightening, so afraid he would let go and the feeling of safety would disappear with him.

"I know, Y/N. I missed you, too." Heeseung's hand slid up her arm, then her neck, until his hands rested on her cheeks, and he gently pulled her closer.

"But I'm here now," he continued, his voice filled with tenderness and affection. "And I don't plan on leaving your side ever again."

She looked up with red eyes, swollen and aching from the pang inside her heart. "You promise?" she asked innocently, not ready to receive a no for an answer. 

"I promise." His voice was firm, his words soothing. 

He kissed the top of her head, feeling her grip tightening around him while tears still ran down her wet, rosy cheeks. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, refusing to let go. 

"I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

As if by instinct, she buried her face in his chest yet again, breathing in his scent and feeling his warmth as he enveloped her petite body in his warm embrace. 

Y/N felt her heart beating faster, the rush of emotions overwhelming and confusing her in the process. God, how much she has missed this. Being held, taken care of, and loved. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable and let out a pained sob. She had held it for so long.

"Breathe," he whispered in her ear, noticing her shallow breath in a poor attempt at composure.

Her body couldn't stop shaking in his arms, the waves of emotions and shock deluging her.

"I'm here." The man of her dreams whispered, his words soothing out the bump of worries in her head. He stroked her lusciously dark hair once again, caressing her cheek as she leaned her head on the crook of his neck.

"I've got you."

That was all she needed to hear. 

They both remained in each other's arms, the silence broken only by their heavy breathing. At the same time, Y/N leaned in for his hands, holding them in hers. They were big and mighty next to her small and delicate ones, swallowing them in his palms. She played with his fingers, wrapping her digits around each one like an adorable baby. 

She has done this so many times before. It felt so natural each time as if their hands were sculpted to fit between the gaps of their fingers. Every insertion and removal was smooth like butter. She repeated it over and over because she couldn't get enough of it.

It was his hand she was holding and her hand he was kissing.

"Is this alright?" he asked foolishly.

She replied with a passionate kiss instead, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling the strong man as close as possible. Her body pressed against his, so gentle with each movement that it made him shiver. He leaned into the squeeze, letting go of his worries once and for all, only focusing on her warmth blending with his. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the heat of her against his own sparking lascivious ideas. 

Her lips pressed softly against his skin, enticingly murmuring her name as a result. 

"Y/N..."

"I missed hearing you saying my name," she whispered into his ear before gently biting onto its helix.

Heeseung closed his eyes and exhaled a deep and long breath. He leaned closer and caressed her chin, tilting it upwards so he could meet her eyes again.

"I want to be with you forever," he said softly, hand gently caressing her hip.

"I want to wake up next to you every morning and sleep with you by my side."

"I want to hold your face and feel your lips on mine every chance. To feel our love growing more and more each day."

"I want to spend my life with you. To know you're my home, my heart."

She gaped at him in shock, not expecting to hear such a meaningful trail of confession after everything. It contradicted his ambiguously lengthy absence in which Y/N went through hell thinking about what she had done wrong. 

Now, he sat before her, eyes full of ardor and sincerity, brushing his devotion on her like a naked canvas. 

"I've made the mistake of letting you go once," he held her hand, placing it on his chest. She felt his rhythmic heartbeat gradually increasing with each prolonged second of his speech. 

"I won't make the same mistake twice, Y/N." 

Heeseung's voice is filled with sincerity and truth, determined to finally carry through his feelings to her like he should have done. 

"I can't promise I will always be perfect," he expressed, his hand intertwining with hers. "But I promise, I won't let anyone tear us apart again."

He squeezed her even tighter as if she was the only thing holding him together.

"What do you mean? Who tore us apart?" her face changed instantly, confusedly staring into his apprehensive eyes. The cat was out of the bag, and Heeseung finally had to face the harsh side of reality.

Instead of answering, however, his gaze drifted away. 

His expression became darker, pupils dilating from the rise of anger within. It wasn't directed towards the reason, but himself. He was furious for preserving this crucial information from her for so long.

He looked away, his hand still over hers as he tried to find the words. He took it and brought it to his lips, gently kissing it as he spoke.

"Your parents..." Heeseung said quietly.

"They never approved of us, and I knew."

Heeseung paused, unsure of how to proceed or what to say next. He didn't want to ruin her relationship with her parents or affect their reunion. Telling the truth was the best choice, but he wondered if she would forgive either side.

"They threatened to sue me and ruin my career. They said I was negligent on the mission. That I wasn't a good enough person to be with you."

He stared at her, doubtful of how much information to share. 

"They didn't want me to talk to you ever again," he disclosed, his tone guarded. "They told me either I stayed away from you or they would ruin my life."

He sighed and looked down at the ground, a slight sense of shame on his face. 

"It was their disapproval, combined with the threat of losing everything, that forced me to leave."

"So you chose your career over our love?" she scoffed, pushing his arms away.

"Your career was more important than our relationship?"

She shook her head in disappointment. 

"No..." Heeseung quickly replied, stunned and hurt by her sudden change of attitude. "You know I'm not like that."

The truth was that he completely understood her reaction. He responded to his terrible decision the same way, turning against himself for being such a selfish prick. 

Nevertheless, so much was at stake that he couldn't have done it differently. That's what he wanted to explain. To make her see his point of view and hopefully make her understand. 

"You're the only person who knows what I had to go through to become an officer, Y/N. You know what kind of future I envisioned for myself, for us."

He wavered, rethinking his wording so as not to make it sound wrong. His voice slightly trembled, incredibly scared of what might come after all of this. "It would have been my entire future they would have destroyed."

She shook her head in denial, not wanting to believe her bloodline would stand in the way of her happiness. She couldn't believe her mother and father put her into that misery and pretended to be clueless. 

They blamed him for everything, constantly pointing out how right they were about him from the beginning of their relationship. They kept telling her that he would eventually leave and never look back when, in reality, they were the ones who would cause it to happen. They were pulling the strings behind her back. 

This whole time, while she deteriorated from the uncontrollable pain all alone, they were the culprits of her suffering. 

"I," she covered her mouth, the urge to vomit intensifying at the repulsive revelation. 

"Why," she looked up at him, anger and resentment burning in her eyes. 

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" she whispered, her voice hingeing from the lack of power.

Heeseung shut his eyelids, unable to speak at first due to the words choking him up. He couldn't even look his love in the eyes as he lowered his face in remorse.

"I thought you wouldn't believe me," he replied calmly, his voice full of emotion. "They are your parents, after all."

Heeseung searched for the correct words to express what he felt in those moments right before he took the decision to leave her for good. 

"I thought me leaving would be the least painful, the least harmful choice. I didn't want to ruin your family for one incompetent coward like me."

"Bullshit!" she yelled, throwing all of his attempts away. She was so angry at him and her parents all at once that it molded into one tangled wool of wrath that gushed obstreperous amounts of ire. 

"I would have believed you, Heeseung. These are all just excuses-"

"How can you say these are just excuses," Heeseung oppugned, his voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

"You think I liked being forced to make that decision? You think I liked seeing you in pain because of me?"

He sharply inhaled, almost hissing when exhaling. The words were pouring out of him as fast as a waterfall, and no one could stop him from speaking his mind now.

"Don't you think I regret all of it? Don't you think that I wished every single day that I had just told you the damn truth?" he snapped back, his tone rising at each word. 

"Do you have any idea what I went through this last year?" she shut him down, firmly pushing him away.

Do you have any idea what I was thinking this entire time?" she panted, the wrath inside her escalating through the roof.

"I thought I wasn't good enough for you, that I couldn't even make you happy, that you left because I only rubbed off my bad mental state, and you couldn't handle it anymore. This entire time, I thought it was MY fault you were gone, and I wanted to die." The curses escaped her chapped lips, fists hitting the mattress out of frustration and lack of control over her emotions. Her eyes burned with ire and disarray, quivering from undergoing sudden shock.

