#unshakeable faith in him

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Teruko and Yosano should've faced off. I think Yosano should've been posed that question that Atsushi was; that reveal of the "future war" - Teruko went along with Fukuchi out of a mix of indebtedness and being at a loss for what to do. War is all she's known; of course she doesn't know. But Yosano has been to the depths of despair and come back out of it again. She might've faltered at this horrific reminder of her trauma, but when it comes down to it, she saves the lives before her. She fought for a way back to light and life. I just think there could've been a really interesting conflict there. And it would've made Teruko's role much more tragic if she wanted desperately for there to be a third option but just didn't have enough time to sit with it and process what that third option might be before Fyodor made it all go to hell.

Also a fight between them would've been interesting, because Teruko is much physically stronger than Yosano, but Yosano can heal from any physical injury inflicted. However, since we now know Teruko can alter mental age, she could inflict psychological wounds by de-aging her, which would've been a good callback to the horrors of war in her backstory, and also been a nice bit of foreshadowing for Teruko actually being a child.

Teruko eventually allowing Yosano to leave out that door after seeing her resolve would've been a deeply bittersweet and powerful moment, I think, especially in hindsight after her backstory reveal.

[loveinhawkins]

thinking about the first time Dustin actually sees Eddie without any of his high school persona on show. They’re locking up the drama room after Hellfire, and Eddie realises that he’s left his acoustic guitar in one of the music classrooms, so Dustin follows him.

It’s then that they find a very young looking freshman sat by Eddie’s guitar—Dustin had thought that maybe he looked a little daunted starting Hawkins High, but she looks absolutely miserable.

They manage to piece together the fact that she had a violin lesson, went to the bathroom, then got completely disoriented on her way back, the teacher nowhere in sight; she stayed put, kept doubting herself about what was the way out to the parking lot.

And Eddie… he doesn’t poke fun, not even a little bit. He just picks up his guitar, says, “Don’t worry, this place’s a labyrinth sometimes,” and guides her out.

He doesn’t leave the parking lot until the girl finds her mom’s parked car, just keeps smiling even when the mom regards him with poorly concealed disdain.

That’s how Dustin knows Eddie’s kindness is the real deal: it’s not for show, not for the benefit of anyone else—not even himself. It just is.

So when the news is full of the death of Chrissy Cunningham, when others start whispering darkly about how they’re not surprised that Munson boy was no good, Dustin never once doubts Eddie.

He’s seen the very best of him, long before The Upside Down.

[astro-b-o-y-d]

I've gotta be real, you're out of your mind if you actually, unironically consider B/llford 'old man yaoi'.

[larsnicklas]

'i would've liked to not have picked the low corner, scared me a little bit, but uh, found the back of the net.' (x)

+ the aforementioned low corner

[seravphs]

It’s going to be okay guys

[raayllum]

rayla's "is this a guessing game? just do it!" to "what are you talking about? that's impossible" to "callum! but how did you—?" to "humans could do anything, they could be anything, they could take their own fates and change them—" to "then take a different path, dummy!"

[tytangfei]

a;sdklfdja i just realized that liu xueyi haven't had many main roles in dramas??? which is wild to me. he's been hot and psycho since love and redemption (2020), and he needs to be typecasted immediately for all roles like this, please and thanks

[handgiven]

@talentforlying, cont. from here.

