#when i tell you that this scene kicked me in the face and i crumbled like a paper bag

[tonydaddingham]

Underappreciated S2 scene: "Going Up."

[dawngyu]

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to @killa-1009 for beta reading. ilysm.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn���t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought�� maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip. All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender—is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better. Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @beombunni @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @soobinbunnie5 @pagelets @yoseicour @baekberrie @blossommi @younbeanz @soohashits @brrytears @shycreationdreamland @notevenheretbh1

[mejaemin]

in tune - kim sunoo

day two of my valentine’s day countdown! ♡

wc: 0.8k

summary: you have one final surprise gift for sunoo on valentine’s day, and when you find out he has the same exact one for you, you realize that you guys really are the same ♡

warnings: crying (its happy tears tho !!), fluff, not much else!

an: idk why but he feels so ooc in this… i’m so sorry !!! i’m really not doing my job as #1 engene am i… i promise i’ll make it up to you all !!! enjoy my enhypen debut !!!

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you and sunoo are sitting together on your bed, cross legged in your matching pajamas and face masks. it was a very long day, full of dates, valentine’s celebrations, and love in more ways than one. you’re simply leaning against the headboard, your hands intertwined while you watch a drama on the tv. he’s sitting there, laughing along at whatever’s occurring in the scene when you reach for the remote, pausing it.

immediately he’s shooting up as well, turning to you and complaining about why in the world you would do that, but you just smile, gently shushing him. the whole time you were supposed to be watching the tv with him, you were thinking about your final valentine’s day present to him. it felt the most special of them all, and so you waited for the end of the day to share it.

“sorry, but i have one more thing for you.” you say, turning away to reach in the drawer of your nightstand, pulling out a pink envelope, sealed with a red heart sticker.

you hand it over to him, and his jaw is on the floor, his sanrio printed face mask falling off in the process. rather than trying to put it back on he rips it off his face, crumbling it up and throwing it into your mini garbage can from where he’s sitting.

he puts the letter down in his lap, finally closing his lips with a smile. “that’s actually really crazy, because…” he pauses, turning behind him to look through his bag, pulling out an envelope of his own, white with a pink heart sticker.

you take it from him, heart warm and cheeks pink. “you wrote me a letter too..?” there’s a pout on your lips and you haven’t even read it yet, but he nods, bringing you in with one arm to kiss it away.

“of course i did, baby. how else should i tell you how special you are?” he gestures to the envelope in your lap before turning to his own, pulling it open as gently as possible.

you do the same, pulling out the piece of paper inside. it’s pink, and sunoo’s words of love were written in colored ink. he starts it off with a thank you, telling you how happy is to spend the holiday with you, promising to make sure that you feel nothing short of loved today and forever. he then begins talking about his love for you and his favorite moments by your side, his words turning form a letter to more of a rant with the way he goes on and on. you can imagine him sitting on his bed while writing, kicking his feet while getting sidetracked talking about how much he loves you. it’s quite flattering, truthfully. at the end of the letter, he ends it with yet another thank you and a promise to be with you forever, signed with his full name.

by the end of the letter, you’d started crying, and you kept the paper at a distance to avoid ruining it. your boyfriend is truly the sweetest, having such a way of words, even if they end up not making sense, never failing to make you feel like the entire world. anyone who sees the two of you can tell how perfect of a pair you are, and if the fact that you tried surprising each other with the same thing doesn’t prove that than what will?

you toss your own mask, tears still falling as you turn to see sunoo finishing his letter. he looks up at you, teary eyed as well before pulling you back down onto the bed in his arms. with little bits of praise he peppers kisses all over your face, thanking you with everything in him for gifting him something so precious. your letter was a little more structured and poetic than his, wanting nothing but the most perfectly crafted words to leave your glitter gel pen. clearly, all your efforts worked as he holds you impossibly close, sniffling in your shoulder while thanking you and praising you through sobs of happiness.

“oh my god, thank you so much love, that was so beautiful, i love you so much..” he pulls back and you wipe his tears for him, leaning down to press a kiss to his plump lips, whispering a gently ‘happy valentine’s day’ to him.

“leave it to us to try and surprise each other the same way, right?” you giggle, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

he nods, reaching for the letter to fold it back up and put it away with utmost care. you’re doing the same thing, and when you catch yourselves, another laugh is shared.

“we’re just that in tune, hm?” he pulls your comforter over your bodies, leaning into you with a kiss on your forehead before truly, officially ending the day together.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[meiluu]

Fight Our Battles

Peter Parker/ Female!Reader cw: Violence, reader gets hurt, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff. lower-case intended, not edited can be viewed as any spider-man, but i personally imagined ps4/ps5 peter

what had started out as a regular saturday, with you and peter swinging through new york like any typical patrol around the city turned into something much more than either of you were ready for.

green goblin had escaped from the raft and was causing mayhem within the city, fires and ominous clouds of smoke and ash begin to engulf the city. and here you and peter are trying to get people to safety as well as deal with the goblin.

"Go after him! I've got the civilians!" peter whips his head to your direction, about to argue and say that you both need to stick together. shaking your head "I've got this go! I trust you spider-man!" your tone is final and peter reluctantly leaves you to pursue the goblin.

watching his retreating figure you focus your mind onto what's in front of you. webbing up unstable buildings, pulling people from fiery cars and rubble. stopping for moment to catch your breath you realize that this area is finally okay enough for you to leave it as first responders finally make it to the scene. using your in-suit tracker you quickly find peters location and hastily begin swinging your way there.

getting to peter your eyes immediately catch onto his much more battered form, there are cuts across his chest and through his emblem. but he seems to have the upper hand- having cornered goblin into a abandoned area of construction. quickly shooting a web you swing in, landing a harsh kick to the goblins face.

an enraged roar leaves him as his mask is flung off-wobbling on his glider. Then you see two webs sticking to either side of the goblin, and just as you see those webs you see peter slingshotting himself feet first into the goblins chest. the concrete behind him cracks and the goblin tumbles to the ground, his glider crumbling along with him.

with the goblins figure staying slumped upon the ground both your and peters shoulders slump in relief and exhaustion. then the sound of police sirens filter into the air as dozens of cop cars pull up, ready to detain the menace. "I have some of the anti-serum for him, its not permanent but maybe it'll help with keeping him in custody." peter voice is tired, as he makes his way over to you as you both scan each other for any lethal injuries. nodding you head you watch as peter begins to head towards a vial that was resting upon the ground. you suspected it had gotten flung out of his hand while he fought with the goblin.

then your senses begin screaming at you, BEHIND YOU!

you barely make out peters terrified scream of your name before the disgusting crazed green eyes of the goblin look up at you from the ground with one of his miniature bombs in his hand. then its dark.

~

the familiar sound of air whooshing past your ears along with searing hot pain across your abdomen is what wakes you from your sleep. "pete?" your words are moaned out in pain and confusion. "yeah its me- just hang on we are almost to the hospital. just stay awake for me please." your heart clenches at how desperate peter's voice is, you can do nothing but nod and bury your head further into his chest- hoping that the pain would go away if you did.

peters feet thump heavily into the ground when he finally lands in front of one of the hospitals in new york that was getting not as flooded with survivors from the attacks. and your heart clenches again at peter voice shouting out for help, "i need a doctor, please!"

there voices start to fade out, you catch how peter voice is a near roar as someone tries pulling off your mask. and it sounds like that person is then shoved away by what you assumed was dozens of nurses, he tells them to leave on your mask- but it sounded more like a command. the softness of a bed greets your back, peter having set you onto a gurney. nurses are putting an iv as the quickly roll you further into the hospital- eyes lids growing heavy you succumb to the sleep, hoping that when you awake the pain will be gone.

~

peter's pov.

if not for the mask every one within the waiting room would see my tears flowing feely down my face.

god how did i not realize the goblin wasn't knocked out, why didn't i web him up- how could i be so careless!?

and now you were in the operating room, were i hoped with all of being that you would be saved. looking down to my hands that lay limp to my sides i see- your blood smeared into the red of my suit. biting my lip to snuff out the sob that threatens to escape me. why wasn't it him who got hurt? why was it always someone else taking the blows for him?

i don't know how long i just stood there staring down the hallway that lead towards the operating room with you in it. but eventually the doctor how had pushed away that asshole who tried taking off your mask earlier- and had quickly let me know that he would be operating on you- made his way towards me.

quickly walking towards him, his face isn't sad or drafted instead a hopefully expression takes up his face. "she's ok, no major internal injuries surprisingly, but she has a bunch of stitches and will need to stay here for-" i don't let him finish before i'm tugging him into hug, "thank you, i don't- i, just thank you so much."

a soft laugh leaves the doctor, "with what you two do for this city everyday, there's no need for thanks. i should be thank you both for all the good you've done for this city and its people." stepping back from the hug a chuckle leaves me, "i guess we're at an impasse doc... but um- where is she?" he quickly gives me her room number, then i'm running there.

getting to your room, i see you. sleeping peacefully with your mask still covering your face, walking closer towards the bed i sit down in one of the spare chairs within the room. grasping your hand into mine my body finally begins to lighten as all of the accumulated stress begins to pour off of me. and with the comforting sound of your steady breathing i let myself drift off.

~

reader pov.

its been a few weeks since the goblins attack upon new york, his final one- with him succumbing to his wounds after setting off that miniature bomb. most of my stitches have been taken out and there only remains a very small scar from that day. and with the city repairing itself me and pete have taken a bit of a break from spider-maning... mainly because i needed to recover and peter hasn't want to leave my side. which i'm not complaining about but i can see how much that day hurt peter, though with each day that passes i see that darkness lighten.

and today i continue with that goal of lessening that darkness, having slept in with peter cuddled in your shared bed. gently i brush my fingers through his soft brown locks, "good morning pete." he buries his head deeper into my chest, you can feel him smile against your skin. "i think we are well past morning." an ouch leaves him with my pinch against the skin of his shoulder. "so technical." my tone teasing, a soft kiss is place against the side of my neck as peter raises his head to meet my gaze. beautiful hazel eyes that hold nothing but adoration within them. "good morning." sleep still hold onto his voice making it a bit huskier than normal, his plush lips are planting a sweet kiss against mine.

eyes instinctively shutting at the all to familiar sensation of butterflies within my stomach as my heart relishes in our shared affection. pulling away i bring my hand to his face, caressing his skin.

"i love you, so much peter." a radiant smile blooms across his face, "I love you too." looking into his gaze i'm pleased to find that some of that darkness has nearly disappeared. "you doin' okay pete?" he raises his eyebrow at my question, then lowers when he realizes what i'm asking about. "yeah.. i just- i nearly lost you. and i don't know what i would do if i lost you."

"i know i cant promise you but i will try with everything i have to never let that happen again." peters warm and muscled arms wrap around my torso pulling us chest to chest, with no space between us. "and i'll do the same for you, i never want you to feel what i felt that day."

and with those words peter buries himself further into our embrace, where we both lay relishing in each others presence. warmed by our bodies and the rays of the sun shining through our bedroom curtains, as we stay encased in our plush comforter.

a breath of relief leaves me, brain becoming flooded with peters comforting scent as my heavy heart lightens at our declarations to one another. together we would fight to make sure that both of us came home, make sure that we would have the rest of our live together and not apart.

(omg i just went into a crazed writing spree for like 2 hours, i wrote this at 4am-5am so sorry if there are parts that don't make sense. Hope you enjoyed this :D )

[archangeldyke-all]

i want to see jealous sevikaaaa

combining this ask with two more i got right after this one!

Sevika sees you in the last drop dancing in your own little world and men try to get you to dance with them and she is having none of it. Stalks up behind you her metal arm wraps around your waist. She pulls you back and growls out the word mine. The men disappear so fast. You still want to dance and a new track comes on the jukebox 'Slumber Party' by Rain Paris. So she dances with you and makes everyone understand that you are hers.

and

HARD SEX

enjoy bbs!

men and minors dni

"you're really not gonna dance with me?" you ask, pouting up at your girlfriend. she smiles down at you. the bass thumps throughout the club and your hips sway unconsciously to the beat.

"you know i don't like dancing." she grunts.

"yeah, and you know tequila makes me dancy! and yet! you kept getting me margaritas!" you say, pointing accusingly up at her. she smiles.

"tequila also makes you slutty." sevika says with a saucy smile. you laugh.