"Every day, I dreamt about dying. Every night, I hoped I wouldn't wake up the next day and that I would just die." She shouted into his face, her yells soon enough turning into painful sobs. 

"After you left, Hee, there was no point for me to live anymore."

Heeseung stared at her, totally awed and stunned by her words. He was blind this whole time, ignorant about what was happening behind the curtains.

He couldn't form a sentence, experiencing such strong and intense emotions that he couldn't even find the words to describe them.

"I tried to end my life so many times," she cried, covering her face with trembling hands, entirely losing control of her body.

Chills ran down his spine at the weight of the last sentence, which unraveled the extent of her suffering. 

His worst fear became true: she was hurting because of him. 

From the start, he tried to do what was best for her future. Yet, he only made it all worse. He ruined her and became the cause of her nightmares, of every second of her affliction.

His heart broke into a million pieces. The amount of guilt he had never experienced before struck him intensely, leaving him breathless.

Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks as he realized he had worsened her depression. 

First, he took away the person who loved her the most and then disposed of the one she loved the most. All at the same time, because of him. 

He wanted to shout, to kick himself for being so oblivious. He wanted to hug her and hold her, cry with her, and beg for forgiveness.

But all he could do at that moment was stand like a deer caught in the headlights, completely speechless.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured.

"I never wanted to cause you... pain." His voice broke as he said those words, the guilt eating him alive.

"I-I should have been there for you, I-" Another sigh parted away.

"I failed to protect you."

"Yea, you fucked up. Now, go," her tone drastically changed, sitting up as she crossed her arms, head turning towards the window.

The world outside seemed so much calmer than the one in the room, the tension sticking on the walls.

Heeseung didn't know what to say. He tried to protest, to say something, to do anything to fix things, but after your dismissal, he knew he had to accept the fact that he had messed up beyond all reasoning.

He walked towards the door, waiting for her to change her mind and ask him to stay. 

However, his wish was replaced by a soft "go."

No other words were necessary for this goodbye.

He turned to face her one final time, his eyes full of regret and misery. They couldn't even match hers for more than two seconds before a tear rolled down his cheek.

He had to look away, refusing to see the pain in her eyes and her trembling face.

"No," he said, turning around.

Heeseung was frustrated and felt misunderstood, lost in the words of frustration and anger thrown his way. 

It broke his heart to hear her say these things. Although he expected the worst possible scenario, he couldn't come to terms with this alternative. There was no way he would let her go again. 

He paused, taking a deep breath to process what he was hearing.

"I failed you as a lover and a friend," he whispered, the tone in his voice filled with sorrow and disappointment. 

"I should have been there for you, I should have stayed and fought."

Her stare was still focused outside, refusing to communicate with him further. There was a lot of bitterness and pain inside her to pursue a polite conversation. Any minute, she would go off like a bomb. He was pushing the time until detonation.

Heeseung took a deep breath yet again, looking around the room in disbelief.

He had never seen her so angry before — not even when she was angry with her parents. This was a whole new level of anger.

He couldn't bear the thought of leaving in such a condition while being furious and hurt. Even if he thought she no longer wanted him around, he needed to prove that was not true. He wanted to prove to her his love was real and was not as shallow as she thought.

"Don't make me call the staff and get you kicked out," the threat set a foot on the floor, directly aiming at him.

She finally made eye contact, handing a cold glare, her brows furrowed and her nostrils flared.

For a few seconds, Heeseung was utterly stunned by her sudden threat and the intensity of the stare. Once she made eye contact, he saw deep down the pain and hurt that she was frantically trying to mask.

"I just want to say one more thing before I leave," he whispered, his tone gentle and apologetic. He looked away, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"I don't want to hear anything from you," she sat up and got her slippers, aiming to stand up and walk him out.

However, a sharp groan escaped instead, her hand automatically positioning on the ache in her chest. His heart sank once again as he noticed the sudden wince in her facial expression.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of worry and concern.

He wanted to reach out but knew he did not deserve to comfort you in such a critical moment. It was all his fault.

Therefore, he remained standing, but only a meter away, as his worries grew over.

"I just need you to leave me alone." her expression changed nattily, practically hissing out the sentence.

He remained silent, not saying a word.He could hear her breathing and the slight wheezing with each inhale. Other than that, there was only the silence of the room.He couldn't find any words to say in such a situation, not when her voice bore hatred and disdain.

Slowly, he backed away from her, his feet making light sounds on the floor, almost unable to hear them. She winced when attempting to slightly move, each muscle in her body tensing at the unexpected action.

Tears summon in her eyes, crawling back from the overlapping ache and sorrow combined into a deadly mixture. Heeseung noticed how her body reacted, recalling the doctor's orders. He couldn't hold back anymore. He couldn't stand idle.

"Wait," he said quickly, his tone filled with worry and panic. He rushed to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from getting up.

"God, you're such a-" Her whine swallows the curse word, shutting her eyelids due to the ascending pain.

"You can hate me as much as you want, but you must lay down this instance," Heeseung sighed, noticing her effort at resisting his actions even if it was all for her safety. He tried to lay her down slowly but firmly, making sure he didn't hurt her any further.

He gently pushed her backward on the bed, hoping the pain from the movement didn't worsen.

"You're a pain in the ass," she coughed, eyes still closed to avoid any form of direct eye contact. His presence beside was enough to rile her up and clench her fists.

He had to hide his smile as her attempts to push him away and the occasional bursts of insults were adorable. She might have been furious at the moment, but her actions gave away the small hint of weakness underneath.

It made him want to apologize for coming back at the wrong time, but he remained silent and waited by her side for the pain to subside.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking out of the window with a heavy pang in his heart. He stayed silent for a while, content with sitting in silence, even if she was still furious at him.

He occasionally glanced at her with a sorrowful look, as if he was sorry for causing you so much pain and distress.

Slowly, he turned his head back towards the window and exhaled, the only noise he made for the following minutes.

"I should be furious and mad at you for everything," she whispered, "Yet, I can't because it hurts even more."

Heeseung's eyes widened once she spoke up. She might have not looked at him, but he heard her perfectly.

She still sounded angry, but it sounded more like regret than anything else. It was the first time he saw her defenses crack, and he was starting to wonder how long until she completely broke down.

"I prayed every night to see you again, to be held in your arms," she paused, suppressing the wave of tears from flushing down her face.

"I-" she put her arm over her face, fighting herself from speaking up further.

He remained silent, watching her struggle with her emotions. He couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart seeing her trying so hard not to break down in front of him.

With a light, tender gesture, he wiped the tears away from her cheeks and put his hand over her fist, trying to hold her fingers while remaining careful about the injuries.

"I hate you," she whimpered.

"I hate how much I love you after everything."

Those words hit him like a knife to the heart.

Hearing her confess her love and hatred towards him was a bittersweet feeling. Although her words still harbored anger, there was no denying his heart was aching for her.

He looked at her, not saying anything, just staring, his eyebrows furrowing, waiting to hear what else she had to say.

"You broke me, and somehow-" she lingered on her words, snuffling, "you're the only thing I think about."

Heeseung's heart ached with each word she spoke, hearing the emotional confession.

He didn't quite know what to say. Her love for him seemed just as conflicting as her rage and hatred as if both were trying to take the throne as the primary emotion in her heart.

Her tearful, trembling voice made him feel vulnerable too, his entire being consumed by the emotions that made him want to hug her so tightly, wanting so desperately to make everything better.

"You turned me into a mess," she covered her face with her palms, refusing to be seen this vulnerable and weak again.