eyes that do not see through their light, yet somehow see all instead, do take a while to take constantine in. if the face is capable of any sort of expression, it is detached, disinterested, perhaps even ever so slightly disappointed. "̵̻̪̟͚̋͑̑̓̂̓͌̚ţ̴̨̧̮̞͙̝̤̫̯̙͔̓̒̂̈̀̏̔͂̎͐͜͜͝ḩ̴̧̛̳̹̪͕͓͉̅̔̋͑̌̾͌̅͒̆̒̓͘͠e̷̢̫͉̲̭̮̪͚͈͊̈́̅̍͛̓͗͂̃̄̀̅̒̉̚͜ÿ̴̡̠͔̖͕͚̝̪͖͈́̅͗̔̊͜ ̵̨̢̟̦̣̲̼̓́̏ͅw̴̧̙͔̭̏̏̀̑̔͝e̵͍̬͔̫͂͌͊̈́̈́̽̇̀͊̕͠ŗ̶̡̛̰̥̘̘̝͍̾̒̍̂̀͑̇̒́͗̑e̸̡͍̻̗̤̣͑̈ ̷͚͚̆̐̽̄́͋̀͂͑̆̚͝r̷̨͚̰͔̼͚̤͉̉̓̓̂̑̓̍͘ͅi̶̧̛̩̱̞͔̫̐͠g̴̯̩̣͉͖̥̪͍̿͆̈̎̎ḩ̴̲͔͖͍̗̩͕͓̮̻̯̭̿̓̀̾̂̋̔̄͑̕̕̕͝t̴̡͈̟͌̉͒̓̀́͝ ̶̨̛̮̻̺̺̪̹̟͕͈̾̓̈̑̓̀̓͋̄̿́͘͜͝a̵̠͚̤͕̬̱̱̱̫̣̔̇̿̆ͅḇ̷̡̧͚̩̠̯̦̆͂͗o̸̞̱͉̲͖̖̟͈̼͝u̴̧̨̨͉̘̲̤͔̟̎̄̍̏̓̂͆́͋͐̈͜t̵̙̬̤̮̼̜̝͎̤̺́̓̒̉ ̷͈̗̬͎̠̤͇͇̲̗̇̕y̸̬̹̝͖̟̺̾̈̓̌͊̊o̷̧̹͔̲̙̬͈̺̒͗̅̍ǘ̶̳̩̬͉͖̪̠͎̈̇.̵̧̲̼̠̥͈̖̺̫͓̼͒͂͌̍̿̐͝"̴̢̘͚͚̝̭̹̜͎͖͕̬̱͛̚

[actiaslunaris]

"He would never have resorted to murder. ...Ishigami wouldn't do something so foolish." -- Yukawa Manabu.

[yeslordmyking]

The Fear of the Children of Israel

Exodus 14:10-13

[10] And when Pharaoh drew nigh, the children of Israel lifted up their eyes, and, behold, the Egyptians marched after them; and they were sore afraid: and the children of Israel cried out unto the LORD.

[11]And they said unto Moses, Because there were no graves in Egypt, hast thou taken us away to die in the wilderness? wherefore hast thou dealt thus with us, to carry us forth out of Egypt?

[12]Is not this the word that we did tell thee in Egypt, saying, Let us alone, that we may serve the Egyptians? For it had been better for us to serve the Egyptians, than that we should die in the wilderness.

[13]And Moses said unto the people, Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD, which he will shew to you to day: for the Egyptians whom ye have seen to day, ye shall see them again no more for ever.

The poor Israelites were so afraid that they'd rather stay enslaved and never take a stand than for Moses to provoke the Egyptians in attempt to free them, even with God's power and all that He displayed throughout beforehand. It's so easy for us while sitting on a church pew or in the comfort of our own homes to judge the Israelites as faithless, but in moments of fear like this, we are so guilty of losing faith in God, sometimes to the point where we'd rather keep our heads down and stay in a lower state than believe He can and will deliver us. Though it is good to endure and necessary suffering, we mustn't be afraid when God leads us down a difficult path that leads to His promise!

[asoiaf-bambii]

𝔖outhern 𝔚ife

summary: to Cregan Stark, winter was comforting; to his southern-born wife, it was cruel. but with their child on the way, he’d shield them both from the north’s relentless cold — no matter the cost.

paring: cregan stark x southern!reader (house not specified)

The North had always been an unforgiving place. To those who called it home, it was a land of harsh beauty, where the cold was a constant companion, and survival was more than a mere skill—it was a way of life. But to outsiders, the North felt more like an eternal challenge, an unrelenting test of endurance.

