#The sheer desperation and/or despair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tender-rosiey · 5 months ago

Note

req- jujutsu characters physically straining themselves and asking yn for help

take care:)

"I'M ONE CRAMP AWAY FROM A MELTDOWN"

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji physically straining themselves and asking for help

GOJO SATORU:

satoru is sprawled on the floor, looking like he’s been hit by a truck, though you know he’s just playing it up.

his dramatic groans echo around the room, the kind that would make anyone believe he’s on the verge of death.

“wifeyyyy,” he groans, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes as he lays flat on his back. “I think I’m dying.”

you glance at him, deadpan. “from what, exactly?”

“from sheer exhaustion,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock despair. “it’s the worst kind of pain. the kind you can’t fight.”

you cross your arms, watching him for a moment. “really? because I’m pretty sure you’re exaggerating.”

“exaggerating?”

satoru lifts his hand weakly, like he’s reaching out for help. “I wish I were. But no, sweetheart, this is real. I’ve given everything to protect this world, and now—now I’m paying the price.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you can’t help but feel a little amused by his theatrics.

still, there’s no denying that he’s probably worn out from the mission, even if he’s acting like a drama king about it.

“alright, alright,” you say, bending down next to him. “but if you’re truly in this much pain, maybe you should let me help you.”

his eyes flash with relief the moment you say that. he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. “oh, you’re such a lifesaver, wifey. I knew I could count on you.”

you smirk, kneeling next to him. “I’m not sure how much I can help with your exaggerated suffering, but I’ll give it a shot.”

satoru immediately sits up, all too eager, his arm still draped over your shoulder as if he’s the one about to collapse at any second.

you guide him onto the couch, a little more forcefully than he probably expected. he lets out an exaggerated gasp of thanks, making a show of how much effort it took.

“now, my shoulders,” he says, voice full of mock desperation, “they’re absolutely killing me. no one has shoulders as heavy as mine.”

you raise an eyebrow but don’t argue. “I can’t believe I love you,” you mutter, sitting beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

you start massaging gently, fingers working through the tight muscles that are starting to give way beneath your touch.

satoru’s whole body seems to relax under your hands.

“mmm, that’s the stuff,” he sighs dramatically, his head tilting back as if you’ve just performed some kind of miracle. “you’re so good at this. how do you manage to be perfect in every way?”

you roll your eyes, but your hands keep working, pressing into the sore muscles along his shoulder blades.

his response is immediate—he melts further into the couch, eyes half-lidded as he hums with contentment.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he mutters. “this is pure bliss, sweets. no one else could do this to me like you do.”

“yeah, yeah,” you say, giving him a kiss on his cheek that makes him melt yet again against the couch.

GETO SUGURU:

suguru stumbles into the living room, looking completely drained, his shoulders sagging as he lets out a soft groan.

he rubs his eyes before glancing at you. "I think I’ll just take a bath and call it a day."

you raise an eyebrow, already sensing his exhaustion. "you sure? I could help, you know."

suguru shakes his head, grinning weakly. "I’m fine. Really. I can manage."

a few moments later, suguru is in the warm bath, steam rising lazily from the water.

he leans back, letting his muscles relax as he sinks into the tub, his body visibly easing into the heat. you stand behind him, fingers gently working through his hair, lathering the shampoo into his scalp.

the soft scent of lavender fills the air, mixing with the quiet splashing of water as your hands move through his hair.

suguru sighs, his body melting into the heat. "I am a weak man," he mutters.

you let out a small laugh, fingers moving in slow, soothing circles. his muscles are finally unwinding, and you can feel the weight of his day leaving him, bit by bit.

"yeah?" you tease softly, grinning. "but, you know, I think I’m pretty good at this, huh?"

he chuckles lazily, his voice low and relaxed. "you’re amazing," he admits, his tone affectionate. "I’m lucky to have you around."

you glance at him, still working through his hair, and playfully raise an eyebrow. "how about you? how was your day?"

suguru lets out a small sigh, clearly unwinding further at the sound of your voice.

“long. you know how it is. a million things to do and never enough time for it." he grins a little. "but it’s always better when I’m with you."

you shake your head, laughing softly. "you’re lucky I’ve got the patience to deal with you."

suguru raises a hand, giving a lazy wave. "You’re doing more than that. I’m starting to think you could make a career out of this."

you smirk, rubbing the shampoo deeper into his hair. "please, I have better things to do than take care of you all the time."

suguru cracks an eye open, a playful glint shining through. he reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently. "I don’t know about that. this is pretty nice."

you shrug casually, your smile warm. "someone’s got to look after you."

the bath continues in peaceful silence for a while, only the sounds of water splashing softly around you.

suguru’s body relaxes further, his tense muscles finally letting go. he sinks deeper into the tub, eyes closed again, a contented smile on his lips.

"thanks," he says quietly.

you continue washing his hair, the smile on your face softening. "anytime, silly.”

suguru chuckles softly, "you know, you’re kind of perfect."

you roll your eyes, but your fingers never stop working through his hair. "you’re delirious, suguru. stop with the nonsense."

suguru gives a lazy smile, his eyes still closed. "no, I mean it. you’re beautiful, and I’m lucky you married me, my beautiful, pretty, kind—"

before he can say anything else, you splash him with water. "okay, okay! enough with the sappy stuff!"

NANAMI KENTO:

the sound of a low, frustrated sigh greets you as you walk into the living room.

you spot kento sitting on the floor, his back straight against the couch, head tilted slightly as though trying to work out a knot in his neck.

his usual composed expression is marred with a faint furrow of irritation.

“kento?” you call, stepping closer. “why are you sitting on the floor like someone left you there?”

“it’s nothing,” he replies too quickly, brushing off the question. but the way his hand instinctively moves to rub the back of his neck betrays him. “just…tired.”

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “tired? or is this about your neck? because you’ve been hunched over paperwork for hours, haven’t you?”

kento doesn’t answer right away, but his silence is telling.

he sighs and tilts his head back to meet your gaze, looking more like the overworked salaryman he used to be before he rejoined jujutsu tech.

“It’s just a bit stiff. I’ll manage.”

“oh, you’ll manage,” you echo, crouching down in front of him. “right up until you can’t turn your head tomorrow. then what?”

he narrows his eyes slightly, as if to say I’m not that fragile, but you cut him off before he can protest.

“kento,” you say firmly, softening your tone, “you’re literally built like a tank, but even tanks need maintenance. let me help.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” he mutters, his voice quiet but sincere. “you’ve had a long day too.”

“and yet I have plenty of energy to take care of my husband,” you reply, smirking. “now come on, just humor me.”

kento hesitates for a moment. eventually, he relents with a soft sigh. “fine.”

you shift to kneel behind him, your fingers already reaching for the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders.

“lean forward a bit,” you instruct, and when he does, you gently press your thumbs into the tight spots, working in slow, deliberate circles.

kento lets out a low, contented hum that sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“see?” you tease, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “not so bad, right?”

“it’s…enjoyable,” he says, though his voice carries a faint warmth that tells you he’s enjoying this far more than he’s letting on.

you chuckle, your hands moving to his shoulders. “you know, I’d say you owe me for this, but I think this is my repayment.”

“repayment for what?”

“for saving you,” you quip, grinning. “because if you’d stayed like that any longer, you’d have turned into a statue.”

kento exhales a quiet laugh, his head tilting slightly as your fingers find another sore spot. “you’re relentless.”

“only because I love you,” you reply with a wink, leaning forward to press your cheek against his for a moment.

he reaches up, catching one of your hands and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “and I love you too.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

sukuna’s broad frame fills the doorway as he strides into the room, his bloodstained robes trailing behind him.

you glance up from your seat, unimpressed by the spectacle. it’s the usual aftermath of his “excursions.”

he’s all sharp angles and arrogance, but there’s a stiffness in his movements that you don’t miss.

“back already?” you ask, arching a brow as you sip your tea.

he scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “they were weaklings. barely worth my time.”

yet, as he lowers himself onto a cushion with a low grunt, his shoulders twitch ever so slightly. he rolls one, then the other, his jaw tightening just enough for you to catch it.

“something wrong?” you ask, your tone feigning innocence, though your sharp gaze betrays your amusement.

“watch yourself,” he warns, crimson eyes narrowing. “you forget who you’re speaking to.”

“hard to forget when you insist on reminding me every other breath,” you reply dryly, setting your cup down and standing.

“but I’m also observant enough to know when you’re too proud to admit you’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain,” he snaps, though the way his hand instinctively moves to his neck betrays him.

“of course not,” you agree, stepping closer with a smug tilt of your head. “the great sukuna couldn’t possibly be sore after annihilating half the countryside.”

he glares at you, his pride clearly battling the ache in his shoulders. “you’re playing with fire, woman.”

“and yet you haven’t burned me yet,” you counter with a sly smile. “turn around.”

he doesn’t move, his jaw tightening as if to challenge you. but when you cross your arms and stare him down with an unimpressed look, he huffs and turns his back to you.

“stubborn,” you mutter under your breath, stepping behind him. his shoulders are massive, the tension in them practically radiating.

you place your hands on them, and he immediately stiffens.

“relax,” you say, kneading the taut muscles beneath your fingers. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

“pity,” he mutters, though there’s a begrudging amusement in his tone.

you press your thumbs into a particularly tight knot, and he lets out a low, involuntary sound—not quite a groan but enough to make you smirk.

“see? even you can’t argue with results,” you tease, leaning closer as your hands work into his shoulders.

“you’re enjoying this too much,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans into your touch, his body betraying him.

for a while, the room is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth and the sound of your hands working against his muscles.

you press a little harder into a stubborn knot, and he exhales sharply.

“still acting tough?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“I am tough, you insolent wife,” he retorts, but the edge in his voice has dulled.

you chuckle, brushing a stray lock of his hair aside with one hand while the other presses into his neck. the gesture is so tender, enough that sukuna goes still for a moment.

“your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, your fingers trailing briefly over the side of his face before pulling back.

he turns his head slightly, his crimson gaze meeting yours over his shoulder.

you notice the slight softening of his eyes before he scoffs, rolling his shoulders as you step back little. “you’re getting too comfortable.”

“how scandalous,” you hum, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

he frowns, hand moving to hold the back of your head as he pulls you closer.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

toji stumbles through the bedroom door, a look of mild exhaustion on his face. his shirt’s torn at the sleeve, a fresh scrape on his cheek, and he’s limping just slightly, though he's trying to hide it. you glance up from your book, raising an eyebrow.

“you’re a mess,” you say, putting your book down.

he groans. “I’m fine. Just got into a little scuffle with a couple of idiots.” he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it carelessly onto the chair, wincing slightly as he pulls it off.

you tilt your head, inspecting him carefully. “uh-huh. that’s the same thing you always say. you’re looking a little too beat up to be fine.”

toji snorts. “it’s nothing. just a bruise here, scratch there—don’t make a big deal out of it.”

you raise your hands in mock surrender, but your eyes narrow playfully. “uh-huh. right. and I suppose your limp is just for fun too?”

toji looks down at his leg, then back at you, clearly trying to avoid the topic. “I’m fine, alright? really. you don’t need to play nurse tonight.”

you get up from the couch, walking over to him with a slight smirk. “I’m not playing nurse, toji. but if you’re going to act like a stubborn idiot, I guess I’ll have to do something about it.” you poke at his shoulder lightly, knowing full well he hates being fussed over.

he lets out a low, tired chuckle. “yeah, yeah. I know. you’ve got a thing for fixing me up.”

you roll your eyes, tugging at his shirt and guiding him toward the couch. “I’m not fixing you up. I’m just stopping you from walking around like a zombie for the rest of the night.”

he lets out an exaggerated groan, but he sinks down onto the couch anyway. “you’re lucky you’re cute. go ahead, doctor.”

you sit beside him and start gently untying his shoes. “you always say that when you’re trying to avoid admitting you need help.”

toji lifts an eyebrow, looking amused. “I don’t need help. I just like your hands on me.” he smirks.

you shake your head, unbothered. “just sit still for a second, alright?”

he chuckles as you work, peeling off his shoes and massaging the tension out of his feet. you can feel the stress in his muscles, the fatigue from the day’s battle lingering.

