#‘from the memories that never fade away’

[rosenclaws]

Would You Fall In Love with Me Again || Worst!Logan x Reader

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change Would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love

warnings: angsty af, happy ending, sad logan.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: I heard this song and immediately pictured Logan so this fic was cooked up! I hope y'all like it <3 I'd recommend listening to the song while reading or before or after! Its a great musical btw

Logan holds the small piece of paper in his hands. It's been crumpled and flattened countless times. He turns it over in his hands, the faded black in is just bright enough to read. He glances down at it again. Written on it is an address. Laura's words playing over and over in his head.

Find her. She would want to see you.

Would you? Would you want to see him? He's not the same man that you knew. He's not your man. He's not the hero you remember. He's just a broken, tired, old man. He's a coward.

Laura gave him your address shortly after he came to his world. But he never went. He was afraid. This tiny slip of paper would keep him up at night. If the nightmares didn't get to him first than this stupid, little paper did. He debated on throwing it away.

You didn't need him. You were better off without him. But was he? You were his better half. Always had been. Just one look, a meeting. Closure. So he set off to find you one last time.

Each foot step weighs heavy as he marches to your front door. A small cabin tucked away from the the busy town only a few miles away. This is his handiwork. Logan always promised you that he'd build you a house one day, when you two were done with all the X-Men bullshit.

He had already written out the plans back before...before he lost you. Initials are carved into one of the wood boards. His fingers running over the letters, tracing them as his mind floods with memories of you.

He raises his fist and knocks at your door. His ears straining to hear you move behind the wooden door. Though if you didn't answer he couldn't blame you. He's the ghost of the man you once loved standing on your doorstep. He waits and waits and nothing.

His shoulders sag in defeat. What was he thinking? This was stupid. He takes the paper and crumbles it up in his hands, throwing it as far as he could into the woods.

"Pretty sure that's littering." He freezes at the sound of your voice. He knows it's you. He doesn't need to see your face, this voice had been haunting his nightmares for years.

"Logan?" He nearly falls to his knees. His name sounds so sweet coming from your lips. He hasn't heard it in so long. Ever so slowly he turns around, a part of him afraid this is another dream.

"Is it really you?" You're holding a grocery bag, dressed up for the cold weather. He's frozen as you walk up to him. Your eyes shine with tears as your hand reaches out for him.

"Please tell me its you." Your hand cups his face.

Thumb lightly brushing over his face. He looks different. He looks tired. So much pain behind those gorgeous eyes. He melts into your touch. He clenches his fists at his side as he leans his head into your hand.

"My love, how I've missed you." Logan opens his eyes to see the wedding band sitting on your finger. He never got the chance to give that to you.

"Sweetheart...I'm not the same man." He wishes he was. God he wishes he could sweep you up in his arms. Runaway and live in this cabin for all eternity. You smile softly. Your hand leaves his face and he visibly sinks.

"Come inside yeah?" Without thinking he takes the grocery bag out of your hands and follows you inside. There's not much inside.

"Laura told me about you, she sent letters when she came back." You explain as you reach into the fridge and pull out a beer, his favorite.

"I buy a new pack every week, in case you ever showed up." You smile when you talk but Logan can only focus on the bottle in front of him. The guilt eating him alive.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes out.

"For what?" You ask. He looks at you in disbelief, how could you be so forgiving, so welcoming.

"I'm not your husband. I-I'm not the man you fell in love with." He places the beer on the counter. If he closes his eyes he can picture you and him in this little cabin. Be the family you both always wanted. But he's not yours.

"I know you aren't. I'm not a fool Logan. But..." He's not your husband, he's different. He's not a replacement for the man you once loved but your love for Logan was stronger than anything you've ever felt.

"Would you fall in love with me again? You don't know what I've done. I'm not worthy of the love you gave to him." A tear slips down Logan's face.

He sinks to the ground, on his knees. Silently begging to be loved by you once again. The shame of his past chains him to the ground, he can't even look at you.

"What did you do my love?" You cup his face and tilt his head up.

"I lost you, I lost everyone. I can still smell your blood, I can still hear your voice calling to me. But I walked away." He grabs onto your wrists and holds onto them desperately.

"I walked away from you." You wipe away a tear that falls down his cheeks. His normally stoic face crumbles into a mess of despair and loneliness.

"I needed to numb myself. I started drinking, I started killing. I left a trail of blood in my wake." He expects you to cower away from him. To be disgusted with what he's done.

"Once I started, I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I was so angry, so buried in my grief that the only thing I could feel was rage." The grip on your wrists is firm and tight. Not to the point of pain but he's locked around your hands. Please don't leave him again, please.

"Forgive me." You drop his face and it hangs low, ashamed of what he's revealed to you. You've been waiting for him, all this time only to come and disappoint you.

"If you think that's true, that you're not the same man I feel in love with. Then leave."

"W-What?" He's taken aback.

"You want me to leave?"

"I don't want you to leave but you keep saying you're not the same man. So if you truly believe that, than leave." Logan is stunned to silence.

"No." He says without thinking. He's spent every night missing you, thinking of you. You're here in front of him, it's not the same you but he still loves you. He will always love you.

"I can't leave you, I just found you again I...I won't." He stands up and takes your hand.

"This wedding band, I bought it after out first date. I knew, that I was in love with you but I was so scared to lose you." Tears fall down your face as he presses your hand against his face.

"I ended up losing you anyways."

"He told me that story when he proposed." You say softly. He may be from another universe but he will always be the love of your life.

"You asked if I'd fall for you again, how could I not?" He presses his forehead to yours, noses knocking together as you get to take in the man before you.

"I will always love you. I don't care how you got here, where you're from or what you've done. " You close your eyes as Logan wraps you up in his arms. Holding you close as he whispers apologies.

"No matter how long its been, you're mine." You kiss Logan fiercely, tasting the man who you've longed to hold in your arms again.

He's equally as desperate to feel you. His hands squeezing your sides gently as he walks you back until you hit the wall. Your hands run through his hair, the feeling of your wedding band in his hair only eggs him on.

Silently he thanks the universe for bringing him to you, for your forgiving, loving nature. He would have begged on his knees for a chance like this. He growls when you tug on his hair. His hand slipping up your shirt just to feel your skin. When you finally part he refuses to stay too far.

"Tell me Logan, how long as it been." Your heart aches to think of the pain he's been through. The life he's had to live without anyone to calm his self loathing thoughts.

"I can't even remember." He sounds so tired as he buries his face in your neck.

"It's okay, I'm here now."

"I love you." He whispers, a sense of relief washing over him as he utters the words he thought he'd never get to say again.

You had been waiting for him to come home and you would have waited until the day you too your last breath. He's worth it, all that waiting was worth it for you to call Logan yours.

"I love you too Logan, forever."

[hsnlv]

inescapable | l.hs

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: after a devastating betrayal, you thought you were free of heeseung’s grip. but when you meet again at a party, his manipulative charm and lingering touch pull you back into a dangerous game of love and control. walking away might not be the end.

warnings/others: manipulation?, a little suggestive.

wc: 1.2k

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated🖤 here’s my masterlist!

“you’re just making sure im never getting over you.”

heeseung swears he’s never fallen this hard for anyone. not like this. not for someone he once dared to call ordinary.

you.

sure, you might not have the same polished beauty as the other girls who turned heads so effortlessly, but you had something they didn’t.

the way you loved him—wholeheartedly, selflessly—made him feel like the center of your universe. like he was someone worthy of devotion, someone worth the kind of tenderness you gave so freely.

but even the most perfect paradise has its cracks. he slipped. he stumbled. and his mistakes were enough to cost him everything. now, you’re no longer his to hold.

yet there you are tonight, on the dance floor, glowing like a fucking vision. your dress clings to you like it was made to torment him, showing off every curve he once called his own. curves he marked with his lips, his teeth, his hands.

he doesn’t just see you; he feels you. the way your hips sway to the music, the sound of your laughter, even from across the room. it’s unbearable.

his grip tightens around his glass, the tension in his jaw spreading to every muscle in his body. jay, who’s been rambling about god-knows-what beside him, finally notices.

“dude,” jay mutters, glancing down at the glass in heeseung’s hand. “unless you wanna pay for damages, maybe loosen up a little?”

heeseung doesn’t respond. his eyes are fixed on you, watching the way you sway, the way your laughter echoes even over the music. it’s as if you’re mocking him without even trying.

the flashback hits him like a brick.

“are you fucking kidding me, lee heeseung? her? out of everyone you could’ve cheated on me with?” your voice was raw, trembling with rage and betrayal. it was loud enough to bounce off the walls, loud enough to haunt him even now.

“you’re so fucking pathetic for this,” you spat, tears glistening in your eyes.

but he didn’t say anything. didn’t even flinch. he just stood there, staring through you like you weren’t even real. like you were just air.

and fuck, if you could’ve cursed him out physically, you would’ve. but the love you had for him was a leash holding you back. it chained your anger, softened the edges of your words until all you could do was storm out, leaving him behind.

the memory fades, but the guilt lingers.

without thinking, he sets his drink down—hard—and cuts through the crowd. his long strides eat up the distance between you in seconds. before you can even register his presence, his hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

“what the hell, heeseung?” you snap, trying to pull your arm free.

“we need to talk.” his tone is low, firm, leaving no room for argument.

“like hell we do,” you bite back, your voice sharp as he drags you through the crowd and into a secluded corner of the house.

the music is muffled here, the only light coming from a nearby lamp. you yank your wrist out of his grasp, glaring at him with fire in your eyes. “what’s your problem? you don’t get to just manhandle me like that—”

“you know damn well what you’re doing right now,” he cuts you off, his voice steady but laced with frustration.

you blink, feigning innocence. “i’m attending a party. on behalf of my friend, who couldn’t make it. is that a crime now?”

he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “don’t play dumb with me. you think i don’t notice? the way you’re flaunting yourself, dancing like that, knowing i’m watching?”

“are you serious?” you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “you’re delusional. i’m not here for you, heeseung. the world doesn’t revolve around you, believe it or not.”

his jaw tightens. “you’re driving me fucking crazy, you know that?” he takes a step closer, his voice dropping an octave. “you—” he gestures at you, exasperated—“you make it impossible to think about anything else.”

you cross your arms, your glare unwavering. “weren’t you the one who decided i wasn’t worth your time anymore? or did you forget that part?”

“i made a mistake,” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. “i’ll admit that. but don’t act like you don’t want me.”

your heart skips a beat, but you refuse to let him see how his words affect you.

“don’t act like you’re not searching for me in every room you walk into,” he continues, his lips brushing against your ear. “don’t act like your eyes don’t light up every time i’m around.”

“you’re imagining things,” you whisper, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

his hand comes up to rest on the wall beside your head, caging you in. “am i?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“you don’t know shit about how i feel,” you snap, but your voice lacks conviction.

heeseung leans closer, his lips hovering just inches from your ears. “missed you, baby,” he whispers, his voice rough but soft enough to make your knees feel weak. “so fucking bad.”

your breath hitches, and he takes your silence as permission to continue.

“missed the way you felt in my arms,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “the way you’d look at me with those big, beautiful eyes like i was the only thing that mattered.”

you hate how his words send a pang through your chest, how they dig into old wounds you thought had healed.

“missed the way you’d say my name,” he continues, his lips curling into a small, almost nostalgic smile. “especially when you were underneath me, all breathless and needy. fuck, you don’t know how many nights i’ve thought about you. about us.”

“heeseung, stop,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a plea than a command.

“you’re killing me, baby,” he murmurs, leaning closer until his forehead almost touches yours. “i don’t think you even realize what you do to me. how much you still own me.”

your resolve is cracking, and he sees it.

“i shouldn’t want you this much,” he whispers, his voice breaking just slightly. “but i do. and i can’t stop.”

“you don’t get to say this to me,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavers. “not after what you did.”

“i know,” he says softly, his hand brushing against your arm. “i know i fucked up. but god, i’d do anything to take it back. anything to have you in my arms again.”

his words are honeyed poison, sweet and lethal, and you know you need to get out of this conversation before it’s too late.

“you’re disgusting,” you snap, trying to shove him back, but he doesn’t budge.

“and you’re still mine,” he says quietly, his lips ghosting over your neck now, pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. “even if you don’t want to admit it.”

your chest tightens, and for a moment, you falter. “you’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

he smiles, his lips curling against your skin. “maybe. but you loved me for it once, didn’t you?”

you clench your fists at your sides, summoning every ounce of strength you have. “this conversation is over, heeseung. stay the hell away from me.”

but even as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, his presence lingering like a ghost. and deep down, you know he’s not done.

not with you. not with this.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[personapeters]

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

— a jj maybank one shot (?)

✰ none if it was real — it was a dream; it was all just a dream.

rating: sfw — cw: depressing theme, s4 spoiler, graphic

˗ˏˋ listen & read: i know the end by phoebe bridges ˎˊ˗

the human mind is intricate — it’s ability to store, record, replay, create and delete different mediums of life. it’s bittersweet, saving each of your most cherished memories that you could only ever see again in the deepest grooves of your brain, allowing one to revisit them anytime they’d like and subsequently mourn all that will reside there, and only there, forever — childhood scents you’ll never smell again, the feel of loved ones hands you’ll never touch again or see again… unless you close your eyes.

“hey, no, no, it’s okay, it’s—it’s okay. look at me, jj, look at me — you’re gonna be okay. don’t—don’t move, okay? stay with me, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna— please, jj, you have to—.”

her own voice sounded miles away, echoing as though she was deeply nestled in the furthest end of a cold, dark, vacant cave, her plea’s consumed by the null void of nothingness, dissipating into no more than just that — nothingness.

“please, you’re okay, hey, you’re—you’re okay, jj, please!”

her screams ripped violently through her throat, burning like fire at her aching vocal cords, ringing relentlessly in her ears. warm blood bubbled through her shaking fingers as she pressed into his waist, painting her nails a deep shade of red.

an unknown force gripped her ankles, yanking her legs from underneath her and throwing her down onto her stomach with a thud, violently dragging her away.

she dug her bloody fingers deep into the ground, desperately clawing and scratching at the sand in an attempt to crawl her way back to him.

“jj! i’m—i’m coming! hold on, please, i’m here!”

his limp, nearly lifeless body became smaller and smaller in the distance as she was pulled further and further away, though she could still see his face so clearly — he was insanely vivid.

“i love you, y/n,” he strained, his dirty blond hair resting over his crystal blue orbs as his head slowly lolled to the side, his pink lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut, a single, shaky exhale escaping his lungs before he fell completely limp.

he was so far, so distant, yet felt so close — so much so that she could have sworn she felt a warmth on her skin as though he released his final breath against her neck.

she didn’t stop struggling against her invisible restraint, not even for a second, kicking and thrashing relentlessly as her sight began to fade, darkness tunneling her vision.

“NO! i love you, JJ!

i-i’m sorry, i’m so sorry…

PLEASE jay! JJ!”

her eyes shot open frantically as her pupils dilated, attempting to collect the dim moonlight streaming through the window. her chest heaved rapidly as beads of sweat collected at her hairline, tears streaming endlessly down her flushed cheeks as violent sobs tore through her trembling lips.

what the hell was that?

was it real?

where is he?

suddenly, a flick was heard and a pool of warm yellow light flooded the space, a previously unnoticed presence shifting beside her underneath the thick duvet.

“y/n?” a familiar voice groaned, and her head instantly snapped in it’s direction, her entire body trembling in the wake of her terror.

it’s him.

“jj!” she choked out, her voice catching in her throat, her mind painfully foggy and vision an intense blur as she flung her arms around his neck. she squeezed him tight, relief flooding her body like rushing water from a broken dam, her frame jolting violently as distressed cries spilled out of her mouth and into his chest.

“woah, hey, what—what’s wrong, baby? what happened?” he croaked out in concern, his voice still heavily laced with sleep, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist in return, rubbing a comforting hand in circles on her back.

“i had a dream you—you died, you were… you were bleeding, so much… there was—there was so much blood, jj, all over you and—and my hands, i felt it. i—i tried to get back to you, i tried… i tried to get to you and i couldn’t… i just couldn’t get to you—.”

“—shhh, it’s okay, y/n… hey — it’s okay,” he reassured, pulling his head back and locking eyes with her, the poor lamp lighting making his blue orbs appear an empty gray, “you’re okay.”

he pulled her close to his chest once more, running his fingers across her forehead to brush some of her disheveled, sweaty hair out of her face, though her skin was so numb, she couldn’t feel it.

“it—it just felt so real, like you were… like you were actually gone… i—i can’t explain it. i’ve never… i’ve never had a dream like that before…. you died right in front of me, and—and there was nothing i could—could do to save you, i couldn’t—”

“—shhh, just breathe, baby — breathe,

breathe,

BREATHE—”

“—BREATHE, JJ!

PLEASE! no, no, NO, PLEASE!

kiara! john b! POPE!”

“hey, hey, focus, baby — focus on me,” he whispered, his voice so soft, so faint, so far, she almost couldn’t hear him, “you’ll be okay… promise. i’m here…. i’m here, just close your eyes.”

close your eyes.

close your eyes.

CLOSE YOUR EYES.

she closed her eyes.

“hey, y/n?”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

“i love you.”

“take care of the others, okay?”

“what?”

“wake up.”

“wha—? jj, where—where’d you go?”

“y/n, wake up.”

“please, jj, turn the light back on… i—i can’t see, p-please!”

“Y/N!”

“NO… don’t—don’t leave me here! jj, where are you?!”

“wake up! Y/N! please,

wake UP!

Y/N, WAKE UP!”

“wake up, please!” kiara wailed from the edge of the bed, heavy tears pouring from her wide brown eyes, her hands resting on the girls shoulders from where she was vigorously shaking her awake.

y/n’s eyes shot open, her arms instinctively reaching for something to grip as she gasped for air. she quickly sat herself up straight, quickly scanning the entirety of her surroundings with bloodshot eyes.

where is he?

“are—are you okay?!” kiara cried, though she already knew the answer, her lips trembling as she stared intently at her friend, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest.

“jj…” y/n breathed out, her voice cracking as tears spilled out of her already red, raw, sore eyes, “where… where is he?”

“i— what… what do you mean?”

“he’s here,” y/n stammered, her volume getting louder, “where is he, kiara?!”

“y/n, he’s… he’s not…” kiara shook her head to herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she pursed her lips, her heart disintegrating even more than she ever thought humanly possible, “he’s not here.”

“he is, kie, he—he held me, i felt him. he talked to me, told me he loves me… i—i heard him,” y/n sobbed furiously, leaning forward as she jabbed a finger towards herself before pointing it at what was once his side of the bed.

“he was right here — i woke up and he was right… right here, why—why are you lying?! don’t lie, he was here, kiara!”

she had herself fooled for a short lived time — a blissful, almost peaceful, heaven sent time where her mind was too congested with sleep and grief to know any better…

…but the last remaining sliver of her sanity tugged at the nerves in her gut, twisting and pulling harshly until her stomach lurched, tumbling her headfirst back down to earth, crashing back into reality with a bone-shattering impact to the unforgiving ground.

part of her hoped that if she believed long enough, strongly enough, then somehow, as though life was a fairytale, in that cloudy space between an unconscious slumber and hovering reality, jj would step out of her foggy dream bubble —

— and that by some miracle from god, he’d come walking through the bedroom door, his bright, dimpled smile on full display as his ocean eyes glinted with mischief, eager to let everyone know it some elaborate, sick joke and that they had all fallen for it.

but that wasn’t going to happen.

and she knew that.

