#you CHOSE to use it in the worst way possible and that you never really deserved that chance in the first place

[thetrasha]

no one mentions how good you write Buggy and Doflamingo, I would love to see more of them 🫶🏻

Thanks, anon (●ˇ∀ˇ●) This request got me excited, I rarely get to write about the less popular cast members, especially the antagonists!! So I hope you enjoy this one in particular, I think it came out great LOL

<3

Tell Me You Love Me

feat. DOFLAMINGO, BUGGY

DOFLAMINGO

MOOD: possessive

Doflamingo couldn’t wait to hear to hear you say that you love him. You weren’t the type to utter things in passing – everything you ever said, you meant it. It was like a promise to yourself. You hid things pretty well by omission, but if you decided to talk, it had always been true. Exactly what he wanted and needed. Now that you’re with him, he appreciates the depth of your words even more. Your words were gospel, almost… sacred. And he’s just dying to hear those words that would bind you to him. It would give him the security he needed to dive deeper into this relationship and devote himself fully to you.

You rendered him completely powerless – you were absolutely perfect in every aspect. Loyal, discreet, intelligent, funny and… despite your cunning, you never lost a certain kindness that you’d buried deep. Doflamingo saw it in the way you treated others. Although you knew that you were better than most people you didn’t dare to look down on them. You held your head high and kept your heart under lock and key, but you were quite vulnerable in day-to-day life; you had excellent manners, but your partner would never thank one of his servants for doing their job. It is expected of them… but you did go to those lengths. He couldn’t quite say that he way jealous; he knew that he was the best and only choice for you, but it did make him feel a bit conflicted.

You didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve around Doflamingo.

He knew why. Of course he did. He saw you for who you are. Someone who’s been treated so unfairly and has been dealt the worst cards but still chose their own ambition over misery – you struck harder than steel but were worth all treasure in the world, even if you wanted none of it. Actually, he kind of saw himself in you, now that he’s been thinking about.

He, too, has lost it all at some point, but rose from those ashes like a phoenix. Befitting of someone of his calibre; nobody else could come even close. Others would have decided to succumb to the pain and live a life that they knew they didn’t deserve, but Doflamingo has always prided himself on his ability to detect talent, refine it and use it for his own gain – he just had to become the best possible version of himself before that all happened. He had to become a reliable man with a terrifying repertoire of abilities and connection.

You reminded him of… him, yes, you just weren’t as ruthless. You complemented him well.

You really were the one.

Maybe that’s why it soured his mood so much to watch you wear a mask around him. You were so afraid of falling for a man like him – a man who was so much like you.

You just knew that he was going to consume you whole, just like you did to him. He would occupy your every thought, just like how you’d infested his own mind. You’d have to let yourself fall into his arms and trust that he wouldn’t betray nor break you, but that promise had already seared itself into his soul.

Doflamingo was great many things, but he was no traitor.

He’d accepted your place in this family, so it was about time for you to accept yours as well.

One day, you’d both crack.

“It seems you get uncomfortable around me.”, he mused with a grin, but the way his voice darkened towards the end couldn’t be ignored by either of you.

It startled you seeing as you were currently in his arms, cuddled up into his side while he was watching a visual transponder snail project footage from a Navy meeting he’d tapped. Someone in there was wearing a wire, but you’d both concluded that the discussion was too charitable and bureaucratic to go anywhere. Still, Doflamingo liked to keep an eye on these things, especially if he wasn’t invited.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doffy.”

Your partner grinned. You’d started calling him by his nickname and he could just preen every time those two syllables left your lips. The fact that you wanted to divert attention away from the issue at hand was annoying though.

“You know exactly what I mean, my sweet. Keeping your guard up around me. Thought I was a fantastic husband.”

“We’re not married. And we’re not the type to marry.”, you retorted with a dramatic roll of the eyes, playfully hitting his arm.

“Ah, tomato, tomato.”

Silence befell you two, neither of you chose to speak during that moment, but he could very much feel you snuggle into his side. You’d thrown a blanket across your legs due to the chilly air of the night biting at your skin, which made you look extra cosy. Doflamingo, who’d previously only seen your professional side before you started… whatever this was, was delighted that you felt at home inside of his palace.

You slowly got used to him, warmed up to him, you were so in tune with him now… you knew that you loved him.

“It seems that you’re playing with me, sweetheart.”, he commented. He just knew that you’d understand him as soon as he’d uttered these words, and judging from the way you were fidgeting… well, he was right.

“You haven’t said it either, Doffy.”

He let out a sinister laugh – you got him there. You were too clever for your own good and you didn’t bow to anyone. That’s what made you who you are. People had to earn your trust and respect, just like you had to earn theirs.

And both of you kept playing this game of cat and mouse – one he was certain he’d win.

“Acute observation, darling.” He grinned, ruffling through your hair and messing it up. You glared at him, but then rested your head on his shoulder with a playfully annoyed groan.

“We can just say it together.”, you pouted.

Doflamingo shot up. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!

“3…”, he began, trying to bait you. Victory was oh so sweet.

“…2”, you continued-

“1…”

Both of you drew in a deep breath, preparing yourselves for a heartfelt moment…

“…”

“…”

…that never came, because you stayed silent.

Owlishly, you blinked at each other. It’d started to click what just happened.

Doflamingo’s forehead vein popped all of the sudden as he let out an angry pant through his nose. How could a mouse like you outfox the cat? He began clenching and unclenching his long fingers, trying to keep his blood pressure down. Also, he didn’t want to tear this room apart on such a beautiful night.

You just giggled at him, not an ounce of fear in your expression… because you trusted him; it was as clear as day. The blanket bunched up at your feet as you propped yourself up to sit on your knees.

Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck while he has huffing and puffing in silent rage, feeling cheated out of an experience…

But his eyebrows shot up in surprise as soon as you initiated an intimate kiss. You leaned in and licked his lips – and who could ever deny you access? He opened his mouth, loving the way you fell into him, letting him feel the entirety of your weight against his body and his large hands slowly travelled up your lovely physique, leaving possessive touches here and there –

– until you leaned back, watching him with an easy smile dancing on your lips.

“I love you.”, you’d whispered, leaning back in just to feel his wide smirk against your mouth.

Of course you'd prove him right.

Doflamingo was so right. You were, in a way, just like him.

You were... everything.

BUGGY

MOOD: sentimental

Buggy tried to never let it show that he was jealous… of mostly anyone that interacted with you. Yes, it wasn’t exactly a great mindset and he never doubted you once, but he cannot help but compare himself to every other person you come across and spiral in silence, watching like a kicked puppy as you got along well with someone else. And then he would snap at anyone who’d dare to interrupt his self-deprecating behaviour at that moment, promptly yelling at them in his shrill voice to scrub the deck or else, but… at the same time, he eyed you with a worrisome wistfulness. You had so much charisma – you immediately clicked with other people. Well, depending on who they were. But you didn’t have to fail upwards to get what you want… Why you chose to follow a fool like him was still an utter mystery to the Star Clown, but he wouldn’t complain. He’s got you right where he wanted you… You’d confessed your love to each other – amazing, show’s over.

…Except it wasn’t. Now Buggy has to come to terms with the fact that he might be… more interested in you than he originally believed himself. He tried burying it, tried to play it off in a cool way, but he was well-aware that you could read him like a book. You knew that he was just a tiny bit pathetic, and you preferred it that way. In fact, you teased him these days. You were constantly playing it up just for him, making a show out of your love… just to get to see him blush and stammer through a half-assed expression of gratitude before his body parts would separate themselves from one another and fly around like chaos incarnate.

Still, that way, he had your whole attention on him and he loved it.

You were the star of the show – figuratively, not literally. He was still the masterful ringleader, the clown prince of piracy… or whatever they write in the papers these days. Buggy was an acclaimed criminal who’s been perfecting a rare craft: Showmanship!

Right now, he felt like he barely had a say in the play, though.

Nobody could deny that judgemental gazes followed you around when you would hang off of your captain’s strong arms, looking at him like he was worth a million Beri. Fifteen million actually, by the way. Thanks for the flowers, sweetheart, you’re the best.

But he tried to deny it all anyway.

He was Buggy the Genius Jester! The one and only! People were literally dying to get a seat at his circus sometimes. They had a lion who could jump through rings of fire!… If Richie was feeling up to it.

Anyways, he tried to counter all that gossip said in a whisper behind his back with brazen displays of confidence and terror.

Nobody could hurt you… or him if Buggy took the wind outta their sails right away! Haha! Take that, you good-for-nothing buffoons and watch as the next King of the Pirates reveals his master plan to take control of the Grandline…

But in private, after all those words eventually got to him, Buggy lies in your arms.

He would have taken a bath that drained all of his energy because he ate that godforsaken Devil Fruit because of that bastard Shanks, all of the makeup had been washed off in the steamy bubble bath, leaving the naked visage of the usually prettily adorned Star Clown behind… and you’d be able to stare at the bright red nose in all its glory. Sometimes – especially in the beginning of your relationship – he maliciously assumed that you were actually just blind. Maybe that’s why your pupils couldn’t focus on the thing that gave him so many insecurities… but your innocent kisses were always at it with perfect precision, so that was clearly out of the picture.

Still, in every possible metric, you were so out of his league.

You were gorgeous. If Buggy didn’t know better, he would have assumed you’d run from Mary Geoise and were pursuing a freer life away from the Red Line. Shanks and him, when they were mere chore boys on the Oro Jackson, used to bicker about who’d marry a princess like you first. Of course Buggy wouldn’t have ever thought that he’d best Shanks there, but here he was.

Of course, you were no royal. Well, not yet. Just you wait until he finds the One Piece!

You were also smart and reliable, responsible and sensible, sweet and caring, strong and ruthless – fuck, you had it all. You were all he’s ever dreamt of.

And Buggy was just… Buggy.

Yeah, he’d achieved some things, but girls like you usually went for Shanks. Someone who, you know, wasn’t a complete fraud… who had something to offer.

But here you were…

“I love you, Buggy.”, you’d whisper as you brushed through his blue tresses – a ritual you’ve grown accustomed to.

“You’re so pretty…”, you sang as if he was an actual star, “I love your hair.”

…and you adored him so much.

Like Buggy was anyone but himself.

You loved him like he was worth it, like he was… your soulmate.

And because of moments like these did he know that you would always come back to him. In your eyes, he was no failure, he was the greatest man alive.

He might just believe that he could become the King of the Pirates… and a man who’d make you happy, forever and ever. He’d throw it all away for you.

He leaned back with a dopey smile, blushing at your gentle touch.

He would cling to you forever.

[emeraldcosmos1]

Ghost in the Walls

You don’t knock when you enter.

Not because you're rude, but because you know Bucky would rather hear your footsteps than the sharp, sudden rattle of knuckles on wood. The knock always makes him flinch. Just a twitch—but a twitch says a lot in a man who’s trained not to move unless he’s killing.

He doesn’t look at you when you step inside.

The safehouse is too quiet. Somewhere in Romania, according to Steve’s hasty scribble on the edge of a mission brief. You didn’t ask questions. You were used to being where people didn’t want you, doing what people didn’t want done.

Bucky sits on the floor with his back to the wall, legs bent up, one metal hand braced on his knee. He’s looking out the window like he expects the street to start bleeding again. You wonder if he’s seeing this moment, or if his mind is stuck somewhere in the ‘40s. Or maybe with Hydra. Or Sokovia. Or Siberia.

Or maybe he's still trying to forget your face from when you tried to slit his throat in a Paris alley three years ago.

“You’re limping,” you say softly, nodding to his leg.

“You're observant.” His voice is dry, but not cruel. Bucky never sounds cruel. Just tired.

“You’re bleeding too,” you say, stepping closer. “Side.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure it is.”

The silence stretches. You crouch in front of him, and he lets you, but his body stays tense—like he’s waiting for this to be a trap. Like he’s still the asset. Like you might still be, too.

“I could’ve killed you in Paris,” you say, not as a threat, but a reminder. That you chose not to. That you saw him, even then.

“You should’ve,” he murmurs.

The words hit like a slap you weren’t expecting. Still, your fingers ghost over the frayed edge of his shirt. You catch sight of the gash—angry and dark, just under his ribs. He doesn’t flinch when you press around it.

“You let me go,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “Why?”

“Because I knew what it was like to be a ghost wearing someone else’s name.”

That stops him. For a breath, two, maybe three. Then: “Red Room?”

You nod.

His eyes go darker. Something ancient flickers there—pain, recognition, kinship in the worst possible way.

“Do you remember it?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“I wish I didn’t,” he answers.

He exhales like he hasn’t in days. You sit beside him, not touching, just there. You’ve learned to live in spaces like these—between war and recovery, between love and regret.

“They made me kill a diplomat’s daughter in Kiev,” you say. “She was fifteen. Saw my face. That was enough.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. But his shoulder shifts, ever so slightly toward yours.

“I never knew her name.”

“I never knew most of theirs,” he confesses. “I still see their faces.”

You turn your head toward him, really looking. There’s blood on his knuckles, the kind that won’t wash off even with a dozen cold showers. His hair is too long again. His eyes are glass and smoke.

“You’re not him anymore,” you whisper.

He laughs bitterly. “Aren’t I?”

You reach out, brushing a thumb just beneath his eye. “You remember them. That’s proof you are.”

The metal fingers twitch once, then still. He closes his eyes.

You think about how many times you’ve almost kissed him.

Berlin. A mission gone wrong. Blood in your mouths, adrenaline in your veins. Your back pressed against a cement wall, his arm braced above you. That look—like you were the last real thing in a world made of dust. But you never did it. You both had too many ghosts, and neither of you knew how to kiss without bleeding.

You hear thunder roll outside. Rain taps the glass like it’s trying to get in.

“I don’t sleep,” he says suddenly.

“I know.”

“When I do, I dream of—”

“I know that too.”

A pause.

“You?” he asks. “What do you dream of?”

You hesitate.

“Freedom,” you say finally. “But I wouldn’t recognize it if I had it.”

That makes him look at you. Really look. There’s no judgment in his gaze—just understanding. Like maybe you’re not so different. Two ex-weapons trying to live like people in a world that still sees you as things.

“You ever think we’re just… waiting?” you ask.

“For what?”

“For someone to tell us what to be again.”

Bucky swallows hard. “Yeah.”

His voice cracks a little. It undoes something inside you.

“I don’t know how to live without a war,” you confess.

“I don’t either.”

You don’t say anything else. You don’t have to. The war is coming. Tony Stark, governments, allies turning into enemies. It's all going to unravel, and both of you know it. But here, in this forgotten room with peeling wallpaper and rain-slicked glass, you pretend the world isn’t watching.

You reach over slowly and take his hand—the flesh one. The one that still shakes sometimes.

He lets you.

“I won’t leave,” you say quietly.

He blinks. “Even if I ask you to?”

You smile sadly. “Especially then.”

Bucky nods. His eyes flutter shut like maybe, just maybe, tonight he might sleep. You rest your head against his shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, the silence feels like peace.

But you both know the ghosts are just outside the door.

And neither of you has ever been good at staying still for long.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere who breaks into your home and just won't leave.

Tw. Stalking, Yandere, nsfw themes, blackmail

You came back one day from work, tired as hell, only to find some strange man sitting on your couch with some boxes scattered around him. You threatened to call the cops, to scream and get him out, but he remained strangely calm if not a little boyishly eager.

"H-heh, I knew you'd be kind of upset. Don't worry, I already paid your rent for the next few months. T-took a bit of time to scrape together, but you're worth it babe."

When you then persisted on throwing him out, he simply took out a folder with shaking hands and showed you a mile wide stack of compromising photos that he'd somehow taken while you were completely unaware.

"Don't worry. I won't release them unless you make me."

So now you lived with your stalker now turned roommate.

It was strange. You couldn't kick him out, so you were forced to tolerate him. At first, you thought you could just wait until he left so you could hastily change the locks, but he just never left. He worked on his computer saying he had a remote job, and all of the groceries were delivered to the door. You didn't even have a chance to try and stop him.

He would creep his way into your bed at night, cook you breakfast, and act like nothing was wrong.

Yandere who likes to take photos of you openly now.

He snaps his camera at you while you brush your teeth or put on shoes. Every angle of you has been painstakingly catalogued and printed out in the albums now scattered on every table. He especially liked having pictures of the two of you together.

"Hehe, I used to have to edit myself in..."

You really didn't like mulling over what that could've possibly meant, so you just chose to gloss over it.

Yandere who likes to bathe and pamper you. It's so domestic that it's almost sickening. He makes homemade soaps to lather your skin in, and he's not half bad at making scrubs either. He learns how to do your hair in every style you like, and if you like getting your nails done, he learns that too. You asked him if it was to help save you money, but his reply was... less than ideal.

"I just don't want anyone else to touch you," He said sheepishly as he stashed the strands of your hair to use for god knows what.

Yandere who doesn't stop you from going out and living your life, but the second you get home, he's all over you. he's like your second skin, and even though you try to push him off, he just keeps nuzzling into your neck and practically humping your leg.

"C'mon! I was so good today... I cleaned and everything! At least kiss me!"

He becomes more and more comfortable in your apartment, and you slowly start to live with it as well. After all, a clean home, good food, rent paid and he pampers you like crazy: It's not exactly the worst deal in the world. Plus, he hasn't actually made any moves on you yet. No, most days he sits there smiling at you with a dopey grin and an obvious, untouched bulge in his sweatpants. He never touches himself around you, so at least he had the decency to not do that.

All in all, he's not the worst thing that could've broken into your home. Sure, it's not what you'd ever have wanted, but your starting to grow fond of this strange intruder. After all, it's hard to not be just a little bit endeared when he's snuggling up close and seeking your warmth like it was the only thing on the planet that mattered.

[lovegasmic]

 ᰋ. HOW TO GET THE GIRL ? : jujutsu kaisen ᰍ 

request : [ them ] being the “other man” showing reader they won’t give up on her even though she now wants to be loyal. alt : just pretend there is no boyfriend and it’s exes trying to win you back.

‘ toji fushiguro, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, choso kamo, sukuna x fem!reader ’ ୨୧ taglist

cw. slight mentions of sex◞ Sukuna gets in a fight ◞ other than that it’s all fluff / crack and probably a bit ooc.

˙ . ꒷ toji . 𖹭 ˙ — is the type that would purposely frequent the places he knows you’re going to be at, and to make it worst, when he knows you’ll be with your boyfriend.

the mall, that one restaurant you told him about, your favorite hair salon and that one clothing store, all places Toji attempts to find you at, calling you on the phone? that’s weak.

until you do ‘accidentally’ bump into Toji at the club where you first met, and he has this wide grin while nonchalantly approaching, eyeing your boyfriend up and down as if the sight was insulting, “oh, look who is here” he chuckles and you’re about to scream.

“do you know him?” your boyfriend asks, a bit taken guarded, no one could blame him really, that menacing look on Toji’s eyes plus the size of the man is just a perfect combo for disaster.

pissed is mild, you’ve already told Toji to stay away yet he never listens, “just briefly, he is not important”

the black haired man’s eyes glint with what looks like anger, but still masked under a smirk and crossed arms to purposely bulge his arms, “is that a way to talk to an old friend?” he tuts, mocking, “i’m hurt”

“let’s get going” you mutter in a rush, tugging your boyfriend to leave as soon as possible, but of course, Toji is not having it, holding onto your wrist to tug you instead towards another corner and quite fast, just to push you against a wall.

“what a fuckin’ pathetic man you got” he huffs, noticing how your boyfriend just stood there frozen, “i can’t believe you chose that”

“i chose no one, he was my first, you’re just a fling” that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“you didn’t say that when you were screaming my name” his hands are a bit firmer on your arms.

and your face burns slightly, “that’s different”

“how so?” Toji’s voice is demanding and gruff, “we had so much fun together, I can take better care of you than that pathetic excuse of a man you have..., please” he does not need much, really, just a single chance, and by the way your eyes drop slightly, he knows you’re seconds away from giving in.

˙ . ꒷ kento . 𖹭 ˙ — to begin with, finding out you were using him all along was like a punch in the gut, him who thought your relationship was going smooth and steady, only to be crushed down within minutes was not something Kento was willing to go through again. so, he just let’s you go, his ego hurt and heart shattered in pieces.

but then again, if you were with him, it was for a reason, right?

he acts mature, something you quite expect from a man like Kento, yet unable to deny the pull that still lingers, a whole gentleman he is, and in a city like yours finding him again was not impossible.

“hello...” his voice is steady and cool, making your tummy do a flip at the nonchalant and deep tone, “how have you been?” it’s quite obvious his words are forced, and by the way his hands are in his pockets, he wants to leave as soon as possible.

“um, good, yeah” so awkward, and to make it worse, you can’t just stop the way your eyes trail up and down his body, looking as handsome and manly with those khaki pants and blue fitted shirt.

Kento nods again, tapping on the ground with perfectly polished shoes, “good, then, goodbye”

“wait!”

your words come out before you can even stop them, awkwardly fidgeting with the hem of your top, “can we... grab some coffee? if you’re free, of course”

truly meant to be, how weak you are and how weak Kento is to accept immediately, hopefully, now knowing the whole story, he can convince you to break up with your boyfriend.

˙ . ꒷ satoru . 𖹭 ˙ — another gift left on your doorstep? this is the third that week, a cute yet simple black box with a white bow around it, perhaps another expensive necklace to join the collection your ‘ex’ or better called, fling, left.

the box creates a soft thud as you toss it on the last drawer of your closet, unable to even consider throwing it away, so you better keep them, there were no more reasons behind it, you tried to convince yourself.

then another beep, you have a new voice mail that plays, “hey, sweetheart!” Satoru sounds as nonchalant and fake as ever, “you left a t-shirt at my place, ahaha, don’t you want to come grab it?”

another poor excuse.

“why don’t I better drop it at your place?” silence, “just..., let me know if your boyfriend is there...”

something he was not willing to do was drop by knowing the other man could be there, one to save himself from heartache, and another, to not murder the man with his own bare hands.

another beep, another voice call, “let me talk to you, baby, please, just once, can we talk?” he sounds a bit pathetic but who cares, you managed to get under his skin, wrapped around your finger in such a way that he was not letting you go that easily, “call me”

you couldn’t deny that he was really sweet and attentive, checking one of the anklets he got you now sitting on your skin, perhaps... giving him one call can’t hurt, right?

˙ . ꒷ suguru . 𖹭 ˙ — Mr. nonchalant, you call him, having a grin on his face that makes his eyes wrinkle on the sides, barely raising a hand to greet as you approach — although you tried to avoid him by crossing the road, thing Suguru did too, now face to face while the only one who feels awkward is you, “oh, hi” he says your name as if it was the most common thing he has ever done, rolling off his tongue way too smoothly, “i did not expect to see you around”

what a liar, if you didn’t know him, you could have overlooked the way his fists were clenched and jaw slightly tight, “and who is this?” he points at the man next to you, who Suguru knows every detail of thanks to social media.

“this is my boyfriend...” why were your words so stiff? “what are you doing here?”

“oh, me?” he shrugs, “walking around, buying some groceries, life is amazing” the sarcasm and way his eyes trailed up and down your boyfriend in such disgusted way did not escape your gaze.

“oh, that’s great, yeah... we better get going...”

“wait” there is that smile again, “why don’t you join me for dinner?” you genuinely fear for your boyfriend’s life at that suggestion.

“i don’t think—”

“ah, you wound me” so dramatic, holding a hand to his chest, “aren’t we friends?”

sure, hopefully your boyfriend will make it out in one piece.

˙ . ꒷ choso . 𖹭 ˙ — although his mind screams for not to call you, he still does. the phone feels heavy on his hand the moment he picks it up, dialing the number Choso has began to memorize from how many times he’s type it just to delete it.

straight into voicemail, just great, “doll, we have to talk...” his voice is gruff and low, trying to mask that frustration by sliding his open palm across his face, “...call me”

it’s a little pathetic but he does not care in the slightest, fuck, how much he misses you, your laugh, your smell, your voice, everything, utterly in love with you.

even his brother told him to find someone else, to let you go but he could not, at least not on his own, dragged to a bar by his friends where he oh, so coincidentally finds you again, looking as gorgeous as ever and his chest tightens.

“hey” Choso is even a little flustered to approach you, hoping you don’t push him away, he just wants to chat, really, smiling and ignoring the flutter in his stomach as you actually continue the conversation, perhaps the drinks making everything go smoother, perhaps it’s the atmosphere or just how extremely beautiful you look.

Choso can’t look away, can’t take his eyes off you, and without realizing you’re dancing again as if nothing happened, as if you’re still his, and he really, really prays that you don’t slap him as he leans for a kiss under the bar dim light.

˙ . ꒷ sukuna . 𖹭 ˙ — this was a bad idea, a horrible, terrible idea, who in their right mind even thinks about taking their boyfriend to the club their side piece is a frequent at?

you, you did.

“so this is the guy, huh?” a few drinks in and Sukuna was ready to fight without a care of the show he was putting in, that mean, wicked smirk of his in place as he taps your boyfriend’s shoulder hard enough to make him wobble slightly, “you changed me for that?!” his eyes never left yours, demanding an answer.

“i did not change you! you were not even an option ”

a deep and quite menacing laugh echoes through the now embarrassingly silent club, everyone ready to jump in if things got worse, “oh yeah? that’s so sad, babygirl, because you are mine”

“hey” your boyfriend chimes in, stepping in between you and Sukuna whose hands were on your shoulders, “keep your hands away from my girl”

“listen, pal” Sukuna retorts, his face turned into a sly smile that screams danger, “this is between me and her”

“she is my girlfriend”

and, that did not sit right with Sukuna, as the next thing you see is your boyfriend stumbling back from the pink haired’s punch on the face, and the club bouncer jumping to pull him outside, almost happening in the blink of an eye.

that was just perfect, well done.

and as your hands clean up your boyfriend’s bloodied cheek, and your thoughts trail down to Sukuna, you know you’re fucked.

[venusbyline]

Revenge ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 30, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader x Aegon II Targaryen

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: mirror sex

— summary: Aegon wants to please you, his niece and betrothed, during the night of your nineteenth name day. However, everything goes wrong when you reject Aegon's touch and he decides to try to make amends with Aemond, letting the younger prince take revenge on your brothers in the worst way possible.

— word count: 4.0k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 30th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, Jacaerys' twin sister!reader, betrothed!Aegon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT (i'm not kidding, this is REALLY disgusting), rape/non-con, mirror sex, Targcest (uncles/niece), degradation, non-consensual somnophilia, vaginal sex, rough sex, breeding kink, blood and violence, squirting, overstimulation, forced orgasm, dacryphilia, crying, dumbification, vaginal fingering, unconscious sex, fainting/collapsing, forced pregnancy, cum eating, cum swallowing, blood licking, sexism, age gap (older men/younger woman), marriage of convenience, ambiguous/open ending, implied/referenced cheating, face slapping, hair-pulling, sadism, revenge sex, threats of death, emotional manipulation, book accurate ages (It's 133 AC. Reader's 19, Aemond's 23, Aegon's 26, Jacaerys' 19, Lucerys' 18, Joffrey's 16), referenced Targaryen-Velaryon Incest (sister/brothers), referenced consensual underage sex, minor Velaryon brothers/reader, implied Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, bisexual(?)!Aemond, bisexual(?)!Aegon, minor Aemond Targaryen/Aegon Targaryen, Aegond, dark content, dom!Aemond, switch!Aegon, sub!reader, canon divergence (No Dance of the Dragons/War for Succession), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @dearjardim

— author's notes: It's MENTIONED during the fic that Aegon's obsession with the reader has been going on since before the night in Driftmark, 120 AC. So at that time, you would be 6 years old and Aegon would be 13/14. Although this is just a MENTION of Aegon's dark desires and isn't graphic at all, it's important that you understand about the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag and read all trigger warnings. This is just a FANFICTION, but Aegon's thoughts are disgusting anyway.

— crossposting: AO3

Aegon II Targaryen had been quite impulsive when choosing the woman he would marry. He knew that getting betrothed to his niece, Jacaerys's twin sister, would not be an idea well received by his family, especially by his mother and his younger brother, Aemond, but he decided to act on that decision without thinking too much about the possible consequences.

His obsession with you, the only daughter of his half-sister, Rhaenyra, was almost unhealthy. Aegon has watched you grow, just as he has watched Jacaerys and Lucerys grow. He liked to see you trying to keep up with them when the three boys got together to play some trick on Aemond. They never let you spend much time with them, and Aegon even made fun of you, just like he did with Aemond.

At that time, Aegon did not know how to deal with the intense feelings he felt about you, finding it disgusting that he was much older than you. Gods, you were younger even than Aemond. He really could not deal with those thoughts, and venting about them to someone would be a bad idea. He would probably get a beating from Harwin Strong — the man all people of King's Landing knew was your true father — when the knight was still alive.

Trying to keep you far away, Aegon chose making you a butt of jokes. Jacaerys and Lucerys never seemed to notice how Aegon really felt about their sister and even liked to have fun at your expense.

As the years passed, the family had grown apart. The fight involving Aemond against Lucerys, Jacaerys and Daemon's daughters parted the Targaryen family into two sides. Despite always being a terrible older brother, Aegon had tried to make it up to Aemond after he lost his eye. He did not like to admit that he blamed himself a little for what happened. However, the thought occurred to him with a damn frequency. If Aegon had not been drinking like an asshole that night, perhaps he could have defended his brother.

He wanted to be a better brother to Aemond, he really tried to be, but nothing seemed to be enough for the younger prince. Nothing seemed to make him happy. Not even when Aegon took Aemond, who was still ten and three years old, to a brothel and introduced him to Madam Sylvi. Aegon thought his brother would like to become a complete man and he would like to get his cock wet. But he was definitely wrong.

He could remember with anguish how Aemond opened the curtains and walked out into the halls of the brothel after the act. Aegon tried to ask him how the sex had been, if he had liked it... But all Aemond did was give him a cold and hurt look, replacing his eye patch and continuing to walk so both of them could leave soon.

When Aegon returned to the brothel the next week, he asked Madam Sylvi about Aemond performance and expected a naughty response from the whore. Anyway, hearing the phrase "He is not a child now" clearly did not sound as sensual as he imagined. He needed to drink a little more to avoid wanting to cry when he realized that in fact Aemond was no longer a child. He had taken that away from his brother when he convinced the younger to joined him to Street of Silk. Even after so many pranks, until that fateful day in Driftmark, Aemond still trusted his older brother. He was still an innocent child, with just one eye and his fierce Dragon.

And Aegon had destroyed the last vestige of innocence inside Aemond's heart. Aegon had ruined everything again, just as he had ruined everything every time he played tricks on you with your brothers and called you a fucking bastard the night Lucerys accidentally took out Aemond's eye during the childish and violent fight. You were not even there when all of that happened, but Aegon thought offending you would be like making up to Aemond for his absence and lack of protection.