He couldn't even argue with that statement because, at that moment, he knew she was right. He had turned her into a mess. He had left her without a single thought about if she would be alright, what it would do to her given her psychological condition. 

He had forgotten how much she loved and needed him and how his sudden disappearance would affect her. He was unable to stand her vulnerable state any longer.

He grabbed both her wrists, pulling them away from her face, letting his eyes meet hers.

"Look at me," he said in the softest way possible.

He was doing exactly what she didn't want him to do.

She was concealing her reckless emotions from him, forbidding him to see her like this any longer.

At his words, she reluctantly let go of and slowly lifted her face. She didn't want him here, but she did. She craved, no, needed him.

She looked directly into his eyes, feeling her heart ache, not wanting this moment to end but also wanting to escape it. His orbs had the most solemn expression, looking at her with sorrow and empathy.

He couldn't help but feel how her emotions were constantly switching between rage and sadness, and although she didn't say the words, his heart was still willing to believe that she still loved him.

Because she truly did.

And that's why she hated herself so much.

Heeseung's heart couldn't take it anymore.

When she looked away from his eyes, he saw how much she was still struggling to keep her emotions from breaking down completely. He wanted to help her, he wanted to make everything better, but he didn't know how.

With a light tug, he pulled her close and tightly hugged her. The warmth from his body spread to her, the smell of his cologne filling her nostrils.

As if the whole world had turned upside down, she had officially reached her limits. There were no barriers in her way anymore and she let her emotions burst out.

At last, she allowed herself to cry in front of someone again. In front of him. In his arms, in his embrace, in his chest.

With the sound of her trembling breaths, Heeseung could feel how real this moment was. Every tear falling from her cheeks, every sniffle, and every sob.

He didn't mind one bit. He didn't care how vulnerable she was right now or how weak this moment made her look. To him, her hugging hugging him back and feeling her body pressed against his was all that mattered right now.

She was finally home.

She was finally safe again.

She was where she was supposed to be all along.

With her lover, her soulmate, her other part.

She could finally smile again.

Heeseung tightened the grip on her body, wanting to bring her as close as possible to fill the space of loneliness in her heart.

The feeling of her warm body against his was all he needed to feel complete again. It was like he found the last missing piece of the puzzle. With it, the picture was complete. His heart was finally beating again. 

He kept his arms around her, not letting go of her for a single second. He hoped that this was just the beginning of their second chance.

Her hands rested on his chest as she lifted her head, inches away from his lips.

He brought her closer, making the space between their faces even shorter. He slowly lowered his head to meet her lips, his breath slightly trembling as his heart pumped rapidly in his chest.

She moaned into the kiss, closing her eyes and letting him take control. She was so tired, both mentally and physically, but craved him intensely.

Their tongues collided against each other leisurely and intensely at the same time, desperate to have one another as close as possible. 

The kiss was hungry, both despairing for each other that they were practically devouring each other rather than just simply enjoying the moment.

Heeseung's arms tightly wrapped around her, holding her firmly against his body, his lips moving with a steady pace alongside hers. There was no need for any words, as their entire bodies had already expressed everything they needed to.

His hands ran under her hospital gown, sliding upwards on her back. She arched her back at the contact, moaning and lightly biting onto his lip.

Heeseung couldn't help but moan at her reaction. The feeling of his hands on her skin sent shivers down her spine, his fingers feeling like little sparks of joy spreading through.

He moaned against her lips again, wanting this moment to last even longer.

She was all his, and he was all hers.

There was nothing that could stop them from being so intimate and together right now. All the anger and hatred that lingered inside was washed away by the sheer joy of being reunited.

He began tracing her spine with delicate, light touches, sending a chill down her back despite the warm sensations that the gesture caused.

When his hands moved further up, her back began to arch involuntarily, breathing becoming heavier.

His fingers found themselves tangled in her hair, pulling back as the kisses became even more passionate.

"Someone could come in any moment," she panted as he pulled away for a minute, gripping his shirt for stability since she was in a daze. Any hospital staff could barge in, and she certainly didn't want anyone to catch her engaging in lewd activities...

Heeseung let out a chuckle at her reminder, still feeling his heart pump and his lips vibrating with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

"I don't mind," he whispered, his lips hovering near hers again, teasing.

At that moment, the kiss felt so perfect for him, so right that he didn't care if anyone saw them in such a vulnerable state. He looked around the room and back at her, a small, mischievous grin appearing on his face.

"You're crazy!" she wanted to protest, but he kissed her again, sliding his hand behind her neck so she could fully transfer her weight onto his hand.

"Don't worry," he said, getting up and heading towards the door, getting a "do not disturb" sign out of the shelf and putting it on the door's front handle before locking themselves in.

He was glad he had decided to take her to a private hospital, not only because the surgery was done quickly, but he could also stay the night with her.

She couldn't help but feel a little bit of relief wash over, knowing that they wouldn't be interrupted by anybody walking by. The two of you could finally have some privacy to let the passion and desire run free.

With the heat between both of them building up, Heeseung returned to the bed, this time straddling on top of her.

"Oh," she gaped at him from below, her hands holding onto his arms next to her.

Her gaze landed underneath his shirt as he hovered over her, allowing her to fully see his abs. They were still as sculpted and defined as she remembered, perhaps even more visible now. Her mouth slightly hung loose, biting her lip to conceal her arousal.

He looked down at her, seeing the intent stare at his abs as her finger lightly trailed towards the edge of his shirt.

With a soft smirk, he lifted his arms, letting her expose his entire upper body, the abs, and pecs flexing slightly as he moved. He let her admire and touch every inch of his muscle, even letting her trace the veins on his arms.

For some reason, seeing him suddenly topless caused a couple of fireworks to set off in her stomach, immediately looking away to hide the wave of heat mantling her cheeks.

Heeseung couldn't help but giggle softly at her shyness, finding it utterly appealing. He still got butterflies each time she blushed like this, finding it to be one of her most endearing characteristics.

He leaned closer, lifting her hands off her face and caressing it with his own hands.

"So beautiful," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Don't be shy. You can touch any part of me you want."

"Hee," she panted, feeling breathless from the lewdness of his words.

He chuckled, noticing how overwhelmed she got.

"I can't believe how easily flustered you get."

He paused for a few seconds before placing one of his hands on her pink cheek.

"It's okay to be touched like this, you know," he whispered into her ear.

"You've touched my heart so many times already, you can touch me as much as you like."

"If you keep talking like that, I'll melt," she sighed, placing her hand on his face as his gaze only evoked more attraction.

Heeseung laughed, finding her response to his comments sweet. He could see her already trying not to blush and feeling quite embarrassed, which made him want to tease her even further.

"Is that so?" he inquired, looking at her with a teasing smile on his lips.

"Well, maybe it would be better to see you in liquid form. Then I could at least drink in your beauty all at once."

"What are you even saying!" She widened her eyes, slapping his arm and covering her mouth out of embarrassment.

Heeseung smiled and played with a strand of her hair.

"Am I making you upset?" he teased, "and there I was, planning on making you melt all over me so I could lick it all up." With a smirk, he brought his face closer to hers, letting her feel his breath against her lips.

"You're such a pervert," her head turned to the side on the pillow, closing her eyes as the tip of her ears began to redden.

"You like it, though," his voice was tinged with a teasing undertone, almost daring her to deny it.

"Is this making you nervous?" he asked lusciously, "maybe I should keep kissing your neck until you can't take it anymore."

She moaned and grabbed his back the moment his lips brushed against her neck, breathing heavier than before.

He knew damn well how sensitive her neck was, and he always used that against her. He smirked at her reaction to his kiss, noticing how her body tensed up.

As he continued kissing her neck and leaving hickeys all across it, he could hear how she was trying to repress her moans.He didn't plan on going too far with this, but he was incredibly tempted to make you her out with his touch.