"oh i see." you laugh and roll your eyes, then chug down the few sips of margarita you have left. you press the glass into sevika's hands. "fine. stay here and be boring. i'm going to dance." you turn to strut away, giggling as she whistles at your retreating figure. you pause, turning around to jog back up to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "have another whiskey. loosen up a bit. then come find me when you feel like finding out what i'm wearing under these shorts." you whisper in her ear. she grins, and this time when you turn to leave, she smacks your ass. you giggle and shimmy over to the dance floor.

you're drunk enough to have no inhibitions-- you feel like you're the sexiest thing on the floor but you could just as easily be clumsily stumbling along. you have no gauge of good or bad dancing anymore, you just move.

you must be moving somewhat sensually, because a couple guys try getting handsy with you. you manage to smack them away prettily easily, and when you can't you lean in and tell them who you're at the club with. they all stumble away when sevika's name leaves your lips.

the record switches, a slower song with a groovy baseline filling the club, and your hips start swinging to the beat. across the club, you catch sevika's eye. she's leaning against the bar, sipping on her whiskey, her eyes locked on you. she grins when you catch her staring.

suddenly it's like you and sevika are the only people in the room. you draw small circles with your waist, your hips and ass swaying, and you grin as sevika bites her lip. you tug on your shirt, slowly inching it up your abdomen, watching as sevika eagerly down the rest of her whiskey. just before you flash her, you drop the hem, covering your abdomen from her view. she pouts. you grin, twirling around to give her a nice view of your ass swaying side to side. you can feel her gaze on you, the hungry way she's licking her lips. even with your eyes closed and your back turned you can feel her watching you.

an arm wraps around your waist. you grin. "took you long enough." you say to sevika.

"well sorry, darlin' if i had known you were waitin' for me i woulda come over her much sooner." an unfimilar scratchy voice grunts out. you freeze, a wave a disgust rolling down your spine, before you turn in the grip the stranger has on your hips.

"get off me." you say to the man grinning down at you, pushing at his shoulders. he doesn't let go of you. you spit in his face, and he simply licks his lips. a couple of the men you'd rejected tonight are witness to the scene, laughing as you struggle in his hold. over his shoulder, you catch sight of a flash of glowing purple. you grin.

"there you go baby, you don't have to fight me." the man mumbles down at you as you relax in his grip. you scoff.

suddenly, the man crumbles, sevika's mechanical arm smacking his head. he groans on the ground-- still conscious-- so sevika kicks his head with her boot. he passes out... or dies.

you giggle. the men around you scatter, and sevika looks up at you.

"you okay?" she asks. you smile and nod.

"my hero." you tease her as you fall into her arms. she grins. "you gonna dance with me now? keep me safe?" you ask, pouting up at her. the slow song changes, a grungy electric guitar riff filling the club. sevika's grip on your hips tighten.

"turn around." she grunts. you grin, pressing a kiss to her lips before spinning in her hold.

you start grinding against her crotch in small rough circles. she groans in your ear.

"you're fuckin' mine." she growls against you. you grin. a jealous, possessive sevika is always a horny sevika. especially when you're both drunk. sevika starts trailing kisses down your throat, nipping and biting the skin, humping into your ass as you grind against her.

her hands claw at the fishnets you're wearing, causing runs to form up your thighs. you elbow her and she giggles, kissing your cheek in apology. her hands don't stop though, one coming up to grope your tits, the other playing with the button of your shorts.

a few people gawk at the two of you, that is, until sevika notices and scowls at them until they turn away. you laugh every time, pressing a kiss to her head.

when she snakes a hand down your fishnets and shorts to reveal her surprise, she gasps at the feeling of your cunt. you giggle.

"what'd you think your surprise was?" you ask. she grunts.

"one of those thongs i bought you. fuck, this is so much better." she whispers as her fingers start drawing circles on your clit. you gasp.

a man across from the two of you is staring. you nudge sevika, pointing him out with your chin. she growls at him while simultaneously sinking two fingers into your sopping cunt. you gasp and writhe against her--and the man gasps and turns, before turning back for one more look, then sprinting away when sevika catches him. you would laugh if you weren't busy being fucked by your girlfriend's thick fingers.

you tug on her wrist, bringing it out from your waist bands. you turn in her arms, grinning as she sucks her fingers into her mouth. when she removes them with a pop, you surge up to kiss her, chasing your taste on her lips.

"you remember last month? when we split that bottle and you were wearin' your new strap?" you ask against sevika's ear. she grins, and nods. "you think anyone's in our spot?" you ask. sevika giggles, giddy, before dragging you out into the alley behind the last drop, ducking behind the dumpsters.

last month, you'd both been to eager to wait to get home to try her new cock, so you'd found a hidden little nook in the alley to fuck in. today, three people sharing a cigarette loiter in your spot. sevika growls at them and they scatter, then she shoves you against the wall, pushing your shorts down your hips. she rips your shirt off, grinning as your tits are revealed to her, swooping down to bite and suck on them.

"fuck." you moan. "fuck me sev." you whine. she groans against your tits, pulling away with a pop before swiftly backhanding your left breast. you jump and whine, shuddering when she massages your breast in apology. "come on!" you whine. she grins down at you.

"slutty." she admonishes with a smile. you roll your eyes. she smacks your left tit, twirling you around in her grip before you can react. she pushes you against the wall, smashing your face and tits against the cold stone. you shiver. behind you, she rips your tights at the crotch, freeing your pussy and ass. you whimper.

without warning, sevika sinks two fingers inside your cunt. you moan, scrabbling at the wall in front of you for something to hold onto. she starts massaging at your g spot, targeting it expertly, making you scream.

"sev! sev! sev!" you chant out as she fucks you. she slides a third finger into your cunt and you moan. her free hand comes down to smack your ass, hard. you clench on her fingers, and hear her chuckle darkly behind you.

"you're dripping around my fingers, love." she grunts. you whine. "such a good cunt. so warm. so fuckin' soft. so wet for me." she drunkenly rambles. you nod against the wall. "all mine, isn't that right?" she asks.

"all fuckin' yours, honey." you say. she smacks your ass again, and you squeak.

"cum for me, and i'll take you home and make you clean up the mess in my pants." she grunts. you gasp. "got me so worked up, honey, dancing on me like that, fuck." she groans, groping your ass as she pounds her fingers into you. you gasp. "that's it. cum for me. right fuckin' now." sevika demands, smacking your ass again. you cum, clenching around her fingers and screaming. she chuckles happily behind you. "that's it." she whispers. "there you go."

sevika has to give you a piggyback ride home afterwards-- you're too shaky to walk. but she does make good on her promise to make you clean her up. afterwards, as you both catch your breath in bed together and she blindly fumbles for her strap on in the bedside drawer beside her, you decide to buy a handle of tequila for the apartment.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Peter comforting Tony's daughter at the funerals please I need this

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

No one who was present will ever forget the horrific scream that came from you when Pepper told you the tragic news: your father, Tony Stark, was dead.

You hadn’t been able to say goodbye to him. He had already taken his last breath when you arrived on the scene. All you were able to do was crumble by his side and cry all the tears in your body until someone forcefully took you away.

A few sleepless nights later, you stood by Pepper and Morgan on the wooden deck, watching the wreath floating adrift on the water. Proof that Tony Stark has a heart, it reads.

Beside you, Morgan didn't seem to understand what was going on, why everyone was dressed in black and watching an arrangement of flowers float away. Mostly, she didn’t understand why her dad was not there. It was sad to see.

Happy was right behind you, followed by Rhodey and Steve, then May and Peter. Peter. He was holding his tears, pained from losing his mentor.

When the wreath was no longer in sight, people slowly dissipated, heading back inside the Stark residence. You stayed, unable to move your feet, your eyes were glued on the water before you. Why did you leave me? Why did you sacrifice yourself?

You didn’t hear the footsteps behind you as Peter approached. You and him hadn’t spoken since the last battle.

He cleared his throat. ‘’Hi. I know you’re probably tired of hearing this, but I’m sorry for your loss, Y/N.’’ You didn’t turn around, but Peter knew you were listening. ‘’Your dad was an admirable person. I’m not talking about his sacrifice. He was— He’s been an excellent mentor to me. And, in a way, a great father figure in my life.’’ Peter breathed in. He was about to tell you something he hadn’t told anyone. Not even his best friend Ned, who he always tells everything to. ‘’I was with him when he died. He told me—'' Peter stopped himself, feeling choked by the emotions in his throat.

When you arrived on the scene, you didn’t acknowledge Peter or anyone else around. Your eyes were focused on your father laying on the ground, unalive.

''Want to know what he told me?’’ Peter continued, not waiting for your answer. ‘’He…he said to go to you and feel the feelings he once forbid us to have.''

After a lot of deep thinking, Tony had come to the realization that forbidding your relationship had been wrong of him. He didn’t like it, but Peter was a good guy. He was kind, caring, honorable and very protective of the ones he loved. If there was anyone Tony could trust to take good care of his daughter, it was Peter.

Slowly, your eyes traveled to Peter. They welled with tears again, but this time Peter was there to wrap his arms around you, pull you against him and provide you comfort. You buried your face in his chest, staining — and ruining — his shirt with your mascara-tears, but it was the last of his worries.

Your slim fingers grabbed his white button up, clutching at it as you cried.

Your father’s words meant so much to you — you and Peter. You remembered the look of rage on his face when he caught you kissing in the lobby. It had just been a simple kiss goodbye, but Tony reacted like he had caught you doing something compromising in bed. He had yelled at Peter and banned him from the tower for weeks with a threat of kicking him out of the Avengers if he were to kiss you again.

Like any angsty teenager, you told him you hated him and blasted Taylor Swift’s Love Story in your bedroom.

You never thought he would change his mind about Peter, but Tony Stark was a surprising man.

Peter kissed the top of your head, holding you tight. 

—

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[daughterofcain-67]

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 (pt. 8)

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After Beau and the other officers found nothing, they look for any other way to find you and they block the roads to make sure no one gets out of Helena. Beau is determined to find you before it's too late. He just has to hope that 'too late' never comes.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: shooting (during a chase scene), mention of Y/N's r@pe, stabbing, nothing graphic. I think that should be everything.

Previously

When Beau finally found the entrance to the basement he couldn’t help but feel at least a little relieved. He busted the door down but what he saw was not what he was hoping for.

“No…”

You were nowhere to be found! The handcuffs were lying on the floor, the chains that kept you there were empty.

“Beau, no one is here.” Jenny said when she found him.

Then it was like the walls around Beau were crumbling down. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do so Beau ended up punching the wall in front of him. He punched it so hard he was positive he might’ve busted the skin on his knuckles.

“Damn it!”

Now

This couldn't be happening...

Beau had to be dreaming. They were so damned close to finding you and just when everything was in place, you were just.. gone? His officer's were quick to get to this blasted place, how did Andre's men move so fast?

Beau's head was spinning as he walked out of the basement empty handed. When he made it outside, he told one of the officer's to take Andre down to the station so they could get him booked. They had more than enough to hold him and he was sure Agent Sampson had more evidence to solidify his arrest.

When he ran his fingers through his hair, Beau felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked and saw who it was, he tried not to be so tense when he realized that it was just Jenny with one of those empathetic looks on her face.

"We'll find her, Beau. We've got Andre and maybe we'll get some answers from him." She tried to reassure but Beau knew it wouldn't be easy. Then Agent Sampson came up.

"Speaking of holding Andre... Beau, I think it would be wise if you didn't interview him when we get to the station." He said, and Beau glanced over it him with his brows narrowing slightly.

"Why the Hell wouldn't I interview him? I'm the Sheriff of this town, remember?" He asked.

"Yeah, and I'm the FBI Agent handling this case and I have jurisdiction on this one. You're lucky I even let you get as involved as you are, despite your interest in this case. Or did you forget about that?" Sampson reminded.

At this, Beau went quiet. He knew Sampson was right and he may have blown things by getting angry. But when Andre admitted to him what he did, and so haughtily too, Beau couldn't help losing his cool.

"Arlen, as much as I like you, I really don't think he'd give you any answers you want after your, um... confrontation. Something tells me it was a little more than evading arrest or self defense. Do you really think he would willingly cooperate with a guy that just kicked his ass and got him arrested in the first place?"

"I get it, okay? I messed up. But at least we've got him and we're taking him down to the station." Beau said as he started taking off the bulletproof vest and he tossed it inside of his car.

"Beau, what did Andre admit to you? Maybe we can add that additional charge to everything if we have the right evidence." Jenny said, trying to uplift things a little before the sheriff got too discouraged.

"Trust me, we don't have the right evidence yet." He said.

"What makes you say that?" The agent questioned, then Beau explained what exactly Andre said that made Beau lose it for a moment.

"Andre... he admitted to assaulting Y/N. We don't have any evidence yet because we still haven't found her yet, and it's not like I got a recording of his confession. So I'm not sure effective that'll be while we hold him."