“see?” you poke at his calf with your finger. “this is what happens when you refuse to listen. you get all tense and grumpy.”

toji groans, but it’s not from pain. he stretches his leg out further, enjoying the relief. “you know, this doesn’t feel too bad…”

“you’re welcome,” you tease, your hands moving up his legs, working on his calves. “maybe next time you won’t play the ‘I’m fine’ card when you’re clearly not.”

he grins and looks down at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “I’ll think about it, but no promises. you know how I am.”

you laugh quietly, continuing your work. “yeah, I do. stubborn to a fault.” you finish with his feet, giving them a final rub before standing up. “alright, mister, I’m done here. go rest up before I have to start giving you more ‘doctor visits.’”

“I didn’t know you were into roleplay—”

“one more word, and you will be kissing the couch tonight.”

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sleepingdiaryzzz · 7 months ago

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Yandere batfamily x neglected reader

The manor is cold, silent as a tomb, and for once, it feels like a fitting home. You lie still on the bed, too small and fragile in the heavy, towering room. They all gather around you, each staring in shock, faces pale, breaths shallow—as if hoping that, by holding their breath, they might somehow trade their own life to coax warmth back into your cold form.

Bruce’s hand hovers over you, hesitant. His calloused fingers, so accustomed to war and violence, seem clumsy when they brush against your cheek. He trembles, silent, fighting against the whirlwind in his chest, his stoic mask cracked beyond repair. “I promised to keep you safe,” he whispers, his voice breaking in a way none of them have ever heard before. “I promised… and I failed you.” His hand, heavy with the weight of every failure, drops to his side, useless.

Dick’s hands cover his mouth, choking on a sob that won’t stay hidden. He’s the eldest, the one who was supposed to know better, to set the example. But he looks at you now, his eyes red and raw, remembering each time he walked past you, too busy laughing with others to notice you slipping away. “Why didn’t I tell you…?” he whispers, agony etched across his face. “Why didn’t I show you that you were loved?” The words fall into the silence, lost, and he knows you’ll never hear them now.

Jason kneels beside the bed, clutching your lifeless hand in his, as if he can pull you back with sheer force. His shoulders shake, his body radiating rage, despair, regret. His lips tremble as he remembers the countless times he shrugged off your gaze, ignored the quiet plea in your eyes. He thought he was sparing you from his darkness, protecting you from the world. But now he sees it for what it was—neglect, cold and unkind. He bows his head, the unbreakable Red Hood shattered, silent tears falling onto your still fingers.

Tim stands back, his face white, hands trembling as he presses his fists to his sides. The detective, the genius, who noticed everything—except you. He let the days slip by, assuming there’d always be more time, that you’d understand he was busy, preoccupied with saving the world. But now, as he watches the life drained from you, he feels a pang in his chest sharp enough to cut through bone. “I should’ve been there,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I should’ve been a brother to you…” He stares at you, eyes rimmed with despair, the guilt hollowing him out from within.

Damian’s usual steel has melted into something unrecognizable. He doesn’t know how to touch you, where to place his hands, and the hesitation makes him feel powerless in a way he’s never known. He’d prided himself on being stronger, colder, above such weakness—but now, faced with your absence, he finds himself wishing he’d let you in, softened just a little. “You… you weren’t supposed to…” He can’t even finish, his words broken. He reaches out, almost unwilling, to touch your hand, flinching when it’s cold. His lips press into a thin line as he tries to hold back tears, but they fall, betraying the ache he’d been too proud to acknowledge.

They stay by your side, each of them reliving every lost opportunity, every moment they could have held you close and didn’t. Days pass, blurred, and they linger in the same room, surrounded by memories of what should have been.

When Alfred brings them food, they push it away. They can’t bear the thought of comfort while you lie there, untouched by life. They whisper to you, sometimes out loud, promising things they can’t ever deliver: "We'll make it up to you…we’ll fix this." But no voice answers back.

Driven by desperation, Bruce turns to ancient books, rumors, magic, anything that offers a hint of hope. He works night after night, chasing the impossible. The others follow him, each digging into their own corners of madness, driven by the need to correct what they destroyed. But every ritual fails, every lead falls cold. And the bitter truth gnaws deeper: there is no cure for regret, no resurrection from guilt.

The night finally falls silent, and they’re left alone with you, as if the universe itself mourns. Each of them curls beside you, their heads on the bed, hands on your arm, your hand, your chest, wherever they can cling to you, trying to pretend for one last moment that you’re still there. They hold on, eyes shut, whispering prayers to a god who’s deaf to their pain.

When morning breaks, none of them rise. They stay beside you, unwilling to face a world that doesn’t have you in it. They’ve lost you, their last chance to be the family they should have been, and they know now they’ll never be whole.

(A/n: no one asked and I also didn't but INSPIRED BY DIS IDEA FROM @steor-ra ILY BESTFRIEND BUT PLEASE UPDATE 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)

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kateschi · 8 months ago

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by god, don't leave me

synopsis: in a heart-wrenching moment of despair, katsuki races through a hospital to find you, only to confront the devastating reality.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: have you noticed how much I love "where is my wife?" angst + major character death btw!!

katsuki’s heart pounds in his chest like it’s ready to explode. his legs push him forward, carrying him through the sterile, cold hallways of the hospital, each step echoing off the walls in a frantic, relentless rhythm.

“where is she?” his voice breaks through the silence, barely held together by a thread. “where is my wife?!”

the nurse at the counter starts to respond, her eyes filled with the kind of pity he can’t bear to see. his face contorts in desperation, and he doesn’t wait for her to explain.

he’s moving, his boots slamming against the floor, refusing to believe—refusing to even consider—that he might be too late.

another doctor, another nurse tries to intercept him, but he’s beyond hearing them. he pushes past, breaking into a sprint, his breath coming in gasps, wild and desperate.

when he reaches your room, it’s as if time stops.

there’s a stillness in the air that hits him like a punch to the gut. he stands there, gripping the doorframe, refusing to believe what he sees.

you’re lying in the bed, so quiet, so still. too still.

he stumbles to a halt, the sight of you stealing the last shred of breath he had left. you're lying there so still, too still.

the life that always seemed to burst out of you—the laughter, the warmth, the damn light—it’s all gone. all that’s left is your body, and that makes him furious, desperate, helpless.

“hey.” his voice trembles as he reaches for you, his hand hovering over your cheek before he finally touches it, cupping your face with fingers that shake uncontrollably.

the warmth he’s looking for isn’t there, the color gone from your skin. “come on,” he whispers, his voice barely a breath as his thumb traces your cheek. “come on, y/n, wake up.”

but you don’t respond.

he bites his lip hard, tasting blood, willing the agony to stop because he can’t let you go.

he’s gripping your shoulders now, his fingers sinking into you like he could hold you here, force you back to life by sheer will alone.

“you… you promised,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “you said we’d grow old together, remember? that we’d be those old, grumpy people who couldn’t stand anyone but each other.”

but there’s no answer, no gentle squeeze of his hand, no reassuring smile. just silence. he presses his lips to your forehead, his hands still cupping your face as if he can anchor you, hold you here with him just a little longer.

“you lied to me,” he murmurs, his voice trembling, harsh, as though he can will you back by sheer desperation. “you said you’d stay with me—no matter what. no matter what.”

katsuki's hands go slack, slipping from your face to the edge of the bed, where his knuckles press white into the mattress.

he stares, his mind refusing to process, searching for any sign that this is all some horrible, twisted joke.

for one unbearable, suspended moment, he almost expects you to stir, to open your eyes with that look that says he’s an idiot for worrying so much.

but there’s nothing. just the faint beep of machines, the sterile scent of antiseptic, the steady ache that presses harder and harder against his ribs, hollowing him out with each passing second.

his fingers curl against the sheets as a tremor runs through him, his breath hitching violently. memories flood in unbidden—moments he thought he’d have time to revisit someday.

how you’d laugh and shake your head when he’d scowl over some trivial thing. how you’d tuck yourself into his side on quiet mornings, your hand pressed against his chest, the sound of your breathing steady against his heartbeat.

katsuki feels his throat tighten as he leans down, forehead pressing against the coolness of your hand.

"we had a whole life planned out," he whispers, voice breaking.

“remember? we’d find that crappy house by the beach, fix it up, make it ours. you were gonna paint the walls bright colors, and I was gonna complain and pretend I hated it."

he lets out a jagged breath, eyes clenching shut as his shoulders shake, the reality tearing through him in waves.

this wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. there was supposed to be more—more days, more late nights, more everything.

“I don’t…” he struggles, voice barely more than a broken rasp, “I don’t want to do this without you.” the words slip out, hollow, stripped of all the fire he’s ever had, leaving nothing but the raw ache underneath.

he presses his face into the crook of your neck, searching for any hint of the warmth that was once there, anything to hold onto, but it’s gone.

and it hits him, like the ground crumbling from under his feet, that you’re really not coming back.

the weight of all he’s lost crashes into him. he thinks of the arguments that meant nothing now, all the times he’d leave you with a brusque goodbye, figuring he’d make it up to you later.

how you’d roll your eyes at his stubborn pride, laughing at how he’d scowl at affection in public yet draw you close the moment he thought no one was watching.

he’d do anything to take it all back, just to hold you again, to let you know he’d trade every bit of strength, every scrap of pride if it meant you’d be here, laughing at him, calling him out on his nonsense.

he doesn’t notice the tears streaking down his face as he stares at you, the silence so absolute it feels like it’s burying him.

the room feels colder now, like the world has shifted on its axis, taking you with it.

for a moment, he wonders if he can even go back to the life you both shared; if he can return to the apartment filled with pieces of you in every room, every corner.

katsuki’s shoulders sag under the crushing weight of it all, fingers curling around the edge of the bed as he takes a shuddering breath. he wants to scream, rage, curse the universe for being so damn unfair.

but all he can manage is a broken whisper. “I should have told you more… should have said it every day. you’d have laughed at me, said I was going—soft.”

he gathers you closer, pressing your body against his own as he begins to sway, rocking gently back and forth as though he can somehow soothe the emptiness inside him.

his chest shakes, the first tears slipping down silently, but then they come harder, a ragged sob tearing from his throat as he buries his face in your neck.

“I love you…” the words escape in a cracked whisper, his breath hitching as he clings to you, his grip tightening, desperate.

“I love you… I love you…” he murmurs, his voice breaking more with each word.

his tears fall faster, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, as if the weight of those words—the words he can never say to you again—is too much to bear.

“I love you,” he chokes out, each syllable fractured, his body trembling as he holds you closer, his tears soaking your shoulder.

his heart shatters all over again with every whispered confession, until he’s clutching you so tightly it hurts, his sobs growing louder, rawer, until he’s left gasping, brokenly repeating, “I love you—I love you, y/n—so much.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

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angelseraphines · 6 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ white mustang ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x single!mother!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you were a single mother raising a four-year-old daughter in the bustling, unforgiving city of seoul. life had not unfolded as you once fantasized it might, instead, it had cornered you into a relentless cycle of poverty and struggle. you had married young, filled with hope and naivety, but those dreams were shattered when your husband abandoned you shortly after you announced your pregnancy. unable to bear the duties of fatherhood, he not only left but also cast you out of the home you once shared, leaving you to fend for yourself and your unborn child.

˚ ༘♡ your own family, steeped in tradition and pride, turned their backs on you as well. they viewed your divorce as a mark of shame, a stain on their honor. the fact that you would raise a child without a father was, in their eyes, an unforgivable disgrace. they refused to take you in, forcing you to seek refuge in whatever options you could find. eventually, you found work as a sales assistant at a small boutique, where the pay was barely enough to scrape by. minimum wage stretched thin over endless expense, formula, rent, utilities, and it quickly became apparent that even the bare necessities were a luxury. in a moment of sheer desperation, you began taking out loans amounting in tens of thousands of won, well aware you could never repay them. the interest piled up as fast as the bills, but the loans kept your daughter fed and clothed, albeit barely. you hated yourself for it, but there were no other choices that didn’t feel impossible.