“you—you were screaming, y/n… in your sleep,” kiara weeped pitifully, tilting her head as she furrowed her brows, “you didn’t… you didn’t just see him… here, did you?”

y/n shook her head slowly as she screwed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands and crumbling sideways against the mattress, taking a deep, shaky inhale that hardly squeezed through her clenching airway before letting out a glass shattering, gut wrenching, throat tearing, blood curdling scream.

heartache.

sadness.

torment.

despair.

sorrow.

hatred.

misery.

anger.

regret.

pain.

love.

one could hear them all fighting through in the piercing octaves of her cry; every emotion — every. single. one.

all kiara could do was collapse beside her, pulling the girl’s head into her neck and cradling her, allowing their collective tears to merge as their bodies convulsed against one another.

“tell me he was here, kie! tell me you—you saw him, too!” y/n screeched, her breaths short and quick as kiara rubbed softly on her back; she, too, wanted to scream — wanted someone to tell her the exact words y/n was wrongfully hoping for, and to mean it.

“i wish i— i wish i could, baby,” kiara whispered, placing her wet lips against y/n’s temple, knowing there was absolutely nothing she, or anyone, could say — nothing they could do.

no amount of denial was going to bring him back.

sweet jj maybank,

the outer banks’ sunshine boy,

was gone.

“it was just… it was all a dream?”

“it was all a dream.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[1mnshw]

out with lanterns | s.r.

wc: 1.3k

category: angst

spencer reid x reader

content: breakup, no happy ending, reader hates themselves, i project on reader

this kind of sucks a little but i wanted to write something before i went to sleep! enjoy it or don't! love you nonetheless.

-----

"I am out with lanterns / looking for myself" - Emily Dickinson

-----

The afternoon sun spilled through the windows, striking his brown eyes and turning them into molten pools of honey that seemed to seep into your very soul, warming every corner of your being. The way his button-up shirt clung to his broad shoulders, perfectly tailored as though it had been made for him, sent a pang through your chest—a reminder of all the ways you wished you could hold him instead. His scent lingered in the air, a warm mixture of faded cologne, old pages of treasured books, and something ineffable—something so uniquely Spencer that it left you breathless.

These details—these little, inconsequential details—were carved into your memory like ancient scripture, as though he were the only thing you'd ever truly seen.

He was perfect. Perfect in ways that made your chest ache. You told him as much during the quiet moments you shared, wrapped in the cocoon of his apartment walls. When the soft glow of his bedside lamp traced his jaw like a lover, and you felt the whisper of his eyelashes brushing yours as he leaned in, lips soft and searching, you often wondered how the universe had granted you the privilege of him.

But you didn’t deserve him. Not really.

You were a mess, and you knew it. Everyone knew it. Spencer deserved someone better—someone unbroken, someone who wouldn’t weigh him down with their chaos. Someone who could love him without reservation or fear.

This was why you had to leave, no matter how much it hurt. You were doing this for him—because you loved him. So fully. So completely.

But God, it was so damn hard to force the words past your lips with him standing in front of you, that familiar crooked smile on his face—the smile that made your heart stutter every time.

“Spencer, I’m sorry. But I don’t, um…” Your voice wavered, and his face shifted, his smile falling as your meaning began to take shape. You looked down, unable to bear the confusion darkening his honeyed gaze. “I don’t think I can be with you anymore.”

Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat quickly, desperate to make this as painless as possible. A clean break—a shot instead of a stab. But the moment his brows furrowed, and he took a hesitant step closer, you knew it would never be that simple.

“What?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I—did I do something?”

He sounded as if you’d ripped the breath from his lungs, and his eyes searched yours with a desperation that made your resolve quiver.

Spencer loved you unfathomably, with a depth that scared you. You were his solace, his refuge, his everything. More than books, more than reason, more than life itself. He loved you in ways that made the air feel heavier between you now.

And he couldn’t understand—why were you doing this?

You cleared your throat, swallowing the lump threatening to choke you. You had to hold yourself together.

“It’s not you, Spencer. It’s nothing you did—I swear.” Your voice trembled as you spoke, your fingers instinctively brushing away the hot tear slipping down your cheek. Spencer moved as though to reach for you, his hand stuttering midair before retreating, the hesitation breaking your heart all over again.

Spencer’s hand fell to his side, his fingers curling into a trembling fist as though trying to anchor himself in a reality that was slipping away. His eyes, wide and brimming with a tempest of confusion and hurt, held yours with a desperation that pierced straight through you.

“You can’t just say that and expect me to understand,” he said, his voice rough and uneven. “What do you mean, you can’t do this anymore? You—we—” He paused, his breath hitching, as though even forming the words was a betrayal of the time you’d spent together. “I thought we were happy. I thought you were happy.”

Your chest tightened painfully, each word striking like a blow. “I thought I was too,” you whispered, forcing yourself to look away. If you met his eyes any longer, you’d break entirely. “But I’m not, Spencer. I can’t—I’m not the person you think I am. I’m not someone who can give you what you need.”

His laugh came sharp and bitter, so unlike him that it startled you. “You don’t get to decide what I need,” he said, taking a step closer. “And you’re wrong, you know. I do know you. I know how you push people away when they get too close—how you think you’re protecting them from something. From you.”

Your breath hitched, his words cutting through you like a blade.

“You think I don’t see it?” he continued, his voice softening but losing none of its weight. “Every time you start to believe someone might actually stay, you convince yourself it’s only a matter of time before they leave, so you push them away first. But I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I’m here. Why can’t you just let me stay?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave. “It’s not that simple,” you choked out. “You deserve someone who isn’t—who isn’t a mess. Someone who isn’t broken like me.”

“You’re not broken,” he said, his voice trembling with urgency. “And even if you were, I’d love every broken piece of you. I do love every piece of you. Don’t you see that? I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”

You shut your eyes against the tenderness in his words, against the tears welling up in his eyes, against the unbearable truth of his love for you. The dam inside you threatened to give way, but you couldn’t let it. Not now. Not here.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said, your voice breaking like fragile glass as you stepped back, putting the final distance between you. “But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be what you need.”

“Don’t do this,” he begged, his voice splintering into shards that cut through the silence. A single tear broke free, sliding down his cheek, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “Please. Don’t walk away. Please, Y/N.”

But you had to.

If you stayed, he would tether himself to you, never letting go, even as the weight of your brokenness pulled him under. He would give himself over to your pain, let it consume him, and you couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Not to Spencer.

Your hand found the doorknob, your grip faltering as you hesitated, a war raging in your chest. You turned your head slightly, not enough to see him but enough for the words to escape like a prayer you didn’t believe in.

“I’ll always love you, Spencer,” you said, the confession splintering under the weight of your voice. “But this is goodbye.”

The door clicked shut behind you, a sound so soft and final it felt like the end of the world.

Inside, Spencer stood frozen, staring at the door as if sheer force of will could make it swing open again. The silence was deafening, the space around him cavernous and empty, echoing with the ghost of your absence. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor, his head falling into his hands as sobs ripped through him, raw and unrelenting.

Outside, each step away from him felt like tearing yourself apart piece by piece. The stairwell stretched endlessly before you, the weight of the air pressing down on your chest. By the time you reached the street, your tears fell freely, hot trails cutting through the cold sting of the wind.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

But Spencer did. For hours, he sat by the door, his gaze fixed on it, waiting, hoping, silently pleading with the universe to send you back.

But the universe didn’t listen.

And in the quiet of his apartment, where your scent still lingered like a ghost and the memories of your touch haunted the air, he felt himself unravel.

You were gone.

And for Spencer, the world didn’t end in fire or ice. It ended in silence, in a love too heavy to hold and too beautiful to forget, and in the hollow echo of a goodbye that would never stop reverberating in his soul.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

If you're down for disaster fics, I'd love to see something where the team finds out Buck and Tommy are back together (it's been a secret ssshhhhh) after they get into a car accident together and they respond to the call. (Maybe Buck asked off for ~reasons~ and wouldn't tell anyone.)

Signed,

Actually V88SY

There’s this sound, a high-pitched whistling. Like shattered glass, its fragments rubbing against each other’s edges forever and ever. The sound shuts out everything else, even thoughts, though memories remain. This isn't the first time Buck has heard that tone, is it?

He’s twelve, almost 13, when he sneaks into the club through the backdoor; there’s a rock concert, and there’s a girl he knows will be there. Buck doesn’t have $40, he just has a crush, and there’s nobody at the backdoor. In the end, he stares at the bartender for a long time, fascinated by the guy’s long blonde hair and the clear kohl line around his green eyes. The girl he's interested in is somewhere in the crowd, and as Buck pushes his way through the dancing and jumping people, he ends up at the stage. He doesn't know the band, they're just a couple of loud musicians as far as that's concerned, but the bass booms through the speakers next to which he’s standing, and the strobe light burns into his retinas. It's exciting, at least until the next day, when there’s this high-pitched, loud whistling in his ears that just won't go away. He's tired from the long night, but using the noise as an excuse to miss school is a mistake. His mother drags him to the ear specialist, who diagnoses a hypersensitivity to high-pitched sounds, but that doesn't stop Buck from sitting in class by noon.

It sounds about the same now. Everything else is faded out, even... somehow, his body. He’s probably lying in bed, in that fleeting, foggy state just before falling asleep. Maybe he went to a concert? Maybe Buck decided, twenty years later, to make up for what he did as a teenager and actually pay for a band he likes. It’s just, he’s not a big music guy. Tommy is, though.

Why, of all people, Tommy is now creeping into his mind he doesn’t know, but why not? Why shouldn't he think of Tommy just before falling asleep, something he’s been doing for months anyway. About a week before the breakup, they talked about a concert, didn't they? Buck remembers smiling and nodding, watching Tommy enthusiastically talk about a band he had loved since he was a teenager, and who were actually playing a concert in L.A. A day later, Buck bought tickets without telling his boyfriend. Tommy never asked him to go to the event; he just assumed that Buck wouldn't be interested, and although Buck's secret was heavy on his tongue, it was easy to keep it because Tommy seemed to have forgotten about it. But that was months ago, and then they had broken up. Maybe, just maybe, Buck has gone to the concert alone, if only to remember what Tommy loved. He likes that thought. As it often does, one thought leads to another, and he remembers other times, other things. Places they’ve been together, people they met, things they’ve done. And things they would have liked to do, it all gets mixed up, a special cocktail. Ingredients: dreams and memories.

Buck is sleepy, warm and almost comfortable, if it weren't for that relentless whistling. He can't feel his body, which must mean that he has sunk deep into the mattress, his limbs heavy from a long shift. After the breakup, Buck spent so many days and nights lying in bed, watching Tommy’s traces vanish bit by bit. Then he thought of how the soft surface under Tommy's body had given way, sometimes leaving a hollow the next morning; a hollow with Tommy's outline that disappeared as the memory foam slowly returned to its original shape. Often he imagined they’d reconciled, realizing their split was the wrong move. In this scenario, Buck had fought for it, had demanded they’d talk, tear-streaked and desperate, but with vigor.  And then, after more and mutual tears, long talks and confessions, they'd have pressed new hollows into the mattress, together.

Those fantasies never really stopped, they went on, he remembers every single one of them. Why now? He can’t say, but they’re sure distracting him from the sound in his ears. All these daydreams are as real as memories, and just as painless, which is the best part. There’s this one day when they make love on the beach, in a tiny, secluded cove that is rarely visited at this hour, or at any other hour for that matter. After that, they lie there, grains of sand on their skin and salt on their lips from the spray, when Buck’s phone disrupts this peacefulness. “An emergency,” he says regretfully after glancing at the display, “a large-scale operation, I think-” He doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence, as Tommy's phone starts buzzing, too. It’s the moment when they both realize that they don't want to destroy the magic. Not the magic of the moment; duty calls, that will always come first. No, the wonder of what they’ve recreated, this delicate plant that needs to be nurtured. Trust that must be earned, love that must be protected. It’s the moment when they decide to keep this new relationship secret.

Buck finds this decision not only logical, but proper. All of his friends, even his sister, advised him not to call Tommy, told him to take his mind off the matter, tried to persuade him to jump back into the pool after just a few weeks. This advice had always been welcome in the past, but now it aroused his mistrust. It was a small but constantly festering wound: no one recommended that he – a man in his 30s who had only just discovered his sexuality anew – talk things over with Tommy. Buck had never fought for many things in his life; he had accepted, given up, reoriented himself.  He had always left, had made room, but this time he wanted to stay. The daydream feels so real, Buck seems to remember that they decided to keep their love a secret. That he went to work and acted as if he had spent his day off at home, “are you still brooding over Tommy?” someone asked, and he shook his head. A shake of the head can mean many things, not just refusal, and so it was not a lie, just as on many days and occasions later he never lied, he only bent the truth.

The dream memories come crashing down, raining down on him like broken glass, each shard carrying an image. Here’s Buck, gently smiling when his colleagues and friends ask him for his plans for the night; whatever story he’ll tell, truth is that he’ll rest his head in Tommy’s crook. There's Tommy, opening the door, his smile scrunching his nose as Buck crushes into his embrace. They're both in dozens of these memory shards, laughing and loving and learning, together. This should hurt, all the things that could have been, shouldn’t it? Yet, it doesn’t, it is a pleasant cocoon. Maybe a little tight, though. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Buck wakes up and finds himself completely twisted in sweaty sheets, as if he had tossed and turned in his sleep. Maybe he isalready sleeping, and these are not the minutes before falling into the land of dreams, but the flash of his consciousness between two phases of sleep.

Another sound mixes with the high-pitched whistling, disrupting the beautiful memories and dreams, a siren. The sound of his life, somehow. There was probably an accident. Maybe they need AirOps, and Tommy is already hovering over it all, looking at the world from above as if he is untouched by what’s happening below. But he isn’t. Tommy, Buck knows this now, tried to protect his heart precisely because it is so sensitive. Somehow the thought hurts now after all, weighs on his chest as if it wants to crush him. It's getting uncomfortable, time to wake up and fix the sheets, or his life, because…

Buck opens his eyes, and he remembers. He remembers everything.

“You really have tickets?” Tommy asks in disbelief, although Buck is already waving them in front of his eyes. 

“I've got tickets. Have had them for months, ever since you mentioned the band is playing in the stadium. It’s a bit intimidating, I’ve got to say, such a big-”

Tommy shuts his mouth with a fierce kiss. Then he pushes him gently at arm's length, scrutinizing his face. 

“When I told you about it... shortly after that we broke up, Evan.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, smiling. The memory no longer hurts. 

“Why didn't you sell the tickets?”

Buck looks at him, pondering, and then he decides, after a long breath, to simply tell the truth. That's one of the things they agreed on when they decided to try again. To do it right this time. And it’s easy now, easy with Tommy’s large and warm hands on his shoulders, grounding him. If he wanted to, he could let himself fall into these arms now, he’d be safe, and that's what matters. 

“I believe I was thinking of one of those rom-coms you like so much,” he finally says, completely without irony, because it’s true. Tommy, this big beefy guy with hobbies like Muay Thai, is a sucker for tv romance.   “I thought that if I kept these tickets, it would be a reminder of what you love, and that, somehow, connects us.”

He watches Tommy’s gaze become soft; eyes so blue as a mountain lake in summer, one of Buck’s fondest memories. 

“I thought maybe I'd work up the courage to go alone,” he continues.  “I don't even know the band, that's not the point. I would have recognized you in everything, that’s it. At some point, they’d play a sentimental love song, and I’d turn around to see you in the crowd. You’d see me too, your eyes would light up…”

“Do I look sad?” Tommy asks softly. 

By now they’re intimately entwined, so close that a sheet of paper wouldn't fit between them. They look like they're dancing. A few hours later, they actually will be, because the band is playing a love song, but it’s not sentimental at all. 

“A little,” says Buck. There's nothing embarrassing about the fantasy, it just shows that his thoughts have always revolved around Tommy, who immediately gets it and even plays along. “Like a man who regrets his decision upon seeing me.”

“Pretty smug,” Tommy replies with his lips on Buck's neck. 

They leave a little late because fantasy and reality mix in the most pleasant way after this, but they still arrive on time. The concert is actually fun, it’s a captivating band, and Tommy is so happy. Perhaps Buck will never forget the moment when Tommy actually left him, his petrified face with this it’s for the best-look. But he also saw Tommy's eyes on the brink of tears, and that's what he clings to for weeks. The thought that Tommy didn’t want this, that he might regret it grows stronger every time people tell him to get over it. They have a lot of catching up to do when they get back together, half a year of ignorance that they both need to work out. But now they're happier than ever, because going through difficult times together brings people closer. Buck knows this; he just should have remembered it sooner. 

A lot of time has passed since they broke up, but even the attentive Hen hasn't noticed when Buck stopped baking cakes and bread. Nobody, not even Maddie, would’ve been able to tell the exact moment when he stopped looking sad, when he started to laugh again, to live again. Another reason why he chose to not tell anybody, as if it were like the silly saying on the station’s coffee mugs, taken literally: bad mojo, if you don’t get enough of what you need. All firefighters are superstitious, to a certain extent, and maybe Buck just doesn’t want to jinx it. Not even Eddie knows, who has left a gap in Buck's life – a different kind of loss, and a different kind of pain. Eddie is happy, he’s content now, and it would have been easy to share this secret with his best friend, even more so with all the miles between them. A part of Buck that he's trying to leave behind now that he's happy with Tommy again, at least that part of him is resentful of Eddie. But… maybe, this loss upon losses was just the final straw, the last drop on a bucket full of sorrow. Just what he needed to feel anger again about life, choosing to not be fair to him once more. Only this time he used the anger constructively, not turning it against himself. He used it to understand that the world didn't revolve around him. It was the moment he realized that ultimately, everything had always turned out well for him, that there had always been someone to catch him; family and friends who were always there for him in one way or another. Tommy had never had that. It was only when understanding finally dawned that Buck began to see behind the façade. 

They dance at the concert like lovers do, oblivious, as if there weren't this surging crowd around them. They hold each other's hands, and Buck watches Tommy's face fascinated as he sings along loudly to lyrics Buck doesn't recognize. Has he ever been so carefree? He’s different, now that they’re back together, and still the same. Still reliable, calm and endearing, but also more open, more… himself. It’s a side of Tommy that makes Buck’s heart ache with warmth. For the first time in his life, he realizes he can make people happy. He’s long since become more than the worthless spare parts he saw himself as for so many years. He’s a firefighter, a friend, a brother-in-law and a brother, and now he’s a lover again, and it’s beautiful. Buck is watching Tommy’s lips move without even hearing him sing, it’s just too loud, and he draws him close and seals those lips with his own.

The concert lasts almost three hours, the band plays overtime, encore after encore rushing over the ecstatic crowd. It’s almost midnight when they finally hit the road again, and Buck is so overstimulated by everything that he’s glad Tommy is driving. It's not easy to get out of the parking garage; thousands of people are moving towards their cars, and the line at the exit is long. Buck rolls down the window as they inch along the freeway behind all the concert-goers. L.A.’s air is rarely fresh, but today it is at least crisp enough to calm his overflowing thoughts a little. He can still feel the bass booming in his ears. Buck knows that the ringing in his ears will only get worse; it will probably plague him throughout the next day, and he will need an excuse if he can't hear well during his shift. But there’s this smile on Tommy’s face, even if his face is focused while driving, and Buck thinks that it was worth it. 