"Holy cow..." She breathed out, "I can't imagine going through something like that..."

"But it is an additional charge. Once we find Y/N, we'll do a rape kit and use those results as evidence against him." Agent Sampson agreed.

"Let's get to the station and see if we can get some answers. Maybe we can still get surveillance on other vehicles. I told officers to keep an eye on any other cars that were at this location for the past few days so maybe we'll be able to find out who left this place and-"

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Beau asked, "Have you heard anything back? Has anyone called anything in?"

"Not yet, which is all the more reason t get out of here." Sampson continued.

So that was exactly what everyone did.

Beau got into his truck and started driving down to the station to get some kind of info an any of the other people that happened to be there. Maybe they would still have some time to get some roads blocked off before you'd be gone for good. They were running out of time and Beau wanted to make sure they were doing everything in their power to get you back.

Once they made it back to the station, Beau went to Poppernack's desk and saw him there already typing away at any surveillance footage they could get.

"What do you have for me, Poppernack." Beau said.

The deputy looked a little shocked that Beau was using his real name this time around, but he also knew now wasn't the time to linger on his surprise as he focused on the screen in front of him, "Naturally we've got Andre's truck whenever he left to go see you, Boss. But I'm assuming right after Andre's chat with you he must've made the call to the people on the inside."

Beau took a look on the screen and sure enough, another vehicle came by. It was a large, black van and Beau could see two men carrying you by your arms. You were fighting as best as you could but you ended up in the back of that van and the doors slammed shut.

The two men got into the van and then a woman stepped out, she was on the phone looking like she was making some kind of arrangements while she started heading to some kind of silver hybrid.

"How long ago did they leave?" Beau asked.

"About ten minutes before we all arrived." Poppernack answered.

"Ten minute head start... That doesn't give them a whole lot of time so maybe we can get to them. Zoom in on both their plates and track them down. Start looking for where both the cars went and send people to block the roads leaving town." The Sheriff said as he straightened up.

"On it Boss."

With that, Beau walked towards the interrogation room. He may not be able to interview Andre, but he could at least watch and see what would come of all of this. He wanted to know what kind of progress they would be able to make and see how cooperative Andre would actually be with this.

"Sheriff, I don't think you're supposed to be here." One of the officers said and Beau looked over.

"I'm not interviewing the guy, I'm simply an observer. This is still my department." He reminded, even if the position is supposedly temporary.

When he looked through the window, he saw Andre sitting there with the most arrogant posture. It was as if he really thought they couldn't get anything on him, and that drove Beau crazy.

"Look, we just want to know where Y/N is. And after your little confession to the sheriff, we know you know where she is." Agent Sampson spoke and Andre cocked a brow.

"I knew where she was back where she was still held in the basement. I wouldn't know where she's headed now." Andre said as he leaned back into the chair.

"But we know you can find out. Better yet, you can give us the names of the people that have taken Y/N." The agent continued and he leaned over and he placed a file on the table top. He slid three pictures in front of Andre.

"These people, your family members, I know you're involved with them. We know you go by the King, your sister is the Queen, a little cousin of yours, Matvey, is Ace. Then you've got another man coming in as the Jack." He began, "We also know that you've kept your hands clean up to this point and you've let people like Ace take the fall. Are you really willing to screw all of that up?"

"From the way I see it, and from the way your Sheriff friend was so determined to get me here, I'd say it's already my time to go to jail, yes? So why would I help you?"

"Come on, Andre. You act like FBI haven't made deals before."

"If you wanna cut a deal, talk to my lawyer."

Beau's jaw clenched at the mere idea of striking a deal with a scumbag like Andre. He was trying his best to bite his tongue for this. He crossed his arms over his chest and listened.

You stared down at your wrists. They were bound yet again, just after you thought you were free from the handcuffs, they put you in zip ties. It didn't feel that great against the wounds you had on your wrists after getting out of those cuffs. Now these zip ties gave you no wiggle room to try and get out of them.

You leaned your back against the wall of the van since the seats were taken out of this thing. So many thoughts were swirling in your mind.

How would Beau find you now? How would he be able to track you down now? What if they didn't know the plates of these vehicles? What if they would be too late again? What if you would never see Beau or Cadence again?

What if you really would be sent out of the country and end up with a lifetime of torture with whatever trafficking circle you'd be sold to?

What if there wasn't any hope left after all?

You lifted your bound hands and put them to your face, palms pressing against your eyes as if you were trying to wake yourself up from this nightmare. Where did it all go wrong?

You wished you hadn't gone on that date with Andre, especially if you would have known his involvement with this group. You wished you would have been smarter about everything.

The one thing you could say you did somewhat right, was get Jenny to do some kind of background check on Andre. And even then, who knew if Andre would get out of this with his reputation unscathed? The chances of him having to deal with any consequences was highly unlikely, much to your dismay.

"I can't believe we're in this fucking mess because of this chick." Jack said, causing you to lift your face from the palms of your hands and you notice his gaze on you was dark, unforgiving. You didn't think he would be the type to kill you though - it seemed more Ace's speed.

"You just had to go and scream out on King's phone call. What a bitch." He glared at you.

"Yeah, yeah. She's the source of today's problems. But you know King. He can't resist the ladies. If they resist him then... well there's one more sold off." Ace said, never taking his eyes off the road since he was the one driving the car.

Wait, Andre's done this to multiple girls? How many times has he done this and not gotten caught? How many girls were suffering because of him? Would they ever get any justice?

"Son of a bitch..." Ace grumbled and started to put on the brakes, "Gag her and put her away. We can't have her loud mouth alerting anyone."

"Ace? What's happening? What's going on?" Jack asked.

"Traffic on this highway's turning around. This road's blocked so we need to find another way out. Gag her incase they're doing a search and put the blankets on her or something."

The next thing you knew, Jack put some duct tape over your mouth and he pushed you down, pulling a knife out and pointed it at you.

"If you get up, make a sound, or do anything that will get us caught, I will slice your throat." Jack told you, and seeing as you didn't want to piss him off you simply complied.

All you could think of that you could do was just close your eyes. When they closed, you focused on the blackness surrounding you and you just tried to get lost in different thoughts, anything to distract you from the current situation.

But nothing positive came to mind. All you could think of were all of the 'what ifs' that repeated in your mind like a broken record.

"Hello, Officers. How can we help you?" You could hear Ace ask.

"The roads are closed off and we're looking for a girl. We're going to have to search your vehicle before we allow you to turn around." An officer said.

That sounded so hopeful! If they were searching the cars, then the officers would find you and then you would be free from all of this! You could go home!

You stayed still because you didn't know if Jack was still next to you ready to strangle you if you made any movement, but you could hear the doors of the van open. The next few sounds horrified you...

Gunshots rang out from inside the van and you could only imagine from beneath the blanket covering you, that Jack was the one pulling the trigger. While this was going on, you felt yourself being tossed around the back of the van and you could hear the screech of burning rubber, knowing Ace must be making some kind of U-turn to get out of there.

The blanket fell and you could see Jack getting up to shut the back of the van before the cops could shoot the inside. You carefully sat up and you wondered if the cops would be able to catch this van, if Beau had other officers on the watch for you.

You lifted your hands and took off the tape since its not like they remembered to have your hands behind you. You winced a little since it stung when the tape was ripped off your skin, almost like a band-aid. When you leaned forward to try and look out through the windshield, you saw your surroundings and knew they were headed to some back roads.

But if they're going through the back roads, that means there are no security cameras. And if there are no cameras, how would Beau be able to track the vehicle?

Soon enough the car came to a stop.

"Ace? What the Hell are you doing? This wasn't a part of the plan." Jack said with a slightly panicky tone.

"Well the roads shutting down wasn't exactly in the plan either, now was it? Get her out." Ace said as he got out of the driver's seat.

They were ditching the vehicle. Right here and now?

Jack pulled you by your arm and dragged you out of the back of the van and you could feel the rocks and twigs against your bare feet.

"We're going on foot from here since the roads are blocked. Send a message to Queen." Ace said.

"I don't think there's any cell reception from here but I'll give it a shot." Jack said and pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand.

As Jack was distracted, you bit your lip as an idea formulated in your mind. It was a long shot and you didn't know if you had the physical strength to do this, but you had to try something.

So with all of your might, you elbowed Jack in the side which caused him to drop his device. When you moved to try and make an escape, Ace grabbed one of your arms. You took your hands and formed them into fists so you ended up punching him with both fists and you watched Ace cover his nose.

"Ah, you bitch!" Ace snarled, although it came out muffled.

You looked and Jack was running towards you, and you ran back to the van looking for anything you could use to help with your self defense and that was when you saw the blade that Jack must've dropped earlier when Ace made that turn-around.

You picked it up and you aimed it at Jack.

"Now you don't actually know how to use that thing, sweetheart. How 'bout you give it here before you do something stupid, huh?" Jack said and you clenched your jaw.

"You stay away from me before you get yourself hurt." You said back.

"Why you little-"

When Jack lunged forward, you had an overwhelming dose of adrenaline rush through you and you ended up stabbing him somewhere in the abdomen. You hoped that you didn't kill him, since you didn't want murder on your conscience, but it was clearly enough to get Jack to back off.

You could hear his scream from the pain he was feeling and he grabbed his side and leaned against the van. You kept the knife in your hands that were still tied and you hopped out of the car. But you still had Ace to deal with.

Ace came at you and tackled you to the ground and you landed on your back and it knocked the wind out of you for a moment. But when you realized that Ace was on top of you, it took all of the strength you had to use your legs and you kicked him in the groin. It was one way to get him off you.

He rolled over in pain and you turned around, scrambling to get up again. Then you took the gun that was in Ace's belt, you used the butt end of it and knocked Ace out.

While you were finally catching your breath, you looked over and saw that Jack was still in the van, losing a lot of blood. You walked over to the van, picked up the blanket and tossed it as best as you could to Jack so he could try and get his own bleeding to stop.

Then you hopped out of the van once more, picked up the knife since you knew you would need it to unzip your wrists. Then you bent down to pick up Jack's phone that was still miraculously unlocked through this whole endeavor.

You quickly dialed up Beau's number since he told you to memorize it just incase. You held the phone up to your ear as best as you could as you rushed off into the woods before Ace would wake up and before Jack could regain any strength.

"Sheriff Arlen. Who's this?"

God you couldn't have been more relieved to hear the sound of his voice.

You just hoped that the reception wouldn’t be too bad where you were and that he would be able to hear you as you went deeper into the woods.

"Beau? It's Y/N..."

Thank you guys so much for reading!

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @chriszgirl92 @nancymcl @fanfic-n-tabulous @globetrotter28

[traumei]

Irene x Male Reader

genre: Fluff

Irene was already mid-ramble when she glanced across the room, noticing the gentle, attentive expression on the man's face as he sat on the edge of their bed. The soft evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a serene glow over the bedroom that had become their shared sanctuary. Her words tumbled out in a steady stream, detailing the grueling dance practices and the relentless pace of her schedule.

“It was just one thing after another, you know? And then the stylist had to redo my hair three times because it just wouldn’t sit right," Irene explained, her voice a mix of frustration and exhaustion as she kicked off her shoes and sank beside him on the bed.

She paused, suddenly conscious of how much she'd been talking, her eyes flickering with a trace of worry. “. . . sorry, I talked too much,” she muttered, looking away slightly.

He turned towards her, his hand finding hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No, no, no, not at all. Keep talking. I like hearing about your day, no matter how tough it gets,” he encouraged warmly, drawing a relieved laugh from her.

Encouraged, she scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “And then, during the live performance, my mic almost slipped off. I had to catch it mid-song without anyone noticing. It was like a stealth mission in one of those spy movies you love,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, imagining the scene. “You’re my superhero, you know that? Always saving the day, even on stage.” His words were light, but the admiration in his eyes was earnest, making her smile soften.

Comfortable in the familiarity of their room and the quiet understanding between them, Irene felt the weight of the day lift slightly. She continued to share, her voice steadier now, recounting both the trials and the trivial moments that peppered her day. As she spoke, it wasn’t just about unloading her burdens anymore; it was about sharing her world with him, knowing he cherished these insights into her life as much as she valued his presence.

“Sometimes, I just wonder if I’m doing everything right. It’s all so overwhelming at times,” she confessed quietly, her voice nearly a whisper as she leaned into him more.

“And every time, you’ll find you’re doing better than ‘right’, you’re doing amazingly. But remember, you don’t have to carry it all alone,” he murmured back, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. He then stand up and close the curtain.