She pushed him away for a minute, her whole body practically shaking from the stimulation.

Heeseung smirked, knowing he had pushed her limits with the kiss.

Still, he didn't hesitate one second to get close to her again and place light kisses across her face.

"Is that too much?" he asked, his voice still maintaining that teasing tone, "I could do even more you know. We have a whole night ahead of us."

"I hate you so much," she grunted, letting him peck her face with smooches.

"Such harsh words coming from such a cute mouth." Heeseung laughed as she kept resisting his kisses, only making him want to tease her more.

"You can hate me all you want, but you can't escape my charm," he grinned at her, kissing her forehead and letting his fingers trail downwards.

"You could have gotten me naked instead of blabbering on."

Heeseung raised his eyebrows and smirked at the straightforwardness of her comment.

"Is that an invitation?" he inquired, "cause if it is, then I accept it completely." He brought her close to his body again, still keeping a firm grasp around her waist.

"Let me make your desire come true."

"Be careful, it hurts," she sat up, holding onto him.

Heeseung smiled softly at her actions, letting her sit up and gently lifting her onto his lap. He saw how tired she was, the exhaustion of the surgery still weighing in on her.

"Are you sure you want to do this right now?" he inquired in a concerned tone, "we don't have to do anything, and still…"

He wavered for a moment, leaning her body against him.

"I still want to be near you."

She nodded, running her hands on his bare chest before giving it soft and tender pecks.

He let out a soft groan as his chest was bombarded with so many kisses, his body feeling warm at the spot her lips placed on. He let her body lean on him, enjoying the softness of her skin on his own. He couldn't stop but smile at how soft and gentle her every gesture was, making him feel the need to protect her.

She traced upwards, bringing her lips to his neck. She soaked up the smell of his scent, letting her lips slowly brush against his honey skin, licking and biting occasionally.

After kissing his cheek, she let her face rest on his shoulder, sighing at the warmth they were passing onto each other.

Heeseung cuddled her, running his hands through her silky hair as he enjoyed the closeness of her presence. They were both lying in silence for a couple of minutes, letting the quietness of the moment envelope them both. He felt content, and so did she. She floundered to explain it, but being in his arms made her feel safe and protected as if she was in a cocoon away from the outside world.

"Help me take this off, please," she pointed at her gown, slowly kissing him one more time.

"You don't have to say it twice."

He paused for a moment, feeling her tongue gently slide across his lips. It was as if she couldn't wait to feel his warmth all over her body. The thought made him eager to get rid of the clothing, so he began pulling the strings to the side, slowly untying them before she could slip the dress over her shoulders.

She looked down to see her chest wrapped with bandages from the surgery, sighing at the sight. Her eyes darted away, slanting a bit.

Heeseung's eyes followed her gaze, realizing how uncomfortable and self-conscious she must have felt about it. Wanting to ease her tension, he smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders before whispering next to her ear.

"You don't have to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. I am your lover, and nothing you show me will make me love you any less."

With those words, Heeseung's voice was tinged with kindness, as he wanted to make her feel at ease and wanted.

"I'm sorry for looking like this," she lowered your head, trying to hide her chest.

Heeseung gently caressed her face, lifting it so he could stare directly into her eyes.

"Never be sorry for something you have zero control over." He lifted his hand and placed it on top of her chest, his thumb running across the bandages.

"I was here to support you during the surgery, and I'm still here now to support you through your recovery, and no matter what, I will always love you."

She felt her eyes watering, sobbing as his kind words caressed her soul with love.

He didn't hesitate to pull her in a tight hug, soothing her as he cradled her in his arms.

The comfort of his touch was evident, not only from how her body quivered from the sudden embrace but also from her sobbing. It was clear as a day that she was going through a lot, but the thought of being in his arms was enough to calm her nerves and soothe her soul.

"I love you," she whispered, looking for his lips with hers.

"I love you more, Y/N."

Heeseung brought their bodies closer. It was a tender moment, full of affection and love, as they shared a deep kiss full of care and adoration.

"So you still want me? Even though I look like this," she foolishly asked, worried he could be less attracted to her after the surgery. Not only that, but she had lost a lot of weight, and she wasn't comfortable in her skin.

Heeseung was instantly alarmed at the comment, well aware of her insecurities. The way she was concerned was the last thing he needed to see right now.

"Don't ever think like that again," he placed his forehead against hers, wanting her to understand how he felt.

"Nothing will ever make me love you less. You've been through this surgery and lost some weight, but have I ever told you how beautiful you still look? How much I still want you?"

"Please tell me," she hiccuped, getting goosebumps when he cupped her cheeks and softly caressed them in his big hands.

Heeseung smirked softly before leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"You are incredible to me. Nothing has changed how I feel about you. In fact, I feel that my love for you has multiplied, and I want you more than ever."

He waited for a minute, letting his words sink into her heart.

"You've gone through so much today, and all I want to do is take care of you and help you recover fully..."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing from receiving so much care and affection. She had gotten used to being alone and not having anyone for so long that she forgot how it felt to be loved.

Heeseung saw how his behavior was having a huge impact on her, and although he was touched by seeing her reaction, he also felt a certain joy in it, since it meant she was letting him into her life. The more she let him in, the more he felt satisfied, seeing how she accepted his protection. 

"Let me cuddle you again," he smiled, caressing her hair as he pulled her closer to his body.

"No, make love to me, please," she leaned back, letting him gently hold her close.

"I want you so badly."

Heeseung was a bit taken aback by the suddenness of her demand, but the tone of her voice was tempting and irresistible.

He let his hands crawl down her body until they ended up resting on her hips and butt.

"Are you sure you're feeling good enough to do something like this?" he whispered into her ear, not wanting to do anything that could potentially hurt her.

"As long as you're gentle," she smiled, caressing his face in her palm.

Heeseung let out a low growl as she touched his face, delicate yet sensual, enough to make him harder. The more she touched him, the more he felt his heart racing and his breath speeding up.

He moved in closer, their bodies touching from head to toe as her breath hitched.

"I'm all yours," she whispered.

Heeseung was speechless the moment he heard those words leave her mouth. 

It was the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine. 

Someone who truly loves him and wants to be with him.

He looked down at her, letting his orbs get lost in hers.

"Do you mean those words?"

She nodded, pressing herself onto his erection.

"My heart only beats for you and you only," she smiled, intertwining her hands with his.

He let out a low gasp upon seeing her take control, feeling some blood hastily flowing to his lower regions.

Her words were like music to his ears, and he kept grinning like an idiot. He was so happy she felt this way about him. He lowered his head, kissing the small space between her shoulder and neck.

"Take off your pants, Hee," she grabbed his belt, trying to take it off.

Her command had him on edge. He was so eager to obey that he didn't waste a second and quickly complied, undoing his leather belt and taking off his trousers as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Seeing him completely naked in front of her made her nervous, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear while looking over to the side.

Why did he have to look so ethereal and luscious?

The moment she averted her gaze to another direction and started playing with her hair, urging him to be even closer. He let out a slow breath and took in her appearance from head to toe.

She always had a way of looking vulnerable yet seductive that made his heart flutter with every heartbeat.

He leaned over, gently laying her back on the bed, getting on top. 

She gasped quietly, having him this close making her feel some type of way. Her hand wandered on his neck, pulling him lower to get a taste of his luscious lips one more time.

Heeseung moaned as she tugged him downwards and let her explore his body. It was a feeling that left him with no words.

He let his body rest on hers, making sure she was in a comfortable position as his hands roamed around her flawless body, trailing upwards until they ended up on her breasts.

She hitched once his warm palms held them, cautiously caressing them. Her hands rested upon his, guiding them to cup her breasts a bit more.