˚ ༘♡ your home, if it could be called that, was on the less fortunate side of a narrow street lined with aging apartments and cracked sidewalks. the peeling paint and broken railings were a daily reminder of your circumstances. yet, even amidst your despair, you couldn’t help but notice the contrast a few blocks over, a wealthier stretch of the same neighborhood, where sleek cars parked outside magnificent homes and prosperity seemed to flourish. it was during one of your daily walks to the bus stop, your daughter’s tiny hand clutching yours, that you first noticed him.

˚ ༘♡ cho sang-woo. a man who seemed completely out of place in your reality but belonged so effortlessly to the better half of the neighborhood. his polished suits, sharp gaze, and air of quiet confidence spoke of success and power. you didn’t know much about him, only the whispered details you overheard at the local convenience store. he was a former student of seoul university, where he graduated at the top of his class, and he now worked at joy investments, one of the most prestigious firms in the city. he lived in the nicer part of the street, a place that might as well have been a world apart from yours.

˚ ༘♡ for weeks, your paths crossed without words. you would see him on the way to work, his brisk stride purposeful and somehow detached. you’d clutch your daughter’s hand tightly as she skipped beside you, her laughter a rare mirthful mark in your otherwise gray days. sometimes, you wondered if he noticed you at all, or if to him, you were just another melancholic face in the crowd. but there was something in the way his eyes briefly wandered to yours, a swift, barely noticeable moment of acknowledgment, almost imperceptible but not absent.

˚ ༘♡ a month passed without much change. you worked long hours at the boutique, came home to your daughter’s laughter echoing in the small apartment, and fell asleep each night with exhaustion pressing against your chest. spring had arrived, softening the chill in the air and filling the streets with blossoms and a sense of renewal you couldn’t quite feel for yourself. still, you tried to give your daughter a taste of joy, taking her for walks when time allowed, letting her skip along the sidewalks as if the world weren’t so cynical.

˚ ༘♡ one bright afternoon, the kind that made the city’s grime seem almost picturesque, you saw him again. cho sang-woo stood ahead, unmistakable in his dark business suit. the clean lines of his attire and the polished leather of his shoes seemed to set him apart from the bustling, chaotic world around him. his square-rimmed glasses caught the sunlight, and his expression, though composed, held a trace of warmth when he noticed you approaching. he lifted a hand in a brief wave and nodded. “good morning,” he greeted, his tone polite but personable.

˚ ༘♡ you returned his nod with a soft smile, your daughter tugging lightly at your hand. “good morning to you as well, sir,” you replied, your voice calm, though you felt a twinge of surprise that he’d acknowledged you.

˚ ༘♡ your daughter, far less reserved, beamed up at him, her youthful cheer impossible to contain. “hello, sir!” she exclaimed with a giggle, her small voice cutting through the hum of the city.

˚ ༘♡ he stopped in his tracks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a genuine grin. “how old is she?” he asked, his gaze shifting to your daughter, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

˚ ༘♡ “four years old as of last month,” you replied, brushing a hand over her dark hair with a hint of pride you didn’t bother hiding.

˚ ༘♡ he adjusted his glasses, the gesture quick and practiced, before replying, “she’s a clever child. you’re blessed to have her.”

˚ ༘♡ his words, spoken so simply yet with unmistakable sincerity, stirred something in you. “i tell myself that every day,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening gently around your daughter’s small hand.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t seem rushed to leave, lingering as though the conversation mattered more than wherever he was headed. his questions were unintrusive, small talk about the weather, the flowers blooming along the street, and whether you’d been in the neighborhood long. you answered politely, aware of the contrast between his world and yours yet struck by how easily he spoke to you.

˚ ༘♡ after a few minutes, he glanced at his watch, a subtle flare of responsibility returning to his expression. “i’d better get going,” he said, though there was no impatience in his tone. “it was nice talking to you.”

˚ ༘♡ “and to you,” you replied, dipping your head slightly.

˚ ༘♡ he offered your daughter one last smile before walking away, his pace measured, his presence lingering even as he disappeared down the street. you watched him for a moment, then turned back to your daughter, who was already pulling you toward the park.

˚ ༘♡ from that day on, whenever your paths crossed, he made a point to stop and speak with you. at first, the exchanges were brief, a polite inquiry about your day or a comment on how quickly your daughter was growing. but as the weeks passed, the conversations stretched longer, even when his crisp attire and leather briefcase suggested a packed schedule. he would pause, leaning slightly toward you as he spoke, his words carrying a kind of attentiveness you hadn’t encountered in a long time. those encounters, swift as they were, began to carve a small space of solace into the otherwise monotonous routine of your days.

˚ ༘♡ one quiet afternoon, as you were tidying up after a long day, the phone rang. you glanced at the screen and saw sang-woo’s name flashing. you hesitated for a moment, unsure why he was calling, but you picked up. his voice on the other end was casual yet warm. “would you like to grab dinner tonight? nothing fancy, something simple,” he said, his tone friendly enough to put you at ease.

˚ ༘♡ you smiled softly, though he couldn’t see it. “i’d like to, but i can’t leave my daughter home alone,” you replied, your words tinged with regret. her well-being was always your priority, and you weren’t in a position to make exceptions.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t hesitate to reply. “then bring her along,” he insisted without hesitation. “it’ll be fun for all of us, and i couldn’t think of leaving her out.”

˚ ༘♡ his sincerity made it hard to say no. after a brief pause, you agreed, telling him you’d meet him shortly. your daughter, wide-eyed and excited, picked the dinner, a feast of fried chicken and tteokbokki. it wasn’t what you considered a balanced meal, but sang-woo laughed softly when you voiced your concerns. “an occasional indulgence won’t hurt,” he reassured you, his tone effortlessly convincing. “besides, it’s my treat tonight.”

˚ ༘♡ when you arrived at the small, bustling eatery, your daughter clung to your hand while her gaze darted around, taking in the brightly colored menus and the sizzling platters on nearby tables. sang-woo was already seated, waving you over with a welcoming smile that made you feel momentarily lighter. he pulled out a chair for you before settling back into his own seat, engaging your daughter with playful questions about her favorite foods and games. her laughter filled the air as he entertained her, his natural charm putting her completely at ease.

˚ ༘♡ as the meal went on, you found yourself relaxing, enjoying the rare treat of good food and pleasant company. when your daughter noticed the arcade machines near the back of the restaurant, her face lit up with excitement. before you could say a word, sang-woo reached into his pocket and handed her a coin, encouraging her to go play while the two of you stayed behind. it was then, as you sat alone with him, that the evening took a turn you hadn’t anticipated.

˚ ༘♡ leaning in slightly, his expression grew more thoughtful. “can i ask you something personal?” he began, his voice measured and quiet. you nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “are you seeing anyone right now?”

˚ ༘♡ the question caught you off guard. you hesitated, but there was no point in pretending. with a quiet sigh, you opened up about your past, your brief, ill-fated marriage, your ex-husband’s abandonment, and the struggles that had followed. sang-woo listened intently, his gaze steady, never betraying judgment or discomfort. when you finished, he offered a small, empathetic smile and reached across the table, his hand brushing yours lightly. “you’ve been through so much, but you’re doing a wonderful job as a mother,” he said, his words sincere. before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, quick and discreet, ensuring your daughter didn’t see.

˚ ༘♡ the gesture left you momentarily speechless, your heart racing in a way it hadn’t in years. cho sang-woo was everything society valued, handsome, intelligent, and successful. yet, you couldn’t ignore the gap between your worlds. a single mother scraping by on meager wages didn’t belong in the same orbit as a man like him, no matter how kind he was. you told yourself he was simply a good friend, someone who offered comfort in a lonely existence. but the truth was harder to dismiss, and the growing fondness you felt for him remained long after that night.

˚ ༘♡ weeks later, the strain of your financial troubles bore down on you more heavily than ever. the debt had spiraled out of control, and every day felt like a losing battle to stay afloat. you were walking home one evening when a sharply dressed man approached you, his presence almost unsettling in its precision. he introduced himself with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and held out two small folded squares of paper. “care for a game of ddakji?” he asked, his tone cheerful but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “if you win, you’ll get one hundred thousand won. if you lose, i get to slap you.”

˚ ༘♡ desperation clouded your judgment, and against your better instincts, you agreed. the first few rounds ended in failure, each slap stinging more than the last. but you persisted, driven by the thought of what that money could mean for your daughter. finally, with trembling hands and a burst of determination, you flipped the paper correctly. the man handed you the cash with an unsettling smile and then extended a business card. “call this number if you want to win more,” he said, his words lingering in your mind as you walked away clutching the money.

˚ ༘♡ that night, after tucking your daughter into bed, you stared at the card for what felt like hours. the temptation was overwhelming, and in the end, it won. you called the number, your voice shaking as you gave your name and address. within minutes, a sleek black limousine pulled up in front of your building, its windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see inside. stepping in, you barely had time to settle before a strange chemical filled the air, and the world went dark.

˚ ༘♡ when you awoke, the surroundings were unfamiliar and unnerving. rows of bunk beds stretched endlessly across a vast room, the walls painted a distasteful shade of green. you looked down and saw the plain jumpsuit you now wore, the number 017 stitched onto the fabric. confusion and fear gripped you, but one thought rose above the chaos, your daughter was at home, and you had to survive this for her, to give the life she deserved.

˚ ༘♡ the goal of winning was your aspiration when the first game began. at first glance, it seemed absurd, red light, green light, a relic from childhood memories long buried beneath the weight of adulthood. the vibrant, oversized doll at the far end of the field seemed almost laughable in its stillness, its painted smile eerie but harmless. but that illusion shattered when the first player was eliminated. the sound of the gunshot echoed through the air, followed by the horrifying sight of their lifeless body collapsing onto the dirt. the cheerful voice announcing the rules continued without pause, as though nothing had happened.

˚ ༘♡ panic erupted among the players. shouts of disbelief and terror filled the air as dozens bolted toward the exits, frantic and desperate to escape. one by one, they were struck down, their bodies littering the field as if caught in an invisible storm. the realization hit you like a physical blow, this was no game. this was life and death, and you were standing in its grasp. your knees trembled under the weight of fear, and your breaths came shallow and quick. every instinct screamed at you to run, to flee the nightmare unfolding around you.

˚ ༘♡ “the doll’s eyes are motion sensors. don’t move.”

˚ ༘♡ the voice came from behind, quiet but firm, cutting through the chaos. you turned your head slightly, careful to avoid triggering the sensors. it was cho sang-woo, his expression as composed as ever, though his voice carried an edge you had never heard before. his presence shocked you, why was he here? he had a prestigious job, a beautiful home, a life far removed from the misery that had led you to this place. what could have driven him to join this horrifying spectacle? but there was no time for answers. survival demanded your complete attention.

˚ ༘♡ you fixed your gaze on the doll, its head swiveling unnervingly to scan the players. the melody began again, and with it, the rules of survival. move forward, stop immediately, stay frozen. you forced yourself to take small, deliberate steps, resisting the overwhelming urge to sprint. each time the doll’s head turned, you froze, your body taut with fear, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed deafening. every second stretched into eternity, every step forward a test of willpower.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo crossed the finish line seconds before you, his figure stoic as he turned his back to the field. you pushed onward, your focus unyielding, until you finally crossed the line with seconds to spare. the tension in your body snapped, leaving your legs weak beneath you, but you remained upright, clinging to the knowledge that you had survived, for now. you glanced toward sang-woo, hoping for some acknowledgment, but he avoided your gaze entirely, turning away as if you were a stranger.

˚ ༘♡ once the last player stumbled through, the harsh blare of a horn signaled the end of the game, and the survivors were ushered back into the dormitory. the atmosphere was suffocating, the air thick with tension and fear as the reality of what they had just endured began to sink in. the sight of so many bodies lying lifeless on the field haunted you, but there was no time to grieve, no space to process. the masked guards stood silent and menacing, a constant reminder that you were trapped under their watchful gaze.

˚ ༘♡ as the players murmured among themselves, questions and disbelief rippling through the crowd, one of the masked guards stepped forward. his voice was distorted through the microphone, chilling in its detachment. “to remind you why you are here, we will reveal the amount of debt each of you owes.”