The night get dimmer, the room was soft with shadows as he returned from the window, a blanket in hand which he gently wrapped around them both. Irene nestled closer to him, her eyes reflecting a mix of weariness and relief.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m just going through the motions, you know? Like I’m on stage but not really present,” Irene confessed, her voice a whisper as she found comfort in his closeness.

He nodded, understanding her struggle. “I can only imagine how tough that must be. But here, you don’t have to perform or pretend. Just be Joohyun, the one I love, not the idol everyone else sees.”

She smiled at his words, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. “I love that I can just be me with you. No cameras, no expectations. Just us.”

“Exactly, just us,” he echoed, his thumb gently tracing circles on her hand. “Tell me more about what’s on your mind. Whatever you need to share, I’m here.”

Irene took a deep breath, comforted by his invitation to open up further. “During Yesterday practice, I kept messing up the steps. Everyone thinks I handle pressure well, but today, I felt like I was crumbling under it. It’s so frustrating.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “You’re human, Joohyun-nah. It’s okay to have off days. They don’t define you or your incredible talent.”

Hearing his reassuring words, Irene felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you for reminding me of that. It’s easy to forget when you feel like you’re under a microscope.”

“That’s what I’m here for—to remind you that you’re amazing, just the way you are,” he said with a warm smile.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind filled with mutual understanding and affection. Irene then broke the silence, her voice soft but filled with sincerity. “Do you know how much these nights mean to me? How they help me recharge and face another day?”

“I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

“They do. More than you can imagine,” Irene assured him, leaning in to kiss his cheek gently. “Being here with you, it’s my favorite part of the day.”

As they settled deeper into the night, their conversation flowed naturally, each moment building the foundation of their bond. It wasn’t just about sharing the highlights and low points of her day, but about sharing life itself—raw, unedited, and real. With each word, each shared laughter and consoling whisper, Irene felt her spirits lift, fortified by the love and understanding that filled their small, sacred space.

[yujeong]

I saw ur post about wanting writing prompts so I thought why not lol. (This is my first time doing this 😅) but I have a few of AUs on my art blog that I would love to see expanded on like my Tall Pete/Short Vegas au, A band au with Vegas being a lead singer and Pete falling in love at first sight, or Pete being Vegas’ personal bodyguard instead of Tankhun’s. So yea if u find any of these interesting I’d love to see ur spin on it

OMG hi! Thank you so much for sending me this, I'm so flattered you thought of asking me to write sth surrounding your AUs ❤️ It kind of feels like the secret Santa event all over again, I love it haha. The timing is actually a little too perfect, because a few weeks ago, I randomly stumbled upon a YouTube short about the side couple in Laws of Attraction and I proceeded to 1. lose my shit, so much so that I decided to start watching the show and 2. write a whole page full of notes about an AU in which Pete is Vegas' bodyguard, based on the pool scene of said short. So, to give a little context: In this alternative universe, Vegas and Gun visit the main family compound for a meeting. At some point, Korn wants to talk to Gun alone, so Vegas goes to the pool area to find Porsche, along with Pete who follows him. Vegas proceeds to flirt with Porsche, as Vegas does, up until Gun suddenly appears and starts yelling at him for unclear reasons. He escalates it when Vegas asks, baffled, why he's being yelled at, by slapping him and putting his head into the pool. Pete normally doesn't intervene when Gun gets violent with Vegas, but his protective instincts here kick in and he stops Gun from literally attempting to kill his own son. As a result, Gun's anger gets redirected at Pete, who gets beaten up in Vegas' stead. The snippet I wrote for you is the aftermath of everything I described above. I hope you like it ❤️ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silence, occasionally broken by a faint sound that resembled sniffing. Pete couldn’t tell what it was, but in his state he couldn’t really tell where he was either, so he stopped worrying about it. He tried, instead, to remember what had happened that brought him here, wherever “here” was. The last thing he recalled was the feeling of Khun Gun’s shoes digging into his forearms, which he used in his attempt to protect his head from his boss’ repeated, brutal kicks. Khun Gun wasn’t the strongest man Pete had ever met, but there were reasons he always tried to stay on his good side, and his cruelty was one of them. The cruelty that had so many times been directed at his own son. The kind he was eerily familiar with.

Khun Vegas’ face materialized in Pete’s mind. Droplets of water running down his nose, his sharp cheekbones, reaching his neck. His hair wet and disheveled, his chest heaving from the difficulty to breathe after having had his head shoved into the pool. His expression crumbling with worry, something Pete had no logical way of explaining. Fuck, where was he? Pete could only hope Porsche had protected him from his father’s fury afterwards. Khun Gun was unpredictable; he couldn't be trusted to only be satisfied by lashing out at Pete. Pete needed to go find him as soon as possible. Opening his eyes proved to be a challenge. A heavy fog was clouding his vision, and the pain that was engulfing his whole body was preventing him from doing the simplest of movements. He groaned as he shifted his torso in a futile attempt to get up, resulting in a gasp that startled him into opening his eyes to check where it came from. His mouth was hanging open as he took in the image of Khun Vegas staring at him, fidgeting nervously in the chair he was sitting on. His eyes were red around the corners and he looked ghostly pale. Pete’s breath hitched. “Pete… ?” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. He always did that when he was feeling guilty about something. “Are you... ?” “I’m fine, Khun Vegas,” Pete replied, despite the numbness in his limbs and the headache that was starting to form. “What about you? Are you hurt? Should I take you to the doct-” “We’re at the infirmary, you idiot,” Vegas shouted, interrupting him, but his voice lacked the usual heat. “Stop acting like my bodyguard right now, it pisses me off.” That’s all I know how to be, Pete wanted to tell him, but remained silent. That’s all I’m allowed. He didn’t really mind Khun Vegas’ words. He’d heard worse things over the years, things that should have probably hurt him. Somehow, Pete had the ability to forgive him anything. The atmosphere grew tense between them. Pete had grown used to that, too, but he had never seen Khun Vegas be so self conscious before. He wondered why the sudden change. “I’m not thanking you,” Pete heard him murmur after a few seconds; he uttered the words under his breath, while staring at his feet. If Pete had a better view of his face, he’d argue Khun Vegas was pouting. Pete could only reassure him. “You don’t have to, Khun Vegas. I was simply doing my job.” It had the opposite effect. The creases between his eyebrows deepened as he lifted his head and stared at Pete. Astonished as his mouth was open agape, likely for a retort that never came. Alternatively, he turned his attention to the small table next to Pete’s bed. He stood up and approached it hastily, grabbing something that was resting on top of it, before Pete could take a closer look. “The nurse said you have to take this,” he said and extended his arm at Pete, revealing a small pill. It was probably a standard type of painkiller. Bodyguards never got any special medical treatment, especially those working for the minor family. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Pete tried to lift his hand to take it, but he bitterly realized it was impossible. He winced as he took a look at both of his arms and found them bandaged, smears of purple popping at places his skin was uncovered. He cursed under his breath. “Ah, I’m sorry, Khun Vegas, I’ll just call the-” Cold fingertips pressed on Pete’s chin. They felt even colder on his lips, the pressure just enough to make him open his mouth. The pill slipped between his teeth easily, with the help of a wet tongue he'd never thought he'd get to taste. Hot air hit Pete’s cheeks. His heart was beating rapidly. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Water traveled down his throat, taking the pill with it. Pete blinked. His head felt light, his body even lighter. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling, but he didn’t think it was bad. He focused, instead, on Vegas, who was standing above him with an unusual sense of confidence.  “Get well soon. That’s an order.” It was enough to ground Pete back into reality. He was thankful for it.

“Yes, Khun Vegas.” It was only then that Pete noticed how the color returned on Vegas’ face and how his slight trembling seized. “Has Pete woken up yet?” Both of them jumped at the sound of Porsche’s voice. He poked his head into the room, completely oblivious to what had transpired before he showed up. “Oh, he has. How are you feeling?” “Good,” he replied sincerely. The pain didn’t bother him anymore.  A smile spread on his lips as he added, “Khun Vegas just gave me my medicine.” Porsche returned it, though his was more mischievous than playful. “Pete, you should have seen Vegas while he waited for you to wake up. I’ve never seen him crying so hard-” Vegas punched Porsche hard on the shoulder to stop him from talking, which made loud laughter escape Pete’s mouth. It earned him a glare, one of Vegas' serious ones. It'd bring him hell later, but Pete realized he was fine with that.

[wrengrif]

It is time for my favorite game...

Good Omens, What If.

Now yesterday, I read an amazing post by @ishomieokay, who postulated a very convincing theory that Aziraphale was going to end up being the Big Bad, because Supreme Archangel power was going to corrupt him.

Naturally this made me sad -- until I really started to think about it.

What If - Aziraphale did become power-mad?

What if he did become 'You Bullied Me And Now I'm Your Boss, Bitch' Supreme Archangel. Like it would be so FUCKING BAMF. Utterly horrifying, but utterly BAMF. He walks through the elevator, one of the archangels says something snide (my money is on Sandalphon, asshole), and Aziraphale just Supreme Archangel kicks him through the Heavenly Moon Door and makes him Fall. And while the other archangels are standing there, gaping, he straightens his collar and says, "I think you'll all find I have very little use for abusive language. Do keep that in mind. Where is my office?"

After that it's like as it's Lucifer 2 - The Principality Strikes Back. Aziraphale censuring angels left and right. Uriel doesn't get kicked - Uriel gets beaten for what they said about Crowley and then thrown out for a million mile dive. He makes Michael re-do the entire Second Coming. He's punching and kicking a hole in the archangel system that should be filled by someone who is willing to pull on the brakes. But no one does! Everyone is Too Fucking Scared.

The Metatron realizes that he hasn't trapped Aziraphale up there with them, they are all trapped here by A z i r a p h a l e. Aziraphale who is going to burn everything down because none of it is worthy (Aziraphale isn't worthy) of God's Love and they are just going to tear Heaven and Hell down to the nubs in the floor, and maybe Earth too because you know what, none of it is worthy of God (Crowley). Finally, Saraquel has had enough. She slaps the Down Button to Earth. Rolls herself into whatever dive bar that Crowley is in, and tells him point blank that if he doesn't help stop Aziraphale, it's going to be worse than Armageddon. Everything is going to be destroyed down to atoms, even wine.

Crowley gets to do two things that he's probably always wanted to do. One, he gets to be James Bond. Breaking into the Heaven (the Bond villain lair), knocking out some angel guards, maybe even punching Metatron in the face for getting them all into this situation in the first place. Second, he gets to kick open the doors to the Supreme Archangel's office, stare Aziraphale down from where he's seated behind his invisible glass desk (I imagine him petting a white duck. Why? I don't know.), looking forbidding and dressed in a silver white that matches his hair and his beard. Stereo-typical God, y'know.

And they stare at each other, for a long moment, glowering with all the hurt, and pain, and still - still - love that they have both known for six thousand years. Finally, Aziraphale speaks, his purple eyes flickering, "So what exactly are you supposed to be?" Crowley smiles That Sharp Smile, that one that Aziraphale adores. The one he actually fears. Crowley reaches behind his coat, and says, "Me? Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. And I'm now the world's greatest magician, because I'm about to make you disappear." Aziraphale tenses in his throne, filled with that same sense of dread and can it be, hope? that Crowley is here to end him. Crowley doesn't look away as he growls, "Hocus Pocus, Supreme Arsehole." He pulls in front of him .... a bird cage. With a nightingale in it. Who immediately begins to sing. Crowley takes off his glasses, looks Aziraphale dead in the eye, and speaks in a rough voice. "I forgive you."

And just like that ... the Supreme Archangel crumbles down into dust, leaving behind a weeping Aziraphale.

End scene.

... I'd probably add some explosions in there. Just for fun. Oooooh and when Crowley is kicking ass through Heaven the song that plays is 'Don't Stop Me Now'.

[blackstarchanx3new]

On a scale of 1-10 how much do you dislike the canon manga Red?

This turned into a rant lmfao.

Gotta make Red simps hate me more than they already do X'D

Like a 5 at least.

The problem mainly boils down to how I perceive him due to MY OWN PERSONAL READING OF THE TEXT.

So, the start: I'm not a fan of those types of "i'm so cute teehee" characters to begin with but for Red specifically...I just hate how inconsistent and poorly utilized he is.

He just morphs to be whatever the narrative needs him to be instead of having a real character.

He's a plot device more than a character tbh and it's why I struggled SO MUCH with figuring out a direction for him in FSR.

because...all the plot is character driven.

And I literally had no USE for a character who's soul purpose was filling in gaps when there weren't any with this cast.

