#four years forging a relationship with them

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

i wish i could tell the crows

[midniqhtt]

james buchanan ‘bucky’ barnes

masterlist • marvel • 06/19/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs five

one two three four

𑣲 how to impress a 21st century girl I @brunchable

Sam had forced Bucky to use Tinder to solve his abysmal love life. Bucky tells himself that if third time isn't a charm, he will officially give up trying to find a partner.

𑣲 i don’t want you like a best friend pt2 I @/brunchable

Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt.

𑣲 the best worst day ever I @jobean12-blog

You're having a shit day but then you see a dog and things start looking up...

𑣲 game night I @mugglebornmarvelite

Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

𑣲 bleeding heart I @mournthebird

You're his assigned nurse.

𑣲 domestic ws / soldat hcs I @/mournthebird

𑣲 cold metal I @/mournthebird

Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution.

𑣲 shower suds I @/mournthebird

You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

𑣲 silver and garnet I @/mournthebird

Soldat hurts himself a lot.

𑣲 condition I @/mournthebird

Soldat refuses to sit down, you notice he's in pain.

𑣲 gentle hand I @/mournthebird

Soldat has a panic attack.

𑣲 stained I @/mournthebird

Soldat continues to have nightmares.

𑣲 apricot toast I @/mournthebird

Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

𑣲 knots I @/mournthebird

You help the soldier with some self care.

𑣲 honey girl I @violentdelightsandviolentends

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

𑣲 bucky can’t stand you I @buckyalpine

𑣲 mob!bucky I @/buckyalpine

𑣲 easy I @jaggedamethyst

life with bucky is amazing…but it’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when your relationship is a secret.

𑣲 sugar and skin pt2 pt3 pt4 I @tteotlma

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

𑣲 toy soldier pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @vunblr

She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

𑣲 to mend a soldier I @/vunblr

Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

𑣲 what if…? I @/vunblr

Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

𑣲 roots and branches pt2 pt3 pt4 I @/vunblr

Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

𑣲 foundations pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 I @/vunblr

Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

𑣲 plump and ripe I @/vunblr

On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

𑣲 built to last I @/vunblr

Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

𑣲 touched starved I @mrsbuckybarnes1917

You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you.

𑣲 a quiet escape I @thebarneschronicles

During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

𑣲 deny me I @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

𑣲 dreamscape I @wkemeup

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

𑣲 someone’s calling my name (and it sounds like you) I @mellowsaturns

after a mission gone wrong, bucky finds himself on the brink of unconsciousness and then you show up which causes him to reveal his true feelings

𑣲 mine I @cherrypickertheory

A new recruit joins the team, and gets a little too close to you for Bucky’s liking.

𑣲 dial tone I @atlaese

𑣲 lessons in lovemaking pt2 pt3 pt4 I @artficlly

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

𑣲 bitter I @/artficlly

Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

𑣲 his girls I @/artficlly

alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

𑣲 loverboy I @thevillainswhore

Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you.

𑣲 revenge sweeter than honey I @/thevillainswhore

When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?

𑣲 do i even have a chance? I @noceurous

you’ve found him and he was sure he didn’t have a chance

𑣲 b.b. boy I @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky and you have been friends ever since he arrived that rainy at the Compound. Silently pining, you’d hope he would pick on the numerous hints you dropped. It’s not until a small miscommunication happens that he confronts his feelings for you.

𑣲 hooked on you I @elysium-library

𑣲 which avenger are you destined to date I @marvelettesassemblenow

When Natasha found out about the Quiz which showed which Avenger you should date, the Avengers decided they all should take the test and go on these dates.

𑣲 your touch I @/marvelettesassemblenow

Bucky hadn’t been long at the compound when he noticed that others sought you out to calm down. So slowly he started too and had to figure out his feelings for you

𑣲 the catalyst I @aquaticmercy

In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

𑣲 jackass I @/aquaticmercy

Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. 

𑣲 have we met before? I @/aquaticmercy

America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe. 

𑣲 laryngitis I @skaye44

You're super talkative and your fellow agents tease you, but you don't care. You always chat up the quiet hunky super soldier who always manages to spend some time around you. One day when you can't talk due to an illness, Bucky gets concerned and seeks you out to make sure you're ok. He ends up talking to you for once.

𑣲 arm pat I @/skaye44

You go on a date with Bucky and hit it off, or so you think, but it ends weirdly. Nat steps in and gets other agents involved to send you flowers and gifts to get Bucky's attention and make him jealous for screwing up.

𑣲 stuck in the middle I @helaintoloki

you come home from work to find the last person on earth you want to see cooking dinner in your kitchen

𑣲 somethin’ stupid I @/helaintoloki

a drunken confession spoils a perfectly good evening

𑣲 everybody loves somebody I @/helaintoloki

Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

𑣲 back to you I @/helaintoloki

Yelena’s interest in y/n forces Bucky to confront his feelings for her as the Thunderbolts take refuge in her home

𑣲 a favor I @/helaintoloki

you pretend to be Bucky’s girlfriend in order to help his campaign despite your very real feelings for him

𑣲 misunderstanding I @/helaintoloki

you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

𑣲 40s!bucky I @/helaintoloki

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𑣲 it’s been calling me I @godmadeaterribleerror

You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams. So sure, until you're not.

𑣲 the time thor third wheeled I @mercurial-chuckles

𑣲 option two I @nev3rfound

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time?

𑣲 shut up I @fandoms-writings

𑣲 his only contact I @cjsinkythoughts

𑣲 the soldier and his mission I @magical-reid

When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

𑣲 from one perfect moment pt2 I @yikesdrama

bucky’s birthday is coming up soon and you just want to do something special for him, maybe even take a time travelling trip to see his maa….

𑣲 the third wheel I @writing-for-marvel

When Bucky finally asks you out on a date, the last thing you expect is for his high school crush Connie to also have been invited.

𑣲 in too deep pt2 I @marvelstoriesepic

After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

𑣲 drabble I @eufezco

𑣲 drabble I @bcksbarnes

𑣲 echos I @brokenbarnes

Bucky's worst nightmare comes true. You come back to him after taking a turn in Hydra's electric chair.

[cursedhvn]

𝕸𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 || 𝕰𝖓𝖍𝖞𝖕𝖊𝖓 𝕳𝖞𝖚𝖓𝖌 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊 [TEASER]

Your small town was nothing out of the ordinary. Aside from the hushed whispers and quick glances at those who were considered out of place, there was little worth keeping up with. At least, that’s what some people told you. But for most, the blossoming romances of the four boys—Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Sim Jaeyun and Park Sunghoon—were of upmost interest, becoming the greatest dramas the town had seen in years.

Here lies four romances buried within this small town. One by one, each story will be revealed—unraveling tales of heartbreak, friendship and pursuit of happiness and love that defy expectations. From lost romances to casual encounters under starlit skies, each story explores the courage it takes to fight for love. Will their bonds withstand the test of time or will they crumble under the pressures of a town eager to tear them apart? Join us as we embark on a journey, witnessing the melodies of the heart.

𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 || 𝕷𝖊𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖚𝖓𝖌

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ ex!heeseung x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ right person, wrong time, second chances, smut, etc [more to be added]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ est. 20k

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ Life never offered second chances—just one chance to make or break it all. When your boyfriend, Lee Heeseung has dreams that stretch beyond the confines of your small town, you make the decision for him. But when old lovers return and buried feelings resurface, you’re given a rare second chance to make things right.

As you confront the choices that led to your separation, will you let your past mistakes haunt you, or will you seize the chance life bestowed upon you and complete your unfinished love story?

𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕮𝖆𝖘𝖚𝖆𝖑 𝕿𝖔 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖉 || 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕵𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖊𝖔𝖓𝖌

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ fwb!jeongsong x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ accidental pregnancy au, miscarriage, smut, etc [more to be added]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ est. 20k

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ Your town was no place for secrets—one way or another, things found a way of being uncovered. When two red lines stare back at you, the consequences of your decisions take flight. With Jeongsong by your side things don’t seem bad…that is until life deals you a set of cards you can hardly believe.

Together, you face the complexities of loss and grief. Will you be able to rise above the trials, or will the whispers of family disapproval dissuade you as transition from casual to committed?

𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝕲𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖙 || 𝕾𝖎𝖒 𝕵𝖆𝖊𝖞𝖚𝖓

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ childhood friend!jaeyun x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ expressions of Christianity [Catholicism], Catholic guilt, smut, etc [more to be added]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ est. 20k

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ Your life has been defined by your faith, leaving little room to stray from the teachings instilled in you during childhood. But as the innocence of youth transforms into the complexities of adult connections one summer, you and Jaeyun find yourselves grappling with newfound feelings under the watchful eyes of your small town.

As you navigate the tension and carnal desires that consume you, will you allow the weight of tradition to take hold of you, or will you break free of the mould and explore the connection that exists between grace and guilt?

𝕾𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖄𝖔𝖚 || 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕾𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖓

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ pairings ➥ skating coach!sunghoon x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ warnings ➥ previous injury, rumours, smut, etc. [more to be added]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ word count ➥ est. 20k

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ synopsis ➥ In a small town where dreams are overshadowed by our faults, you—the new girl—arrive and quickly take the people by storm. As you forge an unlikely friendship with a certain reserved resident, old rumours about him begin to resurface. Just when the relationship begins to blossom into something more, Sunghoon pulls away, leaving you confused and heartbroken.

Now, you’re left with the question: do you let his sudden change break you, or will you find the courage bridge the space between you?

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✦ adeline's ✉︎ 𖹭.ᐟ - hello!! i have decided to do a series for my enha fic debut (^^ゞ inspired by growing up in a small town myself and some experiences I had. If you're interested in being added to the series taglist please let me know but ensure your age is visible in your blog! If you're interested in a certain member, their taglist will open when the teaser is released!

Recommended reading order: Jake → Heeseung → Jay → Sunghoon. You don't need to follow this at all, this is just how the timeline in my head occurs along with the indended release order!

Thank you for giving this series a chance! (❁´◡`❁).

[writinginatree]

Ambushed

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Garrick Tavis/female!reader

Summary: When you're late for a secret rendezvous, Xaden and Garrick quickly realize you must be in trouble and come to your aid.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, minor character death. Established poly relationship, set pre-canon.

Anonymous requested: Xaden/Garrick/Reader where the Reader is targeted because she's a marked one and they help her (I'm almost kinda thinking like when Xaden came to Violet's aid in the book when she was jumped in her room).

Xaden checks his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. It's 4:35 now, five minutes past the agreed-upon time, and still no sign of you.

He shares a concerned look with Garrick.

It's entirely unlike you to be late. Usually, you're the first to arrive when the three of you agree to meet somewhere. Especially considering the importance of tonight's plans, Xaden had fully expected you to already be waiting when he left his room, and was surprised to find only Garrick there.

Fleetingly, Xaden wonders if you got cold feet, but immediately dismisses the thought. Of the three of you, you'd been the most eager to turn the plan of smuggling weapons to the fliers into reality, to finally do something to continue the fight your parents had started. It could be possible you simply overslept, but even that seems unlikely. You wouldn't miss sneaking into the forge for the world, which means something has to be wrong.

As Xaden snaps his watch closed, silent understanding passes between him and Garrick. They've waited long enough — maybe too long, an anxious little voice in the back of Xaden's head insists. Whatever has kept you from showing up must be serious. Dangerous, perhaps. They should be with you, make sure you're okay, instead of uselessly lingering beside the staircase, where anyone could walk by and see them. The hour isn't entirely unreasonable, but whether leadership, suspicious as most of its members are of them, would believe the excuse of being up early for some extra training is something Xaden would rather not put to the test.

Garrick and Xaden move as one down the hall in the direction of your room.

Just then, Sgaeyl pushes past his shields, flimsy as they are. When she speaks, Xaden is glad he can't keep her out yet.

"Hurry," is all she says, confirming his fears.

You're in danger.

Garrick must have gotten the same information from Chradh, breaking into a run at the same moment Xaden does.

"What's the situation?" Xaden asks down the bond, hoping your dragon has relayed details to Sgaeyl and not just a vague distress call.

"It seems your girl has been waylaid by a group of unbonded cadets. She is holding her own for now, but clearly in need of backup."

Wasting breath on a curse, Xaden pushes himself to run even faster. Gods, why does your room have to be so fucking far away from theirs? Xaden and Garrick's rooms are right next to each other, but you ended up far from them, on the opposite side of the first-years floor, which means unlike them, you have to walk the halls alone to get to them. Xaden curses himself for not having thought about that sooner, and promises himself that from now on, he and Garrick will always pick you up from your room, nevermind that it means having to double back the way they came.

Sgaeyl had warned him to watch out for the unbonded, but now it's clear that even so, he underestimated how much of a threat they really would be. Knowing how capable you are, it hadn't crossed his mind until tonight that the unbonded could actually do you any harm; foolishly, he hadn't viewed them as serious a threat as the many enemies you all have among leadership and the cadets whose families remained loyal to Navarre.

Skidding around the last corner with Garrick close on his heels, they're greeted by the sight of you with your back to the wall about halfway down the corridor, trying your damnedest to fend off four enemies at once. Blood runs down your cheek, and through a bloodstained hole in your shirt, Xaden can see a gash just above your hip bone. The hem of your shirt and your pants gleam wetly with blood in the dim light of the hallway.

Boiling rage steals Xaden's breath at the sight.

How fucking dare those bastards lay hand on you? Fucking cowards, jumping you in the dim hall because they know they could never beat you in a fair fight. You're one of the best fighters Xaden knows, but ambushed and outnumbered like this, even you don't stand much of a chance.

Two of the assailants turn at the sound of Xaden's and Garrick's approaching footsteps, raising their weapons in a defensive stance while the third continues to try and wrestle yours from your hands. The fourth looks between you and the new arrivals, clearly panicked. She's clutching her shoulder, blood seeping out between her fingers.

The sight fills Xaden with grim satisfaction. You got her good. But they won't get away with just a few injuries. Oh no, Xaden will make them pay. Nobody touches either of his partners and lives; he already proved that during Threshing.

Catching a glimpse of Garrick's expression, Xaden notes that it's just as murderous as he himself feels.

"Get the fuck away from her!" his boyfriend bellows, drawing one of the swords strapped to his back and charging right at the group.

The man in front flings a dagger, but Garrick dodges and keeps advancing, using the moment his opponent fumbles to draw another weapon to rush him.

With Threshing only a few days past, neither of you has a signet yet, which means the odds are relatively even now that Xaden and Garrick are here. Xaden is sure the three of you can defeat the four unbonded cadets, but it won't do to be careless. It wasn't due to lack of fighting skills that the man to your right failed to bond a dragon, that's for sure — Xaden had faced him on the challenge mat earlier in the year, and while Xaden had won, it hadn't been as effortlessly as most of his other victories. The other three can't be weak either, considering they survived this long.

Sidestepping Garrick and his opponent, Xaden draws two of his daggers. While he prefers the swords, they're no good in such close quarters. The dormitory hallway is not necessarily narrow, but doesn't provide enough space to properly swing the swords without risk of hitting a wall or one of you.

Garrick must have come to the same conclusion — switching his sword to his non-dominant hand, he slams his bare fist into his enemy's face. Taken by surprise, the cadet stumbles a step backward and collides with the bulky woman you're still fighting.

Her attention wavers for a split second, giving you opportunity to yank free of her grasp and jab your dagger into her throat.

Garrick's opponent is knocked off balance too; the arm holding his weapon droops, leaving an opening Garrick doesn't hesitate to take advantage of, sinking his own blade deep into the man's guts. Jumping back, Garrick easily dodges as the injured man swings his short sword at him in retaliation. Already swaying on his feet, he's too slow and clumsy to stop Garrick from finishing him off.

Xaden notes you crossing blades with the woman with the injured shoulder, but then he has to focus on his own enemy — the man he remembers from challenges. Fighting with a hatchet in each hand, the brunette is annoyingly fast, and with the limited range of his daggers, Xaden has a hard time getting past his defense. His opponent even manages to hit him in the chest with the handle of a hatchet, but after chasing him down half the length of the hall, Xaden finally spots an opening, and plunges his blade into the cadet's chest to the hilt. He goes limp, hatchets clattering to the floor, and Xaden whirls around to check on you and Garrick.

His eyes find you first; bent at the waist with your hands braced on your thighs, you're panting and wan, but as far as he can tell no worse injured than when he entered the hall. The fourth and last opponent's body lies between the other two, and Garrick is crouched beside it to retrieve his blade, which seems to be stuck between the woman's ribs.

Xaden pulls his own dagger from the hatchet-wielding cadet's chest and walks back down the hall to you, wiping his blades on his pants before sheathing them.

The fight was certainly loud enough to wake the other cadets residing in this hall, but their doors remain closed. All the better. He doesn't feel like dealing with anyone else.

Reaching you, Xaden immediately pulls you into his arms, simultaneously giving Garrick a once-over to make sure he didn't get hurt while he was busy with his opponent. Other than a laceration on his jaw, he seems fine.

Finally having freed his blade, your boyfriend joins the both of you.

Xaden presses a kiss to your forehead and releases you, the weight on his chest easing now that you're out of danger. Garrick cups your cheek and does the same, asking if you're alright.

You nod, taking a steadying breath before answering.

"Yeah, thanks to you two." Huffing a humorless laugh, you run a hand over your face and shake your head. "Those fuckers were sneaky as hell. When I left my room, they were already waiting, but I only saw two of them at first. By the time I noticed the others, it was too late to retreat."

Xaden's brows knit. "How did they know when to wait for you?"

It shouldn't be possible for anyone to have known about your rendezvous; the three of you had been careful to only discuss it in the privacy of your rooms, using sign language in case leadership had someone with enhanced hearing around, and Xaden doesn't have to ask to be certain neither of you told anyone else about it.

You point at the dead woman at Xaden's feet, the one you had killed. "Her room is right next to mine. My best guess is she must have heard me getting ready and ran to get her friends so they could use the chance to ambush me. Pretty sure they were supposed to have breakfast duty today, so they would have been getting up already too."

Xaden frowns down at the corpse, barely restraining himself from kicking its face. "Didn't this one bond, though?"

"Yeah, but her brother didn't, so I guess that's why she helped him and their friends." You shrug, failing to hide a wince at the pain the movement causes you. "Or maybe it was just for fun because she hates us marked ones so much. You should have heard them going on about how unfair it is that a traitor like me got bonded by a dragon while they were passed over."

"Assholes," Xaden scoffs, wishing he could have killed them slower.

When you ask what to do with the bodies, Xaden shakes his head with a pointed glance at the wound in your side. "Nothing, for now. You're hurt."

"Yeah, let's get you to the healers and then we'll see," Garrick agrees.

"No healers," you say. "The less people who know what happened, the better. I can stitch myself up while you two get rid of the bodies, and then we can go scope out the forge like we planned."

Xaden shakes his head. Even if the attack's timing was just coincidence, it's better not to risk it. "We'll do it another time. But you're right about the healers. Come on, let's patch you up, and then I'll clean up this mess."