The ride is slow, but that doesn't matter; Tommy has a CD with the band's latest album in the car, and thus the concert continues for a while. It’s a good time, almost surreal, as if time has stood still. At least until the moment when the traffic suddenly starts moving again. A cool breeze wafts around Buck’s heated face, and he feels larger than life, invincible. This night, the ride home might last forever, and he’d be fine with it.

Except it doesn’t, and he’s not. 

The noise in his ears is getting louder, a whistling much shriller than the sound of the airflow from the window. But louder still is the bang that ends it all.

It does not end. 

The world returns like the sound in Buck’s ears; all of a sudden, as if to say surprise, it's not over yet. The weight on his chest is not the result of gloomy thoughts, but of the seat belt cutting into his skin. This will leave marks, deep bruises in various shades of blue, and it will continue to hurt for days. Buck's arms are heavy, and he wonders why they're the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, until he realizes that he reflexively extended them as if the firefighter part of him knew there was going to be an impact. His hands are pressed into the airbag, and a doctor will later remark that it’s a miracle he didn’t break both wrists. It certainly feels like it, but his hands are only, if heavily, bruised. He regards the impending swelling almost clinically, like any first responder who has to create a catalog of injuries in his head in order to assess the situation. 

It’s very quiet, and that seems strange, somehow. Part of him clearly understands what has happened. You don't need to be a psychic to work out that there has been an accident, a multiple pile-up on the highway. Later, it will be known that one of the drivers who left the stadium was drunk. Intoxicated and impatient, because the traffic jams kept coming. In a few weeks, one of the people involved in the accident will sue the city and the stadium owners because what kind of security concept is it that allows thousands of people to try to leave a place at the same time, without anyone advising them to use the other exits, the other arterial roads? It’s unlikely that the accident could have been prevented, but the lawyers are making a good living out of it.

Right now, that moment is still a long way off. For now, Buck is alone with the whistling in his ear and the otherwise eerie silence, with his aching arms and hands, and…

Except he’s not alone, is he? 

There's a cracking sound at the back of his neck as Buck turns his head far too quickly. His eyes widen as he realizes what seems inconceivable: the airbag on the driver's side hasn’t deployed. It seems like a cruel twist of fate, but Buck has given up on blaming destiny. It's a coincidence, a painful, stupid coincidence, that his airbag deployed and Tommy's didn't. Tommy's head was flung forward by the impact, onto the steering wheel, with nothing in between to soften the crash. Not that it would have helped much; now that Buck's almost clear-headed again, his hands are reporting a thousand pinpricks, as if his limbs had fallen asleep and were now struggling to come back to reality. They’re pinpricks now, he knows it will get so much worse in a couple of hours. He can hardly move them, but he has to. There’s a narrow but horrifyingly distinct trail of blood on the steering wheel. 

Buck forces his fingers to move, sending instructions through his neural pathways with pure willpower. He’s surprised when his hands actually come off the airbag, and even more surprised that there’s still feeling in his fingertips, because when he puts them on Tommy's carotid artery, he feels a pulse. It’s steady, not too weak; relief washes over Buck, momentarily pushing all the pain into the background. His fingers glide gently across Tommy's cheek, “Tommy,” he urges, “open your eyes for me, will you?”

He can't lose him. Buck knows he won't, he just felt his pulse, the man will come around; such a thick skull, it will withstand a lot. But reality crashes over him like a wave, washes the hardest of all truths up on the beach of his thoughts: those who love have something to lose. There it is, the last missing link: admitting it to himself. He loves him, and he wants to hold on to this, to them. Really hold on to it this time. 

Tommy stirs. Buck almost holds his breath, realizes it, and then coughs in shaky spurts. Tommy's shamelessly long eyelashes twitch. It seems to take an eternity, an eternity during which the world outside awakens – screams and sirens in the distance can be heard, and perhaps the hissing, ominous sound of fire. He blocks out all the rest, concentrating only on the here and now and the narrow, now even smaller space and on Tommy, who finally opens his eyes. His lips twitch in a vain attempt to form words, he blinks and raises his head very, very slowly. Analytically, but also with concern, part of Buck notes that Tommy's pupils are different sizes. He looks at him, and as his mind and mouth catch up, he says, “My airbag didn't deploy.”

“It didn't,” Buck confirms.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

It's just a little exchange, and they both know it's not true; neither of them is doing well, but this kind of white lie is perfectly fine. They only have to look at each other to know that everything will be all right. Actually, this is one of those situations where they would normally both jump out of the car, ran out to see where help was needed. But now help is needed in here, now they will be there for each other. The sirens are getting louder, getting closer.

“It wasn't a dream,” Buck suddenly says, and Tommy's brows – one of them bloodied, the tear above it will require stitches – rise questioningly. “They were real memories, right? We’re… we are a thing. We’re together. We’re a couple.”

“Evan?”

Tommy suddenly looks worried, and Buck get’s it; he stammers and acts like a man with a concussion, even though Tommy is the one who hit his head on the steering wheel. 

“Just tell me it's true,” Buck breathes. He needs to hear it now, before the last bit of adrenaline leaves his body and fear will creep through his veins. The shock will inevitably come if he lets the sounds of the accident, which can still be heard, get too close to him. 

“Of course it's true,” Tommy replies, even though his usually charming smile is a little crooked with pain he can’t really hide anymore. 

Buck heaves a sigh, “Great, because I'd be sorry if I confessed my love to a mirage.” 

“You… what?” 

“Oh, don't think it's just oxytocin that wants to distract my brain. This is real, you confirmed it, so I will confirm it too: I love you, Thomas Kinard, my first, my last, my everything.” 

“You're quoting a song.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

They smile at each other, and Buck already knows. It’d be nice to hear it, but maybe he doesn’t really need to hear it. Maybe his life finally teaches him, who spent his life chasing love, that love doesn’t always express itself loudly. 

“I don't want to say it now, not here,” replies Tommy. ”I even have a sore tongue, it’s not fair. I want to tell you when we’re both without pain, alone and…”

“But we are alone,” Buck interjects with a smile, but Tommy shakes his head.

“Not for much longer.”

Sure enough, when Buck focuses, he can tune out the whistling in his ears; there are squealing tires, orders being shouted, a fire hose being rolled out. 

“Oh,” he says, ”Oh. There will be questions.”

“Maybe it's not the 118.”

“You don't believe that yourself.”

They’re arguing like an old couple, Buck realizes, a soft kind of bickering that warms his heart. They’re not old, but they are a couple.

“Maybe it’s time to tell them,” he says.

“You sure?”

It seems difficult, but Tommy manages to raise a hand and put it on Buck's. That must have hurt, but he did it anyway, and maybe that’s their new motto: to do it anyway. 

“I’m sure.”

My heart is sure.

[AO3 version] Thank you so much for this prompt! It turned out a bit different than what you probably imagined, but I still hope you like it.

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part3!

multipart story! part 1 part 2

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 3: "The End of Us"

Graduation night was a blur of laughter, hugs, and the echoing sound of congratulatory cheers. The air was warm and thick with excitement, and the whole school had gathered for one last celebration. Charles and Y/N, though, barely noticed the festivities. The world around them felt distant, like they were in their own bubble, separated from the noise.

Charles stood with a wide grin on his face, surrounded by his friends. He had received the call that morning. Formula 2 had offered him a spot, and as much as he should have been celebrating with everyone else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the girl who had always been by his side. Y/N was now talking to a group of her friends, but her eyes kept flickering toward him, as if they both knew this night would end differently than they had imagined.

Y/N stood near the refreshment table, trying to focus on the conversation, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the acceptance letter she had gotten just that afternoon. She had been accepted into her dream college, the one she had worked so hard for. But as much as she had longed for this moment, a part of her felt a sense of dread growing in her chest.

She glanced at Charles across the room. He caught her gaze and smiled that smile—the one that had been hers for so long. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The party continued late into the night, but as the evening drew to a close, the crowd thinned out. The music softened, and the chatter faded. Charles and Y/N, finding themselves alone once again, slipped away from the remaining group of students. They made their way to the same rooftop where they had sat so many times before, where their relationship had been built on the innocence of childhood and the promises of forever.

The city lights below them flickered like a sea of stars. Y/N sat on the edge of the roof, staring at the sky. Her hands rested on her knees, but her fingers trembled slightly. She could feel the finality of this night creeping in. The moment they both knew was coming.

Charles stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the same sky, his heart pounding. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and say something—anything—that would make this easier. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You did it,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to Formula 2.” She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was struggling with the same emotions.

Charles nodded, but there was a bittersweet smile on his face. “I did.”

“I’m proud of you, Charles. You worked so hard for this.” Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. “You deserve it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with raw emotion. “You’ve always been here. I know I’ve been distracted, with racing and everything, but you’ve always been here.”

“I’ve always been here,” she repeated, her throat tight. “And I’ll always be here, even when I’m not with you.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear, not wanting to break down in front of him, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll always cheer you on, Charles. Even when I’m not right by your side.”

Charles turned to her then, his heart breaking at the sight of her trying to hold it together. He had always admired her strength, but right now, he just wanted to take all her pain away, even though he knew he was the one causing it.

“Y/N…” His voice faltered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I wish things could be different.”

She shook her head, her tears now falling freely. “Don’t apologize, Charles. This isn’t about that. This is about our futures… and the paths we have to take.” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re not the same people we were when we started this. We’re growing into different versions of ourselves, and that’s okay. We can’t keep holding on to something that isn’t meant to be.”

Charles stepped closer, his hands shaking as he reached for hers. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N’s heart cracked open. She looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes that mirrored her own. “You’ll always be my first love, Charles. No one will ever replace you.” She closed her eyes briefly, taking a shaky breath. “But you need to find the right girl. The one who can give you the future you deserve. The one who’ll be there when you need her.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one I wanted.”

She smiled through her tears, shaking her head gently. “But you have a future that’s bigger than this. Bigger than us. You have racing, and you’re going to go far. I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve to be free to chase your dreams without worrying about me.”

Charles stepped back, his heart in his throat, and looked up at the stars. “I’ve always been so focused on my racing,” he murmured. “But you’ve been here, Y/N. And I haven’t appreciated it enough.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her. “You will,” she said softly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’ll find someone who makes you happy. Someone who can be there for you in ways I can’t.”

The weight of the words hung between them like an anchor, dragging them deeper into the inevitable. The silence was thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t change.

Charles looked at her one last time, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. You’ll always be in my heart.”

Y/N nodded, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll never forget you either.” She took a final, shaky breath before adding, “I’ll always love you, Charles. No matter where we go.”

He kissed her then, one last time. It was slow, tender, and filled with all the words they couldn’t say out loud. And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like they were the only two people left in the universe. But they both knew the truth—they couldn’t stay here forever.

When they pulled apart, both of their eyes were red, their hearts broken but full of love.

Y/N turned away first, walking toward the edge of the roof. She looked back at him one last time.

“You’ll be great, Charles,” she whispered. “And I’ll always be cheering you on, from wherever I am.”

And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Charles standing there alone beneath the stars, the weight of their love and their parting settling in his chest.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya @mel164  @dazecrea @lol6sposts @raynetargaryan2

@ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins @vyctorya @f1fantasys

[gorgeys]

post-crash jackie taylor who's depressed and starving, but fights for her survival because her only thoughts are of seeing you, her girlfriend she left behind.

jackie who lays awake at night, shivering despite three layers of blankets, with her glossy eyes fixed to the ceiling.  memories of you play behind her eyes, specifically watching you sleep on a lazy sunday morning.

if she thinks really hard, she can see you in her bed, lying face-to-face with her.  she can see your peaceful features and the slow breaths leaving and entering you nose.  she can nearly feel you reach out in your sleep, your arm encircling her waist or your head burying itself in the crook of her neck.  her heart melts just thinking about it.

she didn't realize how well she slept beside you until her many sleepless nights after the crash.  she would give anything to hear you softly snoring beside her again.

jackie who collects little pieces of nature that remind her of you.  a perfectly shaped leaf floats down from a tree and lands on her head.  she finds an unusually smooth rock by the lake.  she smiles at whatever it is, a sign from nature that you're still out there waiting for her, and keeps it in her personal collection.

jackie who purposefully doesn't wear the shirt she stole from your closet the day before she left so that it still smells like you.  every night, without fail, she brings the shirt to her nose and inhales like her life depends on it.  when she notices the scent starting to fade, silent tears stream down her cheeks.  she's losing you.

jackie who does, however, wear your cheer bow in her ponytail.  you had given it to her for nationals as a good luck charm, and now she feels like she has a part of you with her wherever she goes.  when one of the girls teases her for wearing it, she shoots them a glare so deadly they instantly seal their lips.

jackie who speaks aloud to you when no one's around, looking up to the sky for you.

"god, i wish you could've seen the look on misty's face!  it was hilarious.  you would've laughed so hard, you probably would've peed a little," she laughs, sitting with her back against a tree trunk, her fingers twiddling with your bow.

"do you still think about me?" she pauses for your response.  "d-do you think i'm dead?" pause.  "well, i'm not.  at least i don't think so." longer pause. "are you...moving on?  you better not." pause.  "she better not be prettier than me."

"i miss you.  so much."

jackie who can't even talk to anyone about how she's feeling because your relationship was never public.  it was always sneaky glances from across the hall and shared moments behind closed doors.  now, thousands of miles away from you, she regrets not loving you like she should have.  she promises to love you harder than anyone ever has if when you're reunited.

jackie who could spend hours staring at the polaroid she took of you.  it's a random one of you doing homework on her bed, your brows knit in adorable concentration.  it's the only one she has with her.  she keeps it in the back pocket of her jeans wherever she goes.

one time she loses it and runs outside, frantically digging around in the dirt on hands and knees to find where she dropped it.  in reality, she misplaced it on the kitchen counter where shauna finds it and recognizes the polaroid as coming from jackie's camera.  she asks jackie about it, who's still knee-deep in dirt, and jackie suddenly bursts into tears, confessing everything like word vomit.

although she nearly went into shock from losing your picture, it does feel nice to share her feelings for you with someone.  she feels a little less alone.

jackie who loves sleep, although it seems to elude her many nights, because it means seeing your face in her dreams.  it doesn't matter if it's a good dream or a nightmare, as long as she can see you again.  when she wakes up she keeps her eyes glued shut, greedily hoping she can fall back asleep and see you once more.

she ends up being the last up and first to bed.  the other girls think she's not pulling her weight, but how could anyone blame little lovesick jackie taylor ☹️

jackie who hated some of your favorite songs back home, but now finds herself humming them while doing daily chores.  she smiles remembering lying on your bed, watching you dance and sing along to them around your room.  she always told you to "turn that shit off and play some real music," but now she loves those songs because they represent you.

jackie who realizes how utterly devoted to you she is.  it wasn't as clear back home with so many distractions, but now that she's alone with her thoughts almost all the time, the only thing she can think about is you.  nothing else really matters to her or motivates her besides you.  it only took a plane crash for her to realize that.

jackie who looks up to the sky and promises both you and herself that she won't die before she sees you again.

jackie who is rescued (because she doesn't die, idk what you guys are talking about) and keeps that promise.

jackie who can't believe her eyes when she sees you for the first time.  for a second, she thinks she's dreaming.  she's had a recurring dream of this exact moment after all.  but, the when you start running toward her, she snaps back to reality and it hits her: it's really you.

she instantly bursts into tears as your arms wrap around her, the warmth of your embrace striking her like a train and grounding her at the same time.  she squeezes you so tight you might break a rib, her head burrowing into your shoulder.  she deeply inhales your scent and lets her tears trickle onto your skin.

jackie who doesn't let you pull away or say anything before she pulls you into a bruising kiss.  she doesn't care if the two of you are alone or in a crowded room, nothing matters to her except showing you just how much she missed you.

she pecks your lips repeatedly, whispering an "i love you" in between each kiss like it's her mantra.  it's heaven on earth.

jackie who sleeps beside you that night for the first time in nearly two years.  she holds you to her chest like a teddy bear as you whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears until you fall asleep.  it's the best sleep she's ever had.

she wakes up the next morning and the first thing she sees is your peaceful face.  she watches the slow breaths leave and enter you nose and finds silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

jackie who knows the sleepless nights, insatiable hunger, and depressive episodes were worth it just to come back to you.

i love you lovesick!jackie please come save meeeeeee also jackie x cheerleader!reader 🤭

[bunbun-mochi]

Broken Melody

Sylus x MC (angst with comfort)

warning: main character death, torture, prison, pregnancy, birth, myth spoilers

word count: 1369, no proofreading

preview: Sylus looked into MC's past after his passing...Slightly based on this

Spoilers: MC saw Sylus' history when their souls were bound, so here's the question, would Sylus see her history as well?

"Look at me... You're not allowed to close your eyes!"

Sylus remembered those words. He remembers everything she says. He remembered kissing her forehead before leaving. It hurts him just as much to leave his beloved.

"Sylus... I cursed your soul..."

She sobbed, he wanted to cradle her face and kiss her one more time.

"I cursed your soul... to never fade away... "

He wanted to come back to her, to hold her, to love her the way she loved him.

"You'll always be tied to me. Forever."

His last remaining soul watched as she gripped the black petal as if her life depended on it before she finalized her curse.

"This is my curse... Only I can...Grant you a true death."

He feels like this is more of a blessing than a curse. He rather die in his lover's arms than die in someone else's arms. At least he's able to see his lover a last time before departing.

As soon as she finished her curse, she took half of his soul and bounded with hers, inheriting his characteristics.

Sylus is confused. Although this happened in his past life, he had long let go of the memory. He is enjoying his second life, a blessed life where he found his beloved again and shared their love together. He is living a blissed life, where he get to hold his lover without any barrier, without having to worry about hurting her with his claws, able to become human for her. So why? Why did this memory come back to him? Why would his mind remind him again of his past life?

The scene slowly changes. He watches her lover, inheriting his horns, tails, and wings, scrambling away from something, someone. He can see in the distance, that arrows pierced through the air. He wanted to scream, he wanted to jump to her, to protect her, but he couldn't move.

That's when he realized, he was living in a nightmare. A nightmare he always wanted to prevent from happening in real life. That's why he always wanted to become stronger. Be the best, be the top. He wanted to give his beloved all she ever wanted and be able to protect her.

And here he is, witnessing this nightmare.

He allowed her to take his life just so he wouldn't kill her but left her alone in this cruel world where she had to fend for herself with no one there to protect her.

He watched her as she was being dragged away. She is bound by ropes and chains. She has bruises and wounds all over her body, covered in blood. He felt his chest tighten, heartbroken at how his beloved was being treated.

"Sylus..."

He heard her whisper as she was dragged away. Her voice sounded partly hopeful partly dejected. Part of her hoped that her lover would come back but part of her knows he is gone.