Now, 133 AC, thirteen years after the family chaos in Driftmark, Aegon was trying to slowly restore some peace by proposing to his half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra, a betrothal to you. It was a way of seeking a truce between the grudge that Rhaenyra and Daemon held for Alicent and her children. And most important of all, it was a way to make amends with you and Aemond, even if his brother hated you.

"What do you think about your new necklace, my dear?" Aegon asked you after the festival in King's Landing to celebrate your and your twin brother Jacaerys' nineteenth year of life.

"It is very beautiful, uncle." You replied with a tense voice, observing yourself in the large mirror with golden edges in Aegon's private chambers.

You were not someone who liked breaking the rules, especially when they involved secret meetings with your uncle Aegon. You still harbored resentment for the way he started to mock your and your brothers' legitimacy after Rhaenyra and Alicent's complete estrangement. At first, you thought about denying his call for you to accompany him through the castle corridors, but the idea of receiving one more gift seemed tempting. And in fact, you did not regret. Actually, you were enchanted by the necklace with the pendant of a golden dragon with silver-toned wings.

"Do not call me uncle anymore, my dear. You are my future wife now." Aegon reminded you with a chuckle, standing behind you and watching as you admired the pendant. He could see the way you seemed to want to ask something and he knew exactly what it was. "Yeah, the dragon on the pendant was made especially to represent Vermithor."

He said and your eyes widened immediately. Just like Rhaena and Aemond, there was no dragon for you when you were born. You only managed to claim Vermithor four years ago, however, your bond with the elder dragon was already quite admirable. Vermithor was a fierce creature to everyone and he was like a puppy to you, so meek and docile that sometimes you found yourself venting alone to him. A habit that only increased even more after your mother confirming your betrothal with your uncle.

"This is... This is... This is incredible." Your eyes filling with tears. You lifted your face to observe Aegon's reflection behind you, his soft smile as he returned your gaze. "My most sincere thanks, Aegon. This is the kindest and sweetest gift I have ever received. I swear."

Aegon's cheeks flushed a little. He was not used to being kine or sweet. Much less listen someone calling him like that. Your thanks slightly caught him off guard and he cleared his throat, trying to hide his sudden nervousness, hoping you would not notice how sweaty and shaky his hands were when he placed them on your shoulders, a little taller than you while you were still watching each other in the mirror. "You look so fucking delightful right now."

He purred into your earlobe. The warm air and the smell of wine made you frown and step back. You were not used to being touched like this by men who were not your brothers and you did not feel comfortable with Aegon's sudden physical proximity. Of course he was your fiance and very soon you would be forced to consummate the marriage, but there were still many barriers between the two of you. Barriers he built to keep you away when you were a child and now he was determined to break them at any cost.

"Do not do that again." Aegon scolded you, fire coursing through his veins at your abrupt departure. He hated that you were acting like you were disgusted by him. Damn, he was trying to be good, was not he? He was being a good betrothed and redeeming himself with you. "I gave you a fucking gift you loved!"

You flinched at his loud husky voice, stopping just looking at him in the mirror and turning to him, the size difference not being as intimidating as it was when you were still a little girl seeking approval from your uncle and your brothers. He did not even have the same long hair as before. Now, Aegon kept his dry silver hair to a medium length, giving him an appearance of lack of care, as well as the intense dark circles under his eyes. Even though you would never admit it, you feared him but also you thought he was very handsome at the same time. Like your child version also thought these same things about Aegon when he was a teenager.

"And I already thanked you for it. However, I do not remember allowing you to touch me the way you just did."

"Seven Hells, do not be an annoying prude! I just rested my hands on your shoulder."

"And purred in my ear like a cat in heat, surely thinking I would give in to you so easily and we would sleep together before our wedding ceremony!" You exclaimed, without thinking straight. Your heartbeat was racing, your face red with anger that he had the audacity to call you an annoying prude.

Aegon growled at your words, moving closer to your body, until your faces were practically glued together and you could smell the wine he had been drinking throughout the festival, just as he could smell flowers fragrance coming from you. The tension was palpable, both of you staring at each other with anger in your eyes. It was like flames burning each other just with gazes.

You thought he would yell at you or at most throw you out of his chambers and take the gift back. You expected many things, except Aegon to abruptly cover your mouth, holding the back of your head with his other hand to stop you from struggling and running away.

"Perhaps, you bastard bitch, I am acting like a cat in heat because I know what a cheap whore you are." Aegon growled one more time, the fingers that had been holding the back of your neck now gripping your hair. "You always act like you are a maiden, but all people of King's Landing is already suspicious about how your cunt has already been filled several times by your twin brother. Jacaerys seemed quite furious when my betrothal with you was made official."

Aegon pushed you onto his large bed and you immediately tried to get up and scream, being stopped by the hard slap he gave you in the face, making you fall back onto his sheets, terrified as he climbed on top of you, holding both of your arms on top of your head. "If you try to do that fucking shit again, I am going to rip your fucking head off and gut you until you die. Our entire family is going to go to war and blood is going to be spilled because you are still the same spoiled bastard who cried and wanted to fit in with me when we were younger."

Something made you stop fighting against the situation. Perhaps it was your childhood memories of seeking approval from Aegon, Jace and Luke. Perhaps it was the threat of more chaos happening in your family if Aegon killed you. Perhaps it was all the alcohol you happily drank during your and Jace's name day celebration. Perhaps it was because you already knew that Aegon would rape you anyway if he was determined to do so. Perhaps it was all of that. You simply stopped, sobbing a few times before shaking your head.

"Good girl..." Aegon chuckled at your submissive reaction. "Just look at the ceiling, alright? I promise it will be good."

You did not know what Aegon meant, only understanding when you obeyed. Looking up at the ceiling, you saw that there was a large mirror placed there. You could watch yourself lying in bed, your face soaked with tears, your hair disheveled and your hands being held above your head. You had never been so shocked due a reflection. It was a clear sample of Aegon's obsession, firm fingers holding your wrists in the way he wanted, while his other hand simply hiked up your nightgown, taking advantage of your lack of reaction to take off and throw your underwear on the floor. Aegon was about to take off the tunic he was wearing, before being interrupted by the door opening and then closing.

"Am I interrupting something, brother? One of your guards said you demanded my presence here. I was busy and could not arrive at the ordered time." Aemond's cold voice echoed through Aegon's chambers and your eyes widened. You looked away from your reflection for a while, barely feeling Aegon fingering your slightly wet folds. You were incredulous at the fact that Aemond was so nonchalant with the sight of his older brother about to rape their niece. You could not tell if it was simply because Aegon often did atrocities like this or if it was also because Aemond had hated you since both of you were kids and he was not at all pleased with his brother's obsession with marrying you.

"Oh, busy with Helaena, I must assume." Aegon teased his brother and Aemond rolled his eyes, clearing his throat and pointing to the scene in front of him.

"May I know why my presence here is necessary?" The youngest asked and a moan escaped your lips when Aegon stuck two fingers inside you at once, drawing your attention back to him. Aegon raised his eyebrow as he noticed how, despite the painful and abrupt intrusion, your little cunt accepted his fingers without much difficulty, which meant not only that you were no longer a maiden, but that you had also fucked with someone recently and completely ignored your future marriage with your uncle.

"Looks like you were not the only person to fuck with your own sister today, brother."

Aemond could not help but smirk, tilting his head in mockery when he saw Aegon took his fingers out of you and shake your wetness away, almost as if he was disgusted. "Who would have thought that the rumors about her and Jacaerys were true..." The prince mocked, approaching the bed and making you flinched your body into the mattress. "Tell me, dear niece and sister-in-law... Which of your Strong brothers has already fucked your dirty and disgusting cunt? Only Jacaerys? Or also Lucerys and Joffrey?"

You whimpered at the invasive and demeaning question, knowing you would be in danger if you revealed the true, but you would also be in danger if you lied. "Not Joffrey yet."

It was Aegon's turn to mock, with some irritation. "Joffrey's small cock has not gotten wet inside you yet, but I bet you at least taught him how to eat you out. After all, he is already ten and six. That is old enough." The stare Aegon received from Aemond made him swallow hard. It was clear that his younger brother still felt angry about what happened at the brothel when he was thirteen. "Well, I mean..."

Aemond ignored his brother's attempt to justify himself and looked back at you, his cold hand touching your warm core, enjoying your wetness and rubbing your pearl, eliciting confused and tearful moans, your mind trying to encourage you to scream and run far away of them and your body begging him to keep rubbing your clit. Perhaps a little stronger. Stronger enough to draw your blood. Jace, Luke and Joffrey were always too sweet to you. Too noble. "That does not matter. What matters is that you are nothing more than a hole for your brothers to use."

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes and letting the tears flow. When you turned your face away, Aemond's hand grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to pay attention to what he was saying. "Now I understand why my brother was obsessed with you when we were younger. You were always a cockslut, I bet."

His words sinked your heart and you shook your head, so fast that your vision even blurred. You wanted to deny it, say that you were nothing like that, say that Aegon had never been really obsessed with you. But nothing came out of your lips. Actually, your panicked mind was starting to make you believe that Aemond could be right about both things.

"Uhm, I still remember everything before that night in Driftmark... How you were always running after Aegon and your brothers, desperate to be seen... Just like how my brother was always pushing you away." He scoffed, gripping your chin tighter. "Probably because he felt sick about himself thinking those naughty things about you. After all, you were only six years old and he was almost ten and four. A drunk teenager wishing for such perverse things and—"

Aegon grimaced as Aemond spoke, clearly uncomfortable about having his dirty little secret exposed right in front of you. "That is enough, Aemond." The older man softly growled and Aemond frowned and let go of your chin abruptly, his thin lips pulled into a sarcastic smile.

"You still have not told me why you demanded my presence here, brother." The last word sounded bitter to the ears of the three of you and Aegon took a deep breath, determined to take control of the situation again. Or at least a little part of the control.

He pointed to you, lying on the bed with the legs open, your cunt now wetter and your face reddened from crying, the empty look in your eyes making it obvious how confused and vulnerable you were. The confused and vulnerable state that your own uncle and future husband had left you simply because you refused his touch.

Aemond did not seem at all bothered by what he was seeing. You did not notice any trace of desire coming from him either and if it were not for the way a slight bulge began to appear in his pants, you would even believe that the scorn and resentment he always felt for you was bigger than the anger and desire to get revenge on Jacaerys and Lucerys.

"Are you offering me our niece?"

The question was said without a hint of enthusiasm and Aegon laughed, knowing his brother well enough to know that he just wanted to maintain the typical facade of indifference. "Well... I wanted to give you and my betrothed a gift. I was going to suggest that the three of us have some fun tonight to celebrate her name day..." Aegon purred, his calloused fingers caressing your bare thigh. "However, due to her spoiled and thankless behavior, I wish you to take her first."

Aemond was surprised at first, his good eye switching between you and his brother. He had already imagined several possibilities to get revenge for the things his nephews did when they were all kids. He had even thought that your betrothal to Aegon was already a good form of revenge, despite hating his brother even more when he realized that he had never gotten over that ridiculous obsession with you.

Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey had been furious when they discovered that their mother had agreed to let Aegon marry you. They were scared of what would happen to you, neither of them ever believing Aegon's stupid explanation about a peace treaty.

Aemond knew that his nephews would be furious if they knew what he was about to do with you, just as he knew what Aegon wanted. Aemond was not dumb, he understood that Aegon blamed himself for the tragic events in his life. Aemond understood that Aegon blamed himself for taking away his chance to lose his virginity willingly and with someone he was really attracted to.

And then, Aegon was there, giving you to him like an apology. Also, he was giving Aemond the chance to take revenge on his nephews and take you before himself.

Aemond did not respond with words. Instead, he just pushed Aegon aside, taking his brother's place on the bed and starting to undo the ties of the tunic he was wearing.

With each brutal thrust from Aemond, a tearful scream from you resounded throughout the chambers, muffled by Aegon's large hand, who was sitting next to you, caressing your dark hair with his free fingers.

All of the three of you was admiring different points of the view reflected by the mirror on the ceiling. Aegon was focused on the sight of your little cunt, so tight and being brutally fucked by Aemond's thick and rosy cock. Aegon could hear the sudden noises caused each time Aemond's body hit yours hard, your wet core making it easier for your uncle and brother-in-law to fuck you rough and deep enough that the walls of your cunt began to feel so much sore.

Despite the blurred tear-filled vision, you stared at yourself in the reflection, your heart clenching with self-loathing as your muffled screams stopped being pleas for Aemond to stop hurting you and started becoming just loud whimpers about how you were cumming again. You had actually lost count of how many times you had cum around Aemond's cock. You had already lost count of how many times you had squirted and even lost consciousness for a few seconds.

You felt like you were about to die and all that kept you alive was Aegon's fingers stroking your hair like you were his precious doll and Aemond's seed filling you for the second time in the last hour. Aemond looked at his own reflection after cumming inside you, his Sapphire's eye shining in the mirror, as well as the sweaty skin of his chest. He felt powerful. He felt alive. And best of all, he finally felt the good but bitter taste of revenge.

You were almost sure that Aemond was determined to breed you. And you were almost sure that Aegon had allowed it, because even when his younger brother pulled his wet cock out of your sensitive and bruised hole, Aegon just waited for Aemond to start getting dressed to take his place, bending down in front of you and licking the mixture of blood and cum that dripped from your cunt, ignoring your tears and the forced submission coming from your trembling body.

"You are disgusting, Aegon." Aemond huffed after Aegon licked and sucked your clit until you were squirting on his face too, your weak whimpers making you look like a sad kitten. "You should stop. She will end up convulsing and dying if she cums again."

"Oh, but she wants to cum again. Do not you want that, my dear?" Aegon teased, rubbing your swollen reddened pearl. You shook your head, the confused movement seemed like a confirmation and a denial at the same time, which elicited a chuckle from your future husband. He turned to Aemond and pointed at you. "See? She is going to be a perfect wife. All it took was a cock and she is already completely stupid and brainless, like a real good wife should be."

"Uhm, I guess she is not a very strong girl." Aemond scoffed, the word Strong bringing you horrible memories and making you whimper and turn your face into the pillow, until you finally fell asleep while Aegon was still eating you out. "I am serious, brother. Let our whore niece sleep and get some rest." Aemond murmured a little impatiently, his eye scanning the Vermithor pendant of your new necklace and then to Aegon's lips, wet with your juices and creamy with the mess of your blood and Aemond's seed. "Just stop eating my seed. Your future wife will not get pregnant with my child if you keep being a greedy and needy slut, sucking out all my cum just for you."

Aegon's eyes widened, in disbelief at his brother's words, raising the head and being interrupted just as he was about to defend himself. "Besides, you are going to end up cumming in your own pants if you keep just watching everything and settling for scraps. Our niece's cunt is delightful, however, I will be waiting for you in my private chambers so you can continue apologizing to me, brother."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

[jaal-ama-daravv]

dissecting the mortal emmrich argument scene (all routes)

dissecting the graveyard scene dissecting the mortal romance path scene how I think an argument reconcilation scene could've went emmrich x rook cinematic (mortal)

lich version dissecting the alternate romance path dissecting the argument scene (lich path) mortal vs lich romance path emmrich x rook cinematic

Emmrich Volkarin - Dissecting the Mortal Argument Scene

welcome back dearies

lets not dally with this one and get right into it -

starting strong with emmrich reviewing his will and testament/s -

important, but not yet, so do go on -

the emphasis on will tells us alot. coming from a storyboarding background, its easy to see why the emphasis was put on will. emmrich chose mortality, and will thereofre face death head on, as will rook. but due to rook being younger than emmrich (in any capacity), emmrich states that rook will outlive him. now he hasn't said it yet, but his fear is about to rear its head. keep in mind throughout all of this that this man is scared of how much he adores you.

but in the same sentence, we've got, "You've... grown to mean much to me..." - head over heels in love, rip my heart out and serve it to you in a platter, my heart, body and soul is yours type o' love.

I just wanna shake him, oh i just wanna shake him like a bag of treats, but very aggressively. he is so obviously LYING, rook makes a comment earlier in the game about how he is a SHIT LIAR. it sounds the exact same. BUT, and I say but with a hint of 'ah -ha!', lets read between the lines -

I care for you Rook! Deeply. - man has never been down as bad as he is - emmrich has never felt love like this. But there are such years between us - shut up rn I shouldn't heap you with that burden - HERE. he knows that Rook loves him, he can feel it. I imagine between quests they hold eachother's hand as the read books together on the balcony. as they make tea. as emmrich shows rook his mothers recipes. emmrich knows rook loves him, he just doesn't realize can nor accept how much rook loves him.

bonus, BURDEN ME, Im begging you, to BURDEN ME.

DIVERGENCE

god it hurt to replay this scene 3 times

Path 1 - Please don't worry, Emmrich.

he also broke my heart by worrying because i too, love him

fuck this line. i love you but look, I get where emmrich is coming from, but no. no no no, no no. whats fair would the world to be ending and being able to spend every waking moment in eachothers arms, to spend the final moments of 'what if' craddling your insecurities and nurturing love. instead we at the end of the world, arguing, because both rook and emmrich are fucking terrified to lose eachother. something about 'being fair' to someone by 'leaving' them irks meeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

solid and appropriate response

moving on because i have nothing nice to say

get his ass

emmrich is shockingly, overthinking the concept of death. ya know, that thing that cant be soothed or mulled over, pierces his heart and shakes his core? that, thing. yes shockingly, overthinking it. i get both perspectives here. Rook just wants to be taken serously and not for their age gap to come between the love they have finally found. emmrich so scared out of his mind he's trying to avoid it entirely. if you want a really gutteral playthrough before point of no return, pick this. I did, on my blind playthrough, it was a mistake, i cried alot.

unfortunately, very valid on both statement, but also true on both statements. Emmrich is both worried about Rook and insecure about dying. because either way, he loses rook, he loses his time with her. in this line of dialogue, emmrich is vry concerned with burdening rook with his death and the grief that will follow. Rook essentially tries to calm him in the worst way possible and it escalates. im not a fan of this dialogue path at all as the "at your age" comment is so out of pocket.

Path 2 - I mean something to you!

if you were to of told me that the purple rook option is the 'nicest' in these scenarios, I would...not believe you at all. It's still painful, but it's not an 'argument?'

strong start ngl

mans immediately defensive, but his tone of voice isn't raised like in the other scenarios. its more poised with care through it, more 'ugh, yes, i care about you, but this is about death'

in this dialogue path rook attemps to 'waylay' emmrich, aka, distract him and change the subject to something nicer, more comforting. though unfortnately, for people with crippling anxiety, nothing calms the mind when its in black and white mode.

eh, not what I would've gone with saying rook but ya know. eve before a battle, tensions high. still not great

emmrich wants to discuss being a burden to rook and rook is just not having it, im kinda into it.

again rook is trying to waylay emmrich into realising that he is overthinking things. however, to emmrich, this is real, rook may as well be dying in his arms rn. thats how real his fears are. we think back to emmrich being a child and losing his parents in a collapsed building accident. its likely he was there, and survived.

hence why it is so very important that we remember that his romance confirmation is the question, what would my parents want for me? and the answer is HAPPY WITH SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU.

he is so terrfieid of death, and you and I both know, that when you have such a fear, it is amplified by 14747% when it is someone you truly care for. let alone the type of connection these soulmates have.

emmrich desperately pleading to talk about being a burden to rook, and rook is still just going, 'no', youre my burden now.

wee woo, a winner in my books because rook is not insulting his very existence or dismissing emmrich.

rook knows that emmrich is scared and would rather talk to him about being SCARED, instead of him being a burden because she fucking loves him and would never leave him.

rook is just as scared as emmrich but in this path, is trying to level with him. this is probably the one path where it concludes and I dont have a clear answer on who said the worst shit. i dont think any of them did, it was just riddled with concern, and a lack of communication.

Path 3 - Love scares you.

Rook pointing out the obvious. blunt and to the point. I do love that Rook is able to identify this straight away

Emmrich, taken aback by the comment by Rook, because it's the truth. he is scared because he loves rook. both by actually loving her and by how much he loves her.

"I can't... at my age" Is what this line is meant to be.

But once again, and we have discovered in previous posts, Emmrich has never considered himself 'worthy' of this type of love. And now that he has the love he has craved for decades, he considers himself too old. most likely due to his belief ssystem morphing over time to, "if it hasnt happened by now, it never will" probably in his 30's. Thats almost 20 years of doubt. We know Emmrich has been in relationships and involved with others since then, but nothing that even comes close to what Rook and Emmrich have. Keep in mind as well that Emmrich hasn't formed a connection with anyone in several years and has solely focused on work (i.e., lichdom) because what else do you do when you have given up?

straight to the point again

reiterating that this is a hard topic for him - kindness in this situation would desecalate emmrich and calm his mind, but unfortunately the end of the world takes no prisoners

man is terrified of love and the grief and vulnerability that embodies it

ouch

ouch

Rook's defensiveness and frustration reaches an all time high. rook wants the love of her life to tell her that he loves her, and emmrich doesn't want to burden his love with the grief that will embody her for the rest of her days. rook walks away feeling defeated, with a hole in her heart. emmrich is left with his overthinking thoughts, and most likely spirals.

Conclusion

In their facial expressions, and I have slowed them down to each frame per second whilst analysing, and both Emmrich and Rook share the same process of emotions after Rook's final statement.

Both Emmrich and Rook start out with a cross look on their face, eyebros tilted, eyes squinted, portraying anger, which is covering defensiveness, which is a defense mechanism for being vulnerable. After Rook says their final statement, this line is what 'pulls them out' of their defensive trances, but its too late, the damage has been done. Their facial expressions switch to a more, 'oh, oh that was just said', it turns to regret. the over arching theme of the game. they regret what they said, and their pride wont let them budge rn. the argument scene is important to the romance considering what happens next in the game.

"We'll talk when we get home, Emmrich. I promise." (the reconciliation line before fighting ghil)

hit me like a frieght train that did when i found out we were in the fade for weeks. emmrich, canonically, cries alone and has cold sweats at night when he is upset. do with that information what you will. it definitely happened when rook was gone. Hence why it takes Rook dissapearing in the fade for several weeks for their walls to collapse completely.

god fight, stuck in the fade, emmrich meticulously searching for rook, crafting the fake dagger, pulling them out.

At the end of the scene, Emmrich looks frustrated and devastated. the type of facial expression where it is clear he wish that conversation had gone differently.

Emmrich has low self-esteem, there is no simpler way to put it. This is apparent in the way he holds himself, in his mannerisms, and the way he reacts to rook expressing romantic interest in him. As two examples, consider the date with Emmrich, "apart from the compliment of your interest?", and in two flirt dialogue lines, he responds stating that he is surprised rook has shown interest in him. he wants this love SO BADLY, but he is so scared especially with how much death is around them. but emmrich is braver than he believes. it just takes, almost losing rook for him to embrace it.

phew, what a rollercoaster. ill have the mortal romance scene break down for you in coming days ♥

[thedensworld]

Lost Star | l.jh

Pairing: Producer Woozi x ex-trainee reader

Genre: First Love, Reunion, Second Change

Type: Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 14k

Summary: Jihoon had lost the star of his heart a long time ago. However, 11 years later, his lost star appears, and his heart never feels more conflicted.

Jihoon counted his steps from his new apartment unit to the convenience store with a slow, measured pace. The clock pointed to four in the afternoon, and all he needed was a single pack of ramen—something simple to soothe his mind. Soonyoung had visited the day before and deliberately left it off Jihoon's grocery list, citing health reasons with a smug grin.

"We're in our thirties now. Let’s eat healthier, Jihoon."

Did Jihoon care? Not really. He’d been going to the gym religiously for years. Ate vegetables and fruits after every meal like some disciplined monk. But sometimes—like today, when his brain felt sluggish and creativity hit a wall—he just wanted to boil a portion of ramen. Let the MSG fill his kitchen, fog up his windows, and trick his dopamine into working again. Sometimes, that salty warmth was all it took to unlock a melody worth recording on his phone.

So now he had to get it himself. Again.

Exposing himself to the daylight wasn’t the worst thing, he figured. One of the reasons he moved to this new neighborhood was because it was closer to the company building. Seungcheol had said the area was peaceful, and Jihoon agreed—at first.

That was before he saw you again.

Before the surreal gut punch of recognizing you behind the counter at the convenience store.

Before the awkward silence that stretched too long between two people who used to dream under the same roof.

He could walk to that store. The one where you worked. Pretend to be just another customer craving the nation’s favorite instant noodles. But his heart wouldn’t let him. Not after that accidental reunion. Not after your eyes widened just a little, then dropped just as quickly. Not after both of you pretended it didn’t happen.

For the past two days, Jihoon had been walking around with this subtle ache in his chest—a kind of guilt he couldn’t explain. Maybe it wasn’t his fault you disappeared, but somehow, the silence that followed still made him feel like an asshole.

Meeting you again was never on his to-do list for the year.

Not after eleven years.

Not after your sudden disappearance during the trainee days—when everything had felt like it was about to begin, and then you were just… gone.

But who would’ve expected you to work there too?

The further convenience store. The one Jihoon deliberately chose to walk to—solely to avoid seeing you again.

“Is it possible to work in two different convenience stores?"

He found himself asking that question to his manager, offhandedly, while they were on the way to a schedule a day after he saw you for the second time that week.

It haunted him.

Not in a horror-movie way, but in that quiet, persistent kind of way that made his chest heavy and his mind foggy. So much so, he’d forgotten how to make music.

He couldn’t even count the hours he’d spent staring blankly at his studio screen, letting beats loop endlessly without direction. Every time he sat down, memories of the trainee days swelled like echoes in the room. His keyboard—usually his safe place—suddenly looked like the old one from the practice room.

And just like that, he’d be back in time. Sitting beside you, both of your fingers grazing the keys, your heads low in shared concentration while chaos unfolded around you—Soonyoung falling over, Seungcheol screaming his puberty out, the usual mess.

“I think it’s possible,” his manager said. “With different shifts, I mean.”

“Why? You thinking of working at a convenience store now?” his manager joked, glancing over while keeping one hand on the wheel.

Jihoon let out a small chuckle.

He had too many zeros in his bank account for that kind of lifestyle—and far too little energy to immerse himself in a brand-new job culture. Honestly, just the idea of small talk with strangers all day made him tired.

“If you were talking to Dino, he might say yes to your suggestion, hyung,” Jihoon replied, resting his head back against the seat.

His manager laughed. “I know, right? But still, it’s the first time I’ve heard you bring up something so... not you. Lee Jihoon, behind a convenience store counter?”

Jihoon grinned, a little more amused than he expected. “Hey, I might be great at it. I was a hard worker during trainee days, remember? You forgot already?”

His manager—one of the oldest on the team, someone who’d seen Jihoon through his fiery teenage years and his stubborn perfectionist era—just let out a warm, knowing laugh.

“Trainee days must’ve been tough, huh?” he said after a beat. “You did well, Jihoon. Seriously. Good job.”

And for a moment, Jihoon didn’t say anything. The corner of his lips twitching up. Compliments always made him awkward—but coming from someone who saw the whole messy journey? It settled differently. Deeper.

“Hyung… do you remember a female trainee named Ji Y/n?”

His manager glanced at him, then nodded. “Of course. She was an ace. Everyone thought she’d debut for sure. But she just... disappeared. I always wondered what happened. Did the company drop her? Did you ever hear anything?”

Jihoon slowly shook his head, eyes shifting toward the road outside. A convenience store passed by in a blur, and for a second, his heart clenched.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Everyone asked around back then. It was just the four of us at first—me, Soonyoung, Coups hyung, and her.”

His voice softened at the memory, almost reverent.

Jihoon hadn’t realized it until recently, but somewhere along the way—after he debuted, after the whirlwind of success—he had stopped questioning your disappearance. The noise of the industry had drowned out the ache. He buried it under practice schedules, tour dates, and deadlines.

But the truth was...

Somewhere deep inside his heart, there was still a space carved out for the quiet longing.

A small, unspoken ache that whispered, Where did she go? Is she okay?

And now, after seeing you again—after all these years—he wondered if that ache had never really left.

Maybe you were the ghost that had always haunted him.

*

Back then, small Jihoon didn’t know what to do with himself during his early trainee days. Everything felt overwhelming—the routines, the expectations, the constant pressure to improve. But he was quietly relieved to find comfort in two people: an older boy named Seungcheol, and a same-age friend, Soonyoung. The three of them stuck together, quietly enduring every class, never once daring to complain out loud.

Then one day, a new face entered the frame.

The vocal instructor introduced her as a transfer trainee—someone with experience from a major entertainment company. They were told to learn from her. Study her discipline, her skill, her presence.

And that’s when you, Ji Y/n, walked into the green practice room with an assertive smile painted confidently on your face. Like you had no doubts. Like you already knew your path. Like the stage was already yours.

You glowed.

It wasn’t just your visuals—though Jihoon would admit, even then, you were an eye candy in the middle of their hard, exhausting days. But it was more than that. You had aura. The kind that lit up the room. The kind that made people look up when you passed by.

You shared generously with them—tips, stories, encouragement. You could sing. You could dance. You even rapped with surprising ease. Every evaluation, you impressed the supervisors without fail. And of course, everyone expected no less from someone who had come from a bigger company.

Jihoon remembered watching you from the back of the room, sweaty from practice, trying to hide the envy in his eyes behind admiration.

You were everything he wasn’t yet.

And everything he quietly wished to become.

Jihoon clearly remembered the day you casually mentioned that you were learning how to produce music. You said you’d picked it up from an older trainee at your previous company, brushing it off with a humble smile. “I’m not that good,” you claimed.

But to young Jihoon, Seungcheol, and Soonyoung, you might as well have been a genius. The three of them watched you with stars in their eyes, completely captivated. It was their first time witnessing someone actually create a song—piecing together melodies, layering harmonies, experimenting with beats—and it lit a spark in them. In Jihoon especially, something shifted.

“Did you learn it from G-Dragon of Bigbang?” Soonyoung had asked with innocent curiosity, eyes wide.

Everyone laughed, but Jihoon didn’t forget that moment.

Looking back, he realized—

That was the exact point when he started seeing you as a star.

Jihoon leaned back in his studio chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as an old song played softly in the background. It was one he had produced years ago—rough around the edges, unfinished, but alive with memories.

He had sent nearly ten messages to Seungcheol earlier, pestering him about whether he still had the old folder filled with their trainee-day demos. And now, with the files finally playing through the speakers, Jihoon felt himself slipping into the past.

None of the tracks were perfect. Far from it. But each one carried a piece of who they were back then—ambitious, reckless, hopeful.