For Cregan Stark, the endless white blanket of snow and the biting chill in the air had always been sources of comfort. The North was his sanctuary, a place where he felt both bound and unshakably rooted. In the winter, when the skies turned grey and the world seemed to hold its breath beneath a blanket of snow, he found a quiet peace. There was something almost sacred in the solitude of those cold days, something that echoed within the depths of his own heart.

But when he looked at you, he saw an entirely different story.

You stood near the grand hearth of Winterfell’s main hall, wrapped in furs far heavier than anything you’d ever needed in the warm, golden South. The flames cast a soft glow across your face, warming your cheeks, and for a moment, Cregan let his gaze linger, watching the subtle, delicate way your brow furrowed as you stared into the fire, seeking warmth. The South had been your world—a land of balmy breezes, of flowering gardens and warm sunshine. Winterfell, with its ancient stone walls and freezing nights, must have felt like a fortress built of ice and shadows.

His gaze softened, though his features remained as stern as ever. In you, he saw a softness, a gentleness that the North rarely harboured. It was as if the warmth of your homeland clung to you still, like a tender light that persisted against the cold. But he could see it too—the subtle, weary lines in your expression, the faint tremble in your hands when the chill crept too close.

And it was more than just you now. The child within you, the life you both awaited with an unspoken hope and an unyielding fear, made the stakes even higher. The North would be his child’s home, just as it was his. But as much as he loved his land, he knew it would be no kinder to his child than it had been to him.

As he approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, you looked up, and a gentle smile lifted your lips. He could see the love and trust in your eyes, the quiet faith you held in him to keep you safe, even here in this unfamiliar land. He moved closer, his large frame casting a shadow over you, his rugged face softened just a touch by the flickering firelight.

“I know this place feels foreign,” he murmured, his deep voice as steady as the mountains, “but I swear to you, it will be a home for you… for both of you.” His gaze lowered to your abdomen, where his child grew beneath your heart. A sacred duty—that was how he saw it. This fragile life, a blend of him and you, a delicate piece of both your worlds brought together—it was his to protect.

You reached out, placing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath layers of wool and leather. “I trust you, Cregan,” you whispered. “I know the North is in your blood. And I know… our child will come to love it, too. But sometimes… sometimes, it feels like the cold is too much, like it seeps into my bones.”

Cregan felt a pang of something he rarely allowed himself to feel: helplessness. He could swing a sword against any enemy and defend his land and his people against any threat. But this? The cold was an enemy he could not strike down, a force he could not control. All he could do was keep the fires burning, wrap you in furs, pull you close to his chest, and let his warmth shield you, even if it never quite chased away the cold completely.

“Then I’ll stay close,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. His hands, large and rough from years of sword-wielding, settled gently on your back, holding you as if you were as precious and fragile as the finest glass. “And when the cold feels too strong, I’ll be here to keep it at bay. My warmth, my strength—it’s yours. Every bit of it.”

You leaned into him, letting the heat of his body seep into you. The broadness of his shoulders, the unyielding strength that he carried so effortlessly, was a balm against the chill that seemed to haunt Winterfell’s halls. As you pressed your cheek to his chest, you felt his fingers gently brush your hair, an act that was tender in a way only he could make it—subtle, almost hidden beneath his roughness.

The silence stretched between you, a silence that spoke of shared worries, unspoken hopes, and a deep, quiet love that neither of you had yet fully put into words. For a man like Cregan, love wasn’t something expressed in declarations or grand gestures. It was in the steadfastness of his gaze, the unwavering loyalty he showed, the way his arms tightened around you as if vowing never to let go.

His grey eyes, as sharp and fierce as the winter storms, softened as he looked down at you, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your back. “The North is harsh,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It can be cruel. But it can also be… protective. Strong. Like the walls of Winterfell. I know it seems bleak, but it’s a kind of strength. The kind that will protect you, that will protect… our child.”