The scene changed, he saw her in the prison cell. There was water dripping on the corner. Mold grows at all corners of the cell. Only a small window on the top corner where the moon peaks out. The prison is worse than his prison. It looks inhabitable, so small. His beloved sat on the floor and clearly lost a lot of weight. He can practically see bones through her skin. Her eyes, were dark, lost of all lights, as if she long lost the will to live.

He heard footsteps. A group of guards arrived at her prison cell, listing all her sins and her execution date.

He should've killed them. He should've killed them all. None of those humans ever deserved to live.

He looked back to his beloved. As if the time had sped up, she is now caressing her swollen stomach. He saw some lights return to her eyes. Teardrop rolled down her cheek, onto her hand as she carasses her stomach. Only a single word escapes her mouth.

"Sylus..."

Her voice sounded so weak so defeated. Sylus felt his heart shattered.

Then she was dragged away again. He wanted to chase them. He wanted to protect her. But his feet are sealed onto the ground. He wanted to scream but no sounds came out of his mouth.

The scene changed again. He is standing outside the cave. The same cave that was his prison and his home. He saw his beloved frantically flying away while clutching her stomach, trying to protect it as much as she could. A group of soldiers chasing her, throwing weapons at her, trying to hurt her, kill her. It was as if they rallied an entire army just to catch a single person. It was truly laughable.

She was screaming in pain as tears rolled freely down her face. Then she stumbled into the liar, and gently laid herself on the bed, screaming in agony. He wanted to soothe her, to take away her pain. Then he saw it. His beloved birthed their child all by herself.

And he wasn't there for her.

His beloved cradled their baby in her embrace, sobbing and apologizing. He wasn't able to hear her because of the yells and screams from the soldiers outside. Then there was fire. His lair that he once called home, was engulfed in flames. A soft melody sang, the same melody that his beloved sang to him before.

Then a soft voice called...

"Sylus..."

"Sy... Sy... lus..."

"Sylus!"

Sylus flung his eyes open and immediately sat up. He was panting. He couldn't tell if it was his tears or sweat rolled down his cheek. He touched his face and he confirmed that he was indeed crying.

"Sylus?" His beloved was next to him, concerned. "What happened? A bad dream?" She gently rubbed his eyes and cheek, drying his tears. "You're ok, I'm here, darling."

Sylus slowly turned toward his beloved. Her gentle eyes... He saw the eyes in his dream, it lacked light, as if she gave up on living. Now, her eyes are full of light, full of life. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Trying to assure himself that it was only a nightmare.

His beloved drew soothing circles on his back and she gently kissed his cheek and forehead, comforting him. He never felt so vulnerable.

He failed to protect her. He failed to protect their baby. He failed.

"It's ok, darling. I'm here," She whispered, as if she could read his mind. "It's ok, I'm here. That's all it matters."

Yes, that's all it matters.

Sylus took a deep breath. "I'm fine now." He inwardly cringes at how his voice cracks. He used to believe that he won't be able to cry. He is strong enough to hold in his emotions. But tonight, he proved himself wrong. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's ok," she reassured her husband.

They stayed in each other embrace for a while before he finally breaks off. "You should go back to sleep."

"Will you be able to sleep?" She asked, worryingly.

Sylus didn't respond. His beloved smiled, "It's ok. We can read a bit and calm our minds before we go to sleep. Perhaps that way, we will have a better dream." She rolled over and grabbed a children's book. "We can read to our child."

Sylus smiled and nodded. She scooted closer toward him. He wrapped his arms around her, resting on her swollen stomach while she rested her head on her chest.

She reads the book, and the more she reads, the more sleepy she gets. Until she stopped reading, her breaths evened. He smiled to himself and gently lowered his beloved back in the pillows, rearranging the pillows around her head and body, making her more comfortable. He watched her sleep so peacefully. He slowly moved the blanket down, revealing her stomach. He gently kissed her stomach and whispered, "I'll protect both you and your mother."

He failed to protect both of them in his past life, then he shall protect them both in this life.

He settled down beside her, wrapping his arms around her, and holding her close.

Perhaps living is the best way to protect people he loves.

@madam8

[cocobeanncteez]

The CEO Collision - Part Two

Pairing: CEO!Seonghwa x CEO!reader (f)

Warnings / content for Part Two: Suggestive content, reader has a wet dream, alcohol consumption, making out, profanities. Please note that other than Ateez, all other character names used are fictional.

Word Count: 9.7k

Masterlist for The CEO Collision

The grand ballroom of the Signiel Hotel was an epitome of elegance. Towering chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, illuminating the clusters of influential figures in healthcare and technology. Conversations hummed in the air, accompanied by the occasional clinking of glasses and laughter.

You stepped into the hall, your maroon blazer and tailored trousers cutting a sharp silhouette. You carried yourself with the poise expected of a CEO, even as the weight of the weekend’s unresolved tension lingered in the back of your mind.

The event organizer greeted you with a warm smile as you approached. “Ms. Kim, welcome! We’re thrilled you could join us. Your keynote has already stirred a lot of excitement.”

You returned the smile with a nod. “Thank you. It’s an honor to be part of such an esteemed gathering.”

As you exchanged pleasantries, a flicker of movement from across the room caught your eye. Your chest tightened when you realized who it was.

Seonghwa.

He stood near a group of executives, his presence effortlessly commanding attention. The navy suit he wore seemed almost too perfect, as if he had been sculpted to fit the very image of a polished CEO. His hair was neatly styled, his expression calm, and yet the sharp edge of his gaze reminded you of how easily he could unravel your composure. You forced yourself to look away, turning your attention back to the organizer and engaging in small talk with other attendees.

The conference was in full swing when you found yourself at one of the refreshment stations, a glass of sparkling water in hand. You had been navigating conversations all morning, but the weight of Seonghwa’s presence never left your periphery.

“Ms. Kim Y/N,” a smooth, familiar voice broke through the din, sending a ripple of unease down your spine.

You turned, finding Seonghwa standing a few feet away, a neutral expression on his face that did little to hide the intensity in his eyes.

“Mr. Park,” you said, keeping your tone even. “I didn’t realize Byeol Materials Group was participating in this conference.”

“We’re presenting on the new technologies we’re developing during the afternoon panel,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I assume you’re delivering the keynote?”

“I am,” you confirmed, lifting your glass to take a measured sip. You refused to let him see how his presence unsettled you, especially after what had happened on Friday night.

The hum of voices around you faded into the background as the tension between you and Seonghwa thickened. His presence had a way of throwing you off balance, though you fought hard to maintain your composure. “Let’s not make this personal,” you said quietly, leaning in just enough to ensure only he could hear you. “There’s too much media here for any drama.”

His lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I wasn’t aware I was being dramatic. But if you say so.”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Ms. Kim, Mr. Park,” the event organizer chimed in cheerfully. “The media would love to capture a few shots of you both together as you attended the same university.”

Your stomach flipped. You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, fully aware of the eyes and cameras trained on you. Seonghwa, ever the picture of confidence, moved to stand beside you. “Shall we, Ms. Kim?” he said, his tone unreadable.

You forced a professional smile as the cameras clicked, capturing the two of you side by side. The flashes felt like a spotlight on the unspoken tension, the memories of Friday night simmering just beneath the surface.

As the photographers thanked you and dispersed, Seonghwa leaned in slightly, his voice low and quiet enough for only you to hear. “Careful, Y/N. You might just get used to being by my side.”

You didn’t respond, instead stepping away with a polite nod to the organizer and heading toward the next group of attendees. But his words lingered, unsettling and infuriating all at once.

The conference hall’s grand stage gleamed under the soft spotlight as the emcee’s voice filled the room. “And now, we’ll begin the much-anticipated showcase segment. Some of the most influential figures in the industry are here to present their groundbreaking work.”

Polite applause followed. You smoothed your blazer and checked the time, knowing your turn was coming. From the agenda, you’d noted Seonghwa was presenting before you.

“First, please welcome Mr. Park Seonghwa, CEO of Byeol Materials Group.”

The applause swelled as Seonghwa strode to the stage with his signature confidence, the tailored lines of his suit emphasizing his poised demeanor. You watched, arms crossed, trying to ignore the sudden quickening of your pulse.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth and commanding, “Byeol Materials Group has been at the forefront of supplying essential components for the medical field. Today, I’m proud to unveil our latest innovation—nanostructured alloys designed to enhance the durability and efficiency of surgical instruments.”

The screen behind him lit up with sleek graphics, detailing the intricate design of the materials. He explained their applications in minimally invasive surgeries and how they reduced wear and tear over time. The room buzzed with interest.

“Furthermore,” Seonghwa continued, “our alloys are 30% lighter than current industry standards, making them easier for surgeons to handle during long procedures. Our goal has always been to empower the medical community with tools that improve patient outcomes.”

He finished with a confident smile, and the applause was thunderous. You couldn’t deny his charisma or the quality of the work Byeol Materials had achieved. It was a shame that his company was struggling despite the quality work they produce.

As he stepped off the stage, his gaze found yours in the crowd. His expression was unreadable, but you refused to let it rattle you.

After a couple more people pitched their products, it was your turn. “And now,” the emcee announced, “please welcome Ms. Kim Y/N, CEO of Aurum Medical Technologies.”

You walked onto the stage, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The room was silent, expectant. Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the podium and smiled. “Good afternoon, everyone,” you began, your voice steady. “At Aurum Medical Technologies, we believe that innovation should always serve the people who need it most. Today, I’m excited to introduce our latest device: the VITRA-Scan 360.”

The screen behind you came alive with visuals of a sleek, handheld device. “The VITRA-Scan 360 is a portable diagnostic tool designed for rural and underserved areas. It combines ultrasound, X-ray, and thermal imaging into one compact unit, making it easier for healthcare providers to make accurate diagnoses without the need for large, expensive machinery.”

You noticed some members of the audience leaning forward, intrigued. “This device operates on solar power, ensuring functionality even in areas with inconsistent electricity. It’s lightweight, affordable, and, most importantly, accessible.”

Your voice warmed as you spoke about the pilot program in remote areas and the lives already improved by the device. You finished with a confident smile. “Our mission at Aurum is simple: to make advanced healthcare available to everyone, everywhere.”

The applause was louder than you’d expected, and you felt a rush of pride. As you stepped down, you caught Seonghwa watching you from his table, his expression unreadable.

Later, as the attendees mingled, you were approached by a journalist. “Ms. Y/N, your presentation was truly inspiring. How do you see Aurum and Byeol collaborating in the future, given the synergy between your device and their materials?”

You froze for a fraction of a second before answering smoothly. “Our companies have always shared a commitment to innovation in healthcare. If an opportunity arises for collaboration, I’m sure we’d both consider it carefully.”

Seonghwa, who had been nearby, joined the conversation effortlessly. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his tone perfectly diplomatic. “It’s always a pleasure seeing Aurum’s work align with industry advancements.”

The journalist beamed. “That’s fantastic to hear. Thank you both.”

As they left, Seonghwa turned to you with a slight smirk. “That sounded convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s called professionalism, Seonghwa. You should try it sometime.”

His chuckle was low, almost amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before you could respond, someone else pulled you into another conversation, but the tension between you and Seonghwa lingered, crackling like a live wire in the air.

As the conference continued, you found yourself navigating the various discussions and networking opportunities, but your mind kept returning to Seonghwa. Every time you caught sight of him, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension between the two of you. The forced pleasantries were getting more difficult to maintain, but you had learned to be professional above all else.

During a brief break, you found yourself standing by the refreshments table, absently swirling a glass of water. Your thoughts drifted to the words he had said earlier in the day—“You might just get used to being by my side.” The audacity of it still burned, but something else stirred in you too. A vague curiosity, maybe, or the faintest trace of regret.

You didn’t want to think about it.

-x-x-x-

The following morning, as you sat in your office going over emails and reviewing the updates on the VITRA-Scan project, Nari walked in holding her phone with a slightly amused expression.

“Ms. Y/N, you might want to take a look at this,” she said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

You frowned. “What’s this about?”

She handed you her phone, and you saw the headline of an article displayed clearly on the screen.

"CEO Kim Y/N and CEO Park Seonghwa: Serving the Healthcare Industry and Serving Looks"

Your heart sank a little. It wasn’t just a professional headline—it was as if they were already making assumptions about something personal. You read the first few lines.

"At the prestigious Healthcare Conference held this past weekend in Seoul, CEO Kim Y/N of Aurum Medical Technologies, a subsidiary company under her family’s conglomerate, Celestia Croup, and CEO Park Seonghwa of Byeol Materials Group not only made waves with their innovative presentations, but also sparked speculation about the future of their companies. With both companies focused on advancing medical technology, the collaboration between them seems like a natural next step."

So far, so good. Just business, as expected. But then the tone shifted, and your stomach tightened.

"However, the most talked-about part of the event wasn’t just their companies’ potential collaboration. The chemistry between the two CEOs was impossible to ignore. Industry experts are already buzzing about the possibility of a personal connection beyond the professional one. While neither Kim Y/N nor Park Seonghwa have commented on their relationship, their interactions at the event seemed to suggest there’s more than meets the eye."

You rolled your eyes. The media was already spinning stories based on the brief moments you and Seonghwa had shared. The article went on:

"Sources have hinted at the growing bond between the two CEOs. Both have shared interest in shaping the future of the medical field. It is widely known that Kim Y/N’s twin brother, Kim Hongjoong, Vice Chairman of Celestia Group, is best friends with Park Seonghwa for many years, and the twins and Park Seonghwa attended the same high school and university for their bachelor’s and master’s degrees. Despite their obvious success, they’ve remained largely private about their personal lives, fueling speculation that a union between them could not only change the future of healthcare but could also create a power couple the business world has yet to see."

The article continued to speculate about the chemistry, the potential for collaboration, and even touched on the possibility of future announcements—though no engagement was explicitly mentioned. But still, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. This was so far from reality, and yet here it was, being portrayed as something much bigger.

You passed the phone back to Nari. “This is ridiculous. Just because Seonghwa and I talk doesn’t mean we’re some... power couple.”

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, it doesn’t not mean that. The media is always looking for a narrative, Ms. Y/N. And honestly, you two do make a lot of sense, business-wise. But I know you're not exactly thrilled about them connecting the dots personally."

You rubbed your forehead. “It's just—why can't they focus on the business? We literally spent hours talking about our companies and the future of medical technology. But instead, they’re already making us out to be something we’re not.”

Nari was quiet for a moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “I get it. But you know how it works. You're in the spotlight now, and they’re going to keep coming back to this. Whether you like it or not, they see two powerful CEOs, and it’s hard for them not to imagine what that could mean beyond the boardroom.”

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of everything. "But it's not like that. Not for me, anyway. Not yet."

“Well, whatever happens, just remember that you’ve got control over how you let all of this affect you,” Nari said, offering you a reassuring smile. "You're in charge of your own narrative. They can speculate all they want, but at the end of the day, it's your life."

You nodded, trying to shake off the frustration. “Yeah, you're right. I just wish they'd focus on the real story—the work, the innovation. Not whatever this other story they’ve invented is.”

Nari chuckled lightly. "Well, you're certainly giving them something to talk about. I can’t imagine how they would react when your families announce your engagement."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Yeah, and I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it for the weeks.”

-

Seonghwa sat at his sleek, modern desk, scanning through reports when a ping interrupted his concentration. It was a news notification, and his eyes immediately went to the headline:

"CEO Kim Y/N and CEO Park Seonghwa: Serving the Healthcare Industry and Serving Looks"

He arched an eyebrow and clicked the link, his lips curling into a smirk as he read through the article. The write-up was as expected—professional at first, but it didn’t take long for the media to start speculating. About you both. He could already feel a hint of satisfaction stirring in his chest. Despite how much he tried to keep things strictly business between him and you, the media always had a way of making things look more... personal.

His secretary and close friend, Wooyoung, who had been in the corner of the office, immediately caught wind of the article as well. Wooyoung’s loud voice broke the silence. "Ooooh, what’s this?" Wooyoung’s grin was almost too wide, and Seonghwa barely managed to suppress an eye-roll. “Is that you and Y/N, CEO Park? Looking mighty cozy there."

Seonghwa, still amused by the article, leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Seems like the press is already shipping us, huh?"

Wooyoung bounced over to him, peering at the screen. "Look at that—chemistry between you two. They’re practically writing a love story for you." He chuckled, crossing his arms. “Should I start calling her ‘Mrs. Park Y/N’ now?”

Seonghwa snorted softly, glancing at Wooyoung, who was holding back a teasing grin. “I’ve always told you, Woo, the press knows how to spin everything. We’re both CEOs, working together on important projects. There’s nothing more to it.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right, right. Nothing but pure business, like as if your parents didn’t ask for her hand in marriage.” He leaned in a bit closer. “But the way you’re looking at that photo—if it were up to me, I’d say you’re enjoying the attention.”

Seonghwa didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he zoomed in on the picture from the conference, both of you standing next to one another, engaged in a conversation that looked way too intimate to the public eye. He couldn't help but admire how you looked together—professionally, yes, but also with undeniable chemistry that he hadn’t exactly planned on showing. Still, he couldn’t deny a small part of him liked it.

In a swift movement, he took a screenshot of the picture. Wooyoung caught the action immediately.

"No way,” Wooyoung grinned. “You’re actually saving it?”

Seonghwa shot him a look. "What do you think? She’s my future wife… hopefully."

Wooyoung gasped in dramatic disbelief. “No way! Are you serious?” He burst into laughter, holding his stomach. “That’s the ultimate flex, Seonghwa. You’ve officially entered the 'power couple' territory. Are you going to print out that picture and hang it in your office next?”

Seonghwa, leaning back in his chair, tried to keep a straight face, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. “You should be thanking me. You’re getting free entertainment for the day.”

Wooyoung snorted, still chuckling. “I’m starting to think this might not just be business anymore. Maybe the CEO Park I know is finally catching feelings.”

Seonghwa shot him a smirk. "Or maybe you're just reading too much into it, Wooyoung. It's just a picture, and I’m just... appreciating the good press."

Wooyoung shook his head, clearly not buying it. "I think you’re doing a little more than appreciating the press, but hey, I’m not judging. At least you’re consistent, man." He gave Seonghwa a knowing wink before heading to the door. “You just wait. The media's going to have a field day with you two soon.”

Seonghwa didn't respond right away, still staring at the picture on his screen. The phone buzzed, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a message from you flash across the screen.

"Let’s keep it professional for now, CEO Park."

He smiled to himself before typing a quick reply, “Always.”

Wooyoung had a point, though. Whether he liked it or not, things between him and you were no longer just about business; honestly, it never really was. But that didn't mean he'd make any rash moves. For now, he was content to let the media do their thing. After all, they had no idea just how complicated things truly were.

But the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips told a different story.

---

The sunlight pierced through the curtains, gently waking you from a deep slumber. You groggily opened your eyes, the remnants of sleep clouding your mind. As you stretched beneath the covers, a vague memory clung to you, lingering like a faint echo. Something… someone had been on your mind in the night. The confusion immediately hit you, and you rubbed your temples as if to shake the feeling away.

But the lingering sensations—those weren’t just in your head. They were visceral.

Your breath hitched slightly as the fragments of a dream started to piece together. The image of Seonghwa, naked, his hands on you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tender and desperate. The way his body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you. You could almost feel it now, the rush of heat in your veins, the dizzying effect of his touch, the sense of his presence so close to yours...