˚ ༘♡ the room fell silent, a collective tension building as a screen lit up on one of the walls. one by one, the players’ faces appeared, alongside staggering amounts of debt. gasps and whispers spread as the numbers grew larger and larger, each amount more crippling than the last. when your face appeared, the sum displayed made your stomach churn, a figure so vast it felt insurmountable, nearly half a billion won, a reflection of every foolish decision you had made to keep your daughter fed and housed.

˚ ༘♡ but the room truly stilled when cho sang-woo’s face appeared on the screen. his debt was six billion won. the air seemed to grow heavier as the number glowed on the screen, an incomprehensible weight tied to the man who had always seemed so polished, so composed, so untouchable. a few players exchanged shocked glances, but sang-woo’s expression didn’t waver. his face remained unreadable, a mask of calm that betrayed none of the turmoil he might have felt.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop staring at him. six billion won? how could someone with his education, his prestigious career, have ended up in such a dire position? questions swirled in your mind, but the icy tone of the guard’s voice broke through your thoughts. “this is what brought you here. this is what you must fight to overcome.”

˚ ༘♡ as the screen darkened, the room buzzed with subdued murmurs. the revelation had shifted the atmosphere, exposing the cracks in the carefully guarded facades of those around you. it was a stark reminder that no one here was truly secure, no matter how confident or composed they appeared.

˚ ༘♡ murmurs of confusion and disbelief filled the air. then, to your astonishment, sang-woo stepped forward and initiated a vote to end the game. the announcement caused a ripple of hope, and soon the vote began. by the narrowest margin, the majority chose to leave. the thought of returning to your daughter filled you with relief, even as unease lingered in your mind.

˚ ༘♡ back in the outside world, you clung to the brief sense of normalcy that returning home provided. your daughter’s laughter was a salve to your frayed nerves, but the relief was fleeting. the reality of your situation hit like a tidal wave when you opened the door to find loan sharks waiting, their demands sharper and more insistent than before. a stack of bills sat ominously on your table, a chilling reminder that leaving the game hadn’t erased your debts. it had only delayed the inevitable.

˚ ༘♡ when the sleek black limousine returned, you didn’t hesitate. you kissed your daughter’s forehead, returned her to the care of your elderly neighbor, and climbed into the car, your resolve hardening. the gas filled the air once again, and the world faded into unconsciousness. when you awoke, you were back in the same vast dormitory, the green jumpsuit hanging from your frame like a prison uniform.

˚ ༘♡ to your surprise, and perhaps dismay, sang-woo had returned as well. he stood apart from the crowd, his expression carefully neutral, as though he had already resigned himself to whatever horrors lay ahead. you couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity and frustration. what could have brought him back to this nightmare? but his presence, as unsettling as it was, also brought a sliver of comfort. at least one person here wasn’t a complete stranger. whether he acknowledged you or not, the fact that he was there, breathing the same air, enduring the same fate, made the unbearable feel slightly less isolating.

˚ ༘♡ as you climbed through the maze of brightly colored block structures on your way to the second game, the oppressive silence among the players was broken only by the occasional scrape of shoes against the smooth surfaces. the atmosphere was suffocating, each person wrapped in their own thoughts of survival. as you reached the next passageway, you caught sight of sang-woo walking a few steps ahead, his broad shoulders unmistakable even in the dull green jumpsuit. you quickened your pace, weaving around other players until you came up beside him.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo?” you called out hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to be acknowledged. “it’s good to see you.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned to face you, his expression weary, his sharp features softened by exhaustion. his glasses were gone, leaving his face bare in a way that felt unfamiliar. the hollowness in his eyes made your heart ache, a stark contrast to the composed man you once knew. “it’s good to see you as well,” he said quietly, though his tone carried an undercurrent of shame. his gaze drifted downward, as though he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes for long.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, unsure whether to press him further, but the words poured out before you could stop them. “sang-woo, i had no idea you were in so much debt. i thought…” you faltered, the unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud, the claims you’d heard about client embezzlement and loans swirling in your mind. surely, he wouldn’t have stolen money from his workplace? the man you thought you knew wouldn’t sink to such levels, or so you hoped.

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his expression tightening. “we can talk later, alright?” his voice was calm, but the subtle edge warned you not to push further. he looked away, focusing on the corridor ahead, his discomfort palpable.

˚ ༘♡ before you could respond, the masked guards appeared, their presence commanding immediate attention. one of them stepped forward, his voice cold and distorted as he barked instructions. “players, form a line in front of the four doors, triangle, circle, star, and umbrella.” the straightforward simplicity of the directive only heightened your unease. no explanation was given, and the purpose of the shapes remained a mystery.

˚ ༘♡ you watched as sang-woo leaned toward the group of players he had been speaking with, his voice low but audible. “we should split up,” he suggested. “i’ll take the triangle.” his tone was measured, but there was something deliberate in the way he spoke, as though he knew more than he was letting on.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped closer, offering him a faint smile. “i’ll take the star,” you said, trying to inject a bit of optimism into the tension-filled space.

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened visibly, and he shook his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “no,” he said, his voice firm. his friends had already dispersed, blending into the lines forming at the other doors, but he didn’t move. his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching.

˚ ༘♡ “why not?” you asked, confused by his sudden insistence.

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause stretching long enough to feel significant. “i think you should stick with me,” he said finally. “for a woman, the next game could be dangerous, and you might need protection. choose triangle with me.”

˚ ༘♡ there was something in his tone, persuasive as it could be, that made it impossible to refuse. though his reasoning unsettled you, you nodded, falling into line behind him as the players shuffled forward. your eyes scanned the room anxiously, searching for any clue as to what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when the game was finally revealed, your stomach sank. the guards handed each player a thin tin containing a piece of dalgona candy. the shape on the door you had chosen corresponded to the delicate imprint in the sugar, triangle for you and sang-woo. the instructions were chillingly simple, extract the shape from the brittle candy without breaking it. failure meant elimination.

˚ ༘♡ as you stared down at the candy in your hands, your breath hitched. the triangle, though angular and sharp, was mercifully the easiest of the shapes. your fingers trembled as you picked up the needle provided, its point glinting under the harsh overhead lights. you glanced at sang-woo, who was already at work on his candy, his face an unreadable mask. you offered him a small, grateful smile, relieved that his advice had spared you a more complicated shape. he acknowledged it with a weak nod but didn’t look up from his task.

˚ ༘♡ the room was filled with the sound of quiet scraping, interspersed with the occasional crack of breaking candy and the deafening gunshots that followed. each failure sent a ripple of fear through the players, the stakes of the game becoming all too real. your hands shook uncontrollably as you traced the edges of the triangle, the needle’s tip scraping against the delicate surface. beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

˚ ༘♡ finally, with painstaking caution, you lifted the triangle free from the candy, the edges intact. relief flooded through you, though your hands continued to tremble as you approached one of the masked guards. holding up the completed shape, you waited for his acknowledgment. “player 218, player 017, pass,” the voice from the speaker announced, devoid of emotion.

˚ ༘♡ as you and sang-woo stepped into the expansive player quarters, the dim lighting and echo of murmured conversations created an atmosphere that felt dreadful yet oddly subdued. the space was filled with rows of bunks stacked high, each one occupied by players whose expressions ranged from numb exhaustion to quiet fear. you glanced around briefly before turning your attention to him, your gratitude bubbling to the surface.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo, you saved my life,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. the words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. “i wouldn’t have had the precision or patience to cut out the star. thank you for convincing me to choose triangle.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused mid-step, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly as he turned to look at you. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his gaze, a flicker of thought he didn’t voice. you tilted your head, your curiosity piqued as a question formed in your mind. “did you know it was going to be dalgona?” your voice held both curiosity and suspicion. he was intelligent, brilliant, in fact. it wouldn’t have surprised you if he had pieced together clues that no one else had noticed. but then again, if he had known, wouldn’t he have told his friends?

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he looked almost reluctant to answer. “i didn’t,” he said finally, his tone measured and deliberate. “it was a lucky guess, i suppose.” but there was something about the way he said it that left you unconvinced. his words felt too crafted, too careful, as if he were guarding a truth he wasn’t ready to share.

˚ ༘♡ before you could probe further, he shifted the conversation, his gaze tender as he looked at you. “come on,” he said, his voice quieter now. “you look like you’re about to collapse, and i can hardly stay upright myself after how draining that game was. let’s try and relax our nerves.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, the tension in your body loosening slightly as his words pulled you away from your thoughts. together, you made your way to an unoccupied bunk in one of the quieter corners of the dormitory. as you sat down, the fatigue of the day hit you like a wave, the adrenaline that had kept you going during the game now fully drained from your system.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo leaned against the metal frame of the bunk, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. his face was pale under the fluorescent lights, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how much the game had taken out of him. for a moment, the silence between you felt almost comfortable, a reprieve from the chaos that had defined the day.

˚ ༘♡ “you know,” you said after a while, your voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t know how you stayed so calm out there. i felt like i was going to fall apart the entire time.”

˚ ༘♡ he let out a low breath, not quite a sigh, as his eyes shifted to the floor. “i wasn’t calm,” he admitted. “i was terrified, but fear doesn’t help you survive. you have to focus, no matter what.” his words were matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to them, a glimpse of the pressure he carried that he rarely allowed others to see.

˚ ༘♡ you studied him for a moment, your gratitude mingling with a growing sense of unease. there was so much about him that remained a mystery, layers of calculation and restraint that made it impossible to fully understand what he was thinking. but for now, you were too tired to dwell on it.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you, sang-woo,” you said again, your voice softer this time. you meant it, not simply for his advice during the game, but for the quiet sense of stability he brought in a world that felt increasingly unmoored.

˚ ༘♡ he gave a faint nod, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. “get some rest,” he said, his tone gentle but steadfast. “tomorrow will probably be worse.”

a/n: can you all tell my favorite character is cho sang-woo? don’t worry, part two of the hwang in-ho x wife series will be out soon! let me know your thoughts! 🤍

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. ��Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

2K notes · View notes

hawnks · 9 days ago

Text

You know the moment you lay eyes on him: Xavier is your alpha. You feel the draw of the connection down to your bones, this is it. Your fated mate.

Except -- Xavier doesn't feel the same pull. He can't.

He's a beta.

It's a cruel little trick the universe has played on you. You're destined to want him forever, but his desire is conditional. He can leave you, but you'll never be able to leave him. You've heard the pheromone withdrawal from a broken fated match is an unholy torture; some people say it's worse than death. And even if you somehow manage to stay together for the rest of your lives, how could a beta ever understand soul deep longing? You'll love him with every molecule of the stars that made you, less you here. You'll need him. The inbalance of that, the sheer unfairness -- it breaks your heart before you've even begun.

You need to find a way out of this, before you subconsciously (or willingly, god he's pretty) imprint on him.

You hit wall after wall in your search for a solution. Xavier is there the whole time, holding your hand when disappointment sets in, offering you comfort and optimism you desperately need. Ingraining himself in your life. Letting you know him. Making you -- goddamit -- like him. You're not sure how he feels about the match, but the fact that he's going along with your plan to end this relationship is indicative enough. You don't think about it too deeply, at risk of falling into despair over this mess.

When your last and most promising lead is a dead end, you don't feel resignation -- you feel relief. The cool rain that follows the choking humidity.

He wraps his arms around your chest, chin on your shoulder as he scans the test results on the table. He hums.

"Guess we'll have to stay together, then."

And because he's your mate, because you know him, you see the daunting truth. He's been sabotaging you this whole time. Making you unable to escape this match.

And there's nothing you can do anymore. You'll love him until you die.

You sense the same sense of relief in him, as you settle into his hold, accepting him. Maybe this whole experience was as exhausting for him as it was for you. Maybe he felt the inevitability of this, too.

Maybe he does understand soul deep longing, after all.

#tw: a/b/o #Xavier posting #he would be sooooooo good for you during your heats #and he would coddle you soooooo well when your hormones are making you act up #honestly you say he's your mate and he is secretly giddy #you're gonna stay with him forever? you need him? that's hot #your desire is exciting for him #xavier x reader

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roosterforme · 8 months ago

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While Bradley thought it was unfair of the Navy to mess with him while he was still in his honeymoon phase, he certainly did love getting mail from you.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, Bradley being husband material, 18+

Length: 1700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

That autumn....