His behavior isn't ever fully dived into like the other three.

I've mentioned this before: I think they cut a stand alone Red Chapter somewhere in development because the way his scene ends to where we see him later after they split up is SO WEIRD.

Funnily enough I find Dark Link and Red very similar. (Which is a huge problem but I'll get into that some other time)

Except Dark Link's inconsistencies and overall character loops back to his creation and he himself being a conflict of interest in Vaati's mind when he created Dark. he WANTED HIS Link back the only person he felt a connection to who he last had on good terms with, paired with wanting to HURT and destroy the current incarnation of Link.

making a twisted as hell individual who simultaneously embodies Link and is Link's twisted mirror image.

Naive uncertain and full of inner turmoil due to his purpose.

But when Dark REALIZES what he is to the truest extent he has to justify or crumble under the weight of his reality. There's a reason i described early Dark link as "Delusional" because he was.

Red just...doesn't have any of that kind of retrospection or intrigue in cannon.

Dark's innocence comes from his naivete but where the fuck does it come from with Red? (and it's proven to be fake anyway because he's the first one to stab someone who they think is their knight friends buuuuuut-)

Red's just canonically a contradiction with no real point and it's never pointed out in the narrative so like...it's just weird and kinda unnerving.

Like I pointed out, he literally acts like Lil Gideon before the reveal he's a crazy maniac.

Except we never GET the reveal for Red.

Red doesn't have any flaws that aren't him playing up his baby persona and fucking shit up for the others. He's just stupid af sometimes and helpful others without much rhyme or reason.

...Again I've said this before but if he was smart in areas Vio was dumb in (liKE IF THE DIRECTIONS THING WAS MORE OBVIOUSLY A CANNON THING IDK IF VIO BEING DICK WITH DIRECTIONS WAS JUST SMTH THEY ACCIDENTILY REPEATED A FEW TIMES OR A REAL INTENTIONAL TRAIT OF HIS) it could have been a fun dynamic but Vio and Red barely interact.

Honestly most of the dynamics I find myself WANTING with Red revolve around Vio...

And, imo his persona is blatantly fake from how often he just...drops it when the plot requires him to or when...idk it's just not NEEDED?

Him not shedding a TEAR when Shadow dies continues to creep me out.

because everything we know about Red tells us he should at least LOOK sat but he just...isn't.

And you can't be like "Oh but Shadow was their enemy"

bLUE GOT HIS ASS KICKED BY THIS ASSHOLE SO MANY TIMES AND HE LOOKS SAD. WHY DOESN'T RED WHO CRIES OVER KILLING ROCK MONSTERS IT'S CREEPYYYYYY.

Like no, I didn't want Red to dramatically burst into tears and ruin the moment, but dude didn't even look SAD.

Didn't look sad a dude with his face DIED.

Burned Blue's ass after JUST CRYING about him being DEAD and just WALKED AWAY.

Like if he had any depth to him this shit would be dived into but he's as shallow as a puddle and I dislike it strongly.

Like if ANY of this shit was even addressed in the manga I'd like him WAY MORE.

but it feels UNINENTIONAL which is the issue I have with Red as a character.

Long as hell walk to say:

I don't wanna spoil stuff but I do think you could have fresh ideas with Red being VERY DIFFRENT from link but my main issue with him in the actual cannon manga is:

He doesn't feel realistically like a part of Link due to my interpretation of the text and it's storytelling, and the WAY the text WANTS portrays him doesn't line up with his actions, and I don't like it.

[2nd-mushroom-circle]

lines that made me cry in my 3rd relisten to the chaos protocol ep 32 (MAJOR SPOILERS):

- “brother heed me, as you ought.” something about the way connie says brother this time… i will never be ok about sing and seir

- i mean i could say the entire rest of the opening monologue. but the little hesitance on “lover, hold me”? OW.

- THE WAY VAL’S VOICE SOUNDS ON THEIR FIRST LINE. illegal.

- similarly, the sobbing after “it is lost. forever.” always catches me off guard and RIGHT IN THE HEART

- the way connie just moves on to lumiéra after val says “something snaps”. cause there’s nothing more to say. nothing that can fix it.

- “a door that had been so carefully pried open slamming shut, and… he doesn’t feel.”

- “and he just… looks at where he should have been a shield.” have i ever mentioned that cai is a masterful storyteller? cause cai is a masterful storyteller and god. i’ll never stop feeling things about xainan esch

- this whole scene with xainan crumbling into dust destroys me.

- “you have always been half dead, xainan esch”

- connie calling oblivion the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen as xainan is drifting away from his own life sure is something, huh.

- “i think im just exhausted with being a coward” no cause i have so many feelings about lumiéra waiting, waiting, always a little too hesitant and afraid to tell sing how she really felt, even though sing felt the same, because it’s too scary because it’s too complicated because lumiéra is literally just fucking HUMAN and it takes so much to make that step - only for her to finally do it and it’s just. a moment. too. late.

- the moment when we move from lumiéra’s flashback to the present. the imagery of happy, triumphant, hopeful lumi giving way to lumi crouched over sing’s body, tear tracks staining her face.

- and the imagery of seir holding up lumiéra with his sister. fuck me i guess.

- THE FUCKING PERSPECTIVE SHIFT

- ok being fully fr seir’s monologue here is when i actually started crying in earnest this time. what the fuck val. not one line. all of them

- “the knife that is xainan” always hits me a little bit

- “whelming it’s pitiable vessel” is just such a good phrase. didn’t make me cry but i love it

- the music cue when artemis appears did make me cry though

- “eyes that immediately fall upon sing’s body” if i think too hard about artemis’s relationship with sing (artemis singing the twins to sleep, artemis signing her transfer request because artemis can see right through her, artemis giving them all the warning she can, artemis knowing when they die and appearing right away but unsurprised, with grief that has always been there, artemis making a choice) i will break. and start making some not-yet-canon assumptions about artemis’s own emotional state. so we are not thinking about that!

- “a lance in her chest” “bleeding.” ow ow ow the multiple possible readings of this line. connie and sea kicking off their insane narration chemistry with a lance to my chest. ow

- “those warm, gentle hands, that do not touch, that are so careful with their love” ok so when i said we weren’t feeling things about artemis? i lied

- “and when her hands pass through your flaming horns, snuffing them out like a candle at the end of its wick, it is not violent. it is not to put a cap on your grief, not to quiet you, not to for you into a box or a body that cannot contain you -“ “it is a mercy.” “it is the sweet mercy of rest when you have no tears left to cry.” the actual reason i’m relistening to this episode is to memorize all the words. so i can hold them like precious things in a box inside me. btw

- and artemis sings you and your sister to rest one final time.

ok. *wipes away tears.* anyways.

- artemis wiping a tear from lumiéra’s eye and calling her the bravest girl in the room .

- we interrupt your regularly scheduled tears to bring you: i’m gonna pull an øka* and punch fate in the fucking face. “this pain has a design”. yeah it’s called fate’s a BITCH and a BAD PARENT. and you can quote me on this

*i have not yet watched the second stranger only seen the clip of øka punching fate. so many times. i replayed that clip quite a bit after this episode.

- “and you cannot hold on to your life much longer. you are a dead man walking and you can go no farther than this.” ok back to crying! this is the sequence i was originally most abnormal about. and you know what? it still hits. so much. xainan my beloved

- sea and connie narrative trading my beloved.

- “do you want to live?” “i don’t know.” “then why don’t you come with me, and you can tell me your answer later.” god what a line. what a perfect response. there are no words that can fix this, but maybe with time and love and care someday you will want to live again. why don’t you come with me.

- “and she carries you home.”

- i don’t think i fully internalized the imagery of sing’s sword being driven into the earth by the roots of the world tree and the roots growing up around it before, but this time i imagined wildsailors hundreds of years from now coming upon this site and approaching it with reverence and love, knowing that it was here that something bigger than their world changed forever, holding sing’s eulogy in the very heartwood of the wildsea—yeah.

- “i love my dad, ok?” thanks abasi already sobbing.

- “it is effortless, the care that they hold for you. it is a reality unto itself.” just. cause. this is what i was hoping the whole time in the lead up to this episode. i know it would be awful and crushing and it would break them, and i was so worried that they would have to just. find a way to push on somehow. make plot happen anyways. but this, nova being cared for and held and protected in their grief? someone carrying them home when they can’t do it themselves anymore? this was just what they needed. and what i needed. i cannot wait for arc 2.

[swampstew]

What's the Magic Word?

Chapter 8: The Island of Thorns

It was an exceptionally overcast day as the Victoria Punk sailed towards an isolated island. Large grey shelf clouds covering the sky and blocking out the sun, the ocean water choppy. Killer stood at the helm watching his Captain through the open doorway, Kid stood at the railing inside of the dragon mouth inspecting the island with a pair of steampunk binoculars. He saw a large cliffside on the west side of the land, miles of beach shoreline and what looked like the worn remains of a ship dock. The vegetation was overgrown, blocking view of anything else.

“When we dock, I want a team to take the dinghy and sail around the area, check to see if there’s any settlements or anything of interest. Keep a small group behind and divided between inspecting the beach and guarding the ship; you, me and the rest will follow Rowena to wherever her coven used to be.” Kid handed off the binoculars, switching roles with Killer.

They sailed in silence, getting closer to their destination when Killer made a choking noise, “You’re going to want to see this.”

Taking the binoculars back, he focused on the direction Killer pointed at. He felt a catch in his throat. There was a patch in the vegetation where he could see the remains of pyres, blackened and broken down. He counted at least seven from the clearing alone.

Kid was a brutal and bloodthirsty pirate; his reputation was that of a man with the largest civilian casualty count and he was proud of that. He simply did not give a fuck for anyone who stood in his way or mocked him, and he didn’t care how many people were hurt or killed in the process. However, the scene and the history of what they were coming upon made him scowl, lowering his binoculars. When they finally reached the dock, Kid went inside to retrieve the Witch.

Knocking on the door he could hear shuffling and stepped back as the door opened. Rowena greeted him, looking morose. She had donned on a black dress that reached her ankles with large slits that exposed her thighs and legs, the heart shape neckline connected to lace floral sleeves that covered her arms and shoulders. Motioning his head upwards, Rowena followed him off ship. Their group walked in silence as they trudged up the beach, Rowena and Kid leading the crew; she had donned on a black wide brim hat, sand getting kicked up from her combat boots.

He knew they had reached the place when Rowena’s steps began to falter, as if she was trying to literally drag her feet. Kid stepped behind her placing a hand on her shoulder, his large frame and equally large coat shielded her from the others.

“If you need a moment, tell me.”

She shook her head, muttering a harsh “let’s just get this over with.”

So they continued walking, reaching an opening at the end of the forest trail. Kid was sure the scene would haunt him for the rest of his life.

As the crew and Witch entered the clearing, they were greeted with a staggering number of pyres, one next to the other with little space between them, scattered around the settlement. All of them were blackened and crumbling; it was a mystery that they hadn’t blown away entirely from the elements. Kid couldn’t explain it but there was a heavy, weighted feeling in the air. Like there was a presence around them but also not at all.

It made him feel like he was being stalked, hunted even. He could hear the crew muttering, nerves clearly on edge. Rowena kept walking, not looking anywhere but straight ahead and he quickened his pace to catch up to her.

Rowena continued until she reached the destroyed foundation of what he assumed was her home as she tripped over herself, bending slightly and he could see her shoulders heave. It was a small dwelling, holding probably only two bedrooms and one main area. Rowena stepped over the rubble and walked into one of the bedrooms, tears streaming down her face, and she stopped over what Kid could see were the remains of a stone bed. The room was littered with burnt cloth and wood.

“This was the room where my mother and I slept.”

Walking into the next room she trailed her fingers on the broken walls. “This was our ritual room; it had a roof that we could open so we could see the moon and stars as we did our practices. I used to love dancing in here under the stars,” she sniffled.

Walking back out to the main room, she lowered her body to the ground sitting on her heels to keep her upright, head bowed. After a moment, she pulled a vial from her waist bag and with scooped up dirt and ash from the ground, pouring it in the vial.

“Hundreds of years ago in our prime, our coven had nearly 400 witches. There were maybe 90 of us left by the time I was born and we all lived here. Prejudices and fear kept us isolated, and if any Witch dared to emigrate elsewhere, they usually came back driven out by the locals, or they died out there by them. This island was our only safe space. I don’t know who betrayed our secret but if I could, I would send them to hell myself.”

Turning to face Kid, “What now?”

“I guess we should start wherever you kept any books or places of learning. You said your coven had a Supreme Witch; we should check her dwelling too. Is there anything here you can salvage?”