You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes, and saw something in his expression that stole your breath—a fierce, unbreakable promise. In that moment, you understood the North a little better. It wasn’t a place that gave its love freely; it was a land that guarded, that endured. And in Cregan’s embrace, you could feel that same strength, that same loyalty, radiating from him.

“Then I’ll learn to love it,” you replied softly, your voice steady with a resolve that matched his own. “If the North is your heart, then it is mine too. And our child will have the strength of both worlds.”

Cregan’s gaze held yours for a long, silent moment, as though committing every word, every promise, to memory. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the scratch of his beard warm against your skin. It was a kiss that felt like a vow, a promise that no matter how cold or dark the North became, he would be there to shield you from its worst.

As the night deepened, he held you close by the fire, his presence a solid wall against the chill that surrounded you both. And for the first time, you felt a little less of the foreign cold, a little more of the warmth and strength that Cregan carried within him.

In his arms, you realised, Winterfell did not feel quite so strange or unwelcoming. It was slowly becoming a home, built not just of stone and ice, but of shared warmth, unspoken promises, and the fierce loyalty of a man whose heart beat steady and unyielding as the North itself.

[muqingapologist]

i think it’s interesting how people often characterize lan wangji’s perspective of wei wuxian during and after the yiling laozi arc like “free my man, he did nothing wrong.” but to me, i feel like this is just selling short his character and his devotion to wwx. the way i see it, when wei wuxian is at his worst and in the years after when wwx comes back, lan wangji isn’t condoning his actions of that era. it’s more like, “i know you were trying to do the right thing, and things spiraled out of control, and i failed to help you back then, and i won’t fail you again.” it’s not wei wuxian’s actions that lan wangji is so defensive of but his intentions. even if lwj didn’t know at the time (and even when he comes back, at first) why wwx chose the ghostly path and gave up righteous cultivation, he has an unshakeable faith in wwx’s moral code, that wwx will do what he feels is right. or at least, doing what he thinks he needs to do to survive. this doesn’t necessarily mean that lan zhan thinks what wwx did as his mental state eroded WAS right. we see this so many times when lan zhan tries to help him, hoping that wwx will return to gusu with him. it’s not until it’s too late, when wwx is truly breaking down, that he understands that that wasn’t the right way to help wwx. the right way is to just be there for him, which is what he does when wwx returns. letting wwx make his own decisions while showing him that there is still someone who believes in him. imo this is much more meaningful than the other interpretation that i see a lot that i mentioned above. it’s about being there for wei wuxian even if he does make the wrong decisions because at the end of the day he knows that wwx, at his core, has good intentions.

[trellanyx]

If Rook is a Crow, can you imagine what Viago must be feeling during the strategy meeting before they fight Elgar’nan?

Rook, who was impulsive and reckless enough to destroy the Crows’ long term operation against the Antaam to “just” to save a few prisoners.

Rook, who returns home after the contract for Solas to say not only did they not complete it yet, but they unleashed two more elven gods in the process.

Rook, who commands Grey Wardens and pirates and necromancers and rebels. Who moves pieces across the board with confidence and precision, no room for impulse here, everything must be calculated just right or all is lost. Rook, whose team has complete, unshakable faith in them.

Rook, who now looks at Viago and gives him a contract.

It’s the most important one of his life. I also think it’s the one he’s proudest to accept.

[tyrantisterror]

There's a tweet going around right now about how "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" is uniquely American because Johnny wins instead of learning a lesson about hubris and, like... no, no it isn't, that's actually how a huge number of Christian devil folktales go, especially the earlier ones that are just Pagan trickster folktales with the serial numbers filed off. A good percentage of early devil stories are basically just Rumplestiltskin with Satan in the rumple role.