Seungcheol’s voice came in first, mid-puberty and full of effort. His rap stumbled a little, but the fire was there. Jihoon chuckled when he heard the word “Elevation” in one of the lines. How did teenage Seungcheol even know that word? Had he been reading dictionaries between dance classes?

Then came your voice.

Soft. Grounded. Not the kind of high-pitched perfection producers chased today, but something more—something real. There was honesty in your tone, a raw emotion that pulled him in even after all these years.

Jihoon closed his eyes.

Do you still sing like that?

*

Jihoon didn’t see you when he first stepped into the convenience store tonight. The last time he came, it was during the night shift—maybe this time, it wasn’t your turn. A small part of him felt relieved.

He walked through the automatic doors with the simple intention of grabbing another pack of ramen. A soft hum echoed faintly through the aisle, and as he turned the corner, he found the source.

There you were—crouched down, restocking shelves.

You flinched at the sudden awareness of his presence, nearly losing your balance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming,” you said quickly, bowing your head politely before walking away with a full restock basket in hand.

Jihoon parted his lips, wanting to say something—to stop you—but the moment passed too quickly. You were already gone.

He turned his eyes toward the rows of ramen, but his mind had long wandered. The image of you behind the convenience store counter was a stark contrast to the version of you etched into his memories.

You—once the ace trainee, confident and radiant, someone the instructors praised, someone the rest of them watched in awe—now stood beneath flickering fluorescent lights, wearing a clerk’s uniform and scanning barcodes. It was jarring. And it hurt in ways Jihoon couldn’t name.

“What is this?” Soonyoung pointed at the suspiciously large stack of ramen stuffed into one of Jihoon’s kitchen cabinets while he rummaged around for coffee.

With arms crossed and a judgmental stare, he turned toward the living room where Jihoon was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to his phone as he mindlessly scrolled through the webcomic he’d been hooked on lately.

“What?” Jihoon lifted his head lazily, following Soonyoung’s gaze toward the open cabinet.

“There’s like… fifteen packs of ramen in here. Do you even eat these?” Soonyoung asked, brows furrowed in disbelief.

Jihoon nodded, eyes flicking back to his phone. “I do. Sometimes,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

Soonyoung tilted his head with a mix of annoyance and concern. “Didn’t I tell you to stop eating junk? What happened to eating healthy?”

Jihoon let out a soft chuckle, amused. “You sound like a wife.”

Soonyoung scoffed dramatically as he finally located the coffee powder and slammed the cabinet shut. “I’d make a great wife, thank you very much.”

He shot Jihoon a look as if daring him to disagree, but Jihoon just smirked, raising an eyebrow like he agreed—at least a little.

Soonyoung didn’t say anything after that. The kitchen fell into a soft quiet, broken only by the clinking of a spoon stirring coffee. Jihoon stayed on the couch, but his thoughts wandered.

He thought about his new, strange habit—buying a pack of ramen almost every night. Always just one. Never to eat. He let them pile up in the cabinet like forgotten mementos. He never said why. Because he knew the reason. And saying it out loud would make it too real.

“By the way…” Soonyoung broke the silence as he walked over to the couch, settling beside Jihoon with a glass of iced coffee in hand.

“The convenience store a block from here—”

Jihoon’s body tensed. His eyes shot up, and he sat up straighter, alarmed. “Why?” he asked, a little too quickly.

Soonyoung blinked, startled by the sudden reaction. “What’s with you?” he asked, puzzled.

Jihoon quickly shook his head, brushing it off. “Nothing. Just—keep going. What about the store?”

“I was just gonna say…” Soonyoung sipped his coffee, still eyeing Jihoon. “They started selling Kkokkalcorn and Matdongsan again—the ones we used to destroy during trainee days.”

Jihoon let out a soft sigh. The tension left his shoulders as quickly as it had appeared. He leaned back against the couch cushions again, suddenly feeling silly. For a second, he thought Soonyoung had seen you.

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Cool.”

But the tightness in his chest didn’t fully fade. Because while Soonyoung was thinking about snacks, Jihoon was still thinking about you.

*

Jihoon raised his brows in confusion, standing still in front of the cashier counter. You had just slid a small bottle of vitamin drink across to him after he’d paid for what must’ve been his twentieth pack of ramen this month.

“You should start taking care of your health,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.

He blinked. Did you really think he was eating all those ramens? Of course you did. Anyone would.

He took a quiet breath, a little too sharp, and grabbed the vitamin drink. “Thanks,” he mumbled, voice slightly rough as if it had caught on something in his chest.

With that, he turned and walked toward the door. His steps felt heavier than they should, dragging under the fluorescent lights and quiet pop music in the background. The clock behind the register read 2:04 a.m.—his work could wait. That wasn’t why he came tonight anyway.

He stopped just before pushing the door open, something tugging at him.

“You still sing?” he asked, without turning around at first.

When he finally looked back, his eyes met yours.

The question lingered in the air between you—simple, but heavy. Like it had taken him years to ask, and now that he had, everything might shift.

You looked taken aback by his question. “Me?”

Jihoon nodded slowly. “Yeah… do you still sing, Ji Y/n?”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward—just heavy, like the universe paused for a moment to let Jihoon hear himself say it. After nearly a month of seeing you again—glimpses, passing words, late-night convenience store visits—he had finally asked the question that had haunted him more times than he could count.

But you tilted your head slightly, your voice light, accompanied by a soft, teasing smile. “No ‘how are you?’ first?”

Jihoon huffed out a breath, half-laughing at himself, shaking off the embarrassment. Of course, that’s what you’d say. You were always that girl—calm, confident, casually radiant in your own way. You knew how to disarm people without even trying.

Taking a few steps closer, he gave in. “Okay, fine. How are you?”

This time, your smile softened into something real. “I’m great… How about you, Woozi?”

Jihoon’s heart clenched at the nickname. Not in a way that hurt—but in a way that burst something open inside him. Warm. Familiar. Breath-stealing.

Woozi. You were the one who gave him that name.

There was a phase when you grew close to some of the senior artists in the company. They adored Jihoon, calling him in a playful, affectionate tone that never failed to make you laugh during practice.

“Our Jihoon… Our Jihoon…”

“Our Jihoon got the step wrong?”

You’d mimic them with a teasing grin, and the other trainees would burst into laughter. Jihoon, on the other hand, could only lower his head, trying to hide the pink dusting his cheeks. No one needed to know just how much that nickname affected him.

“Uji?” Soonyoung, who had just proudly settled on his stage name ‘Hoshi,’ chirped excitedly, offering the shortened form of Uri Jihoon—Our Jihoon.

Jihoon groaned in frustration, clearly unimpressed. “Please, no.”

The room echoed with laughter, everyone amused by the suggestion—everyone except Jihoon.

But then your voice cut through the noise, calm and certain. “Woozi… sounds more sophisticated, right?”

Jihoon turned his head, catching the gleam in your eyes. You were seated cross-legged on the studio floor, marker cap between your fingers, looking at him like he was something more than just another trainee. Like you saw something already formed within him.

Without waiting for approval, you stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and uncapped the marker. With neat, confident strokes, you wrote the name.

Woozi.

Jihoon took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the slippers on his feet before slowly lifting back to where you stood behind the counter.

"I'm..." he started, arms falling open at his sides as if gesturing to his entire self—his tired eyes, messy hair, and the bag of ramen crinkling in his hand.

You let out a soft laugh at his little gesture.

"I'm still the same," he said with a shrug and a small, helpless smile.

He saw you glance down, a chuckle slipping from your lips as you bit back a smile, covering it with your hand. "That’s great," you said, voice warm, eyes flickering up to meet his.

Then you tilted your head, teasing lightly, "So... does ramen help with your music now or something?"

Jihoon exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "It’s not the ramen," he murmured, and something in his tone hinted that there was more to the story.

A gentle silence settled between the two of you, stretching just long enough for both your hearts to beat twice. Then Jihoon spoke again, voice quieter this time.

"I'm glad you're okay."

You nodded slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. "Me too."

The soft chime of the door interrupted the moment as a new customer entered. You turned immediately to greet them, your professional smile slipping into place as you lifted your restocking basket again and headed toward the drink section.

Jihoon lingered for a second longer, watching your back before finally stepping out into the night—with a heart that, for the first time in a long while, felt a little lighter.

*

How could someone be this chronically offline?

Okay, Jihoon was, too—kind of. But not like this. He had social media, even if he barely posted, and his company profile existed with at least a few photos and a bio. But you? You were a complete digital ghost.

No record. No trace. No tagged photos, no mutuals, nothing.

Were you using a different name now? A secret username?

He rubbed his temples in frustration, eyes scanning the last of the open tabs before giving up.

Jihoon sighed heavily and dropped his head beside the keyboard, forehead grazing the cool surface of his desk.

He'd started to question if you were even real—or some elaborate figment from his overworked, nostalgic brain.

"Is she a ghost?" he muttered, his voice half annoyed, half amused, as he sat back up and began closing one social media tab after another.

Click. Click. Click.

With five tabs gone and zero results to show for it, Jihoon finally leaned back in his chair and returned to his work—though your absence lingered louder than any background noise.

The next day, Jihoon invited Hansol to his studio, letting him be the first to hear the song he had worked on the night before.

“It’s not perfect—it’s still raw,” Jihoon said, his voice quiet but edged with anticipation as he clicked the play button.

The room filled with the soft rise of synths, layered with ambient textures that pulsed gently through the speakers. Hansol raised his brows in surprise, the corners of his mouth twitching into an impressed smile. He began nodding along, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of the chair.

“This is... very different from your usual stuff,” Hansol said, glancing over with interest.

Jihoon nodded slowly, already aware. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes focused on the screen even though he wasn’t really looking at anything.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

Hansol chuckled once the song faded out. “Last month you said you lost your sense. What’s this then?” he asked, amusement flickering in his tone.

Jihoon let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe moving out sparked something. Change of scenery might’ve rebooted my creativity.”

Hansol pointed a finger at him knowingly. “Exactly! So, how’s the new house?”

“It’s great. Bigger space, definitely more comfortable for me. The cats are still going crazy trying to adapt, though.” Jihoon smiled faintly, eyes softening at the thought. “But I feel at ease. Finally.”

Hansol nodded, genuinely listening. “I figured as much. I was worried about you, hyung. Even Coups-hyung mentioned you asked the staff for old pre-debut folders. I thought, ‘Oh no, Jihoon’s really at his breaking point.’”

Jihoon chuckled, clearly entertained by Hansol’s concern. “Nah, not yet. I’m grateful it hasn’t hit the limit.”

“Good,” Hansol said, leaning back in relief. “Because if you go down, we all go down.”

Jihoon smirked. “Then I better stay afloat, huh?”

A heavy silence settled between them, stretching long enough to feel intentional. Jihoon tapped his fingers lightly against his knee before finally speaking, his voice low.

“Do you remember that one female trainee who just disappeared one day?”

Hansol’s expression shifted instantly. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “She was in the debut line. Y/n, right?”

Jihoon nodded slowly, eyes drifting toward the studio wall. “Yeah… I ran into her recently.”

Hansol straightened a little. “Seriously? Where?”

“At a convenience store,” Jihoon replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She works there now.”

Hansol looked genuinely surprised, his brows lifted. “Wow. That’s... unexpected.”

Jihoon didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, lips pressed together. “She looks the same,” he said softly. “But there’s something different too. I don’t know... It messed with my head a bit.”

Hansol tilted his head. “You talked to her?”

“A little. Nothing deep.” Jihoon rubbed the back of his neck. “But just seeing her again... it brought back more than I thought it would.”

Hansol leaned back in the chair, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “She was pretty much a celebrity back then.”

Jihoon gave a small scoff, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah… everyone knew her name. Even the vocal trainers talked about how fast she picked things up.”

“She had that vibe, you know? Confident. Chill. Like she didn’t need to try too hard,” Hansol added, his voice tinged with fondness.

Jihoon hummed in agreement, eyes lost in some far-off thought. “Yeah... she always felt like she was meant for something big.”

Hansol glanced at him. “So what happened? Did she say why she left?”

Jihoon hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I didn’t ask.” A beat passed. “And I don’t think she’d tell me, even if I did.”

Hansol didn’t push further. Jihoon’s voice had softened into something almost unreadable.

There were things Jihoon wasn’t saying. And maybe he wasn’t ready to.

Not yet.

*

Jihoon sat at the small table in front of the convenience store, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling as he waited for your shift to end. Earlier, he had walked into the store with all the courage he'd gathered since stepping out of his apartment. He needed you to hear the song. The thought had been haunting him for days, and tonight, he was being braver than he’d ever been.

“When does your shift end?” Jihoon asked, setting a bottle of Zero Coke on the counter.

“In twenty,” you replied, a little caught off guard by his sudden visit.

Jihoon simply nodded, paid with his phone, and grabbed the drink. “Okay. I’ll wait for you,” he said casually before turning on his heel and walking out, not giving you time to respond. He didn’t dare look back. He was too nervous to care how confused you looked.

Now, he watched from the table as you reappeared, changed out of your uniform and ready to go. You walked over holding another vitamin drink, setting it in front of him as you sat across the table.

Jihoon chuckled at the sight. “I don’t have those unhealthy habits anymore, Y/n.”

“So you eat your vegetables now?” you teased.

Jihoon laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m not that hopeless.”

You leaned back slightly, eyeing him curiously. “So what is this, Jihoon? What do you want from me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled out his earphones and plugged them into his phone. “You know I don’t do small talk,” he muttered, handing you one of the earbuds. “I want you to hear something. It’s rough, the lyrics are still nonsense, but… I want your opinion.”

You raised an eyebrow. “My opinion? You’re the one making a living writing songs, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Just listen first.”

“This isn’t your style,” you said once the song ended. Your voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a trace of something else—familiarity. Like you knew his sound, like you’d been paying attention all along. And something inside Jihoon stirred with quiet hope.

He nodded slowly. “It’s not. It’s yours.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t have a style, Jihoon.”

Without saying anything, Jihoon opened his phone and pulled up a SoundCloud profile. He turned the screen toward you. “This is you, right?”

There it was—your old stage name as the username, your song watermark sitting in the bio like a timestamp from a past life.

Your eyes widened. “You looked for that?” you asked, half laughing in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

Jihoon shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe. But it was the only place I could still hear your voice.”

You stared at the screen for a second longer before looking up at him. “So… what’s your intention with all this, Jihoon?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the bottle of zero coke in his hand, thumb running absentmindedly along the rim. Then he looked at you, fully, like he was trying to read something in your face before saying it.

“I want you to sing it,” he said quietly. “For the demo.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jihoon took a deep breath. “I wrote it with your voice in my head. I don’t know why, but I kept hearing you. Not just any vocal—it had to be you.”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek. “Jihoon… it’s been years.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t even sung properly in—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “I just… I couldn’t let this one go. I need your voice to bring it to life. Even if it's just a demo.”

His voice was calm, but you could tell it was costing him everything to stay that way.

You looked at him again, brows slightly furrowed. “And after that?”

Jihoon hesitated. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, more out of nerves than amusement. “That’s very unlike you.”

“I know,” he repeated, softer this time. “But this… this just felt right.”

You looked at him for a long moment, the weight of shared history hanging between you.

Then your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers brushing against the condensation on your drink bottle. “I don’t know if I can, Jihoon.”

He tilted his head, watching you quietly. “Why not?”

You took a breath, but the words felt heavier than you expected. “Because music… it used to mean something different to me. It was everything, and then it wasn’t. And now, I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what I am with it.”

Jihoon didn’t interrupt. He waited, the silence around you stretching like a safety net rather than pressure.

You forced a laugh, more bitter than you intended. “You said you heard my voice, but I haven’t even let myself sing in years. I don’t know if I even like how I sound anymore. What if I’ve forgotten how to feel it?”

Jihoon leaned back, resting his arms on the table. “Then let’s just try. Not as a job. Not for the industry. Just you and me, like we used to.” His eyes softened. “You don’t have to be who you were. You just have to be honest.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers now picking at the edge of the label on your drink. “It’s complicated. You don’t understand, Jihoon.”

*

You stared at the old blue mp3 player Jihoon had left for you. Not a file sent through a messaging app, not an email attachment—just this little, scratched device loaded with his new demo. A relic of the past, almost stubborn in its simplicity. Holding it felt like touching a memory, one that pulled you back to a time when everything was filled with laughter and reckless dreams. No tears of regret, just passion.

With a quiet sigh, you set the mp3 player on the chipped table in your cramped studio apartment and shuffled toward the tiny kitchenette. The kettle’s hum filled the silence as you reached for another cup of instant noodles. You had lost count of how many you’d eaten this week. But counting anything had become pointless long ago—especially the years since your parents died.

You were eighteen. It was just another exhausting training day when the manager called you out of the practice room, his expression uncharacteristically somber. He told you, in a voice that tried to sound steady, that your parents had been in a car accident. Out of town. Fatal.

Shock was too small a word. You didn’t know what to feel, didn’t know how to react. You hadn’t been close with them—not in the way families in dramas were. No warm hugs, no heartfelt talks. Just the distant, dutiful exchanges of a family that functioned but never flourished.

Your uncle and aunt arrived in Seoul a day later, somber and silent. They promised to take you home to South Jeolla—promised you would return soon, that you could continue chasing your dream. But those promises were lies, whispered only to keep you from protesting.

Seoul faded into the rearview mirror, and so did your dream. What was once a life bursting with dance practices, vocal lessons, and late-night laughter with your trainee friends turned into the quiet humdrum of rural life. The city lights you once knew blurred into distant memories, and the path you’d so fiercely pursued buried itself with your parents.

You sought help from the company, but by then, everyone already knew. Knew your parents were gone, knew your uncle had taken over their business, and knew he’d cut off the funds your father used to send every month. Sympathy turned into avoidance. Promises of support dissolved into awkward silences. No one listened. No one reached out.

And so you were alone—alone with a dream that withered before it could bloom.

You didn’t finish school. Never went to college. No work experience worth mentioning. Your uncle’s family kept the business for themselves, never offering you a share, never once asking what you planned to do with your life.

"Life is so full," you muttered as you settled back at the table, snapping your chopsticks apart before stirring the steaming noodles. The warmth touched your lips, a poor but familiar comfort—the only warmth you’d felt in a long time.

"Full of shit." Your gaze drifted back to the mp3 player.

There was no way Jihoon was serious about wanting to hear you sing again. Not after everything. Not when you’d buried that part of yourself so deeply, you almost forgot it was ever real.

*

You went to Seoul without anyone knowing a year after Seventeen debuted. Covered from head to toe, you slipped into a crowded broadcasting show, watching them perform with the same intensity as always—driven, passionate, like nothing had changed. But for you, everything had.

As if fate couldn’t resist irony, you bumped into an old manager. His eyes widened, recognition breaking through his initial shock.

"Y/n?" he whispered, his voice tight, as though saying your name might summon a ghost.

You stood still, hands shoved deep in your pockets, your expression unreadable. "I heard the girls are debuting," you said simply, ignoring his question.

He glanced around nervously before grabbing your arm, pulling you aside. "You shouldn’t be here. The vice president is here."

"Can I talk to him?"

"What are you thinking? You can’t just disappear and then show up expecting to talk to him."

"Disappear? I didn’t disappear. Everyone knows what happened to me. They knew, and no one looked for me."

You found yourself humming to the demo Jihoon handed you. Your hand paused mid-motion, a soda can hovering just above the fridge shelf. You had listened to it, finally—maybe not much, or so you told yourself. But you listened until you fell asleep. And now, without even realizing it, you’d been humming it all day. The melody lingered, familiar and strange, wrapped in the warmth of guitar riffs and a band sound Jihoon rarely touched before.

Later, you caught yourself typing sentences into your phone’s notes. Drafting lyrics, deleting one word only to replace it with another, trying to fit them against a melody that seemed to cling to your thoughts. You were even considering a theme—the song didn’t even have one yet. What were you doing?

Jihoon stepped into the convenience store, the familiar chime signaling his entrance. He glanced toward the counter, but you weren’t there. Instead, faintly, from the back room, he heard it—a soft, almost tentative melody.

His brows knit together as he moved closer, ears straining to catch the sound. It was his song. And it wasn’t just playing—it was being sung.

He paused by the door to the storage room, not daring to move any closer. Your voice, clear and a little rough around the edges, wove through the notes with an effortless familiarity. You were humming the melody, occasionally mumbling words that you hadn’t quite settled on yet, but the sound was unmistakably yours.

Jihoon didn’t breathe for a moment, his chest tight. You didn’t even notice him, too caught up in the rhythm, stocking shelves while lost in the music.

A smile broke out on his face, small but undeniable. He hadn’t heard you sing in years, not since back when everything was simpler, when music didn’t feel like a burden.

Suddenly, you spun around, a soda can still in your hand, and froze. Your eyes widened, caught mid-hum, and Jihoon had to bite back a laugh at how startled you looked.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice betraying both surprise and a hint of embarrassment. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jihoon leaned against the doorframe, his smile soft but genuine. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, his tone low and careful. “You sounded... really good.”

You looked down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s just—just stuck in my head,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant as you resumed stacking the cans.

Jihoon hesitated, unsure if he should push or let it go. But the chance felt too precious to pass up. “That’s a good sign, right?” he asked, stepping further into the room. “Means it’s catchy.”

You shrugged, still not meeting his gaze. “Maybe.”

Jihoon shifted his weight, trying to keep his voice casual. “Were you… coming up with lyrics earlier?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, fingers hovering over the last soda can. “Maybe.”

“Do I get to hear them?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes a little too hopeful.

You straightened, closing the fridge door with a soft thud. “No.”

He blinked, surprised by your bluntness, but there was no sting—just a quiet laugh. “Why not?”

“Because they’re not ready. They’re just… thoughts,” you muttered, crossing your arms, feeling defensive even though he hadn’t done anything. “They might not even make sense.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, stepping back slightly to give you space. “Okay. No pressure.”

But that only made you feel worse. You leaned against the wall, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s just… I don’t even know what I’m doing, Jihoon.”

“Writing lyrics, apparently,” he teased, but his voice was gentle.

You glanced at him, and the earnest look on his face melted away some of your frustration. “The theme… it’s about being there for someone. Like… promising to be there, even when they think they’re alone.”

Jihoon’s smile faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. “That’s… powerful,” he murmured. “It’s honest.”

You bit your lip, hesitating again. “I don’t know if it’s any good.”

“I want to hear it,” he said, voice unwavering. “Even if it’s just a draft.”

You stared at him, searching for any sign of pity or insincerity. But Jihoon was just there, waiting—patient, unwavering.

Finally, with a sigh, you pulled out your phone, scrolling to the notes app. “Fine, but if you laugh—”

“I won’t,” he promised.

You stepped closer, handing him the phone. Jihoon’s eyes scanned the words, his expression shifting subtly as he read. His fingers lightly brushed the edge of your phone, his lips moving soundlessly along with the lyrics.

Seconds stretched into a minute. Then another.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were a little brighter, his voice softer. “Y/n… this is beautiful.”

You swallowed, feeling your chest tighten. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Jihoon whispered. “It’s… it’s everything I wanted the song to say but didn’t know how.”

You looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Well… now you do.”

He chuckled, the sound light and almost relieved. “Now I do.”

And for a moment, standing there in the quiet hum of the storage room, it felt like you were back in a place where music was more than just sound—where it was a language, something only you and Jihoon could speak.

*

You sat on the leather couch in a studio, fingers twisted together, watching Jihoon work in his element. He hadn’t said much since you both arrived—just a few clicks of his mouse, a quiet hum under his breath, and the soft glow of the monitor lighting his focused face.

Your gaze wandered, from the cables snaking across the floor to the soft, ambient lights lining the room. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but you could feel the nerves crawling up your spine, your thumb unconsciously tracing the edge of your phone.

Jihoon hadn’t turned around, but you knew he sensed it. Maybe it was the way you shifted on the couch, or how your voice had gone quieter since you both stepped inside.

He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Do you want some water?” he asked, not even turning, voice calm but carrying a gentleness that tugged at you.

You almost laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “A little.”

Silence settled again, but it was softer this time. He adjusted the volume of a track, listened, then leaned back in his chair.

“Y/n,” he said suddenly, and you straightened slightly. “Just sit there. You don’t have to do anything else.”

“I know,” you whispered, but the words felt thin against the weight in your chest.

He leaned his head back, finally meeting your eyes. “I brought you here because I want you to feel it again. Not because I expect you to perform.”

You swallowed, nodding, but you didn’t trust your voice.

“Besides,” he added with a gentle laugh, “I need you here. You have better taste in lyrics than me, remember?”

The tension in your shoulders eased, just a little. “You used to hate it when I nitpicked your lines.”

“Maybe I did. Or maybe I just hated that you were right most of the time.”

You smiled, leaning back into the couch, your fingers finally relaxing.

Jihoon turned back to his screen, but not before you caught the faintest look of relief in his expression. He wasn’t just working—he was making space for you, creating an atmosphere that felt safe, unhurried.

“Wanna try it?” Jihoon asked, casually, but his gaze was attentive.

Your heart skipped. “Sing it?”

He nodded, not pushing but not letting you hide either. “Just try. No pressure.”

You leaned back, taking a deep breath. “Okay… just… play the track.”

Jihoon adjusted a few settings, and soon the familiar sound of the demo filled the room. The gentle guitar strums, the soft beat—familiar yet new, warm and inviting.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling around the edge of the couch. And then, with a voice that felt shaky at first but gradually steadied, you began.

“Come stop your crying, it will be alright…

Just take my hand, hold it tight…”

Your voice wavered, but you pushed on. Jihoon’s eyes remained on the screen, but you could see the subtle way his head nodded, following your rhythm.

“I will protect you from all around you…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

Jihoon made a few adjustments, lowering the instrumentals slightly, letting your voice shine just a bit more.

“For one so small, you seem so strong…

My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm…”

The nerves twisted inside you, but the words carried you. They weren’t just lyrics—they felt like a promise, a warmth you had missed, a memory that still lingered.

Jihoon’s hand reached out, his index finger tapping a small rhythm on the desk, a silent gesture of encouragement.

“This bond between us can’t be broken…

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

As you reached the final line, your voice softened, but it didn’t shake. It flowed.

“You’ll be in my heart…

Yes, you’ll be in my heart…

From this day on, now and forevermore…”

Silence followed, the track fading into nothingness. You barely realized you were gripping the edge of the couch until you felt the tension in your fingers.

Jihoon turned, a soft, almost amazed smile spreading across his face. “You’re still incredible.”

You looked away, feeling your cheeks warm. “It’s… it’s just a draft.”

“A beautiful one,” he corrected. “And your voice… it’s still there, Y/n. Stronger than you think.”

You bit your lip, a small laugh escaping. “I was terrified.”

“And yet, you sang like that.” He leaned back in his chair, his smile growing. “You wanna try another take? Just to warm up more?”

You met his eyes, a quiet spark of excitement finally breaking through your nerves. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of the studio lights casting a warm hue over his face. He was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest, eyes still on you. You expected another round of feedback, another subtle correction. But instead, he smiled—a slow, thoughtful smile.

“I think we should release it.”

You blinked. “Release? Like… as in, actually put it out there?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning forward, his hands resting on his knees. “We could release it as an indie song. No heavy promotion, just… something real. Something raw.”

“Jihoon, I haven’t sung in years,” you whispered, your fingers instinctively curling into your sleeves. “I mean… this was just—”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “This was beautiful. Your voice, the lyrics… it’s all there.”

Your lips parted, a hundred protests dancing on the tip of your tongue. The fear, the anxiety, the echo of all those years wasted, the bitterness of dreams abandoned—they all screamed at you. But beneath them was something else, something softer and far more dangerous.

Hope.

“What if…” you hesitated, your gaze falling to the polished floor, “what if no one listens?”

“Then it’s just a song we made,” Jihoon said easily, his voice calming. “But if someone does… if it reaches even one person, then it’s worth it.”

Your gaze met his, and you saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. No judgment, no pity—just that quiet, unwavering faith Jihoon always seemed to carry.

“But… it’s just a draft. It’s not perfect.”

“Then we’ll perfect it. We’ll record a proper take, polish the instrumentals, mix it right.” His voice grew animated, that spark of creative energy you knew so well lighting up his expression. “It can just be under a simple artist name—no big reveal, no pressure.”

You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping. “I don’t even know what name I’d use.”

“Then we can come up with one.” Jihoon’s grin widened, his excitement infectious. “Or we can just go with something simple. Y/n. Nothing to hide.”

Something in your chest tightened at that—your name, out there again, but this time without the weight of forced expectations or shattered dreams. Just you.

“You’re serious,” you whispered, a hint of awe slipping into your tone.

“I am.” He leaned forward again, his voice softer now. “You deserve to be heard, Y/n. Even if it’s just this one song. Even if it’s just this one moment.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, blinking quickly. You didn’t want to cry—not now, not in front of him. But you couldn’t stop the smile that spread slowly across your face.

“Then… let’s do it,” you whispered, barely trusting your own voice.

Jihoon’s smile softened, relief and pride mingling in his expression. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky laugh. “Let’s do it.”

*

The song was out—and it was a hit. More than just a quiet indie release, it spread like wildfire, carried by word of mouth and algorithmic whispers. People were captivated by the raw emotion in your voice, the honest lyrics, and the gentle but powerful production. It didn’t take long for listeners to notice the signature touch in the arrangement. Soon, word got out: Woozi of Seventeen had produced it.

Suddenly, you were no longer just a voice behind an anonymous track. Labels started reaching out, messages flooding your inbox with offers and promises. It was overwhelming, surreal.

Jihoon was there, calm and steady as always, sifting through the chaos with you. He recommended a label—one he trusted, one that would nurture your talent without forcing you into a mold. And you listened, handing in your resignation at the convenience store without a second thought.

Your world changed. You went from late-night shifts stocking soda cans to late-night sessions in recording studios. The label signed you, and they were careful, letting you be yourself, preserving the authenticity that made your first song a success.

And now, here you were, standing under the stage lights of a bustling university festival. A gentle breeze rustled your hair, the warm glow of the sunset casting an amber hue over the crowd. You sat with a guitar in your lap, the mic waiting. Nervous? Absolutely. But the moment your fingers found the strings, a familiar calm washed over you.

You played Jihoon’s song—no, your song. Your voice carried over the crowd, clear and heartfelt. People swayed, some holding up their phones, and you lost yourself in the music.

In the audience, Jihoon stood beside Hansol, his cap pulled low but not low enough to hide the proud smile tugging at his lips. His gaze never left you, watching every strum, every note you sang.

Hansol leaned over, his hands in his pockets, his voice a mix of honesty and admiration. “I thought you were going to give this song to Dokyeom hyung.”