"I can help," you argue. "I'm mildly injured, not at the brink of death. You've got some nasty scrapes too, if you haven't noticed."

He hadn't noticed, if he's being honest, but now that you say it, he can feel the dull ache of a bruise forming on his sternum, and the sting of a cut on his arm. Still, he took decidedly less damage than you, so it's only fair he should be the one to deal with the cleanup.

Garrick kicks aside the arm of one of the bodies so you and Xaden won't trip over it, and opens the door to your room. His knuckles are bleeding.

"Where do you have your med kit?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Wardrobe," you answer. "Bottom right corner, behind my spare boots."

While Garrick retrieves the medical supplies, Xaden walks you to the bed, his hand hovering inches from your elbow in case you need help. You aren't exactly steady on your feet, no matter how you try to hide it. You sit down; Xaden remains standing Taking the first aid kit from Garrick when he steps to his side, he motions for him to sit down too.

Garrick rolls his eyes as he does so. "You know it doesn't always have to be you taking care of us, right?"

The both of you tell Xaden so all the time, reminding him he's just a person too and entitled to moments of weakness like everyone else, but the scars covering his back make it hard to forget the responsibility he carries for your lives.

"I'm fine," he deflects, and gently pushes on your shoulder to make you lean back so he can better reach the wound in your side. You hiss in pain when he peels your shirt away from the cut, which thankfully isn't as deep as he had feared.

Still... "That's gonna need stitches."

"I was afraid you would say that," you grit out between clenched teeth. "Any chance either of you would like to knock me out before you sew it shut?"

Xaden shakes his head. He knows how much you hate needles, but knocking you out is definitely not happening; you've taken more than enough damage tonight. "Nope. Sorry, love, but we need you awake. Garrick can distract you."

"Fine," you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. "Just be quick about it."

Xaden waits until Garrick has leant in and captured your lips with his, then he quickly cleans and closes the wound.

Your pained whimpers are muffled by Garrick's mouth but still audible, and when Xaden briefly glances up from his work he notes the white-knuckled grip you're clutching his shirt with. He knows how big an effort it must be to hold still like this. Tying off the end of the thread, Xaden frowns down at his handiwork. It's not the prettiest, but it'll do well enough.

"Okay, I'm done. Anything else that needs stitches while I've got the needle in hand?"

You both shake your heads, but then Garrick sits up and leans forward to poke at Xaden's arm. The cut there is still trickling blood, red smeared all over his forearm.

"Give me that," his boyfriend demands, grabbing for the thread and needle, which Xaden quickly holds out of reach.

"It's not that bad."

"Bad enough to need a stich or three," Garrick insists. To you, he adds, "Back me up here, babe."

"He's right," you tell Xaden.

"You're just agreeing with him because I was the one poking you with a needle just now," Xaden grumbles, but hands the offending item to Garrick and holds out his arm. He doesn't think the stitches are strictly necessary, but it's true that the cut will probably heal better with them.

Working together, the three of you soon finish patching each other up.

When you try to follow Xaden and Garrick as they step back into the hall to dispose of the bodies, Xaden stops you.

"Oh come on! I'm not that hurt!"

"No," Xaden admits, "but this—" he points at your side "—is going to rip right back open if you aren't careful. I doubt you want us to have to redo the stitches, right?"

As expected, that convinces you. "Fine... But I can at least hold open doors for you and keep watch so no one will see us."

Xaden nods and the both of you join Garrick, who is already in the hall, glaring down at the corpses with his hands on his hips.

"So, if we killed the breakfast crew..."

Xaden claps him on the back. "I think we might have to content ourselves with a cold buffet this morning."

[velvetalliances-if]

🕊️ VELVET ALLIANCES

A high medieval interactive fiction story of legacy, betrayal, power.

“If you wish to survive in court, speak softly, marry smartly, and never show them where it hurts. I’ve buried more men than you’ve shaken hands with, I know what ends a legacy and I won’t see ours crumble for sentiment.”

- Lady Virelda Rovathar, your Grandmother

🏰 The Story

Set in the shadowed grandeur of the Valderith Empire, Velvet Alliances tells the story of House Rovathar, a once proud noble house nestled in the mountainous heart of the empire. Known for its mines and smiths, the house has endured, but never recovered, from a scandal that shattered its foundation twelve years ago.

A beloved wife lost.

A bastard child revealed.

A father turned cold.

Now, Lord Malrik Rovathar, rigid and embittered, seeks to change the ancient laws of succession, risking family stability, loyalty, and the delicate order of the court. His children, each scarred in their own way by grief and impossible expectations, begin to turn on one another, pulled by love, ambition, and old wounds.

And soon, they will have no choice but to play their roles before the entire empire.

For a grand festival within the imperial capital of Viremont draws near, held in celebration of the crown prince’s 20th birthday. Every noble house is expected to attend. What was once a quiet family struggle will now unfold beneath the gaze of the emperor, as well as your fellow noble families.

In the flickering light of courtly celebration, alliances will be forged, secrets uncovered, and legacies tested.

🎭 Your Role

You are the third-born child of House Rovathar, caught at the heart of the family’s unraveling. You’ve been overlooked, underestimated, and quietly shaped by the chaos around you.

 It’s a story of velvet words and iron consequences.

Will you try to save your family's legacy or tarnish it further?

Will you bind the family together, or let it tear itself apart?

🔹 Features

Deeply branching character-driven narrative

Complex family relationships & moral dilemmas

Court intrigue, noble alliances, and personal betrayal

Optional romance, friendship and rivalry arcs

Customizable MC

💪 Stats

Here is a link that discusses how your MC's stats are going to work.

♥️ MC’s Romance

You’ll have the opportunity to pursue one of four (planned) romances options.

Séraphan Viremont, 20 M

Eveline Lysvenna, 23 F

Kaelen Branthorne, 24 M

Céline Marleaux, 21 F

There may also be the opportunity for some flings with some other characters as well.

💒 Side Romance

Your young half sister has a heart of her own, and her eye has fallen on someone close to the court. Will you encourage her budding feelings, try to dissuade her, or try to pursue the object of her affection for yourself?

If you do not want to see spoilers on who her romance is with please block the tag Lirael<3.

Character Introductions

World Map - In development

Map of Valderith

Demo - TBD

💬 Dev Note:

Velvet Alliances is currently in early development. This blog will serve as a place for updates, worldbuilding posts, character reveals, and story previews. Asks are open, and feedback is more than welcome.

⚠️ Content Warnings for Velvet Alliances

Velvet Alliances is a character-driven, narrative-focused story that includes mature themes. Players should be advised of the following subject matter, which may appear in the game:

Velvet Alliances will be 18 plus for optional nsfw content.

Sexism and gender-based succession issues (this will be in no way glorified)

Parental neglect and emotionally distant parenting

Psychological manipulation and coercion

Violence and mentions of death

Emotional abuse and toxic family dynamics

Some mention of infidelity

If there is any warning I may have missed please do not hesitate to let me know and I will add it to the content warnings list. I aim to create a positive and safe space for readers to navigate the complex world I have created, and I will not tolerate bullying of any kind in any space I moderate. My inbox will always remain open for anyone who has questions or concerns.

[mrs-stans]

How Sebastian Stan Finally Brought Hollywood to His Homeland With Romanian Festival Hopeful ‘A River’s Gaze’

By Matt Donnelly

It’s hard to imagine Sebastian Stan fighting for any part in Hollywood.

The Academy Award nominee has proven he’s as bankable in high-brow indies like “The Apprentice” and “A Different Man” as he is in soaring commercial fare like his continuing role as Marvel’s Bucky Barnes (next appearing in “Thunderbolts”).

It’s a cinematic homecoming that has eluded him over his career. Born in Constanța, Romania, Stan has been trying to find a way to bring his day job back to his birth country and highlight talent in the region. Stan told Variety that’s been looking for the right Romanian script to act in for the for the better part of 15 years. Now, he’s found a way to represent behind the camera as a producer on “A River’s Gaze,” a Romanian-set drama from director Andreea Bortun.

It’s a story close to his own upbringing, Stan says. His single mom Georgeta raised him across multiple countries while forging her own artistic and academic path. Bortun, whose work is a blend of anthropology and visual art, has sent up successful shorts to festivals like Cannes (where her collaboration with Stan has submitted for inclusion this year).

“A River’s Gaze” tells the story of Lavinia, a single mom herself whose ambitions of a better life for her 14-year-old son often eclipse his urgent emotional needs in the moment. Told over four seasons in rural Romania, Stan and Bortun caught up with Variety to discuss the artistic trip home.

Sebastian, how did you attach as a producer to this project?

This came from a lot of conversations I’ve had with her over the years about my desire to be more involved with Romania creatively. A mutual friend who we both admire and respect spoke highly of Andrea and sent me her short, which had gone to Cannes. I was immediately blown away. I’ve wanted to act in a Romanian film for a very long time. I’ve tried and it hasn’t come about, but I realized that I can also help behind the camera. Andrea’s script spoke to me personally. At the center is this very specific, intimate relationship between a mother and a son growing up in Romania under particular conditions, which I feel are not always reflected much to the rest of the world. I had my own journey with my mom growing up there and leaving the country. I felt there were things about it that really rang true to me, and that was great, because it only incentivized me to want to be involved further in helping her craft this vision.

Andrea, what would you say is the cinematic language of Romania?

Honestly, I don’t know if it’s still a time of one unique national voice. What Romanian cinema needs is – like all cinema needs globally – are underrepresented stories that show people that we don’t generally see. Characters that are not just compliant and feel-good.

SS: Andrea has a fresh take a woman’s perspective out of the country, which feels new for me. WE finally got a woman who has something to say about the experience over there.

There’s something about the aesthetic that feels very stuck in time. It was surprising to me to see the young male character with a cell phone in some of the scenes.

That’s a very interesting observation from a foreign eye. You would be fooled to say that the action happens 20-30 years ago. At the same time, it’s a mix of what people who have gone to work abroad have brought home with them. [Present-day] Romania is an interesting creature, a part of Europe that has had this history of migration.

Talk to me about the mother-son dynamic at the center of the film.

Our main character Lavinia is our hero, in the most tragic sense of that word. She’s an impulsive one, and she’s quite turbulent and irreverent at times. She wants to be a good mother for her 14-year-old son. She doesn’t know very well how to love, because we learn from what we had. She dreams of a better life for the two of them under bluer skies. For that part of the world, thought, the blue sky is the West. She moves into a decrepit house and wants to make it something that will last and be remembered for.

Her son is at an age where kids need their moms more than ever, this threshold before they flee the nest. She’s not quite aware of this, love to her means doing something meaningful with this house. Despite her efforts of making the best of what she can, there is a deepening of the rupture in between her and her son.

SS; You get to experience what this woman is going through in terms of trying to connect with her son and not abandon who she is. There’s someone to take care of and she must do it alone. You start to see how privileged we are in our family dynamics in the West. This person has to be superhuman dealing with these things with no resources or emotional tools. In my humble opinion, this film explores womanhood and how far it can stretch.

It seems like the community around her isn’t exactly uplifting.

She has an interesting connection to the community. She believes she is very different from others. She’s a fighter. She will go up a mountain to get what she wants. Those around her don’t like that, because she can be a troublemaker. She has a longing to detach herself from this community but doesn’t realize she’s a product of it. In a way, this film helped me make peace with the world I come from. I lived in rural Southern Romania and, after childhood, ran away to study abroad. The idea for this film came to me while I was in New York. I was seeing films from the ‘60s and I thought, “Wow, why don’t people make films about these kinds of women from Romania?” Like the strong Italian women of Antonioni. I came back and spent three weeks researching in villages. I did not want to be afraid of this world anymore. There was a feeling inside of me, something I had not accepted, but I am a part of that. Lavinia’s struggle is mine as well.

Sebastian, did you involve your mom in this process?

No, but she has seen the movie. It was very interesting to share that with her. There are certain moments that only people who have been up against this kind of thing can understand. My mom experienced a lot of hard truths post-revolution. Part of her understood the struggles of the main character. She also had me very young. People have kids a lot older now, and we have more time in the West to get ourselves sorted. A lot of people don’t have that opportunity. They’re still trying to figure out who they are. Andreaa caught that for me in a very authentic way.

[sensorytuna]

── VENI, VIDI, VICI.

part one . part two . part three .

synopsis. a stupid bet with cartman forces kyle to prove that he can, in fact, pull and be able to date. after hearing about it, you agree to being his fake lover.

notes . occasional swearing, aged up characters (high school students)

♡ : kyle broflovski x reader

- the four boys are at the mall food court, eating greasy fast food while talking about anything that comes to mind

- suddenly the topic shifts and cartman begins to run his mouth about how kyle is “pathetically single” and “completely incapable of getting a date”

- fatass can’t even get a girlfriend that lasts more than a week, smh

- kenny, of course being kenny, joins in on the teasing while stan tries to shut them up

- kyle wasn’t having it

- to make things worse, cartman makes a bet with him

- if kyle doesn’t get a girlfriend (or anyone really, he’s that desperate) within a week, he has to do something embarrassing like listen to everything he does or wear an “i paused my game for this (this better be good)” shirt without his winter coat for an entire week

- in return, if kyle somehow wins the bet; cartman has to shave his head (which was a little unfair but it was too late for kyle to realize)

- in the midst of it, kenny recalls the list of most to least cute boys back in middle school (the forged list), causing kyle to groan and tell him to fuck off lmao

- he comes back home after the weekend hangout and kyle just completely forgets about it

- he was all talk at the mall a while ago and then it’s like the bet just completely vanishes in his head

- lol

- he doesn’t know what’s about to bite him in the ass

- friday night comes along and kenny suddenly chats him on instagram

- digbickkenny: dude cartman’s been talking mad shit, you better come to school next week with a girlfriend or ur fucked lmaoooo

- he stares into the phone for a good second, just staring at the text while all the color drains away from his face

- he realizes he only has 2 days left to get into a relationship

- aw shit

- that sent kyle in a whiplash

- he immediately scrambles and starts considering his options because there’s no way he’s gonna have a girlfriend by the weekends

- and of course he doesn’t want to say that cartman is his supreme overlord and that he’s handsome to the entire school

- he realizes he has to fake a relationship if he wanted to get out of his bet safely

- he would’ve gone for his crush or someone of romantic interest, but… he hasn’t liked someone since last year, so that’s out of the question

- he begins narrowing down who he can ask like a beggar

- someone he trusts not to rat him out to cartman

- someone who can be convincing enough to fool his friends (and everyone basically)

- someone who might actually say yes instead of laughing in his face

- and then you enter his mind

- you and kyle are close, maybe not as close as him and stan but you two sit next to each other in class and have interacted multiple times

- you hate cartman just as much as kyle hates him

- you’re a wild card, no one ever knows what to expect from you; but dating kyle? sounds just about right

- next thing you know, your phone is lighting up with a notification from kyle

- that guy from new jersey: ok so hypothetically if i asked you to be my fake lover would you say yes

- free food (do not call): kyle what the fuck

- that guy from new jersey: ok first of all rude, second of all it’s just for tomorrow

- free food (do not call): why the hell would you need a fake lover for one day

- that guy from new jersey: you remember that stupid bet cartman keeps on talking about

- free food (do not call): no

- that guy from new jersey: the one where he said i couldn’t get a girlfriend by monday and i told him to go fuck himself and now if i don’t prove him wrong i have to listen to everything he says for a whole week

- free food (do not call): LMAO WAIT YOU WERE BEING SERIOUS???

- that guy from new jersey: yes unfortunately

- that guy from new jersey: and i may or may not have completely forgotten about it until kenny reminded me just now so like, you in?

- free food (do not call): so let me get this straight

- free food (do not call): you want me to pretend to be your caring and devoted lover just so you don’t have to walk around school looking like cartman’s personal bitch?

- that guy from new jersey: correct

- free food (do not call): what’s in it for me then

- that guy from new jersey: uhhh the satisfaction of making cartman shut the hell up?

- free food (do not call): tempting but no

- that guy from new jersey: fine

- that guy from new jersey: i’ll do your history homework for a week

- free food (do not call): make it two

- that guy from new jersey: are you serious

- free food (do not call): kyle i am putting my reputation on the line for you. two weeks or good luck finding someone else

- that guy from new jersey: fine. deal.

- free food (do not call): pleasure doing business with you babe

- oh my god this is already a mistake

- on monday cartman is absolutely ripping kyle

- “well kahl, where’s your mystery girlfriend, huh? does she go to another school?”

- of course kenny doesn’t help

- “or better yet, is she invisible?”

- both of them burst into laughter while stan tries to defend kyle

- “guys stop it, give him a secon-“

- you randomly approach them and tug kyle’s arm to kiss his cheek

- “hey babe!”

- what the fuck?

- cartman’s smile falters and kenny is unable to contain his laughter even more

- “here’s your lunch, made it myself”

- kyle’s blinking at the paper bag of the lunch you apparently made for him, his ears increasingly turning pink

- “oh- uh, thanks” as he takes the bag

- you smile him with an expression that can be only described as “love” (with air quotation marks) before you say goodbye and leave

- holy shit what the fuck just happened

- cartman’s the first to speak

- “no fuckin’ way, i call bullshit! you definitely paid her to be your boyfriend”

- “for the love of god shut the fuck up fatass” kyle retorts

i have an idea for a second part if anyone’s interested! who wants me to write it? :-)

[thedensworld]

How to Summon Demon

Pairing: S.Coups x reader

Genre: Supernatural AU, humor, angst

Summary: your friends and you playfully played game to call the Hot Demon in high school. What if he actually summoned?

"Nothing's happened to Jinah, right?" Sonhee asked anxiously once they were done spelling. Jinah, sitting in the middle of the other three girls, sighed with relief. Despite her brave front in offering herself as the bride of the demon, deep inside, she was a bit scared.

"Why do we even play this game?" Hana scoffed, pushing herself onto the bed and lying down, looking at you, Sonhee, and Jinah with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

You shrugged and followed Hana, mumbling, "Just wanted to make Sonhee happy." Sonhee threw a playful protest, her face lighting up in mock offense.

"Hey, I just said it would be fun. Wasn't it fun?" Sonhee turned to everyone, seeking validation. Jinah nodded slightly, still feeling the remnants of her fear, while you and Hana exchanged glances before shrugging noncommittally.

"It's almost midnight; let's sleep. We have school tomorrow," you reminded them.

Sitting in the café years later, you watched with pride how your friends had grown. Sonhee, now with her little girl in a stroller, Jinah with a baby on the way, and Hana recently married to a Singaporean man she met on a business trip. Each of them had blossomed in their own way, their lives a testament to the passage of time and the enduring strength of your bond.

The four of you laughed, the tension dissipating as you reminisced about old times. Living together in the same dorm room 15 years ago had forged an unexpectedly intimate relationship among you all. You remembered the countless nights spent talking until dawn, the shared secrets, and the unspoken bond that had formed over time. The room had witnessed your collective fears and triumphs, your tears and laughter.