His touch was tender and careful, making sure not to hurt her while molding his hands to fit her curves. Her hands encouraged and guided him more, immediately tightening. Nevertheless, he made sure to keep the pressure at a minimum.

The feeling of the heat between their bodies, the sensation of their fingers running over each others' bodies, and the delicate kissing was enough to make his breath pick up pace as he groaned softly.

"You're so beautiful," she breathed out, every bit of oxygen getting cut off in her system whenever he looked at her with that dazzling gaze.

He sensed a deep level of contentment, letting his lips brush against hers. They were warm, and the feeling of her soft body under him left him feeling so excited that his heart would burst.

The fact she even wanted to be with him in that moment made the experience more fulfilling to him, the love only growing with each passing second.

He guided his mouth lower, from her neck to her collarbones, until he had reached her petite breasts, rubbing his face against them. He couldn't get enough of her scent and warmth, kissing and licking her nipples.

The tingling sensation of his tongue made her body shiver, bringing a rush of excitement. Her hands moved upwards to his hair, letting her fingers run through it. She failed to hide her moans, a few escaping, causing a surge of ecstasy to run to her toes, which curled in response. It was quite difficult to maintain her composure.

Her whimpers drove him crazy, glazing her teats tenderly like they were his favorite type of ice cream he couldn't get enough of.

She looked down at Heeseung's erection, grabbing it in her hand. Her fingers wrapped around it gradually, her heart rate racing, mind all over the place. She was lost in passion and had a hard time believing this was happening.

He leaned to her ear, his breath brushing over her after whispering her name. Her touch sent shivers down his spine, but he was also excited at the same time. It's been a while since the last time he had felt the sensation of a woman's touch on him, and he liked it.

She kept guiding her hand, traveling up and down his shaft. He continued twitching in her hand, overstimulated by her touch and existence. She struggled to properly inhale, the intensity of their activities sucking in all the clear oxygen roaming around the room.

Heeseung was going crazy. He was shivering and jolting, all his sensations heightening, and his body was becoming a little sensitive. She didn't have to touch his sensitive area to make him squirm. The way she used her hand to stroke him made any self-control he had left fly out of the window. The pleasure of her touch was overbearing.

"I missed you so much," she confessed, her thumb pressing on the head of his member, causing him to hiss in pleasure.

"I missed you too, Y/N," he whispered, letting a low moan slip out of his lips. She had his full attention. Not even his breath would slip away.

The way she took pride in making him squirm and moan, the way she traced him like a paintbrush across a canvas, made his heart skip a beat, wanting more of her.

He slowly thrust his member into her hand, practically using her to ease his arousal. She guided her palm gently down his shaft, letting him pleasure himself using her body. She kissed his neck, gently biting it. It was fun to care for the dominant one in the relationship.

Heeseung groaned as her lips kissed and nibbled on his neck. The feeling of the kisses left the blood running hot through his veins, sending a rush of heat through, slightly spasming below.

His hands moved down her body, one of them grasping her hips. She groaned as he felt his fingers circling her sacred part, spitting down for easy access inside.

"You shouldn't be doing this," he panted, his index playing with her clit.

"I should be the one pleasuring you," he stopped her from doing anything more, not wanting her to feel as though she needed to compensate him in any way.

His hand moved down to her body, skimming over her skin and body before settling down between her legs. His fingers caressed her folds, sending shivers.

"But I want to," she pouted, attempting to close her legs when his face was inches away from her exposed lower part.

"I know you do, but it's time that I got to return the favor to you," he cupped her thighs, squeezing them gently as he lifted her legs over his shoulders.

She covered her mouth, closing her eyes the minute his tongue brushed over her woman parts, causing her to throw her head back from euphoria.

Heeseung's touch was gentle but firm. He wasn't being forceful, he wasn't being rough, he was merely enjoying the moment of watching her body shake and tremble.

His hand moved lower and lower, his finger tracing your entrance.

His spit slipped inside, alongside his fingers, moving them in and out with ease while licking her clit. He pushed his fingers in more, curling them upwards to hit that sweet spot that would make her moan and groan in pleasure.

"Hee," she panted, drooling over how good she was feeling, tugging his hair since she needed to hold onto something. After all, she was going through cloud nine.

His touch left her gasping for air like a dying woman. She had no choice but to squirm and moan, letting a wave of ecstasy take over. It felt like she was in another world, the feeling extremely intense.

Heeseung's fingers circled and moved inside her, causing her to dissolve. She gritted her teeth, hands forming into fists as the pleasure overstimulated her.

His were moving slowly and methodically, focused on her that the world around him almost didn’t exist anymore.

It was as if the both of them were in their little worlds, enjoying the feeling of being together, their breathings syncing, bodies blending into one blossom. His hands slowly picked up the pace, going slightly quicker while remaining gentle.

"Hee," she called out softly, fighting to contain her lewd sounds, legs shaking slightly as the stimulations were overlapping. She felt like she was going to explode any second.

He knew what you were going through because he could see her expressions rapidly changing with each lick and curl. She was reaching that point where she couldn't hold it in anymore. It made him happy since this was proof that he was capable of pleasuring her to such an extent.

"I love you," she cried from the pleasure, arms crossing over her face to hold it all in. His fingers were quickly moving deeper and faster. He wanted her to experience as much as she could right now.

The words of affection got Heeseung feeling all mushy inside. He wanted to please her, to make her experience everything he could give.

"I-" her mind went blank, turning your head from one side to the other, feeling her climax building up inside. She was so close, and she couldn't hold on anymore. Her hand immediately grabbed his free one, tightly gripping it.

Heeseung didn't stop, speeding up to drive her over that edge.

"Hee-" she called desperately, legs shaking as he kept licking and moving his fingers quicker.

"Relax… Just relax, Y/N… Let go, let go for me," he said, his voice soft but commanding.

Without another minute, her nails dug deeper, her body shaking and tugging rapidly as she reached her climax, completely covering his fingers in her arousal. Heeseung smiled, licking all of her cum from his fingers and entrance, edging her with his kitten licks.

"Fuck," she cursed, overstimulated by everything.

She felt like all the tension had left her body - as if gravity had let go, and she was floating in the air. Her mind was blank, body trembling, breath quick and shaky as the feeling of pleasure was running all through your system.

"Heeseung," she whispered, pulling him closer.

He smiled a little as he moved his hand up to her cheek.

She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, kissing his neck over and over again.

"Please, put it in," she begged, resting in his embrace.

The moment she spoke was almost like music to his ears, and Heeseung knew exactly what you were asking for.

He gently pushed her down onto her back, leaning over with his hand trailing down her shoulder and chest to her neck. He let his other hand move lower slowly to touch her properly.

"Are you ready?", he whispered.

She kissed him, letting her actions speak. Her tongue immediately slid inside, breathing and moaning into his mouth.

He matched her energy, his tongue fighting with hers. He wasn't being gentle, neither was he being a beast. He was allowing the moment to unfold, not rushing it. The wet kisses were leaving them yearning for more.

"I don't want to wait anymore, Hee," she conveyed, wholly resting her body on the bed. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, putting her arms above her head.

It was her way of letting him know that she was ready. That she needed him, now.

Those words sent his blood boiling, causing his member to twitch and jolt from the feeling of wanting her so badly.

He looked down at her marvelous body, noticing the position she had placed herself in for him - the invitation he saw in her eyes made him go wild.

He leaned down to her, his breath handling her with every word that came out of his mouth.

"Are you sure you can handle me?" he whispered, his voice a little low and husky from the intense moment.

"Stop talking and just do it already," her patience was getting thin, rubbing her lower part against his.

He grinned, unable to hold back the smile on his face after she snapped at him. With his body resting over hers, his hands went to the back of her legs, squeezing them slightly.