Like, there's one where a guy makes a deal to give Satan his wife in exchange for manual labor, and at the end he wins by making his wife cover herself in pigshit and chicken feathers so she looks so foul that the devil changes his mind and leaves without taking her. There's another where a guy goes to Satan's house and repeatedly tricks the devil into thinking he's got super strength by doing shit like crushing eggs and claiming they're rocks. The devil was not an insurmountable threat in folklore - if you had either guile or unshakable faith in God, you could easily kick his ass, and you'd have to be a pretty big dumbass with some extreme character flaws of your own to fail to beat him (Dr. Faust was not, in fact, a clever man).

Really, the interesting thing about "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" is that it recreates the feel of classic devil folklore so well while being pretty modern in how its music is structured. It makes me think that this folklore tradition must still be alive despite attempts to squash it out with more modern "The devil is unstoppable unless you convert to Christianity right now" storytelling.

[severinageto]

Eternals (Or one year since the airport)

Can the body feel without the soul?

Suguru trusted that something awaited him beyond. Some days he believed it more than others, but few can boast of having unshakable faith. So, when he felt his left arm, observed his youthful body, and examined the place awaiting him, he knew his belief hadn't been in vain. There he was, in the waiting area. For what? What else could happen when the finality of life had already taken place? A vast ocean on an empty beach would have made more sense. Even the darkness of Hades' hell. But no. Something had brought him to a plane that he sensed would not be just his own.

It didn't take long for him to realize what that ethereal place meant. He would need more than a pair of hands to count the times they'd been there, watching the screens, counting landings, and checking departures. "I hate flying, Suguru." "Why?" "Because it's so common." A playful shove, the luggage on the floor, the Ray-Ban store. Dozens of countries, hundreds of flights, and thousands of caresses. So, there he'd be, just like in his youth, sitting, reading, reflecting, until his eyes deigned to appear. He'd probably arrive late, just like always; late to their first date, late when he needed him, late to snatch away his life.

He wasn't wrong. A year, exactly. However, when he felt his presence, he couldn't help but ask himself: *Why did I keep waiting for him?*

"For the same reason he chose this day," he answered, looking sadly to the north.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he whispered to the soul starting to take form.

Gojo had thought about the possibility of dying before facing the cruel king of curses. He entertained the idea behind all the others but never materialized it into wills or declarations. Arrogant as always, he concluded it was no more than a slight probability, existing only because he had the misfortune of being mortal. "Nah, I'll win," he said, sure that the day would pass like any other.

Those who loved him had the bad luck of believing him.

Satoru, upon falling, felt nothing. There was no requiem, no eulogies. His heart simply stopped beating, and his soul crossed the plane dividing them. As he looked one last time at the vastness of the sky, a cold air, unlike any he had felt before, invaded his body. Yet he welcomed it gladly. He narrowed his eyes and breathed in the scent.

“Finally”, he murmured as the pressure in his veins disappeared.

Neither of them imagined that beyond life, the senses would be as sharp as when their lungs could still draw breath. Yet that first embrace, strong, intimate, almost suffocating, convinced them it was true. It wasn't until they inhaled each other's scent that they internalized the importance of something so basic, so corporeal, so earthly to both of them.

Satoru, in life, had never really thought about what the owner of his soul smelled like; "People don't smell like anything specific," he thought. However, when he rested his nose on that manly chest, the images that flooded his mind took him back to that lush, unique forest, to the clearing where he had often laid on his legs. "Move a little, Satoru." "Which way?" "Toward me." The spring flowers, the summer grass, the damp autumn soil, and the smoke from winter stoves—all had their own essence, one intertwined with that hint of incense that accompanied his caresses. It was the scent of camaraderie, of security, of intimacy.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," he'd say while combing his hair with his delicate fingers.

Over time, that same scent became painful for Satoru. Whenever he caught it, in some place or in something left behind, he felt a knot in his stomach—a mixture of nostalgia, sadness, and perhaps, just perhaps, a twinge of betrayal. His scent was something that lingered with him even after he was gone, something that still made Satoru feel that, in some way, his beloved curse manipulator remained the same person with whom he had shared so many moments. That he was still, after all, his partner, his lover, and his best friend.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," his deep voice from the window, the bare shoulder, the moonlight, and the glow of his cigarette outlining his delicate profile. A pitying look and a slammed door. His last earthly memory.