You groaned, feeling the unmistakable heat rising in your body. You didn’t want to admit it, but the dream had been... real. Far too real for comfort as you felt your panties sticking to your folds.

You quickly sat up, throwing the blankets off your legs and rubbing your face with both hands, trying to clear your mind. "Get a grip," you muttered to yourself, voice strained. But no matter how hard you tried, the images from the dream wouldn’t fade. The sensation of his lips, the sound of his voice close to your ear, the way he had made you feel... everything still felt too vivid.

You cursed under your breath, moving quickly to your bathroom, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Your pulse was erratic, and you couldn’t tell whether it was from the lingering effects of the dream or from the anxiety of it all.

You splashed water on your face, hoping the coolness would wake you up properly. But the truth settled in like a heavy weight on your chest—you couldn't just shake it off. You couldn't ignore the pull Seonghwa had on you, no matter how much you resented it.

But why now? Why this dream? It was too much, too soon. You had barely begun to process the complexities of your situation—your possible engagement, your strained relationship with him, the pressure from your families, everything. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him this way. You weren’t supposed to feel this… confused.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, trying to steady yourself. "Get it together, Y/N," you whispered, almost as if trying to convince yourself. But in the pit of your stomach, a flicker of warmth still burned, and you hated that it felt so real.

As you finished getting ready for the day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. You couldn’t ignore the way your body still hummed with the remnants of the dream. And the fact that you had wanted him, even in that dream… Well, that made things even more complicated than before.

You made your way downstairs, still feeling the effects of the wet dream that had stirred something inside you earlier. Your body still hummed with a mix of confusion and desire, and you tried to push the thoughts out of your mind as you entered the dining room.

But as soon as you stepped in, you froze.

There, sitting at the table like it was the most natural thing in the world, was Seonghwa. He was casually sipping his coffee, and the way he licked his lips after taking a slow sip had your pulse racing immediately. It was a simple, almost unconscious movement, but in your current state, it was enough to send a ripple of heat through your body.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was hard to ignore the flood of memories from the dream that came rushing back. The image of his lips, so close and yet so far, felt too real. Your mouth went dry as you blinked rapidly, trying to shake the lingering thoughts.

"Good morning, Y/N," your father greeted you warmly, though it did little to ease the discomfort settling in your stomach. "We’re having a light breakfast before we head out for the day. Seonghwa’s joining us for a meeting, so we thought we’d talk over breakfast."

Your brother, Hongjoong, flashed you a playful grin from across the table. "Nothing to worry about, though. It’s all business today."

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the mundane, but your gaze flickered back to Seonghwa. He was still drinking his coffee, completely unaware of the effect he was having on you. Or maybe he wasn’t—maybe he knew, and he was enjoying the power he had over your thoughts. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and for a split second, it felt like everything else faded away.

You turned away quickly, moving to the counter to pour yourself some coffee, hoping to regain some composure.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "It’s a busy day ahead," he said calmly, his voice smooth, just like it always was. "Hongjoong and I have a meeting with an investor soon."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. "I see," you replied, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than him. But his presence was overwhelming and every small movement he made seemed to draw your attention like a magnet.

You felt Hongjoong's eyes on you, noticing the way you stiffened. "You alright, Y/N?" he asked, his tone teasing, but there was concern in his voice. "You seem distracted."

You quickly recovered. "Yeah, just tired," you said, avoiding his gaze. You could feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you again, but you refused to look up, even though the energy between you two was thick with something unspoken.

Your mother, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, smiled warmly. "Well, it’s good to have everyone together this morning. Seonghwa, it’s been a while since we had breakfast with you."

Seonghwa simply smiled, his lips curving just enough to be polite but not enough to hide the playfulness in his eyes. "It’s nice to start the day with a meal like this." He glanced at you then, and there was something in the way his gaze lingered that made your breath catch in your throat.

You quickly grabbed your bag from the counter, desperate to escape the building tension. "I should head out soon," you said, not looking at anyone in particular. "Lots to do."

Seonghwa gave you a knowing look, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "I’m sure you’re busy," he said, voice smooth and quiet.

You barely held back the shiver that ran down your spine. Without another word, you turned on your heel and quickly made your way to the door, feeling his eyes follow you as you left.

-

You walked into your office, trying to shake off the tension from the morning. The elevator ride had felt like an eternity, every second of silence making your thoughts feel more overwhelming. But as soon as you entered your office, the sight of Yeri sitting on your desk made you pause.

She was grinning mischievously, a cup of coffee in hand, clearly waiting for you. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased, her voice high and full of energy. "I thought you'd be late after your little... 'adventure' this past week."

You froze for a moment, caught off guard. Then, the memory of Yeosang's birthday party flashed before your eyes—the balcony, the almost-kiss, the strange, unexpected pull toward Seonghwa. Your face heated up, and before you could stop yourself, everything came rushing out.

"I had a dream about him, Yeri. A wet dream," you blurted, hands shaking as you quickly closed the door behind you. "About Seonghwa."

Yeri’s eyes widened, her coffee cup freezing halfway to her mouth. "Wait, what? You what?" she gasped, her voice rising in excitement. "Tell me everything."

You rubbed your temples, feeling the familiar flush creeping up your neck. You had no idea why you were telling her this, but it was like the floodgates had opened, and now everything was spilling out. "I don’t even know how it happened, but I woke up all… hot and bothered." You groaned, sinking into your chair, unable to stop yourself. "And now all I can think about is him. His lips. His touch. Everything. And he joined my family for breakfast today and I just… ugh, I don’t know!"

Yeri’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She set her coffee down on the desk and slid over to the chair next to you. "Oh my god," she muttered, trying to hold back her laughter. "You’ve got it bad, huh? I mean, really bad."

"I don’t know what’s happening," you admitted, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "It’s so confusing. I’ve hated him for years, but now? After all this time? I just…" You trailed off, burying your face in your hands. "I can’t stop thinking about kissing him, Yeri."

At that, Yeri burst out laughing, her voice echoing around the room. She couldn’t help herself, her playful teasing turning into full-blown amusement. "Oh my god, you want to kiss him? The same Seonghwa who you’ve been at odds with for ages?!" She was practically squealing with excitement. "This is so much better than I ever expected! The CEO tension is real! I mean, he’s already been in your pants before too."

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. "I don’t even know what to do with myself. It’s like I want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time. And every time I see him, I get this strange pull—like something’s drawing me to him."

Yeri leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, I think you know exactly what you want. Don’t tell me you’re going to keep playing this game of pretending you don’t feel anything." She raised an eyebrow. "Just give in already. He obviously wants you too."

You stared at her in disbelief. "Yeri, do you even know what you’re saying? We’re supposed to be engaged for business reasons, not because we like each other."

"Oh, please," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Everyone knows there’s something more than business going on here. You and Seonghwa are playing a dangerous game. You’re already half in love with him. You had feelings for him before, I’m not surprised how easy it is for you this time."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she was right. Could it be that simple? Could you really be falling for him despite everything?

Before you could reply, Yeri was already bouncing in her seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "You’re totally falling for him again! You just haven’t realized it yet."

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, her words hit too close to home. The feeling in your chest wasn’t just confusion or attraction. It was something deeper, something you had been ignoring for too long.

"I don’t know, Yeri. This is all so messed up," you admitted, feeling your heart race at the thought of Seonghwa.

Yeri gave you a wink, clearly relishing the situation. "You’ve got this, Y/N. Just remember, if you need any advice, I’m your girl. We’ll make sure Seonghwa doesn’t get away."

You leaned back in your chair, still trying to sort through your feelings. “Yeah, I guess so,” you muttered, your mind already a swirl of conflicting emotions.

A notification on your phone went off and you quickly took a glance at it.

Seonghwa: Would you like to have dinner with me at my place tonight?

Your eyes widened a bit, and your heart skipped a beat. "Oh my god, Yeri, he just asked me to come over for dinner."

Yeri chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So you’ll be alone with him?"

"Actually, I’m not sure, since he lives with his parents too," you replied, typing your response to Seonghwa, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to act cool.

You: With your parents?

Seonghwa replied almost instantly.

Seonghwa: I’m not sure if they would be joining us, but most likely they will. Depends on when they get back from their golf trip. Why? Would you rather be alone with me?

You could feel your cheeks heating up at the question. The implications of what he was suggesting didn’t escape you. Yeri leaned in, her smirk widening as she watched your face flush.

“Y/N, I swear. If you don’t go, I will personally drag you to his house myself,” Yeri teased, nudging you playfully.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. "This is ridiculous. Why does he always have to make everything sound... so complicated?"

“Complicated?” Yeri leaned back, clearly enjoying your dilemma. "More like exciting, right?"

You groaned inwardly, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how true it was. There was something undeniably exciting about the prospect of being alone with Seonghwa. After everything that had happened, the tension between you two was palpable. Your dream, the awkward moments at work, and now this dinner invitation... everything felt like it was building up to something.

Yeri’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Just text him already. I know you want to.”

You stared at the screen of your phone for a long moment, then, against your better judgment, you typed a reply.

You: I’m fine with that. I’ll see you tonight then.

You hit send, your breath catching as you realized you had just agreed to dinner with Seonghwa—alone, at his place.

Yeri was grinning ear to ear. “There we go. This is going to be so interesting.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, a mixture of anticipation and nerves swirling inside you. What the hell was going to happen tonight?

-

The large dining room was warmly lit, the soft glow of chandeliers casting a gentle light over the table. The meal was simple but delicious—a homemade feast, rich in flavors and variety. Seonghwa sat at the head of the table, looking effortlessly composed as usual. His parents, both welcoming and kind, chatted with you like they had known you for years.

Seonghwa's mom, a woman with a calm and gentle demeanor, smiled at her son. "You really outdid yourself, Seonghwa," she said, her voice full of admiration. "This dinner is lovely."

You blinked in surprise, glancing between her and Seonghwa. "Wait, you cooked all of this?" you asked, unable to hide your disbelief.

Seonghwa shot you a subtle, almost shy smile. "I did. Not all of it cause I did not have much time, but I prepared most of the dishes," he replied, a proud glint in his eyes. "I’ve always liked to cook."

You couldn’t believe it. With all the resources and staff available to him, you had assumed the meal had been prepared by one of their chefs. But here he was, cooking for his family, and doing it with ease.

His dad, a tall man with a warm smile, chuckled beside you. "It’s true," he said, his voice full of pride. "Seonghwa prefers to do things himself. He even insisted on cleaning his own room when he was younger. Wouldn’t let the staff near it. Even today, he cleans his own room."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? You clean your own room?" you asked, amused. Seonghwa simply shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed but not apologetic.

"Guess I’m a little... particular about how things are done," he said, his gaze briefly flickering to you. "I like to have control over the little things."

His mother laughed softly, shaking her head fondly. "He’s always been that way," she said. "Even now, if there’s something wrong in the house, he’ll be the one to fix it."

It was a side of Seonghwa you had never seen before. The CEO who exuded confidence and power, yet here he was, a man who took pride in doing his own work—whether it was cooking or keeping his personal space organized.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little more at ease in this warm, homey environment. "I’m impressed," you admitted, lifting your glass of wine. "I had no idea you were like this. Hongjoong has never said a word to me."

Seonghwa’s smile softened, and for a moment, he looked less like a CEO and more like someone who was simply enjoying the company of his family and friends. "I try to keep things balanced," he said quietly, meeting your gaze for a moment before turning back to his parents. "I think it helps me stay grounded."

The rest of dinner continued with light-hearted conversation, and though you still felt the awkwardness between you and Seonghwa lingering, it slowly began to dissipate. His parents were warm and engaging, and Seonghwa, despite his usual guarded demeanor, seemed comfortable, as though he truly enjoyed the time spent with his family and you.

As the meal came to an end, Seonghwa’s mother insisted on serving dessert that their chef was currently preparing, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the hospitality. "Thank you for having me over," you said to Seonghwa’s parents, your voice sincere. "This has been really nice."

Seonghwa's mother smiled softly, setting down her wine glass as she looked over at you. "We’re always so happy to have you. Also, would you like to see the library until dessert arrives? It’s one of my favorite places in the house," she said with a gentle tone. "It’s quite beautiful, and Seonghwa’s been wanting to show it to you."

You blinked in surprise, glancing at Seonghwa. His expression was unreadable, but his lips curled into a small, polite smile. "I’d be happy to show you," he said, standing up from the table, gesturing for you to follow.

Seonghwa’s mom beamed, clearly pleased. "I’m sure you’ll love it," she added, her eyes twinkling. "Take your time."

You nodded and followed Seonghwa, leaving the dining room behind. The warmth of the house, the pleasant scent of the meal still lingering in the air, gave everything a homely feel. As you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but admire the house’s interior—elegantly furnished, with an air of comfort and sophistication.

You arrived at a grand set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Seonghwa pushed them open, revealing a large, quiet space. The library was nothing short of spectacular when he switched the lights on.

It was a room filled with towering bookshelves, each one neatly organized and brimming with books of all kinds. Soft, dim golden light spilled from the chandeliers overhead, creating a peaceful, inviting atmosphere. You could see why his mother loved it here—it was a perfect blend of elegance and tranquility.

"This is beautiful," you said, stepping into the room, your voice softer now as you took in the surroundings. The scent of old books mixed with the faintest hint of polished wood, and the sheer size of the library was awe-inspiring.

Seonghwa gave a small nod, his eyes scanning the room before settling back on you. "It’s my mom’s favorite place. She spends a lot of time here when she wants to relax," he explained, his voice calm, almost wistful.

You ran your fingers along the spines of the books as you walked past them, feeling the weight of history in each one. "Do you spend much time here, too?" you asked, glancing back at Seonghwa.

He paused for a moment before nodding, his expression thoughtful. "I used to, when I had more time. But lately, it’s been harder to find the time to sit and read for hours." He walked over to a section of the room, gesturing for you to follow. "I come in here when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet and I like the dim lights."

As you followed him, you noticed a few family photos scattered around the room on small tables—pictures of Seonghwa as a child, with his parents, and some even with his friends. It was strange seeing him in such a different light, outside the role of the CEO or the enigmatic, aloof businessman you were used to.

"You’ve got a lot of history here," you remarked, turning to him as you looked at one of the photos. "It’s nice."

Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on the photo for a moment before he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "It is," he agreed quietly. "My parents have always valued family... even in the midst of everything else."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice that you hadn’t heard before, a side of him that was far from the powerful CEO. It made you see him in a new light, one that made everything between you feel even more complicated.

"You can take a look around," Seonghwa said, breaking the silence. "There’s no rush."

You smiled, appreciating his hospitality, and began to wander further into the library. It felt like a space where time slowed down, where the outside world couldn’t touch you. As you moved along the shelves, you spotted a beautiful leather-bound collection of books on medical technology and advancements, which caught your attention.

“Is this yours?” you asked, and he nodded. "I didn’t know you were into this," you said, pulling one of the books out and flipping through it. "I figured you were more into business."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, walking over to stand beside you. "I’m interested in a lot of things. Medical technology has always fascinated me—especially with the work we do at Byeol Materials. I think it’s important to understand the field, even if it’s not my main focus."

You glanced up at him, surprised by the depth of his knowledge and interest. There was so much more to him than you had originally thought.

"It’s rare to find someone who has such a broad perspective," you said, your voice a little softer now. "Most people focus only on their own lane."

He met your gaze, his expression slightly more open. "I believe in understanding as much as I can," he said quietly. "The more you know, the more you can contribute."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between you growing stronger, yet still laced with an undercurrent of tension that neither of you had fully addressed.

You wandered through the library, your fingers gliding along the spines of the books. The smell of aged paper mixed with wood polish filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. The room was beautiful, but your focus wavered, your mind still replaying the dinner conversation and the glances Seonghwa had been throwing your way all evening.

One book title caught your eye on the top shelf, its gold lettering glinting softly in the dim light. You stood on your tiptoes, reaching for it, but it was just out of your grasp. Frustrated, you stretched further, only to feel a presence behind you—warm, solid, and far too close.

“Need some help?” Seonghwa’s deep voice murmured against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t turn right away, your breath hitching as his scent enveloped you. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder to see him towering behind you, his arm reaching past you to effortlessly grab the book. His other hand came to rest on the shelf beside your head, caging you in.

“Seems like you’re always in situations where you need saving,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You turned fully, your body brushing against his, your chin tilting up to meet his gaze. “I didn’t ask for your help, but I’ll take it,” you replied, your tone laced with challenge.

His lips curved into a faint smirk as he handed you the book, but you didn’t take it right away. Instead, you let your fingers brush deliberately against his, holding his gaze, which had darkened with something unspoken.

“You know,” you said, your voice soft but daring, “I’m starting to think you enjoy being the hero.”

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “Maybe I just enjoy you being in situations where I can step in.”

Your heart raced, the tension between you thick and electric. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity of his stare pinning you in place. Boldness surged through you, fueled by the charged atmosphere and the heat you felt in your pants. You reached up, placing your hand lightly on his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his loose black t-shirt.

“Always so sure of yourself,” you murmured, your voice dropping as you leaned in just a fraction, enough to feel the whisper of his breath on your skin. “It’s almost unfair.”

He inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice tight, controlled, but laced with something dangerous. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the heat,” you countered, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as if he were debating something. Then, he lowered his head, bringing his lips achingly close to yours, but not quite touching. “You really want to do this?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper. “It will only get hotter from here.”

You tilted your head, your lips barely grazing his, your voice dropping to a provocative whisper. “I do,” you said, letting the challenge linger in the charged air between you. Your hand moved down his chest, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, until it hovered near the waistband of his pants.

Before you could take it further, Seonghwa’s larger hand caught yours, his grip firm but electrifying. In a swift motion, he laced his fingers with yours and pinned your hand against the bookshelf, his body pressing into yours as the tension finally snapped. Without hesitation, his lips crashed against yours, a blend of frustration and unrestrained desire pouring into the kiss.

The book you had been holding slipped from your other hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t care. Your free hand snaked around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. He responded with equal intensity, his free arm wrapping around your waist to press you firmly against the shelves, as if he couldn’t bear even a fraction of space between you.

The kiss deepened, a heady mix of heat and urgency, leaving no room for hesitation or second-guessing. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak, and when he bit down gently on your lower lip, a quiet gasp escaped you, making him smirk against your mouth.

Breaking the kiss just enough to look at you, his breath came in short, shallow bursts, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with raw emotion. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the wicked grin on your lips betrayed your confidence. “I think I have an idea,” you replied, your voice teasing but breathless.

His gaze flicked to your lips once more, and for a second, you thought he might lose himself all over again. But then, as if some shred of restraint returned, he let out a frustrated sigh and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Y/N,” he started, his tone a mix of warning and longing, “fuck… if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.”

Your hand tightened around his neck, your lips brushing against his in a whisper of a kiss. “I don’t want to stop.” For a moment, the world stood still as he processed your words, his restraint hanging by a thread. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, Seonghwa closed the gap between you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was hungrier, hotter, and more desperate than before.

His hand trailed up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, while his other hand slid along your jawline, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging just enough to earn a low, guttural sound from him that made your stomach flip.

His lips left yours only to trail down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a searing path of heat in their wake. Your head tilted back instinctively, giving him better access as your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips when he gently sucked on your skin, being careful to not leave a mark. Every kiss, every touch was filled with the unspoken tension that had built up over years, threatening to consume you both.