Rowena walked around a few times, poking around the debris. She picked up something from her former bedroom, wiping it clean with the bottom of her dress. It was a small black ring, with a magnificent stone in the center, albeit dirty. At first glance it looked deep green.

“It was my mother’s. I remember she never was without it. I can’t believe it was back here.”

“You said when the incident happened you were with your Supreme. What was that about?”

“We were having a private conversation.” Kid gave her a look. She let out a pained sigh.

“I was born under a blood moon. It’s a lunar eclipse event typically interpreted as an omen of death, or the usurping of kings. Additionally, my birth element is water, one of the harder elements to master. Birth elements mean that you can use that element without needing to borrow a source, like I would with say Earth or Fire. I can pull water from the moisture in the air if I so wish, but I can't manipulate Earth unless I'm holding a piece of Earth. If they’re ranked: fire is the strongest element, then water, earth, and finally air. I-uh…also have a degree of power over life and death,” she said rather flippantly.

Kid blinked. “Did you just say you have power over life and death?”

“Yes. Haven’t you noticed how my plants have grown and matured repeatedly on your ship despite me only being onboard for like a month?”

“N-No!”

“I can force most plants to speed through their natural life cycle if I concentrate hard enough. I can also recover from grievous injury by applying my magic to myself. That’s how I survived the pyre. My body was destroyed and I just sorta regrew everything. I don’t even have to think about it, it’s like an automatic response. I’m not sure I can do this to the same degree to another person or animal.”

Kid looked at her incredulously. “Would you be considered a highly gifted Witch or were you par for average?”

Rowena furrowed her eyes in confusion. “How does one even measure gifted qualities? I can’t say for sure, I know I’m not anywhere near powerful as my Supreme was or many of my sisters.”

“Are you sure? Cause you’ve done some pretty powerful things by my standards and if that’s not you at your full potential then I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of training you would need or that I could provide.”

“Then checking the Supreme’s abode will be the best place to start, although if it looks like this then there isn’t much hope.”

“You didn’t finish telling me why you were meeting with your Supreme.”

“Oh, right. We were discussing my next set of tribulations. I was being tested since I was learning more advanced forms of witchcraft. But more importantly, she confessed to me that she had been feeling rather weak lately, she said her power was leaving her body gradually. That’s the sign that means a new Supreme is budding. There can only be one Supreme Witch at a time: she who is so powerful she has mastery of every element without needing to borrow from a tangible source. Not only can she use them at will but she can also manipulate them to into new forms. She can call forth ice by manipulating water and air; lightning by manipulating fire and air. The Supreme Witch can use every form of magic in our recorded history and is also responsible for keeping the records safe. She confessed to me that she saw me in her visions as the new Supreme on the day of my birth and that she was taking me under her wing to learn from her personally. I was so happy, Kid. Can you imagine, being destined to be that powerful?” she was smiling through her tears, then it faded.

“She started clutching her head, the excitement on her face was replaced with one of sorrow. Then she looked at me and told me our secret, our hidden island location, was out and that we were under attack. We’ve never been assaulted on our land but if there was ever a threat, we had a plan to keep ships from docking on the beach. But these Marines had gotten the jump on us, they were already at the shoreline. They rounded us up like we were wild animals and I saw my sisters fight back but there was one Marine, he overpowered everyone. And you know how the rest happened.” Rowena lowered her head, tears overflowing anew.

Kid lifted her chin and wiped her tears away but that only seemed to make her cry harder. Frowning, he pulled her into his chest and held her as she sobbed. He could feel the wetness on his body but he stood perfectly still, arms around her shoulders keeping her close. Feeling her trembling and not knowing what else to do, he leaned down and awkwardly whispered into the shell of her ear, “I got you, Ro--wena.” Cringing at himself for the attempt at shortening her name during a vulnerable moment.

She let out a gasp and wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him with surprising force. He rubbed her back slowly as she let herself cry; for the loss of her family and for the years of pain and suffering that lead up to her emancipation thanks to Luffy. After a few moments, she had her breathing under control. She wiped her face clean with her hands before extricating herself from the Supernova who used his coat to wipe his chest.

“Are you ready to move on?” He asked quietly.

Rowena nodded. He led her out of the ruins holding her hand; it was small against his but he held a firm grasp on it.

“If you want to cry again just squeeze my hand. I’ll let you hide under my coat if you don’t want the others to see you.”

She bit her lip as another fat tear fell from her eye, she nodded vigorously and he once again wiped it for her, the action quickly becoming second nature for him. She led him to the Supreme’s dwelling and like the others it had been destroyed. Rowena pilfered through the remaining debris but found nothing that she could see. Kid frowned, calling out to Killer for a report.

“The scouting team reported nothing except a sea wall, they docked and are scouting the forest and land on the east side; the beach team is scouting the west side finding nothing on the beach itself. We’ve searched the buildings but it’s all just ash and broken bits.”

Kid tsked, he wasn’t giving up that easily. He dropped Rowena’s hand and walked out to where larger foundations laid. Raising his hand, he partially closed his eyes deep in concentration.

“Uh what are you doing?” Killer tilted his head.

“Investigating,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rowena stepped out and started collecting more dirt in a larger vial. How deep is that waist bag of hers? he mused. Kid walked around the settlement and after making the same circuit three times, he came to a stop.

“There is a large mass of metal somewhere in the Supreme’s dwelling, it must be underground. Too much Earth keeping it in place for me to just lift it out.”

Rowena walked back inside and asked Kid to clarify where the metal was. Re-entering the room, Kid walked over to the northern most wall and pointed to the ground. Nodding, she told him to back up to the other side as she took a few steps back herself.

She dug both hands into the dirt, dragging her nails into the Earth building up debris under her nails, letting her hands get stained and dusted. Rowena straightened her back and took a wide stance. She began making fluid motions with her hands and feet, dragging her right foot from outside her left one, and dragging it to the outwards to lift and stomp her boot into the ground. A large square outline appeared in the ground as the dirt crumbled and lifted away, small mounds creating a lip around the hole.

She nodded to Kid who walked over, toeing the edge. He raised his hand and used his power, they could hear a grating sliding noise and after a minute, a very worn and rusted metal container was lifted out, spilling dirt everywhere. Rowena’s eyes bugged, waiting for Kid to open the safe. As soon as he did, she pilfered through the contents and started making hyperventilating noises.

“Everything ok Ro’?” he peered over her shoulder. She whipped her head back, arms loaded with thick textbooks.

“Kid, this is my Supreme’s Grimoire, her Book of Shadows, scrolls and other sacred texts. These are the only written records of witchcraft dating back 800 years,” her face a mixture of happiness and melancholy.

“I’m sorry I doubted you. This priceless knowledge would have been lost forever,” she put everything down and wrapped her arms around him as she cried again.

Kid froze, turning deep red as she held on to him, his crew averted their gazes. Suddenly a voice could be heard over Killer’s transponder snail.

“Hey Killer, this is the dinghy team, we found remains of an old settlement but it’s been abandoned for a very long time s’far as we can tell. Also, I’m not sure if it’s just us but this place is creepy. The men keep reporting whispers in the fields or feelings of being watched.”

“Hey Captain, this is the beach team scouting the west side, we concur with the creepy vibes. There isn’t anything out on this side either but I’m not liking the feeling like I’m being stalked through the trees.”

Everyone turned to Rowena who pulled back from Kid, wiping her face.

“The island is likely haunted. The immeasurable pain and agony from the victims who died here cannot be erased. This land is tainted and stained, the ghosts of my sisters are here, crying in despair, furious at the injustice. And with so much pain and anger, it invites…other things...this place is no longer safe, we should leave as soon as possible. I don’t think we should be here when night falls.”

Kid pulled out his pocket watch, it was about five o’clock. Grabbing the transponder snail from Killer, “all teams head back to the dock and prepare to sail.” Looking to the present crew, “gather everything out of this safe and drag it back to the ship.”

The crew hauled ass, piling the texts and items into a four-wheeled cart. Rowena walked around the perimeter, collecting things she found on the ground. As the crew carted the relics back towards the forest trail path, a sudden strong gust of wind shook through the trees, branches all swayed forward and the leaves bristled creating a loud, ominous sound around them. Everyone froze.

“We should go, we should go right now,” Rowena’s voice was alerted and Kid barked at the men to go.

The sound of whispering was much louder and clearer now. Invisible voices were crying out for help but amongst them were other voices too, not crying for help but something much more odious. The hairs on the back of Kid’s neck began to stand up and he started speed walking, which prompted everyone else to run.

As they rushed down the path of trees, it felt like they were no closer to reaching the beach than they had when they had entered the trail. In fact, the longer Kid stared at the exit the further away it seemed to get. Breaking through the whispers, the crew could hear shouts of fear around them.

Rowena stopped running and unsheathed her blades. Pulling out a vial from her bag, she quickly doused her swords.

“I’ll double back to make sure the rest of the crew make it to the beach; you go on ahead,” she shouted over her shoulder as she turned back the way they came.

“No, stay with us. I believe in my men and if they don’t make it, they didn’t have what it takes to sail with us anyways.” Kid snapped.

Rowena eyed him; he couldn’t read the emotion on her face but he wasn’t sure he liked it. Not caring, he grabbed on to her arm and yanked her with him, running towards the exit. Again, the exit seemed to just be out of their reach and he roared in frustration. The rustling in the trees ramped up and the whispers sounded so close to them now.

“What do we do?” Kid looked at her.

Handing him her blades, she dug in her bag rummaging through her items. After a moment, she pulled out small cones that she quickly lit aflame with a gold lighter. They let off a woodsy scent and as they began to burn and the smoke furled out, he could feel a woosh in the air and suddenly the whispers didn’t feel right in his ear. The Witch began tossing several lit cones in either direction, the smoke plumes rising in the air as they burned.

Holding one in her hand, she called over her shoulder, “Let’s move!” In just minutes they reached the beach and Kid almost threw himself to the ground to kiss the sandy shore.

The pirates raced down the beach, out of the corner of his eye he could see the other teams emerging from the woods, some of them looked rough as if they had been fighting only who knows what. They all ran towards the ship. A loud, terrifying roar began emitting from the forest. Rowena pulled back, waiting for everyone to get ahead of her as she held the rear, swords raised.

“WITCH! MOVE YOUR ASS OR I’LL MOVE IT FOR YOU” Kid screamed at her as he stood by the boarding plank while the crew boarded.

She ignored him, holding out her hands and yelling at the last of the men to hurry. Letting out a frustrated yell, Kid ran up the beach to retrieve her. As he neared her, a wave of birds flew up from the tree line, screeching.

A massive shelf cloud was completely covering the island and there was a deep rumbling noise, but whether it was coming from the sky, the sea or the land, Kid couldn’t be sure. One more man broke from the tree line, running towards the boat. Just as he reached Rowena, Kid saw blackness shoot out and grab at the man. He was a newer member named Cut. Cut was pulled down and being dragged backwards, screaming for help.

Rowena sprinted to him, swords swinging at the black mass. It let out a vile hiss as her swords made contact, and the tendrils whipped back into the shadows of the trees. The man got up and left only a trail of dust and sand as his legs carried him to the ship. Rowena started walking backwards, swords up in defense as she eyed the trees.

Kid grabbed her arm and started to pull her again when another set of tentacles came shooting out, this time aimed directly at him; she blocked them before it could touch either of them, the same hissing noise came from them as her blades sliced against them. Kid could see a black ooze drip down into the sand, a vile smell in the air.

The tentacles retreated again – Rowena turned to him, “Now you can move my ass.”

With an annoyed growl, Kid picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, sprinting down the beach.

“More are coming,” she warned and he willed his legs to run faster.

He kicked up a flurry of sand as he sprinted towards the dock, using his devil fruit power to pull the anchor up. He yelled at Killer to get moving as the men withdrew the plank from the dock completely.

Putting Rowena down, “What now?”

“We’re safe here. We’re on the water and they cannot touch the salt from the sea, it burns them.”

“What the fuck was all that?!” he barked.

“Demons.”

Everyone’s eyes bugged as they all looked between the Witch and the island of hell they just barely made it off.

“Evil spirits and monstrous demons are attracted to strong, negative emotions. Any emotions will due honestly but when it’s pain and anger, it’s like a feeding frenzy for them. After what happened here, it must have been a feast for them, there’s a legion deep in there.”

“You can see them?”

“I can hear them, each voice speaking out to us. Every dying wish, plea for help, lust for blood,” she was shivering.

A low groaning came from the island as darkness overtook the land, tendrils trying to reach them as they raced down the shoreline. They stopped just short of the shore, tendrils testing the wet sand and immediately pulling back. Kid felt himself shudder.