You felt a warm sense of pride and nostalgia as you observed how much the four of you had grown over the past 15 years. Meeting at 15, you were now on the brink of your 30s, each of you carving out your own path in life. The years had flown by, but the connection remained strong, a comforting constant amidst the changes.

"Can you believe it's been 15 years?" you mused aloud, smiling at the thought.

Sonhee laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Time flies when you're having fun, right?"

Jinah nodded, gently rubbing her baby bump. "And when you're with the right people."

Hana raised her glass of iced coffee, a twinkle in her eye. "To us, and to many more years of friendship."

As you all clinked glasses, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the journey you had shared, and excited for the many memories yet to be made.

As you all clinked glasses, your phone rang, breaking the moment. Glancing at the screen, you saw it was your manager calling. You answered quickly, noting the urgency in their voice.

Jinah grinned playfully. "Look at you, Mr. Rising Star. Who would've thought our quiet and calm 15-year-old would become a famous actor?"

Everyone chuckled, and you shrugged with a modest smile. "Yeah, who would've thought?"

Your manager's voice interrupted again, reminding you of your upcoming salon appointment. "Sorry, guys, I have to go. My manager is waiting for me," you said, standing up.

"Always busy," Hana teased, but her eyes were warm with understanding.

Sonhee added, "Thanks for making time for us, even with your hectic schedule."

You nodded, feeling a pang of regret for leaving so soon. "I'll see you all soon, I promise." With a wave of goodbye, you stepped out of the café, the cool breeze a contrast to the warmth you felt inside from the reunion.

As you approached the car, you saw your manager waiting impatiently. "Sorry for the wait," you said, sliding into the passenger seat.

"No problem. We have to keep moving if we want to stay on schedule," your manager replied, already pulling out into the street.

As the car sped through the bustling city streets, you felt a sudden, jarring jolt. The car veered wildly, and you heard the heart-stopping sound of screeching tires. The world seemed to move in slow motion as another vehicle collided with yours, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sound of shattering glass filled your ears, and the force of the crash threw you violently against the seatbelt. The world around you faded into an ominous silence as everything went black.

You got into a car accident.

*

In the darkness, you found yourself in a strange liminal space, caught between life and death. A surreal atmosphere enveloped you, a mix of chilling stillness and an ethereal glow. Memories of your friends, your career, and your life flashed before your eyes, mingling with an eerie quiet. Time felt distorted, stretching out endlessly, as if you were floating in a void.

Suddenly, you felt a pull, an irresistible force drawing you back to consciousness. You opened your eyes to find yourself in an unfamiliar, opulent room. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate designs, and ancient tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of otherworldly realms. The air was thick with an intoxicating scent, both alluring and unsettling.

Before you stood a man of striking appearance. His features were almost otherworldly—sharp, chiseled, and undeniably handsome. Yet, there was something intimidating about him, an aura of power that made your heart race with unease.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "You've crossed a threshold few ever do."

You struggled to sit up, confusion and fear mingling in your mind. "Where am I? Who are you?" you managed to ask.

The man took a step closer, his intense gaze never leaving yours. "You are in a place between worlds," he replied enigmatically. "As for me, you may call me S.Coups."

You jolted awake, your last memory of the car accident with your manager flashing vividly before you. "Am I... dead? Are you Death?" you asked hesitantly, the urge of panic clear in your eyes as the man named S.Coups stared at you.

He smiled and walked over to a nearby sofa. You realized that you were lying on a bed in what appeared to be a luxurious bedroom. The sheer comfort and opulence of the room sent waves of confusion through you. If you were dead, how could you be in such a paradise-like place? Had you lived your life so righteously that you deserved a place like this? And who exactly was this S.Coups?

"I saved you," S.Coups said, breaking the silence.

You watched him breathlessly. "From the accident?" you asked, and he nodded.

You sighed in relief, thinking you weren't dead yet. But your relief was short-lived as he continued. "Yet," he added, as if he could read your thoughts. "Your body is likely in the hospital now, undergoing surgeries and treatments. What you are right now is your soul, caught in between."

His words echoed in your mind: a place between worlds. The gravity of the situation began to dawn on you.

"I'm a demon. I've been waiting for you for 15 years."

You watched his face intently, then suddenly burst into laughter. Your head turned around to find the hidden cameras as you said, "Is this a prank? Was the accident earlier part of the setup?" You smiled, still half-believing it was a joke.

"If it is, you better stop. It's not funny anymore, and I'm going to sue everyone involved," you continued, standing from the bed and walking toward him.

S.Coups smiled and laughed softly at your boldness. He stood in front of you, his tall figure towering over you as he approached closer. Your breath hitched, intimidated by his presence.

"I'm the demon you summoned 15 years ago, and I saved you from death because you're my wife," he stated calmly.

You laughed again, shaking your head. "Stop it. How do you guys know about the little game I played with my friends? Did they tell you?"

Suddenly, you felt your body plummet, as if falling from a great height. Your legs weakened, and your head spun. The room around you distorted, everything warping and blurring except for S.Coups and his intense gaze. Your body fell toward him, and he caught you, his hold steady and strong. In an instant, you were back in the bedroom, gasping for breath.

You pushed away from him, your heart pounding as the realization hit. This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a real bedroom. It was indeed a place between worlds.

"Do you believe it now?" S.Coups asked, his voice steady and unyielding.

You stared at him, the truth settling heavily in your mind. The memories of your friends, the innocent game, and the promise you had made all those years ago now seemed to carry a weight you hadn't understood at the time. The opulent room, his enigmatic presence, and the surreal experience all pointed to one undeniable fact: this was real.

"What do you want from me?"

*

Seungcheol, once trapped in an eternal detention, was finally released. The 700-year-long punishment had ended, but he couldn't return to his world. Instead, he found himself once again in the place between worlds, now known as the demon S.Coups.

S.Coups' role was to punish evil in the human world, a decree from God for Seungcheol's past transgressions when he was a human. "You will harvest what you planted," was the divine edict, and Seungcheol, now as S.Coups, had to enforce it.

He thought his penance was complete, but God had another plan. A future wife. When Seungcheol learned that his future wife would be a human soul, just like him, he felt a wave of relief. But days turned into years, and no one was given to him. The endless wait began to weigh heavily on his spirit.

Until one night, a group of teenage girls summoned him. Among them was the girl who offered herself as his bride, but another girl caught his eye.

Y/n.

His eyes widened in recognition. After a thousand years, he could finally see you again. "You can have her now," he heard the voice of God, instructing him to claim his bride.

"What will happen to her?" Seungcheol asked, his voice trembling.

"She will die. Her soul will be bonded to you," came the solemn reply.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted to the girl who had captivated him. "How about her?" he asked, pointing to you.

There was a pregnant pause before he heard another voice, filled with a knowing sadness. "So you still remember her?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. "Is this part of the never-ending punishment? That you won't let us be together?"

As you stood there, grappling with the enormity of the situation, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and curiosity. The life you had known felt distant and fragile, replaced by a reality that defied all logic and expectation.

"What do you want from me?" Seungcheol heard you ask, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation and anger. "Why me? Jinah was the one who sacrificed!" you shouted, and Seungcheol took a step back unconsciously, taken aback by your sudden rage.

He watched as you shook your head, your hands running through your hair in frustration. "What about my family? What are they going to do without me?"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, a flash of your family—your mother and siblings—discussing your inheritance while you still lay on the operating table, clenching his heart. Even after years, you were still a people's person, and yet you were still betrayed by those you loved.

Seungcheol took a deep breath and gently took your hand, touching you for the first time in a thousand years. He was glad you didn't fight his touch. "I chose you. That's why you're here," Seungcheol said softly.

Your eyes softened as tears welled up, ready to stream down your cheeks. He watched as you sighed and then sobbed, your emotions overwhelming you.

"Why did you choose me? Tell me the reason!" you demanded, your voice cracking with emotion.

There was a pregnant pause before Seungcheol looked you deeply in the eyes and asked, "Do you really want to know the answer?"

*

"Yes, this is part of your punishment. I planted her into your heart, but you decided to kill her in your past life. Fate has turned its back on you," the divine voice intoned.

Seungcheol cried out in regret, "Forgive me! It was an impulsive move driven by emotion. I love her, I really love her."

"That's your consequence," the voice replied sternly.

"What must I do to have her as my wife again? I'll do anything, I'll take any burden," Seungcheol pleaded desperately.

"Are you sure?" the voice asked, its tone grave.

Seungcheol nodded, desperation evident in his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

The voice continued, "She will die in 15 years in a car accident. You will have a chance to claim her soul at that moment. However, once you save her, her soul will awaken without any memory of you. She will hate you and treat you the opposite of how she used to. Your powers will fade. And lastly, you will be haunted by the memory of how you killed her until she finally comes to love you again."

As Seungcheol stood there, tears streaming down his face, the weight of the punishment and the path ahead seemed almost unbearable. But his love for you was unwavering, and he knew he would endure any hardship to be with you again.

Seungcheol jolted awake, his heart pounding. He stared at his palms and breathed a sigh of relief when he found no blood. The haunting had started, and he wasn't sure how long he could survive seeing himself kill you over and over again.

He covered his face, and sobs escaped his mouth. He couldn't control his emotions as his powers faded once he claimed your soul. This was the worst punishment ever given to him—loving you more and more but also being haunted by the memory of killing you repeatedly.

Seungcheol had been a crown prince, married to you, the daughter of one of his father's ministers. It wasn't an arranged marriage; in fact, he had liked you from the first time he saw you. However, as he became increasingly distracted by military duties, he grew distant from you.

Your father, the minister, was discovered to be one of the emperor's betrayers, plotting to murder the king and his family. The order to eliminate everyone in your father's family became serious, and even you, the prince's wife, were targeted.

"Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Please, tell me this isn't true. Tell me my father’s actions won't tear us apart."

Seungcheol's heart ached at the sight of you, his beloved wife, so vulnerable and frightened. But the bitter taste of betrayal gnawed at him. "I wish I could," he said, his voice cold. "But the betrayal runs deep, and the emperor has decreed that your father's entire family must be punished."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gripped his hands tighter. "I had no knowledge of his plans. I swear to you, Seungcheol, I am innocent."

He pulled his hands away, stepping back. "How can I trust you? Your father plotted to kill the emperor and his family. How do I know you weren't part of it?"

You looked at him, shocked and hurt. "You really believe I would betray you? I am your wife, Seungcheol. I love you."

His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Love? How can I be sure? Maybe you were waiting for the right moment to strike, just like your father."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "No, that's not true. I would never harm you."

Seungcheol clenched his fists, struggling with the turmoil inside him. "Your father betrayed the kingdom. The law is clear. Everyone in his family must be punished."

You stood up, desperation in your voice. "We can run, leave the palace, start a new life somewhere far away from all of this."

Seungcheol's face twisted with pain. "Running would only bring more misery. We would be hunted, and our lives would be filled with fear and uncertainty. I cannot bear to see you live like that."

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, there was a silence filled with unspoken words. "Then what will you do?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

His face contorted with sorrow as he reached out to touch your cheek. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "But I cannot let them harm you. I would rather end your life myself than see you suffer at the hands of others."

You stepped back, shock and disbelief written on your face. "You would kill me? How could you say such a thing?"

Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees. "Because I love you," he cried. "I cannot let you suffer. If there is any way to spare you pain, even if it means taking your life, I will do it. But please, know that I do this out of love, not malice."

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. "How can love lead to this? How can you claim to love me and still be willing to take my life?"

Seungcheol sobbed, his heart breaking. "I don't know, but I cannot bear to see you in pain. Please, forgive me."

You fell to your knees beside him, your tears mingling with his as you held each other. "I love you, Seungcheol," you whispered. "But I cannot forgive this. I cannot understand how love can lead to such a cruel fate."

In that moment, Seungcheol knew that he had lost you, not just physically but emotionally. The bond that had once brought you together was now shattered by the weight of duty and betrayal. He held you close, the two of you wrapped in a final embrace as the night closed in around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry."

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he prepared to do the unthinkable, driven by a whirlwind of emotions—love, betrayal, and regret—praying that one day, in another life, he might find a way to make things right.

As he brought the dagger closer to your chest, your eyes met his, filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I wish I would never love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, the last breath escaping your lips.

Seungcheol's heart shattered at your words, the weight of your loss crashing down on him with unbearable force. He held you close as life slipped away from you, his soul forever marked by the tragic end of your love.

*

You woke up to a searing pain coursing through your body. Every muscle ached, every breath felt like fire in your lungs, and any attempt to move was met with an unforgiving resistance. Your throat was dry, and your voice failed you when you tried to speak. The only thing you could do was blink—slow, deliberate blinks that felt like your only connection to the world.

Where am I? you wondered, heart pounding with disoriented fear. The ceiling above you was a sterile white, and the faint hum of medical equipment filled the air with an eerie rhythm.

"Honey, you're awake!" Your mother’s familiar voice rang out, shaky with relief and overflowing with love. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she leaned over you, cupping your face gently with trembling hands. Her touch was warm—so achingly familiar it almost brought tears to your own eyes.

You blinked slowly, trying to signal that you were aware, that you heard her. Her smile grew wider, and her tears flowed freely, a soft, choked laugh escaping her lips. "You're back," she whispered, brushing your hair away from your face. Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions, and her gaze was filled with a love so deep it made your chest ache in a different, more tender way.

Moments later, the door swung open with a soft thud, and a small crowd of nurses and a doctor hurried in. The steady beeping of machines quickened as the medical team surrounded you. Gloves snapped, charts were flipped, and lights flashed as they assessed you from head to toe. A nurse adjusted the IV in your arm, her touch clinical but careful. Another nurse gently lifted your head to check the support of your neck brace, moving with precise, practiced care.

"Her condition is stable now," the doctor announced, his voice calm but firm, like an anchor in a storm. His eyes scanned your vitals, and he made a few notes on his clipboard. "If her condition continues to improve, she’ll be on the road to recovery soon."

Recovery. The word echoed in your mind, heavy with meaning. Your heart swelled with hope but also with fear. What had happened to you? The accident... Flashes of shattered glass, screeching tires, and the weightless feeling of falling rushed back to you. Your breathing grew shallow, your body frozen in place as panic began to set in.

"It's okay, honey. You're safe now," your mother reassured you, noticing the shift in your expression. She leaned in closer, stroking your hair in soft, soothing motions. "You're safe. Just focus on resting, okay? You're so strong, my baby. So strong."

Her words washed over you like a lullaby. Though your body was battered and broken, though your voice had been taken from you, a small flicker of determination sparked in your chest. You had made it back. And if you could come back from that, you could do anything.

So it was all a dream? That thought echoed in your mind as fragments of your memory drifted to that strange, surreal place. A place that was neither here nor there, filled with an eerie stillness, and a man—no, a being—who had claimed to be your husband. Not just any husband, but a demon husband living in a realm caught between life and death.

It made sense now. You had survived a near-death experience. This was just your mind's way of coping, you reasoned. You’d even played roles like this before in your career—characters trapped in a dreamlike coma, their subconscious creating vivid, otherworldly illusions. It had to be something like that. A hallucination. A figment of a fractured mind.

"Mom, he insisted on coming in. He said he's her boyfriend," your sister’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade of clarity.

Your heart gave a jolt. Her footsteps were light but purposeful as she entered the room, your brother following close behind. Then, another set of footsteps, heavier and more deliberate, echoed behind them. You couldn't see clearly from where you lay, but you caught glimpses of a tall figure. Pale skin. Sharp features. Pink lips pressed into a calm, almost knowing smile. His tailored outfit clung to him with the precision of someone who knew how to command attention.

Your mother’s soft gasp followed. You could practically hear her eyes scanning him from head to toe. "I didn’t know Y/N had such a handsome boyfriend," she muttered with a hint of playful disbelief. "Come in, kid."

Boyfriend? Your heart skipped a beat, confusion quickly morphing into suspicion.

The man stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching at dusk. You felt him before you saw him, his gaze sharp and deliberate, like he knew exactly where you were. The weight of his presence was familiar—too familiar.

No. It couldn’t be.

The world around you blurred for a moment as you focused on him, your heart pounding like a distant drum. Slowly, your eyes adjusted, and there he was.

S.Coups.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in disbelief. It was him. The same man—the same demon—who had introduced himself as your husband in that strange place. The same one who had called you "wife" with a smirk that both unnerved and intrigued you.

But how? How was he here? Wasn’t he just a figment of your coma-induced dream?

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his movements as smooth as silk. His gaze was steady, filled with an unspoken familiarity that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice deep and honeyed, like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

Before you could even think to react, he reached out and touched your head.

A sudden warmth spread through you, sinking deep into your bones. The sharp, constant ache in your body dulled instantly, like his touch had drained the pain away. You blinked, your eyes wide with shock. How—?

"You remember?" His eyes softened, his smile tilting ever so slightly, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Your breath came out in shallow, uneven bursts, panic surging through you. Your mind screamed at you that this wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be real. And yet, there he stood, his face mere inches from yours, eyes crinkled with quiet affection, as if you'd been reunited after a long journey apart.

He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"Hello again... wife."

His words hung in the air like a spell, impossible to break, impossible to deny. Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, your mind caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous—recognition.

*

You sat on the hospital bed, propped up by pillows, your gaze fixed on the television screen. The news anchor's voice echoed softly in the background, but your attention was glued to the flashing headline in bold letters:

"Life-or-Death Accident of Rising Actress, Ji Y/N."

The footage cut to chaotic scenes of the accident site — twisted metal, shattered glass, and flashing sirens painting a grim picture. Reporters swarmed like vultures, their cameras capturing every angle. Clips of journalists stationed outside the hospital played next, eager to catch any update on your condition.

Your fingers twitched, clenching lightly at the sheets on your lap. It was surreal watching yourself become a headline, your life reduced to a media frenzy.

"Eat your food," a familiar voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked and turned your head, meeting the steady gaze of S.Coups. He stood by the side of your bed, casually placing a tray of food on the table before you. He’d been by your side for the past three days, an unwavering, uninvited presence that somehow no one questioned. Your family had been hesitant at first, but S.Coups had insisted on taking care of you himself. Somehow, his calm authority left no room for argument.

You watched him now as he adjusted the tray, his movements fluid but precise, like someone used to being in control. His sharp features were framed by soft strands of dark hair, and despite the sterile hospital lighting, he looked impossibly flawless.

“Eat,” he said again, his tone gentle but firm. “You need to get your strength back.”

You glanced down at the meal he’d prepared. It looked simple but warm, the kind of home-cooked meal that made you nostalgic for days long gone. Slowly, you reached for the spoon, your muscles moving with less strain than before.

The doctors had been baffled. Just days ago, they said you’d need weeks, maybe months, to recover from fractured ribs and broken bones. Yet, each day since you woke up, the pain had lessened significantly. Too quickly. It didn’t make sense.

The doctors called it a "miraculous recovery." But you knew better.