His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you against him, and you could feel his clothed hard dick press against your stomach. A sharp vibration broke through the haze, causing Seonghwa to groan against your skin. The spell shattered as his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he muttered under his breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a brief second before fishing out his phone with one hand, while the other cupped your cheek, thumb gently rubbing your skin. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening when he saw the caller ID.

“Wooyoung… this better be good,” he answered the call, his voice low and rough, a mix of frustration and obligation. As he listened to his secretary, you couldn’t help but admire the sight of him—slightly disheveled hair, lips swollen from your kisses, his entire demeanor still radiating heat even as he handled business. It was a stark reminder of the duality he carried so effortlessly, and it made your heart race all over again.

“Okay, I’ll handle it in a bit, Woo,” he said curtly before hanging up, his gaze snapping back to you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened—and what had been interrupted—hanging heavily in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. “That couldn’t wait.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering tension. “It’s okay. Duty calls.”

His eyes lingered on you, conflicted but undeniably drawn. “This isn’t over,” he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his voice carrying a promise that sent a thrill through you.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you replied, your tone teasing but your heart hammering in your chest.

With that, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, straightening his shirt as he composed himself. “Let’s go before something else derails us.”

You nodded, following him out of the library, but the charged atmosphere between you remained. The walk back to the dining room was thick with tension. Neither of you said a word, but every glance, every brush of his hand against yours as you walked, felt loaded with unspoken words. The air was charged, your body still humming from the encounter in the library, and you couldn’t help but replay every moment in your mind.

When you entered the dining room, Seonghwa’s parents were still seated, chatting softly over dessert and wine. His mother’s eyes lit up as she saw the two of you, and she smiled warmly. “There you two are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost among the shelves.”

“Not at all,” Seonghwa replied smoothly, his voice back to its composed, professional tone. “I was just showing Y/N around. We got caught up in a few interesting finds.”

You nodded, managing a polite smile despite the fluttering in your chest. “Your library is incredible, Mrs. Park. I could spend days in there.”

Her smile widened with pride. “I’m so glad you think so. It’s always been my sanctuary, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed it.”

Seonghwa’s father leaned back in his chair, regarding the two of you with a curious glint in his eye. “It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, his tone casual but carrying an undertone that made your cheeks flush. “It’ll make working together easier, I’m sure.”

Seonghwa cleared his throat subtly, stepping closer to you and resting a hand lightly on the back of your chair as he pulled it out for you to sit. The simple gesture felt protective, and you found yourself glancing up at him, only to meet his gaze for a fleeting moment before he turned to take his own seat, the glances noticed by his parents.

The conversation at the table shifted to business matters, with Mr. Park asking about Aurum Medical Technologies’ latest developments. You answered confidently, explaining your plans for expanding production and introducing new products to meet growing demand. The steady rhythm of professional talk helped calm your racing thoughts, though every now and then, you’d catch Seonghwa watching you, his gaze thoughtful and intense.

When dessert was finished, Mrs. Park rose from her seat. “I think this has been a lovely evening,” she said warmly. “Y/N, it was such a pleasure having you here. I do hope we’ll see more of you.”

“I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, standing to shake her hand. She surprised you by pulling you into a gentle hug instead, her affection catching you off guard but leaving you with a sense of comfort.

After saying your goodbyes, Seonghwa walked you to your car. The evening air seemed to thicken around you, amplifying the tension that had been simmering all night. Seonghwa stood close, his hands resting casually in his pockets, but his eyes betrayed something far less composed—a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied, matching his tone. “Your parents are wonderful, and the dinner was... unexpectedly pleasant.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he stepped closer. “Unexpectedly pleasant? Should I be offended?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Let’s just say you have a knack for catching me off guard.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tentative, but the intensity in his gaze was anything but. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his movements slow, deliberate—giving you every chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Your back pressed against the cool surface of your car as Seonghwa closed the distance between you, his hand sliding to cup your cheek. His lips found yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, his other hand bracing against the car door to trap you in place. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you melted into him, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and longing.

The kiss was intoxicating, every brush of his lips against yours igniting a fire that burned through every coherent thought in your mind. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces just inches apart.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curling into a faint smirk that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as you nodded.

His fingers lingered against your cheek for a moment longer before he stepped back, allowing you to open your car door. As you slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you couldn’t resist glancing at him one last time. He was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse race all over again.

As you drove away, the taste of him still lingering on your lips, one thought consumed your mind: you were in deep, and there was no turning back now.

Once your car was no longer in his view, Seonghwa headed back inside his family mansion, closing the front door behind him, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled. The kiss had left him exhilarated and on edge, his mind replaying the moment over and over. He turned toward the living room, only to freeze in his tracks at the sight of his parents seated on the couch, identical smirks plastered across their faces.

“Well, that looked... passionate,” his father remarked, folding his arms and leaning back against the couch.

Seonghwa groaned, his hand dragging down his face. “You were watching?”

His mother let out a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Not intentionally, dear. But you were right outside the window, and, well... it was hard to miss with a window this large.”

Seonghwa felt his ears heat up, and he turned away slightly, muttering, “It wasn’t... I mean, it’s not what it looked like?” his own words felt like a question because he didn’t know what to say.

His father raised a skeptical brow. “Really? Because it looked like you just kissed the woman you’ve been pretending not to care about.”

“Dad,” Seonghwa warned, though his tone lacked bite. He sank into the armchair across from them, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine… I like her. A lot. But I don’t know if she feels the same way.”

His mother’s expression softened instantly, and she leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee. “Seonghwa, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. There’s no way she doesn’t feel something.”

“Mom, you don’t know that,” he said quietly, his usual confidence faltering. “I hurt her multiple times before. I don’t even know if she’s forgiven me completely. We… never really spoke about the past.”

His mother shook her head, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “Trust me, Seonghwa. A woman doesn’t look at a man the way she looks at you unless she feels something deep. And Y/N is wonderful—strong, kind, and intelligent. You’d be a fool not to give this a real chance.”

His father chimed in with a nod. “She’s got a sharp mind, that one. Definitely someone who can keep up with you, maybe even outmatch you.” He grinned, clearly enjoying teasing his son. “You’d better not mess this up again.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile despite himself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

His mother gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just be honest with her, Seonghwa. Show her how much you care. If she’s the right one, and I know she is, it’ll work out.”

Seonghwa sat back, his thoughts drifting to you—your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you teased him, and the softness in your gaze when you thought he wasn’t looking. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe there was more between you than he dared to hope for.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. But deep down, a part of him was already planning how he could win your heart completely.

End of Part Two.

[alia-alia12]

By Chance

Part 9: Old Shadows

𖧹Gojo Satoru x Fem!reader

𖧹Fluff

𖧹1.0k

𖧹Masterlist

The soft rustling of leaves whispered gently through the quiet street, blending with the distant hum of wind chimes from the market square. The afternoon sun hung low on the horizon, casting long, golden shadows across the worn cobblestones.

You sat side by side on the old wooden bench outside the bookstore, close enough that your shoulders almost touched—but not quite. The air between you felt heavy, charged with memories neither of you dared to name.

Satoru stared down at his hands, his long fingers tracing idle patterns along the edge of the bench. His gaze was distant, thoughtful, like he was still piecing together something too fragile to say out loud.

“It's strange being back,” you admitted softly, your eyes fixed on the quiet street ahead. “Feels like everything stayed the same… except me.”

His lips quirked into something faint—almost a smile. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The familiar ache settled in your chest, sharp and bittersweet. “Do you… ever think about us back then?”

His breath hitched, his fingers stilling against the worn wood. “More than I probably should.”

The confession lingered in the quiet between you—raw, unspoken, real.

“I used to come here, after you left,” he continued, voice rougher now. “Sit right here… like maybe if I waited long enough, you’d show up.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting deeper than you expected.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I didn’t-- I didn’t want to leave the way I did.”

He shook his head, the faintest trace of a bitter laugh slipping through. “I wasn’t mad, not really. Just—”

He exhaled sharply, fingers running through his unruly white hair. “I thought you’d come back sooner.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your hands twisting in your lap. “I wanted to but things got… complicated.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet now, almost… resigned. “Life does that.”

The weight of everything left unsaid pressed down between you, sharp and inescapable. But beneath it all, there was still something else—something that hadn’t faded, no matter how many years had passed.

“I never forgot,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not for a second.”

His head snapped up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours—wide, searching, disbelieving.

“Neither did I.” His words were low, almost broken. “I couldn’t.”

The quiet between you felt fragile—something worth saving, something still alive.

Slowly, carefully, Satoru reached out—his fingers brushing lightly against yours in a silent question. You didn’t pull away.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the space between you felt smaller. Less impossible.

And as the wind stirred gently around you, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and forgotten summers, you let yourself hope—just a little.

--------------------

The quiet hum of the breeze stirred gently around you, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers from the nearby park. The late afternoon light cast soft, golden rays across the worn cobblestone street, wrapping the world in a warmth that felt at odds with the ache settling deep in your chest.

Satoru’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, his touch tentative—a silent question, a quiet hope.

You didn’t pull away.

The stillness stretched between you, heavy with memories and words left unsaid. His piercing blue eyes held yours, searching for something he couldn’t quite name—something he wasn’t sure he deserved to find.

“I thought…” he began, his voice low, uncertain. “I thought I’d be mad at you… if I ever saw you again.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling beneath his. “Are you?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly—not enough to trap you, but enough to ground himself. “No.”

The word hung softly between you, honest and raw.

“I was hurt,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested together. “You were everything—are everything, and then you were just… gone.”

Your chest ached, guilt threading through every breath. “I never meant to hurt you, Satoru.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But it still… broke something.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It wasn’t supposed to be forever. I thought maybe if I stayed away long enough, you’d be… okay.”

He let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You think I ever wanted to be okay without you?”

The quiet intensity of his words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless.

Before you could respond, he cupped your hand in both of his, his touch firm but still careful—always careful, always so much more than you deserved.

“I waited,” he said softly, his voice trembling just enough for you to notice. “For years… I waited.”

Tears spilled over, slipping silently down your cheeks. “I-I didn’t think you still cared.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, fierce and undeniable. “I never stopped.”

The weight of his words shattered every wall you’d built, every excuse you’d clung to in his absence. You couldn’t run—not anymore.

“I missed you,” you whispered, voice breaking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back. “So much it hurt.”

His fingers tightened around yours, grounding you in a way only he ever could. “I’m right here.”

The soft promise lingered between you, steady and unshakable.

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his hand to your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. His touch was warm, familiar—home.

For the first time in a long time, hope felt like something real—something possible.

And as the wind stirred gently around you, you let yourself believe. Maybe you hadn’t lost each other after all.

[4suke]

anatomy of a breakup.

kuroo tetsurou x reader. angst, exes post-breakup, oneshot crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.

you don’t get it.

it keeps you up at night, it takes your mind away from schoolwork, it makes you replay every single moment of the last year and a half and all the years of friendship before, and you still don’t get it. 

you’ve pulled apart every interaction both by yourself and with yaku, who has been nothing if not kind and patient and supportive and so simply unlike himself… and so like himself at the same time because yaku morisuke is nothing if not the best friend you will ever have. far too many evenings have been spent starfished on his too-big bed with his beloved weighted penguin plush on top of you, while the guy himself paces around alternating between sitting beside you or at his tiny desk-chair. he’d never been good at sitting still, less so when the topic of conversation upset him just as deeply as it did you. 

you wish feelings made sense. even the mere thought brought a fresh wave of pain, because it had never been you who had wanted the logical side of things. it has always been him, while you had laughed and patted his elbow placatingly. you wish a lot of things made sense, actually, but they didn’t and there was also nothing you could do about any of them. so you wallow in your heartbreak and let the voice at the back of your mind call you pathetic until it goes hoarse.

there’s no space for recovery. you’re in close proximity to tetsurou at almost all times- if not physically, then in the framed photograph on your nightstand you can’t bring yourself to throw away, or in the matching phone wallpapers that all the volleyball team bar two (yaku, out of consideration for you, and kenma out of sheer stubbornness) have, or in the group chat that still floods your phone every night. in kenma’s not-so-secret private instagram, in kai’s shared google photo album, in lev’s clumsy little wannabe vlogs, in yaku pretending he isn’t in the same room as you when tetsurou calls. most of all, he’s in your own head- you hold so many memories of him you might just burst. 

you wish the world would stop. stop reminding you of him, stop existing with him in it, stop existing with the both of you in it- anything would be preferable. but the earth refuses to stop spinning because you’re sad, and you wish that the earth didn’t have quite so much of kuroo tetsurou in it. 

(funnily enough, that isn’t the only impossible thing you wish for.)

the earth will not stop spinning, and your friends will not let you stay rooted in the muck of feelings he left you in. you continue to eat lunch with the second-years (on all five days of the week instead of just two now), you continue to walk the first-years home when they stay back late for practice (you do it alone now), you continue to poke fun at taketora and lev over the post-game bowls of ramen and you continue to treat inuoka like your long-lost son. you continue to crack a smile at fukunaga's puns and you continue to beg kai for homework answers over text mere hours before the deadlines. you continue to smile at tetsurou in greeting, continue to stay back when he asks you to discuss their prospects at nationals with coach nekomata, continue to offer to clean up the gyms every other day so he can head home to take care of his grandmother. the heavy knot of heartbreak still hangs like dead weight inside your rib cage, but as long as you continue complaining about kenma’s god awful sleep schedule and continue nodding energetically at snippets of songs that play when yaku slips you his earbuds, you can gloss over the way tetsurou hurt you. 

you get used to the weight with time. it doesn’t fade, but your friends seem to notice a difference even though they say nothing about it. kenma stops hiding his instagram stories from you when he posts another tetsurou grandpa moment. yaku stops sending you cautious glances during practices. taketora finally stops treating you like you’re about to break and starts clamouring for you to join the team bonding sessions once again. 

you aren’t fooled, though. your pain isn’t the kind of scar that heals up cleanly and quickly. you’re fighting to pretend you’re fine, existing this close to kuroo tetsurou and ignoring every instinct that screams at you to quit your post as nekoma’s volleyball manager and beg your parents to let you transfer to itachiyama.

the only thing that makes it hard to stick to the track, unsurprisingly, tetsurou is himself. 

he isn’t even trying. he’s normal again, and you know him well enough to tell that he (unlike you) is not faking a thing. there’s no internal conflict behind the large honest eyes every time he nods at you in greeting, no hesitation or pain echoing across his mind when he casually throws himself onto the couch between you and kenma on movie night and slings an arm across the back of the sofa inches from your head and shoulders. 

that , at least, makes sense, you think to yourself, walking home alone after a night out at the arcade with the team. he was the one who broke up with you so why should he feel any of the pain? why should he feel the ghosts of your touch on the sides of his face and the insides of his wrists every time he absentmindedly brushes against you in a crowded hallway? why should he lie awake at night trying not to think about the feeling of your arms curled around his waist when you used to nap together during free periods? 

he has no reason to agonize over something he chose to end, you know. rationalizing it doesn’t make it better.

the messy cannonball of emotions tucked neatly between your ribcage’s left walls wouldn’t hurt half as bad if it was another thing you shared with tetsurou, you think bitterly, wrapping your scarf tighter around your face. but life is unfair and this is the one thing you don’t share. you’re unbalanced. kuroo is fine and you are not.

you skip the next team outing. you sit in your bathtub, lukewarm water up to your shoulders with your head pressed against your arms, and you don't get it.

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 7

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: You and Wednesday investigate Xavier before attending the Rave'n

I wake up to the sound of papers rustling and Wednesday thinking out loud to herself. The morning sun beaming through the windows making me never want to open my eyes.

I dramatically sit up, my white hair going every which way. I feel I have more energy than usual, maybe I needed that release of energy.

My feet find their way into the slippers by my bed, I'm wearing pajama shorts and an oversized band tee. The shirt has clearly seen better days as the graphic is faded.

I walk to the center of the room to find Wednesday in front of a bulletin board, crossing her arms in thought. The bulletin board is covered in pictures of wounds and bodies. I assume these are all the victims of the murders, Wednesday did say she snuck out last night to the morgue.

I turn around to find Enid sleeping still, so I keep in mind of my volume. "Good morning Wends, did you sleep or?"

Wednesday turns around to meet me, her eyes going to my white messy hair. "I can see you did." She responded in a whisper, unsure if it's because Enid is sleeping is because she's just naturally mimicking my volume.

Her eyes linger on my hair a moment longer before turning back around.

"Are you the one who set the statue on fire?" I ask in a whisper.

Wednesday moves a picture before pushing a thumbtack through it. "I thought you did. When I looked at you it was as if you were concentrating on the fire."

I at least know it wasn't Wednesday. "I think I did?"

Wednesday turns around again. "You think?"

"I kinda zoned out, but it felt like all the emotions of yesterday just kinda like, alleviated in that moment."

I find Wednesday's new soft gaze meeting mine. Ever since that vision yesterday she's been looking at me differently. A good different.

"Why did you play a song while the fire was going on?"

Wednesday stares off to the side before meeting my gaze again. "I wasn't sure what was happening and if you were involved or not. Besides, I can handle people being suspicious of me."

Wednesday turned back around, bringing her attention back to the bulletin board.

Was she trying to be a distraction for me?

"I'm gonna get ready, we can talk about whatever you uncovered from the morgue when I'm done." She stopped moving while I was talking before going back to what she was doing.

That's about as much of an acknowledgement I'm going to get from Wednesday with a statement like that. I head back to my section of the room to get ready.

"While most plants reward their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sexual trickery or deception." Ms. Thornhill is holding up a dangerous looking plant casually while addressing the class.

I glance at Wednesday, noticing Xavier staring at me before we both look away from each other.

Ms. Thornhill keeps teaching the class, but none of it retains in my memory over Xavier and I's occasionally glances at each other from across the sunlit room.

"Now, once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in exchange?" Ms. Thornhill looks to me, about to call on me to answer after noticing my lack of attention.

"Nada. Just like all the guys at the Rave'n." Bianca answers before Ms. Thornhill embarrasses me. Some light chuckles fill the classroom.

"Okay, okay. I know you're all excited about Saturday, which is why I haven't assigned any homework." Ms. Thornhill states, causing a majority of the class to cheer quietly.

"But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here." Some students stand to approach the teacher's desk, while Wednesday and I stay in place.

"What? you don't want to volunteer?" I say jokingly.

"I hope that isn't your best attempt at a joke." Wednesday glares at me for a moment, causing me to look away to see Xavier's glance on me.

"I feel bad, about what I said yesterday to Xavier." I say with a worried look on my face. "Maybe I overreacted."

Wednesday turns to see Xavier bending over to put something in his bag that's on the floor, revealing the fresh wounds on his neck.

"Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone." Wednesday states, turning back to me. "We can follow him until I notice something that can potentially give us a lead."

"Do you suspect Xavier?" I ask in a worried whisper.

"Only by proximity, nothing certain. Yet." Wednesday turns to look at Xavier again. "But, a suspect is still a suspect."

Wednesday and I find ourselves near a shed by the school. Xavier leaves the shed shortly after we arrive. We're hiding behind a bush so he can't see us.