“The land is haunted both by the vengeful spirits of my coven and the greedy mouths of those demon shits. This was once a powerful land teeming with magic and now its poisoned,” she slammed a fist on the railing.

“Is there anything you can do?” Kid asked, standing next to her.

“I don’t know, the sheer number of them is already overwhelming. I don’t think I can just cleanse the land by flooding it with the sea. It might take something much greater.”

“Like what?”

She frantically waved her hands in the air, “I just don’t know. Where are the books, maybe I can find something,” she walked to the cart and started digging through the materials. Finding the Grimoire she sat on the deck and ran through the pages, the ship sailed a mile off the coast for safety.

After several minutes, Rowena hopped up and showed Kid the page she was reading. He looked skeptical, “You can do that?”

“I can try, we’re a good distance away but we should put some more between us while I prepare. Is there a space where I can be alone while I get ready for this?”

He quickly instructed Killer to sail further away from the land as he led Rowena through the helms room that sat inside the dinosaur skull’s mouth. Through the second door in the room, they walked out to an open space still covered by the massive skull, looking out to the ocean.

“The aftereffects will make the sea a bit choppy.”

Facing the island, she bowed her head and began to mutter a chant quietly, holding her wand as she started making sharp hand motions. Kid crept up slowly so he could see her better – she was still chanting but ceased her hand motions. Two fingers pointed upwards on each hand as they clasped together, her wand sandwiched between them.

He felt his hair tugging upwards on his scalp and skin. He saw that Rowena’s hair had also been pulled up, it was standing straight up in the air and he hadn’t really appreciated how long it was before. It reached the roof of the dinosaur’s mouth, clumps of hair stuck out like spikes in his, only black in color.

She whispered to herself, as if forgetting Kid was behind her. “I miss you all so much. I will carry the weight of your pain and thirst for vengeance.”

Opening her eyes and speaking louder in a deep voice, she rumbled out, “Cataclysm.” A single tear fell from her eye, hands broke apart and she raised one up; clenching it into a fist, she dropped to the floor and punched it with all her might.

Hearing a thunderous cracking from the sky, Kid watched as the sky opened in the shelf cloud, and he could see black plumes and fiery embers falling through to the island. The thunderous roar became louder, as if the planet was being screamed at by an unseen Titan. The ocean began rolling, waves became choppy and the ship was rocked sharply.

Large objects were raining from the sky itself, exploding on impact as they fell to the land. Giant clouds of smoke and dust blew out from all sides of the island, the cliffside broke and crumbled into the sea. They could feel the land shaking as it became pummeled with more mass objects and Kid watched as the beach and land became ruptured; cracks breaking through the shoreline, water engulfing the sand as it rushed to flood the ruined land. It took 15 minutes for the island to sink entirely.

Breathless and in awe, he reached out to Rowena, “What was that power?”

She turned to him, a dead look in her eyes, “Solar magic. I pulled meteors down and destroyed the Island of Thorns. In doing so and burying it at the bottom of the East Blue, I’ve purified my home. I only hope that by doing this, my coven is free to move on from this purgatory.” She stumbled, depleted of energy.

Kid caught her, holding her against his chiseled body, both hearts beating rapidly. They stayed like that as the ocean calmed itself, the ship no longer rocking violently. He found that he didn’t really want to let go of her, but he knew they had to get a move on.

“Can you make it back to your room?” she nodded weakly. Not liking that, he bent forward intending to scoop her up in his arms but she protested.

“Before we go, I need to do something,” she pulled back and sat down on the wooden floor.

Kid kneeled next to her. From her bag she pulled out several pieces of colored yarn, feathers, raw cut gems, shells, and other items. She began stringing it all together.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making a Witch’s Ladder.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a useful tool for scrying, meditation, and can be used in my rituals too. My mother and I made my first one together, it was bounded with bay leaves, rose quartz gems and seashells. Haven’t had one in years.”

She gingerly stood up; a bit unsteady on her feet. Kid straightened up and stood directly behind her acting like a wall for the Witch to lean on, which she did to his delight. Facing the direction of her former home, Rowena let out a small, sad sigh. Wand anchoring her string, she began to recite words while tying knots into the string, eyes partially shut.

By knot of one, the spell's begun. By knot of two, the magic comes true. By knot of three, so it shall be.

Her voice faltered and cracked at first, but it became more confident as she spoke her chant.

By knot of four, this power is stored. By knot of five, my will shall drive. By knot of six, the spell I fix.

She shut her eyes and spoke more fiercely.

By knot of seven, the future I leaven. By knot of eight, my will be fate. By knot of nine, what is done is mine.

Rowena opened her eyes, chanting the final line with clear determination; the knotted string dangled from her wand. She pulled it off, wrapping it around her wrist twice. She turned to Kid and asked him to tie a slipped buntline hitch to keep it from falling. As he tied it up, he saw the heavy bags under her eyes. She tried to walk back to the door but her energy was fading fast. Her knees buckled and Kid grabbed her. Scooping her up he swiftly carried her to her cabin.

Laying her down in bed, “You did good today; I know it wasn’t easy and you really saved our asses. I’ll give you some time to recover, don’t worry about training for the next two weeks, just rest up and read your books, I’ll have Killer bring them down in a bit.”

The Captain walked back to the deck and began addressing the crew; instructing the wounded to visit UK and the rest were dismissed to their daily duties. He had Gig take control of the helm and chart a course back to Sabaody so they could finally get back on course to the New World.

With Killer, the two men brought down Rowena’s books to her room. They knocked but there was no answer. Entering cautiously, they realized she was out. They quietly placed her items on the small table and exited.

Kid stood at the threshold, giving her one last look and walked back inside to remove her boots from her feet and drape the blanket over her. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down and kissing the top of her head. Finally satisfied, he walked out to let his Witch get the rest she deserved.

Read on AO3

[shade-pup-cub]

Ugh... the things I do to these poor boys, but still one of my fave scenes!

Wild's reunion after TOTK, Chapter 11 "A Deity's Son"

Content warning: magic possession, seizure, blood, someones are is missing... this was writen before the game came out.

"Dametrius?" He looked over to see Time, awake and confused.

"When did all of you get here?"

"No idea. Must have switched in our sleep. We were in Skyloft last night."

"No point in asking if you have seen my wildling then."

The others were waking up to their voices. "Mornin' y'all." Twilight called out as everyone tried to wake up.

"Morning Pup. Look where we are."

"Wild?" The wolf hero jumped to his feet, grabbing his head immediately after looking up to the balcony.

"Not here and I'm just as clueless as the rest of you."

Legend shivered and rubbed his arms. "Can we start the fire? It's freezing!"

"Sure." Demetrius then scoffed, "Wouldn't be so cold if you wore some fucking pants." He wasn't really trying to hide it.

"Heard that, you shirtless asshole!"

Dametrius shrugged with a laugh, raising his arm up and aimed for the fireplace. "Watch yourself." He gave just enough time for Legend to move before fire scaled down his arm and bust from his palm to the fireplace. He laughed as he turned to his closet to put on his long sleeve, high neck, black tunic and black pants. He pushed up his sleeves before running his fingers through his hair to pull it back into a higher ponytail. He splashed water onto his face to fully wake. He slid brown boots on, overlapping his legging style pants.

Everything seemed peaceful at the moment as he heard the light banter between Legend and Warriors, Time and Twilight sharing a laugh, Sky yawning as he tried to stay awake. Four was looking at his own shadow that the god thought would joi- oh wait, there's Shadow. Wind just pounced onto Warriors back, both falling to the ground. Hyrule slapped Legend for laughing at the two.

Dametrius was smiling, thinking of how it would be if his Link had siblings to cause havoc with.

Peace never lasted around this group though.

Twilight had gotten up from his spot to go outside, but stopped when he opened the front door. "Cub?" Everyone was silent. Waiting. "Cub!!" It wasn't a holler of excitement or of missing someone. It was the kind that was filled with worry, fear and pain. "DAMETRIUS!"

He jumped over the balcony to the first floor as the door was kicked back open by Twilight with Wild clinging to him, cloak wrapped around him and hiding his face.

"What happened?" He asked as he knelt down and helped support the young man who looked to be a few inches taller than last time.

"G-ganon… we won, but it hurt." Wild was trembling and flinched at every sound around him.

"Cub?" Twilight was moving his bangs from the too still hero.

Like a switch turned on, Link crumbled to the ground, half in his father's arms. "Make it stop, Dad, please make it stop! It hurts and I don't… I don't want this!!"

"Wild, what hurts? I need you to tell me so I can help." From under the hood, a flash of glowing green was visible. "Wild, take off the hood."

"I can't… please."

"Link, let me see you." He was not prepared for what he saw.

Wild's hair was down to his mid back, much like it was when he was a child. It was no longer the beautiful blond, but a dark red that matched the Barbarian Headset he owned. His skin was tanner than it had ever been too. He still had his eyes closed tightly.

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

Wild let out a pained whine, but did look at his father slowly. His eyes… his cobalt blue eyes like his mother's were now a bright, light green with a sheen over them that had to be for when he was outside at night.

There were gasps and startled noises followed by shifting. "How?" Dametrius asked as he cupped his son's cheek.

"We found Ganon, just like in my visions. The seal was so weak and it fully broke when we got there. We were standing nowhere close to the edge, but the ground under Zelda gave way and she fell. I went to save her, but something grabbed me. It was an arm, The Zonai Sage's arm that held the seal. It fused with mine and the magic is trying to take over… It already has this much." Wild unclasped his cloak with his left hand, allowing the material to fall from his shoulders and the others to see him fully. His arm was a dark decayed color, adorned with metal that wrapped around it and his fingers like rings.

Wild let out a bellow as his body quivered. The arm became a light green color, glowing and the metal was a golden color. His eyes flashed open and they too were glowing.

Dametrius recognized what was going on. “The magic is too powerful for your body. At this rate it will kill you.”

“How long do we have?” Twilight asked.

“When did this start?”

Wild gritted his teeth, clenching his father’s tunic in his hands. “Two hours ago. The second I killed Ganon.”

Demetrius rubbed a hand over his mouth in a stressful manner. “Maybe thirty minutes and that is being generous.”

Another wave of magic went through the boy. The black rectangles on his skin got darker and more started to form. “Cut it off! Please!!”

What?

Wild’s eyes rolled back and his body twitched. Dametrius laid him down onto his side and made sure his airways stayed clear.

“What is happening?” Wind was half tucked behind Wars, blue scarf in his fist.

Dametrius kept his voice calm. “He is having a seizure. Zonai magic is meant for the Zonai, not Hylians. It's trying to use his body as a vessel, but it is overpowering his system. Even him being a demi-god isn’t enough.”

Time came to their sides. “What do we need to do?”

There was no other option for the time remaining. “Cut it off.” The expressions he received were no different than what he was feeling inside. “If we had more time, we could try to find a better solution, but we don’t have that luxury right now.”

Wild, uncharacteristically for a seizure and could only be explained by the magic, sprang to his feet. He did a hand gesture and the Master Sword appeared, except it wasn’t the same anymore. It had its original hilt and first quarter the same, but the rest looked to be made of some kind of magic. The colors matched Wild’s arm and eyes. The concern in the father’s chest grew. He was happy to see that Fi was watching out for the others still. She burned Wild’s hand, making him drop the blade.

Weapons were drawn by most in the room as Wild took a defensive stance. “He is hallucinating.”

The red haired Link charged on the other heroes, starting with Legend. He had just enough time to move, but was grabbed by his forearm and swung around, thrown into the nearest wall, head crashing backwards with an audible crack. Hyrule was by his side in an instant, casting his life spell.

Almost no one stood a chance against Wild's speed as he zig zagged between bodies, not killing, just disorienting them. Wild, even like this, refused to kill anyone outside of the Yiga or Ganon. The closest one to take him down was Shadow as he shadow-jumped, latching onto Wild’s leg and torso. He could only hang on so long before the elemental demi-god pulled flames from the fireplace into his hands to get rid of his own shadow, therefore banishing Shadow from him.

Dametrius watched Twilight sneak towards his cub and went to grab him. The other turned and dodged at the last moment. Shit! Dametrius, just as fast as his son, lurched forward before the sword Wild pulled from Warriors back could reach skin and wrapped his arms around the young man, the other hand gripping around his wrist holding the blade.

As time went back to normal, they rolled across the floor before slamming into the wall holding shields. "Link! Listen to me!"

"Get off!!”

He pulled the boy's back to his chest to secure him. "You are stronger than this and you know it. Son, this isn't you. Fight this!"