Your eyes shifted back to S.Coups. The man — no, the demon — who had stayed by your side like a guardian shadow. Whenever the pain had been too much to bear, he would press his palm against your forehead. Warmth would flood your body, and every ache, every sharp pang, would simply… vanish. Like it had been lifted straight out of you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. Then, you thought it was a dream. But now, you knew better.

You stared at him as he leaned back, arms crossed, his eyes half-lidded with a calm patience that made him look almost human. Almost.

"How do you do that?" you asked, your voice raspy from disuse but strong enough to be heard. It was the first time you’d spoken properly since you woke up.

His gaze shifted to you, sharp but unbothered, like he'd been waiting for the question. Slowly, a small, knowing smile curled on his lips.

“Demon power,” he said simply, like it was the most natural answer in the world.

Your breath caught in your chest. So, he is a demon.

The spoon in your hand hovered mid-air, forgotten as you stared at him. Everything suddenly felt too real. The impossible healing. The way no one questioned his presence. The strange familiarity in his eyes, like he’d known you far longer than these past three days.

Your heart thudded in your chest, not from fear, but from the unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, your "dream" wasn’t a dream at all.

And maybe, just maybe, you were still caught somewhere between life and death.

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice steadier this time.

His eyes didn’t waver. If anything, his smile widened just a fraction, his gaze holding a weight you couldn’t name.

“To make sure you don’t forget,” he said softly, leaning in close. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder before a storm. “You still owe me, wife.”

The chill that ran down your spine had nothing to do with the hospital air conditioning.

"You and your friends summoned me," he added, his tone casual as he moved to sit on the chair beside you, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world. His sharp eyes stayed on you, unblinking. "So, here I am."

His words hit like a sharp jolt to your mind. You shook your head slowly, disbelief tugging at your features. “That’s ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, voice laced with doubt.

“Ridiculous?” He raised a brow, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his cheek. “The fact that you survived that accident alone is ridiculous.”

His words hung in the air like smoke, dense and suffocating.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, his smile too sharp to be kind. “I asked God to do this. He fulfilled it,” he said with a quiet kind of pride, like he was sharing a secret no mortal should ever hear. His eyes glinted with something between arrogance and mischief. “Deep down, I know I’m still His favorite.”

His words were so absurd, so unreal, that all you could do was stare. Your gaze stayed on him, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of someone entirely too comfortable in a situation he shouldn’t belong in. Slowly, you shifted your eyes back to the food.

You raised the spoon again, shoveling a small bite into your mouth. The bland taste of hospital food was grounding, a bitter reminder of reality. You chewed slowly, each movement of your jaw deliberate as you processed his words. Ridiculous, you thought, swallowing the lump in your throat along with the food. His presence, his words, everything about this situation was ridiculous.

But he wasn’t wrong.

The fact that you survived that accident without a single permanent injury, without so much as a scar, was a miracle that even the doctors couldn’t explain. There was no logic to it. No sense.

You glanced at him again. He was watching you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn't name. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but somehow, you felt like he was seeing right through you.

You remembered it now. His voice, the warmth of his touch on your forehead. The words he’d spoken when the pain had been at its peak.

“I saved you.”

Your fingers tightened around the spoon.

What have I done?

*

Humans were such curious creatures. Noisy, excitable, and always so desperate to capture fleeting moments as if they could freeze time with a camera. Seungcheol had seen it happen countless times over the centuries, but today it was different.

Today, they were capturing her.

He pushed your wheelchair slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd of humans that swarmed around you. Cameras flashed like sparks of lightning, their voices colliding in a mess of questions, calls, and murmurs. Some of them called your name, others whispered about him, the "mysterious man" accompanying you.

He glanced down at you. Your head was tilted forward, face shielded behind a mask, large sunglasses, and a hat pulled low over your head. You were tense, your hands gripping the armrests like they were your only anchor. Embarrassment, he recognized. You were embarrassed. All because you weren’t wearing makeup.

He didn’t understand it. With or without that powder on your face, you were still beautiful. His wife had always been beautiful, no matter the life, no matter the face. Humans and their insecurities… He scoffed softly but didn’t comment on it. You wouldn’t hear him anyway.

“Where to, Mr. Choi?” the driver asked as he pulled open the back door of the car.

“Mr. Choi?” your voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of noise like a thread of clarity. You tilted your head just enough to glance at him. He met your gaze through the dark lenses of your sunglasses.

He supposed it was only natural for you to be curious.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he answered smoothly, pushing the wheelchair closer to the car. “That’s my real name.” He nodded toward the driver, who was adjusting his gloves. “And that’s Chan. My phoenix.”

You turned your head to the driver, eyes narrowing behind your glasses. You tilted your head slightly, as if analyzing him. Ah, she’s doubting it, Seungcheol thought, amused.

“He’s human,” you stated firmly, like it was a fact no one could dispute.

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Of course you’d think that. Humans always relied on their eyes first. They never bothered to look beyond.

“He’s a phoenix,” Seungcheol replied, his voice carrying a note of pride. “He’s just in human form right now.”

You blinked once. Twice. Then, your brows furrowed deeply, and you leaned back in the wheelchair like you needed space to process his words. Good. She should process it slowly. Seungcheol had learned long ago that humans resisted the truth until it smacked them right in the face. They all do.

“You raised him?” you asked slowly, as if testing the words on your tongue.

He glanced toward Chan, who stood quietly by the car, eyes forward, disciplined as ever. A good phoenix, he thought. He still remembered the day he found the ember, barely flickering, weak and desperate to burn. Seungcheol had breathed life into it, raised it, trained it, and now here it was — his phoenix, his loyal servant.

“I raised him from an ember,” he said, turning his gaze back to you. She won’t believe it. Watch. “He’s been with me ever since.”

Your face twisted, lips pulling into a small grimace. It was the same face you made whenever you were trying to make sense of something ridiculous. You’d made that face before — in lifetimes past. He remembered it well.

"Right," you muttered, eyes flickering between him and Chan. She’s still holding on to her logic. He could practically hear your mind ticking, trying to find a way to rationalize it. Humans always did.

"Do you have a house here?" you asked, your voice quieter, calmer. A shift in topic. Smart girl.

He nodded. "You remember it, don't you?"

He watched you shift in your seat, lips pressing into a thin line. It was like you didn’t want to admit it, but he knew you had seen it — his house of the other worl. Grand, old, and nestled on the edge of the woods where the mist never fully cleared. You'd walked through those halls once, your voice echoing softly as you called for him.

“In this world, I move from time to time,” Seungcheol continued, his tone nonchalant as he helped you into the car. His hands were firm but gentle on your waist as he guided you into the seat. “I change identities too. Right now, I’m Park Ian.”

"Park Ian," you repeated, glancing at him once you were settled. Your lips twitched in mild disbelief. "You have a lot of names."

He chuckled under his breath. She’s catching on. Sliding into the seat beside you, he glanced at her, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“I’ve lived in this world for over 700 years,” he said, his voice laced with something older, something heavier. “It’s not wise to keep the same name for that long.”

You didn’t say anything at first, but he saw the way your gaze faltered. Good. Let it sink in. His words weren’t just words; they were a reminder. A reminder that he had seen centuries pass. While emperors rose and fell, while entire dynasties crumbled to dust, he remained.

He leaned his head back against the seat, eyes still on you. He could see it now — the way your thoughts were running circles in your head, trying to make sense of it. Humans always sought a sense of "normal." It was in their nature. But normal didn’t exist. It never had.

“You shouldn’t freak out temporary creatures with your real identity,” he added with a shrug, his gaze shifting to the window.

Silence filled the car, and for a moment, it was peaceful. He liked the stillness of it. No flashing lights. No noise. Just the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of your breathing. Temporary creatures, he thought again.

You stayed quiet for a while, but he didn’t mind. He could feel the shift in your presence — the quiet tension of realization setting in. You’d heard his words, understood them, but you were still trying to reject them. It was only natural. Humans didn’t want to be reminded of how little time they had.

But Seungcheol had never seen you as "temporary." Not in this life. Not in any of your past lives.

Every version of you had found him, one way or another. And this version — the one sitting next to him, stubborn and sharp as ever — was no different.

Humans liked to believe in fate. But fate wasn’t some grand, invisible thread. Fate was just a series of choices leading to an inevitable end.

Seungcheol turned his head to watch you, his gaze soft but unwavering. This is the one I’ve been waiting for.

“Rest,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment, but you leaned back in your seat, letting your eyes close behind the tinted lenses of your sunglasses.

He watched you for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the road ahead. The weight of time didn’t feel as heavy today. Not when you were here, next to him.

Temporary, huh? His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. No, not this one.

*

Seungcheol had always been fascinated by how human architecture evolved with each passing century. Gone were the ornate, intricate designs of old. Now, humans favored simplicity — clean lines, wide-open spaces, and muted tones. Minimalist, modern, efficient. He’d seen it all before, but this time, he decided to adapt.

That’s how he ended up with this house. Modern. Sleek. Sharp edges softened by natural light. It was the kind of house humans admired in magazines but rarely lived in. For Seungcheol, it was just another shell, another temporary shelter in a world he didn’t truly belong to.

He rarely stayed here, anyway. His "work" demanded it. Decades of building and maintaining a "family business" — that’s what he called it whenever humans asked. But the truth was far less ordinary. He’d been running it alone for centuries. No heirs, no partners. Just him. It was a clever front for something far older and far more important.

And when the human world grew too loud, too tedious, he returned to his other world — the one between life and death. There, he answered to only one higher power. God. As a demon, he completed every task given to him, no questions asked. No rest, no reprieve. Seven hundred years of orders, assignments, and quiet obedience.

But you were here now, and that made it different.

“Do you like the house?” he asked as he pushed your wheelchair through the wide front door. The smooth, polished floor gleamed beneath the soft, ambient lighting. Everything smelled new, untouched, like the world hadn’t yet left its mark on it.

You glanced around, brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line of disapproval. “I have my own house,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as you took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Seungcheol let out a low breath, barely a sigh, but enough to hint at his growing patience. Humans were always slow to accept things they couldn’t control.

“Not anymore,” he replied firmly. He moved to stand in front of you, then crouched down until his eyes were level with yours. His gaze was steady, unwavering, the kind that made it hard to look away. “Your family plans to send you to their house. Not because they want to take care of you.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.

Your eyes narrowed even more, suspicion creeping into your expression. “What do you mean by that?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle with one missing piece. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his face now only inches from yours.

“They think you’re going to die,” he said bluntly. No sugarcoating. No soft words. He knew you’d hate that, but he also knew you’d rather hear the truth. “So they sold your house. Even met with a lawyer to discuss your inheritance.”

Your face twisted in disbelief, lips parting as if to protest. But you didn’t speak. Not right away.

“No,” you said, shaking your head slowly, like you were trying to convince yourself. “They wouldn’t—”

“They would,” Seungcheol cut in, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Humans are predictable. They prepare for loss the moment it feels inevitable.” His voice wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, as if he were explaining the weather. “You were unconscious for weeks. They thought that was it. People do selfish things when they think they’ve already lost someone.”

You stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, eyes darting away like you didn’t want to hear any more. But he knew you were listening. Humans always listened when it came to betrayal.

“They’re not bad people,” Seungcheol added, his tone softer this time. “Just scared. And fear makes people act without thinking.”

You stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes locked on the polished floor beneath you. Seungcheol didn’t rush you. He’d seen humans go through every stage of grief — denial, anger, sadness, acceptance. He could tell you were stuck somewhere between the first two. He was there too when he lost you.

Finally, you let out a short, bitter laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “They sold my house while I was still breathing,” you muttered, shaking your head like it was all some sort of cruel joke.

Seungcheol didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

He stood, gaze still fixed on you. His hands slid into the pockets of his coat as he glanced around the house, the house he’d chosen for you. Modern. Simple. Quiet. A space where no one could touch you, not even the people you thought you could trust.

“Forget them for now,” he said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like the snap of a thread. “This house is yours for as long as you want it.”

You lifted your eyes to him, doubt still lingering in the lines of your face. “And what if I don’t want it?”

His lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. “Then I’ll keep it for you until you do.”

He watched the way your brows twitched, how you clenched your jaw like you didn’t want to argue anymore. Smart girl. You knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting.

"You're mine, after all," he added under his breath, the words barely a whisper but sharp enough to linger.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, sharp and unyielding. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Seungcheol.”

He grinned wider, his teeth flashing like a predator who’d already won. Ah, there she is. He’d missed that fire in you. Humans didn’t realize how much of themselves stayed the same, life after life. But he’d seen it. He’d seen you — fierce, stubborn, and unwilling to bend to anyone, not even him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice slow and smooth like honey drizzling from a spoon. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Seven hundred years. Thousands of lifetimes. And here you were, once again, right in front of him.

Time, after all, had never been a problem for him.

*

You had been living in Seungcheol's house for two months now, still on the slow path to recovery. The entertainment industry had labeled it a "hiatus," but it felt more like exile. Each day blended into the next with therapy sessions, quiet meals, and far too much time alone.

The last time you’d seen your manager was a month ago, a week after you were discharged from the hospital. She arrived unannounced, her presence loud and familiar in the otherwise quiet house. The moment she spotted Chan assisting you from the kitchen to the couch, her eyes had narrowed with suspicion.

“He’s helping me since I can’t move around on my own,” you’d explained casually, trying to deflect the sudden scrutiny.

“Then who is he?” she’d asked, her tone sharper this time.

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrowed further, like she was piecing together a mystery. Then she leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “The man pushing your wheelchair out of the hospital. Who is he?”

Your chest tightened. Seungcheol.

“I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” she continued, eyes darting between you and Chan like she was searching for signs of a hidden romance. “The CEO was ready to throw hands when he saw the media frenzy, but…” She shrugged, letting out a breathy laugh. “The reaction was positive, surprisingly. Everyone’s happy to see someone taking care of you after the accident.”

You stayed quiet, fingers curling into the blanket draped over your lap.

She was in that accident too. You'd forgotten. Her arm had been in a cast that day, her hand fractured and bruised. She showed you footage from the crash — grainy, black-and-white CCTV video from a nearby traffic camera. It played on her phone screen as you watched in silence.

The truck came out of nowhere, barreling through the red light. It struck your car right in the center — the exact spot where you’d been sitting. Metal crumpled like paper. Glass shattered into a blizzard of shards. Your heart lurched watching it, even though you’d lived it.

“The accident’s still under investigation,” she muttered, tapping the screen to replay it. Her eyes didn’t leave the footage. “The truck driver vanished. No trace of him anywhere.

Her words lingered in your mind long after she left.

That night, as you lay in bed, the realization settled in. You should have died that day.

The media, of course, had latched onto the man by your side. Photos and clips of Seungcheol pushing your wheelchair circulated like wildfire. He was too striking to be ignored. His sharp features, his composed demeanor, and the air of quiet authority he carried made it impossible for people to look away.

“I can’t believe you’re dating some insanely wealthy man behind my back!” your manager had teased, her grin wide, eyes sparkling with mischief. She clearly thought she was joking, but her words weighed heavier than she realized.

If only she knew. If only you knew.

You’d tried to escape him once — just once. Back at the hospital, during a physiotherapy session, you’d convinced yourself you could sneak away. With your wheelchair, you’d rolled slowly toward the exit, heart pounding in sync with each push of the wheels. Just a little further. Just a little more.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Standing at the end of the hall, hands in his coat pockets, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting the whole time.

“Going somewhere?” Seungcheol had asked, his voice calm but sharp. You froze. His eyes weren’t angry, but there was something in them that made you feel like a child caught sneaking out past curfew.

Your heart sank as he approached, slow, deliberate steps echoing down the hall. Without a word, he crouched behind your wheelchair and began pushing you back to the therapy room. No chance. No escape.

Now, he was gone.

“Mr. Choi has business with God,” Chan had explained casually one morning over breakfast, like it was normal. You’d stopped mid-bite, staring at him in disbelief.

“Business with God?” you repeated, the words foreign and bizarre on your tongue.

Chan only nodded, scooping rice into a bowl like it wasn’t the most absurd statement you’d ever heard. “He’ll be back in a few days.”

In the absence of Seungcheol, you’d spent more time with Chan. At first, you didn’t know what to make of him. He seemed normal enough — polite, helpful, always willing to assist. Until the night you saw it.

It had been a small argument, nothing serious. You’d gotten frustrated, snapped at him for not hearing you properly. He’d turned to face you, and for just a moment — a flash, like a flickering candle in a dark room — his eyes blurred with fire. Not anger, not metaphorical fire. Actual flames. His irises burned with molten gold and red, flickering like embers.

You froze, heart stuttering in your chest.

His eyes returned to normal as quickly as they’d changed.

Later, Seungcheol had scolded you. “He could burn this house to the ground if you make him angry again,” he’d said, voice stern like a parent warning a child not to play with fire. You hadn’t argued.

“Do you know why I’m his wife?” you asked Chan, your voice calm as you watched him prepare dinner. The question had been nagging at you for weeks.

He glanced up from the stove, eyes flicking to you like he was gauging how much to say. After a moment, he set the spatula down and walked over to the table, sitting across from you.

“Mr. Choi was a human,” he said, his tone steady but serious. “And you were his wife in the past.”

Your fork hovered in mid-air. “…He was human?”

Chan nodded, eyes never leaving yours.

The revelation sent a sharp chill down your spine. Seungcheol had never mentioned it. Not once. All you knew was that he was a demon, powerful beyond reason, and that he had abilities that humans could only call magic. You had never thought to ask where he’d come from or what he’d been before.

“How do you know that?” you asked, still trying to piece it all together.

Chan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he tilted his head, gaze thoughtful. “I was a gift,” he said slowly, like he was unraveling a memory he hadn’t touched in centuries. “A present from God to Mr. Choi. He told me about you back then.”

Your brows furrowed. “A present? Why would God give him a phoenix as a present?”

Chan shrugged, his expression distant, as if his mind had traveled far away. “Because he was sad,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “Why was he sad?”

He tilted his head the other way, eyes distant but warm with memory. “I don’t really remember,” he admitted, tapping a finger on the table. “But he’s always sad.”

Always sad.

Those words echoed in your mind long after dinner was over. It felt like the kind of truth no one says out loud, the kind that lives quietly in the shadows. Seungcheol was human. You were his wife. He’s always been sad.

Later that night, you sat by the window, staring at the moon. You wondered if he was looking at the same sky from wherever he was.

How long have you been sad, Seungcheol? you thought to yourself. And how long have you been searching for me?

The answers, you realized, would come in time. Seungcheol was nothing if not patient. Seven hundred years patient.

"Waiting for me?"

You jolted in your wheelchair, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. Seungcheol stood behind you, his presence as sudden and quiet as a shadow. You clutched at your chest, fingers pressing firmly against your ribs like you were trying to keep your heart from breaking free.

“Can you not do that?” you hissed, still catching your breath. “I could die of a heart attack.”

He chuckled, low and warm like distant thunder. “I’ll just save you from death again,” he replied, his grin sharp but not unkind.