"Cast the spell." Wednesday demands. I take out my wand, casting the disillusionment charm on her so she can sneak into the shed with ease.

"We'll meet back here afterwards so I can remove the charm." I don't hear a response, but I assume she nodded.

I stand, doing a light run to catch up to him. "Xavier!"

He turns around to meet me. "Hey y/n, what's up." He's clearly acting like nothing is wrong.

"I just wanted to apologize about how I acted yesterday, I shouldn't have blown up on you like that."

He avoids my gaze for a moment. "I should apologize too, I shouldn't have been so inconsiderate."

"No, no. You don't need to apologize, I should've controlled my emotions better." I say quickly after he's done speaking.

"Can you just let me have this?" He says with a smile.

I smile back. "So we're cool?"

"Yeah." He puts out his fist, waiting for our knuckles to meet.

I lightly tap my knuckles against his. "We should hangout soon. Maybe play Mario Maker levels made by sadistic assholes." I say jokingly.

He responds with a light chuckle, tearing his eyes away from me to look at the ground.

The creek of the shed door opening draws both of our attention away from the conversation.

"Is there someone in there?" He says, mostly to the wind.

We both approach the shed, opening the door more letting the daylight fill the room.

"Must be something wrong with the door." I say out loud before closing it.

I turn to meet Xavier. "I was being serious about doing something soon, I miss spending time with you."

"Maybe we can hangout at the dance on Saturday, purely platonically I mean of course." His face goes slightly red.

"I wasn't going to go, but if you want to hangout there I can." I state uncertainly before pointing behind me with my thumb. "I'm gonna leave, Wednesday is probably waiting for me so she can drag me to a crime scene or something."

"Alright, see you at the dance then." Xavier waves before walking off.

I find my way back behind the bush, accidentally bumping into Wednesday. "Shit, sorry."

I pull out my wand and holding my hand out expectingly. She finds her hand in mine. I tap the wand onto her hand as she becomes visible again.

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, but let's get back to our dorm first." She states, quickly turning around before she starts walking.

The dorm is filled with sunlight from the sunroof, I find myself sitting in Wednesday's reading chair next to her bulletin board with her standing over me.

I hold Xavier's drawing in my hand with Wednesday's expecting glance over me. "What do you think?"

"I think if anything this makes him more innocent." I state flatly. "He's a psychic like his father, but he told me about how he gets visions in dreams usually in the form of nightmares."

I look up to Wednesday from the drawing. "I also doubt the monster knows this much physical detail about himself."

Wednesday looks at me a bit disappointed by my conclusion.

"But, if this is the case. He could be extremely helpful to our case."

Wednesday's look turns from disappointment to curiosity. "How so."

"He's getting visions about the monster we're hunting. He could likely give us some leads."

Our conversation is cut short as Enid bursts into the room, skipping across the room towards us.

"Good, you both are here." She stops in front of us with a smile. "Are you two going to the Rave'n? I'm about to go out with some friends to find clothes, if you guys are interested you can tag along."

I stand up. "Yeah I'll come with."

Wednesday gives me a confused look. "You're going to the dance?"

"Yeah, I told Xavier that we could spend time together at the dance. Purely platonically of course." I pause for a moment before I continue. "You should come to the dance to, it could be fun."

"Ooo, inviting Wednesday to the dance?" Enid draws out of the o's accusingly.

My face flushes red in embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that!" I say somehow in the least convincing way possible.

Enid gives me a smug look before glancing past me. Wednesday in now in her section of the room grabbing a few things. "Yeah, yeah. I'm getting tired of waiting! You two just need to-"

I find myself lunging towards Enid, covering her mouth with my hand to force her to stop talking.

"Enid, please stop!" I drag out the e in the word please.

She lightly kicks behind my knee playfully, causing me to fall on top of her.

"Enid!" I shout before scrambling to my feet. Enid has the dumbest smile on her face when I look over her. She's still on the floor.

"Are we leaving or not." Wednesday's monotone voice reaches my ears, causing me to turn around to see her ready to go out.

"Wait, you're actually coming!?" I take a step closer, excitement painting my face and lacing my voice.

"If you two stop bickering." She states flatly

I turn to see Enid's smug face as she's back on her feet now.

I walk past Enid while I head to the door. "Not a word about this."

She nods with the same expression before leaving the room with us.

"What kind of dystopian hell scape is this?" I state with a look of disgust.

Y/n, Enid, and I are standing in front of Hawte Kewture, the clothing store is decorated with blue and pink pastels. So, quite literally, my worst nightmare.

Enid turns to you with excitement. "Our first roomie shopping spree with Wednesday! The dance committee's suggesting all white to match the theme, but that's not gonna fly with Wednesday."

I turn towards them. "I have some more pressing matters to deal with."

Enid's excitement turns into disappointment. "But I thought we were bonding."

"I will meet up with you two later, or you'll meet up with me. Whatever comes first."

Y/n and Enid glance at each other for a moment. "If you say so." You say with slight disappointment in your voice.

You and Enid turn around to enter the store, I take the chance to leave before you manage to persuade me to enter that dungeon of a store.

When I'm walking down the street Thing taps my shoulder as we pass Uriah's Heap. "I'm going to see Galpin, I'm not stop-" I turn to look into the window to see a gothic black dress.

"Hi, Wednesday." The sound of a bell fills the air as my therapist leaves the store. "That dress will certainly turn some heads."

"Are you collecting more exotic trinkets for your office?" I state, drawing the attention away from the dress.

"Those are souvenirs from my travels. That's how I step outside of my comfort zone. Speaking of which, are you going to the Rave'n this weekend?"

"I'm not required to answer your questions out in the wild, am I?" I try to end the conversation.

"I look forward to talking about it at our next session." She turns to leave the other way. I turn to the entrance of the store, taking my time to enter.

I left with the dress in a bag, I wasn't expecting you to manage to persuade me to buy a dress.

I put Xavier's drawing on the sheriff's desk. "We both know there's a monster out there. If we're going to stop it, I think it's time we put our differences aside and work together."

"And this is your stake for me to deal you in?" The sheriff is now holding the drawing, inspecting it before grabbing a photograph and putting them side by side.

"Sorry you gotta do better than that. You've got some nice detail though." He hands me the drawing back.

"I didn't draw it." I fold the drawing before putting it back into my backpack.

"I need to know who did." He states firmly

"Unless we're exchanging intel, I'm not at liberty to say."

He sighs while looking off to the side. "Why would I share information about an ongoing murder investigation with a high school kid?"

"Because I go to Nevermore and you don't. Don't you want some eyes and ears behind those ivy-covered walls?"

"Listen Velma, why don't you and the Scooby gang stick to your homework and leave the investigating to the professionals." The phone starts ringing, causing the sheriff to answer. "What?"

The voice on the other end is slightly distorted by the age of the technology. "Mayor Walker's on line two, he's looking for an update."

I take cue to leave. "Hey, Addams."

The sheriff beckons me over. "Let me see that sketch again."

I walk back in, handing him the drawing.

"The person who drew this, that your suspect?"

I shake my head. "I believe he's having visions about it."

The sheriff is silent for a moment. "When you bring me some concrete evidence, maybe we'll talk."

I take the sketch back, before leaving the police station.

I'm sitting inside the Weathervane with Enid and her friends. I see Wednesday walk past though the window. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna check on Wednesday real quick."

Everyone at the table quietly acknowledges my statement before I leave the store.

The bell of the door fills the air. "Wednesday!" She turns around as I catch up.

"I see you found something." I look towards her bag.

We both continue walking, rounding a corner to be met with Tyler on the other side.

"Don't wanna ask what trouble you two are in now." Tyler looks past us for a second, looking at the sheriff's office behind us.

"Nothing we can't handle. Your father's in particularly frustrating form today. Avoid." Wednesday says as Tyler draws his vision back to us.

"Yeah, welcome to my world." Tyler murmurs before changing the conversation. "You guys have the Rave'n this weekend, right? It was all the buzz at the Weathervane today."

"Yeah, the Rave'ns this weekend." I answer, curious on where he's going.

"Are you going with anyone Wednesday?" Tyler asks, a bit of nervousness to his voice.

I find Wednesday glancing at me for a moment. "I'm going with Y/n."

I look at Wednesday trying to conceal my shock.

He avoids eye contact for a moment "Hope you two have fun." Disappointment laces his voice as he walks past us

Wednesday turns around to face him. "I'm not sure why you're upset."

"That's kind of the problem." Tyler turns around to meet us again. "I mean, call me crazy, Wednesday, but you keep giving me these signals.

"You're crazy." I interject myself into the conversation to be met with a scowl from Tyler.

His eyes soften again before meeting Wednesday's. "I thought we liked each other, but then you pull something like this, and I have no idea where I stand. I mean, am I in the more than friend zone or just a pawn in some game you're playing."

There's a lull in the conversation before Wednesday continues. "I like girls, Tyler."

My ears perk up at this wonderful news.

"I mean, yeah clearly. You're going with her." Tyler gestures his hand towards me. "Sorry, that was mean."

There was another lull in the conversation filled with awkward silence.

He points behind himself. "I guess I'll see you guys around." He turns around to walk away.

I walk into my shared dorm room to get ready for the Rave'n early. The room is dark as the sun has set. I'm the only soul in here. I assume Wednesday is still moving the evidence board to the bee shed.

Enid wasn't the biggest fan of having a board covered in pictures of corpse parts in the dorm.

I approach my desk to be greeted with a letter with the initials 'W.A.'

I pick it up, carefully opening the envelope as to not tear anything.

Dear Y/n Y/l/n,

I'm having trouble trying to find the words, this is all new to me. I believe I may have some sort of 'feelings' for you. Every time we come in to contact, I have this nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach. My heart races, unable to be calm in the presence of your touch. Yet, I'm insatiable for more.

I believe you may reciprocate these feelings, so why must we pretend otherwise? I want to attend this dance together more than merely friends.

However, if you don't reciprocate these feelings, I demand you burn this letter and forget this happened.

Wednesday Addams

The happiest smile slips onto my face as I jump in place. I put the letter in the top drawer of my desk before the door to the dorm opens.

Wednesday walks through the doorway, gazing towards me. She seems nervous.

"Wednesday!" I practically run to close the distance, my smile somehow getting bigger now that she's in my presence.

"I assume you found the letter." She states with a hint of worry.

I quickly nod. "Yes, and my answer is yes!"

Wednesday releases an exhale of relief. I see the weight release off her chest through her perfect posture.

"Can I uhm." I am now much quieter, my face quickly flushing red. "Can we hug?"

After Wednesday is silent for a moment and avoiding eye contact, I worry I may have overstepped.

"It's okay if you-"

"Yes." I find Wednesday's eyes have finally met mine again. "Please."

My smile returns before I wrap my arms around her into a warm embrace. Wednesday stands there for a moment with her arms by her side, unsure what to do.

Eventually, Wednesday reciprocates the hug. Wrapping her arms around my waist. Her touch is cool yet comforting.

We both untangle ourselves from the embrace, the warmth of each other's touch lingering on our skin.

"I'm going to get ready." I tell Wednesday, before heading to my closet.

I find myself waiting outside at the bottom of the stairs outside the dorm room. I didn't take as long as Wednesday to get ready.

I turn to the sound of Wednesday's heels tapping against the stairs. She's wearing this beautiful black gothic dress.

I can't help but gawk at the beauty descending the stairs. She looks ethereal.

"Wow, Wednesday. You look... " I'm silent for a moment, trying to find the right words and the confidence to speak them.

"Unrecognizable? Ridiculous?"

I find myself stumped for another moment. "Beautiful, I mean it Wednesday you have me at a loss for words."

Her gaze softens at my sentiment. Her eyes scan my body, silently admiring my appearance.

She breaks eye contact for a moment. "We can hold hands, if that's something you want to do."

I think it's so cute that's she trying to play it off as if she doing it for me.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I hold my hand out, waiting for hers to meet mine before our fingers interlock. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me from her contact, bringing to life the butterflies in my stomach.

"Shall we go?" I can tell by the slight shakiness to her voice I'm having the same effect on her.

I nod, my smile impossible to hide, as we make our way to the dance.

Wednesday and I walk through the entrance, our fingers interlocked. The sound of pop music fills the room as I feel everyone's eyes on us before Ms. Thornhill approaches. "Wednesday, Y/n. What a lovely surprise.

Thornhill's eyes stare at our hands. "I didn't know you two were a couple." She says with a smile

Wednesday and I glance at each other. "It's kind of a new thing." I say awkwardly.

"We're going to get drinks." Wednesday states, mostly to me.

"Have fun you two!" Ms Thornhill says with a smile as we walk away.

We approach the long table together. I squeeze Wednesday's hand so I don't get use to her touch.

"OMG I love the look!" Enid approaches, excitement filling her very being. We both turn towards her and she notices our hands.

Enid's eyes go wide. "Wait are you two officially a thing now?!"

I feel the temperature of my face drastically rise, Wednesday turns her face to see mine.

"I uh-" I start to say before Wednesday interrupts me.

"Interesting choice of date." Wednesday states flatly, looking past Enid to see Lucas.

I follow Wednesday's eyes, finding Lucas standing awkwardly.

"Wait, your date is Lucas Walker? You know he's the worst right?" I say, a hint of malice in my voice.

"It's not what it looks like." Enid says defensively.

"Good, because that pilgrim already has two strikes in my book." Wednesday is practically staring daggers at Lucas.

"Lucas is trying to make his ex jealous, and I'm trying to make Ajax jealous. It's a win-win."

"Why can't you just talk to Ajax instead of doing this? Communication is important." I say, ending my sentence quickly as I see Lucas approaching.

He puts his hands up like we're arresting him. "Wednesday, Y/n, I come in peace."

"That's a shame, I brought my pocket mace." Wednesday says, causing Lucas to lower his arm with a bit of fear etched onto his face. "The medieval kind."

Wednesday turns to grab herself and I a drink as Enid and Lucas walk away. "Just to let you know in advance, tomorrow night we're going to stake out a cave with Eugene. Eugene saw something in one of Xavier's drawing."

Wednesday hands me the drink. "I haven't been too good at keeping you up to date on our plans. I apologize."

I grab the drink. "It's cool, thanks for the heads up." I motion to dink Wednesday's and I's drinks together before each of us takes a sip.

We both turn as we see Xavier approach us at of our peripheral vision. "Hey Xavier! Did you ever find someone to come with?"

He looks around awkwardly for a moment. "Yeah uh, I came with Bianca."

The smile fades from my face. "What, why would you do that?"

Xavier shrugs. "Better than going alone I guess."

There is a lull in the conversation until 'The Goo Goo Muck' by 'The Cramps' started playing.

Wednesday drags me towards the crowd dancing. "Dance with me."

"Wednesday, I don't know I'm not much of a dancer." There's a hint of anxiety on my face as we get closer to the crowd.

"Why'd you agree to come to the dance with me if we weren't going to dance." She's dragging me in-between people now, persistent on the idea.

"I uh-" I find myself still as Wednesday let's go of my hand.

I find her eyes staring into mine intensely as she starts to get into the music, shaking her shoulders back and forth to the rhythm. I stand there awkwardly, watching her.

Her movements are rigid, but rhythmic. I find myself entranced.

I leave the trance after a few moments, remembering where I am. I look around to find people staring, and I can't tell if it's the good or bad kind.

My heartbeat accelerates at the sudden attention. I find myself unable to move. Do people think I'm weird? Why won't I dance?

I force my legs to move, shaking from the anxiety as I walk through the crowd of people dancing.

"Y/n?" I faintly hear Wednesday's voice as I make more distance.

I find an almost empty area just outside the party. I sigh as I sit down.

"Y/n?" I hear Wednesday's voice again as she sits down next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just. I get overwhelmed by crowds easily." I say, an awkward silence fills the air besides the muted sound of the music from the party.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you." Wednesday states, a hint of empathy in her voice.

I find myself staring at the floor. "I want you to have fun as well though."

I find myself having difficulty choosing between looking at Wednesday and avoiding all eye contact, flickering between both.

"How about we take it slower." Wednesday scots closer, my eyes manage to remain on Wednesday's empathetic ones. "When a slow song plays, we'll dance together. I'll lead and guide you as we move along to the music."

I find myself nodding with a smile. "Okay, thank you Wends." A little bit of the anxiety fading.

Bianca walks in, taking a seat near us. I hold back any negative comments as it could effect Xavier's night as well. I notice her eyes are slightly glossy.

"I know this isn't usually something I'd ask you, but are you okay?" I ask, slight concern in my voice

Bianca looks at me before shrugging, looking away again the next moment.

Wednesday and I exchange a glance. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

After another moment of silence, Wednesday interjects. "Where's Xavier?"

"We had a little tiff." Bianca says, giving in. "About you two actually."

Wednesday and I share a concerned glance. "What about us?" We say simultaneously.

"He wasn't expecting to see you two together. He was happy for you at first, but there was jealousy building up or something. After he saw you two dancing, or more so saw Wednesday dancing and you standing there, he asked me to use my siren song on him to have him forget his feelings."

I look away for a second, ignoring her comment before speaking. "He did that?"

Bianca nods with her eyes slightly more glossy. I can imagine how used she must feel.

Our conversation is cut short when a scream finds it way to our room. Wednesday and I instantly stand, looking towards the noise which is followed by multiple screams.

Wednesday grabs my hand as we run side by side back to the dance, where the screams originated. Some people covered in what looks like blood run past us.

After we squeeze through the crowd, we find the sprinklers are spraying the supposed blood all over the party.

Wednesday smiles at the scene before sticking out her hand under the continuous splatter, putting her finger to her mouth to taste whatever it is.

My face contorts a bit in disgust.

Wednesday's amused smile quickly fades. "They couldn't even spring for real pigs' blood." Her shoulders drop in disappointment. "It's only paint."

People continuously run past us in fear, unable to tell who's bumping into who. Suddenly, Wednesday's head falls back, entering a vision.

I hold Wednesday to avoid her falling and for us to not be trampled. As the crowd loses volume, Wednesday comes back. "Eugene is in the woods."

She meets my eyes with concern. "He's in danger."

Wednesday grabs my hand before running with the crowd. Letting go of my hand whenever we escape the crowd, we soon find ourselves leaving the school into the woods.

The hectic sound of our panic-filled footsteps fill the forest with the crunching of leaves. The moonlight casting a pale glow over the forest.

I wave my wand out, emitting a blue light to guide the way.

"Eugene!" Wednesday and I take turns shouting. My heart beating at a thousand miles an hour, my legs burning at the sudden activity.

We both stop for a moment, looking around. "Eugene?!" I shout.

"Y/n! over here!" We hear Eugene yell.

Wednesday and I turn towards his voice, running towards it as fast as possible

We find Eugene laying in the fallen leaves. "Eugene." Wednesday states, standing in place.

I quickly approach Eugene, kneeling beside him. He has three fresh claw wounds across his chest, the blood pouring out of them. I close my eyes, recalling a spell I've been practicing the past few months.

I put my wand to the end of one of the claw marks running across his torso, blood trickling out staining his clothes.

"Oh my God! Is he alive?!" Ms Thornhill approaches from behind.

I close my eyes in frustration and panic. "Everyone please shut up!" I shout, overwhelmed. "I need to concentrate."

Everyone goes silent, staring at my back. I put my wand back to the top of the wound, running it down smoothly till it reaches the bottom.