“I was about to, for his solo.” Jihoon’s eyes softened, a quiet sense of satisfaction settling in. “But this song found its owner first.”

Hansol chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you. “I guess it did.”

Jihoon didn’t reply, but his heart swelled with pride, watching you command the stage with a quiet, soulful power he always knew you had. And he couldn’t help but feel like this was just the beginning—your beginning.

*

“I don’t know if you’re the type who likes staring at the stars.” Your voice teased Jihoon, a soft laugh lacing your words as both of you lay side by side on the rooftop of his place, the summer night sky stretching endlessly above. A gentle breeze rustled, carrying the scent of warm grass and distant city lights.

Jihoon had picked you up from a performance at a local music festival, a quiet but thoughtful way of celebrating the first anniversary of your debut. The night air felt cooler up here, the world below seeming a distant hum.

“I always enjoy nature,” Jihoon muttered, a hint of mock annoyance in his voice. “Wonwoo’s not the only one who’s romantic in our group.” But his expression betrayed him, a playful grin spreading as he turned to see you laughing.

“You sure? Because he sets the bar pretty high.”

Jihoon’s grin softened, his gaze wandering back to the stars. For a moment, a comfortable silence wrapped around you, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice a touch quieter.

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“Surreal.” You breathed out, the word slipping past your lips like a confession. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the cool rooftop surface, searching for words that didn’t feel cliché. “I don’t know, honestly. Everything was hard—very hard. I was just... surviving. Then suddenly, I woke up one day, and I was on stage, singing. Living my dream.”

Jihoon listened, his gaze steady, his silence an invitation for you to continue.

“But sometimes, it still feels like a dream I might wake up from. Like I’m just waiting for someone to tap my shoulder and tell me it’s over.”

“Then why did you stop?” Jihoon’s question was gentle, but it hit deeper than you expected.

You hesitated, watching a faint cloud drift across the stars. “Because it felt like the world I knew crumbled overnight. Everything I thought I’d always have just… disappeared. I thought my dream went with it.”

Silence settled between you two, the gentle rustle of the summer breeze the only sound. Jihoon’s gaze remained on the stars, but his focus was entirely on you.

“What happened back then?” he finally asked, his voice cautious, almost hesitant.

You didn’t answer immediately, your fingers nervously tracing the rough texture of the rooftop. “It was… well, you know, my parents died in an accident. The business went to my uncle, and they kept me there. I was… stuck. And the company didn’t reach out either.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly, concern darkening his eyes. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.” You tried to keep your voice steady, but a hint of bitterness slipped through. “I don’t know what the company told everyone, but once my uncle stopped funding them—the monthly support my father used to send—suddenly, I didn’t exist to them anymore. I wasn’t even a memory.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed, his expression a mix of anger and sadness. “That’s… that’s awful.”

“It was.” You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Being forgotten hurts more than losing everything else.”

You took a deep breath, letting the summer air fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. “Thank you, Jihoon.”

His gaze shifted to you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “For what?”

“For everything.” Your voice was softer now, carrying a weight you hadn’t meant to show. “There was a time when it felt like everyone had forgotten me. My family, the company… even the dream I once had. But you… you didn’t.”

Jihoon’s lips parted, but no words came out immediately. His fingers fidgeted slightly, a nervous habit you had come to recognize.

“I didn’t do much,” he finally murmured. “I just… I just gave you a song.”

“That’s more than enough.” A gentle smile tugged at your lips. “It wasn’t just a song, Jihoon. It was a reminder that I could still be someone. That I could still do something I love. And you listened. When no one else did.”

He looked away, staring back at the stars as if they had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Maybe.” You leaned a bit closer, your shoulder brushing against his. “But I’d rather give it to you than let myself think I did this all alone.”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. “Well, I guess I can accept that. Just don’t forget that I’m still your producer. I’m allowed to be bossy.”

You laughed, a genuine, lighthearted sound that seemed to lift the weight from your chest. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*

Jihoon leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between the scattered lyric sheets on the table and the two figures beside him. You were seated cross-legged on the couch, your phone in one hand as you scribbled words onto a notebook with the other. Seungcheol sat beside you, far too close for Jihoon’s liking, his shoulder pressing against yours as he leaned over, peering at your notes.

“Are you sure that line flows well?” Seungcheol asked, his voice a low murmur close to your ear, his hand resting casually on the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulder.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think it captures the feeling. But I’m open to suggestions.”

“Here,” Seungcheol’s fingers lightly grazed your wrist as he reached for your pen. “What if you say—”

Jihoon’s jaw tightened, and he reached over, pulling his keyboard closer with a faint, intentional clatter. “Let’s focus on the melody first. No point in perfecting lyrics we can’t fit to the music.”

You glanced up at him, your expression caught between amusement and gratitude, while Seungcheol just laughed, leaning back but making no move to create more distance.

“Of course, Producer-nim,” Seungcheol teased, though his tone was light. “I’ll leave the melody to the master.”

Jihoon’s fingers danced over the keys, the soft piano notes filling the room. But even as he worked, his eyes would occasionally dart back to you and Seungcheol. He saw the way Seungcheol would lean in, his hand sometimes brushing against yours, his quiet chuckles always a little too close. And you… you seemed oblivious, focused on your lyrics, nodding at his ideas, but never quite leaning back into his touch.

Still, it was enough to gnaw at Jihoon.

“I think this transition needs more impact,” he finally said, a little louder than necessary, his gaze meeting yours. “Y/n, try humming it with me?”

You perked up, nodding. “Sure.”

You moved slightly forward, leaving Seungcheol’s side as you walked over to Jihoon’s setup. He adjusted the mic stand for you, his hands lingering for a second, his voice softer now. “Just follow my lead.”

The melody played, and you hummed along, your voice blending seamlessly with his instrumental. As you sang, Jihoon’s tense shoulders seemed to ease, and the faint hint of a smile played at his lips.

Seungcheol watched, a knowing smirk crossing his face as he leaned back against the couch. “Wow, Producer-nim really knows how to bring out the best in his artists.”

Jihoon’s fingers paused on the keys, his gaze flicking to Seungcheol. “That’s the job.”

But beneath the calm expression, his focus never strayed from you.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving a quiet stillness in the studio. Jihoon leaned back in his chair, exhaling as his fingers tapped rhythmically against his armrest. He began to tidy up the lyric sheets scattered around, but his calm didn’t last long.

“You know, I should start charging for my acting,” Seungcheol's voice cut through the silence, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I mean, watching you go all stiff with jealousy was worth every second.”

Jihoon’s eyes shot up, narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Seungcheol laughed, casually leaning against the back of the couch. “The way you practically glared holes through me every time I leaned close to Y/n? The piano smashing was a nice touch too.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” Jihoon grumbled, shuffling the lyric sheets with unnecessary force. “I was focused on the work.”

“Sure. Because ‘Let’s focus on the melody’ wasn’t you screaming ‘Back off’ in music producer language.”

Jihoon’s cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink, and he spun his chair around, refusing to face Seungcheol. “You were the one being unnecessarily touchy. That’s a cheap move, hyung.”

“Cheap but effective,” Seungcheol sang, walking over to Jihoon’s desk. “I just wanted to see how far you’d go. Honestly, I thought you were going to throw that keyboard at me.”

“I considered it,” Jihoon muttered, his grip tightening around the edge of his desk. “Don’t push it.”

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning closer. “You should just tell her, you know. You’ve already done the hard part—writing with her, watching her grow, supporting her in the background. The only thing left is saying it.”

Jihoon’s shoulders tensed, and for a moment, his eyes softened. “She… has a lot going on. And I’m…”

“A coward?”

Seungcheol had known about Jihoon's little crush on you since predebut. It wasn't anything Jihoon ever said—it was everything he didn’t. The way his eyes would follow you just a moment longer than anyone else, how his usually stoic expression softened whenever you spoke, and how his rare laughter seemed to come easily whenever you made a joke. Jihoon never talked much, but when it was with you, his words seemed to flow a little easier.

But Seungcheol had kept quiet, just observing, thinking it was just a passing crush. After all, they were all young, chasing dreams, busy with practices, and dealing with the pressure of a debut that seemed just out of reach. Feelings were bound to get tangled.

It wasn’t until years later, when he heard Jihoon was producing a song for you—your first song, the one that became a hit—that Seungcheol realized it wasn’t just a crush. Jihoon didn’t just work on your song; he poured himself into it, perfecting every note, making sure the melody brought out the best in your voice. It wasn’t just a project to him.

So, one night, when the two of them were alone in the studio, Seungcheol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Jihoon fine-tune your track for the hundredth time. The younger one didn't even notice him at first, too lost in his world.

“You like Y/n, don’t you?” Seungcheol finally asked, his voice calm but direct.

Jihoon’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, a faint hesitation hanging in the air. He didn’t turn around. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol chuckled, pushing off the doorway and walking in. “Don’t pretend. I’ve seen how you look at her. I saw it back then, and I see it now.”

Silence. Jihoon’s shoulders seemed to tense slightly, and then he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Seungcheol frowned, taking a seat on the couch. “You’re making her first song. You’re working harder on it than any other track you’ve touched lately. If that’s not a confession in itself, I don’t know what is.”

“She deserves something good. Something that works,” Jihoon mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with a pen.

“Yeah, because she’s talented. But for you? It’s more than that.”

Jihoon finally turned to Seungcheol, his expression unreadable. “What if it’s pointless? What if she doesn’t see me that way?”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You won’t know unless you try. And you know Y/n. She’s not the type to run away from something honest.”

Jihoon’s gaze dropped to the floor, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, maybe not by glaring at me every time I joke with her,” Seungcheol teased, lightening the mood.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his expression now. “Maybe I’ll throw the guitar at you next time.”

“Sure, sure. But just so you know, if you keep pretending you don’t care, someone else might show up and make her fall for them.”

That thought alone seemed to light a fire in Jihoon’s chest, and Seungcheol caught it—the brief flash of determination in his eyes.

*

After that night, Jihoon began to change in ways that were almost too subtle to notice—unless you were paying attention. Jihoon was still Jihoon, calm and focused, but now there was a quiet sort of energy around him whenever you were near.

He started texting you more often—just small things, like asking if you got home safely after a late recording session or sending you a link to a song he thought you’d like. He listened intently when you spoke, his gaze never wavering, and his usual brief responses grew a little longer, more thoughtful.

In the studio, he would suggest a break whenever he noticed you seemed tired, even going as far as bringing you your favorite drink without asking. Once, he even swapped his hoodie with yours when you shivered slightly from the cold air conditioning.

You noticed it too. The way he would look up when you walked in, how his usually distant expression softened, or how he would stay in the studio a little longer when you were there, even if his part of the work was done.

One evening, as you tried to perfect the chorus of a song, your voice cracking slightly from overuse, Jihoon stood up and gently took your wrist. “Let’s take a break. Pushing won’t make it better.”

“I’m fine. I can—”

“You’re not a machine, Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “Come on.”

He led you out of the studio, the warmth of his hand lingering on your skin. Outside, the cool breeze swept across your face, and you sighed, leaning against the wall.

“Thanks,” you murmured, looking at him.

Jihoon nodded, but his eyes lingered on you, as if there was something more he wanted to say. But instead, he just stayed there, standing beside you in the quiet hallway, his presence alone enough to calm your nerves.

Seungcheol noticed too—how Jihoon’s attention seemed to orbit around you. He watched with a grin whenever Jihoon would get subtly annoyed if someone else got too close, how his friend seemed to naturally gravitate toward you.

“Man, I never thought I’d see Woozi being soft like this,” Seungcheol teased one day when you left to get water.

“Shut up,” Jihoon muttered, pretending to focus on his laptop.

“You’re not even hiding it anymore.”

“I’m just making sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, and I’m the president,” Seungcheol laughed. “Just admit it, you care about her.”

Jihoon’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flickering to where you stood by the water dispenser. “I do.”

“You should tell her.”

“Easier said than done,” Jihoon mumbled, but the way his eyes followed you spoke louder than any confession he could make.

The quiet hum of the studio equipment filled the room, a gentle backdrop to the creative chaos surrounding you. Papers scattered on the table, some scribbled with half-finished lyrics, others with scratched-out chords. You sat on the couch, your guitar resting against your thigh, and Jihoon was beside you, his laptop open, the familiar glow illuminating his focused expression.

You strummed a gentle melody, your fingers moving almost automatically, but your mind was elsewhere—specifically, on the way Jihoon’s gaze kept flickering toward you. He wasn’t obvious, but you’d known him long enough to recognize when something was on his mind.

“Let’s try it again from the second verse,” he said, his voice steady as always. But the way he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, felt different.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the slight flutter in your chest. “Okay, but I still think the transition feels awkward. It’s too sudden.”

Jihoon hummed, leaning back, but even then, his arm remained against yours, his warmth grounding you. “Then let’s smooth it out. Maybe extend the line or add a softer bridge.” His fingers tapped on the keyboard, adjusting the track.

You glanced at him, trying to focus on the work, but the closeness was impossible to ignore. “You’re getting really good at reading my mind, you know that?”

Jihoon smiled, a gentle, almost shy smile that you rarely saw. “Maybe I’ve just been paying attention.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You played the melody, humming along, your voice blending with the soft notes. Jihoon’s gaze didn’t leave you, his eyes tracing the way you lost yourself in the music.

“Your voice… it always suits this kind of song,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You stopped, cheeks warming slightly. “You think so?”

“I know so.” His tone was soft, but there was a quiet certainty to it. “You bring the lyrics to life. That’s why I knew this song was meant for you.”

Something in your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you. “Jihoon, I—”

The door swung open, and Seungcheol peeked in. “Still at it? I knew you two would be here until dawn.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the closeness. Jihoon leaned back slightly, his expression returning to its calm, composed look. “Almost done. Just refining.”

“Of course.” Seungcheol grinned, stepping in. “But don't overwork her, Woozi. She still needs that voice tomorrow.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I know. I’m not a slave driver.”

But as you tried to refocus, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of his words—or the way his gaze had softened when he looked at you.

The door swung open again, and Soonyoung waltzed in, carrying two plastic bags that crinkled noisily. “Midnight snacks! I bring salvation in the form of tteokbokki and kimbap!”

“Finally,” Seungcheol cheered, abandoning his spot by the soundboard to raid the bags. Jihoon, ever the disciplined one, simply raised an eyebrow, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed his amusement.

“You two are gonna spoil her,” Jihoon muttered, but he didn’t stop you when you reached for a kimbap roll.

“Oh, please. She’s working too hard. A little late-night energy won’t hurt.” Soonyoung plopped down on the couch beside you, practically beaming. “So, what are we working on?”

Jihoon tapped on his laptop. “Just fine-tuning the second verse. Y/n thinks the transition’s too abrupt, and I agree. We’re trying to find a smoother flow.”

Soonyoung leaned forward, chewing on a piece of tteokbokki. “Why don’t you add a two-bar instrumental bridge? Something subtle, like a rising piano line to ease the mood?”

Jihoon’s eyes lit up. “That could actually work. Give me a second.” He started tinkering with the software, and the room filled with the delicate rise of soft keys, fitting perfectly between the verses.

“I’m a genius,” Soonyoung declared, looking smug. “I should get producer credits.”

“You wish.” Jihoon snorted, but he saved the updated version, clearly pleased.

As you sipped on a can of soda, feeling the comfort of the warm, slightly chaotic atmosphere, Soonyoung’s voice suddenly cut through, clear and casual—too casual.

“Didn’t you like him in the past?”

Silence. An absolute, crushing silence.

The room seemed to freeze. The soft hum of the equipment suddenly felt louder. You stared at Soonyoung, your breath caught, the half-chewed kimbap in your mouth suddenly dry.

Jihoon’s fingers, which had been moving so fluidly over the keyboard, halted mid-gesture. His gaze snapped to you, a mix of shock and confusion. Seungcheol looked up, a piece of tteokbokki half-raised to his lips, his jaw slack.

“I—What?” you managed to say, your voice smaller than you intended.

“You forgot?” Soonyoung looked genuinely surprised, blinking at the stunned faces around him. “I remember you told me about that on our way to the dorm. You thought Jihoon was cute—especially when he got all serious with his lyrics.”

“I—That was…” Your voice faltered, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I was young. We were all kids.”

“Soonyoung-ah,” Jihoon’s voice was a warning, but the redness creeping up his ears betrayed him. He still hadn’t looked away from you.

Soonyoung seemed to sense the tension he’d stirred up, but instead of backtracking, he leaned back with an amused smile. “Hey, I’m just stating facts. And now look at you two, making music together all over again. Feels like fate.”

You tried to focus on your food, each bite feeling heavier than before. Jihoon’s gaze flickered away, his attention returning to the screen, but his fingers hovered, unsure.

The warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. Jihoon’s eyes met yours once more—fleeting, almost shy—but in that glance, there was a question, a hesitant spark. And your heart raced just a little faster.

*

The chaos erupted like a wildfire.

You had just stepped off the stage after another successful performance, the bright lights still lingering in your vision when your manager rushed toward you, her expression pale. “Y/n… you need to see this.”

She handed you her phone, and there it was—a news article that had already gone viral. The headline screamed: "Rising Star Y/n Accused by Family of Theft and Runaway: The Truth Behind Her Past."

Your heart dropped. Your uncle’s name was right there, and his words were cruel and twisted.

“She stole from our family, took a large sum of money, and disappeared to Seoul. We tried to help her, but she betrayed us,” the article quoted him. He painted a picture of you as an ungrateful, deceitful child who had thrown away family for fame.

Panic twisted your stomach. Your manager’s phone kept vibrating, notifications pouring in—fans commenting, people demanding an explanation, other news outlets picking up the story.

“How… How could he…?” your voice was barely a whisper, your hands cold

“Y/n, we need to make a statement,” your manager urged. “We have to clear this up.”

Clear it up? What even was there to clear up? It was a complete lie. You knew the truth, Jihoon knew, but would anyone believe you over the man parading as your family?

Your mind spun with memories—the suffocating isolation back then, your uncle holding back your inheritance, his family treating you like a burden. You had nothing when you left, nothing but the tiny bit of courage you had left to chase a life they tried to take from you.

The staff members whispered, your phone buzzed incessantly. Social media was already flooding with comments—some defending you, others calling you a fraud.

*

Jihoon’s phone buzzed endlessly. Notifications flooded in, messages from the members, the manager, and even his mother, asking if he knew about the chaos involving you. His jaw tightened, a sense of dread clawing at his chest. He had just seen you hours ago, your smile bright after another successful performance. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

He dialed your number, pressing his phone to his ear, but the call went unanswered. Once, twice, three times. Panic gripped him tighter with each failed attempt. He paced his studio, his fingers tapping against his thigh, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake.

The headlines were ruthless, and the comments even worse. People who didn’t know anything about you were already labeling you a liar, a thief. Jihoon knew better. He knew how you had struggled, how you had clawed your way out of the darkness they had thrown you into.

Finally, he grabbed his keys and stormed out. He wasn’t going to just sit there. He needed to find you.

As he sped through the city, he tried calling you again. This time, he called Seungcheol.

“Hyung, where is she? Did you get to her?” he blurted the moment Seungcheol picked up.

“Jihoon?” Seungcheol's voice was muffled, the sound of a car engine in the background. “Yeah, I have her. We’re heading somewhere safe. Soonyoung’s coordinating with the legal team, but things are blowing up fast.”

“Is she… Is she okay?” Jihoon’s voice softened, betraying his fear.

“She’s in shock, I think. Trying to stay calm, but you know Y/n. She’s… trying to hold it together,” Seungcheol explained, his voice quieter. “But Jihoon, she’s hurt. Her own family did this to her.”

Jihoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pale. “Where are you taking her?”

“To my place for now. It’s better if the press doesn’t know,” Seungcheol replied.

“Stay there. I’m coming.” Jihoon didn’t even wait for Seungcheol’s reply before ending the call, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator.

His mind raced, thinking of what to say to you, how to comfort you. But all he knew for sure was that he needed to be there. You weren’t going to face this alone. Not again.

*

When Jihoon stepped into Seungcheol’s apartment, the air was thick with tension. The lights were dim, and Soonyoung stood in the kitchen, whispering urgently into his phone. Seungcheol was by the window, his gaze shifting between the streets below and the silent figure curled on the couch.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting there, knees drawn to your chest, your face buried against them. Your shoulders trembled slightly, and even from across the room, Jihoon could see your fingers gripping the fabric of your pants so tightly your knuckles were pale.

“Y/n…” Jihoon’s voice was barely a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the room.

You didn’t look up immediately, but when you did, your eyes were glassy, lost. A faint, broken smile appeared on your lips, but it crumbled just as quickly. “Jihoon… I…”

Before you could finish, Jihoon crossed the room, kneeling beside the couch. He didn’t hesitate, reaching out to gently hold your hands, prying your fingers free from their tight grip. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You shook your head, a choked laugh escaping you. “It’s not okay. They’re saying… they’re saying I stole from them. That I ran away with their money. That I… Jihoon, I didn't do that. I swear—”

“I know.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I know you didn’t. We all know.”

Your breathing was unsteady, each gasp catching in your throat. “But the whole world thinks… They’re calling me a thief, a liar. My own family did this… Why? Why would they—” Your voice broke, and tears slipped down your cheeks.

Jihoon’s heart twisted painfully. He had never seen you like this—so exposed, so lost. The woman who stood on stage, who wrote lyrics with such passion, who fought to rebuild her life, now reduced to this fragile state.

“They’re scared, or greedy, or just cruel. But none of that is your fault,” Jihoon whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears. “We’re going to fix this. I promise you.”

You stared at him, searching for something—reassurance, hope, anything to hold on to. “Jihoon… I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours, letting you feel his warmth, his steady presence. “You don’t have to know. You just have to let us help you. Let me help you.”

A quiet sob broke from you, and you leaned into him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. Jihoon’s arms enveloped you, holding you close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Across the room, Seungcheol looked away, giving you both a moment. Soonyoung stepped out to the balcony, continuing his call but throwing a quick thumbs-up toward Jihoon. The world outside might be cruel, but here, you had them—people who knew you, who cared, who would fight for you.

*

Within hours, statements from both your label and Pledis were released, carefully crafted yet resolute in their tone. Your label firmly denied your uncle's accusations, clarifying that his claims were false and rooted in a personal dispute. They acknowledged the difficult situation you faced in the past, explaining that you were a young trainee who had to abandon her dreams due to unforeseen family circumstances.

Pledis, under the direct supervision of Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Soonyoung, released their own statement. They confirmed your history as a promising trainee who was forced to withdraw from debut due to family complications. They expressed regret that you had to leave under such circumstances but emphasized their support for you now.

The company stood by your truth, and it wasn't just words on paper. Seungcheol was the one who demanded the statement be released immediately, his voice firm and unwavering in the meeting room. Jihoon insisted on the wording, making sure every detail reflected the reality of your situation without exploiting your trauma. Soonyoung, surprisingly serious, went as far as personally reaching out to industry connections, making sure the narrative didn’t spiral out of control.

With their combined efforts, the public's perception shifted. Sympathy replaced doubt, and the comments under your social media flooded with support.

Alongside the official statements, photos of you with Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Soonyoung began to circulate on social media. Some were candid shots—Seungcheol playfully ruffling your hair, Jihoon walking beside you with a faint smile, and Soonyoung making exaggerated faces to make you laugh. Others were from studio sessions, showing you deep in conversation with Jihoon or Seungcheol leaning over to check your lyrics.

Fans started piecing together the connection. Jihoon, the genius producer behind almost all your songs, wasn’t just a collaborator—he was a steadfast presence in your life. Seungcheol and Soonyoung, who were known for their loyalty and protectiveness over their members, clearly extended that same care to you.

Online discussions swelled with sympathy. “If Seungcheol and Jihoon trust her, then I trust her too.” “You can see in their eyes they genuinely care about her.” “Jihoon produces all her songs—there’s no way she’s the person her uncle described.”

A week after the tide of public opinion began to shift in your favor, Jihoon arrived at your doorstep unannounced. The moment you opened the door, he stepped inside with quiet confidence, his eyes searching the small space until they found you standing there—alone, vulnerable, yet somehow still holding on.

He said nothing, letting the silence fill the room before slowly opening his arms wide. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a deep, unwavering embrace. Your body shook as the walls you’d built crumbled, and the sobs you had kept buried for so long spilled out uncontrollably. You melted into his chest, feeling like fragile glass finally cradled safely after a storm.

Jihoon’s arms tightened gently around you, his steady heartbeat resonating against your ear like a calming rhythm. In that quiet moment, his presence spoke louder than words ever could—he was here, unwavering and steadfast, ready to be the anchor you needed. No matter what had happened, no matter how far you had fallen, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jihoon’s hands slowly stroked your hair, his touch gentle and soothing as if trying to erase every trace of pain you’d carried alone for so long. He whispered soft reassurances, low and steady, barely more than a breath.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he murmured. “I’m here. We’ll get through this—together.”

His voice held no pressure, only quiet strength that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. As your sobs softened, you clung to him tighter, letting yourself finally rest, finally breathe. For the first time in a long while, you felt seen—not as someone broken or forgotten, but as someone worthy of care and love.

Jihoon held you like that until the world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the steady beat of two hearts healing side by side.

After a while, Jihoon gently pulled back just enough to look at you. The two of you settled on the worn-out couch, close but not crowded, the quiet hum of the city outside your window filling the space between you.

He studied your face with soft concern. “How are you feeling? Really.”

You hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. “Honestly? Still fragile. But... better, now that you’re here.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words wrapped around you like a shield, giving you the courage to admit the weight you’d been carrying, the fear that had made you shut down for so long. In that moment, sitting side by side, you realized maybe—just maybe—you could start to heal.

You looked down at your hands, twisting the edge of your sleeve nervously. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “For everything that happened—how I disappeared, how I pushed people away... especially you.”

Jihoon’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, none of that was your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But I still feel like I should’ve done better. Stayed strong—for myself, for everyone who believed in me.”

He shook his head gently, eyes soft but firm. “You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to be human, to stumble. What matters is you’re here now, and we’re going to face this together.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, grateful for his steady presence. “Thank you... for not giving up on me.”

Jihoon smiled, a quiet promise in his gaze. “Never.”

Jihoon’s grip on your hand tightened just a little, his eyes searching yours with a seriousness that made your heart skip. He took a slow breath before speaking, his voice softer than before.

“Y/n, I’ve been holding this in for a while… but I can’t anymore. I like you. More than just a friend, more than just someone I want to help. I’ve liked you since before you even knew I existed.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession, your heart racing.

“I didn’t say anything because I wanted to be there for you, not add any pressure. But seeing you now, vulnerable and still so strong—it’s made me realize I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

He gave you a small, hopeful smile. “I want to be by your side. Not just as your producer or friend... but something more, if you’ll let me.”

Your breath hitched, and a heavy wave of doubt washed over you. You looked down, voice barely a whisper.

“I... I don’t know if I deserve this—deserve you. After everything I’ve been through, all the mistakes, all the pain... How could someone like you want someone like me?”

Your heart ached with a mix of gratitude and fear, the weight of your past pressing hard against the hope Jihoon’s words had sparked.

Jihoon reached out, gently lifting your chin so your eyes met his. His gaze was steady, full of warmth and certainty.

“Y/n, you don’t have to be perfect for me to want you. I see you—everything you are, everything you’ve been through—and it only makes me want to be by your side more.”

He smiled softly, his voice low and sincere.

“You deserve kindness, love, and a fresh start. And I want to be part of that with you.”

You searched his eyes, vulnerability and doubt still lingering in yours. “Jihoon… are you sure you won’t regret this? Being with someone like me—after everything?” Your voice cracked, heavy with the weight of all the pain and uncertainty you carried.

He held your gaze steadily, no hesitation in his eyes. Slowly, he shook his head, a gentle but unwavering smile playing at his lips. “Never. I’ve waited so long to tell you this. You don’t have to be anyone else for me—I like you exactly as you are.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out and cupped your cheek tenderly. The world around you seemed to quiet as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours softly at first—warm, comforting—like a silent promise that he was here to stay, no matter what.

You melted into the kiss, feeling a fragile hope bloom inside you for the first time in so long. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And in that moment, that was enough.

His lips brushed against yours with a softness that took your breath away, gentle like the first drop of rain after a long drought. The kiss deepened slowly, tender but full of meaning, as if every unspoken word between you was being conveyed through this quiet connection.

Jihoon’s hand moved from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, steadying you, grounding you, letting you know he was there—completely present. You felt the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the faintest tremor of emotion in his touch.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was patient and sincere, like a promise that no matter how broken or uncertain your past had been, he wanted to be part of your future. Your heart hammered wildly as the kiss lingered, a delicate thread weaving your two souls closer in that perfect, fragile moment.

After pulling back just slightly, Jihoon rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours with a quiet intensity. His voice was soft but certain, carrying all the emotions he had kept hidden for so long.

“I love you,” he said simply, as if those three words held the weight of everything between you. “I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you, even when I didn’t say it. And I want to keep loving you—if you’ll let me.”

He gave you a small, hopeful smile, his hand still gently holding your face.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

The end.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 1] Marriage Proposal

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Attempted Murder, Murder, Smut, Eventual Fluff and Romance

Regret is an overwhelming emotion because no matter how hard you wish to go back in time to undo your mistake, there is no possible way for you to do it. You love your daughter to pieces but she wasn’t planned. You didn’t regret having her but you did regret ever getting with her father and running away from your life.

“The Zenins are a very successful family, and they’re always in the eye of the media so don’t embarrass us.” Your step-mother says as she looks into her compact mirror to make sure her makeup is okay. “They’re really doing us a favor by taking you off our hands.”

You ran away at the age of 18 with your boyfriend. You never got married, but you did end up with a baby when you were 20. Now you are 25. You had to go back to your father and your stepmother because you couldn’t afford to take care of yourself and your daughter. Your boyfriend left you, leaving you with so much responsibility you couldn’t afford to take on. Worst part is that your daughter now asks where her father went.

“Act like a proper lady.” She continues speaking, and you zone out in the backseat of the car. She had forced you to put on a corset and now you could barely breathe. It was unnecessary, but she loves seeing you in pain. You feel like the day will never come to an end, even though it has just started. “And don’t speak unless you’re required to. We don’t want you to scare him off.”

She continues to ramble, making you roll your eyes at each word. It’s infuriating, and your nails dig into your palm and you chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to remind yourself that she’s the woman your father chose. The woman that makes him happy. Although you hate him for it because she’s always his priority. Her happiness always comes before yours which is why he’s marrying you off.

But when you’re married, you’ll tell her off. That’s a plus side of the marriage, probably the only benefit. It’s suffocating in the car, and maybe she is taking all the air or maybe it’s the corset that makes you feel this way. Or maybe it’s the way that you’re just being married off as if you have no value to keep in the family. “They know about Misaki but you better not mention her.”