He looked into her eyes once more before pushing his body forward, aligning his shaft at her entrance. It wouldn't have been Heeseung if he hadn't teased first, rubbing his member against her slickness. He enjoyed watching her whimper in agony and frustration.

Her mind went blank the more he teased, swept away from his touch. There wasn't one single thought in her mind, merely focusing on this moment.

Her hands gripped his muscular arms, moans getting louder with each moment he rubbed against her beautiful body.

Heeseung's mind was on nothing but giving her satisfaction. Her legs gripped his back, voice becoming more breathy and soft as she wanted him to ease her arousal.

He smiled, and without a warning, he put himself in, his dick sliding inside her smoothly, causing both of them to moan loudly.

Her slippery and hot walls trapped him inside, trying to soothe his tugging and jerking shaft. He groaned, his abdomen drawing in at every push, shaking his head from the vigor of pleasure. She was unreal, her beauty, her body, just all of her.

Heeseung opened his eyes after calming down, his breathing deepening. His lips agonized for hers, huffing his compressed desire and longing into a powerful and passionate kiss. It was the longest one of today, sucking her lips in his mouth, his tongue grazing over, between, or under them continuously. He couldn't get enough, cursing at how unbelievable this was.

Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her ears, not believing that this was happening to her right now.

"H-Hees…" she could barely say his name as her voice quivered. He was using one hand to hold her against him, his other moving down to her hand.

"Y/N…" He breathed out, his voice husky and shaky. His thumb rubbed her hand, squeezing it gently to the point she could feel his touch.

The feeling of him being inside was a mix of many things, but the main factor was that it felt right. His body fit like a puzzle inside, like two pieces finally joining together.

She had used this expression before, but there was no better way of describing this bliss. It was too perfect to be true.

She was losing her mind, forgetting to breathe.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered, the words barely audible from being so lost in the moment.

His hips slowly moved alongside her, their bodies now both thrusting together, absolutely lost in the moment.

All of his thoughts disappeared, the rush for pleasure consuming him. His lips met her shoulder between kisses, his tongue licking along it.

She did as he said, inhaling and exhaling filthy noises, turning him on even more. Her eyes were teary, not because it hurt, but because it felt too good.

“Good girl,” he whispered, caressing her hair.

His hips kept moving, taking longer, his back arching as he did. It took everything in him not to lose himself in the pleasure, to hold back and make sure that this was a long and enjoyable experience for both sides.

"Don't ever leave me again, please," she pleaded, realizing how emotional she was getting with each thrust. The fear inside was climbing over her walls, ready to ambush.

"Never," he vowed, kissing her with such desperation that he couldn't control himself any longer. It was like he was craving more of her.

Her hands held onto his hips, nails digging into his skin for support. Her legs were starting to give up, shaking from the intensity and ecstasy of their lovemaking.

Heeseung noticed her legs, moving his hand down to grip her thigh and hold it up slightly. He knew that he had to make adjustments to take it slower and not wear her out so quickly.

“Heeseung,” she breathed out, watching their bodies moving together with every single thrust. How he slid inside her and pulled away, completely disappearing inside her while hitting her hallowed spot. She threw her back, the image sending goosebumps all over.

He watched her body twitch and shiver, nails digging into his back. His breath was growing shaky, incapable of thinking about anything but being inside of her, enjoying the moment when the two of them were connected completely.

She looked at him through her droopy eyelids, toiling to look straight as he kept pushing himself deeper. Her mouth was drooling slightly, a light string of saliva tracing down her neck. This had to be what they meant by being fucked until your brain was empty.

"I love you," he moaned, his voice shaking and his breath increasing in speed. He could barely keep himself from falling in that moment; he was trying his best to keep a steady rhythm.

Her eyes rolled back, completely deteriorating in his thrusts. The deeper he fucked her, the more her insides quivered.

Heeseung pushed even deeper, his mouth open and his breaths coming out in small puffs of white air.

Her nails left long scratches on his back, losing control over herself.

"I'm here," he whispered against her neck. "I'm not going anywhere." Every word he said had a sense of urgency and determination to it. He was there, in her arms and he wasn't leaving her.

"I love you so much, Hee," she sobbed, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Her moans occasionally slipped out due to his magical thrusts, becoming one with him.

"I love you too," he said quietly as he raised his other hand to her forehead and gently ran his fingers through her bangs. His hand came down to caress her cheek and he looked directly into her eyes. The passion he felt for her was overwhelming, and he couldn't think of anything at this moment but her and the wonderful moment they were sharing.

Heeseung moved his mouth back to her neck, kissing and nibbling softly. This feeling of belonging and unity between the two of them was just incredible.

His thrusts were longer but at the same time slower, his hand moving down her thigh and moving her legs down to his, he needed more grip for the both of their pleasure.

She bit her lips, eyes shutting at the phenomenal experience, throwing her head back and slightly arching. Her chest started hurting a bit, as their intercourse was getting a bit intense.

"Hey," he breathed, pulling himself out for a moment from your body. "Are you okay?"

It seemed that he caught on to the fact that she was beginning to feel some pain. He moved to the side and looked down at her, his face concerned.

"Sorry, it just," she pointed to the wound, exhaling loudly.

He realized that he made her discomforted. He couldn't stop himself from frowning, his face looking concerned.

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice a little low. "Just tell me what I can do to help relieve the pain, alright?"

"Maybe if we lay on our sides," she proposed, struggling to make herself turn

"That's a good idea," he helped her turn, leaning behind her and putting his arms around to help her stay in that position. His body eased into that position, laying his head behind her, arms holding her, and his chest touching her back.

"That's better," she smiled, breathing a bit easier now.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I was enjoying the moment so much that I got a little carried away…"

"No, it's ok, I was enjoying it as much as you," she turned her head back a bit, grabbing his hands and putting it on her stomach.

Heeseung's body relaxed after her reassurance, leaning in more to wrap himself around her, the top half of his body covering her while the lower half pushed deeper into her.

She whimpered when he slid back in, squeezing his hands with a resonant sigh. This time, he was slower and more gentle, kissing from her nape all down her spine, leaving a lengthy trace of ardor. His mouth traced slowly down her back, turning his adoration into a sensational experience.

It was different this time because his concerns about her comfort were clambering. He never wanted to hurt her, only aiming to give her pleasure. Hence, he grabbed her leg, putting it over his so he had more space to enter deeper, to hit that spot that sent her through the roof.

As expected, she let out a deep gasp, the sound escaping from her almost involuntarily. Heeseung's tongue traced another slow line down her spine and back up again, savoring her taste.

He caressed her inner thigh, moving his hand back to her chest to play with her teats. His thumb and index grabbed them, twisting them around. He loved her appearance, but her breasts were the real treasure he never got enough of.

Words weren't able to describe how incredible this moment was, how their bodies connected and merged into one blossom of fervor.

His hands trailed up and down, drafting her marvelous curves. His touch felt light and gentle, yet there was still a sense of urgency and power behind it.

"You're so fucking beautiful, it's driving me crazy," he cursed, squeezing her breast.

"You're… you're so perfect," he spat out in between kisses, his body getting comfortable and used to this position. He bit down more forcefully on her neck, his kisses leaving more and more red marks.

"Hold me close, please," she whimpered, looking for his hands on her body.

"I got you," he said, body shifting to fully align with hers, arms gripping her from behind to tighten. He brought his face into her neck, his breathing speeding up with each kiss he gave her.

"Never let go," she sobbed, squeezing his hands with her trembling ones.

"Never, I promise," he pledged, holding her close to his chest.

She could feel his heart beating in time with hers, both sounding like they were about to explode.

"Never," she repeated, praying it was going to become true.

Heeseung kissed her deeply and passionately, pressing his body up against hers.