"Vulnera, Sanentur." My voice utters the incantations slowly and rhythmically in a hushed lullaby.

I repeat the incantation, following the same motion. This time, the blood starts to clear away into nothing. Cleaning the wound.

I pause for a moment, before doing the incantation one more time. The wound knitting itself shut.

I take a deep inhale. "Two more to go." I utter to myself, feeling the four eyes behind me staring into me like daggers.

I find the end of the second cut, my wand trembling. I take another deep breath to collect myself.

"Vulnera Sanentur." It feels as if my voice is the only sound in the world.

Whenever I finish with that cut, I feel my eyes getting glossy. The stress overflowing my body. I can't break down just yet. I find the last cut, casting the healing spell one last time.

I stare at his unconscious body, at his healed but new found scars. Tears start to stream down my face, the stress escaping my body.

I put my hands over eyes, my shoulders slumped forward. The sound of my sobs echo amongst the trees. The sense of relief strengthening my overwhelmed tears.

Part 8.

Past Lives Masterlist

[ltkaro]

GHOAP : He Needed More Than Me.

Soap doesn’t know when it began or what sparked it. He doesn’t know how he let it spiral so far out of control, but he knows it did. Somewhere along the way, his world crumbled around him, and he stayed amidst the wreckage. He didn’t fight harder. He didn’t leave.

Now, as he sifts through the pieces of his heart, he understands why.

Roach. Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson.

That’s why Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley fell so quickly, why they became so deeply entangled. To Ghost, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish wasn’t Johnny, wasn’t Soap. He was a stand-in. A placeholder. A shadow of the man Ghost had truly loved—the sergeant they’d lost.

Soap should’ve seen it sooner: the slip of a name Ghost whispered in the dead of night, the flicker of light in Ghost’s eyes whenever Roach’s name surfaced in conversation, the tension in the air when someone mentioned him too, as though Simon’s very soul reached out for something that was no longer there.

It was always there, an undeniable truth Soap had buried, hoping it might fade with time. But it didn’t.

At first, Soap convinced himself he could endure it. He could bear the quiet slip-ups, the distant look in Ghost’s eyes when he thought no one was watching, the way Ghost clung to him in moments of silence. He convinced himself it was grief—raw, unresolved. Ghost just needed time. And Soap had time. He could give Ghost all the time in the world.

But time didn’t soothe the wounds. If anything, it exposed them further. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered “Johnny”—it all felt hollow, as if it was meant for someone else. Someone Ghost couldn’t reach anymore.

One night, Soap found himself gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at the man in the mirror. His knuckles were pale from the pressure, his chest tight with the weight of it all. His reflection stared back, tired, frayed, and hollow. Tears blurred his vision as the thoughts he tried so desperately to suppress bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t Roach. He could never be Roach. No matter how much he gave, no matter how deeply he poured himself into Ghost’s empty spaces, it wasn’t enough.

The bitterness of it clawed at him, making him want to scream, to tear at his own skin until he became someone else—someone Ghost could love for who they were, not for who they weren’t. Soap hated his reflection, hated his own eyes. Were they a reminder for Ghost? Did they echo memories of someone he could never replace?

Yet, he stayed. Because leaving felt like surrendering. Because deep down, a fragile part of him clung to the hope that one day, Ghost might see him—not as a stand-in, not as a shadow, but as himself. Each passing day chipped away at him. Every embrace that lingered too long, every whispered word meant for a memory, and every time Ghost called him “Johnny” with an undertone Soap couldn’t quite place—it all carved at the wound in his chest. A deep, ugly wound that hurt even at just the mere thought of it.

The ache had grown unbearable, a constant and gnawing reminder of what he wasn’t and what Ghost couldn’t let go of. Soap wanted to save what they had, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing truth: there was nothing to save. Because Simon wasn’t holding onto Soap.

He was holding onto Roach. To what remained of him. Soap hated the fact he had to admit that, the fact he had to acknowledge that every glance at Soap wasn’t for him; the realization was like a knife twisting in his gut. Every glance Ghost gave him wasn’t for him. It was for someone else, someone Ghost couldn’t release.

Truthfully, Soap didn’t know when it would finally break him. Maybe it already had. He noticed the subtle ways Ghost came alive at Roach’s name, the faint curve of his lips, the rare slip of the mask that revealed a man still waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

Simon Riley wasn’t buried back home in Manchester as Ghost had claimed. Simon was still here, standing in the ruins of his heart, waiting. Not for Soap. Not for Johnny. For Roach. For a dead man.

Soap tried to mirror that happiness, to mold himself into something that could reignite the fire in Ghost’s eyes. But he was beginning to realize the painful truth: no matter how much he tried, he wasn’t what Ghost needed. He couldn’t be what Ghost wanted either. Even if he tried his hardest and did whatever he could.

He never could be.

Soap didn’t know what hurt more—the realization that he’d never be enough, or the fact that, despite it all, he still stayed. Every moment with Ghost was a war within himself. A battle between the part of him that wanted to hold on and the part that begged him to let go.

Every glance, every touch, every word felt like a double-edged sword. When Ghost looked at him, Soap searched those dark, unreadable eyes for something—anything—that felt real. But all he ever found was a flicker of a memory, a ghost of someone else. Someone Soap could never be.

And yet, Ghost held him as if he were the anchor to a storm. Whispered his name as if it were salvation. But even in those moments, Soap couldn’t shake the doubt that lingered like a shadow in the corner of the room.

“Johnny,” Ghost had said once, his voice soft and unguarded in the dim light of their quarters. His hand had rested against Soap’s cheek, the barest trace of vulnerability breaking through. “You mean so much to me.”

Soap wanted to believe it. Wanted to take those words and bury them deep in his heart. But the way Ghost’s voice wavered, the way his eyes seemed to look through him instead of at him—it was enough to shatter any illusion of truth.

Soap had tried to convince himself it was enough. That even if he was a stand-in, a replacement, at least he had Ghost in some capacity. But the lie became heavier with each passing day, suffocating him in its weight.

[heliads]

we both know what happened to you - newt

Ben is exiled. The Glade doesn't take it well.

masterlist

It’s easy to be quiet in the mornings when it doesn’t matter. Simple days are for simple words, fading phrases, and long spells of silence. On days like today, though, after nights like last night, silence feels like the only option. No one can meet each other’s gaze. And no one wants to talk when they can still hear the echoes of Ben’s last desperate scream echoing in their mind. 

You feel a certain kind of restlessness when you’ve killed your friend. It gnaws at you like mad. Like how Ben was mad until you shoved him in the Maze and let him die. You can’t stop thinking about it, turning over that awful moment in your head again and again, unable to let the wound close in peace. He’d begged you to let him live, all of you, again and again until he was already half inside the Doors and knew it was over. You’ve known him for months. Many knew him longer still, yet all of you are complicit.

This is the Maze, after all. This is where you’re all born again with no memories and hardly even a name, and this is where half of you die. Stephen, cut in half after trying to climb down the Box Hole. Nick, his grave just barely green over with moss. And now Ben, hair like corn silk, who ran too far too fast, dead before he got to twenty. You’ll be there soon, maybe. You and Newt and everyone you’ve ever cared about. The Maze is where scientists kill the kids they raised. Birds kicked from the nest. Someone’s smoothing out your feathers now and readying you for the plunge, but all you can do is stare at the empty place among the straw and twigs where one of you had been just seconds before.

You’re staring at the walls of the Maze, lying flat on your stomach in the grass. There’s a stone jutting uncomfortably into your left elbow, but your chin’s resting on top of your laced fingertips and you’re not sure you have the strength to keep yourself from falling into the dirt while you push the smooth rock away. You wonder if Ben ever kicked that stone, if he ever tripped over it on his jog into the Maze and out again. You wonder if he stayed by the Doors when he died, or if he tried to run his old routes one last time, operating on instinct alone.

A shadow passes in front of you, darkening the pear green knives into something like the needles of the pine trees. A boy comes with the shadow, free of charge, and he slumps down next to you, pausing briefly to slide the stone away from your left elbow before lying down on his back. You turn your head, placing your right cheek on your interlaced fingers to stare at him.

Newt has always been beautiful in the sunlight. Even now, in this uncertain gray somewhere between overcast and clear skies, his eyes catch the faint bars of sunshine and turn from brown to gold. With a pang of agony deep between your ribs, it reminds you of the blond crown of Ben’s hair. You wonder if his eyes will ever shatter scarlet like Ben’s temples did too, at the end, when he hurt himself so badly he never came back, and your eyelids flinch shut to stop yourself from seeing it.

When you manage to open your eyes again, a cloud has passed over the sun, coaxing Newt’s eyes back to a woody brown, and it’s okay to look at him again. He’s looking at you too now, the lines on his face deepening with regret. You’re mirrors, the two of you, perfect pictures of guilt and misery reflecting back again and again until you’re certain you’re going to dissolve into each other for good.

“It’s not your fault,” Newt whispers. His throat is dry, and his voice cracks on most words.

“It’s not your fault either,” you murmur back. “Not Minho’s, not Alby’s. These things happen.”

Newt’s lips press together, and you know he’s going through the same swoops of grief as he remembers every Glader you’ve lost over the past few years.

“You know, I remember when he just started out as a Runner,” Newt says quietly. “Stupid shank. He was terrible at directions but he tried so damn hard that he actually fixed his own shuck memory. You should have seen him smile the first time he got a route right without one of us having to correct him. Could have powered the sun.”

He sighs, a sob trapped in the sound. To distract him, you ask, “Why’d you let him stay on as a Runner if he kept getting lost? Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

Newt looks up at the sky, remembering. “We didn’t have many Runners in the early days. We had to take what we could get. Besides, Nick was dead set that it was better for morale if people weren’t letting the Runners quit so soon. He was early in his days as first-in-command, so we wanted to believe him. Ben got better anyway. Soon he was just as good as any of us.”

Newt’s voice trails off a little, and you know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking– if they had switched Ben out anyway, maybe he wouldn’t have been in the Maze, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten Stung, and maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill Thomas. Maybe he wouldn’t have been Exiled. Maybe he’d still be here, and you wouldn’t be lying here trying to suppress this invisible wound bleeding out both of you without spilling a single drop of blood.

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat.

“It’s no one’s fault,” Newt says listlessly. “That’s official protocol for when someone gets exiled, you know. Nick made that klunk up too. Said people knew the rules, so if they broke ‘em, it was on their shoulders, not ours.”

“Doesn’t explain why I feel like I should have saved him, though,” you mutter.

Newt nods in agreement, expression tired. “We’re going to get through this,” he says dully. “Same way we got through every other friend we lost. We’re going to pick ourselves up and we’re going to move on. We’ll stop thinking about him.”

“No, we won’t,” you say, and continue before Newt can interrupt. “We’re never going to forget Ben, and it would be awful not to. We’re just going to stop feeling guilty, that’s all. We’ll think about Ben as Ben, not how he was after he got stung.”

“Is that fair to Ben?” Newt asks. “If we ignore what happened to him? I’d be mad, I think. Feels like we’re cheating.”

You let out a long breath. “When you think about Ben, what comes to mind? Your gut instinct, I mean. Not the first awful thing about the Doors shutting on him, but what Ben really is to you. Is it the thing we had to strap to the bed in the Med-Jack hut when he was so strung out that he was hardly human at all? Or is it the shuck kid who kept making too many left turns and followed you and Minho everywhere?”

Newt closes his eyes, half in agony, like he’s begging for strength from someone who isn’t listening. “Runner Ben. Not him when he was sick. That’s Ben to me.”

“Exactly,” you say. “That’s our Ben. That’s what matters. He wasn’t Ben at the end. Ben would never hurt us.”

And Ben would never beg for you to save him. He would never look at the Maze like a bad dog, terrified, and he would never stand there for so long once he was past the Doors, as if he had forgotten the way again.

Newt reaches out and takes your hand, gripping your fingers almost painfully, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Promise me, Y/N. If something happens, if I get stung or if I– if I– again– Tell me you’ll do the same for me. You’ll remember me as me.”

You choke back a sob. “Nothing’s going to happen, Newt.”

He squeezes your hand again, insistent. “You heard Ben. He was saying all kinds of stuff, saying the world out there was terrible. If it does, you have to promise– you have to promise–”

He’s manic and terrified in a way that shocks you. Newt is the calm one, always has been, except that one time that terrified you just as bad as this. If he isn’t in control, then you’ll have be that for him.

“I promise,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’ll always be my Newt. Always.”

He relaxes suddenly in your grasp, still as death. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat.

He pulls you close to him, your head tucked against his collarbone, heart to heart and rib to rib. The sun warms you both, dappling skin and hair and clothes. It’s going to be a while until you stop hearing Ben’s last scream when you’re locked in sleep. It’s going to be a while before you remember how to go about living like usual again. If there’s one comfort in all of this, at least, it’s that you won’t be alone. With Newt, you never will be.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @bonesnplywood, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[loserlvrss]

.. 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆? ( 김.𝐉𝐒)

( 一月 ). ──you knew you'd never live up to his first but, it didn't hurt any less. 김종섭 &fem!rea. ⟡ drabble, angst warn. second love trope wc : 713HUN 노트 oh i hurt my own feelings with this one

You grew up learning to be grateful. You grew up never begging for more than what you got. You watched as storm clouds rained over your family, and as sunshine cascaded. You learned to press a smile to your face and fake it ‘till you make it through your entire life. Never overstepping and never crying about what you can’t have. 

You never felt like there was any substance to you, and eventually that made you stop feeling all together. 

Except, then he waltzed into your life. And, seemingly, he was the same; a hollow shell just roaming aimlessly. 

He mirrored your shattered expressions and morphed them into ones of confidentiality. He listened to your worries all night, and wiped the snot from under your nose as you cried and cried and cried. He brought bright hues of yellow and orange and pinks into your dull world. He brought you back, tearing down the walls you built up with his bare hands. 

But, you could never do the same for him no matter how hard you tried. You knew he’d take midnight walks to clear his head instead of confiding in you. You knew he’d lock the bathroom door, or wait until you left when the emotions got too much. You could hear the gentle pleas to whatever God was out there for the pain in his heart to go away. You loved him so dearly for fixing the unimaginable. 

But, how do you swallow the love that was never meant to be yours? 

“Seob,” You pressed your palm to the closed door, whispering out a gentle plea, “Please, let me in.” And you honestly didn’t know if you were asking for the door or his heart to unlock anymore. “Just…let me help you.” 

You couldn’t take the sniffles anymore. You were driving yourself crazy within the silence—it was louder than words could ever be. You couldn't compete with someone you knew so effortlessly made him smile. You didn’t want to ask if he still saw the person he couldn’t have in your eyes but, the question was looming. Half of his heart was yours but, he’d do anything to give it back, as he would for the clock to rewind. 

In every bitter moment you knew he saw her. The memories that never faded and he truthfully never wished would. 

You were just a placeholder, the fact that he’d run back if only she let him, weighing heavy on you. In every intimate confession he saved for another you felt pathetic, wishing for more than what you got. When you woke up next to him you wondered if you’d hear him mumble a different name or if you were just self-sabotaging. You wondered if through a half-asleep state you felt like her, and when fully awake he wished you did. 

He changed you. He made you envious, determined to break his habit—the drug you wanted to be. The drug she continued to be to him as he stared down at his phone, never having blocked the contact he used to look forward to hearing from. 

It broke your heart that you couldn’t mend his. It shattered you in pieces to rip apart your mind trying to find what was wrong with you. You bit your lip raw wondering how to satisfy the person who’s supposed to love you back. Lost sleep even. The light in your eyes was bright, but at the cost of his fading. 

He tried to put you above anything and everyone else. You knew he felt strongly towards you, doing whatever in his power to make you believe it. He made that clear through actions.

He was the storm and you were the spring flowers that followed. He was the setting sun and you were the golden hour. He was the charcoal and you were the fire. 

He sacrificed his peace of mind and he got out of the spotlight so that you could only shine. 

And, you loved him so much. But his love was only surface deep, reserved for another. 

Pretty words that didn’t match the sickly expression on his face anymore; you might’ve been his second but you'll never feel the same as his first. 

“Please, I love you.” 

And, he never did unlock it. 

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[cmon-man]

Okay-

So throughout Emmrich’s storyline death is a recurring theme, most obviously his fear of his own demise. As much as he does revere the lich lords and what they stand for, his primary want to ascend to lichdom is so he does not have to face the nothingness of death.

However, as seen through the argument with Rook before going to face Elgar’nan, Emmrich’s fear of his own death has been quickly replaced by the fear of losing Rook, of something terrible happening to them that he cannot prevent. After all, as a lich lord he’s supposed to accept death fully and let those that have passed stay dead.

HOWEVER, after Rook is saved from the Fade prison and you talk with Emmrich in the Necropolis, he tells you “I will let nothing part us again, my love. Not in this, nor any other world.” Which is just screaming going against what the lich lords stand for. His ass is NOT going to accept Rook’s death.

I think, along with being afraid to die, Emmrich is afraid to be alone. Time and time again he has been, for lack of better words, abandoned. His parent dying, Johanna casting their friendship aside, having to let Manfred rest, these are all instances where a connection he thought was everlasting came to a sharp end. And now that he’s found a love like the one he always craved in Rook, how can he ever let them go?

So leading up to the culmination of the game, we have an Emmrich who is terrified of losing Rook, but is determined that they will never be parted ever again.

It’s not as if he can just ask the lich lords to allow Rook to become a lich too, after all, this is something that usually requires years of tests and rituals before being vetted, and even if they are there’s still a chance they could die rather than ascend. So Emmrich looks into other avenues of extending their life - opens the tomes he had studied in his youth while searching for his own route to immortality, tests the legitimacy of potions and spells that claim to extend one’s life, ransacks the Lighthouse’s library for any crumb of information that might be hidden away in the Fade. And that’s when it hits him. While combing through the books in Solas’ personal collection he remembers, remembers why Solas wishes to tear down the Veil in the first place.

Did he not say elves used to be immortal? That their beings were so closely tied to the Fade that they never succumbed to the morality all other races were faced with? Did Emmrich not see this truth in his memories painted upon the walls of the Lighthouse? Is this not one such aspect that the Dreadwolf is trying to bring back? So what of the demons that would be spat out into the world, didn’t Solas say he would minimize the loss of life as much as he could?

Can he, newly appointed lich lord, who’s purpose is to fight against those that threaten both the world and the Fade, allow such a thing to happen? If it means he never has to be parted from his Rook again - absolutely.

Which then leads to him sabotaging the Veilguard. Not in defeating Elgar’nan - after all, the Blight is not something his darling Rook should have to face for the rest of eternity, but in preventing Solas from tearing down the Veil.

Whether these subversions be subtle, like speaking of the duplicate dagger in Solas’ presence, informing him of a way their group might thwart this plans, or more overt, like knocking Rook out during the final confrontation, gently picking them up as he wishes Solas the best with his ritual, then taking his love somewhere safe while he waits for the world to explode.

I’m about to start work so this ain’t gonna be very thorough, but I’ve got thoughts on lich!Emmrich wanting to sabotage the Veilguard’s attempt to stop Solas if he’s been romanced by an elf Rook.

Who cares if the world is overrun with demons, I get to spend eternity with my darling kinda shit