She finally shuts her mouth and you’re so grateful for a moment. Until you realize where you’re at, and a sigh escapes your lips. You wish to hear your stepmother speak again because you’re convinced that’s better than this.

The mansion is an European style, not one you were expecting. But she knows everything so she speaks to inform you at least. “This isn’t the Zenin’s main house. Their main estate is a couple hours away but they prefer for the engagement to happen around here.”

“Oh… When is this engagement supposed to happen?” You ask as you see a couple different cars. Expensive and foreign cars. It was a mix, and the regular old cars stick out like a sore thumb. Your father parks.

“When do you think? Today. Everyone is here, even the photographers.” She informs you. “The guy you’re engaged to is a pretty big deal in the clan so it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Consider yourself lucky because after the engagement he’ll take you back to the main Zenin state and you won’t have to lift a finger.” Your father speaks which doesn’t ease your nerves. “For the rest of your days you and Misaki won’t ever have to worry about anything.”

“Jinichi Zenin, that’s your future husband’s name.” Your stepmother finally reveals. Your father turns off the car and she’s the first person to open the door and get out. Then your father does the same. You’re the last one left and you feel your stomach turn, as if you’re about to puke. 

Your father opens your door and offers his hand to help you out of the car. You take it because without it you feel like you won’t be able to get out of the car. You inhale the fresh air which you thought would help, but you’re proven wrong because this air is different. This air makes everything different.

Your father puts his hand on your shoulder and smiles at you. You can’t smile back. You just can’t because this is all his fault. Because he wants to please his wife, you’re getting married to a man you haven’t had a conversation with before. He walks over to his wife, and they begin to walk to the main entrance together. 

You gulp and wipe your sweaty hands on the expensive dress that was bought for this occasion. You have to close your eyes for a moment before taking a step and walking behind them.

“I thought they’d have a butler opening doors and waiting for us outside.” Your stepmother jokes, at least you hope that she’s joking as she rings the doorbell. You wonder how they’re benefitting from this as you wait.

Soon enough the door opens and you get greeted by a man that’s well dressed-up. A man in his uniform. Your stepmother is the first one to enter the house, she walks confidently into the place, she turns to get a good look at that part of the mansion. Then your father walks in, but he isn’t interested in looking around, he’s interested in catching up to his wife.

Then there’s you. Your gaze falls to the floor and you put on a shy smile as you walk into the house. When you finally look up, you notice that there’s not that many people, at least not as many as you expected. 

“Naobito.” Your father smiles as he acknowledges the man that is walking over. Your stepmother puts on her best smile, and adjusts her posture, shooting you a glare to do the same. You attempt to be the woman she wants you to be. “Friend.” The man replies. He then looks at your stepmother with a slight disgusted look, and then at you. It’s so easy to differentiate who is who. The man smiles at you, at least you don’t lack looks. “My nephew is upstairs, he’ll come down soon and then we can start. Just a heads up, there’s a couple reporters that will ask about how you two met, and I’m leaving it up to you. Just say you two met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight. Have been dating for a couple of months. Toji will fuck it up somehow.”

“Toji?” Your father questions. They had previously agreed on Jinichi, so was Naobito playing around? “You’re getting the names confused, I told you to stop drinking booze.”

“No, she’s marrying Toji.” Naobito confirms, and you can’t understand why your father is so affected by this. He’s in shock. Your father has known the Zenins for a long time, so what could Toji possibly have done to cause such a reaction?

“The good-for-nothing that ran away? He’s back?” A tone of offense is clear in your father’s voice. No one notices the man that’s at the top of the stairs, listening to every single word. “There’s no way you’re thinking my daughter is getting married to him of all people.”

“It’s either that or no one at all. I’m not marrying Jinichi, someone who has potential, to a single mother like your daughter.” Naobito says, and your heart nearly breaks and you want to break down in tears. But you remember her words, and act like a proper lady. You don’t smile, you hold your posture and steady your breath so you don’t begin crying. “You want someone who will give a house and pay for everything for your daughter, and we want someone who will fix Toji’s absolutely horrible reputation in the media. He’s ruining the Zenin’s pristine reputation and we’re hoping this engagement can fix this. It’s a win-win situation.”

“I don’t-'' Your father begins but your stepmother discreetly pinches him and he stops. Noaobito’s eyes fall on you.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re just not fit enough… Maybe a couple years back, when you didn’t have your creature.” He tries his best to seem as if he has good intentions, but his words show who he really is. “Plus it’s perfect. He has a son too, just a couple months old, so not only will he be a stepfather, but you’ll be a stepmother.”

You don’t say anything because it feels as if you have no words left in you, even if you haven’t spoken. There’s a lump in your throat that holds back your tears, and you’re afraid your words will release it and cause you to cry. The fact that you’re thought of as less-than because of your daughter is just something that you can’t wrap your head around. But you still give him a nod in response.

Soon enough he slightly turns and faces the stairs, making you look at them too. Slowly walks down a tall, muscular man with a hostile look on his face. He has mid-length black hair, a few strands fall over his emerald green eyes. What really catches your attention is the scar that’s located on the right side of his mouth. You feel your cheeks get warm.

You hope that he’s your soon-to-be husband only because of the physical attraction you feel towards him. You don’t believe in love at first sight, and you know that no emotions will develop quickly so you can at least hope your husband is handsome. He reaches the last step and then he’s on the first floor. He walks over to you.

“Toji.” Naobito says. “Why did you take so long?”

“Sorry, Megumi just took forever to fall asleep. He’s such a crybaby.” Toji lies, hoping that if he complains about his son that you’d be scared and rethink the marriage. He thinks that somehow this is up to you. “He didn’t even let me sleep last night.”

You don’t say anything, you just stare at him which pisses him off. Toji already doesn’t like you but those feelings can change at the end of the day. At the end of the day he’ll either grow to like you or hate you, and it was all up to the final decision.

Naobito calls the butler, and the butler comes with a black box. Toji is forced to take the box, and he puts it in his pocket.

“We’ll give you five minutes to speak to each other, after, come outside to propose. The photographer and reporter are ready.” Naobito instructs before guiding your father and stepmother elsewhere.

Toji and you just stare at each other for a minute or so. Toji decides to get straight to the point, knowing that there’s no way you can read his mind. “I want you to reject the proposal.”

“And I’m not going to reject the proposal. It’s not up to me.” You respond and he doesn’t like your response.

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? You have freewill, don’t you? Reject the proposal.” He insists. “Don’t you have freewill? Instead of forcing me to reject the proposal, just don’t ask.” You tell him, making him click his tongue.

“The problem is if I don’t ask, they’ll kick me out because I’m unwilling to cooperate with them.” He reveals, making you sigh.

“I’m stuck too. If I reject the proposal, my daughter and I will be kicked out.” You answer. “We don’t have any other option here so let’s just try to get along.”

“But you have the option to reject me. That’s easy.” Toji continues, labeling your refusal to cooperate as plain selfishness. He doesn’t really care to think about your position and how you’re trying your best for your daughter.

He glares at you, and you notice but don’t pay attention to it. If he’s unhappy, that’s on him. You’re unhappy too, but ultimately you’re trying to do what’s best.

“Let’s go to the garden, the reporter and photographer are waiting.” You say, and begin to walk. The sound of your heels hitting the floor irritates him. 

“Fuck you.” He mutters under his breath. And he hasn’t gotten to know you for ten minutes but he hates you. That’s decided in his heart because you’re not giving him what he wants so he’s forced to follow behind you.

Once you get outside, your eye is immediately drawn to the beautiful flowers that are outside. Your father and stepmother are nearby, talking to Naobito. Their eyes fall on you and Toji who’s behind you.

You begin to walk around the garden, a massive garden that never in your life did you think you would see. The photographer follows behind, trying to be discreet and not spoil the “surprise”. He just acts as if he’s a part of the family.

You notice the red rose bush and you’re drawn to it. You’re tempted to touch the roses, and your finger is so close to the flower but you stop yourself. Toji knows that the reporter is nearby, and he doesn’t want to fuck things up. He has to be romantic .

As much as he doesn’t want this, ultimately he wants you to be the one to fuck things up. Toji puts up an act since his uncle is also watching. He wants his uncle to see that he tried everything and in the end you are the one that doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

Toji wraps his arms around you, from behind which catches you off-guard. He can feel the corset through the dress and it makes you uncomfortable. He puts his chin on your shoulder before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“You look beautiful today.” Toji comments, his voice loud enough for the reporter to hear. You wonder if they think why such an intimate moment is forced to become public. But then again the Zenins business has always been important in the media and they’re attempting to keep a pristine image which apparently can’t be possible because of Toji.

“Thank you…” You respond, taking your hand back because touching the rose just wasn’t that fascinating anymore. A stranger is holding you and you can’t do anything about it. A stranger is going to propose and you’re forced to say yes because if you don’t say yes, you’ll end up in the street with no means to survive with your daughter.

He turns you around to force you to look at him. There’s a smile on his face but his eyes are empty. No emotion behind it because how could there possibly be any emotion behind them? You met perhaps ten minutes ago. He pecks your lips, causing your face to get warm.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says empty words that can be written down and be deemed as romantic. His uncle listens and he’s not pleased with the cursing, but at least it’s not something that’s too bad.

“I love you too.” You reply with a tiny smile on your face. You watch as he gets the little black box that he has in his pocket, out. You begin to wonder why it has to be this way, why can’t they just say it’s an arranged marriage.

The Zenins want it to look as if Toji has an option. That at the end you are the woman he chose and he ended up fixed. They want to look like the perfect family that the media has always sold.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you’re…” Toji has to shut his eyes for a moment. He imagines someone else that’s standing in front of him. When his eyes open his expression grows tender. “You’re the woman I want to see each time I wake up. I want to grow old with you. Ever since you walked into my life, you’ve made it better. You’re such a great mother to our-”

Suddenly he chokes up, tears building up in his eyes when his imagination gives out. But he remains his composure and holds back the tears. His face goes back to being cold and the passionate tone he had was long gone. “What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me?”

He opens the little box, not bothering to get on one knee. He isn’t devoted to you and he certainly doesn’t have any sort of respect. There is no love either. There’s nothing. He’s getting married to a complete stranger and it feels surreal. But the flashes of the camera remind him how real everything is.

“Oh my God- Yes!” You smile and pretend to be excited as you look at the ring. He takes the diamond ring out of the box and slips it on your ring finger. What are you supposed to do next?

Your hands wrap behind his neck and you peck his lips. You notice the flash of the camera and you act surprised at the photographer. You look back at your now fiancé and then at the photographer.

“So this is why you have been acting so mysterious!” You say. You’re quickly approached by another man. He wears a white sweater, black jeans and glasses.

“If it’s not too much of a hassle, may I ask a couple questions?” The man is quick to say. He clears his throat before scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I suppose I should congratulate you first.”

“It’s alright.” You assure him. “Although we would like a couple minutes alone, and then we can answer questions.”

“Alright, we’ll be waiting inside.” The man responds with a smile. The photographer and him walk inside and you’re left behind with Toji. Once they’re in the house, Toji asks the question he had forgotten to ask.

“What’s your name, again? Naobito told me but I don’t remember.” Toji speaks, making you roll your eyes. You tell him your name. “Well, I’m Toji Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You look at him in confusion. You have understood that he is a Zenin, but then again you never really got to know who of his parents was the Zenin. He just nods and you don’t think about it for too long. “Alright…”

“So we met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight… How old is your son?” You tell him, and he furrows his eyebrows.

“What does my son’s age have to do with any of this?” He replies with a nasty tone.

“It’s due to the time we have been together. If we’ve been together longer than the time your son has been alive, you’ll be labeled as a cheater.” You explain. “This is all to clean your family’s reputation.”

“They’re not my family.” Toji is quick to say. “But he’s nine months old.”

“What happened with his mother?” You innocently ask and he gives you a nasty look. 

“That’s none of your fucking business.” He’s clearly angry by the question, and you’re tempted to apologize but you don’t. You don’t think you should because this is information you have to know sooner or later since he is your future husband.

“Well then we have been together for eight months.” You inform him and he shakes his head.

“For five.” He responds. “We’ve been together for five months.”

“Alright then, let’s go inside.” You begin to walk inside and he follows behind. You get back into the mansion and sigh before walking to the reporter.

“We’re ready.” You announce and the man nods, as he gets his notepad and pen ready.

The man looks at all the questions he has written down. Something that should be easy to paint Toji and you in a good image. He then realizes that he hasn’t even introduced himself.

“I’m Jin Itadori.” He smiles and you smile back at him. Toji doesn’t care to smile.

“Well Mr. Itadori, it’s nice to meet you. We’re ready for any questions that you have for us.”

[gangplanksorenji]

Kinknuary Day 2: Praise Kink

Pairing: IVE Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader

Word Count: 3,760

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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Sophisticated and classy—that’s one of the few words to describe this girl that has been on your nerves since probably day one. You hate her attitude and so is the luck every time you’re with her as everything seems to fall out of place, maybe in the worst-case scenario, you guess. 

Well, in all honesty, you don’t hate the princess. You never did.

It’s just all about jealousy and distraught with your own confidence that whenever she steps in, it crumbles like paper—easily defeated and turned into a ball of nothingness.

Well, everything changed within a singular snap of a finger (it’s figurative, of course) and you feel light-headed just being here, with her, holding her soft hands as she reassures you. She wasn’t even going to try anything that’ll exhaust such a plethora of energy because she knows herself how her charisma and visuals can make a man fall in love with her, not to mention rejecting dozens of men trying to ignite the love in heart but failed miserably.

But here you are, being the biggest irony of Wonyoung’s definition of love… or is it?

“Come on, oppa, we even have two hours left! Please, just stay…”

You can’t and you don’t want to. She can meet you anytime around the day or even in the whole week but you know she ain’t going to give up so easily, knowing she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants. She wanted you to stay but your job is done here, you’ve taught her well, she pays the price and you’re going to leave her. Simple, yet her charms allure you but you fight yourself against it.

“I said what I said, Wonyoung, okay? I can’t—”

“You can't what, hm?” Wonyoung thuds her foot on the floor, frustrated upon your own actions of leaving her. She grabs your wrists, pulling it with maybe all of her strength (you can’t really tell it because on how easy it is outpower her, your muscular arms against her thin figure doesn’t make it a challenge) and then pouting right after, wanting you to stay and not leave her at this moment, at least.

Well, you can’t just let herself win all the time like she was always used to. You want to see the defeat on her sparkling orbs full of anticipation and her hope being lost—

“Then leave! I don’t need you anymore, oppa! Don’t touch me ever again!”

And there she goes with her reverse psychological attempts of gaslighting and never ceases to make you feel the sudden urge of being dead inside, unable to think clearly and having struggles within deciding the most beneficial one, for you, of course.

Here’s the thing: you don’t want her yet you like her—it’s a win-win situation and why should you overthink yourself about this? It’s like you’re going to lose a lot from this or gain a lot yet you know how cranky and bratty Wonyoung can get and it’s the greatest bane of your existence. Seeing Wonyoung becoming a nuisance and ill-tempered unlocks your irascible self and you hate her for that (and thank god, it happens pretty rarely).

You wanted to fight your urges but you don’t want this to escalate further, knowing how selfish Wonyoung can be and how she won’t adjust even in the tiniest bit.

God, this girl—you muttered upon yourself as it was laced with venom, cursed and damned about meeting this not-so-angelic girl. You can’t resist your temptation either—staying with Wonyoung probably will end in both ways, hoping it’ll be good or better.

“Okay, tch—” You quickly rushed your way onto the couch, sitting on it and earning a loud thud which made Wonyoung gasp at your harsh actions of the possible damage on the furniture but you didn’t care. “There, happy, hm, Wony?”

Her earlier stern and helpless countenance was now replaced with joy and satisfaction, knowing you chose to stay (and it’s like you have a choice because it’s impossible whenever she’s near). 

“Hah, yey! You’re definitely the best, oppa!” Wonyoung sat beside you and rested her head onto your shoulder, signaling the delight that she’s feeling knowing that she’s with you and you choose what’s best for her. “I know you can’t resist me, oppa.”

“Heck yeah I can't cause you’re gonna go nuts if I reject you.”

“What did you say?” Wonyoung pouts yet the glare in her eyes are evident, and so is the distaste that she feels after hearing such unacceptable cacophony. You know that she didn’t mind it, not even the slightest so you just brushed it off with a single “Nothing, Wonyoung.” and all things went normal yet an uncanny feeling in the can be felt—no, it's just Wonyoung on her knees, in front of you—

“What are you doing, Wonyoung?” 

You don't feel so good about this and have this nerve of an unwanted vice happening anytime soon. You knew this would come and you shouldn't have given in to her wants yet the other side of you is full of anticipation as your primal desires are slowly taking over you.

“Don't be so oblivious, oppa. Let me return the favor of everything you've done earlier.” You didn't deserve such a thing, even though you're not new to this—well, also thanks to her, she took your virginity away—you still don't need this favorable return. You just helped her study and tutored her but why would this be the return? Isn't such a simple soul like you enough for a gift?

You can't turn back now; you're only going to move forward and it's just only going to get better from here.

“But why, Wony? I don't deserve such—”

“Shut it, oppa—” Wonyoung tugs your pants as those perfect, dainty fingers scramble on unbuckling your belt and loosening up the clothed defenses that protects the desired grand prize. “—now would you let your little Wony reward you, daddy?”

Of course, the pet name—it turns you on so much that now, you can't contain anything but let your animalistic desires out. You can't stop her because it's too late and in fact, you want this and you're an absolute hypocrite if you don't. 

Things went like a flash—it felt like everything felt too fast as time sped up like a rocket but you didn't care because you wanted her, utterly.

With the last clothed defense on your iron wall, it collapses down to your ankles as it was proven worthless now, your hardening member is now within the sight of her refulgent orbs—god, it just feels better, doesn't it? You're maybe in heaven but the devil is just beside you and the oxymoron never failed to be in its own party.

With the draw of her nails onto your leaking slit, it draws pain and pits gasoline of the fire—pain associated with pleasure and not close to drawing blood. 

“Oh god, Wonyoung—we don't really need to d-do this…”

“Oh stop it, daddy. I know you wanted this and let your little girl pleasure you for the time being—” Wonyoung places her lips onto your swollen head, giving it a small peck that makes you shudder, your mouth escaping beautiful moans that fuels the primal lust and ego of Wonyoung. 

She seems to be the one that likes her ego getting petted and you're here to absolutely do it.

“Such a good g-girl for daddy, Wonyoung. So skilled and so good—you're definitely loving the taste of my cock don't you, hm?”

You're getting cocky and you know Wonyoung is loving this despite the utter brattiness and hypocrisy running down her mind.

“Gah—you know y-your cock is something I can't r-resist, daddy…”

She continues her moderate bobs as your base is now getting wet with her drool that is now starting to drip all over your sensitive head and her chin. She's in her own league and in an absolute masterclass when it comes to dick-sucking—such lips made like a cocksleeve is truly the one to be treasured as it perfectly hugs around your shaft like it was molded around it, her pleasurable suction being the cherry on top.

Her cheeks hollow in every thrust she does with her talented mouth, and you're no stranger to tell her how great she's been blowing you and it only has been a minute—and god, she's making your brain go haywire.

You stroke her hair and caress her cheeks, letting her know how great she is in terms of sucking you off. “Keep doing that, baby. This cock is all for you, princess. So, so, good—god, fuck!”

And it is incredibly off the charts—the corkscrew motions of her fingers, the dance of her tongue filled with enamore and the overstimulating suction is just, nearly, too much to handle. 

No one can top off her skills as she's just a professional in this—every second sending you weak, on your knees as every technique known to enervate your defenses is being presented right now and you can't think of anything articulate except the fact that Wonyoung's mouth is exerting too much effort as it's getting near the promised land—

“Just like—that—baby, ah! So fucking good—god, how are you so incredibly talented in possibly anything?”

Stroke her ego and she definitely loves it—her pupils dilating everytime you commend her is one strong piece of evidence. It's true even though it may seem like you're playing with her and it's crazy to think about it. She may be the jack-of-all-trades when it comes to everything but it’s definitely not even close with that in accordance to her selfish and diabolical attitude—it’s contradicting but you guess it’s just the fact that she always wanted to be treated like a princess and her sophisticated life explains about it. 

Well as much as you’d wanna do the opposite, it’s going to be completely questionable if you’ll degrade the superior job she’s doing between your legs. A flick of her tongue nears you onto that finish line as well as the dexterity of her slender fingers—it doesn’t help at all, considering you still want to savor and cherish every second of Wonyoung’s masterclass, the inevitable can’t be stopped as the growing sensation in your loins is ready to unload everything inside her heavenly mouth.

“Your mouth Wony—”

Her pace is ridiculous, unmatched han any other as her warm cavern glides onto your shaft like a loose speedster, in a hot pursuit—

“—it’s too good—”

Her silken plumpness made to unleash the profanities inside you, unshackling them and bringing them to their endgame but—

Pop. 

“B-but why’d you stop? I’m so close, Wony!”

You vent out the little frustration towards Wonyoung as your high suddenly became on the lowest point, subsided even before you’ve truly noticed it. Wonyoung just pouts at you adorably, apologizing for what she's done and god, the saliva dripping down to her chin and all around your cock is just a sight to see. It was feeling so damn good until she played with you but you’re not furious about it because she’s maybe wanting something and probably—this last bit is what you’re hoping for—having multiple things in store for you, for later.

She’s only getting started and it’s only going to get better than this.

Her quivering plump lips, her disheveled hair, her beautiful façade—every inch of her perfect is such a sight for a nice canvas to be painted on but it is what it is.

“Want you in my pussy now, daddy. God—I really love your cock, so much I just can’t get enough of it.”

Yes, it’s like her favorite candy she’s ready to brag about and it’s addicting. Ever since you’ve slept with her, it became a whole different story being with her as you always envisioned the nastiest things with her whenever you think about her and it’s clouded your mind ever since. Well, now, you have a lot of things to fulfill with her and the blowjob earlier was just the beginning of a show that’s bound to happen.

“I can’t get enough of your mind-boggling blowjobs too, Wony. You make me feel—” You switch places with her, pinning her down slowly onto the couch, your face now inching closer and closer towards her. “—great and that’s what I like about this.”

Without any foreplay, you capture her lips off-guard as you make the most passionate kiss possible that’ll make her feel butterflies in her stomach. Its saccharine taste makes it insatiable, wanting more of her yet a hot half a minute of this flustering moment is enough for the both of you to exchange breaths.

“Like the taste of you, daddy? ‘Cause I do—like, a lot.” Your face was puzzled after Wonyoung said that, also confused and unsure on what to imply as you playfully retorted against her. “I mean, your lips really made everything insatiable. Just can't get enough of you honestly…”

You continue the intimacy, fueling the lust inside you by dominating her with your tongue as she eagerly reciprocates, the kiss getting too heated but Wonyoung taps your shoulder, signaling you to detach away from her lips. You don’t know why exactly she wants this to be over but with Wonyoung’s enlightenment of the climax, your mind has been cleared and awakened, and so are your primal desires.

“As much as I want to kiss you, daddy, my pussy’s been wet since I’ve sucked you off—so p-please, daddy—hng!”

And who are you to reject it? You want to pound her tight cunt as much as you wanted her today and there’s no one to stop you right now, and neither is she. With the best of both worlds, you elevated the anticipating climax yet a brighter idea will make this session a wilder ride.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, princess—would pound your tight, perfect pussy so hard that you’re only going to think about me only.”

And there and there, everything went off the cliff, up to the highest paramount of events…

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“Too good, daddy!” Your fingers up her delicious cunt never fails to earn the most heavenly whimpers escaping Wonyoung’s mouth, let alone fueling the lust inside you as your slit leaks precum just from the sight of her tight cunt squelching and clenching around your digits.

“It’s only going to get better from here, princess—” A harsh spank resonates around the puny room as the dissonance of her orchestrated moans makes your hardened length throb in need, unable to control anything. “—because I’m going to treat you like a princess but fuck you like how you deserve it.”

“W-wha—what d-did I deserve, daddy?”

“A rough one, Wony. Since you’ve done a great job at the start…”

As the heat in the air is still ignited, you take the last bit of teasing with your digits and hard spanks as you’re lost for words once you’ve plunged your length inside her. It never gets old and she’s still as suffocatingly tight as ever, not to mention with even the slightest of movement and her pussy responses with the tightest clench possible. Gripping her hips for a small leverage, you thrust in her slowly as you ensue a few kisses onto the nape of her neck, earning such moans that just makes you want to build up the pace even more.

“Ahh, daddy—it’s so good! You’re s-stretching me—ahh—so w-well…”

“And you take me so well, Wony. Your pussy is literally made for me to be hammered, hm?” You quicken the pace, just withdrawing with only the tip inside and then slamming back in, filling her up to the hilt. She mewls in every thrust you do, further arousing you as she grips onto the sheets as a leverage on the harsh acts you’re doing on her tight cunt. Adding some spanks in every oscillation of your hips, you notice how it clenches every time you do it and you’re loving every second of it—loving how helpless and lewd your princess has become is truly a sight to behold. 

“You’re so good at taking my huge cock, princess…” Your brush off her silky-smooth hair off her shoulders as you pepper her neck and back with kisses that further makes the act hotter than what could it be. You trace the curvature of her waist down to her slender thighs that probably run for days and god, why does a princess have to be this perfect? Down every last feature Wonyoung has is in its absolute flawless state and you can’t help but be in awe as you in every ram you do inside her clenching heat is the praise of her faultless figure.

“Good god, Wony—down to your beautiful face up to your pussy, you’re just so fucking perfect aren’t you?”

“Gah, daddy! Fuck me harder please!”

A spank as the retaliation of her hostile takeover of lust has won, and you, the dominative one will orchestrate things onto your own accord, not hers.

“Wonyoung, you’re lucky I can fuck this good because no one can and you’re mine—every perfectly tight hole in your body is mine to use, do you understand?” Between thrusts you spat her with venomous yet genuine words, but she could only cry in pleasure as your thrusts are just too much for her to think of something articulate enough of a response so, it only took her ten seconds to come up with something— “Yes, d-daddy—ahh!”

Such rampant actions never cease to make someone scream in delight and it’s every man's dream to be in this position. Kiss, spank, thrust and repeat, it goes around in circles and you’re not going to stop it because you’re in a state of do-or-die (figuratively, of course) because in any second now, you can feel yourself getting on your high and so is Wonyoung’s, her pussy creaming all over your enraged length is enough of an evidence.

“Wonyoung—fuck! You’re so tight and so good!”

“Daddy I’m going to c-cum—gahh, so s-soon! Please!”

That’s the green light to bring another onslaught of thrusts with no-return, hammering her cunt like it’s rent due alongside grabbing her hair for her heavenly moans to be unshackled (and if you’re wondering, her arms gave out two minutes earlier because of too much pleasure as she rested her hair onto the mattress, muffling her moans in which, you didn’t really like). With the obviously lewd moans (almost screams) of Wonyoung and the repetitive clenching of her tight heat, you know that she’s about to get off so you gave her the final set of the harshest thrusts possible to mankind as it was too enough and all are let out.

You pull out of her gripping pussy as she squirts all over the bedsheets, your cock and even to your toned abdomen. You finger her repetitively in a deft pace that she cries in a wanton need and that even fuels you further into abomination.

“You good, Wony?”

“Y-yes, daddy—unload it a-all in my pussy—” Her shining orbs pleads you onto her desires, wanting you to fulfill it. Her pupils dilate once again, anticipating on a good note with you— “—please…”

“I’m dying to cum inside this perfect pussy of yours, Wonyoung.”

Pinning her down onto the bed (not so harshly), you tease her pussy with your swollen cockhead for a bit, in which earns the finest moans escaping her lips and so are the needy whimpers. Without any time to waste, you plunge into her dripping core once again but this time, the penetration is crazingly-deep, achieving the sensation of a lifetime that makes you feel butterflies. You command her to place both of her legs onto your shoulders, wanting to achieve the deepest penetration possible as she did and god, that felt way better than earlier and it’s too heavenly to be true.

“Ahh—daddy—I—gahh, so so good and d-deep! Fuck me h-hard—cum i-inside me—gahh, please!”

The desperation in her eyes says it all. Even with the messed-up makeup, tears and her disheveled hair all over the place, it’s not even a challenge to sense how needy she is for you and your seed to be deposited inside her. Now bringing the thrusts that surpasses the harshness of your actions earlier, and making Wonyoung the most raucous she’s ever been—all in the experience on the paramount of delight as everything seems to be at that moment, just a step away from your both desired promised lands. You weren’t far off of your high and Wonyoung can sense it through your eyes as she helps out, fucking herself onto your length as you chase your high, grabbing her waist and hips harshly as the leverage with your relentless pursuit onto her pussy.

“I’m going to cum, Wonyoung! So fucking close in this perfect cunt of yours—fuck!”

And you break, everything loose as you bury your length inside her, balls-deep as you unload everything you’ve got and your moans and Wonyoung’s blessed the entire room as it reverberated all over. With your last groan and the hard grip of her hips, your orgasm finally subsided as it was an euphoric one—it was so euphoric that you almost passed out but it wasn’t really close. Wonyoung on the other hand, laid down flat on the bed, enervated from the steamy sex session yet she smiles widely, knowing that your load is inside her pussy as the warmth of it elicits the sultriest of moans.

“Thank you, daddy—hah… For this load… Hah, I love i-it…”

That changed your demeanor from a stern, dominative one to softer, warmhearted as you blush because of her, feeling so grateful and thankful for this moment as the earlier omnipotence of power now subsided, back to your old self.

“Thank you too, Wonyoung—you took me so well… hah, that was exhausting…”

“Yeah, I know, oppa…” She brushes her fingers all over your chest, tracing it slowly as she looks at you endearingly, her eyes telling you how much she loved this moment, disregarding the fact of the pain that she felt—she liked it because it turned her on even more—from all of your harshness and spanking. She’s genuine about it and you could tell it without her even uttering a single word.

“We should clean up, oppa, actually.”

“Yeah, oh no, I think you need some new set of sheets after this.”

“You’re the one to blame here, oppa! You made me squirt so hard!!”

And the bratty, sophisticated Wonyoung is back and here we go again, back from the despair and being the bugbear she is…

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Still having Chani feelings, man. Because I think it is actually not that common to see a character (but especially a female character) whose main commitment in life is to a political struggle, and to have that be taken seriously by the narrative. Not painted as naive idealism or a trendy lifestyle choice or something the character eventually leaves behind for "real" commitments like marriage, career or children.