As soon as you led Bradley inside after he drove the two of you home from Salvatore's, you ran your fingers along his cheek and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You had a lunch picnic with Thai food on the beach. And then you got pasta for dinner. Do you have any other requests?" you asked, using your strict classroom voice which made Bradley's mouth water.

"I do, actually," he whispered, melting into your touch. "How about some of that lingerie you picked out in Paris?"

The honeymoon was almost three months ago, but not an hour went by where Bradley didn't reminisce about the days he got to enjoy the view of the Eiffel Tower and the view of your ass while he fucked you. It always left him with a smile on his face. But his smile started to falter when he remembered that he was shipping out tomorrow, and he wouldn't return until after the New Year. At least he would be allowed to communicate with you this time. That was the only thing saving him from almost certain despair.

"I think that can be arranged," you told him with a smile, unbuttoning your top as he stumbled along after you. "But you have to wait out here until I'm ready."

Bradley groaned and leaned on the wall in the hallway, watching you bounce along to the bedroom without him while you laughed. He didn't mind waiting a few minutes, because he was going to love whatever you were about to do. He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

He hadn't even finished packing his duffle yet, because he didn't want this to feel real. He was planning on doing that tonight with your help, kissing you as you folded up his shirts and lined up his socks on the bed. But that was going to have to wait a few minutes. You opened the door to reveal the sheer nightie hugging your body as you pressed your thighs together and bit your lip.

Bradley was pushing away from the wall, heading right for you. "Gorgeous," he murmured, pulling you against him and walking you backwards to the bed. "Baby, I'm going to miss this too much."

His heart was pounding in his ears, hands full of your lace covered ass before you dropped to the bed on your back. "I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back.

"No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby." You grinned as you turned your head to the side, and Bradley stepped out of his remaining clothing before he climbed in bed. He was hovering above you, lips pressed to your ear as he whispered, "You'll wear the goodies for me, too. And you'll email me every mouth watering photo that you take of your fingers shoved deep in your pussy."

"Bradley," you whined, bucking your hips up until he had to hold you in place with his big hands on your body.

"I want a little treat every time you touch yourself. And I want to know that you're thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

Your words were an ego boost. Just the kind of thing that would get him through this work assignment and back into your arms. "When you're alone and thinking about me, I want some pictures, pretty girl. A whole inbox full of them. Some sweet ones," he crooned, kissing his way along your jaw to your lips. "And some dirty ones," he added, mouth teasing your skin until your nipple was between his lips and you were whining. He sucked gently, tugging until his lips popped free, leaving you begging for more with your fingers in his hair.

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

"I'm going to miss my wife," he crooned, guiding his cock inside your slick perfection as soon as you spread your legs. He rocked in and out of you slowly, enjoying the feel of your body and your voice and your sweet scent. Memorizing everything. Telling himself he could get through the time away from you as long as he could come back to this.

It was so late when Bradley finally left the bed. You and he were wrung out and fucked out. Fingers laced together, barely moving, unable to go for a fourth round. "That was wild," you laughed when he finally rolled away from you, dizzy as he stood and looked at the wrecked bedding around your naked body.

"Shit, Gorgeous." He was laughing, too as he said, "I still need to finish packing in the next five hours."

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?"

"Then I would say I love you."

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

Waking up for work in a bed that was half cold was not your idea of a good time. You shivered every morning that Bradley was gone, especially when November brought with it a chilly bite to the air. The commute from Coronado to Mira Mesa and back each day felt like a punishment when you knew you weren't going to arrive home to a husband who was excited to see you and hear about your adventures in teaching.

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime.

And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

While you made it a point to spend time with Natasha, Edith, Ruby and Marty, the loneliness was somehow worse now that you had rings on your finger. The best thing to happen was the arrival of the day when your new fourth grade class started their unit on aviation.

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

Later that week, you had a sizable cardboard box packed up with letters and snacks for your husband. Instead of telling him exactly when the first package would arrive, you left it as a surprise for him to stumble upon.

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

Bradley was exhausted. The mechanical crew on this deployment was nowhere near as kind or competent as Marty, and he found himself constantly visiting their shop to work through issues with his aircraft. He missed his friends and his home and his wife. He missed you so fucking much. All of the letters and emails you sent him were fantastic, but he even missed having a bunch of pen pals to converse with at the end of the day.

Every happy thought that entered his mind seemed to be pushed aside when he realized he was still a long way from returning to San Diego. He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall.

The cabbage rolls were disgusting, but at least the aircraft carriers were consistent. He picked at his meal and then ate two plates of dessert to make himself feel a little bit better. When he was sorting his dirty dishes and tray into the appropriate place, he was surprised to hear his name being called amongst some others.

"Bradshaw! You've got unclaimed mail!"

He perked up immediately. How did he have something else to claim? He picked up an enormous envelope from you the other day along with a card from Edith. Did you send him a handwritten note again already?

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips. He could have some regular pen pals to correspond with again. His smile grew wider when he looked at the way you addressed the box to him in your tidy handwriting.

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

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

Bradley has the ultimate pen pal in his wife. Thanks for reading this series which ended up being so much longer than originally intended! Thanks for all of the love and feedback along the way! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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odileeclipse · 3 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 6

<<<Previous Next>>>

The sun felt like it was shining more brightly today, you hadn’t even realized you were smiling.

Professor Almond Cookie’s voice droned on, his chalk tapping rhythmically against the board as he worked through another intricate magical theorem. Normally, you would’ve been struggling to keep up, your notes a frantic mess of half-understood scribbles and desperate attempts to make sense of it all. But today? Today felt… different. Maybe it was the fact that, for once, you actually understood the material. Or perhaps it was the lingering satisfaction of yesterday’s study session the way Shadow Milk Cookie had walked you through his research, answering your questions without outright dismissing you. Or it was just the sheer novelty of not feeling completely lost in class for once. Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding along, absorbing the lesson with a sense of ease you hadn’t experienced before. You weren’t just bracing for the inevitable wave of confusion. You were actually following along. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that you hadn’t even noticed the small, contented smile on your face. At least, not until Professor Almond Cookie’s voice suddenly cut through the lecture. “Well, someone looks rather pleased with themselves today,” he commented, his sharp eyes flicking toward you. Your entire body tensed. The murmuring of students around you made it clear that you weren’t the only one who had noticed. A few curious glances were thrown your way, some amused, some confused. You could practically hear Chai Latte Cookie stifling a giggle from somewhere behind you. Heat crept up your face as you quickly tried to school your expression into something more neutral. “I-uh-um…just” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “It’s a nice day?” A few students chuckled. Professor Almond Cookie gave you an unimpressed look before sighing. “As long as that ‘nice day’ includes understanding this formula, then by all means, continue smiling.”

You gave a weak, awkward laugh. “Y-yeah, of course.” Professor Almond Cookie shook his head and returned to the lesson, and the class gradually settled again. But for the rest of the lecture, you found yourself a little more aware of the way your expression betrayed your thoughts. Not that you could help it. Because as much as you tried to brush it off, you couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction of actually knowing what was going on for once. As soon as class let out, you barely had time to gather your notes before Chai Latte Cookie sidled up beside you, her eyes practically gleaming with mischief. "So," she began, stretching out the word as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Are we going to talk about that?" You blinked, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. "Talk about what?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been lazily packing up his things, let out a small huff of amusement. "You were grinning like you’d just discovered the meaning of life." "I was not grinning," you defended, though even you weren’t convinced by your own words. Earl Grey Cookie, ever the composed one, simply adjusted his glasses and gave you a thoughtful look. "You did seem rather… pleased during the lecture. A stark contrast from your usual expressions of despair." You frowned. "Wow. Thanks for that." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, linking her arm with yours as you all made your way toward the hallway. "Oh, don’t be so grumpy! It’s cute seeing you happy for once." You groaned, rolling your eyes. "I was just… following along with the lesson, that’s all. I actually understood what was going on for once. Isn’t that enough of a reason to smile?"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a skeptical brow. "I mean, yeah, but this-" he gestured vaguely toward you "was something else." "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, picking up your pace slightly. "Oh, I do," Chai Latte Cookie chimed, a grin spreading across her face. You froze for a half-second before cautiously glancing her way. "…What are you implying?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "I’m just saying," she began, voice light and teasing, "that someone has been spending a lot of time with a certain very renowned scholar lately." Your stomach dropped. "No." "Yes," she countered immediately, her voice practically dripping with glee. "Absolutely not," you insisted. "Absolutely yes." You groaned again, face heating up against your will. "That has nothing to do with this!" Chai Latte Cookie feigned deep contemplation. "Hmm. I don’t know… You have been smiling a lot more ever since your little tutoring sessions started. And we all know how captivating the Sage of Truth can be…"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. "He is kind of hard to ignore." "You guys are ridiculous," you said, pressing a hand to your forehead. Chai Latte Cookie merely gave you a knowing look. "Oh, come on, I’m just teasing! Unless, of course…" She trailed off, watching you expectantly. You let out an exasperated sigh. "I am not smiling because of him." Earl Grey Cookie chuckled, shaking his head. "They do protest quite a bit, don’t they?" "Right?" Chai Latte Cookie beamed. You groaned for what felt like the hundredth time, covering your face with your hands. "I swear it’s just because I actually understood class today! That’s all! No great mystery, no hidden meaning, just me finally grasping something for once in my life!" Chai Latte Cookie patted your arm sympathetically. "Mhm. Whatever you say." You huffed, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. But even as the conversation shifted and your friends moved on to other topics, you couldn’t quite shake the tiny flicker of warmth in your chest. As you all walked through the winding halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to more mundane topics, assignments, upcoming exams, and rumors about the latest bizarre experiment gone wrong in the Regretful Alchemist’s laboratory. Still, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, that warmth in your chest lingered. The memory of Shadow Milk Cookie’s measured voice, the way he had indulged your questions rather than dismissing them, the rare glint of amusement in his eyes when you had stumbled over your words, it all lingered in your mind far longer than you were willing to admit.

You weren’t smiling because of him. You weren’t. You were just… relieved. That was it. Relieved that, for once, you hadn’t felt completely lost. That, despite your missteps and distractions, Shadow Milk Cookie had still guided you back on course, patient as ever. That his words, refined and precise, had somehow begun to make sense to you in a way they never had before. It was just relief. That’s all. "And there they go again," Chai Latte Cookie murmured, breaking you from your thoughts. You blinked, looking up to see all three of your friends watching you with varying degrees of amusement. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "They were definitely thinking about him just now." "I was not!" Earl Grey Cookie sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps we should focus on more pressing matters. Like the essay due at the end of the week?" You latched onto the change of subject like a lifeline. "Yes! Exactly! That’s important!" Chai Latte Cookie gave you a look that made it clear she wasn’t fooled in the slightest, but mercifully, she let it go. For now. "Fine, fine," she relented with a dramatic sigh. "But one day, you’re going to admit it." "There’s nothing to admit," you shot back immediately. Chai Latte Cookie merely smiled knowingly. You quickened your pace, pretending not to hear the quiet laughter behind you. Getting to the alchemy lab was not difficult Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey parted ways with you. Chai latte clinging to your side.

The alchemy classroom hummed with quiet anticipation, the scent of charred herbs and alchemical residue thick in the air. You barely registered the professor’s words as you copied down the instructions written on the board, your focus narrowed to the familiar rhythm of ink against parchment. Today’s lab was supposed to be more dangerous than usual, some kind of volatile reaction that required extra precautions. You understood that much. But beyond that, your attention remained fixed on transcribing formulas, ensuring you didn’t miss a single step. If anything went wrong, it wouldn’t be because of careless note-taking.