Suguru, on the other hand, was always sure of the notes generated by the strongest man's hormones. No wonder he watched him intently, as if there were nothing else to do on earth. The countless verses he dedicated to those sharp citruses in the intimacy of his notebooks. Satoru's scent reminded him of the mandarins they shared. Gojo would throw them at him, and he would peel them, while they talked, while they laughed, or while they were silent, always looking at each other as if they could see through each other's pupils. After all, it was a scent very fitting for the bearer of the Six Eyes. It evoked his electrifying personality, always standing out, for better or worse, from the rest of mere mortals.

From time to time, especially in the heat of summer, the albino's movements brought with them the freshness of his wild ocean. Free, expansive, as if he were one with the sky. For Suguru, that scent was the ultimate manifestation of his limitless technique; the ability to encompass everything belonged only to him and the untamable ocean.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" he would ask between sighs when the first rays of sunlight illuminated his pale complexion. His fingers searching for his, an alarm clock against the wall, a warm embrace.

Once time did its work, Satoru's fragrance began to confuse him. The love he felt for those long hands, for the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his hair mingled with the painful reminder of what he left behind, with the resentment for what was broken, and the deep sadness for all that could have been but never was. The possibility of waking up to his snores, of caring for him during his colds, of scolding him for his careless attitude. Ultimately, the possibility of navigating youth while holding those long hands.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" closed eyes, a raspy voice, bandages on the nightstand. The feeling that everything that had happened between them was the embodiment of the worst sin. A blink, a grunt, covering up again.

They would start again.

By the time death came for him, the scent of his beloved Six Eyes was a chemical manifestation of everything he had chosen to reject: the system, the structure he couldn't change, and, ultimately, him; with his magnificent strength, his figure, and the central axis of the world that, when he needed him most, gave him so much indifference. His scent, the embodiment of his greatest weakness. The slightest hint of his scent, of his purple scent, was a door to the past, to the memories he preferred to forget. To the moments when the love for his manic laughter, his strange occurrences, and his incredible intelligence knew no bounds. That fragrance was the last thing his body processed.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" a flash of purple light, his world fading to black. The question that no longer had an answer.

If the soul is incapable of feeling without the body, then why, when they crossed paths again, did the power of chemistry act as if they had never separated? Why did hunger, burning passion, and desperate longing for the other's body take over them as if it were the first day? Why was something as simple and earthly as a scent able to anchor one person to another?

Because perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps the presence of a curse manipulator was bound to the birth of the Six Eyes heir. Perhaps where the existence of one began, the other's ended. Perhaps something as profane as this world would never be enough to contain a love as eternally sacred as the one they intoxicated themselves with.

Or maybe they were always two bodies and one soul.

Their soul.

Gojo's nose sank into Suguru's neck. The curse manipulator's left hand slid over the albino's waist. Satoru's right knee touched Suguru's left. Their fingers intertwined, their lips met, their scents mixed, and they became one entity again.

Perhaps the earth stopped for a moment, surprised; the love that moved it had finally resumed.

“Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?”, he asked, resting on his legs, smiling flirtatiously.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he replied, as his delicate and soft hands welcomed him, eyes brimming with emotion.

Who would have thought an airport could feel like home?

The eternal home.

———————————✈️

©️ by https://x.com/yu7272s

[won4kiss]

⋆ ｡⋆୨୧˚— I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE.