We don't see really anything of Chani's home life in the sietch, but it seems reasonable to infer that the fedaykin are what she's built her life around. The very first thing we learn about her, before we even know her name, is that she's a fighter. This is a core part of her identity.

She falls in love with Paul when he's willing to risk his life beside her as an equal, for a cause that she can't escape but he could walk away from if he chose. The question she asks him is not Do you love me? but Will you always be with me? Will you always be beside me in the struggle, fighting for the same things I am?

And as soon as the answer to that question is no, they're over. There is absolutely no possibility of love overriding that political betrayal, because her love for him is inextricable from coming to trust that he is committed to their liberation and not simply trying to use them. He said over and over again that he didn't want power, and as soon as he reaches out to claim it there is no way they can be together. The worst betrayal isn't watching him choose another woman, it's watching him declare himself emperor and send her own people off to slaughter others when he said he was fighting for their freedom.

So she leaves him, and we're never supposed to see it as anything but justified. There is simply no way she will turn her back on the most important thing in her life for him.

[theodorenmyth]

Could you make a continuation of 'For Old Times sake', where Mattheo starts to spiral to insanity because of M.reader's death and he chose to follow M.Reader into the afterlife. They meet in the afterlife, and Mattheo cries so much and asks for forgiveness but M.r tells him that he's at peace and doesn't really care for mattheo now yk. This leads to mattheo realising his wrongs and how even in the afterlife, he can't repair his relationship with M.r. Thank you :)))

I love your fanfics ❤️❤️

For what's already Lost

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; After witnessing the death of his childhood friend—someone he once cherished but later tormented—Mattheo Riddle spirals into guilt and grief. Unable to bear the weight of his actions, he attempts to take his own life, hoping to reunite with the one he lost. Instead, he wakes up in the hospital wing, surrounded by his friends, only to realize that no matter how much he regrets, he can never fix what’s already broken. As he breaks down, Theodore Nott offers him silent comfort, but even then, Mattheo knows—some wounds never heal, and some losses can never be undone.

A/N ; done and done! Enjoy the angst 😉

Warnings ; Heavy angst, Suicidal ideation,bDeath and grief, Self-harm implications, War violence, Emotional breakdowns, Guilt and regret, Depression, Character death, Mentions of past bullying, Trauma and PTSD themes

Word count ; 3.7K

Mattheo Riddle was losing his mind.

It started as a quiet thing, a whisper of grief curled around the edges of his thoughts, pressing against his ribs like a phantom ache. The first few nights after the war ended, he could still pretend it hadn’t happened. He could sit in his dormitory, staring at the ceiling, telling himself that you were just elsewhere—hiding, recovering, tending to your wounds like all the others.

But then he started hearing your name in hushed conversations, in the heavy silence that followed when people looked at him. He saw it written in ink on the lists of the dead. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a possibility anymore. It was real. Final.

You were gone.

The world had begun to move on without you.

But Mattheo?

He was stuck.

The first time he heard someone laughing in the Great Hall, something inside him twisted violently. How could they laugh? How could they act like everything was normal? Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care?

Didn’t they realize that you weren’t here anymore?

He barely ate. Barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your blood pooling beneath you, your broken body slumped against the cold stone of the battlefield. He saw your fingers twitching weakly, grasping for something—reaching for him.

And worst of all, he saw the way your lips parted to speak, how your breath had shuddered as you forced out your final words.

"For old times' sake."

It haunted him.

That damn keychain sat on his nightstand, taunting him.

The same one you had given him as kids, the one that was supposed to be a promise, a reminder that no matter what happened, you would always be there for each other.

And he had thrown it away.

Not literally—but in every way that mattered. He had abandoned you, turned on you, mocked you, hurt you.

And yet, in your last moments, you still chose to save him.

Mattheo thought about that constantly. He thought about the scars on your arms, the ones you used to hide beneath your sleeves. He thought about the way you had flinched when he and his so-called friends cornered you in the halls, how you never fought back.

How much had you suffered because of him?

How long had you been hurting before he even noticed?

His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he clenched his hands into fists.

None of it mattered anymore.

He could beg for forgiveness.

He could weep until his voice was raw, curse himself until he had nothing left.

But you would never hear it.

You were gone.

And Mattheo was still here.

Alone.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The bottle of firewhisky sat on his bedside table, half-empty. The room was dark, save for the flickering candlelight that cast jagged shadows across the walls.

Mattheo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small, tarnished keychain in his hands.

The last piece of you he had left.

His thumb brushed over the faded engraving, the one you had so proudly shown him when you were kids. Friends Forever.

It felt like a joke now.

A cruel, twisted joke.

His fingers trembled as he tightened his grip around the keychain, nails digging into his palm hard enough to hurt.

He barely slept anymore.

And when he did, it was nightmares.

Or worse—dreams where you were still alive, still standing before him with that same look of disappointment, that same quiet, aching grief in your eyes.

The war had ended weeks ago, but the battle inside his head never stopped.

He kept thinking—if he had just done something, if he had just listened when you tried to talk to him, if he had just been the friend you needed instead of the monster he had become—maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have died saving him.

Maybe you would still be here.

Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting alone in this godforsaken room, drowning in firewhisky and regrets.

But maybe didn’t change anything.

Didn’t bring you back.

Didn’t erase the blood on his hands.

The silence was thick.

Unbearable.

Mattheo sat there, hunched forward, gripping his head, his fingers tangled in his curls, tugging—hard—like maybe if he pulled hard enough, he could tear the thoughts straight from his skull.

But they clung to him.

They clawed at his ribs, burrowed under his skin, whispering—

Coward. Liar. Murderer.

His chest heaved. His breathing was shallow, uneven, his vision swimming in the dim candlelight flickering across the walls.

He felt suffocated.

Like the air had turned thick, choking him from the inside out.

He didn’t deserve to breathe anyway.

Didn’t deserve to be here.

To live—when you didn’t.

Mattheo let out a ragged breath, his fingers dragging down his face, his throat burning, eyes stinging.

He had spent weeks in this room.

Weeks avoiding the others.

He had let you die.

And now you were gone.

Gone.

Gone.

GONE.

Mattheo’s vision blurred, the candlelight smearing across his sight like molten gold.

His wand lay beside him.

But magic was too easy.

Magic was an escape he didn’t deserve.

So instead, he reached for the knife.

It was small.

Silver.

The kind you’d use to slice fruit, but the edge was sharp.

Sharp enough.

His fingers curled around the hilt, grip tightening as he lifted it to his chest.

His breathing was steady.

For the first time in weeks, his hands weren’t shaking.

It was simple.

Quick.

The cold steel pressed against his ribs—

And then it was warm.

So, so warm.

The pain bloomed sharp and bright, a white-hot burn spreading through his stomach as he drove the blade deeper, gasping as his body instinctively recoiled, but he didn’t stop—

Couldn’t stop.

His vision blurred.

The warmth trickled down, soaking into his shirt, his pants, the floor beneath him.

His knees buckled.

His mind felt light.

Like he was floating.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Loud.

Persistent.

Mattheo barely registered it, his head lolling forward as the room spun.

“Riddle! Open the fucking door.”

Blaise.

His voice was sharp, edged with something Mattheo couldn’t quite place.

Another knock.

Harder this time.

“If you don’t open up in the next ten seconds, I’m blasting this door off its fucking hinges.”

Mattheo tried to speak, but his lips were numb.

The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against the wooden floor.

The door rattled.

A pause.

Then—

A loud crash.

The wood splintered as Blaise shoved his way in, his wand raised, his expression shifting from frustration to horror in an instant.

“What the fuck—”

His voice was distant.

Muffled.

Like he was underwater.

Mattheo barely had time to register the movement before Blaise was in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him hard enough to make his already spinning vision worse.

“No, no, no, no, you fucking idiot—”

Mattheo blinked sluggishly, his mouth parting, but no sound came out.

The warmth was spreading.

Fast.

Too fast.

Blaise’s hands left his shoulders, pressing against his stomach instead, hard and desperate as he tried to stem the bleeding, cursing under his breath.

“Stay awake,” he snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

And then—

Footsteps.

Rushed. Panicked.

A chorus of voices, sharp with fear.

“What the hell is going on—”

Pansy.

Her voice was high, frantic, her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she stumbled into the room.

Then—

A sharp inhale.

A strangled noise.

“Oh my God.”

Mattheo barely managed to turn his head, but he saw the blur of dark hair, the way Pansy’s hands flew to her mouth, her face pale, shocked—

And then more voices.

“Move—MOVE—”

Lorenzo.

His voice was rough, filled with panic, and then he was kneeling beside Mattheo, hands hovering uselessly, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Mattheo,” he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. “What did you do?”

Theodore was next.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just stared.

And then his hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening, his entire body trembling as he muttered, “You absolute moron.”

Draco shoved past them, his expression tight with something unreadable.

His hands shook.

Not much.

But enough.

Astoria hovered in the doorway, silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Until Blaise’s voice shattered the silence.

“Help me, you fucking idiots!”

The spell broke.

Lorenzo pressed down on Mattheo’s stomach, his hands warm, firm, his breathing shaky. “We need to get him to the hospital wing—now.”

“No shit,” Theodore snapped, already yanking off his scarf, wadding it up, pressing it against the wound.

Mattheo barely felt it.

His limbs were heavy.

His vision was swimming, darkening at the edges.

Someone was cursing under their breath.

Someone else was shaking.

And then—

A soft voice.

A whisper.

“…Why would you do this?”

Pansy.

Her voice cracked.

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Didn’t have the strength.

His eyelids were so heavy.

So heavy.

He slumped forward.

Blaise caught him.

Mattheo could hear them.

Panicked.

Yelling.

Begging.

But it was fading.

Everything was fading.

And the last thing he thought of—

The last thing he saw—

Was you.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

When Mattheo opened his eyes, the world around him was unnervingly quiet. No echoes of battle, no screaming, no pain. Just silence.

He stood in an endless field of golden light, stretching into eternity. The air was soft and still, the horizon painted in hues of a dying sun, neither rising nor setting. There was something eerily peaceful about it—something final.

And then—

A voice.

"Didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon."

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed, the same as you always were—except you weren’t.

You weren’t looking at him with warmth. You weren’t looking at him with hate, either.

You were just… looking.

Expression unreadable.

Unmoved.

Distant.

Mattheo’s heart clenched so painfully in his chest he thought he might collapse. "Y/N…" His voice cracked on your name, raw with emotion, with regret, with everything he had never been able to say before.

You didn’t react. Didn’t move closer.

Didn’t welcome him like he had imagined.

Because why would you?

"You…" He took a shaky step forward, hands trembling. "You’re here."

A humorless smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Of course I am. You put me here, remember?"

The words were soft. Not sharp. Not bitter.

But they cut him deeper than anything ever had.

Mattheo stumbled back as if struck, his entire body shaking. "I—I didn’t—"

"You didn’t kill me, no." You tilted your head, eyes piercing into him. "But you might as well have."

He sucked in a sharp breath, guilt clawing up his throat like bile. His hands clenched into fists. "I didn’t mean to hurt you," he whispered. "I never—"

"You did."

He flinched.

You sighed. "I’ve had a lot of time to think, Mattheo. Time to let go of everything. And I have."

His stomach twisted.

That should have been a good thing, shouldn’t it?

You had let go. You were free.

But why did it feel like you were letting go of him?

"Y/N, please," he begged, voice breaking. "I came here for you. I—I couldn’t—" His throat tightened. "I couldn’t live without you."

You blinked slowly, as if considering his words. "So you killed yourself?"

The bluntness of your tone made his stomach lurch.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching. "I thought maybe—"

"Maybe what?" You raised an eyebrow. "That dying would fix things? That suddenly, just because you followed me here, everything would be okay?"

He sucked in a breath, the truth behind your words slicing through him like a blade.

"I didn’t know what else to do," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I couldn’t stand it. Every day, every second—I kept thinking about you. About everything I did wrong. About everything I never said—" His voice cracked, and he let out a shuddering breath. "I needed to see you again. I needed to tell you that I—"

"That you what?" you asked, voice eerily calm.

He looked at you, eyes desperate, pleading.

"That I love you."

The words hung in the air between you.

For a second, he thought he saw something flicker across your face—something soft, something almost familiar.

And then you smiled.

But it wasn’t the kind of smile he wanted.

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t forgiving.

It was… sad.

Gentle.

Final.

"That doesn’t change anything, Mattheo."

His breath caught.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times. Had dreamed of seeing you again, of falling to his knees, of crying into your arms and begging for forgiveness, and maybe—just maybe—you would hold him.

Tell him it was okay.

Tell him you still loved him.

Tell him he wasn’t too late.

But he was.

He always had been.

His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. "Please," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "Please, Y/N, I—I didn’t mean for any of this. I was a coward. I was a fool. I should’ve—I should’ve never left you behind."

You just watched him, silent.

He reached for the keychain around his neck, the same one you had given him as children. The edges were worn from years of being held, a small, meaningless thing in the grand scheme of life.

And yet, to him, it had meant everything.

He clutched it so tightly it left indentations on his skin.

"I never threw it away," he whispered. "Even when I pushed you away, even when I let everyone else hurt you, I—I never threw it away."

You looked at the keychain, but your expression didn’t change.

"You kept a memory," you said softly. "But you never kept me."

Mattheo’s breath stuttered.

His chest ached, his fingers shaking as he reached for you—

But you stepped back.

His world tilted.

"Y/N, please." His voice was barely above a whisper now, broken and raw. "I don’t want to be without you."

"You already have been," you murmured.

The truth of it crushed him.

"I forgive you," you said, and for a moment, his heart lifted.

But then—

"But that doesn’t mean I want you back."

His heart shattered.

He let out a strangled sob, curling in on himself.

"You should go, Mattheo," you said softly.

He lifted his head, dazed. "What?"

You nodded toward the distance, where a soft, golden light glowed in the far-off horizon.

"You don’t belong here yet."

The words made him freeze.

This wasn’t the end for him.

Not yet.

His mind screamed at him to stay.

To fight.

To refuse to leave your side ever again.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—he realized something.

You weren’t his to fight for anymore.

You were already gone.

Even if he stayed, even if he wasted eternity in this in-between, you wouldn’t be waiting for him.

He had lost you long before you died.

And now, even in the afterlife, he would never have you again.

His breath hitched, his entire body trembling. "Y/N," he tried one last time, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You gave him one last, gentle smile.

And then, finally.

"Goodbye, Mattheo."

And just like that—

You turned away.

You didn’t look back.

And Mattheo felt it—the last piece of his soul breaking, shattering into nothing.

For the first time in his life, he had nothing left.

And for the first time in his life, he finally understood what true loss meant.

But there was no one left to tell him it was going to be okay.

No one left to save him.

Only silence.

And the distant glow of the horizon, beckoning him away from you forever.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The first thing Mattheo felt when he woke up was the suffocating weight pressing against his chest.

It wasn’t the kind of weight that could be shaken off. It wasn’t exhaustion or physical pain—it was worse. It was grief, raw and relentless, curling around his ribs like thorns.

His throat was dry, his head ached, and his limbs felt heavy, like he had been sinking in an endless abyss and had only just barely clawed his way out.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He just laid there, staring at the ceiling, the edges of his vision hazy.

Then it hit him.

The war. The screams. The smell of blood and burning wood.

And you.

Lying there.

Bleeding.

Cold.

Gone.

Mattheo inhaled sharply, a shuddering breath that did little to stop the wave of nausea washing over him. His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them as if they could anchor him to reality.

"Mattheo?"

The voice was groggy, thick with sleep.

Lorenzo.

Mattheo blinked, turning his head slightly. The dim light of the hospital wing made everything look softer, less sharp, like a dream he was still trapped in.

Lorenzo was sitting beside his bed, his long legs stretched out, his head tilted at an awkward angle against the chair. His hair was messier than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His brows furrowed as he blinked blearily, as if trying to convince himself that Mattheo was really awake.

Then, as if something snapped inside him, Lorenzo shot upright, the chair scraping against the floor. "You’re awake," he breathed.

Theodore stirred beside him, rubbing his face with a tired groan. "What’s going on—" His words caught in his throat when he saw Mattheo, his usually composed face shifting into something unreadable.

The noise must have caught the attention of the others because within seconds, Blaise, Draco, Pansy, and Astoria all turned to look.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Mattheo could feel their eyes on him, but he couldn’t meet them.

"You fucking idiot," Blaise muttered.

Mattheo barely had time to react before Lorenzo smacked his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. "Do you have any idea how long you were out?"

Mattheo swallowed, his voice hoarse. "How long?"

"Three days," Theodore answered quietly.

Three days.

Three days since he had tried to end it all.

Three days since he had seen you.

Three days since he had been forced to walk away.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply. He suddenly felt nauseous.

Pansy scoffed, arms crossed over her chest. "Honestly, Riddle, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just asked instead of traumatizing all of us."

Draco shot her a glare. "Not the time, Pansy."

Pansy huffed but didn’t argue.

Astoria must have noticed the way Mattheo’s breathing turned uneven because she spoke gently, "You’re okay now, Mattheo. You’re safe."

Safe?

The word felt wrong.

How could he be safe when you weren’t?

He turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on the bedside table.

The air in his lungs froze.

The keychain.

The small, silver keychain you had given him all those years ago sat there, slightly tarnished but still whole.

Still there.

A broken sound escaped him—half a laugh, half a sob.

He had been trying so hard to reach you.

But you had already moved on.

You were at peace.

Without him.

The weight in his chest twisted painfully.

His breathing grew uneven.

Theodore moved before Mattheo could fully process it.

A pair of warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Mattheo stiffened.

Theodore had never been the kind of person to offer physical affection easily. He wasn’t like Lorenzo, who threw an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature, or like Pansy, who grabbed your hand whenever she was talking. Theodore was distant, composed, always holding himself back.

But right now—right now, he wasn’t.

Right now, he was holding Mattheo like he knew.

Like he understood.

Like he had been waiting for Mattheo to break.

And Mattheo did.

The first sob tore through his throat, shaking his entire body. His fingers clenched in Theodore’s robes, gripping them so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Theodore didn’t say anything.

He just held him.

Mattheo buried his face in Theodore’s shoulder, his whole body trembling as the sobs wracked through him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

You were supposed to be here.

You were supposed to be alive.

You were supposed to tell him that everything would be okay.

But you weren’t.

You never would be.

And even in the afterlife, you had looked at him like he was nothing more than a ghost of the boy you once knew.

His chest ached.

His heart shattered all over again.

Theodore tightened his grip.

"It’s okay," he murmured. "You’re okay."

Mattheo squeezed his eyes shut.

No, he wanted to scream.

'I’m not.'

'I’ll never be."

Draco and Blaise exchanged a glance from the corner of the room, their chess game long forgotten.

Pansy was staring at the floor, her lips pressed tightly together. Astoria’s eyes glistened with something unreadable.

Lorenzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We should’ve done something sooner."

No one disagreed.

Because they all knew.

They had all seen it—the way Mattheo had spiraled after your death.

The way he had barely eaten, barely spoken, barely even existed.

They had tried to help, in their own ways. Pansy had snapped at him to pull himself together. Blaise had sat beside him in silence. Astoria had offered quiet reassurances. Draco had tried to be patient. Lorenzo had been the only one who dared to bring you up.

But nothing had worked.

Nothing had been enough.

And now, Mattheo was breaking apart in Theodore’s arms, sobbing like he had held it all in for too long.

Lorenzo swallowed hard.

It wasn’t fair.

None of it was.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were gone.

And Mattheo was still here.

For now.

Mattheo didn’t know how long he stayed like that, clinging to Theodore like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

When he finally pulled back, his face was damp with tears, his throat raw.

Theodore studied him carefully, his expression unreadable.

Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he placed a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder. "You’re not alone," he said softly.

Mattheo let out a shaky breath.

He didn’t believe it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But he nodded anyway.

Because what else could he do?

Because you were gone.

And he was still here.

Even if it didn’t feel like he was.

[wishingonjellyfish]

Holding On (Series)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢꜱ

ᴄᴏᴡʙᴏʏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴄᴏᴡʙᴏʏ!ᴀʙʙʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS: size difference, age gaps, smut, fingering, cowboy sev, cowboy abby, tlou, arcane

synopsis: you catch sevika cheating and go to a bar and end up in a strangers bed

A/N: i hope you guys enjoy this

Sevika had always wanted to leave everything behind, get as far away from her old town as possible, settle down on a quiet farm, and marry you.

And she made it happen. These days, she’s living like a cowboy—wild, free, and grinning like she’s got the whole world in her hands. Or at least, that’s how it looks from where you’re standing. Today she was taking a break from all the usual chores around the farm.

The morning was perfect. The two of you had shared a nice breakfast together. After lunch, Sevika said she was going to get a little rest and take a nap.

You let her get the rest she needed and went off to harvest some strawberries from the strawberry patch. Sevika smiled at you and wished you good luck. You kissed her goodbye, but it didn’t take nearly as long as Sevika thought you would be.

When you came back, the first thing you noticed was the extra horse tied up out front, but Sevika didn’t mention anything about visitors. You stepped in the house, placing your basket of freshly picked strawberries on the counter. You didn’t pick many strawberries since there weren’t many there at the patch, as strawberry season didn’t really start until another three months.

As you moved further into the house, you called out for Sevika. On the third call, she appeared. Sevika stood there adjusting her pants and buttoning her shirt back up. Her face was red, her breathing more uneven than normal. From upstairs, you heard faint footsteps—not as heavy as Sevika’s but impossible to miss in the suffocating silence that lingered between the two of you. “Doll,” she breathed out, lips parting briefly. “You’re home… earlier than I thought.”

“Here, let me help with the basket,” she said, her voice cracking as she motioned toward the strawberries, grasping for any excuse to redirect you away from the stairs.

You don’t move. You just look at her— at the flush on her cheeks, at the way her shirt’s half tucked, mismatched buttons and all, at the unfamiliar horse outside, at everything she isn’t saying. Your voice is quiet, steady.

“Who’s upstairs, Sev?” The silence that follows is deafening. Not even the sound of footsteps from upstairs now—just her breath hitching as her mouth opens and then closes. Sevika doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. You speak slowly. It feels like your chest might cave in, but your voice holds just barely.

“I was only gone an hour.”

Sevika looks away from you, her fingers twitching at her sides, her gaze darting around and then to the floor. She can’t lie to you, but she sure as hell doesn’t want to be having this conversation. She can hear the hurt in your voice, sense how your heart is shattering in your chest, and it makes her heart clench tightly in response.

She’s hurting you in ways she could never forgive herself for—ways she vowed she never would. Sevika has never felt so weak up until this very moment, watching you try to keep yourself together. You stand there frozen in the doorway of your own home—your sanctuary—watching the woman you had given your all to unravel before your very eyes.

The worst part isn’t the silence or the footsteps upstairs. It’s Sevika, who looks like a child who got caught with blood on her hands and no excuse worth saying.

You swallow hard, the words burning in the back of your throat. “I trusted you.”

Sevika’s shoulders drop like the weight of your voice alone could crush her.

“I chose this life with you,” you continue, quieter now but your tone no less sharp. “I left everything behind because I believed you meant it—the farm, the future, us.”

Sevika flinches like every word is a wound. Her jaw tightens. She’s always been the strong one, the fighter, but she’s not fighting—not now. She’s just standing there, raw and wrecked, as if she was the one who caught you cheating.

Your words hit her like bullets, each one more lethal than the last. She can see the pain in your face, the trust she worked so hard for falling to pieces right before her eyes. Sevika swallows hard, her gaze finally meeting yours.

“I… I know,” she manages, cursing herself for the crack in her voice, her fingers trembling, and her usual confident demeanor replaced with something closer to shame.

And her words somehow make it even worse, because if she knows, she knew what she was doing—and she still did it. You turn your head just enough to look at her, your eyes shining with something deeper than rage, disappointment, heartbreak—a kind of betrayal that doesn’t leave bruises but will ache for years to come. “You knew,” you repeat, your voice barely a whisper, “and you still did it.”

Sevika’s shoulders slump under the weight of your words. Her heart is splintering into a thousand jagged pieces, each one slicing deeper than the last. The truth hangs in the air between you—heavy and unchangeable. She could try to explain, make excuses, but what good would it do now? The trust is broken, the dream shattered, and she has no one to blame but herself.

She can see the disappointment in your eyes, the grief, and it’s a punch to the gut—and she’s the one responsible for putting it there. “Who is it? Who’s upstairs, Sevika?” you ask weakly.

Sevika’s gaze flickers toward the staircase, her lips pressed into a thin line. She hesitates, then speaks in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “A… friend.”

You let out a cold, hollow laugh. “A friend? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Sevika flinches at the sound of your laughter, hollow and cold as it cuts through the heavy air between you. The guilt in her heart multiplies.

Sevika closes her eyes, exhales deeply, and then speaks, her voice firmer this time.

“It’s complicated.” You turn and walk toward the door. “I’m leaving,” you say.

Sevika’s heart clenches at the sound of your words. The weight of what she’s done presses down on her like a thousand bricks. “Wait—” she says quickly, her hand reaching out toward you before she can stop herself. You stop for a second but don’t turn around. Her hand hovers in the air between the two of you, trembling slightly. Like if she could just touch you, maybe she could pull it all back together.

“Wait?” you echo, your voice low, bitter. “For what, Sevika? Another lie? Another excuse?” There’s a beat of silence, and her hand drops to her side. You shake your head, finally glancing over your shoulder to see her one last time.

“You don’t get to ask me to wait. Not after this.”

And with that, you walk away, leaving her in the doorway of your own home, hand half raised and empty.

Sevika’s gaze follows you as you walk away, her heart sinking with every step you take, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the distance between the two of you from growing.

She wants to say something—anything—to make this right, to convince you to stay, but the words die on her tongue, and all she can do is stand there watching you disappear around the corner, taking the future she promised you with you.

You keep walking, each step an attempt to put as much distance between you and her as possible—space she can’t cross no matter how badly you once wanted her to.

Sevika stays rooted to the spot, fighting the urge to chase after you, to beg you to turn back. She feels like every step you take, every inch of distance you create, is a blade to her heart. The realization of what she’s done—the enormity of her mistake—hits her like a ton of bricks. She wants to undo it, to take it all back, but it’s too late.

The future she envisioned, the life she shared with you, is slipping through her fingers like sand, and it’s her own damn fault. You find yourself at the nearest bar, push open the door, and walk in, stepping into a world of dim lights, soft music, and the faint clinking of glasses. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol—a welcome distraction from the weight of your emotions.

You take a seat at the bar, ordering a drink from the bartender. As you nurse your drink, drowning your sorrows in the amber liquid, your mind keeps returning to the shattered dream you left behind. As you sit at the bar, the alcohol warming your body and numbing your thoughts, from the corner of your eye you can see a stranger eyeing you.

Their gaze is intense and observant, making you feel both unsettled and oddly seen. You stay in your seat as the stranger approaches, their footsteps soft against the worn wooden floorboards. They slide onto the bar stool next to you, their gaze still fixed on you with sharp interest.

“Tough day?” the stranger asks, their voice low and smooth. You don’t look at them right away—just swirl the last inch of your drink in the glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light. “Something like that,” you murmur, your voice flat, tired—the kind of tired that starts in your chest and settles deep in your bones. The stranger doesn’t press, just chuckles softly, the sound warm but unreadable.

“Well… you wear heartbreak like it’s tailored.” You finally glance over, eyes narrowed as you take in the stranger. She’s tall and muscular with pale skin. Her hair is blonde and styled in a long braid behind her back. She’s undeniably hot—you’ll give her that—but tonight you’re just not in the mood.

“And you wear curiosity like a bad habit,” she grins, unbothered. “Guilty.”

You don’t smile back—not yet—but you don’t tell her to leave either. The stranger’s grin softens into a smirk, amused by your retort. They lean a little, her gaze drifting from your eyes to your drink.

“Looks like you’re halfway to drowning your sorrows,” she notes, nodding at your nearly empty glass.

You glance down, then look back at her, unimpressed.

“If I wanted to drown, I’d have picked something stronger and somewhere quieter.”

The stranger tilts her head, intrigue sparking in her gaze. She chuckles quietly, acknowledging your point.

“Touche.”

She motions for the bartender, gesturing at your empty glass. “Another round for the lady.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised but not entirely unwelcoming. The stranger keeps her gaze fixed on you, sizing you up. You study her for a moment, lips tugging into something that’s not quite a smile—more like a truce.

“I don’t usually let strangers buy my drinks,” you say, fingers curling around the fresh glass the bartender sets down. The stranger leans back, one arm casually tossed across the back of the barstool. Their gaze is amused, intrigued, and maybe a little impressed.

“And I don’t usually buy drinks for women who’ve clearly been through the wringer,” she responds, her tone light but not entirely joking.

She leans forward again, her gaze flicking to the now full glass in front of you.

“But you seem like an exception.” A slow, wry smile curls at the corner of your mouth as you meet her gaze.

“Exceptions,” you say softly, swirling the drink, “usually come with a price.”

The stranger’s eyes gleam in the bar’s low light, her smirk turning a little sharper.

“You’re observant.”

She leans an elbow on the bar, her fingers drumming against it lightly, considering your words.

“You’re right,” she replies, a ghost of agreement in her tone. “But let me ask you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, inviting her question. The stranger studies you with a sharp, assessing gaze—as if sizing up an opponent, or perhaps admiring a potential prize. “Why do you think I’m sitting here talking to you?” she asks, her voice low and measured, her eyes never wavering from yours, waiting for your response.

You meet her gaze steadily, the challenge sparking in their eyes matching the fire in yours.

“Maybe you’re bored,” you say, voice calm but edged with something sharper, “or maybe you see something that’s worth staying for.” You lean toward her slightly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle.

“Either way,” you add, “you’re the one who chose to start this conversation so whats your angle"

The stranger chuckles, unfazed by your sharp tongue; in fact, she seems oddly admiring of it.

"You're quite the clever one," she notes, her gaze roaming over you. "No wonder you wear heartbreak so well."

She leans forward, matching your challenge with a smirk of her own. "As for my angle, well, I suppose I just find you interesting." Her eyes glint with something indecipherable—curiosity, mischief—as she watches you, waiting to see how you'll respond.

The corner of your mouth twitches into a faint, knowing smile, not breaking eye contact.

"Interesting is a dangerous word," you say slowly, voice low. The effects of the alcohol are really starting to kick into your system. "It can mean a lot of things or nothing at all." You take a measured sip from your glass, then set it down with deliberate calm.

"But if you really mean it, I'm curious too. What exactly about me caught your attention?"

The stranger’s smirk widens, clearly enjoying this dance. "Everything about you is intriguing," she admits, her gaze flickering over you like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "You look like someone who's carrying a storm within them, but yet you're still standing." She reaches out, running a finger gently around the rim of your glass.