He was aware of her intonation, the worries raking in her head. Every kiss was stronger, more intense, and hotter than the last as he had to destroy all of them, one by one. His lips moved along her neck, tongue encircling on her neck, licking along it as he left no spot untouched.

She sat up, pushing him back on the bed. Heeseung's eyes widened, his reflexes quickly grabbing her wrists to prevent her from falling back.

She slightly groaned, lowering her head a little to catch her breath.

"Can you also sit up?" she proposed, wanting the two of you to make love while hugging each other.

He did as she asked, lifting himself a bit, leaning his back against the bed as he sat up with his legs spread. His hands held her back, one of his hands moving down to hold her leg as the other rested back on his. His mouth met hers, giving her a long kiss, not letting go of her in any way.

"I wanted to look at you," she voiced as she guided his shaft back inside her, scrunching her face.

"That's fine," he breathed out, his voice hoarse from being in her again, the constant switching driving his member to aggravate.

His eyes looked at her while her body trembled and twitched, his body feeling incredible. It was almost like being high, heavenly, and divine.

"I can feel your heart beating against mine," she smiled, her chest brushing against his, her perky nipples stimulating themselves.

Heeseung's heart beat faster every time she did that, her soft hands tenderly caressing his body, as if it would break in her delicate touch. She went over the muscles of his leg, his stomach, his chest, and eventually his arms. Her touch sent shivers down his spine and made him moan and sigh, realizing just how much she was driving him crazy.

"I missed you so much," she chuckled, masking the pain in her voice by cupping his cheeks.

"I missed you too," he breathed out, his lips locking with yours, making sure to kiss her deeply to show how much she meant to him.

Every kiss and bite seemed to drive a feeling of euphoria through his body, like every time he kissed her, a wave of happiness and satisfaction coursed through.

She closed her eyes when he caressed her back, circling it with a tender push. He made her feel so comfortable and safe, all with just one look, one touch, one kiss.

His kiss was the sweetest thing, his hands and lips exploring every inch of her. He wanted to feel all of her curves and touch every inch of her skin.

Her fingers wandered into his hair as the kiss deepened, huffing into his mouth while gently moving up and down, making both of them feel the most wonderful fractions inside.

He pulled her closer, their bodies wrapped around each other, unable to let go of one another. Their hands rested along each other's sides and their legs slightly entwined underneath.

Heeseung's tongue slid in and out of her mouth, exploring all of the areas he had already tasted before. He licked her upper lip after moving his hands down her hips.

He firmly gripped them, guiding her up and down his cock while he sucked on her neck, leaving trails of hickeys.

His breath warmed her icy skin and his lips kissed and nibbled along. Her body was starting to tremble and shake, his tongue returning to her lips. His kisses were extremely passionate, the ones where she forgot to breathe or think.

She pulled away, staring into his eyes through her lax gaze, mouth slightly agape, lips covered in their saliva. Her brain was empty, not thinking about anything but his presence and being inside her.

It felt like a deer caught in the headlights, clueless and innocent.

Heeseung smirked, watching her stare back but not knowing what to say. She appeared so pure it made him want to kiss her over and over again, fully swallow her in smooches and happiness.

He ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her face towards him again, this time gently kissing her neck.

Her wet lips brushed against his neck, quietly puffing and huffing. Her saliva was pooling on his shoulder since she rested her face on it, unintentionally drooling from the sensation.

Neither of them had any intention of stopping, wanting this moment to be eternal. When he saw how much she was enjoying herself, when he felt how aroused she was and how much he was giving her pleasure his lips curled into a satisfied smile.

His hands moved back from her cheeks to her hips again, squeezing her waist. His kisses still moved along her neck, his tongue occasionally nibbling at her collarbone and leaving it slightly red from the small love bites. 

She was drunk-dazed from his love and affection, from his kisses and touch, from his presence. One man was enough to wreck your entire world over and gather it up back, and that was Lee Heeseung. 

"I love you," he muttered. 

Nothing else was on his mind other than how gorgeous she looked, how incredible she felt, and how good it was to see every expression on her face from pleasure to satisfaction.

"Say it again," she murmured into his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You want me to.. say it again?" he asked, his voice a bit playful, yet his smile warm and genuine.

He moved his tongue to the side of her neck, running it from her ear to her collarbone, kissing it softly.

"I love you."

"Again," she smiled, closing her eyes from the exhaustion.

Heeseung chuckled, caressing her cheeks and running his fingers through her hair.

"Hmm, should I?" He teased, his voice mischievous.

"Should I say it again?" His breath and hand fondled her neck with marks.

"Mhm," she nodded, lazily dragging her lips on his neck.

"I love you..." he breathed out, moving his lips down until they reached hers.

"How many times do you want me to say it?"

"Until the day I die," she mumbled, eyelids shut and mouth still drooling, body completely relaxed and leaning against his.

"I love you," he repeated, giving you a light kiss.

"I love you." Another kiss

"I love you." Another one.

"I love you." The last one, slightly rougher than the rest. 

"How much, though?" her eyelids open a little, giving him a tired, but extremely seductive look, the one he lost himself in each time. 

"Hmm.. let me think," he chuckled, feeling the hotness mounting in himself from her look alone.

"If I could, I would take all of your pain away and replace it with the happiness you deserve. I would give you the whole world just to see you smile in my arms every day. I would give my life to make yours wonderful. I would sacrifice anything just so you can feel safe and loved. "

She whimpered at his words, eyes watering and insides rolling over. Her nails dug into his back again, hiding her flushed, red face in his shoulder.

"I would fight for you and protect you with my life, not allow anyone to hurt you ever again. I would fondle you in love and affection, from the moment you open your eyes till you close them," Heeseung breathed out, her scent intoxicating him.

"S-stop," she whinced in pleasure, eyes rolling back. The more he spoke, the closer she was to cumming, his words messing up her insides.

"You're my world, my life, my home, my reason to breathe every day. I want to take care of you and protect you, make you happy, and keep you warm every single time you feel cold or sad," his breathing shallowed as he spoke, feeling incredibly turned on by her reaction.

"E-enough," she pulled back, throwing her head back. He grabbed her wrists, not allowing her to escape his love.

"Never," he responded, pulling her back into his arms.

"I want to be with you all the time, I want to feel your body against mine, I want to make you feel loved, I want you to be mine and me to be yours until we die."

"S-shut u-up," she stuttered out, knowing she was minutes away from her orgasm.

"Why would I stop? " he asked, moving his thumb over her shoulder, circling and brushing her skin with the slight graze of a nail, leaving little marks on her skin.

He was also close to his climax, so he was more determined to finish the job than ever. His body tightened around her and his kissing became more profound and stronger.

"You need to hear the truth," he hissed in her ear, clasping her buttocks in his hands, pushing her onto his dick. 

"H-Heseung, I'm gonna-" she trembled, biting onto his shoulder to keep her loud moans in.

"Don't hold it in," his mouth ran along her shoulder and her arm, the marks getting darker with every kiss.

"Cum with me, please," she pleaded urgently as if her life mattered to it. 

"I will, don't worry," he kissed her cheek, caressing her head. 

Without another minute, her nails dug deeper, her pussy trapping his shaft in her fully. Her walls spasmed in a periodic pattern, sucking him in. Her clear cum glistened his shaft, wrapping him in its warmth and comfort. 

"Good girl," he whispered, his jaw twitching slightly. He wrapped both of his arms tighter and pulled her into a messy kiss.

His release followed up right after, managing to pull out just in time to cover her abdomen in his crystal white load. He panted as his fingers traced his cum on her stomach, spreading it all across her. 

His other hand gently laid her down, licking all of his mess off of her, the same way he did with her own. 