𝜗𝜚 ༘⋆ ⋆˙pairing. husband! park sunghoon x fem! reader synopsis. you and sunghoon swore to be faithful to each other, unfortunately sunghoon couldn’t keep that promise. genre. angst ,, wc. 2012. 𝐥u𝐧a notes ⋆.˚ guys…how r we liking the layout 🤭.. 🫧 — 𝓵𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝔂. | part 2

if you enjoyed reading ,, pls like and reblog !! ‹𝟹 it helps out a lot ¡!

the past year had been a painful rollercoaster of emotions, each high point you’ve had has been followed by a devastating low. you remembered the countless amount of nights you waited for sunghoon, watching the clock tick away the hours as he stayed out late, you had gotten so used to the sound.

the scent of his cologne lingering on his clothes when he finally came home, the way his tie was undone, the way he avoided your gaze when you asked where he'd been. your accusations of him being unfaithful were met with immediate denials, his words cutting deep even as he tried to reassure you that you were his one and only love.

"i would never cheat on you, y/n" he'd say, pulling you into his arms.

"you're my everything." he would say with that look in his eyes, with both love and a conflict he is fighting deep within himself.

and you believed him, of course you would. he’s the same boy who courted you for six months in university because he was so deeply in love with you, the same man who flew you both to hawaii and gave you the most magical proposal ever to be done.

you tried to hold onto the love and trust that had once been so strong, so unshakeable. but each forgotten date, each broken promise chipped away at your trust, leaving you feeling hollow and alone.

today, on the morning of your anniversary, you awoke with a sense of something different, hope for you and sunghoon.

this would be the day you reminded sunghoon of the love you still had for him, and always will. the love that had brought you together in the first place.

you spent hours in the kitchen, preparing his favorite dishes, your hands moving with practiced ease as you cooked. the smell of his favourite kimchi stew and freshly made kimbap filled the air, the same cooking he said he would never ever get tired of.

the scents mingling with the hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the gesture that rekindled sunghoon’s love for you, you missed his touch, his kisses, the sparkle in his eyes, he still has it- but nowadays all he could really do is look down.

as you wrapped a red bow around the lunchbox, you grinned, perfect.

you drove to his office, each mile a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. as you walked through the lobby, your heart pounded with a mix of anticipation, fear, and longing.

the elevator ride seemed to take forever, the seconds stretching out as you rehearsed what you would say, how you would greet him, how you would kiss him.

but nothing in the world could have prepared you for the sight that met you when you opened the door to his office. sunghoon, your husband, the man you had vowed to love and cherish, for better or for worse, was locked in an embrace with his secretary, their lips moving together in a kiss that was all too passionate, all too real.

the box slipped from your hands, the sound of shattering glass, some pieces piercing your legs barely registering as you stood frozen in place.

you felt like you had been stabbed in the heart, you had never felt heartbreak before, and you didn’t understand people when they said everything hurt, now you did.

"y/n," sunghoon's voice broke through the fog of your shock, his eyes wide with panic as his hands trembled.

the hand with your wedding ring trembling.

"this isn't what it looks like honey,”

your chest tightened at the name, the name he couldn’t be bothered to address you as in months.

tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. the pain was unbearable, a physical ache that made it hard to breathe. without a word, you turned and fled, the sound of sunghoon calling your name fading as you ran. the drive home was a blur, sobbing as you got concerned looks from other cars, you were not in any shape to be driving, really.

but you didn’t care- your mind was reeling with the betrayal you had just witnessed.

at home, the same home you and sunghoon bought a month after your marriage- the home with six bedrooms because that was how many kids sunghoon wanted to have with you, the same home where you and sunghoon had late night talks, wrapped in each others embrace.

you moved through the house like a ghost, avoiding staring at the picture frame at the end of the hall, a picture taken on your wedding day.

your hands mechanically packing your belongings. each item you placed in your suitcase felt like another piece of your heart being chipped away.

you were almost finished when you heard the front door slam open, sunghoon's frantic footsteps echoing through the house.

“y/n-“

he cut himself off at the sight before him- the suitcase being packed, the sight of the wardrobe being oddly empty because your clothes would always be overflowing it.

"y/n, no.. please," he begged, sobbing as he fell to his knees before you. "don't leave me. i can't live without you, i won’t do it ever again."

you looked down at him, your heart aching with a mix of love and complete despair.

even after what he did to you, all you wanted to do was to be held by him again, all you wanted all these months was for him to finally long for you like you longed for him- how unfortunate the circumstances were, you thought.

his tears fell down his glass cheeks, his hands trembling as he reached out to you, you shivered at his touch, it felt so foreign, unfamiliar.