"You're guarded for sure, but there's a fire in your eyes—a spark of something I can't quite put my fingers on. Something defiant. Fascinating."

You let her words hang in the air, feeling the weight behind each one as her fingers trace the glass rim.

"Storms tend to leave a mess," you say, voice low, "but sometimes they clear the air." Your eyes lock with hers.

"Defiance isn't just about fighting back," you add. "It's about refusing to be broken and daring someone to look past the storm."

A slow, almost teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Are you willing to look closer?"

The stranger’s gaze darkens, flickering to your lips for a moment before quickly meeting your gaze again. She smirks, their own fire now matching yours.

"Oh, I'm nothing if not willing," she says, her tone now low and edged with something dangerous. "I like to get my hands dirty."

She leans in, her finger moving from your glass to the edge of your jaw, lightly tracing a line down to your chin.

"Question is, how close can I get before you burn me?" A slow, smoky smile curls at the edge of your lips as her fingers trace that path, every nerve on alert but refusing to pull away. "Depends," you murmur, voice thick with challenge and something darker beneath.

"How badly do you want to risk the flames?" Your eyes lock onto hers, steady and unflinching. "I'm not the kind of fire you walk through without getting scorched." You lean in just enough so your breath mingles with hers, letting the tension stretch tense between you. "So tell me, are you ready to get burned?" The stranger holds your gaze, her smirk turning fierce, almost predatory.

She’s leaning in even closer, her finger still on your chin, tilting your face just a little. Her breath is hot against your skin as she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, I’m ready for more than that. I’m ready to fan the flames." She runs her thumb softly over your lower lip, her touch like a spark against your skin, her eyes never leaving yours, gleaming with a dangerous promise.

Your breath catches at the soft brush of her thumb, heat flaring beneath your skin despite every warning inside you screaming to pull away. Her words hang heavy between you, daring you to step further into the fire. Your eyes darken, the defiance sharpening like a blade. "Then don’t hold back," you whisper, voice low and raw. Slowly and deliberately, you lean into her touch, closing the distance. The stranger’s breath hitches at the sight of your defiant challenge, her smirk transforming into a feral grin.

One swift motion, she snakes her free hand around your waist, pulling you in closer so that her knee presses between your thighs. Her thumb still traces your lower lip as she leans in closer, her gaze burning into yours, her voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, darling," she says, her voice thick with heat, "you have no idea how willing I am to show you exactly what I’m made of."

A shiver runs down your spine as her knee presses closer, the heat of her body igniting a wildfire beneath your skin. You don’t pull away because a part of you wants to see just how far this will go before the fire consumes you both. Your fingers find their way to the collar of her shirt, tugging her lightly, drawing her even closer.

"Don't hold back," you murmur, voice husky with challenge and something darker. Our breaths mingle, heavy and uneven, as the night tightens around us. The stranger's hand on your chin shifts, tilting your face to the side, her thumb tracing a burning path along the column of your throat. Her breath is hot against your skin, her eyes flicking over your features like she's drinking you in.

"Oh, I'm not holding back," she growls, her voice sharp as a blade. "You want rough? I'll give you rough." She moves swiftly, spinning you around and pressing you against the bar, her body trapping yours against the hard wood. You lean into her touch, heart pounding, and meet her intense gaze. "Before we go any further," you whisper, breath catching, "what's your name?"

The stranger's eyes flash with dark amusement as she presses closer, her breath warm against your ear. "Names have power," she murmurs, voice low and tempting, "but for you I'm willing to share."

A slow smile curves her lips as she leans back just enough to meet your eyes. "Call me Abby," she says. You lock eyes with Abby, the intensity crackling between the two of you.

Your heart is racing, pulse thundering in your ears as you take in the sight of her before you.

"Abby," you repeat the name, rolling it off your tongue like a low, rough purr. "It suits you."

Your fingers are still tangled in her short collar, refusing to let go, her knee still pressed between your thighs keeping you pinned against the bar.

Her grip is tight, almost possessive. "So, what now, Abby?" you say, voice low, barely above a whisper. Vi's lips quirk into a dangerous smirk, her gaze raking over you. "Now?" she replies, her voice a low, rumbling purr. "Now we find out exactly how much fire you can take." With a single fluid motion, she lifts you up onto the bar, spreading your legs apart and stepping between them, leaving barely an inch of space.

Her hands slide up your thighs, fingers gripping onto your hips tightly.

She leans in, breath hot against your ear.

"Ready for the burn, darling?"

"Always," you whisper.

"Show me what that burn feels like." Abby's eyes darken, her grip on your hip tightening, her gaze flicking to your lips—hungry and intense. "You asked for it, darling."

And then her mouth is on yours, rough and slow, it’s all teeth and heat.

Her tongue brushes against your lower lip, asking for entrance. You open your mouth quickly, allowing her entry, your tongue dancing with hers.

Her hands wander under your shirt, rough, calloused skin marking every inch of you.

She finds your hands coming up to tangle in her black hair with red streaks. When your tongue meets hers, she lets out a low guttural noise from her throat.

The sound is primitive, possessive, and it fuels the fire between the two of you. Her hands find your hips, gripping you tightly, fingers leaving marks against your skin.

She breaks the kiss just enough to nip at your lower lip, tugging it between her teeth before her mind finds your throat, lips trailing down the length of your neck. You gasp out your breath, becoming faster. "Should… should we go somewhere more private?" you ask her between soft gasps as her lips trail down your neck.

Abby pauses, her breathing ragged, lips hovering just above the hollow of your throat. She pulls back slightly, her gaze locking onto your eyes, her own blazing. "Somewhere private," she repeats, her words a gruff growl. Her hands are still on your hips, fingers digging into your skin like they're marking you. "You read my mind, darling."

She steps back, her gaze taking in your disheveled state, then offers you a hand. "My place or yours?" A flicker of something dances in your eyes.

"Yours. Definitely yours. I just still need to handle some things at my place first before I can go back there," you say, grabbing her hand. Abby raises an eyebrow at you but doesn’t press further, sensing your unspoken reasons.

Her grip on you tightens as she helps you off the bar counter, her gaze fixed on you.

"Alright, darling," Abby says, her voice a low gravelly rumble, "we'll head to mine, but let’s make this fast. The longer we wait, the more impatient I get."

She leads you toward the door, her strides quick and purposeful, her hand never leaving yours. You walk behind her without another thought as she leads the way, your hands intertwined.

Abby leads you through the quiet dark streets, her grip on your hand remaining steadfast as they guide you to her house. Occasionally she glances back at you, her gaze flickering over your features in the dim light as if making sure you are still there. Before long, they stop in front of a modest single-story house at the end of the block.

A light illuminates the porch, casting a warm glow over the exterior. Abby fishes a key out of her pocket and unlocks the door, holding it open for you. "After you, darling."

You walk in and eye the surroundings quickly before turning back to face Abby. Abby follows closely behind you, shutting the door with a soft click. She stands behind you, watching your gaze roam over her living space, studying your reaction. "Bedroom?" you ask.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Abby’s lips at your blunt question. "Straight to the point, darling? I like it." With a nod, they head toward a narrow hallway leading off from the living room.

At the far end of the hall, a closed door leads into the bedroom. She opens the door with a soft creak and gestures for you to go in first, her gaze heavy with anticipation. You walk in first and take a look around, taking in details of the room: the bed in the middle of the room, the mix of military-style discipline and girls in bikinis posters, and pictures of memories scattered here and there.

Your gaze pauses on a photo of a younger Abby with a boy about the age of thirteen. As your eyes scan across the room and walls, they're standing together, Abby's arm wrapped around the younger boy, and they're both grinning at the camera.

Abby’s gaze follows you as you walk into the bedroom, watching your eyes as you take in the details—her messy bed, the posters on the walls, and the few framed pictures spread across the wall and nightstand.

Abby stands behind you, a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she waits to see if you'll make a comment.

You say nothing; you just turn around and step closer to her. Abby notices your proximity, her gaze flickering to your face as you close the gap between the two of you. She takes a step closer, her hand coming up to rest gently on your hip, a possessive gesture. "That's my brother, darling," she muses, her voice low and huskier than it was earlier.

Her fingers trace absent circles on your hip bone, almost absentmindedly.

You don't say anything, just back her up until she's against the door. Abby swallows a lump in her throat as her back hits the door with a faint thud, her grip on your hip tightening instinctively. Her eyes are fixed on yours, her own darkening with every passing second.

You stand up on your tiptoes; your hand slides up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her skin as you lean into her. A small, almost involuntary gasp escapes Abby’s lips at your proximity, her breath catching as she looks down at you, her gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. Her fingers bunch the fabric of your shirt as she struggles to keep her composure.

You meet Abby's heated gaze, a slow mischievous smile playing at your lips. "Tell me, Abby, how far are you willing to go?" Abby's breath hitches again at your words, her eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and dangerous edge. Her fingers dig harder into your hips as she leans in closer, her lips hovering just a millimeter above yours.

"Darling," she lets out a growl low in her throat, their voice a rough gravelly whisper, "I'm willing to go as far as you'll let me and then some." Your gaze sharpens, voice barely more than a breath. “Careful,” you say. “I might just hold you to that.” Abby's resolve snaps at your teasing—the dam breaking as her control unravels. In a swift motion, she spins you around, your back hitting the door, pinning you against it. Her grip on your hips is tight, almost bruising, her breath ragged as she presses against you. "Oh, darling," Abby growls, her voice a low rough whisper against your ear,

"that's the idea." You shiver at her rough words and the strength in her grip, your body pressed flush against hers. Your voice drops to a husky whisper laced with challenge and something darker. "Mark me, Abby. Leave your fire where I can't forget." You tilt your head, meeting her gaze with fierce defiance, daring her to prove just how far she will go. Abby's eyes darken at your challenge, the fire in her blazing brighter as she presses tighter against you, leaving no space between the two of you.

Her voice is a low feral growl as she murmurs against your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "Oh darling, I'll mark you alright. I'll leave my fire so deep in you, you won’t be able to forget it for a damn second." And with that, Abby claims your mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. You kiss her back, letting out soft moans between the kisses, your tongue sliding across her bottom lip, begging to enter her. Abby doesn't hesitate for a minute. She opens her mouth to your tongue, the kiss turning rougher and hungrier as she responds with a feverish hunger.

One of her hands moves up to tangle in your hair, angling your head to give her better access. She presses you harder against the door, your bodies melding together in a desperate dance of desire. She lets out a low growl against your lips, her other hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting it up to wrap around her waist. Abby lets out a ragged moan as you wrap your leg around her waist, her grip on you tightening as she pulls you even closer, her hips pressing against your hips.

She breaks the kiss for a moment to let out a strangled groan, cursing softly under her breath before her mouth returns to your neck, trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline down to your collarbone. "Darling…" she breathes, voice ragged and thick with desire, "you're driving me insane."

Abby's breath hitches, their hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline, her body shaking against yours. You clutch Abby tighter, the heat between the two of you flaring up like a wildfire. Your voice is a breathy murmur against their skin. "Good," you whisper, "I'm not here to calm you down." Your lips brush against her jaw.

"You little vixen," she growls, her voice thick with hunger, "you're playing with fire." She pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes burning with desire. She presses you harder against the door, the tension between the two of you cracking like electricity. "Are you sure you can handle this, darling? Because I'm warning you now—I’m not stopping until you're begging me." You meet Abby’s fierce gaze without hesitation, a wicked smile curling on your lips.

"Abby," you murmur, your voice steady and daring, "I don't just handle fire—I thrive in it." You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her lips. "So bring it on. I'm not the one who's going to be begging." Abby’s breathing becomes ragged, her fingers clenching on your thigh as she struggles to keep her composure. Your words, filled with both challenge and desire, ignite a fire in her veins that she can no longer contain.

She presses you even harder against the wall, her body molding to yours. Her voice is a low rough whisper against your skin, tinged with a hint of warning. "Darling, you have no idea what you're in for. You think you can handle it? Let’s see how you hold up when I've got you begging on your knees."

A slow smile spreads across your face as her words brush against your skin. You meet her gaze, unflinching and fierce. "Then maybe you should start preparing," you whisper back, voice low and steady, "because I don't break easily."

Your fingers tighten on her broad shoulders, grounding yourself as the heat between the two of you grows. "Let's find out who'll really be begging, Abby." Your challenge sparks something feral in Abby’s eyes, her grip on you growing stronger. "You're playing a dangerous game, darling," she hisses, her voice a ragged mix of desire and hunger.

She presses her body tighter against yours, the heat between the two of you building. Her lips find your neck, trailing hot kisses along the sensitive skin, her teeth grazing against your pulse. "You have no idea how hard I can make you beg." Abby’s breath hitches against your skin, her fingers digging into your thigh possessively. They let out a low primal groan at your words, her body pushing against yours again—hard and heated.

"Oh, darling," she growls, her voice thick with need and desire, "You underestimate how good I am at bringing you to your knees." In a swift motion, she lifts you up, her strong arms effortlessly carrying you toward the bed, her gaze never breaking contact. "No one's gonna be able to make you squirm like I'm about to." Your mind drifts back to Sevika in that moment when Abby says those words, but you quickly pull yourself back together.

"Is that a promise or a warning?" you murmur, voice low. "Because I'm ready to find out exactly how good you really are, Abby." Abby lays you down on the bed, her body pressing against yours as she hovers over you, her gaze fixed on your face.

"Oh darling, it's both," she replies, her voice a low gravelly promise. Her hands slide down your body, finding the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head, revealing your skin to the cool air—you're in nothing but a bra.

"I guarantee you've never been with anyone like me before," she husks out. "Is that so?" you tease, breath steady but heart pounding.

"Then show me. Make me believe I've never known anything like you." Abby's gaze darkens at your words, her fingers toying with the button of your jeans.

"Oh darling, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be screaming my name and mine only." She slowly unbuttons your jeans, her gaze roaming over you like a hungry predator circling its prey. "Then don't keep me waiting," you whisper, voice low and daring, "show me exactly what that looks like." Abby's breath hitches at your words, her eyes roaming over you hungrily.

"Don't worry," she replies, her voice low and rough, "you're about to get a front row seat to the best damn show you've ever seen."

She pulls your jeans off slowly, her fingers trailing over your skin, igniting a trail of heat.

"Brace yourself, darling. Things are about to get very intense." "Intense is exactly what I'm here for," you murmur, voice thick with desire.

Abby's eyes flash with primal desire, their body pressing you harder into the mattress. "Good," she growls, her voice a rough ragged whisper, "because I don't do half-ass."

Her hands slide up your thighs, her fingers teasingly close to where you want them. "You're going to feel me for days after this, darling."

A shiver runs through you at Abby's words, your breath catching as her touch teases you where you want her. You arch into her touch, your voice low and daring.

"I wouldn't want it any other way." Your fingers tighten around her wrists, pulling her closer still, matching the fire in her gaze.

"Make me remember you, Abby. Leave your mark."

Abby’s gaze darkens with a hunger that matches your own, her body pressing harder against you, hands roaming with a possessive fervor. “Oh, darlin’, I’m going to mark you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. You’ll never forget the way I made you feel, darling.” Abby’s lips find your neck, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone, teasing your skin with a desperate kind of hunger.

You gasp softly as Abby’s lips trace your skin. Your hands clutch at her shoulders, pulling her closer. Abby’s breath is ragged against your skin as you pull her closer, her body pressing against yours.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. “The way you taste, the way you smell, the way you feel in my arms.” Her hands run down your body, possessively claiming, leaving behind a trail of heat. “I can’t get enough of you, darling. I need you—all of you.”

You shiver at Abby’s words, the raw need echoing through her voice sending a thrill straight to your core. Your fingers tangle deeper in her hair, pulling her closer as you whisper, “Take me, Abby.”

Abby’s breathing hitches as your fingers tighten in her hair, her body responding with a surge of heat. “God, you have no idea what those words do to me, darling,” she groans, her voice rough with desire. “When you say stuff like that, all I can think about is making you scream my name until you forget everything else.”

She presses her body harder into you, her lips finding a spot at the base of your throat and nipping softly at the sensitive skin there. “You’re mine now, darling.”

You arch into Abby’s touch, your pulse pounding in sync with her heated words.

A low teasing smile curls onto your lips as you murmur, voice thick with want, “Make me forget, Abby.” Abby’s breath hitches again, her hand finding your hip and gripping you tightly, her touch rough and possessive.

“Oh, baby, I’m about to make you forget your own damn name,” she growls against your skin, her fingers trailing over your body in a way that makes you shiver. “Stop teasing, Abby, and take me already,” you growl out, growing impatient.

Abby’s gaze darkens, her patience breaking at your impatient growl. She moves with quickness, pinning you to the bed, her body pressing hard against yours. “Oh, someone’s getting impatient,” she mutters, her voice low and rough. “You want me to stop teasing, huh? You want me to make good on my promises, sweetheart?” Abby runs a hand up the inside of your thigh, her touch both possessive and teasing all at once. “You gonna beg for it, darling?” You smirk, meeting Abby’s challenge head-on, your voice a sultry tease.

“Beg? Maybe. But only if you make it worth my while.” Abby’s eyes darken, her hand on your thigh tightening at your words. She leans down, her lips hovering just above your ear. “Oh, darling, I’ll make it worth every second. But first…” Her hand moves slowly higher, her fingers grazing softly against your cunt.

Her voice drops to a low gravelly whisper. “I want to hear you ask for it nicely.” Your breath catches, a slow smile tugging at the corner of your lips as her touch sends shivers through you. Leaning into her whisper, your voice drops just as low, dripping with teasing challenge.

“Please, Abby. Show me exactly what I’m begging for.” A low groan escapes Abby’s lips as your reply leaves her almost powerless. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she replies huskily,

“That’s more like it, darling. Begging so nicely—I like the way it sounds coming from those pretty damn lips of yours.” Her hand continues to graze softly against your cunt, her touch a delicious mix of gentle and rough. “Keep asking, baby. Ask me for exactly what you want. Tell me how bad you want me.”

“Please, Abby. Need you to touch me so bad. You have no idea,” you whimper out. Abby’s breath hitches again, her self-control crumbling as your voice pleads so desperately. She moves closer, her lips grazing against your ear again as she replies, “Oh, darling, I have some idea. You’re dripping for me, darling—so impatient for what I’m gonna give you.”

Her hand continues to tease, her touch rougher now. “You want me, don’t you? You need me. Say it. I wanna hear you say it aloud.” “Please, Abby. I need you. I need this.” A low growl escapes Abby’s lips at your words, her desire for you growing more intense with every passing second. She presses harder against you, her body hot against yours.

“That’s what I wanted to hear, darling. You’re being such a good girl for me—asking so nicely. And I think you deserve a reward, don’t you, baby?” Her hand continues to move, teasing you just enough to drive you wild yet not enough to give you the release you crave. You bite your lip, eyes darkening with need as her touch tortures you just right on the edge.

“Reward me then,” you murmur, voice thick with desire. “Show me what I’ve earned, Abby.”

Abby’s eyes flare with lust, your words pushing her to the limit. Her fingers work faster over your clit, covered by your underwear, their thumb making tantalizing circles. Her fingers move faster and rougher, her touch driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You let out a moan, bucking your hips against her fingers, the touch not being enough over your underwear. "Look at you, so eager and desperate for me. I have half a mind to make you wait a little longer, darling. Make you plead for that release that you so desperately need."

You let out a cry. "No, please! Don’t! Please take off my underwear, Abby!" Abby’s growl deepens, her resolve crumbling at your needy moan. She can’t deny your request—not anymore, not when she's so close to breaking as well.

"You're driving me crazy, darling," she rasps, her hands moving to the waistband of your underwear. "I need to feel you, darling. I need to know how badly you want me." Her fingers dip beneath the fabric, teasingly skimming against your clit.

"Tell me, baby. Say the words you want and you'll get what you crave." "Please, Abby, please. I need this. Need you inside of me," you beg her desperately.

Abby’s entire body tenses at your words, her self-control hanging on by a thread.

She can’t hold back anymore—not with you begging so damn sweet for them. "Oh baby, you don’t know how much those words do to me," she groans, their breathing ragged and labored. "You're begging so sweetly for me, aren’t you, darling? I’ll give you what you crave. I’ll take you so damn hard." Her fingers glide over your clit, making contact with your cunt as she teasingly brushes against you, her touch both rough and gentle all at once.

"Yes, yes, more please," you beg, trying to buck your hips into her hand. "That’s it, darling," she murmurs against your skin. "You like that, love? You like how good I’m taking care of you?" "Yes… yes, I love it. I need more, please, Abby, please." Abby’s breathing is labored as she continues to tease, your words fueling her own desire.

"You're so beautiful, darling. So pretty, begging for me like this," she groans, her lips leaving hot open-mouthed kisses against your skin. "You want more, darling? Beg for it. Tell me how bad you need it." You groan out, growing impatient. "Please, Abby, don’t make me beg. You know I need this," you plead with her.

"Oh, but I like hearing you beg, darling," she growls, her free hand roaming over your body, her other hand circling your clit with her finger.

"You're so damn desperate for me, darling. I love how you sound when you're impatient."

A low moan escapes your throat as you throw your head back and buck your hips into her hand, twitching underneath her. Abby lets out a low, ragged groan, the sound rumbling against your skin, her own desperation and desire growing with each of your moans.

"You sound so good, darling. So desperate for me," she murmurs, her voice thick with need. "I could listen to you like this forever, darling. I could tease you like this forever—tease you and toy with you until you can't take it anymore."

You whimper out, "Please don’t stop. Whatever you do, please just don’t stop." You're getting closer to your orgasm. Abby’s own breathing is ragged, her body trembling with desire, desperate for you. She won’t stop now—not when you're so close. "I won’t, darling," she reassures you, her voice hoarse with need. "I won’t stop until you’re completely undone, love. I’m gonna give you everything you need, everything you’ve been begging for." "Please put your fingers inside of me, Abby. Please, I wanna be full of you," you whisper desperately.

Abby growls at your words, a mixture of desire and desperation overwhelming her. She won’t deny your request—not when you're begging so damn nicely. You’re so close, you can’t think of anything. Your mind is blank. You don’t think of Sevika and the girl that was upstairs with her. Nothing matters right now except you and the pleasure Abby is giving you. You’ll say anything to get her to let you cum.

"Yes, need you inside of me, Abby. Wanna feel you inside of me, please." Abby’s grip on you tightens, her breathing becoming more ragged as she takes in your words. She can’t wait any longer, her desire for you overtaking her senses. "That’s it, darling," she murmurs, her voice thick and rough with need. "You're so close, aren’t you?" She slides two of her fingers into your cunt. A strangled moan escapes your lips as she slides into you.

Abby’s breath becomes more ragged, her fingers moving inside of you, her touch rough and possessive. Her body is pressed roughly against yours, her eyes dark with need as she watches you break underneath her. "Oh darling, you feel so good," she rasps. "You're so close, aren’t you, darling? I can feel it. I’m gonna give you what you need, darling. Just let go for me."

You push your hips down against her fingers, grinding down against them, chasing your own release. "Yes… yes, mmmm, gonna cum." Sevika’s name almost slips past your lips, but you catch yourself just in time before her name comes out.

Abby’s grip on you tightens, her eyes fixed on your face, taking in every expression of pleasure and desperation as you push your hips down against her fingers. She knows you're right on the edge, almost ready to come undone.

But something stops you. She sees a flicker of hesitation in your expression that doesn’t go unnoticed by Abby. She pauses, her fingers stilling inside of you. Curiously, you cry out desperately, "No, no, no. Wh-why did you stop? I was so close!"

You whine out the words. You can still feel yourself clenching around her fingers.

Abby lets out a low, ragged moan, her own desperation building as she hears those words. She can feel you clenching around her fingers, so close, but something’s not right.

She sees hesitation in your eyes, and her desire is overtaken by curiosity. "Darling," she murmurs, her voice quiet and rough, "what happened, love? You were ready to let go, and then you stopped. What’s going through that pretty head of yours? Talk to me." You glance away from her.

"What do you mean? I’m not thinking about anything besides what’s happening right now," you lie, glancing back toward her. Abby cocks her head slightly at your words, her gaze still fixed on your face, her eyes narrowing even more. She can see right through the lie, noticing the way you glance away and avoid her gaze. They’re not buying your bullshit.

"You’re a terrible liar, darling," she mutters, her voice rough. "You were ready to come undone for me, but then suddenly you hesitated. Something’s distracting you, darling. I want to know what it is."

"I… I don’t want to talk about it, much less think about it. Not right now."

Abby’s expression darkens as you refuse to talk about it, her own need and desire momentarily overshadowed by frustration. She frowns, feeling a sharp pang of disappointment at your evasion.

"Damn it, darling," she mutters, her voice a growl, "why won’t you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours? Hmm? I’m trying to make you feel good, to give you what you need." "Because I don’t wanna talk about it," you’re nearly shouting at her now, pulling yourself off her fingers and getting off the bed, grabbing your clothes off the floor.

"I didn’t come here for a therapy session. I came here to fuck," you growl at her as you shove your shirt back on and shimmy into your jeans. Abby’s frustration turns into anger, her eyes narrowing even more at your words. She gets up from the bed, her body tense as she watches you get dressed, her hands clenching into fists.

"You think I don’t know that?" she snaps back, her voice rough and harsh. "You think I don’t want that just as badly as you do, darling? But dammit, I can’t do this while you’re holding back, holding onto some goddamn secret. It’s not fair to either of us."

"I don’t owe you anything. We just met—tonight at the bar—you knew what this was. No strings attached, Abby," you spit the words at her. You’re fully clothed now, and you walk to the door, attempting to leave.

Abby lunges toward you, grabbing onto your arm tightly and pulling you back, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation. "Damn it, you’re not leaving, darling," she growls, her grip on your arm remaining firm.

"You’re right, you don’t owe me anything, but I can’t let you go out that door with whatever it is that’s weighing on you." You look down at her hand that’s holding your arm, then back toward her eyes, tears gathering, threatening to spill out of the corner of your eyes.

"I don’t want to talk about it," you say the words again, this time more weakly. Abby’s expression softens as she sees the tears gathering in your eyes, her grip on your arm loosening, her own anger giving way to concern. She steps closer to you, her voice becoming gentler though still rough.

"Darling," she murmurs, her voice thick with frustration and worry, "please just talk to me. You’re upset. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I can’t fix whatever it is if you don’t let me try." You pull your arm back. "You don’t know me, Abby. You can’t fix anything."

Abby’s expression darkens as you pull away, her heart sinking at your words. Her lips press into a hard line, her body tensing once again. "Maybe I don’t know you as well as I’d like to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try, dammit," she growls in a low voice. "Maybe I can’t fix everything, but I can damn well try. Let me in." The tears are spilling out of your eyes and down your cheeks now, and you crumble.

"She cheated on me," you say it weakly, like if you say it out loud, that makes it final. "My own wife cheated on me," you say, turning away from Abby and walking back toward the bedroom door.

Abby’s breath catches in her throat as the words leave your lips, her own anger and frustration giving way to shock and sympathy.

"You’re… you’re—" She stumbles over her words, her voice faltering as her mind grapples with the information you’ve just shared. She sighs and takes a moment to compose herself, her chest tightening at the sight of your tears streaming down your face.

She reaches out to touch you, her hand gently landing on your shoulder. "Darling…" she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "Goddammit."

You stand still, not moving, her hand resting on your shoulder. You don’t say anything, your tears streaking down your cheeks. Abby’s hand remains on your shoulder, her fingers gently rubbing soothing circles against your skin.

She stands silently behind you, her own emotions a tangled mess. Part of her aches to reach out and hold you, to comfort you and offer some form of solace, but the other part—the one fueled by anger and confusion—holds back.

Even in the short time she’s known you, it’s already too much—not knowing enough, not being close enough. She aches for it—for the quiet parts of you, the pieces you don’t show. She wants to understand you, to unravel you, to see what you look like when the mask slips. After a few moments of tense silence, she finally breaks the quiet with a rough question. "How long, darling?"

The thought settles into your chest heavy and unrelenting, like a stone sinking into the deepest part of the ocean. "I’m—I’m not sure," you whisper. "I caught her today." A strangled sob escapes your throat, your hand coming up to your mouth. "God, what if it wasn’t just once? She tossed our entire life aside for some random fling—like it meant nothing at all."

Abby’s fingers tense on your shoulder, her jaw clenching at your words. She can practically feel the pain radiating off your body, each word carrying a weight that hits her like a punch to the gut. "You don’t deserve this," she replies roughly, her voice thick with anger and sympathy.

"You don’t deserve to be cheated on, darling, and you sure as hell don’t deserve to be treated like your goddamn relationship didn’t mean a damn thing." A bitter laugh escapes you, sharp and shaky. You shake your head and turn around to face Abby.

"Yeah, well, tell that to her," you murmur, voice hollow. "She made it pretty clear how much I was worth." Abby’s hand still rests on your shoulder, and you don’t pull away from it, but you don’t lean into it either. You’re just suspended, floating in the wreckage.

"I gave her everything, and she threw it away like it was nothing," your voice drops, barely more than a whisper now, "like I was nothing." Abby’s breath is ragged, her heart clenching at your words. The pain in your voice is noticeable, and it hits her like a knife to the gut. Her grip on your shoulder tightens, as if to anchor you. "Darling, she’s an idiot. You deserve so much damn more than that, love. You’re too good for her, and you sure as hell are not nothing," she growls in a low, rough voice.

Your throat tightens, and for a moment you can’t speak, the weight of Abby’s words pressing against the ache inside you, threatening to crack something wide open. You let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "I don’t feel like I’m anything right now," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"She made me feel small, like I was easy to leave." Abby’s heart aches at your confession, her own anger and frustration overshadowed by her growing sympathy. She wants to reach out, pull you into her arms, and hold you tight to chase away the doubt and pain.

"You are not small, darling," she replies quietly. "And you damn sure aren’t easy to leave. That woman’s an idiot for throwing away something good as you." A fragile breath escapes you, shaky and uneven, and you blink hard against the sting behind your eyes.

You manage a bitter, broken laugh. "Then why does it feel like I wasn’t enough?" Your voice wavers, but you don’t pull away from Abby. If anything, you lean in closer, drawn to the steadiness in her presence.

"I gave her everything," you murmur. "And she let me walk away like I was nothing." You pause, then add softer this time, "I don’t know how to stop blaming myself." Abby’s heart aches as she watches you struggle, her chest tightening at the pain in your voice. Her hands remain on your shoulders, her thumbs gently rubbing against your skin.

"I know it’s hard, darling, but this is not your fault. You did everything right," she gently responds. "She’s the one who made a damn stupid choice, not you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for her mistakes."

Your shoulder trembles beneath Abby’s touch, and for a moment you can’t speak. The silence stretches heavy with all the words you’re too scared to say out loud. Finally, your voice comes out low—raw and honest.