Chai Latte Cookie, sitting beside you, nudged your arm lightly. "You should look up," she murmured. You frowned, still writing. "Why?" A pause. Then, quieter, almost careful "Because you’ll want to see this." Something in her tone made you hesitate. Slowly, you lifted your head. The doors to the classroom had opened, and a procession of scholars entered, their presence commanding immediate attention. Their robes were fine, embroidered with sigils of knowledge and alchemical mastery, their movements fluid with the quiet confidence of those accustomed to the pursuit of truth. Even without knowing their names, it was obvious these were not ordinary visitors. And then you saw him. At the center of them all, standing as if he belonged to a world just slightly above this one, was the Sage of Truth. Ornate robes of pale blue and gold draped over his frame, each fold and embellishment arranged with deliberate elegance. The patterns woven into the fabric seemed almost celestial like the swirling paths of constellations mapped onto cloth. His hat, large and elaborately designed, cast a subtle shadow over his face, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

Your breath caught in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie had an undeniable presence, one that didn’t need to be announced. The scholars beside him seemed almost secondary, as though their prestige dimmed in comparison to his quiet authority. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving much, yet you could already feel the weight of his scrutiny, the sheer depth of knowledge that followed him like an unspoken force. You swallowed. Chai Latte Cookie gave you a sidelong glance, but she didn’t tease. "I told you," she simply said. You barely heard her. Professor Star Anise cleared his throat, drawing the class’s attention back. "Today, you will be paired with one of these esteemed scholars for guidance. I expect your full cooperation." He glanced at his list. "Now then…" Names were called. Students hesitantly stepped forward to meet their assigned mentors, each movement charged with restrained nerves. And then "Ah." The professor’s gaze landed on you. "You will be under the Sage of Truth’s supervision today." A quiet stillness settled over you. You didn’t move, didn’t react right away. You only felt the weight of the words settle over you like an inevitability one you weren’t quite ready for. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled softly. Not in amusement, but in something gentler. Understanding. You swallowed again and slowly rose to your feet.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your desk as you willed yourself to speak up again, despite the nervous weight pressing down on your chest. “Professor?” Your voice was quiet, but it still managed to carry through the murmurs of the class. Professor Star Anise glanced up, his expression patient. “Yes?” You swallowed, forcing yourself to push past the hesitation. “If-If we’re working with the scholars, does that mean we won’t be with our usual lab partners?” The professor gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s correct. Given the complexity of today’s reactions, I’ve assigned you to scholars who can best assist you.” You hesitated, shifting slightly in your seat. “Would it… would it be possible for my partner to stay with me? We usually work together, and-” You hesitated again, feeling the weight of eyes on you. “I just think it might be easier that way.” Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, offered the faintest reassuring smile. Professor Star Anise regarded you for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “I understand your reasoning, but I’ve made these assignments carefully.” His tone was kind, but firm. “I trust you’ll be in capable hands.”

Your stomach twisted. You already knew the answer, but hearing it confirmed made your shoulders sink slightly. “I… Okay,” you mumbled, staring down at your desk. A quiet pause. Then, a voice, smooth and unwavering. “I assure you,” The sage of truth said, his words carrying the effortless certainty he always spoke with, “you will be quite alright.” You stiffened, hands tightening slightly. You had barely even looked at him yet, too caught up in your own worries, but now there was no avoiding it. Slowly, hesitantly, you forced yourself to glance in his direction. He stood poised as ever, the flowing blues and golds of his ornate robes unruffled, his expression calm and composed. The golden key at his side caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The assurance in his voice wasn’t forceful, nor was it dismissive. It simply was as though any other possibility was unthinkable. Chai Latte Cookie gently nudged your arm, and you let out a quiet breath. “…Right,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. There was no room left to argue.

As you followed Shadow Milk Cookie to the designated workstation, you tried to steady your breathing. The weight of the situation pressed down on you the unfamiliar setup, the intricate formulas written across the chalkboard, the hushed murmurs of students pairing off with scholars. And, most of all, him. The Sage of Truth moved with a deliberate grace, his ornate coat trailing slightly behind him, the golden key at his side swaying with each step. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t seem the least bit burdened by the sheer pressure of expectation that always seemed to surround him. Meanwhile, you could barely keep your hands from fidgeting. As the two of you arrived at the workstation, your eyes flickered to the various alchemical components laid out before you. Vials of shimmering liquids, delicate crystalline powders, and enchanted catalysts glowing faintly under the laboratory’s light. The experiment ahead was clearly complex. You exhaled slowly, then, before you could stop yourself, muttered, "Did you choose me for this, or is fate just playing some kind of sick joke on me?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t react immediately. He carefully adjusted the sleeves of his robe, ensuring they wouldn’t interfere with the materials before him. Then, in that same measured, ever-assured voice, he replied, “Ah. An inquiry about destiny’s hand in our arrangement.” He turned slightly, and for the first time since you’d been paired together, truly looked at you. His gaze was unreadable somewhere between amused and thoughtful. “Do you believe fate conspires against you?” You hesitated, suddenly regretting asking at all. “It certainly feels that way sometimes.” He hummed, as though considering your words carefully. Then, with the smallest trace of something almost teasing though still draped in his usual scholarly refinement he added, “If I had chosen you, would that be more or less distressing?” You nearly choked on air. “That’s-” You scrambled for a response, heat creeping up your neck. “That’s not…I just meant” Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet, knowing hum. “I see.” Then, as if the conversation had already been neatly wrapped up, he gestured toward the materials before you. “Come. We have work to do.” You swallowed hard, trying to push past the lingering flustered feeling. Whether fate was playing a cruel joke or not, you had no choice but to endure.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping after him, keeping just a half-step behind as he guided you toward the workstation. The weight of the situation should have been pressing on your mind the delicate nature of the alchemical reactions you’d be performing, the risks involved, and the sheer importance of today’s lesson. Yet, all you could think about was him. How he carried himself with the same composed elegance as always, his long, ornate coat flowing effortlessly as he moved. The golden key at his side gleamed under the soft glow of the alchemical lamps, and his presence calm, assured, and unwavering. It was enough to make your stomach twist with nervous energy. You bit your lip before finally mustering the courage to speak. "So… you never answered my question," you said quietly, keeping your eyes on the floor as you followed him. "Did you choose me for this?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t falter in his step. If anything, he seemed to have anticipated your persistence. “What an intriguing notion,” he mused, tone as measured as ever. “Does the possibility unsettle you?” You frowned slightly. "That’s not an answer." He let out a soft hum, pausing briefly as he reached your workstation. Only then did he turn to face you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Would you prefer if I had?" he asked, his voice carrying the same careful curiosity he applied to his scholarly inquiries. “Or would the idea trouble you further?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Because, really what was the better answer? If he had chosen you, that meant he had seen something in you. But if he hadn’t, then that meant you were just some unlucky student swept up in an arbitrary pairing. Neither option felt particularly comforting. You swallowed. "I just want to know why." Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before finally offering a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps," he said, turning his attention to the alchemical components laid out before you, "this is an opportunity to uncover the truth for yourself."

You stared at him, feeling somehow even more flustered than before. "…That’s not an answer either," you muttered under your breath. His quiet chuckle sent warmth creeping up your spine. "Ah, but it is an invitation," he countered smoothly. "Now, shall we begin?" You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to focus. Whether he had chosen you or not, you were stuck with him now. And something told you that no matter how many questions you asked, he would always find a way to leave you with even more. You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck before finally admitting, “It’s nothing against you. It just… feels like more eyes are on me because you’re here.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with quiet amusement, tilting his head slightly. “Oh? And why might that be?” You gave him a look. “You do realize you’re you, right?” His expression didn’t change, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. “An astute observation. I am, indeed, myself.” You exhaled sharply through your nose, not quite a laugh, but close. “That’s not what I meant.” You shifted uneasily, glancing around before lowering your voice. “You’re one of the most respected scholars in the Academy. Everyone looks up to you. Of course they’re going to be paying more attention.” You hesitated, then admitted, “It makes me nervous.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat, watching you with an unreadable expression. Then, in a tone softer than before, he said, “I see.” You weren’t sure what you expected him to say after that, but he didn’t push further. He simply observed, waiting for what, you weren’t sure. Maybe for you to say more. Or for you to process your own thoughts. And against your better judgment, you did say more. “…But,” you continued hesitantly, eyes fixed on the alchemical components before you, “if I had to be paired with a high-ranking scholar… I think I’m a little glad it’s you.” That seemed to surprise him, if only slightly. “Oh?” You nodded, though you still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “Anyone else would have been way more intimidating. At least” You hesitated before forcing yourself to say it. “At least I know you’re patient.” A brief silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you worried you’d said too much. “Patience is merely the willingness to uncover truth at its own pace,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “And if truth requires time, then who am I to rush it?” You finally glanced up at him, unsure what you’d find in his expression. But there was no judgment, no unreadable amusement, just quiet understanding. You exhaled, some of your tension easing. “…Alright,” you murmured, glancing at the alchemical setup once more. “Let’s get started.” At least the weight of the watching eyes didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

You took a steadying breath as you turned your attention to the experiment before you. The alchemical setup gleamed under the warm glow of the enchanted lamps overhead. Delicate glassware, vials of shimmering liquids, and carefully measured ingredients laid out with meticulous precision. Shadow Milk Cookie moved with practiced ease, adjusting a few instruments before glancing at you. “We will begin with the base mixture. Would you care to measure the powdered lunar salt?” You hesitated, then nodded, reaching for the container. Your hands were steady, mostly, but the weight of expectation still pressed on you. Carefully, you scooped out the precise amount, adding it to the main flask where a pale, viscous solution swirled. A quiet hum of approval came from your partner. “Good. Now, we must introduce the catalyst.” You watched as he retrieved a small vial of deep blue liquid…something rare, no doubt. When he uncorked it, the scent of frost and starlight filled the air, tinged with a metallic edge. “The key is controlled diffusion,” he explained, lifting a delicate stirring rod. “Too much at once, and the reaction will destabilize.” You swallowed, watching closely as he poured the catalyst in a slow, deliberate stream, swirling the mixture with measured movements. The liquid inside the flask pulsed faintly, then settled into a mesmerizing gradient of gold and blue. “Your turn,” he said, stepping back slightly to allow you space.

You reached for the rod, hyper-aware of how close he was as you mimicked his motions. The swirling liquid responded in kind, shimmering under the alchemical lights. For a moment, you forgot the audience. Forgot the weight of being watched. It was just you, the experiment, and the guidance of the scholar beside you. Then a sudden shift. The mixture in the flask flickered, deepening into a shade it shouldn’t be. You stiffened. “…That’s not right, is it?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady. “It is… unexpected,” he admitted. “But not unmanageable.” Your breath caught as the flask began to vibrate slightly, unstable energy coursing through it. Your instinct was to pull back to stop but his voice, calm and unwavering, cut through your panic. “Focus,” he said. “Balance the reaction. Slowly, now.” You nodded, heart hammering, and adjusted your movements just as he had shown you. Gradually, the instability eased, the mixture settling back into a controlled glow. You exhaled deeply, barely realizing you had been holding your breath. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before offering a small nod. “Well done.” You blinked at him, still processing. “I… almost messed that up.” “And yet, you corrected it,” he countered smoothly. “That is what matters.” You hesitated, then let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “…Thanks.” A flicker of something passed through his expression approval, perhaps? Whatever it was, he merely inclined his head before turning his focus back to the experiment. You took another steadying breath before glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie. “What next?”

He studied the flask for a moment, the swirling colors reflected in his golden eyes. Then, with the same measured composure he always carried, he gestured toward a small container filled with crystalline fragments. “Next, we introduce the stabilizing agent. Starshard resin highly reactive, but essential for balancing the mixture’s volatility.” You nodded, reaching for the container. As you did, you hesitated, glancing at him for confirmation. “How much?” “A single shard will suffice,” he answered. “Too much, and the reaction will become inert. Too little, and the previous instability may return.” Right. No pressure. You carefully selected a shard, its surface glittering under the light. Holding it between your fingers, you hovered it over the flask, nerves prickling under your skin. You’d already nearly thrown the entire reaction off once…what if?... A gentle movement caught your eye. Shadow Milk Cookie had inclined his head ever so slightly, watching you with quiet patience. There was no exasperation, just that ever-present expectation that you could do this. You swallowed and dropped the shard in. The liquid shimmered, a soft glow pulsing outward as the colors settled into a stable gradient. The mixture no longer wavered or flickered unpredictably; instead, it swirled with a controlled, mesmerizing luminescence. A slow nod from your partner. “Excellent.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s… good, right?” He offered the faintest smile. “Very.” Relief flooded your chest, and you allowed yourself a small, triumphant exhale. Maybe this experiment wouldn’t end in disaster after all. As the final step of the experiment settled, the solution in the flask transformed into a breathtaking metallic blue, shimmering as if tiny stars were suspended within. You stared, entranced, as the light caught the swirling liquid, making it look like an entire night sky had been condensed into the glass.