The boy under his bruising grip stilled his thrashing. "Dad?" he half choked out the word.

"Hey kiddo. I’m here"

" 'm sorry." Wild convulsed. "Hurry! I can't hold it back too much longer."

Dametrius basically ripped his son's shirt off the one shoulder it hung on. He could feel the magic pulsing, but fading. He looked around the room scanning for things he was going to need, while keeping a tight grip on his son.

"Clear off the table! Four, I need the sharpest blade you have, preferably some kind of ax. Heat it up to sanitize it. Hyrule, you are going to be needed for healing. Legend, gonna need that Ice Rod of yours. Twilight, you're the strongest, need you to hold his right arm out for me. Time, hold down his torso. The rest of you, try to keep his legs still." Everyone jumped to their proper places.

He picked up Wild and placed him on the table to where his right arm was flat on it. Twilight gripped it firmly as Time placed most of his body weight onto the small torso. Warriors had a hold of one leg as Wind and Sky had the other. Four surprisingly had the ax blade already ready and went to Wind's side after handing it over.

"D-dad?" His breathing quickened with his panic. He clearly could see the blade near him. It raced faster as his father tied a tourniquet around his upper arm.

Dametrius placed his forehead to his son's, upside down. "Freya, give me strength and forgive me for what I'm about to do to our boy." He kissed the deep red locks of hair that still had the single lock of pure white in the bangs.

The magic began to rise once again. They were running out of time.

"Dad, please!!" Wild thrashed again, but was held firmly in place.

"Wild, Cub! Look at me." Time cupped the unscarred cheek and turned his head away from what was happening. "It's okay. It'll be okay. Just… just look at me." Dametrius was beyond thankful for the bond his son had grown with his ancestor and for the resemblance Time and he shared. He knew it eased some of the anxiety Wild had as he went to other eras, to be able to see someone that looked like his father.

The god put a strip of leather between his son's teeth so he wouldn't hurt himself. He took a deep breath, "Everyone ready?" Nods were given and he raised the ax high into the air. He could hear everyone's heartbeat before he brought the ax down.

The screams Wild let out with tears rushing from his eyes broke Dametrius’s heart.

Time gripped the boy's face with both hands to keep his head towards him. Tears of his own slipped down his cheeks. "Cub, it's almost over, I promise. Just a little longer." He placed his forehead to the other’s to block out everything except himself. Wild was sobbing around the leather strip, staring into Time’s eyes, both eyes. He was gripping onto the back of Time's tunic, nearly ripping it and probably was leaving welts underneath.

Dametrius summoned the smallest amount of fire he could in his palm and placed it on the new, extensive wound to cauterize it. New screams filled the house and Wild violently moved around to get away. He took the Ice Rod from Legend and chilled the wound, though there was no covering up the coppery smell and burning flesh.

He had forgotten about Twilight for a moment, but when he heard the sharp breaths being taken in next to him, he turned towards the source. He was shaking with blood splatter on his clothes and face. Twi looked at his cub, to the detached arm, then up to Dametrius’s white eyes. Dametrius took the arm, blood running down it and threw it into the flames.

Turning back to the now crimson colored table, he saw Hyrule already using his magic to heal what he could, anguish across his face and he looked a bit green.

He walked towards Twilight, spun him away from the sight and pulled him close. The other didn't hesitate to put his arms around him, death grip on his black shirt. He ran his fingers through the dirty blond hair, kissing the top before looking at Time. He signed to him, 'Switch'.

Time walked over after pressing his lips to the scarred cheek and coaxed Twilight to sit with him against the wall.

With shaking hands, Dametrius gingerly picked up his unconscious son from the table and sat next to Time and Twi with Wild in his lap, pressed to his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He pressed soothing kisses to the feverish skin of the young hero. "I'm so sorry for everything."

The flames in the fireplace roared as the last bit of the arm disintegrated into ash. A teal flame appeared, expanding into a person. Dametrius recognized the man, Link of the Zonai tribe. They bowed to each other before the flames went out.

Sky walked over with bloodshot eyes and collapsed in front of them. He looked regretful of what he was about to ask or say. “Dametrius… Where is Zelda?”

[painfulrant]

This is a scenario based on the book Wild Cowboy Wolf by Kait Ballenger and how I could see one of the scenes or arguments going in the book! This is a mixture between the book and OuterBanks, the characters being Y/n and JJ representing Dakota and Blaze. IF you happen to notice any grammatical errors, I’m sorry! This is a rough draft but I’m not able to work on it long because I gotta start dinner soon! Thank you all for reading if you’ve gotten this far. Love y’all!

Y/n looked up to the man that was too close for comfort, the warmth from his bare chest creating a barrier around them but the coldness in his eyes creating walls just as strong that kept them separated.

Why couldn’t he see? She didn’t like pushing him away anymore then he did. Of course, she probably shouldn’t have kissed him first but he made it abundantly clear that he didn't reciprocate her feelings, at least not at the time. Now he stood in front of her, rolling a strand of her hair between his fingers and staring at her with a coldness that she’s only ever seen given to others.

“You get mad at me for stopping that night and now… now you’re getting upset because I’m trying to prove there's nothing to be scared of? Why can’t you understand that I’m trying to make you see?” His voice was deep and grovel with clipped edgings. To anyone it would have seemed as though he were as calm as a sleeping infant. She knew him better though. He was holding back everything; his anger, his hurt, his confusion, and most of all he was holding out on her.

“See what, JJ? Every decision you’ve made has made it very obvious that there can’t be anything between us. I’m surprised you haven’t caught onto it!” She would not allow him to see her break so when the tremblings started just below her lip and the shaking formed in her already clenched hands, she turned away, going to grab her clothes that lay in a crumbled pile on the floor.

“To see that it’s always been you! Women, how many times do I have to show and tell you that you’re all I’ve wanted for years! Anyone with two eyes, hell even one eye, could and have seen it.” That’s just it though, that was before they had to worry about their years of friendship going down the drain. Scoffing, she wrapped her arms around herself to stop the cold that was seeping from her chest all throughout her body, causing her to tremble from every emotion that swam through her.

“Don’t do that, Angel.” His gruff voice grew softer and she hated it. He shouldn’t be pitying her right now. For years, she’s shown that she was anything but weak. Even so, the mask she wore was near crumbling and not only did she know it but he did too.

Without a second to think, she turned and marched towards him. The mask was still up, hiding all her emotions from prying eyes, his eyes. Her freezing hands met both sides of his face before she attempted to drag him down to feel him against her, just to test if what he was saying has any ounce of truth to it.

“If you can’t do it with feeling – don’t.” JJ's gruff voice mumbled as he pulled his head back, the walls between them only growing higher by the second. Speaking of second, this would be the second time that he’s rejected her. It wasn’t like everything in her body was screaming at her to just do it anyways or to break his walls down… Instead, she dropped her hands and head, staring at her boot and she kicked dust on the ground. Of course it would be no different this time. It was all a game to him.

“Okay.” She whispered, wincing when the crack in her voice betrayed her emotions.

“Angel.” Her body was moving away from him before her mind could register it. All the walls that he had tore down and all the emotions she was rolling over in her head, all while she replayed every second of the last few minutes.

“Don’t.” It was more of a plea than a warning but either way, he didn’t take the hint and she soon found his hands reaching towards her.

“You don’t have to explain. I’ve pissed you off. I’ve broken our friendship. I’ve pushed you away…” She announced, still not daring to look up in case she found any evidence of hurt or anger.

“I’ll just take my leave.” With that, she turned and began to walk with quick strides to get out of the room as soon as she could, choosing to leave her clothes with hopes they would still be there later. She didn’t get far before a rough pull on her shoulder stopped her and the warm feeling of lips, his lips, were against her own. The warmth from earlier wrapped around her, warming her freezing body which slowly eased her body into relaxation in his hold.

“A man is about as big as the things that make him angry.” JJ whispered right next to her ear and all she could hear was the cockiness and smug smile that she was sure was resting on his face. Before she knew it, her feet were off the ground and the feeling of gravity pulling against her caused her to squeal. She didn’t fall though, her body fitting perfectly against his as he held her, one hand on her bum and the other under her thigh.

“We have a shower to get to. Gotta get the sewer water and sh*t off you.” He all but chuckled and gave the same smug smirk as always. The thought of urine, sh*t, and anything in between matted in her hair and covering her body brought a choking feeling to her chest, causing her to gag in disgust.

“If you can’t do it with feeling – don’t.” - Patsy Cline.

“A man is about as big as the things that make him angry.” - Winston Churchill.

[leaahhh]

EDITORS NOTE: I wrote this back in October, a month where I had maybe some of the most fun I've ever had. That month was like the decadent, opulent party you'd throw moments before conceding to disaster. That is to say, my life was totally flipped on its head at the beginning of November – which is a story for another time, one I hope I will someday have the bravery to tell. Rest assured I'm writing everything down. That said, reading this back in my Google docs reminds me of a lighter time, which is both laughable and relieving, so I'm sharing it anyway. I never finished, but don't want it to go to waste.

I’m resurrecting the consumption logs. The last time I posted one was April of last year, I think? I had a genuinely pleasant time scrolling pretty far back on this blog reading those old entries – and other more saccharine posts – even though my sensory memory is so strong it sometimes makes me feel sick. I hope I don’t fall off again! I’m sure I’ll be saying that again in no time.

Moving on. Some late-October hang-ups:

“You’re Not The Only One I Know” by The Sundays

I’m “late,” I guess, but music discovery is fun for that reason and I don’t know why we feel the need to preface when we’re only getting into an old band now. I’ve been on a real The Sundays kick this fall. It started when I first heard “Life Goes On,” this bewilderingly gorgeous and cascading gem of a track that randomly only got added to Spotify once I’d begun to search it up on YouTube like muscle memory several times a day. 

“You’re Not The Only One” appears alongside “Life Goes On” on the 1997 EP ‘Cry.’ I feel particularly spiritually connected to music that came out the year I was born. I am of the belief that those albums tell you more about yourself than astrological charts do. 

An aside: I’ve recently come to accept the fact that I am kind of nuts. That’s not only because multiple people have used that specific word to describe me to my face, but because these past few months I’ve really noticed (and been critical of, promise) my regretful penchant for saying way too much way too soon, often with a brash, abrasive, and prickly delivery. I don’t mean to come barreling in as strongly as I do, but 1) it’s a defense mechanism and 2) I’m working on it. This happens mostly with men, by the way. Something to think about. 

The lyrics of this song really make me feel seen – lines like “Where’s the harm in voicing a doubt?” and the kicker, “You’re not the only one I know, but I’m far too proud to talk to you anyway.” It’s a delicious performance of finger-pointing disdain, like something that feels sooo awesome to say, but when the facade crumbles as the song unfurls it ultimately reveals a whole well of straight up sadness and disappointment. Perfect to me!

Serendipitously, the Hancock hosted a Halloween party this year with a lineup of cover bands performing music from The Sundays, The Cure, The Cranberries, Talking Heads, and The B-52’s. I was dressed as a (sexy) bunny and had the time of my life twirling around to these songs “live” in a definitely haunted Bed-Stuy mansion.

(As I was looking up a YouTube link to insert here, I found this one, which made me smile a little. I had a torrid, beautiful experience once with someone who loved to show me videos of songs paired with movie scenes deemed fitting by random people on the 'net. It seems here that user vertigo60 chose Michaelangelo Antonioi's 'L'eclisse,' which upon my research, is a film about a doomed romance and "the difficulty of connection in an alienating modern world." Ah!)

Redemption

I keep thinking to myself that 2024 has been the year of the redemption arc. As I alluded to up there, I’ve come close to fumbling many a good thing with my misplaced intensity, or my desire to feign intimacy, etc...call it what you will. It has brought me a decent amount of shame, but I feel very, very grateful when I think about the people who’ve given me a second chance and situations that have come back around in ways that make more sense. I’ve always known that I’m a slow-burn, long-game type of person, and that it takes me a while to warm up to the things I want to love. This year I’ve learned that not everything will leave before you get the chance to prove it! How lucky.

Typing in proper case

I’m 27 and a half now. That’s literally just a guess and I’m not fact-checking due to I don’t think beautiful women should ever have to do even simple math. I’ve been typing in all lowercase since I had started a Twitter account at 11 years old (and got banned temporarily in my early twenties because I tried to add my real birthday to get balloons on my account). It probably began as an act of informality and laziness, and then maybe turned into an aesthetic choice, but I’ve begun to consider that it might be time to grow up. I haven’t fully committed, but I might do so at least here on Tumblr. Don’t hold me to it.