Perhaps it was the overstimulation he loved to observe on her or the fact that she clung to him more after cumming. Either way, he didn't stop rolling his wet tongue along her body. 

"My good girl," Heeseung whispered into her slick hole, pushing his tongue inside to slurp up all of her cum like it was a treat. 

Did he love her? Yes.

However, was he a bit of a sadist? Yes.

A low moan escaped his lips as he felt his mouth filled with her cum, his free hand gripping hers tightly. 

"H-hee."

He lifted his stare, landing on her adorable one, beseeching him to hug her. 

"You look so cute when you’re all tired like this, Y/N," he smirked, a faint peck landing on her cheek. His hand intertwined with her, the other playing with her hair. 

Sometimes, the amount of love he harvested for her managed to surprise him, finding himself falling apart in her touch and gaze. 

"H-hee," she whispered, closing her eyes. She tried to fight her exhaustion, but it was starting to get to her.

He saw how drowsy she looked, so he pulled her tighter to his body. 

"Go to sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up," he kissed her, his voice very relaxed and comforting.

"You promise?" she murmured, half asleep on his chest. 

"I promise," he assured, kissing her forehead and tucking her against him, pressing her body against his.

His hands stayed on her side, keeping her safely in his warm embrace.

"Until the day I die."

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Taglist: @end-hyphen, @hee-pster, @jakeswifeyy, @gegeetime, @heerated, @jayked, @forjongseong, @enhastolemyheart

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ^^

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@maggstar

[psilliguykai]

WELCOME TO WILLIAM’S WANTON WEARY WILES!

An impulsive, apathetic man’s misanthropic jams. An eclectic collection of futile dissensions, a pretentious pile of literary bile filled with self destructive theatrics and rectifying tactics and any other slew of showy words.

Welcome.

(Info under the cut)

*queue WTTH instrumental*

Hello boys, girls, neithers, boths, and in-betweens and welcome to William’s Wanton Weary Wiles, a Will Wood/WWATTW x CCCC AU! Consider this a masterpost. Note that this AU is still very much in development, and this post will be updated as things change/get added :] Also. being totally up front. I’ve never made an AU or attempted a story this complex before, so please bare with me if things get confusing! Feedback is appreciated ^^

Warning! WWWW tackles sensitive topics, but nothing foreign to Will Wood or Chonny Jash’s music. Appropriate warnings will be put in the tags of each post, but overall CW/TW for: alcoholism/addiction, mental health issues, suicidal ideation, manipulation, and (moderate) violence.

The WWWW AU story is very similar to the original CCCC album, but with slightly different themes and tone. It still follows HMSW after Whole splits, creating Heart, Mind, and Soul. However, each character and their dynamics + certain plot points (e.g the Juno incident) are altered.

Asks about this AU are extremely welcome! Could be genuine questions, thoughts, serious, silly - anything (so long as it’s SFW!) is great and will help me with making this a Better and Actual Thing :3

In WWWW each member of HMSW represents and is based off of a WW(ATTW) album. Each character’s songs are from their respective albums, and the story will be told in the form of a written series of covers of songs by WW/WWATTW (plus some visual pieces :]). These will be posted individually and linked here as they get released.

3/31/25 EDIT: The information above is somewhat outdated! The idea of having to write 20+ song covers has been kind of killing my motivation for this project, so I've decided I will only be writing the covers I'm confident and interested in. However, the full tracklist with notes on what happens in each song will be posted soon[ish] and hyperlinked here when it's finished so you all still get the full storyline :]

While HMSW still exist with the same vague concepts and color themes, they do diverge a decent bit from the original CCCC album and I would not consider them to be representations of canon HMSW (or of any real people, including Whole /srs). Ref sheets have been posted and are linked in each character's name.

Important overall info: 

- HMS exists in a sort of parallel reality I’m calling Marybell (as a reference to Suburbia Overture as well as The Prescription). It’s a town within Will’s psyche that reflects his reality. It can change depending on his state of mind/current situation, and pretty much only exists to provide a physical space for HMS.

- Time loop!! Soul remembers every loop and knows the vague events that happen when Will is whole (though the memories are less clear than when he’s split). Heart and Mind don’t remember previous loops and aren’t really aware of anything when HMS is combined. Physical changes caused to any of HMS remain, even when the timeloop resets.

- LI does exist in WWWW! She’s about as significant as she is in CCCC and will probably get at least an intro, if not her own ref sheet at some point. I also have a sort of Darrell-equivelant which will probably get his own thing at some point as well.

Meet the cast: 

All characters have multiple names which can/will be used interchangeably. I’ve included the pronouns I think the characters would use, but you all are welcome to use whatever you’d like for any of them. Run free :3 here are the posts with the ref sheets for each of them - info on its own is below:

William

Jimmy/Laplace/Cotard

Whole:

- Whole/Will/William Racheal McSprout

- In Case I Make It

- He/him (GNC Cis Guy)

- 23-24 years old across the album

- Works at a small grocery/general tourist store

- Makes music as a side hobby. Not that successful lol. He makes decent stuff though - within the AU, the ICIMI covers featured would be considered his original music. 

- Spends his extra money on video games, alcohol, music equipment (sorta, though he mostly borrows shit and uses free programs), and serving cunt (fashion/makeup stuff)

- Not aware of HMS, though they’re aware of him. Mostly just feels a general sense of dissonance during splits, rather than Knowing the presence of these Multiple Actual Guys. Can’t interact with Marybell, same as HMS can’t (directly) interact with the “Real World”.

Soul:

- The Soul/Mr. Capgras/Cotard/Atlas

- He/it

- SELF-iSH

- Whole’s “self” - who he is at his core. His identity and personality at its most raw form. 

- He’s the most in-tune with Will’s actual state of being (health, emotions, etc.) and considers himself to somewhat be William, just separated and with pieces of himself missing. 

- Ultimate goal is to become a Happy Healthy and Alive Whole. Unlike in CCCC, the self-destruction is left more to H/M in this one .

- Knows he needs to get Heart and Mind to work together if he wants to keep William good and well, but he’s growing incredibly tired throughout the loops. He primarily experiences Will’s worst moments and rarely gets a break. Spends most of him life trying to get these. Fuckers. to get along and he’s so incredibly done with both of them. Growing distant, but ultimately does care about H/M on a personal level and really wishes they could all be happy together.

Mind:

- The Mind/Laplace/Al/Marsha/Apollo

- He/she

- The Normal Album

- Whole’s logic, as well as his self-control and calculated decision making. Doing his best to keep Will stable and often doing so to the point of burnout.

- Primarily tries to keep Heart in check, to the point of excessively trying to control it and Soul. Wants to keep Whole productive and functional by any means necessary. 

- At the end of the day, he does want Whole to live a happy life, but (despite keeping up a facade of superiority and strength) fears Heart’s impulsiveness/ erratic nature and feels the need to over-compensate in order to keep Will safe. 

Heart:

- The Heart/Jimmy/Vestal/Artemis

- He/it

- Everything Is a Lot

- Whole’s emotions, as well as his impulsiveness and indulgence. Sometimes joy-seeking, sometimes self-destructive. Often those two go hand in hand.

- Focused on breaking free from Mind’s controlling nature, trying to get her and Soul to “live a little”. Wants to allow Whole unbridled indulgence (in every whim and emotion, including negative) often to the point of self-destruction. 

- Ultimately knows he’s wrecking Will, but finds it’s the only way he knows to soothe his suffering. He knows Mind is right about them needing to get their shit together, but finds him difficult to work with and listen to when he’s so excessively overbearing. 

Tags:

Everything about this AU will be listed under the tags #wwww au and #william’s wanton weary wiles. 

Additional tags (color-coded according to character): #William Racheal McSprout, #Jimmy wwww, #Al wwww, and #Mr. Capgras wwww