"I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I missed something, if I wasn’t enough or too much, or—" you cut yourself off with a shaky exhale, eyes fixed on the floor. "But then you look at me like I still matter," you whisper, barely audible.

"And I don’t know what to do with that." Abby’s fingers gently squeeze your shoulders. She wants to take the pain away, to ease the burden you’re carrying. "Darling," she murmurs softly, her voice thick with compassion, "You matter. You matter more than you could ever realize, and it’s not your damn fault. You didn’t cause this, and you sure as hell don’t deserve it. You deserve someone who sees you—all of you—and cherishes every damn thing about you. Don’t for a minute think otherwise."

Your throat tightens, emotions swelling so fast it nearly chokes you. You blink hard, trying to keep the tears back, but one escapes anyway, sliding down your cheek before you can catch it. You reach up and curl your fingers around Abby’s wrist, grounding yourself in the warmth of her touch. "I don’t know how to believe that yet," you admit, your voice barely more than a whisper. "But I want to. I really want to."

Your gaze lifts to meet hers, searching her eyes for something—something you’re not quite sure of. Abby’s heart skips a beat as she catches the glimmer of tears in your eyes. She gently reaches out and wipes away the lone tear slipping down your cheek. She offers a rough but tender response. "It takes time, darling. It takes time to heal, and I know that.

I ain’t expecting you to bounce back immediately, but I’m gonna show you that you are worth it whether you believe it or not." Your lip trembles at her words, and you bite down on it hard to steady yourself, but her quiet confidence is unraveling you piece by piece. You nod slowly, voice thick with the effort to keep steady. "Okay," you whisper.

"Okay, I'll try. I think I should get back home." Abby’s expression softens as she sees the effect of her words on you. Her grip on your shoulder tenses for a moment, reluctant to let you go.

"You sure you wanna be alone right now, darling?" Abby asks roughly, a hint of concern in her voice.

"You don't gotta deal with this alone. I'm here for you if you need me." "I need to go back home and sort some things out—if she's even still there. I've got to get her out of my house," you say the words weakly, the weight of it crushing you all over again as you mention something about divorce papers.

Abby’s expression darkens as you mention your soon-to-be ex-wife, her jaw clenching and her grip on your shoulder tightening involuntarily.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this crap alone," she roughly replies, her voice low with anger. "She messed up, darling, and now she's made a mess for you to clean up. It's messed up. I don't like the thought of you going back there and facing her by yourself."

You swallow hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you. "Yeah," you admit, voice rough. "It's a mess, but I gotta face it. I'm the one who has to clean it up, even if I don't want to."

You look at Abby, grateful but worn down. "Thanks for not letting me feel so alone in it."

Abby’s expression softens a little as you express gratitude. Her hand gently squeezes your shoulder, a gesture of reassurance amidst the weight of the situation.

"You're not alone, darling, and you shouldn't have to clean up after her mess," she grumbles, voice rough yet filled with a surprising amount of affection.

"I wish I could take some of that weight off your shoulders for you. You don't deserve this crap."

You meet Abby’s gaze, feeling the raw honesty behind her words, and for the first time a flicker of something lighter stirs inside you. "Yeah," you murmur, voice quieter now. "I don’t deserve any of this." Her grip on your shoulder steadies you, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

"Thanks, Abby. More than you know." Abby’s expression softens further as you thank her. She gives your shoulder a final gentle squeeze before she reluctantly lets go of you. "You don't gotta thank me, darling," she replies roughly, her eyes never leaving your face.

"I ain’t gonna just stand by and watch you go through hella alone. Just be careful, okay? You let me know if you need anything, right? I mean it." Her gaze is steady and determined, a silent promise to be there for you if you need it.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I will, and Abby…" you pause, searching her eyes for the right words, "Thanks for being here. It means more than I can say." Her steady look holds you, and for a moment the weight feels a little less crushing. You turn and walk toward the bedroom door.

Abby watches you step toward the door, her gaze lingering on your retreating figure. She can't help but feel a pang of worry knowing what you're about to face at home. She takes a step forward, her voice rough but sincere. "Darling."

You stop and turn around, meeting Abby’s gaze. She stands there, her expression etched with a mix of sympathy and something else—maybe a hint of protectiveness. "Be careful, alright?" she responds, her voice firmer this time. "I mean it."

"I will," you say quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Thanks, Abby." Turning back toward the door, you pause for a heartbeat longer, then open the door and step out into the hallway. Abby stands there watching you leave, her heart heavy with worry and concern. She wants to follow you, to shield you from the pain and heartbreak waiting for you at home, but she knows you need to face this on your own.

As the door closes behind you, Abby’s hand clenches into a fist involuntarily, her desire to protect you surging like an uncontrollable wave. "Damn it all to hell," she mutters under her breath—a mix of frustration and helplessness.

You walk down the hallway toward the front door, open it, and step out into the night. The breeze is slightly chilly but not enough to make you shiver.

You walk onto the porch and close the door behind you. You walk down the steps, off the porch onto the path, and make your way home, dreading facing Sevika—if she's even still there.

Your footsteps echo softly against the pavement as you make your way down the deserted street, each step taking you closer to the home you used to share with the woman you thought you knew.

Your thoughts are a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—hurt, anger, sadness, and confusion. You dread the confrontation that awaits you, unsure of what to expect if she's even still there.

comment to be added to taglist ~

[slut4celebs]

Angel Baby

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader, Jenna Ortega x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 1,702 words

Trigger Warnings: a lot of fluff

Synopsis: A songfic based on Angel Baby by Troye Sivan in which Olivia and the Reader see each other after their decision to never date anyone ever again.

“I just think… Putting yourself out there wouldn’t be the worst idea.” Jenna said, glancing up at her best friend, who was currently examining her ice latte as if it were the worst thing to ever exist. Though, Jenna had come to realize (Y/n)’s face wasn’t towards the latte, but rather a way to pretend she wasn’t horrified by her suggestion. “(Y/n), come on. You’re amazing and talented. You deserve love. I have this friend… I would really like to introduce you to her. And, I heard you call her pretty before when we were flipping through a magazine.”

(Y/n) chose to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Another girl in the industry… great.” (Y/n) said sarcastically, wincing a bit when the disappointed frown that graced Jenna’s face appeared. She hated when Jenna pulled out the frown, an involuntary expression that only showed around people who knew her well enough to notice it. “Look, I just don’t think dating is good for me. All it ever led to was me locking myself in my apartment, missing three auditions that would’ve been amazing and totally mine if I would have attended, and me almost drowning in my cereal bowl.” She reminded, getting a little snicker from Jenna at the mention of when (Y/n) cried in her Fruit Loops, and Jenna had to lift her head from the bowl. She had milk all over her face, and Jenna had to take five minutes to keep from laughing.

Jenna grew serious though as she tapped the table. (Y/n) could almost groan, knowing what her best friend had up her sleeve. Undeniably, it was the best friend pact. Jenna was calling in a favor. (Y/n) could read it so clearly on her freckled face as Jenna tried to pick her words carefully. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to deny a favor of this caliber since Jenna very rarely pulled out the Best Friend Pact Favor. This was something they created on set of a movie they starred in together at the age of twelve. Since the creation of this sacred pact, they have stuck to it, using it to call dibs on being each other’s dates to events, help them avoid awkward questions asked by paparazzi, fans, and interviewers, and more.

“I hate to do this but… I’m invoking the pact.” Jenna said, leaning back in her chair. (Y/n) sighed deeply but waited, wanting to hear Jenna out. This was obviously something that had brewing in her mind for awhile. “Honestly, I’m worried about you and her. I think you two would be good for each other. I just want you to give it a chance. A real chance, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) ran a hand down her face, risking her makeup’s safety when she did. “Fine, fine. Just tell me who it is. That way I can plan something.” She agreed, taking a sip of her coffee, debating chugging it to get out of the coffee shop faster. But instead, she remained calm and just panicked on the inside. She knew that Jenna was genuinely worried about her and the fact that she complained a little too frequently about being lonely. Plus, it had been a year since her breakup to the girl who always put down her dreams for her own. Maybe it was time to put herself out there. Besides, Jenna knew her taste quite well, saying as they were going on almost ten years strong in their friendship.

“Ha, as if I would tell you upfront and risk you leaving as soon as you saw her.” Jenna rose a brow. She tended to know her a little too well. Admittedly, she probably would run. But who’s to say that’s still not a possibility given that she could go to wherever Jenna would drop her off at… She could also just sneak off. “You’re also not allowed to sneak out as soon as I drop you off. This date is going to be on Saturday at six, I’ve decided. Dress nice but not overly nice. Basically, a pretty blouse and jeans. Oh! And that leather jacket that you look super fucking hot in.”

A snort escaped her at Jenna’s words and she allowed her gaze to meet Jenna’s deep brown ones. “I’m beginning to think you’re setting me up with you.” She teased, earning a playful shove. (Y/n) found herself to be grateful that the shove was officially the end to the conversation. Now, they’ve moved onto better topics like filming and dessert they’ve had recently. She finally felt the tension caused by the conversation leave her shoulders as she listen to Jenna talk about a special dessert Emma, her Wednesday co-star, had her try.

On Saturday, Jenna dropped (Y/n) at a pretty popular celebrity hangout, that way she wouldn’t know who she was setting her up with. (Y/n) drummed her fingers on the table, fist against her cheek as she waited for some kind of clue for who it might be when someone unexpected caught her eye at the bar. Olivia Rodrigo. A guilty pit fell in her stomach as she looked around, completely abandoning whoever Jenna might be dropping off soon now that she was settled. Instead, she approached the brunette who was ordering a glass of wine.

“Good choice. I’ll have the same.” She settled by the girl, who looked over and smiled a bit. “It’s been awhile, Liv,” (Y/n) greeted her friend. She has always had sort of a thing for Olivia, not that she would say it out loud. Only Jenna knew. “How has the music scene been going? Please tell me your third album is coming out soon. I’ve been craving a new vinyl with your name on it.” (Y/n), being a big supporter of her friends’ works, bought their movies and vinyl's. This included Olivia. She had her Sour album, her Guts album, and even her Guts Deluxe album.

A small smile fell on Olivia lips as she sipped her wine. “I didn’t expect to see you here, (Y/n).” She leaned in, closer to the girl. “The third album might come sooner than you think.” She said with a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “What about you? What have you been working on as of late? Any movie I should be keeping my eyes out for?” Olivia winked, causing (Y/n)’s cheeks to heat up. She reminded herself, in that moment, that she swore off dating. She couldn’t flirt with Olivia. But Olivia seemed to be flirting, a little bit, with her. Was she being delusional?

Their conversation continued, and (Y/n) forgot about the fact that she was there for Jenna and whoever she would be bringing. She didn't know if there was anyone waiting for her, looking out for her. Her attention was just on Olivia. "Honestly, I wasn't excited to come out here tonight." (Y/n) swirled the wine around in her glass as more was poured. Their conversation had turned into something less of small talk. Now, they were going into deeper conversations, both agreeing that the dating scene has sucked. But there was an ease to their conversation that made them feel comfortable. That's how all of their conversations seemed to go.

Olivia frowned a bit, eyes searching (Y/n)'s for a moment. "Oh? Why is that?" She questioned the girl. (Y/n) found herself at a loss, not knowing how to explain that she had abandoned a potential date to join Olivia. Mostly because she knew that leaving whoever it was behind like that was wrong. However, she couldn't help herself to be so drawn in to the girl in front of her. She just had this way about her that always drew (Y/n) in. From their first conversation, Olivia had become someone (Y/n) deeply appreciated and welcome into her life. And that wasn't something she did often.

"Well, I don't want you to think I'm a bad person. It's just… Jenna was trying to set me up with someone, but I've just sworn off dating. Though, I'm starting to think that… you know, I shouldn't do that." She cleared her throat, cheeks burning at the insinuation that she would give up dating for Olivia. But she would. She would love to take Olivia on a date and not just sit in front of a bar, talking over a couple glasses of wine. "I just totally abandoned whoever she was trying to set me up with because I saw you. I couldn't help myself."

A smile fell on Olivia's lips. For a moment, she had turned away from (Y/n) before she let her brown eyes meet (Y/n)'s eyes again. "You didn't abandon your date. Jenna had me come meet you here because I swore it, dating, off, too. I'm also thinking that was a dumb idea, now, though. I just needed some wine before I walked over to you because… You make me nervous. Jenna asked me about you, and I said you were stunning and like the perfect person. That's how this whole thing got set up. I just was too nervous to tell you 'hi' when walking in." She admitted softly. The admission cause (Y/n) to lose that guilty feeling that was heavy on her chest before she leaned in. Olivia followed in the motion, their lips connecting gently.

They were both lost in the feeling before the bar tender told them they couldn't make-out there. So, (Y/n) pulled away, paid for both of their drinks, and left a big tip before leading Olivia out of the building. Olivia had taken her to her car, dropping (Y/n)'s assumptions that Jenna had dropped her off as well. This was a good thing because now, as two celebrities who were followed constantly by paparazzi, they had a sense of privacy. (Y/n) drew Olivia back in and the two kissed for long moments until they couldn't breath anymore.

"Just so you know… I'm going to take you out now. This time, without Jenna finding her way into the relationship." She joked, causing Olivia to grin widely. Their lips were reconnected, and the two knew that they about to be so lost in each other for what very well might be forever, with any luck.

[tryandbehappy]

I don’t even know where to start. Let’s break down the writers’ intention first, and then I’ll analyze it.

Out of all the possible outcomes, this was honestly the worst on, not just because it’s the one we didn’t want, but because it’s the shallowest. They used Nick, and the fans’ love for him, just to create a shock twist. What were they trying to say? That someone who survives within Gilead could never deserve a normal life? Maybe I even agree with that idea in theory. But the way they executed his death was awful.

They never actually showed Nick doing anything wrong on-screen. All the moral ambiguity was off-screen. And there was always a possibility they’d twist it last minute to reveal he was a villain. But from the perspective of emotional manipulation? This was brutal.

This is what’s known as a “shock for the sake of shock” a writing device where the creators deliberately go against the logic of their own story just to trigger an immediate emotional reaction: surprise, grief, rage, disbelief. It can work if the twist is emotionally and narratively earned, but most of the time, it ends up as narrative betrayal.

Here’s what defines this kind of twist:

-It contradicts everything we know about the character, making the audience feel tricked.

-It destroys emotional investment, because the entire journey we followed with the character suddenly doesn’t matter.

-It lacks narrative honesty instead of letting us witness conflict, transformation, or consequences, the story just drops death like a fact, not a resolution.

-It denies catharsis, we’re left with no space to mourn or reflect because the character is killed despite the story, not because of it.

What we have here: they wanted to make a statement about morality or the system, sacrificing the character for the message, forgetting that this character already means something deeper to the audience.

At its core, this is emotional exploitation of the viewer: build up an iconic love story, layer it with emotional depth and meaning, and then simply say forget it, he died like a dog, and this isn’t even a tragedy, it’s a lesson.

That’s why these twists don’t just make fans sad. they make them feel betrayed.

The Handmaid’s Tale has always been a show about extreme cruelty, but also about resistance, hope, and the idea that good can prevail. And here, they gave us the most intimate, beautifully filmed scenes of love, Nick’s love for June, their bond, his sacrifices and then had him die like a dog. Meanwhile, characters who did far worse things Aunt Lydia, Serena, Lawrence get redemption arcs and walk away cleaner than Nick ever did.

They did all of this to shock us. To hurt us. And the worst part is, they didn’t even let us mourn him properly. Because in the final scene, we’re not even supposed to feel sorry for him. They framed it like he chose the wrong side, that he somehow deserved what happened. And that is just… vile.

Calling this a “love letter to fans” is pure mockery. Especially knowing how they carefully baited us all season giving us beautiful scenes, emotional intimacy, suggestive dialogue. It wasn’t in our heads. It was crafted. And now they call this heartbreak “a gift”? That’s sadism. That’s Gilead-level manipulation.

Nick ends up being framed as the one true “bad guy,” despite everything we know and love about him. Despite his arc, his humanity, his pain. And they didn’t even give him a meaningful death.

So I ask was it worth it? Was this really the story you wanted to tell? And calling it a “love letter” just adds insult to injury.

The whole episode was stuffed with scenes that felt rushed and absurd, with cartoonish logic. And no execution, especially in a brutal regime like Gilead’s, would end the way they portrayed that hanging. Not without real consequences. Not without blood.

So they really want us to believe that Luke and a bunch of handmaids just magically took out a group of armed guards and no one got hurt? That’s honestly laughable. It was childish. The way it was filmed like a playground fight scene.

But what they clearly wanted to show is that Nick was the man who picked the wrong side, and so he “deserved” what he got. All while keeping everything vague and off-screen.

Honestly, I don’t even know how to comment on this anymore. What I do know is that they used the fans, played with us, and mocked the very love story they carefully built. They knew they had created a huge emotional fanbase around Nick and June. They gave us fairytale visuals, Disney-style parallels, deep, intimate moment, all to twist the knife at the very end. That’s not drama. That’s emotional sadism.

And that’s all I really have to say. There won’t be any more videos. I can’t even bring myself to rewatch their scenes anymore. It feels tainted now.

I used to think Peter Quinn’s death was the worst one out there, meaningless, undeserved. But at least he died a hero, trying to save the President of the United States. It didn’t make much sense, sure, and Carrie forgot him way too fast. But at least he wasn’t punished by the narrative.

Meanwhile, Nick’s death? It was framed as something he deserved. because he stayed in Gilead, even after his father-in-law murdered those girls. As if that proves he was never going to change. As if none of his sacrifices ever mattered.

What did they even accomplish with this twist?

Sure, they got their shock moment today, but for most fans, for the majority of their loyal base it’s now unpleasant to even rewatch the show. Rewatching June and Nick’s scenes feels hollow, painful, or even meaningless. And I genuinely don’t understand who does this to their own story. They had something beautiful they could continue to profit from , emotionally, artistically, even financially through rewatchability, legacy, and fan engagement. And instead, they burned it for a one-time shock payoff in season six.

And the worst part? This could have been done beautifully. If they wanted to show tragedy, if they wanted to show how trapped he was they could’ve done it emotionally, meaningfully, powerfully. But they didn’t. They just used us, their most devoted viewers to create a “twist.”

Like, yeah, what’s the most shocking thing they could possibly do?

Serena betraying someone? Obvious.

Lawrence switching sides? Expected.

Aunt Lydia doing something cruel? Nothing new.

But Nick? Nick dying like a dog, stripped of dignity, labeled a villain, denied both love and redemption that’s the twist no one saw coming. And yes, they were right. no one predicted it.

But at what cost? They destroyed the emotional core of their own show just to surprise us for five minutes. Now the rewatch value is gone. The emotional resonance is gone. The love story they crafted and framed as sacred is gone.

All for what?

It doesn’t make any fucking sense. So yeah, this is where we’re at. I don’t know what else to say, guys.

[ultred]

my sp success story + how i’m maintaining our relationship.

a little bit about myself pre-sp.

before meeting my current sp, i went through a rough breakup and let’s just say— that individual was extremely abusive. i think i manifested the breakup because it was so sudden and it didn’t make “any sense.” it was extremely random and out of that person’s “character” and honestly, i know i could’ve manifested a completely new relationship with them but i didn’t want to. i felt way more free after the breakup and it’s actually the reason why i became a better manifestor and manifested my current sp.

i was stuck in the same cycle. always in toxic relationships. always surrounded by individuals who weren’t my type at all. always in shitty situations until the breakup. i DECIDED that i don’t want to be stuck in the same cycle anymore. and looking back at my previous relationships, i really did not stick to my standards at all which made me a bit resentful towards my partners. i think i lowkey wanted to put myself in painful situations because that’s what i was used to. (ego feeling safe in toxic dynamics) i knew i was worth more, way more, but i chose to always belittle myself and settle for less and what was “normal.” i chose continuously to experience the worst version of people too. i always chose to be with the worst person i can possibly see and think of in any room. i always chose to continue being with people who were inconsistent and overall just horrible. this even led to me experiencing signs of cheating or disloyalty over and over. it was a form of self sabotage until it ruined my life. it ruined my mental health. my “image.” my self worth. my confidence. it even ruined the way i view relationships and how i experience love. i thought that i was done for at some point. that i’ll never be able to experience love because my brain was “too fried” atp and mentally drained to ever genuinely feel or experience it. i never knew what true and pure love was. and if you’re anything like i was, i promise you, that can all completely change once you decide that enough is enough.

after the breakup.

i remember that i was so mad and felt a lot of anger towards that person and honestly, that anger helped me A LOT. it was the part of me that wanted better for myself. that’s why i don’t believe that anger is always a bad thing. i let myself feel my emotions. and to be completely honest, i was way too emotionally exhausted by that person that it was so easy to let go of them. i felt nothing towards them afterwards (i’m pretty sure i never did, it was just the attachment to a certain idea) and i completely let go of the idea of being in a relationship at that time. i became so detached from my 3d.

the moment everything shifted.

i remember lying in my bed and imagining my ideal relationship. i thought about marriage and the person i’ll spend the rest of my life with. i imagined everything about that person. their personality, appearance, age, education, voice, background, where they live, etc. literally everything. i had that knowing/feeling that they’re mine already. that one day i’ll meet them. i was satisfied enough with the thought of them. it “almost felt like” i was already experiencing this relationship and truly felt the love and every other emotion i wanted to experience and slept. at that time, i didn’t know that what i did was SATS. since then, i’ve always sworn by it because it completely transformed my life even until this moment. (you can manifest however you want, i’m just saying that this is what worked for me) i told myself that i’ll no longer settle for less. this person is already mine and they’re the only person i’ll accept.

a few days after the breakup, my friends kept telling me that i should reinstall IG and i usually refuse or not care that much but i felt inclined to do so. it felt so natural to me and i didn’t think much about it. (which can be considered inspired action) i started to work on my self concept, my mental health, and only focused on myself and my well being. i received so many dms from so many different people and i rejected all of them. i stuck to my end, to the person i wanted and this time, i did not settle for anything less. i also completely detached from the idea of being in a relationship. i was open to it, but i didn’t NEED it. i already knew that my next relationship would be exactly how i wanted with my exact ideal person so i didn’t care when it happened. i received so many friend requests and i was like “why not accept?” and accepted them. my ex came back too, begging me to be with them but i still stuck to my end. i was unfazed by everything in the 3d. i just did whatever i felt like at that moment.

how my sp and i met and how did it work out between us.

while accepting the friend requests, my sp caught my attention because usually people who follow me, we have a lot of mutuals in common. my sp and i only had one mutual and that mutual was someone who followed me by accident and thought i was another person. i accepted them and didn’t think much about it. my sp then started replying to my notes and let me tell you— i did not like that mf at all. i ignored them a lot. i didn’t really want to talk to them. i was even talking to other people. despite having some negative assumptions about my sp, i developed a strong self concept regarding relationships and people in general. i fully knew that any person who is interested in me will do anything to be with me, even if they have to change themselves to the better. one of the traits i am really attracted to in people is determination, which my sp FULLY embodied. that mf was so determined to be with me despite me being a complete ass to them. they even messaged me exactly what i visualized before going to sleep such as whether i’m interested in marriage or not. i was completely and authentically myself and i didn’t care whether anyone liked me or not. (i was raised to become a people pleaser, which i always tried my best to reject) and when i tell you they handled me so well, they really did, and that’s when i became attracted to them.

i viewed their profile and it really caught my attention. they didn’t seem to use IG at all and they admitted so. they told me that they’re barely on IG and don’t really use social media that much which is something i liked a lot. they barely followed anyone too. barely posted. it didn’t even feel suspicious, it felt normal. usually i’d be like nah, that’s dangerous but with them, it felt different and i even manifested constant proof that they’re harmless. we started talking a lot and they pissed me off a lot too but they didn’t give up and really respected my feelings. they’d always apologize and never repeat the same mistake again. when we got closer, i realized that they are exactly the person i visualized down to the tee. personality, appearance, voice, interests, lifestyle, beliefs about relationships, age, where they live, their family members, their university, etc. etc. even their first initial ! literally everything. i started to panic a bit and i self sabotaged and pushed them away. then i was like no, they are exactly the person i visualized, let me give them a chance and i manifested them messaging me again after mutually deciding to not talk. (p.s i was a complete mess and i still manifested that so your emotions really don’t matter and your self concept doesn’t have to be perfect 24/7. you’ll have your moments and it’s okay. you’ll eventually get there. you just have to persist in your desire, however you want) we then got way closer and there are so many things about that person that completely changed too. i manifested them becoming better and better everyday. from accepting everything about me to doing everything i wanted. then we met irl and since then, i’ve been in the best relationship ever.

how am i maintaining the relationship ?

i’ve developed a better self concept but sometimes traumas and fears can arise and i’ve been learning to deal with them. i did self sabotage a lot even after getting together. i’ve manifested them hurting me multiple times too and that’s when i started to really get into loa. i’ve always known about loa and even beyond the surface level, but i really wanted to have a healthy relationship and i was determined to do so.

my current sp made me realize that my beliefs about myself and relationships matter more than anything as well as my assumptions about certain people. but even if i assume the worst about someone, it still all comes down to my self concept because it’s the reason why i’m assuming the worst in the first place. it all starts with self and that’s true. so i did a little experiment. whenever i thought negatively about love, assumed the worst, and put my full awareness on negative things, they’d manifest in my relationship. whenever i thought positively about love and my sp, assumed the best, and put my full awareness on positive things, they’d also manifest in my relationship. i didn’t do anything in either. i just observed my sp. i even visualized and affirmed them doing and saying specific things to me, whether good or bad, and they both happened. it reached to the point where any song i’d listen to, even the most random ones, would literally be on their phone and they’d randomly play them when we’re together or mention them while texting. i let go of resentment. i let go of trying. i let go of all that and just decided. i asked myself do i really want this person and relationship ? and decided that i do. i decided that i’ll only focus on the version i want them to be, the love i want to experience, and who i am choosing to be. the more i focus on myself and what i deserve, the more they reflect that back to me so i’d be insane to still choose to experience negative things when i can simply experience the positive. and to help myself even more, i assume that even if i’m overthinking or feeling negative emotions, they always prove to me that they’re false and that everything is okay. every day i see how they’re my type and ideal for me more and more.

i know i rambled a lot but i wanted this to be proof that manifesting your ideal person is not out of reach and is completely possible. i am a perfect example of that because i manifested my sp although i am barely close to anyone irl, don’t really meet a lot of people, was completely isolated, went through horrible breakups, had the shittiest self concept when it came to love, was going through a lot mentally, and so much more. i barely even talked about all the “crazy” things i’ve manifested with them and trust me, the way we met and everything we’ve been through together until this second proves that imagination is the actual reality and the decider of how your 3d unfolds. everything i’ve been through previously in life was also “proof” that i couldn’t experience what i wanted but i refused to accept that. i was told that i’ll never find someone like them and i didn’t accept that. now i have someone, who i’ve manifested out of thin air, literally worship the ground i walk on and we’ve been together for a long time now.

your 3d is not evidence for anything. it doesn’t prove anything. if you want something, you can have it no matter what anyone tells you and no matter what you see. if you want it, it’s yours. if you can imagine it, it’s yours. you deserve to experience love and be with someone who fits you perfectly, treats you well, and gives you everything you want. yes, EVERYTHING. it all comes down to you.

[i-have-stolen-endless-names]

The Devil In Love - Prologue

Possible Trigger Warnings

>>Alucard is a Warning on his own.<<

Overall Yandere Themes

Mentions of: Manipulation, Stalking, Alucard is thinking of biting you and drinking your blood, the beginning of obsessive and possessive behavior

Minors please do not interact!

Content

Reader is working at the Hellsing manor as a housekeeper

Story is set before the happenings of Hellsing - Still Spoilers ahead

Reader is gender neutral, no pronouns are used but "you"

Age, ethnicity, height, weight and any other physical attributes are never mentioned. You are free and encouraged to imagine yourself or an OC in this scenario.

Index

Next Chapter: The First Step

Follow me for more!

The vampire king was a rather lonely man. He was always looking for attention. Often he would manifest out of the shadows just to delight in the shock of people around him. It was also a regular occurrence that he eavesdropped on other peoples conversations. Occasionally there would be even something interesting in those endless halls.

It was harmless, really, his desire to get involved in everything. Of course, no one agreed with that. No one wanted a dangerous vampire to know everything about them.

Mind you, he never knew everything about someone. That would simply consume too much time and it would not be worth it. Yes, humanity intrigued him but his curiosity rarely bordered on interest or even adoration. The people he took a liking to could be counted on one hand - and even there he had never expected the number to grow. At least so he firmly believed until you came along.

Oh, you really should not have come here. Hellsing was no place for you. Not because you lacked the qualifications. No, he was certain that you were as capable as any other human working in this old building.

But no one of them had caught his interest like you did. It was a curse, not a blessing, did you understood that?

Any drop of attention you gave him. Every glance that you shot him. It all made his skin burn in the most delectable painful way. He was dead. Not even a corpse in the traditional sense. Alucard was nothing but sin taken form. A devil in disguise. But you made him feel hot-blooded. Hunger was something he was painfully familiar with. But such longing? You were in deep trouble. No matter if you understood it or not.

On his best days, he was still a dangerous, foul beast that loomed in the shadows. Million of eyes were focused on you alone, teeth aching to be buried in your neck.

On his worst, he would watch you sleep. His mind flooded with dark thoughts of how vulnerable you were. How weak... It would be so easy to make you drop into his arms, willing and ready. You would bare your throat to him and beg him to be bitten.

But for some reason, he felt almost appalled at the thought of using his abilities on you. He rationalized it with the knowledge that someone might find out, that Integra would be beyond furious if he toyed with her workforce more than he normally did.

Besides, he had seduced so many people already. He did not need to influence you mentally to make you swoon for him.

So he got... busy. It was better than rotting away in his basement, at least so Integra thought. This might be one of the reasons why she did not intervene when he reportedly appeared around you. To the point of distracting you from your work.

But keeping Alucard from being a menace was still work worth paying. The other servants of the manor felt a bit torn on this whole situation, especially those you had been close with. At least your presence kept Alucard busy enough to not terrorize them.

A dog on a leash could still bite. And his teeth were so very sharp. He gladly reminded you of them whenever he could. Often flashing you that wide grin that went way too far up his cheeks.

He would watch you work on hours before he chose to reveal himself. If he even chose to reveal himself. A few teasing remarks here and there - it was often unclear to others what he wanted aside from attention. But there was one thing he desired more at the moment than that. He wanted you. Although he had engaged in conversation with you a few times already, he was growing impatient.

There were many things he wanted of you. He would start with your blood. All he needed was your consent...

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