"i made a mistake," he cried, his voice raw with emotion. "i love you more than anything in this whole world. please, give me another chance- i’ll make you the happiest girl in the world, we’ll have six kids and we’ll grow old together!”

your mind wavered for a moment, the memories of your life together flashing through your mind. the happiest memories of your life with sunghoon in them, but you knew that staying would only be betraying yourself, that the trust between you had been shattered much beyond repair.

leaning down, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, it wasn’t for him, it was for yourself. the taste of his tears mingling with your own.

"goodbye, hoon," you whispered, your voice breaking. "i hope you find the happiness you couldn't find with me."

with a final look at the man who had once been your everything, you turned and walked out the door, the sound of your suitcase trailing behind you as you tried to keep your composure at the hysterical sobbing from sunghoon behind you.

the drive to your best friend heeseung's house was filled with the sound of your sobs and screaming, each mile taking you further from the life you had known.

when he opened the door, heeseung’s heart dropped. his eyes filled with concern at the sight of you. he pulled you into his arms without a word.

"it's okay, y/n," he murmured, his voice a soothing whisper to your wounded heart. "i'm here for you, im not leaving."

you clung to him, your tears soaking his shirt as you let out all the pain and heartache that had been building inside you. heeseung's presence was a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions, his embrace a reminder that you were not alone.

as the night wore on, you found solace in the company of your best friend, knowing that you had made the right choice, even though it had shattered your heart into delicate pieces, pieces you didn’t know could be fixed.

in heeseung's arms, you allowed yourself to grieve the loss of the love you had once believed in, the loss of your best friend, and lover. the betrayal, the heartbreak, all of it poured out in waves of tears and hushed sobs.

heeseung listened to you without interruption, his presence feeling like a heavy blanket over you and the world, comfort as you navigated the gut wrenching feeling in your heart.

"it's not your fault, love" he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your tear-streaked face.

"you did everything you could." he said looking at you with a gaze in which you didn’t notice, you never did. the gaze you’d given sunghoon for years, the gaze he gave you long before you’d even met sunghoon.

"but it wasn't enough, hee" you replied, your tears rolling down your cheeks, voice raspy from all the sobbing, it was barely above a whisper.

"i wasn't enough."

heeseung shook his head, his expression filled with an ache in his heart and anger at your self doubt. "no, y/n. you are enough. you always have been. sunghoon's mistakes don't define your worth, he’s the dumbest man to ever live, i’d do anything to have you."

you turned to him, bewildered at his words. you looked down at his shaking hands as you sobbed wrapping your arms around him.

“i’m so sorry, hee. i’m selfish, you don’t deserve this- you should tell me to leave-“

he cut you off with a hard hug, you cried harder as his own tears soaked your bare neck.

“don’t say that- i don’t care if i get hurt, or you use me, i don’t. all i need is you beside me, okay? don’t worry about anything.”

his words, though comforting, couldn't fully erase the pain that lingered in your heart. but in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your best friend's embrace, the love that radiates off of his body.

you felt a glimmer of hope, you were in no shape of moving on just yet, the road ahead would be difficult, filled with moments of utter pain and sorrow, but you knew that you wouldn't have to face it alone.

as the orange sunset began to filter through the windows, you found yourself at a break from the pain in your heart, staring out at the view in peace. heeseung's steady breathing beside you, the quiet hum of the world settling down, it all felt like a promise that everything would be okay.

you took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill your lungs, and allowed yourself to believe that maybe, you would find happiness again.

with heeseung by your side, you faced the days ahead with strength. the pain of sunghoon's betrayal would always be a part of you forever, but it wouldn't define you. in the embrace of heeseung and the promise of a new beginning, you found the courage to move forward, one step at a time.

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