He moved gracefully to the couch in front of you, sinking into it like a king on his throne. His eyes, dark and deep, fixed on you with quiet curiosity. “You seemed lost in thought,” he noted, tilting his head ever so slightly.

You sighed, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. It was still strange, looking at him. He had all the features of a man — pale skin, sharp jawline, and a face that looked like it had been carved with careful precision. If you’d passed him on the street, you’d think he was just another good-looking human. But now you knew better.

No one had ever taught you that demons could have soft brown eyes and smiles that made you forget to breathe.

Your voice came quieter this time, more careful, like you were testing your own courage. “You said you chose me.” You watched his face closely. “When we summoned you 15 years ago, instead of Jinah, you chose me. Was it because I was your wife… even before?”

His eyes lowered for a moment. Silence hung in the air like a held breath. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But you don’t remember.”

You swallowed, something tight forming in your throat. “Then why did you need a bride at all?” you pressed, brows knitting together. “Why a wife? You’re a demon. What would a demon need with a wife?”

His gaze lifted back to you, unreadable but steady. “It’s part of God’s plan,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “He always has a plan — for everyone, for everything.”

You watched him closely, eyes searching his face for something more. His voice was calm, his words sure, but his eyes.

Chan’s words echoed in your mind. “He’s always sad.”

You saw it now. It wasn’t loud or obvious. It wasn’t in the way he spoke or moved. It was in the small things — the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his shoulders always seemed to carry a weight no one else could see.

Your hand lifted on its own, slow and unthinking, like a force greater than you was guiding it. Your fingertips brushed his cheek, warm and solid beneath your touch. It was natural, effortless, like muscle memory from a life you no longer remembered.

“Is it part of His plan too?” you asked softly, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. “To make you wait for 700 years?”

Seungcheol’s eyes flickered with something unspoken — a brief, vulnerable crack in his armor. But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached up, taking your hand in his. His palm was firm, steady, and for a moment, it felt like you were the one being held together.

He didn’t look at you as he stood, his hand slipping away from yours too soon. His back faced you as he started toward the hallway, his footsteps silent but certain.

“I’ll send Chan to get you to bed,” he said, his voice distant now, as if he’d already gone somewhere far away. “Rest well.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You sat there, staring at the space where he’d stood. His warmth lingered on your fingertips, his words circling your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

God’s plan. A wife. 700 years.

You wondered which part of the plan was meant for him — and which part was meant for you.

*

Seungcheol didn’t have a nightmare last night. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the haunting dreams that plagued him since the day he chose you as his bride did not come. Instead, he woke up feeling unusually refreshed — as if he were human, ready to take on the day with renewed energy.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale before stepping out of his room. The house was quiet, but the faint sound of shuffling reached his ears. Following it, he found Chan standing in front of you, his arm raised, supporting your weight as you trained yourself to walk again.

Chan had mentioned it before — that you’d been making progress, slowly but surely. But seeing it for himself stirred something in Seungcheol. Determination flickered in your eyes as you gritted your teeth, wobbling slightly with each step.

He moved toward you, his eyes locked on you with quiet focus. He didn’t say a word as he reached out, placing his hands firmly on your arms. A burst of energy surged from him to you — a gift of strength that only he could give.

His shoulders felt heavier instantly, the weight of his own body doubling as exhaustion seeped into his bones. It was a familiar strain, but he didn’t mind. He’d done it a thousand times before. You needed it more than he did.

"Isn't it taking you too long to start walking again?" Seungcheol teased lightly, his voice warm but sharp enough to stir you into action. "You must be tired of that wheelchair by now."

He lowered Chan’s arms, freeing you from the support, and moved slightly back, giving you space. His gaze was firm, unwavering, like he was daring you to prove him wrong.

"No, no, no!" you cried out, eyes wide with panic as you reached out for Chan. "Don't let go—"

But Seungcheol was faster. He pulled Chan away with ease, his smirk as sharp as ever. "You’re fine. Walk."

Your heart raced as you braced yourself, every muscle in your legs trembling. But then, something unexpected happened. You took a step. It wasn’t as hard as before. Your body moved with surprising ease, like something inside you had shifted.

"See?" Seungcheol’s voice was a quiet triumph. He stepped beside you, offering his arm. Without hesitation, you leaned on him, letting him guide you as you slowly took another step, and another.

“Wow…” you breathed, eyes darting around as you moved further than you had in weeks. “Demon power, huh?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He smirked down at you, his gaze glinting with pride. “Told you it works.”

"I’ll prepare food," Chan called out, excusing himself to the kitchen with a grin, clearly satisfied with your progress.

You let out a shaky laugh, glancing at Seungcheol with an expression that was part awe, part disbelief. "You know," you said between slow, steady steps, "if I’d known having a demon around would be this useful, I would’ve summoned one sooner."

Seungcheol chuckled, his voice deep and smooth like rolling thunder. "If only you knew what it cost me to be here."

Your smile faltered just a little, eyes darting to his face. His words carried more weight than you expected. But before you could ask, he guided you forward, his arm steady at your side.

“Focus,” he said softly. “One step at a time, wife.”

And just like that, your heart did that annoying little flip it had been doing more and more often lately.

"Shall we go to the garden?" Seungcheol's voice was low but firm, and you nodded, letting him guide you along the stone pathway of his serene, well-kept garden. The cool breeze carried the soft rustle of leaves, and the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet.

Your steps were slow but steady, each one a small victory. Seungcheol stayed by your side, his presence a steady anchor.

"How's your sleep?" he asked, glancing at you.

"I had a dream," you replied, gaze lost in thought.

"What kind of dream?"

You shook your head, trying to piece it together. "It felt like the Joseon era. I was wearing a hanbok—like, a princess’s hanbok. It was really elegant. I looked pretty, though." You smiled, lifting your chin with playful pride.

Seungcheol let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You were."

You turned to him, eyes widening in surprise. "Really?" There was a faint blush dusting your cheeks, and Seungcheol noticed it right away. He always noticed.

"I don't say it enough, but you were beautiful," he admitted, his gaze unwavering.

Your lips parted slightly, stunned by his sincerity. For a moment, you forgot how to walk. "You’re making me curious about my past lives," you said softly, your voice tinged with wonder. "What kind of person was I?"

He glanced at you, his eyes growing distant, like he was seeing something far away — something only he could see. His heart ached at the memories. You were always the same. Kind, beautiful, and selfless to a fault. You let yourself be pulled into an arranged marriage for the sake of your family. Your family betrayed you. Your husband betrayed you.

And worst of all, he betrayed you.

He killed you.

Seungcheol's chest felt tight. He took a deep breath, shaking his head free of the painful memories. He couldn't let you see that part of him. Not yet.

"You were a noisy wife," he finally said, his lips curling into a teasing grin.

You froze, eyes narrowing into sharp slits. "What?" Your hand shot out to slap his arm, but he dodged it with ease, laughing under his breath. You swung again, but this time, he caught your wrist and tugged you toward him.

"Hey—!" you yelped, stumbling forward.

He pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around you. It wasn’t a tight hold, just enough to keep you close. For a second, you stiffened, but the warmth of his body against yours made you relax. Slowly, you let your head rest against his chest.

Warmth.

For the first time in a long, long while, Seungcheol felt warmth. It seeped into his bones, into the cracks of his soul that he’d long thought would never heal.

The quiet hum of life around you both melted into the background. The past felt distant, and for a brief moment, it didn’t matter. But the past always had a way of creeping back in.

God had offered him a wife to end his task as a demon and earn a peaceful life in Heaven. But that wife — the one chosen for him — never arrived. Time after time, life after life, Seungcheol watched you. You were never meant to be his. You were meant for the world, not for him.

But God let him see you. Again and again. In every lifetime, you crossed his path. Sometimes as a stranger. Sometimes as a friend. Sometimes as someone out of reach. Each time, he pleaded. Each time, he begged.

"Please, just this once."

"Please, let it be her."

But God was silent.

“Heaven is only for those who work for it,” God had said during one of their rare conversations. “Work hard until you no longer desire it.”

For centuries, Seungcheol followed orders, accepting every task God gave him as a demon. For centuries, he hardened his heart, accepting that you were not his to have. He was ready to give it all up, ready to accept his fate as a demon forever.

Until the day you and your friends summoned him.

He still remembered the look on your face — wide-eyed, stunned, and just as beautiful as the day you were taken from him. You didn’t recognize him, of course. You were never supposed to. But something in you felt him.

That day, Seungcheol realized something.

God had answered him.

His bond with you had been restored, not by force, but by choice. God had let him have you again. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t fate. It was a gift.

And Seungcheol had never been so grateful.

“Heaven is waiting for you and your cherished one,” God had told him once, long ago.

But Seungcheol didn’t care about Heaven anymore. He had already found it.

He pressed his chin lightly against the top of your head, his eyes shut as he let himself enjoy the warmth of you in his arms.

He wouldn’t lose you again.

No matter what.

*

You jolted awake, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The remnants of the nightmare clung to your mind like a heavy fog. You were back in the Joseon era, dressed in a hanbok that made you feel regal, yet trapped. You were in a room that resembled a royal bedroom, adorned with intricate tapestries and golden accents.

Then, the man appeared. He was so familiar, yet his face remained a blur, like a memory just out of reach. He approached you, pulling you into an embrace, and for a brief moment, you felt warmth and safety. But that feeling quickly turned to terror as pain shot through your stomach.

Your breath hitched, and the warmth flooding from your core felt too real. You could feel the blood pooling, the sharpness of the blade searing through your body. The pain was suffocating, overwhelming. The man's arms tightened around you, but his presence felt wrong. His face—familiar yet unrecognizable—hovered just beyond your reach. And then, you saw it—his eyes, full of regret, full of sorrow—but it didn’t stop the blade from twisting deeper.

"Y/n!" The man’s voice echoed in your ears, but it wasn’t the man you thought you knew. The pain intensified, and then, everything went black.

You gasped, your body jerking upright.

Seungcheol’s strong hands gripped your shoulders, his face a mix of concern and relief as he pulled you into the safety of his arms. Chan stood beside the bed, his expression tense, as if he had witnessed the nightmare unfold with you.

Seungcheol’s voice was soft but firm, “Y/n, you’re safe. It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your hands trembled as you placed them on your stomach, feeling the phantom pain that had lingered even after you woke. You were still shaken, the remnants of the nightmare crawling under your skin.

You pulled back slightly, your heart still racing, as the pieces of the nightmare began to click together. The man in the dream, the one who had held you so tightly, the one who had caused you such unbearable pain... It was him.

Your breath hitched, and you whispered in disbelief, “It was you…”

Seungcheol froze for a moment, his expression unreadable as the words hung in the air between you two. Chan, who had been standing silently by the door, shifted uncomfortably but remained quiet.

Seungcheol's gaze dropped to your hands, which were still trembling slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady but tinged with an emotion you couldn’t place.

You shook your head, trying to piece together the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “But you said… You said we were married. That I was your wife.” The realization hit you like a cold wave, freezing every part of you except the ache in your chest. “Then… Why would you kill me?”

Seungcheol’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of centuries seemed to bear down on him. He move closer but didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, as though the memory itself cut deeper than any wound could

“It’s just a dream,” Chan's voice broke the silence, his eyes darting between you and Seungcheol. He stood at the door, arms folded, his gaze sharp and knowing, like he was the only one who could truly read the room. “Don’t overthink it. Dreams are messy like that.”

But it wasn’t just a dream. You could feel it in your bones, in the lingering sensation of pain still curling in your stomach. It was too vivid, too visceral, as if you had lived it once before. And Seungcheol—he wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t saying anything at all.

Seungcheol glanced at you briefly, his face unreadable, before turning away like he couldn't bear to face you. Chan sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. The Phoenix, ever rational and collected, decided it was time to put out the flames. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a cup of steaming peppermint tea.

“Drink this,” he said softly, placing it on your nightstand. His fingers hovered over the rim of the cup for a second longer than necessary, the warmth from the tea mirroring the warmth in his gaze. “It’ll calm you down. Bad dreams have a way of sticking to you, but they’re just that—dreams.”

You stared at the tea, then at Chan, then at Seungcheol. He sat at the edge of your bed, head bowed, one hand resting on his knee. He hummed softly, a tune unfamiliar but oddly comforting. The sound washed over you like a lullaby, pulling you into its gentle rhythm. The exhaustion from your nightmare crept back in, and before you knew it, your eyes grew heavier.

The last thing you saw was Seungcheol’s eyes on you. He wasn’t looking at you like a demon. He wasn’t looking at you like a monster. He was looking at you like a man weighed down by something heavier than the world itself.

When Seungcheol closed the bedroom door behind him, his eyes met Chan’s. The silence between them was sharp as a blade, tension hanging in the air like a fog that refused to lift. Chan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his golden eyes fixed on Seungcheol like he’d just uncovered a dark secret.

“It was her memory,” Chan said, his voice low but firm. There was no doubt in his tone. No hesitation. Seungcheol nodded slowly, confirming it without a word.

Chan’s eyes widened in shock. He tilted his head, as if seeing Seungcheol for the first time. “You killed her?” he whispered, his words quiet but cutting. He glanced toward your room, careful not to be overheard. “You killed your own wife, master?”

Seungcheol didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes void of emotion. He looked tired. More than that, he looked… resigned.

“Why?” Chan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. “What do you want me to say, Chan?” Seungcheol’s voice was hollow, almost bitter. “Yes, I killed her. I killed the only person I was supposed to protect.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was filled with the weight of unspoken sins. Chan’s eyes flickered with flames—small but unmistakably angry flames, his pupils a swirling amber glow. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His fingers flexed, and Seungcheol knew that if anyone else had confessed to such a thing, they would’ve been ashes by now.

But Chan didn’t lash out. He didn’t burn anything down. Instead, he lowered his head, his expression hard but thoughtful. “Why?” he asked again, this time slower, more controlled.

Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes hollow yet sharp. “Because I was desperate. Because I was weak. Because I was too afraid to lose her the way I had before. Fear doesn’t just eat at you—it consumes you until you’d rather burn everything down than face it.” His voice cracked near the end, but he steadied himself with a long, slow breath.

Chan stayed quiet, his gaze never leaving Seungcheol’s face. His eyes dimmed, no longer burning with anger but with something closer to understanding. “You regret it,” he stated, not as a question but as a fact.

Seungcheol let out a hollow chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Regret?” He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve lived with that regret for hundreds of years, Chan. Regret is the only thing that stays with me no matter how many lives I live.”

Chan didn’t reply, but the air shifted. His eyes lingered on Seungcheol for a beat longer before he turned and started down the hall. But as he reached his bedroom door, he stopped.

Without looking back, he asked one last question. “Does she know?”

Seungcheol lowered his gaze, eyes distant as if he were somewhere far, far away. “Not yet.”

Chan glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharp and knowing. “She will.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond, and Chan disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him.

Left alone in the hallway, Seungcheol leaned his back against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling. His chest rose and fell slowly, each breath deeper than the last.

He knew Chan was right. You would remember. It was only a matter of time. Memories from the past had a way of bleeding into dreams, and dreams had a way of dragging the truth to the surface. He had seen it happen before.

But Seungcheol wasn’t ready. Not yet. He still had time to figure out how to explain himself, how to make you understand. If you knew the full truth now, you would hate him, and he wouldn't blame you for it.

His eyes flickered with red as he pushed himself off the wall. He turned his gaze toward the sky visible through the window at the end of the hall. It was a deep, endless black, dotted with faint stars. Somewhere beyond that black sky, beyond the world of men and demons, God was watching. He was always watching.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice low but sharp. “Are you watching how everything’s falling apart? Is this your idea of a lesson?”

Silence. No answer. But Seungcheol wasn’t surprised. God had always been quiet when it mattered most.

His fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. “If I’m supposed to repent, tell me how. If I’m supposed to atone, tell me what I need to do.” His breath came heavier, sharper, his voice trembling with something between rage and desperation. “If you want me to suffer, just say it. I’ll endure it. But don't make her suffer anymore. Please.”

Still, there was only silence. The weight of it pressed down on him harder than any curse or punishment ever could.

Seungcheol turned away from the window, his eyes dimmer than before. “Fine,” he muttered bitterly. “Keep watching. But when she remembers everything, don’t expect me to stay quiet.”

With that, he headed down the hall toward his own room, footsteps slow, his heart heavier than ever. The past was clawing its way back to you, and once it reached you, everything he had built with you could be reduced to dust.

But for now, you were still sleeping peacefully behind that door, and for now, that was enough.

Just for a little longer, he would hold onto the fragile peace between you.

*

“You guys are awfully quiet today,” you remarked, glancing over your shoulder as you prepped the vegetables. It was a rare sight — the demon and his phoenix companion both seated at the dining table, each hidden behind a newspaper like two old men with too much time on their hands. Neither of them offered a snarky reply, which only added to your curiosity.

The rhythmic sound of your knife chopping vegetables echoed softly in the kitchen. You moved with ease, the repetitive motion almost meditative — until it wasn’t. The weight of the knife in your hand suddenly felt different, heavier somehow, like something cold and sharp was pressing against your skin.

Your breath hitched. The sensation was far too familiar. Too vivid. It wasn't the smooth grip of the kitchen knife you felt — it was the cold, unyielding touch of a blade against your stomach. Your eyes widened as a sudden flash of your dream came rushing back.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice was gentle but sharp, his eyes already on you. Before you could respond, he was next to you, taking the knife from your hand with a quiet but firm grip. “I’ll take over.” His tone left no room for argument.

You nodded slowly, handing him the apron and stepping back. “Thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your hands together to ease the tension in your fingers.

You sat at the table beside Seungcheol, still a little dazed. The rustle of paper caught your attention as he lowered his newspaper, folding it neatly before turning to you. His dark eyes scanned you, quiet and calculating, like he could see every thought running through your mind.

“What do you think about the wedding next month?” he asked, his voice so casual it almost didn’t register at first.

The sound of Chan’s knife chopping on the cutting board abruptly stopped. You stiffened, eyes darting to Seungcheol, searching his face for any sign that he was joking. But he wasn't. His gaze was steady, unwavering, like he'd just asked if you wanted sugar in your tea.

"The… the wedding?" Your voice faltered as you blinked at him, eyes narrowing in confusion. "Next month?”

Chan’s knife resumed its steady rhythm, but slower now, more deliberate. Your heart, on the other hand, picked up speed.

Seungcheol tilted his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips tugging into a sly grin. “You’re the one who said you were ready, weren’t you?” he leaned in, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand. His voice was honey-smooth, but there was a sharpness underneath it, like a hidden blade. “I’m just following through.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. You did tell him you were ready. You’d said it with so much confidence, too. But that was before the dream. Before the flood of questions you couldn’t shake.

“I didn’t think it would be so soon,” you said slowly, trying to sound nonchalant. “A month feels… fast.”

“We’ve waited for lifetimes,” Seungcheol replied, eyes fixed on yours with quiet intensity. “A month is nothing.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You knew he was being literal. The idea of reincarnation and past lives was still something you were trying to grasp, but Seungcheol talked about it like it was as normal as breathing. Every time he mentioned it, it felt like he was placing invisible weights on your chest.