“Whoa…” The word left you in a quiet breath, eyes wide with awe. “That’s… beautiful.” Shadow Milk Cookie observed the reaction with a satisfied nod, the glow reflecting in his golden eyes. “A most pleasing result.” You hesitated for a moment before glancing at him. “What was the point of this experiment, anyway?” He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. “A lesson in balance,” he said. “The components we used were all volatile in their own right. Alone, they would break down, scatter, or collapse under their own instability. Yet together, in precise measure, they created something stable something greater than the sum of their parts.” You looked back at the flask, mesmerized. “So… it was never just about creating this solution?” A quiet chuckle. “Not entirely.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table. You weren’t sure why, but something about his words lingered in your mind, heavier than they should have. You traced a finger along the glass, watching the swirling glow. “I think I get it,” you murmured, though whether you meant the experiment or something else entirely, you weren’t sure.

You glanced around the laboratory, noting that several other groups were still deep in their experiments, some struggling with their mixtures while others cautiously double-checked their notes. You, on the other hand, were done. The shimmering blue solution in front of you felt like an accomplishment, yet now that the task was over, a strange uncertainty settled in your chest. Shifting slightly, you turned to Shadow Milk Cookie. “So… when can we go?” you asked, keeping your voice low. “Do we have to wait for everyone else to finish?” He hummed thoughtfully, glancing toward the professor, who was making rounds to observe the other students. “We have completed the task, and our results are satisfactory,” he mused. “However, it is customary to remain until the session is dismissed. There may yet be additional instruction.” You deflated slightly, though you supposed it made sense. Still, sitting here under the weight of so many glances your classmates sneaking looks at him rather than you made your skin prickle with unease. You hesitated before speaking again. “Right. Makes sense,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Guess we just… wait, then.” He glanced at you, seemingly taking note of your discomfort. “Patience,” he said, his tone lighter than usual, “is a virtue in both alchemy and scholarship.” You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” You exhaled softly, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you traced a finger along the edge of the worktable. Despite the lingering weight of the classroom’s watchful eyes, you found yourself… comfortable. Maybe not entirely at ease, but far from the nervous wreck you had been when these tutoring sessions started.

Your gaze flickered toward Shadow Milk Cookie, who stood beside you with his usual composed air, observing the finished experiment with satisfaction. Your eyes drifted upward, and before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “So… your hat.” He turned to you, one brow raising ever so slightly. “My hat?” You nodded, the corners of your mouth tugging up just a little. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s kinda goofy.” His expression didn’t change at first, and for a split second, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But then soft laughter. Amused, almost entertained by your observation. “Goofy, you say?” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the idea. You nodded again, a bit bolder now. “I mean, it’s a lot of hat. But, somehow… you make it work.” His hand rose to the brim of the ornate headpiece, as if weighing your words. “A scholar’s presentation is part of their presence,” he mused, voice still carrying the traces of laughter. “A symbol of the knowledge they carry. But I admit, few would dare to call it goofy to my face.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I’m just special, then.” He regarded you for a moment, and there was something unreadable yet pleased in his expression. “Indeed,” he said softly. “You are.” The warmth that flickered in your chest caught you off guard.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t just the words…though those alone were enough to leave you stunned but the way he said them. So certain, so matter-of-fact, like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like you being special was something undeniable. You had admired him for so long from afar, from behind the pages of scholarly texts that quoted his insights, from lecture halls where his presence was spoken of with reverence. And now, here he was, standing beside you, speaking to you, as if you had always belonged in this space. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. What could you possibly say? That you had spent so much time struggling, thinking you would never measure up? That you had feared he would see you as just another lost cause? That hearing those words from him made your heart stutter in a way you weren’t prepared to face? Instead, you simply stared, awe-struck, your mind blank yet full all at once. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you with quiet patience, his expression unreadable yet steady. He did not press you for a response. He did not look away. He simply waited, as if he had already seen the truth resting in your silence. And for once, silence didn’t feel like failure.

You blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of your stunned silence. Heat crept up your neck as you scrambled to ground yourself in something anything that wasn’t the overwhelming weight of admiration threatening to root you in place. Right. Your study session. That was something normal, something expected. Something safe. "Um-our study session," you blurted out, your voice coming out a little more rushed than you intended. "We were supposed to meet today, right?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words before offering a small shake of his head. "Not today," he said, his tone smooth but not unkind. "I am overseeing this lab throughout the day. You are not my only partner in this endeavor." For reasons you couldn’t quite place, your chest tightened at that. It made sense, of course he was an esteemed scholar, not some personal tutor at your beck and call. But hearing it phrased like that, a small, silly part of you felt… disappointed? You weren’t sure. "Oh," you said, shifting your weight slightly. "Right. That makes sense." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before offering something almost resembling reassurance. "Worry not," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will resume our studies soon enough. But for now, I am needed here." You nodded quickly, as if to dismiss the feeling gnawing at you. "Of course. I wasn’t- I mean, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget or anything." The Sage of Truth hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than expected before he finally turned his attention back to the shimmering solution before you. You followed suit, exhaling quietly. You were being ridiculous. This wasn’t anything personal. You weren’t special. And yet, some irrational part of you wanted to be.

As the last group of students wrapped up their experiments, the professor strode to the front of the room, clearing their throat to signal the beginning of the lecture. The bubbling conversations and the occasional clinking of glassware died down as everyone turned their attention forward. You did the same, quickly straightening in your seat and focusing on the professor’s words. Or, at least, you tried to. As the professor began their lecture, you did your best to focus, keeping your eyes trained forward and your hands neatly folded on the desk. You had made it through the experiment without completely embarrassing yourself now you just had to survive the rest of class. Everything was going well. That is, until you noticed the faintest movement in your peripheral vision. You ignored it at first. Then, the movement happened again. A slow, deliberate flicker of motion from across the room too calculated to be accidental. Against your better judgment, you risked a quick glance. Chai Latte Cookie, seated innocently in her spot, was doing absolutely nothing suspicious. Her hands were primly folded on her desk, her expression perfectly neutral as if she were deeply engaged in the lecture. You narrowed your eyes slightly. That was when you saw it the tiniest, most imperceptible tilt of her head in your direction. You frowned. Then, she very subtly flicked her gaze toward Shadow Milk Cookie beside you. Your stomach dropped. You quickly looked forward again, pretending as though you hadn’t seen anything. She wouldn’t try anything else. Not in the middle of a lecture. Right? Wrong. A moment later, you felt something gently brush against your arm. Your breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, you glanced down. A tiny, folded scrap of paper. You shot a sharp look across the room, but Chai Latte Cookie still looked perfectly composed, her gaze fixed on the professor as if she hadn’t just somehow slipped a note across the distance between you. How did she even do that? Right teleportation magic. Something she was able to grasp so easily, you however struggled. For a few moments, you debated whether to open it at all. But, ultimately, your curiosity got the better of you. With careful fingers, you unfolded the tiny note beneath the desk. Inside, in her neat, playful handwriting, was a single sentence So… is he even more impressive up close? Your face burned instantly. Horrified, you clenched the note in your fist and desperately resisted the urge to look in her direction. Chai Latte Cookie did not need to see your reaction. She absolutely did not need that satisfaction. Instead, you kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to focus on the lecture, even as you knew that Chai Latte Cookie was grinning to herself across the room.

You took a slow, steady breath, keeping your expression neutral. It’s just admiration, you told yourself firmly. That’s all it’s ever been. Shadow Milk Cookie was a renowned scholar, a beacon of knowledge of truth itself. Admiring him was only natural. Anyone with an appreciation for wisdom and discovery would feel the same. Chai Latte Cookie was just being her usual self, always reading into things that weren’t there. With quiet determination, you smoothed out the crumpled note beneath the desk and discreetly tore it into tiny, unrecognizable pieces before slipping them into your pocket. If she thought she was going to get a reaction out of you, she was sorely mistaken. You squared your shoulders, fixing your gaze firmly on the professor as they continued their lecture. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just admiration.You kept your eyes trained on the professor, feigning complete focus, though you could practically feel Chai Latte Cookie’s mischievous energy radiating from across the room. It was only a matter of time before she tried something subtle enough to avoid outright scolding, but persistent enough to drive you to the edge of your patience.

And sure enough, just as you began taking notes, the first attack came. A small, folded scrap of parchment landed neatly beside your hand, so precise in its trajectory that you knew it had been aimed with great care. You hesitated. A second passed. Then two. You could ignore it. Act like you hadn’t noticed…Another piece of parchment followed, this time making a soft, deliberate tap against your elbow.

You sighed, unfolding the first one under the desk with as little movement as possible. "So... are you going to admit it yet? ;)" You rolled your eyes and immediately began tearing the parchment into tiny, unrecognizable shreds before stuffing them into your pocket. A second later, another note landed. "Don’t think I didn’t see that smile earlier. You liiiiike hiiim~" You nearly choked on air, snapping your head up in alarm before forcing yourself to feign normalcy. Across the room, Chai Latte Cookie offered you an innocent, almost angelic smile, resting her chin on her palm like she was simply daydreaming. You shot her a glare. She only grinned wider. The worst part? You knew she wasn’t going to stop. Just as you turned back to your notes, another note slid into your peripheral vision. "It’s okay! He is very charming. Wise, elegant, strangely handsome in that ‘all-knowing scholar’ way… And that hat! Don’t even get me started on the hat" You shredded this one even faster. A soft hum of curiosity beside you made your stomach drop. "You seem rather preoccupied," Shadow Milk Cookie observed, his voice smooth and thoughtful as he turned toward you ever so slightly. "Yet I do not recall the professor’s lecture containing anything so… perplexing." Your whole body tensed as warmth crept up your neck. Oh no. Chai Latte Cookie was going to love this. "Just, uh… reviewing my notes," you lied through your teeth, quickly scribbling something down in a desperate attempt to look studious. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, his keen gaze unreadable beneath the brim of his elaborate hat. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Ah. Ever diligent," he mused, though there was something knowing in his tone, as if he were filing this moment away for later contemplation. "A fine quality, indeed." You forced a small, tight-lipped smile, desperately hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. Because the second Shadow Milk Cookie turned his attention back to the lecture, another note landed on your lap, as if Chai Latte Cookie had been waiting for the perfect moment. "Did he just call you diligent? Ohhh, he totally likes you too." You buried your face in your hands, mentally preparing for the longest lecture of your life. Sometimes you wished she would lose the ability to read lips.

As the professor dismissed the class, you took a moment to carefully set down your notes, stealing a glance at the shimmering blue solution you had created under Shadow Milk Cookie’s guidance. The way it caught the light, glimmering like stars, still left you in awe. You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, hesitating for just a second before inclining your head respectfully. “Thank you for your guidance today, Sage of Truth.” He regarded you with that unwavering composure of his, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps? It was always difficult to tell with him. “There is no need to thank me,” he said smoothly, folding his hands behind his back. “Knowledge is meant to be shared, after all. Though, I must admit, you performed admirably today.” Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected praise. “Oh…I, um. I just followed your instructions.” He gave a thoughtful hum, tilting his head slightly. “Many can follow instructions, yet still falter in execution. But you” He gestured ever so slightly toward the completed experiment. “proved otherwise.” Your face grew warm at the compliment, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting the strap of your bag. “Well… I had a good teacher.” At that, the Sage of Truth let out a soft chuckle, a sound so rare and fleeting you almost wondered if you had imagined it. “Flattery will not change the truth, but it is noted nonetheless.” Your heart did something strange at his words, and you nearly forgot why you had been so eager to leave the classroom in the first place. Right. Chai Latte Cookie. You straightened up, taking a small step back. “I should be going now. Thank you again, Sage of Truth.” “May the pursuit of knowledge guide your path,” he replied, his tone as composed as ever. You nodded quickly, then turned on your heel and made a beeline for the door, only to catch sight of Chai Latte Cookie already watching you with that look as she leaned against the hallway wall. Oh. Oh no. You barely had time to brace yourself before she wiggled her brows and grinned. “Soooo… how was that?” You groaned, already regretting every choice that led you to this moment.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you came to a stop in front of Chai Latte Cookie. "What was that?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "Oh, you know what I mean. That little moment back there." You frowned, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had just strolled up beside her, scoffed. "Please. What is going on now…Chai you have to stop overanalyzing everything." Chai Latte Cookie cut in, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. "let’s see…they looked awfully flustered when the Sage of Truth complimented them." You stiffened. "I was just surprised! He doesn’t exactly go around handing out praise like candy!" "Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced. "And what about that tiny, little moment where you got all nervous and started fumbling with your bag?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. You pressed your fingers to your temple, inhaling sharply. "I was just trying to be polite. It was a normal conversation, nothing more." Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically. "Oh, so you’re saying that anyone can make the Sage of Truth chuckle like that?"