“Don’t I get a say in the date?” you asked, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You did.” His grin widened, sharper now. “When you said you were ready.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to snap back with something clever, but the words didn’t come. He was playing you, and he knew it. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, the very picture of smug satisfaction.

Chan placed the chopped vegetables into a pot, letting out a loud exhale like he was trying to release some of the tension. “I think she deserves a second opinion, Master,” Chan said, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, his tone a little too neutral.

“And you think you’re the one to give it?” Seungcheol quipped, one brow raised.

“Better than you forcing a date on her.” Chan’s eyes flicked toward you, a knowing look flashing across his face before he glanced back at the pot.

You folded your arms, mirroring Seungcheol’s stance. “Yeah, I’m with Chan on this one.”

Seungcheol's eyes moved between you and Chan, his grin fading into something softer but more dangerous. His fingers drummed lightly on the table. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. “We’ll discuss it. But no more stalling, Y/N. You said you were ready. Don’t take it back now.”

The way he said it wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t a request either. It was a reminder. An unspoken promise.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light laugh as you reached for the tea Chan had poured earlier. “I’m not stalling,” you said, staring into the cup as if the swirling liquid could give you answers. “I just… want to be sure.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately, and when you looked up, he was still watching you. Not like a predator. Not like a demon. But like a man waiting for something. An answer? A sign? A chance to explain himself?

Your fingers gripped the warm cup, and for a moment, you remembered the feeling of blood seeping through your hands in that dream. The phantom pain from the stab wound still lingered, sharp and fresh. You glanced at Seungcheol and, for the briefest moment, you saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Regret, perhaps.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said suddenly, his tone quieter now. His gaze flickered down to the table before he lifted his eyes back to you. “I’m not the man you saw in your dream.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Your fingers tightened around the cup, eyes narrowing at him.

“I never told you about my dream.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, if only for a split second. He didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, but you saw the realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, his gaze dropping for a moment too long.

“I guessed,” he said with a shrug, but the casual act didn’t fool you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your silence was enough to make him shift in his chair, his hand running through his hair like he’d just realized he’d made a mistake.

You were sitting on the couch, absorbed in a late-night TV show, when Chan nudged you, shaking you out of your trance. You hadn’t even realized he was calling your name until he moved you gently, concern written across his face.

“What’s going on?” you asked, blinking in confusion. The room seemed to tilt for a moment, and before you could register what was happening, the images shifted. You were no longer in the safe, cozy space of your living room.

In front of you was a bloody war, swords clashing, people screaming as they fought under a stormy sky. The chaos felt so real, so vivid, it was as though you were right there in the middle of it. You looked around, panic rising in your chest, but all you could see were the bloodied soldiers fighting relentlessly. A knot formed in your stomach, and without thinking, you turned and fled, stumbling toward a room and locking the door behind you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, racing in time with the noise of battle outside.

“What was that?” you whispered to yourself, trying to catch your breath.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

It was Seungcheol.

“Y/n? You okay? You’re pale,” Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts as he placed a plate of fruit in front of you, his eyes concerned.

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake the remnants of the war from your mind. “Where’s Seungcheol?” you asked, looking around, noticing the absence of the familiar presence that often made you feel safe.

Chan shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always know where your master is. What’s going on? You two fight?” Your words came out teasing, but there was an underlying concern you couldn’t hide.

Chan’s lips curled into a small pout, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but think he resembled a bird, especially with the way his eyes softened. “Just angry.”

You couldn’t suppress a small laugh at his pout. “Aww, look at you, a cute bird,” you teased, brushing a stray strand of his hair out of his face. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the moment. “But seriously, what’s going on? You guys fight over something important?”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Just found out something he’s been hiding from me for a hundred years,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Your curiosity piqued. “And it is?” You leaned in slightly, eager to hear more.

Chan’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Keeping a secret? I didn’t know birds could do that.” You grinned, teasing him again.

He sat up straight, flapping his arms in mock indignation. “I’ve always been able to keep a secret!” His eyes widened with mock offense, but there was a playful twinkle in his gaze.

You chuckled, feeling the tension in your chest loosen slightly. “Alright, alright, you’ve got your secrets. But can’t you tell me just a little bit? Just a hint?”

Chan’s face softened, his gaze shifting to the floor, clearly wrestling with something in his mind. He fidgeted uncomfortably before speaking again, his voice quieter now. “It’s about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “About me?” you repeated, leaning in closer, searching his eyes for any clues.

Chan bit his lip, clearly torn. “It’s something only Mr. Choi can tell you. I can’t say more. But… just trust me, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly, taking in his words. It was clear that whatever this secret was, it was huge, and Chan wasn’t about to break his master’s trust.

You nodded, realizing this was one mystery you wouldn’t be able to solve on your own. However deep inside, you felt an uneasy stir at the thought of what this secret could be.

Chan’s voice broke through your thoughts again, softer this time. “Do you love him?”

The question caught you off guard. For a moment, you were frozen, your mind racing as you tried to understand the weight of what he was asking. You glanced at him, noticing the serious look on his face. It was unlike the usual playful banter between you two, and something about his demeanor made you pause.

“What do you mean, love him?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were questioning yourself. Your thoughts immediately shifted to Seungcheol.

How had he treated you?

He was always there when you needed him, gentle and patient, offering you warmth and safety. He had protected you when you felt vulnerable and helped you navigate through the chaos of everything supernatural. His presence had always felt like a comfort, a steady anchor in the storm.

The way he looked at you, his eyes so full of emotion, and how he spoke to you with such care and respect—no one had ever treated you like that before. It felt like you were his priority, always.

A small, unsure smile tugged at your lips. “I… I think he’s treated me better than anyone ever has.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you instantly realized the truth behind them.

It wasn’t just the way Seungcheol had taken care of you. It wasn’t just his kindness or the way he always made sure you were safe.

It was the way your heart fluttered when he was around, the way he made you feel seen and cared for, the way your pulse quickened when he smiled at you. Everything he did, every little gesture, made you feel special, and that feeling had grown inside you, so quietly and steadily that you hadn’t even realized it until now.

“I think… I might like him,” you murmured, the realization hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. But then, a small fear crept in, a hesitation in your chest. “Or maybe… I love him?”

Chan’s eyes softened as he watched you, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not a bad thing, you know.” He paused, his tone sincere now. “He feels the same about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and a warmth spread across your chest. The idea that Seungcheol might feel the same way about you, that he might be going through something similar, left you breathless.

But as the silence settled between you and Chan, you realized that you didn’t need to figure it all out right away.

For the first time, the idea of love—real, unspoken love—seemed less terrifying and more like something worth exploring. Something you were ready to embrace.

As you sat there, letting the weight of everything sink in, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm. Whatever was to come, whatever the future held for you and Seungcheol, you knew one thing for sure: you were no longer running from your feelings. You were ready to face them, to understand them, and maybe, just maybe, to love him too.

*

Is it love? Or is it guilt?

Seungcheol couldn’t differentiate it anymore. Every time he looked at you, the warmth in his chest surged, as it always had. You were just as beautiful, gentle, and kind as you had been before. And yet, the thought of you loving him back felt like a nightmare he couldn't escape.

"She will forget you until she loves you again," the words echoed in his mind, words spoken by a voice long past but still haunting him.

Was the return of your memories a sign that you might love him again?

The idea should have filled him with relief, with hope, but instead, it only made him uneasy. The more you remembered, the more it felt like he was walking closer to the edge of a cliff—one he’d already fallen off once.

And then, the truth hit him with a weight he couldn’t shake: If you remembered everything—every betrayal, every lie, every death—what would happen to the fragile bond you were starting to form again? You had promised, in your past life, that you would never love him again.

How could he live with the fact that he had once killed you, the woman he loved, and then had to watch you remember it all over again?

The fear that gripped Seungcheol was suffocating. It was the nightmare he had long tried to bury deep inside himself, the nightmare that now threatened to resurface as your memories awakened.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to step away. Every part of him wanted you, wanted to protect you, to make up for the damage he had caused in every life, but how could he? How could he expect you to forgive him, let alone love him again, after everything he had done?

It felt like a cycle he couldn't escape. Every time you got closer, the ghosts of his past pulled him further away from you. And yet, his heart couldn’t help but yearn for the possibility, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But that fear… that deep, gnawing fear of losing you again—of repeating the same painful mistake—was a burden he didn’t know how to carry.

“I think I love you,” He raised his head, and his eyes met yours. There was something haunting about them. Not sadness. Not guilt. It was worse, like he was staring past you, into something only he could see.

“You don’t remember everything yet,” he finally said, voice low like a distant rumble of thunder. His gaze shifted down to his hands, fingers curling slowly. “If you did, you wouldn’t say that.”

His words made your heart pound in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Seungcheol leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His broad shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy sigh, and you could feel it — the weight of something unspoken hanging between you.

“In one of your past lives,” Seungcheol started, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed like he was choking on the words. “I killed you.”

Your breath hitched, like all the air had been stolen from your lungs. “What?”

His eyes stayed on you, unwavering, as if he’d been preparing himself for this moment for centuries.

“You were supposed to be punished,” Seungcheol continued, his words heavier than stone. “Because of your father. He betrayed the king — my father. They were going to execute you. Everyone wanted it to be a public display. They wanted you to suffer.” His eyes darkened, like he was seeing it happen all over again. “I couldn’t let them do that to you.”

Your body froze. Everything about him felt too close, too real, too raw.

“So you did it yourself,” you whispered, your voice hollow.

He nodded slowly. “I thought it would be mercy. I thought it would be kinder if it was me.” His jaw clenched, and he looked away from you, eyes fixed on the night sky like it could offer him solace. “But it wasn’t. It was the cruelest thing I could’ve done.”

Your head was spinning, the image from your dream flashing before your eyes — the hanbok, the royal chamber, the warmth flooding from your core. The man who held you. The knife. The betrayal.

“It was you,” you breathed, feeling like you were falling from a great height. Your heart clenched, your throat tight as if you’d been stabbed all over again.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out strained, like they had been trapped inside him for centuries. “I begged God to curse me instead. To punish me, not you.” He let out a hollow laugh, filled with self-loathing. “And He did.”

You stared at him, unblinking. “That’s why you’re... ”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sky, as if he didn’t have the right to face you. “I killed the only person I ever loved. That was my sin. So He made me immortal. A demon bound to the living world, forced to watch you live and die over and over again, knowing you’d never forgive me.” His gaze shifted to you slowly, like he was afraid of what he’d see. “And I deserve it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but they didn’t fall. Your chest ached, every breath feeling like it was dragging in broken glass.

“You kept this from me,” you said, voice trembling but sharp. “All this time, you never told me.”

“Would it have changed anything?” he asked quietly. “Would you have stayed if you knew?”

You didn’t answer, because you didn’t know.

Seungcheol leaned back, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed as if he was bracing for something. “I knew this day would come. I knew you’d remember. And I knew you’d hate me.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Your heart was at war with itself. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. But somewhere, hidden beneath the storm of it all, was something else.

Love.

Because even if he was a demon, even if he had killed you once, Seungcheol was still the one who protected you. The one who held you together when you were falling apart. The one who saw you when no one else did.

But now, you didn’t know which part of you was speaking — the woman from the past or the woman you were now.

“Go,” you whispered, your voice breaking like shattered glass.

“Y/n…” His voice wavered, and he reached for you.

“I said go!” You shot to your feet, stepping back as if he had already hurt you. Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t — I can’t think. Just go.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stayed there, watching you with eyes that held centuries of regret. But then he stood. No argument. No plea. He walked toward the door, his every step slow and deliberate.

He stopped at the doorway, his back still to you. “I’ll go,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll never stop watching over you. Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I won’t stop.”

The door clicked shut.

And finally, the tears fell.

*

Seungcheol thought he was hallucinating when he saw you sitting casually on one of the couches. His heart stilled, eyes narrowing in disbelief. This wasn’t his house — it was the house between worlds, a place unreachable by mortals. Yet, there you were, as if you belonged there all along.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice sharp with confusion, his eyes locked on you as if you'd vanish if he blinked.

Before you could answer, a blur of flames shot through the room. Seungcheol tilted his head just in time to see Chan flying in his Phoenix form, flames trailing behind him like ribbons of light. With a single spin, Chan landed gracefully on Seungcheol’s shoulder, now in his small bird form, feathers slightly charred.

It didn’t take Seungcheol long to figure it out. Regeneration. Chan had recently gone through it. But that only raised more questions. His eyes darted between you and the Phoenix.

You grinned, hands lazily tracing the edge of a nearby shelf. “So, how's the wedding planning going?” you asked, your tone light, playful, like you were discussing a friend's weekend plans. Your nonchalance only made Seungcheol’s unease deepen.

He took a step forward, eyes narrowing further. “You're dead... again?” His voice was laced with disbelief and a hint of exhaustion. This can’t be happening.

You glanced over your shoulder with a sly smile. “Blame your Phoenix pet.” Your eyes flicked to Chan, who suddenly preened his feathers as if he’d done nothing wrong. "He decided to burn down the house while I was sleeping off a couple of sleeping pills.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped to Chan, his eyes sharp like a blade. “You burned the whole house down while regenerating?”

You were drowning. Not in water, but in the weight of everything that Seungcheol had left behind. The nights felt colder without him, the silence sharper, and the world dimmer. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You told yourself you were strong, that you didn’t need him.

Every night, you lay awake, tangled in bedsheets that smelled like nothing at all. Your dreams weren’t yours anymore. They were his. The visions came like cruel reminders — flashes of him, his eyes watching you, his hand reaching out just as you jolted awake. You gasped for breath as if clawing your way out of an endless abyss.

They said loving a demon had a price. But nobody told you the cost would be this.

You sat on the edge of your bed, eyes hollow from the sleepless nights that had stolen days from you. Your fingers ran across the label of a bottle of pills, the cool plastic oddly comforting against your skin.

One pill.

But silence didn’t come.

Two pills.

Three pills. The weight on your chest lightened just a little. Or maybe that was just hope.

It should have stopped there.

But it didn’t.

Four. Five. Six. Each one easier than the last. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just the steady hum of nothingness promising to cradle you.

You lost count somewhere between "this is fine" and "I don't want to feel anymore."

And then, everything went dark.

Chan was already watching.

He had watched you for weeks, seen the cracks in your resolve, the quiet pain you tried to bury under fake smiles.

But this… this was different.

He saw the bottle roll from your hand, spinning slowly until it lay still on the floor. You had slumped over on the bed, your breathing uneven, shallow. He heard it — that faint, struggling gasp for air.

And he knew.

He knew what was happening.

"Killing someone is a sin, including killing yourself."

That was what Seungcheol had told him after his first regeneration. It wasn’t a lesson Chan had forgotten, because it had been one of the only times his master had looked at him with fear.

That day, Seungcheol's voice had been as sharp as his eyes. "Don’t play with death, Chan. Phoenixes don’t die — they burn to become better. But if you’re not careful, you’ll mistake destruction for growth.”

His master had been shaken. Chan knew it wasn’t for himself. It was for the thought of someone else trying to do the same.

Chan had always been curious about that. What made demons, demons? If Seungcheol was cursed into becoming a demon because of sin, because he took a life that wasn’t his to take, then maybe…

Maybe it worked both ways.

“Regeneration,” Chan muttered to himself, his wings fluttering as he hopped from the windowsill to the edge of the bed. His sharp gaze scanned you, taking in every detail. The slow rise and fall of your chest. The way your fingers twitched slightly. You were still alive — barely.

He tilted his head. It could work.

If taking a life can curse you into a demon...

His gaze hardened with resolve.

Then maybe taking your own life could do the same.

"Don’t hate me for this," he muttered, his hand flexing at his side, heat radiating from his fingertips. He raised his palm, a small orb of fire flickering into existence, the soft hum of flames the only sound in the quiet room.

He glanced at you one more time, his gaze softening. He didn’t want to do it. But the alternative was worse.

The flames grew brighter, the heat curling in the air around him. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even as smoke began to rise from the carpet. The first spark caught, spreading faster than even he expected. The flames crawled like hungry beasts, licking the edges of the bed frame, the walls, and finally the sheets beneath you.

Chan didn’t look away. He couldn’t.

His master had warned him that fire was a dangerous thing. That flames could destroy as easily as they could cleanse.

But this wasn’t destruction.

This was rebirth.

Seungcheol froze, realization hitting him like a stone to the chest. “No,” he muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. His breathing grew shallow as he glanced at you, sitting there so calmly on the couch, your fingers tracing the seam of the cushion like none of this mattered. “You didn’t.”

Chan straightened, his face hardening with resolve. “I did.”

Seungcheol lunged at him, grabbing Chan by the collar and yanking him forward. “You burned her?!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the space. Chan’s eyes didn’t waver, despite the threat in front of him.

“She was already gone,” Chan shot back, voice sharp, his eyes unwavering. “Do you know how many pills she took?” His voice cracked on the last word, his fingers curling into fists. “She was dying, Master! I just…” His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. “I just gave her a chance.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” Seungcheol roared, his voice full of something raw, something close to desperation. His grip on Chan’s collar tightened. “You think you know how to control life and death now?”

Chan didn’t back down. He leaned forward, meeting Seungcheol's gaze head-on. “I learned it from you.”

Those words hit Seungcheol harder than any blade. His grip loosened, and Chan shoved him back with a scowl.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” Chan muttered, adjusting his collar. “She wasn’t supposed to leave us.” His voice was softer this time, quieter, like he wasn’t just talking to his master but to himself. "So I did what you did. I used fire to rewrite fate."

Seungcheol ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, eyes flickering toward you. His gaze softened, but it was tinted with something more fragile—guilt.

Your eyes met his, calm yet sharp. You tilted your head. “You’re mad at him?” you asked, gesturing toward Chan with a lazy wave of your hand. “But didn’t you do the same thing once?”

Seungcheol’s body went rigid. His gaze flickered, his lips parting, but no words came out.

“You killed me too, didn’t you?” you said it so plainly, so casually, as if it were something as mundane as asking about the weather. You tilted your head, watching him closely, like you were trying to gauge his reaction. “Didn’t you, Seungcheol?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Chan looked away, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

Seungcheol stared at you like he’d just been stabbed. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fists curling slowly at his sides. He tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

"You’re really bad at hiding it,” you said with a small, bitter smile. “Every time I dream about it, I see you. You always look the same.” You leaned forward, resting your arms on your knees, eyes sharp like a blade poised to strike. “So tell me, Seungcheol. Tell me what you did.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

You raised an eyebrow. “If you can’t say it, I will.” You leaned forward further, close enough that your gaze was all he could see. Your voice was low, cold, and unforgiving. “You killed me.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes. As if by doing so, he could escape it. As if shutting out the world would make it less real.

“I did,” he whispered, his voice hollow, broken at the edges. His eyes opened slowly, filled with something heavy, something that had been weighing on him for centuries. “I killed you.”

You stared at him, your gaze unwavering, piercing straight through him. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Why?” you asked, voice so soft it felt like a dagger sliding between ribs.

Seungcheol’s lips parted, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tense like he was holding up the weight of the world. "Because they were going to do worse." His voice was sharp, tight like he was forcing every word out of his throat. "Your father was declared a traitor. The entire kingdom wanted you dead. They would’ve dragged you through the streets, humiliated you, torn you apart piece by piece."

He lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with something more painful than regret—remorse.

“I didn’t want them to have that power over you,” he said, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming silently for centuries. “So I did it myself.”

You froze. The weight of his words pressed down on you, sinking deep into your chest. You felt the air leave your lungs, your vision blurring for a second before you blinked it away.

“Because you loved me,” you whispered, barely a breath of sound.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in agony. “Yes.”

You leaned back, shoulders tense, hands curling into fists on your lap. A bitter laugh escaped you, sharp and hollow. "You loved me," you echoed, each word laced with venom. “And you still killed me.”

Seungcheol’s eyes shut tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but you saw the crack in his armor. His hands trembled at his sides. Don’t look at me like that.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. "What did it feel like, Seungcheol?” you asked, your voice ice cold. "When you looked at me for the last time and decided I had to die—what did it feel like?”

He didn't answer. He couldn’t. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

“Was it quick?” you pressed, your voice rising. “Did you hesitate? Did you stop for even a second?”

“Stop it,” Seungcheol muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Or did you tell yourself you were doing it for me?” Your eyes locked onto his, burning like an open flame. “Did you think that would make it hurt less?”

“Stop it!” Seungcheol roared, his voice cracking like thunder. His chest heaved, eyes wild as he took a step back, gaze filled with something that looked too much like fear.

“But you didn’t stop,” you said, voice sharp like a blade dragging against stone. “You didn’t stop, Seungcheol. Not when I begged. Not when I cried. Not even when I called your name.”

Seungcheol flinched as if you’d struck him. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw locking tight as his hands curled into fists. He stood perfectly still, like if he moved even an inch, he’d break.

“Do you know what it’s like to look at someone you love and realize they’ve already decided you’re better off dead?” Your voice trembled but didn’t break. Each word hit him harder than the last, cutting deeper, sharper. “Do you know what it’s like to feel their hands on you, to feel their warmth one second and cold steel the next?”

His breathing grew shallow. He shook his head, eyes still shut. “Don’t do this.”

“I felt it, Seungcheol,” you continued, your voice louder now, raw with every ounce of pain you’d buried for so long. “I remember it now. The way you looked at me—like you were trying to convince yourself it was mercy.” You stepped closer, each step slow and deliberate, the weight of your words following you. “But it wasn’t mercy, was it?”

His eyes snapped open, wild and desperate. "I had no choice!" he roared, voice cracking like thunder. "They were going to drag you through the streets, humiliate you, torture you—I couldn’t let them do that to you!"

His chest heaved with every breath, his gaze frantic like a man drowning with no shore in sight. “I thought... I thought if it had to be done, it should be me,” he said, his voice quieter now, trembling with the weight of it all. “I thought you’d understand.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but none of them fell. Your chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, trying to hold yourself together when all you wanted to do was scream. “Understand?” you echoed, disbelief laced in every syllable. “You think I’d understand that you killed me?” You took another step forward, eyes blazing. “I would’ve fought, Seungcheol. I would’ve fought them until my last breath. I didn’t need you to ‘save’ me.”

His lips parted, but no words came out. For once, he had nothing to say.

“You didn’t save me, Seungcheol,” you said, voice hollow now. “You stole me.”

Silence hung between you like an unbearable weight. Chan stood off to the side, gaze flickering between the two of you, his expression unreadable. He didn’t interfere. He knew this wasn’t his fight.

“I thought…” Seungcheol’s voice cracked, so soft it barely reached you. “I thought you’d hate me.” He looked at you now—not as a demon, not as a king’s son, but as a man stripped bare, raw and broken. “But I didn’t think you’d remember.”

You let out a sharp breath, a humorless laugh escaping you. “Hate you?” you repeated, eyes narrowing. “I hated you so much I swore I’d never love you again.” Your voice broke on the last word, but you didn’t stop. You refused to stop. "I told myself, in my next life, I would never let myself fall for you again.”

Your gaze softened, but it wasn’t with love—it was with pity.

“And look at me now,” you whispered, voice thick with bitterness. “Back where I started.”

Seungcheol's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

“Do you know what’s worse than hating you, Seungcheol?” you asked quietly, each word laced with an ache he could feel in his bones. “It’s realizing that after everything, after the lies, after the betrayal, after the blade you put in my heart…” You took one last step, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin. “I still love you.”

His world shattered. You saw it in the way his eyes flickered, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you but knew he had no right. He looked at you like you were something holy he had defiled with his own hands.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” you challenged, eyes blazing with the weight of a thousand lifetimes of pain. “Because you don’t deserve it?” You leaned in, voice sharp and unforgiving. “You don’t. You never did.”

His breathing hitched, his shoulders trembling as he took a step back, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. "I know," he rasped, his voice raw, wrecked. "I know I don't."

“Then why do you look at me like you still want it?” you shot back, and he staggered as if you’d struck him.

You stared at him, heart aching in a way that was far too familiar. Love was supposed to be kind, warm, gentle. But with him, it was brutal. It tore through you, raw and unyielding, like an old scar reopening over and over again.

“Seungcheol,” you said quietly, no anger, no malice—just the simple, unbearable truth. “You killed me once. And somehow, you’re still killing me.”

He dropped to his knees. His hands pressed against the ground as if the weight of your words was too much to carry. His head hung low, eyes shut tight, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps. He looked like he was praying for forgiveness. But he knew better than anyone—demons don't get to pray.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking like something inside him had finally broken. He pressed his forehead to the ground, his hands gripping the dirt beneath him like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The sound of his voice, so broken, so desperate, filled the room like a haunting melody. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare look at you. For a demon like him, lowering himself like this was an act of surrender, an admission of every sin, every failure.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t reach out.

“Sorry won’t bring me back,” you said softly, your voice steady even as your eyes stung with unshed tears. You watched him crumble before you, the weight of his sin finally crushing him. “Sorry won’t undo what you did.”

He didn’t reply. He just stayed there, on his knees, forehead pressed to the ground like a man waiting for judgment.

But judgment never came.

Instead, you turned away. Your heart felt heavier than ever, but you walked past him, step by step, until he was behind you. You didn’t look back.

“Don’t follow me, Seungcheol,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard every word. "Not this time."

He didn’t move. He didn’t chase you. He stayed on his knees, still and silent, with only the sound of his shallow breathing to remind him that he was still alive. Alive but not living.

Chan glanced at his master, his eyes filled with something that could’ve been pity or disappointment. He looked away, his gaze following you instead.

“She’ll never stop loving you, you know,” Chan muttered, his voice carrying across the room. “That’s the curse, isn't it?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer. His fingers dug into the ground, eyes still shut, the weight of eternity pressing down on him.

"She'll keep loving you, even when it hurts." Chan's gaze softened as he watched you disappear beyond the door. “And you'll keep hurting her, won’t you?”

Still, Seungcheol said nothing.

Because he knew.

That was the curse.

The curse of love.

Of sin.

Of demons who dared to love like mortals.

The end

[vinelark]

Hello! Was going through your fic rec tag and saw someone asked for your favorite pangy Jason fics, and was wondering if I could request the same but with Tim instead?

okay, you’ve asked the golden question for me, because tim pangs are my favorite pangs—and this fandom has such an abundance of them. i had to narrow this list down so much, and tried to focus on fics where the pangs feel like a core part of the story for me. i came up with a mix of go-to recs that have definitely appeared on this blog before and some stories i don’t think i’ve mentioned yet. so here we go, serving up some tim pangs:

Like a Hinge, Like a Wing by @bonesbuckleup

tim joins the batfamily early, and in one of the pangiest ways possible. featuring an actual uncle and tim being so very isolated and alone (until he isn’t!)—excellent recipe for great and sustained pangs. i rec this one often and for good reason: i love the characterization of this pre-robin tim (smart! competent! lonely! believably a kid!), the writing is fantastic, and it still hits on each reread.

A Meditation on Railroading by @eggmacguffin

another one of my favorite rereads—this is all about robin-era tim being hurt in his home/civilian life and trying to deal with that on his own, because he’s drawn a clear line between “robin” and “tim.” this is pangs galore—from tim’s positioning of himself in relation to the bats (especially bruce and dick), to the large and small ways he is hurt + how he deals with that hurt, and, especially, the way we get to see jason observe & recharacterize tim based on what happens in this story.

Surveillance series by @smilebackwards

this series has these very specific “tim comes into the picture late” flavor of pangs that i am (more than) a bit obsessed with—it does such a compelling job navigating what this version of tim would think and do and feel as he forges relationships with the bats/assorted heroes a few years later than in canon. and some of those feelings (especially in the first and last installments) are beautifully pangy; here we have tim dealing with a lot on his own without ever expecting outside help, and even later when be finds himself with a support network, this still teases out the great, subtle pangs of tim having to learn how to navigate that.

equivalent exchange by scribblemetimbers

holy tim pangs, batman! this really hits the sweet spot—a tim who is competent and cunning and stubborn as hell AND is lonely with terrible self-worth unintentionally reinforced by bruce, all of which collide in a self-sacrificial gambit that sets its long plot in motion. (this fic is complete, but is part one of a series.) this does one of the top-tier, prime pang setups: in which one character unintentionally reinforces another character’s deepest insecurities (with devastating consequences).

between hands that relaxed by @deitybird

one of my new fav reverse robins fics (that recently completed!), in which tim, the second of batman’s partners, was killed by the joker—and that’s just where the horrors begin for him. lots of pangs re: tim’s sense of identity/worth, his aching loneliness as he slowly finds his way back to the family, and especially notable angst re: his relationship with an older damian. (before he died it was: bad. this story takes a very hopeful approach to their future.) i also adore the timkon & core four threads here. as a bonus, the first fic in the series is damian pov and, imo, extremely worth reading both fics for maximum pangs.

Hear it in your tone (you’re slowly letting go) by sexyPineappleMan (wip)

a take on “bruce is tim’s biological father” that is so far doing everything i would want with this premise, and delivers a buffet of pangs from chapter one. tim is brilliant, lonely, and hurting in this joins-the-family-late au—that also sees him as a (former) olympic hopeful gymnast, a non-robin tim identity i love—and i’m equally compelled by the angst/looming reveals, and by the intrigue of the plot itself. i’ve been well fed so far and am eagerly awaiting more.

Our Bodies & Other Fine Machines by @sunflowersandink

in which robin!tim is dealt a very specific kind of difficult hand and (you may be sensing a pattern here) tries to deal with it entirely on his own. the way there’s so much tension and angst hanging over a scene about eating pancakes speaks to the kind of story this is: one where every single detail is used for maximum potential. i return to this one for its prime tim pangs, and i still forget, every time, just how well executed they are and how the plot builds to a top-notch reveal and resolution. (heads up for food insecurity/disordered eating in this one, do mind the notes!)

some of us have childhoods that aren't poems on sight (but darling, you're doing alright) by mrs_d

specifically chapter 21, which has a fully executed pang arc that almost lets it read like a standalone story. don’t get me wrong, there are pangs threaded throughout—tim in this story is very lonely and primed to expect lack of care—but the misunderstanding between alfred and tim in the second half of this chapter is really notable. it’s simple and technically low-stakes compared to what else is happening in the plot, but the stakes feel high to us (and to the characters).

How to Proceed by @philosophersandfools

another reverse robins fic, this one a oneshot that pulls off its premise both efficiently and potently. here we see a teenage eldest brother damian, who has softened a bit (especially since a very young jason and dick have already been brought into the fold) but still distrusts and dislikes his father’s new mentee, 14 y/o tim. that distrust stems from damian’s misunderstanding of tim’s intentions/situation and leads to some excellent pangs before a decisive resolution.

this is nowhere near an exhaustive list and i reserve the right to update with additions later 💪

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process. 

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?” 

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament. 

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones. 

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch. 

He won't. Not inwardly.  

“I…” your jaw clenched. 

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it. 

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough. 

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.” 

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you. 

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this. 

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.” 

“Exfil point?” 

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job. 

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand. 

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look. 

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed. 

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different. 

This was betrayal. 

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights. 

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil. 

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig. 

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?” 

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.” 

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?” 

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him. 

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth. 

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up. 

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back. 

You wouldn’t be coming back to him. 

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough. 

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him. 

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs. 

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking. 

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…” 

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion. 

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him. 

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone. 

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together. 

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?” 

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.” 

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.” 

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right. 

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room. 

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?” 

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.” 

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this. 

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth. 

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty. 

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you. 

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you. 

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong. 

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing. 

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior. 

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean? 

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground. 

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet. 

“Trick’s in the damn building!” 

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach. 

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther. 

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon. 

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it. 

But Simon had not. 

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast. 

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!” 

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder. 

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same. 

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself. 

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils. 

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared. 

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources. 

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him. 

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless. 

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch. 

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you. 

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away. 

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons. 

You’d never be able to tell him now. 

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting. 

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal. 

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.” 

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips. 

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing. 

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why. 

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really. 

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw. 

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated. 

He scoffs. “Of course.” 

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain. 

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears. 

“Let me get my knives.” 

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal. 

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away. 

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson. 

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this. 

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to. 

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips. 

It was half your choice, after all. 

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could. 

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips. 

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt. 

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg. 

You blink over at him, raising a brow. 

“Looking for me, Ghosty?” 

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above. 

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.” 

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash. 

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.” 

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement. 

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name. 

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars. 

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one. 

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs. 

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts. 

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present. 

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion. 

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?” 

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood? 

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder. 

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe. 

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base. 

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars. 

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state. 

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.” 

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down. 

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat. 

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker. 

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming. 

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up. 

“Good.” 

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.” 

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal. 

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.” 

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles. 

The slam of a body to the ground. 

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline. 

“Slag,” he spits. 

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter. 

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.” 

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell. 

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again. 

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf. 

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant. 

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!” 

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets. 

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you. 

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!” 

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now. 

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing. 

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain. 

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped. 

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!” 

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating. 

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!” 

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling. 

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done. 

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.” 

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time. 

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.” 

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.” 

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.” 

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights. 

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly. 

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore. 

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered. 

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists. 

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed. 

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks. 

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach. 

You wanted to see Simon. 

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear. 

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver. 

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate. 

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room. 

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you. 

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare. 

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward. 

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.” 

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling. 

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow. 

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing. 

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving. 

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse. 

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be. 

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.” 

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours. 

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock. 

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips. 

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh. 

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive. 

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference. 

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him. 

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

TAGS:

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[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 6

pairing: Lance Stroll x Reader, Grid x Reader

summary: you and lance have a talent for traumating the grid *insert emotional damage meme here*

requests open masterlist series masterlist

———————————

It was safe to say that that you and Lance were still very much in your honeymoon phase when you got to testing. Both of you very tan from your weeks spent on the beach.

“Y/n! You surprised the world when you announced your marriage and name change, Anything you want to say about it?” One of your favorite interviewers asks you as you walk hand in hand to the paddock with Lance.

“Sure, yeah. Lance and I have been together for a long time, so getting married was just the natural next step. It was a small wedding with close friends and family. Regarding my new name, alittle over a year ago, Kimi offered to mentor me and we forged a very close bond. He is basically my father and his kids are my siblings, so with the blessing of the family I wanted to honor the relationship the best way I knew how. Racing under the Räikkönen name is such a huge honor and I can’t thank my dad and family enough for the honor,” you beam, more than happy to talk about your family.

“How did Kimi react when you told him you were taking his name both legally and when racing,” she asks, your joy infectious.

“He was so happy, I told him at the wedding, yeah. We are such a tight family, I can’t thank them enough for bringing me into their family and allowing me to take their last name. And Lance has been wonderful about it, he actually suggested hyphenating the names,” you tell her. Usually you are pretty tight lipped, but you with happily talk with her.

“Alright, onto what actually matters. How are you feeling going into testing with Red Bull?” she asks and you take a step back into your normal interview style.

“Good. I certainly miss Checo here, but the car feels good. We will see how testing goes and work from there,” Lance gives you a look that says you will be late and the journalist notices.

“Thanks for chatting, and congratulations,” she says and you nod in thanks before walking away.

“You look very hot today, Mrs Räikkönen-Stroll,” Lance says kissing the side of your head.

“Maybe so, but nothing compares to you post race,” your cheeks flame a little. Lance pulls you into a small alley between motorhomes. You are pressed against the wall as Lance kisses you, hands tangled in each other’s hair.

“OH MY GOD!” you hear Daniel shriek.

“MY EYES!” Valtteri screams. Lance quickly pulls away from you as the four of you look at each like deer in the headlights. Daniel and Valtteri quickly walk away, leaving you and Lance giggling like school kids.

The club atmosphere was off when you walked in, taking a seat beside Logan. Valtteri can’t look you in the eyes while Daniel isn’t sure whether his is proud or scarred for life.

“Fernando, I was not aware of your taste in books,” Nico says, a little flushed thinking about what they had to read.

“Yeah, a smut book? We do have innocent eyes here,” Kevin looks at you and Logan.

“Innocent?” Logan asks, a breathy laugh behind it.

“The beach scene?” Lewis suggests you all start on.

“The writing was phenomenal, the author really captured the emotions and sensations. It read so raw, so lifelike. It was one of the few times that art imitated life. She captured every intimate thought and feeling that a woman gets when she is having sex. I remember during the honeymoon when Lance and I did something similar on the private beach and wow, the author really nailed it,” you say, not quite realizing what you had just revealed to the group.

“Damn, Y/n, I didn’t realize you and Lance were freaks like that. Respect,” Daniel says, never being one to shy away from sex. Your face twists in mortification at what you unintentionally revealed. The guys look at eachother mortified as well.

You were an adult, they knew that, but in their subconscious mind you haven’t done anything more than kiss a boy. That’s how you end up following them as they storm across the paddock.

“Logan! Help me stop them,” you look at him with panic in your eyes as the group nears the Aston Martin garage.

“Hell no, this is so funny,” he says and you huff. You see the guys cornering Lance.

“YOU RUINED OUR DAUGHTER?!” Fernando yells at his teammate. You just want to sink into a corner and die, similar to how Lance appears.

“Our precious, innocent, child. What’s next? Logan has slept with a girl?” Valtteri says.

“HEY!” Logan yells in offense. The guys’ faces drain of more color.

“You too? This isn’t ok,” Kevin says and you spot Max and Lando trying not to laugh, the two of them having seen the commotion and wanted to check it out.