Your stomach twisted at the reminder. He had laughed, hadn’t he? A quiet, fleeting chuckle but still. You swallowed. "You’re reading too much into this!" Chai Latte Cookie hummed, unconvinced. "Mmm. If you say so." You felt your face grow warm…but only because she always had something outlandish to say."I do say so."

A/N as promised another part...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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kirain · 3 months ago

Text

Part ten of my appreciation project.

@zecarnevilcat A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The Fade closed in, a haze of twisting shadows and distant whispers. Varric was gone, and Lenore stood in the gloom, friendless and adrift. The air smelled of old magic, thick and cloying, the only light straight ahead—a soft, flickering glow that pulsed like a dying star.

Through the silence, she heard it.

"Lenore!"

A voice—rough, desperate—cut through the abyss like a blade. Her breath caught.

"Emmrich?"

There, beyond the shifting mists, a figure emerged, silhouetted against the light, reaching for her.

"Here! I'm right here!" The voice came again, urgent, distressed.

Despair curled around her, nipping at her heels like a pack of ravenous wolves. Even after Varric's reassurance, it was inescapable—a curse inherent to that awful place. Panic surged through her every muscle, every nerve as the rift began to close, the edges fraying like torn cloth. If she hesitated now, she would be lost forever.

Arm outstretched, she hurled herself forward.

Closer.

Almost.

Then—fingers locked painfully around her wrist, and the world cracked apart.

With a lurch, she was ripped from the Fade, her body slamming into the earth. The sudden change in pressure made her feel weak, nauseous, but warmth enveloped her—slender hands gripping her tightly.

An anchor in the chaos.

As she gasped, the air heavy but familiar in her lungs, a pair of arms wrapped around her, tormented and shaking.

"Darling..."

Her eyes widened. She could feel a man's breath in her hair, his chest rising and falling with dry, shuddering sobs. He was clinging to her as though she might vanish again, as though sheer will alone could keep her bound to reality.

Though dizzy and disoriented, she managed to lift her head, glancing up at him.

"...Emmrich?"

She barely recognised him—his shirt wrinkled, face dirty, somehow older.

"Are you—?" Her throat clenched. "Are you real?”

He inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he simply stared at her, his expression caught between agony and relief. Then, his grip on her tightened, his lips parting around a trembling breath.

"Yes, darling. It's me."

The emotion in his voice nearly undid her, but before she could say another word, darkness clouded her vision, her mind reeling.

And then—nothing.

-----

Weeks earlier, Emmrich's study lay in ruins. Parchments littered the desk, torn and crumpled in frustration. Broken daggers lined the floor, their runes inert or ineffective. The air reeked of burnt ink and scorched metal—remnants of his failed attempts at replication. No matter the method, no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he begged, the result was the same.

Worthless.

He sat hunched at his desk, head hanging, fingers knotted in his hair. His shoulders throbbed from relentless work, and his breath came slow and shallow, as if even that required too much effort.

"Professor?"

The door creaked open. Bellara shuffled inside, the rich aroma of spiced tea trailing behind her. She entered with a smile, but she barely took two steps before her eyes swept over the shambles of his study, her legs numbing at the sight. She had never seen it, or him, in such disarray. It was unbearably worrisome, but when she spoke, her inflection was sweet, attempting to pull him from his sorrow.

"Where's Manfred?" she asked, his absence palpable.

Eventually, Emmrich whispered, "With Myrna."

Bellara's eyes drifted to Johanna's perch. Empty.

"And Hezenkoss?"

"I couldn't stomach her snide remarks," he rasped, his eyes shut tight. "Vorgoth is watching her for now."

Bellara frowned, hurrying to his side.

"Emmrich, listen." Her tone was soft, careful. "We'll get her back."

She placed the tea by his elbow, but he didn't drink it. He didn't move at all. Not a twitch. Not a breath deeper than the last.

"Emmrich..."

Her hand found his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. She could feel the tension beneath his shirt, the grief woven into his stillness.

"Don't give up. If anyone can crack Solas' prison, it's you."

He didn't respond, on the verge of collapse. He needed rest, food, company—he didn't deserve to suffer like this—but she didn't want to push him.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I'll come running," she giggled. "We all will. We're here for you."

She then turned away, respecting his space.

"I told her to do it."

Bellara froze.

"What?"

Emmrich's fingers curled against his scalp, his voice faint. "Lenore... I told her to break the knife's contact with Ghilan'nain."

Bellara blinked, too stunned to speak. Then, the words tumbled from her lips, eager to sever his guilt.

"Emmrich, no. Don't do that to yourself. If the process hadn't been interrupted, that whole region would've been swarmed by spirits and blight. You made the right call."

"It should've been me..."

She stepped closer, her brows drawn. "Emmrich, you can't blame yourself for—"

His head snapped up, the movement sudden, rigid.

"And we argued! I argued. Before the attack. I was so stubborn and cruel, disregarding everything she said. And now—!" His breath hitched, fingers clawing at his silver strands. "I may never get a chance to apologise. How do I—?"

His composure shattered.

"How the fuck do I save her?!"

Bellara winced. She reached out to comfort him, but he barely seemed aware of her presence as he shot to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor. His hands braced against the desk, his eyes scanning the useless notes, the barren runes, the impure lyrium—all pathetic imitations of power he had no hope of rivalling.

Fury erupted.

He snatched a blade from the pile, carving tool in his other hand, and dragged the tip across the lyrium. Magic flared in a reckless surge—an obvious warning—but his grip tightened, his hews frenzied, erratic, desperate to force enchantment where none could take root.

The rune on the handle sparked, then sizzled with an angry hiss.

"Emmrich!" Bellara stumbled back. "Emmrich, don't—!"

The blade split.

A violent explosion of arcane energy burst outward, flinging the desk and all of its contents across the room. The loud crash echoed off the walls, reverberating down the hall, betoning his folly.

As smoke filled the air, Bellara covered her mouth, her heart aching.

"Emmrich?" she coughed.

He stood amidst the wreckage, his head bowed, hands battered. His ears rang from the blast, but the only sound he heard was the one that had lingered for weeks—Lenore's scream.

"F-forgive me..."

His vision blurred, though whether from the smoke or his tears, he couldn't say.

-----

Lenore woke with a start.

Air flooded her lungs as if she'd surfaced from drowning, her chest heaving. The world around her was bleary, bright—but before she could panic, strong arms pulled her against a solid chest, so tight that it hurt.

"You're safe," a voice hushed, quiet and restless. "You're home."

Her eyes fluttered, the weight of exhaustion pressing on her lids, but she forced them open—to see who held her in such a protective embrace.

"Emmrich?" she whispered, his name a soothing caress.

He sat beside her on the bed, his grip fierce, afraid she might slip through his fingers if he so much as flinched. When he drew back, it was only enough to cup her face, his palms unusually coarse, the skin scabby and yellowed.

"It's me," he promised.

The moment their eyes met, his breath seized. Lilac. His favourite colour.

Maker, how he'd missed it.

Seeing her again—uninjured and alive—sent a pang through his heart, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, her neck, her lips. The touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared she might break if he pressed too hard.

"Emmrich? Are you—?"

She stilled, letting him trace her features as disbelief flickered in his gaze. He looked terrible—his normally neat hair disheveled, dark circles bruising the hollows of his eyes, a wispy scruff marring his jaw. This wasn't the wear of hours, but days—days he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't stopped.

"How long?" she choked.

Emmrich paled, wishing he could spare her the truth. "Three and a half weeks."

Her gasp was guttural, the revelation hitting her like a blow. She hadn't known, she couldn't have known, but she swallowed it down. Her time in the Fade had been an endless, confusing blur of despair, the loss of Varric fresh, but seeing Emmrich's anguish made her own pain seem trivial.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"What?"

Her brow furrowed, her nails digging into his sleeves. "You must've been so scared. You must've been—" She bit down, ruing all the ways he'd clearly tortured himself. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"No." He shook his head insistently. "No, no, no, darling. None of this is your fault."

"But—"

He hugged her again, his fingers threading through her long, fragranced hair. "I have you back. That's all that matters."

He kissed her temple, drinking her in. Few escaped the Fade unscathed—mind or body—and he couldn't begin to fathom what horrors she had endured.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

The question struck harder than he intended, splintering her resolve. A shudder racked her very soul, and before she could stop them, the words spilled free.

"I... I saw them," she stuttered, her voice cracking.

"Who?" Emmrich asked.

"Varric, Neve... Harding."

"Oh, Lenore. My darling, it wasn't—"

"I saw all of them. Everything. My regrets. Every life I shouldn't have taken. Every contract that felt wrong. It was all there, Emmrich... taunting me."

Her eyes stung. She tried to hold back, but the memories—the nightmare—haunted her.

"Emmrich," she wept, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Have we helped anyone?" She gestured weakly between them. "Is this even real... or am I still trapped?"

"What?" he wheezed, startled by the suggestion.

"I still feel like I'm falling," she admitted. "Like at any moment this room will crumble, and I'll wake up in some past hell I'd give anything to forget."

"Lenore..."

"I'm sorry. I just can't tell. I can't—"

Before she could spiral further, Emmrich leaned in, pressing his lips into hers.

The kiss was overwhelming, confident, erasing her doubts in an instant. As he held her close, pouring every ounce of certainty into her, his hands slid up her shirt, stroking her back, shredding the hints of despair that dared to dwell in his presence.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he deepened the kiss, his tongue skimmed the outline of her lips before slipping inside, seeking hers with a slow, passionate rhythm.

"Mmph..." Lenore moaned, melting into it.

The heat of his mouth, the command, the way he trembled against her—it was real. He was real.

This was real.

And she let herself enjoy it, as he desired.

When he pulled away, they were both panting, flushed and lustful.

"You didn't give in," he praised, gently grinding his forehead into hers. "That's how I found you. You never stopped fighting." His hands moved to her face, thumbs wiping her tears. "Don't stop now, Lenore. You're strong. You're a good person. And I love you."

"I love you, too," she sniffed.

For a while, they sat in each other's arms, eyes closed, listening, tasting. He kissed her again, ashamed of his slovenly state, but wanting her—needing her—to believe him. She wasn't alone, and she never would be again.

"And I'm the one who should be apologising. Not you."

Lenore tilted her head. "What for?"

"For the argument. I was a fool. I should've—"

She smiled. It was small at first, hesitant. But it grew, beautiful and sure, a spark reigniting behind her tired eyes. She forgave him without a single word, and it nearly broke him.

"Thank you," he whimpered. He cradled her face a moment longer before rising to his feet. "Rest now. You need to recover."

But Lenore shook her head, swinging her legs over the bed. As she struggled to stand, Emmrich rushed to her aid, his hands grasping hers.

"What are you doing?" he asked, concern laced through every syllable.

She met his gaze, her lilac eyes shining with renewed purpose.

"Gather the team," she grinned. "We're going after Elgar'nan."

#emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #dragon age #bellara lutare #fan fiction #fic #crow rook #appreciation project

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