“I think you guys are forgetting that the three of us are consenting adults, we aren’t kids anymore,” you say softly, Logan and Lance standing by you, the latter still scared.

“Tell that to Kimi,” Nico chuckles and you groan at the mention of your dad.

“Alright, stop harassing my teammate, we have meetings,” Max breaks everyone up, leading you away.

“Thanks, Maxie,” you let out a breath of relief.

“Do I want to know?” he laughs.

“No, I don’t think so,” you return his laugh. You just hope that your book club meeting will be smoother tomorrow morning.

The next morning, you walk into the room happy and perky as usual.

“You okay, Fernando?” Logan asks when he notices Fernando on his third cup of coffee and the tiredness in his eyes.

“The hotel has thin walls. My hotel room shares a wall with Lance’s,” Fernando says, giving you a look that makes you blush in embarrassment, wishing the earth would open up and eat you whole.

“It is natural. They are young and in love, maybe we will have a baby Stroll soon,” Lewis says and your eyes light up.

“We will!” you say, quickly pulling out your phone. The older drivers hearts sink, all slightly panicking. “Oh my god, I’m not pregnant guys, we are just getting a puppy,” you laugh at their faces.

“I would like to make a motion to kick Y/n out of the book club due to the amount of emotional distress she has given the members this weekend,” Valtteri says, and your jaw drop.

“Alright alright, but you don’t understand the almost of trauma I went through having rooms that neighbored all of you during my first year here,” you point your finger at all of them.

“Motion denied,” Daniel sighs, knowing he was probably one of the main culprits.

“So, this dog?” Nico says, changing the subject.

instagram

y/username EVERYONE MEET MY BABY!

since I’m too young to have a baby (according to the club) here is my baby holding our baby, Milo Stroll ❤️🐾🐶

logansargeant look at how big his paws are! he’s gonna be a big boy 😍

y/username his favorite uncle 🥰

danielricciardo @y/username I take offense to that

user1 y/n really had me in the first half

nicohulkenberg she had us too the first time she brought up Milo in conversation

lancestroll what a hot mama 😮‍💨

y/username nothing compared to the absolute DILF holding my sweet puppy in the picture

georgerussel MY EYES! MY INNOCENT EYES

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 1

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

characteraesthetics | socials&intro | one | two | three | four | five | six |

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Ahaana Patel was an enigma wrapped in stardom. She’d emerged onto the Bollywood scene with a debut that was nothing short of explosive, pro shaking up the industry and catapulting herself into the hearts of millions. She featured in a movie of one of the most celebrated Indian directors, Karan Johar, alongside her costars Varun Dhawan and Sidharth Malhotra, and hasn't looked back since. It was a journey no one, least of all her academically fixated parents in Ahmedabad, could have foreseen. From their meticulously structured plans of engineering degrees and Ivy League aspirations to the glitzy chaos of movie premieres and magazine covers, her story was the epitome of unpredictability.

Now, twelve years later, Ahaana strode confidently through the paddock of the Chinese Formula One Grand Prix. Her steps were light, but her presence was impossible to ignore. The roar of engines, the sharp tang of gasoline, and the relentless buzz of the crowd enveloped her in a world she had come to know well over the years.

Dressed in attire that matched the casual coolness of the paddock air, a fitted white top and denim skirt. Her hair, perfectly styled despite the chaos of travel, swayed gently as she moved, her signature smile lighting up the faces of everyone she passed.

The first race of the 2024 season was underway, and the paddock was a symphony of excitement. Engineers tinkered with machines that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime, journalists scrambled for the perfect soundbite, and VIP guests mingled in their designer ensembles, trying to look like they belonged. Ahaana, however, didn’t need to try—she was a natural here.

“Ahi!”

The familiar Dutch accent cut through the cacophony, and Ahaana turned, her eyes narrowing playfully as Max Verstappen approached. Helmet in hand, the reigning world champion exuded confidence. His movements were deliberate, his gaze sharp, but the moment he saw Ahaana, his expression softened ever so slightly.

“Max,” she greeted, her voice laced with mock seriousness. “Are you ready to win, or should I start drafting my consolation speech now?”

Max rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Your faith in me is touching. Truly inspiring. Maybe you should stick to Bollywood instead of doubting world champions.”

“And miss this circus?” Ahaana gestured grandly at the bustling paddock around them. “Not a chance.”

Their bond was one of playful banter and unspoken trust, forged in the early days of her association with Red Bull. At first, their interactions had been fraught with the awkwardness of two young professionals forced into photoshoots and promotional events. But as time passed, they found common ground in their shared struggles—both carried the weight of their fathers’ expectations and both were determined to carve their own paths. What began as reluctant camaraderie soon blossomed into a sibling-like relationship. Max truly saw Ahaana as a little sister, and always would.

“Where’s Kelly?” Ahaana asked, scanning the crowd for Max’s girlfriend.

“She’s around,” Max replied, shrugging. “Probably hunting you down.”

As if on cue, Kelly Piquet appeared, her presence as radiant as ever. Spotting Ahaana, she broke into a wide grin and pulled her into a warm hug. “Ahaana! I didn’t know you were coming today. Otherwise, I’d have brought P—she misses you.”

Ahaana beamed. “I miss her too. We’re calling her as soon as these boys get in their tractors.”

“Tractors?” Max echoed, feigning offense. Ahaana gave him a look that baited him to argue with her on that. Thinking better of it, Max just shrugged. Another familiar voice joined the fray.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Red Bull’s golden girl.”

Ahaana turned to see Lando Norris, the ever-charming McLaren driver, strolling toward them. His grin was as cheeky as ever, his orange, oh sorry papaya, jacket standing out starkly against the sea of Red Bull merch.

“Lando,” Ahaana greeted with mock disdain. “Lost your way from all the oranges. Here let me show you, its that garage with a mark that looks like a disfigured comma.”

“It’s papaya and you know it. You’re obsessed with me , aren’t you?” Lando shot back, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Admit it—you came all the way here just to see me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ahaana replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Couldn’t resist the charm of McLaren’s poster boy.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t deal with both of you.”

The banter continued until race preparations called for Max and Lando’s attention. Kelly and Ahaana waved them off, heading toward the lounge.

The race was a spectacle, with Max clinching victory and Lando following closely behind in P2. The podium celebrations were a blur of champagne showers and roaring applause, but the real festivities began that evening.

The group—Max, Kelly, Lando, Carlos Sainz, Rebecca, Carlos’s girlfriend, and Ahaana—found themselves in a luxurious nightclub, the VIP section buzzing with energy. Neon lights danced across the room, the bass of the music reverberating through their bodies.

“Did you hear?” Rebecca leaned closer to Kelly and Ahaana, her voice conspiratorial. “Apparently, Alex cheated on Charles.”

Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking!”

Ahaana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How do you know?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Word travels fast in the paddock. Apparently, Charles tried to break up with her, but she keeps avoiding the conversation.”

“Classic denial,” Ahaana remarked, sipping her drink.

Kelly shook her head. “Why doesn’t he just cut her off?”

“He wants a clean break,” Rebecca explained. “But Alex is… persistent.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as the night wore on. Lando, ever the photographer, took candid shots of the group, earning playful protests from his friends.

By 3 A.M., the nightclub was still alive with energy, but Ahaana needed a breather. She stepped out onto a balcony, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat inside. The city lights stretched out before her, their glow reflected in the glass of the towering buildings.

She wasn’t alone for long.

“Hey, Ferrari,” she said, spotting Charles Leclerc leaning against the railing, a glass of whiskey in hand.

Charles glanced at her, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” Ahaana replied, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “But you looked like you could use some company.”

Charles chuckled softly, though the melancholy in his eyes remained. “Maybe I do.”

Ahaana joined him at the railing, their gazes fixed on the cityscape. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them comfortable.

“Rough night?” Ahaana asked eventually.

Charles hesitated before nodding. “Something like that.”

Ahaana studied him, her expression thoughtful. “You know, brooding doesn’t suit you. You should try smiling—it might just solve all your problems.”

Charles couldn’t help but smile, albeit faintly. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Ahaana replied, her tone light. “But if you’re not ready to smile yet, I’ll settle for a drink.”

Charles handed her his glass without a word. She accepted it, taking a small sip before handing it back.

“Not bad,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Charles looked at her, truly looked at her for the first time. The neon lights from the club painted her features in hues of pink and blue, her hair catching the faint breeze. There was something about her—an effortless charm, a warmth that drew people in.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“Ahaana,” she replied, extending a hand.

Charles took it, his grip firm but gentle. “Charles.”

“I know,” Ahaana said with a grin. “You ready to party now, Red?”

Charles chuckled, a genuine laugh this time, and downed the rest of his drink. “Lead the way.”

And just like that, the night took on a new energy, two strangers finding unexpected companionship amidst the chaos of flashing lights and thundering music.

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ᝰ.ᐟ first part! i know this isn't much, but i plan on writing more and this is just the start. i hope you aren't freaked out by the rather rustic writing and keep reading the chapters to come!

next

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @ho3smadd

comment to be added to taglist

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© weekendlusting

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[hinata6uchiha]

I write Hinata centric fanfics under the name Hinata6 and here are my stories in case you’re interested in checking them out! ☺️ This list will be updated whenever a new story is posted.

- Glass Tears: When marriages teeter on the brink of collapse, four souls find themselves caught in a web of emotional turmoil. As Hinata grapples with Naruto's neglect, she and Sasuke discover an unexpected connection, forging a deep and comforting friendship. Yet beneath this newfound bond, Hinata quietly harbors a growing affection for Sasuke, a secret that adds an undercurrent of tension to their lives. No cheating. Slow Burn. (Ongoing | SasuHina)

-Quietly, Yours: After losing everything, Sasuke Uchiha shut the world out, except for Hinata Hyūga, the gentle, stubborn girl who refused to let him be alone. Bound by friendship, they grow side-by-side until Sasuke’s darkness pulls him away. Years pass, marked by war and regret, until fate reunites them, forcing Sasuke to confront feelings he's denied for too long. Amidst loss, courage, and hope, Sasuke and Hinata learn that love sometimes speaks loudest in quiet moments. (Ongoing - SasuHina)

-Paper Rings & Broken Hearts: Their marriage is nothing more than a contract, empty and cold. Sasuke finds solace in Sakura, while Hinata drifts toward Kakashi, seeking the warmth she was never given. Bound by duty but longing for something more, they walk the fine line between loyalty and betrayal, unraveling in the arms of those they were never meant to love. SasuHina story. (Ongoing - SasuHina/KakaHina)

-Shadows in Bloom: Shikamaru has quietly carried a crush on Hinata Hyuga for two years, watching her from the sidelines as she admired Naruto from afar. He kept his feelings hidden, knowing her heart was set elsewhere, but now things are changing. As fate draws them into each other’s orbit, he begins to see sides of Hinata that he never noticed before, beyond the shy, gentle girl he once knew. (Completed | ShikaHina)

-Troublesome: Many things were troublesome to him...but she wasn't one of them. (One-shot | ShikaHina)

-Silent Confessions in the Snow: Sasuke finds himself drawn to Hinata in ways he can't quite explain. The reserved Hyuga has captured his attention, and for the first time in his life, Sasuke is navigating the unfamiliar terrain of having a crush. Struggling to find the right words, he discovers that some moments speak louder than anything he could say. (One-shot | SasuHina)

-Snowfall Promises: Hinata Hyuga thought she understood love—until her relationship with Hidan unraveled into a storm of betrayal and manipulation. Left broken and wary, she never expected her childhood best friend, Shikamaru Nara, to be the steady hand pulling her from the wreckage. (One-shot | ShikaHina)

[aveaveria]

Hi!! I looove your take on Dick, your writing is amazing. I was wondering if you have any fanfic recs for him 👉👈. I'm open to anything. Thanks a bunch 🥰

Thank you so much for the kind words, dear anon, 🥰 and sorry for the wait! I recommend checking out multiple fanfictions by these authors but I limited my recs to one per author. 😊 I hope the recs are to your taste—if not all, then some of them!

🪴Gen Dick Grayson Fic Recs

Little Suns by ScarlettSwordMoon

While Bruce was presumed dead, Dick adopted Damian. Now that Bruce has returned, the three of them struggle to adjust to the new status quo. AKA Five times Dick struggled with being a father and a son, and one time he got the balance right.

Little Suns is a wonderful exploration of Dick's time as Batman and relationship with Damian shortly before Bruce's return and after. Dick is immensely grateful for the added time he can spend with Bruce after all, but the patriarch being back means old and new problems return too.

The Dark Embrace by TheOakTreeGhost

It was four hours until the break of dawn, and while full moon was high in the sky, it’s silver gleam barely penetrated the inside of the edifice. Most of its windows were purposefully designed to keep the light out, after all. Careful not to let his footsteps echo, Batman walked past the entrance hall and the visitor center, then turned left to go to the west wing. A long, dust-encrusted corridor with tiled floors that had never lined-up properly extended before him, its cracks resembling veins from which dried up sprouts grew, and then, deprived of any nourishment, withered. Though now hollow of its utilitarian grandeur, the walls were still too tall yet too claustrophobic, their deteriorating blankness forging grotesque monsters out of peeling paint and grime. They watched him. Judged him. And they found him wanting. OR When the Batcomputer picks up on strange readings coming from the abandoned Gotham City Youth Center, Batman must go investigate.

I wish the Dark Embrace were a canon comic because it has everything that makes mystery stories great. It's a great detective story showing how Dick operates on his lonesome and then with an alternate universe Bruce at his side while they fight scary monsters!

Behind Every Mask (There Is a Path to a Heart) by NyxKvistad

Gordon promised himself he wouldn't accept the kid as part of the team. It's a promise he didn't think he would have to break. Robin, Richard, Dick, that kid changed his mind, just like he changed Bruce's life.

Fics about Dick's early crime fighting career have their very own charm. Behind Every Mask explores very sweetly and humorously the way not only Bruce and Dick but also Jim and Dick grow together during nightly rooftop meetings.

Obfuscated by A Mess (ErebosBlue)

Cass, still being new to the family, is confused by Dick Grayson. He does not make it better when he talks with her, but he does pique her interest in ways that not many are able to. Because Dick is hard to read and yet so easy to trust. To get behind. - Dick Grayson Week: Dick’s Undervalued Competency

A wonderful character study of Dick as the seasoned crime fighter and big brother of the Bat Clan by Cass Cain herself.

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot by J.T.

Damian has a bit too much to drink at the New Year’s party, and he decides it’s an opportune time to discuss important matters with Grayson and Father.

Gala fics and this trio just give me nostalgia. It's a wonderful feeling to read fics like these. They are my favorite non-nuclear family trio.

The Rule Stands by Engineered

“I know what you’re going to say, Batman,” Damian said, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. “You’re going to tell me that Nightwing is dead, and that people don’t come back from the dead. Well, clearly you are wrong, seeing that you were dead and I was dead and Red Hood was dead and even Superman was once dead-” “My parents are dead,” Father interrupted. “Nightwing’s parents are dead. There have been a few notable exceptions in extenuating circumstances, Robin, but the rule stands. Everyone can die.” OR Damian meets a 10-year-old Dick Grayson, and they become best friends.

The Rule Stands shows why Dick Grayson will always have a special place in Damian's heart. Their relationship in this is very rooted in canon while also introducing a time travel twist, which gives Damian an opportunity to bond with little Grayson and shows the contrast to how much he loves adult Grayson as a big brother, friend and parent.

🛳️ Ship and Ship-Gen Dick Grayson Recs

Hanging Work by Lucy Gillam (cereta)

Bruce/Dick Two tickets to a circus never used, a little boy forgotten, and a chance meeting. Of such things are legends made.

One of the classics. Any Bruce/Dick reader must at least know of its existance. If you enjoy Different Mentor AUs, definitely read Lucy's series. This is Selina raising Dick.

Stars and Cinders by victoriousscarf

Dick-centric with a side of Slade/Dick and Jason/Dick Bruce Wayne makes a really awful Jedi. His padawans are not much better. That Batman Star Wars AU no one asked for.

Maybe no one asked for this but it remains THE Star Wars/Batman fic. It's a very satisfying crossover world that victoriousscarf built.

An Arm Full of Feelings by Sophie

Dick gets shot and has to be brought to Superman's Fortress to heal. He meets a tentacle alien that he befriends, and also possibly sort of starts dating. No one really approves much.

I approve, though. A lot. This is the sweetest tentacle sex Dick has ever gotten and will ever get. Just be mindful that it is underage.

Territory by TooFazed

Thomas Sr./Dick with a side of Bruce/Dick Thomas blames it on Bruce. A little at least. Because Bruce said son, not sons.

Flashpoint Thomas Wayne comes in contact with the mainline, most importantly Dick, meaning he therefore doesn't mess everything up. A BDSM exploration of Dick's mental state.

Naked As We Came by klose

Bruce/Dick "As it happens," he says, letting humour crinkle his eyes as his gaze flickers towards the other end of the table -- "I believe Dick would make a fantastic trophy wife." Fix-it for for this headcanon: "Bruce secretly longs to marry Dick, but after joking with him about it for so long he’s afraid Dick will say no. He can’t take the thought of that rejection and so he keeps the ring in his back pocket. It’s his father’s."

I devoure Klose's fics when I first came here, and she had banger opinions on Timblr too. She captures the romantic Bruce is, especially when it's about Dick, really well. And they are pining, your honor. Pining. Bruce and Dick are a married couple and chickens about it anyway.

He Shouldn't Have Interfered by WorldsUnreal

How Clark found out about Bruce and Dick. Or rather, how Clark mistook their completely appropriate feelings for something else and then it turns out he had been right all along.

One of the first DC fics I ever read and the first multi-chapter I followed on AO3. Clark being wrong but totally right is hilarious. I think other characters recognizing Bruce and Dick's mind boggling fated love is always delicious to read.

Klarion’s Curse by ilyena_sylph, Merfilly

Slade hunted the wrong witch, and gets an interesting curse.

Klarion's curse made me ship Slade & Dick, and it is a blast full with pre-N52 canon. Additionally, the fic has a unique Slade and Dick dynamic I haven't seen in fandom much to this date. Dinah is a fun and refreshing support character.

When I read these first fics the DCU was like a strange new world I stumbled into. These fics and many others are the reasons I learned to love the DCU. Don't forget to check out the referenced comics too. You will enjoy them. Trust. 💚

[mikeluciraphgabe]

“Blind Al lets Logan move in until Wade and him move across the hall a few months later-“

AND LAURA!!

LOGAN AND LAURA MAKE A WEIRD DAUGHTER/FATHER R/S WITH WADE AS THE DAD WHO STEPPED UP

LAURA LIVES WITH THEM FOR A COUPLE OF YEARS IN THE ‘GUEST’ (her) ROOM

Laura makes some friends from the local college who become roommates down the street from Logan and Wade (never too far) and help her enroll to the same and other locals [colleges] a bit later

Logan and Wade help her forge all of her ‘past schoolings’ and stuff so she looks like she’s definitely had a normal life. Yep. Nothing to see here. Just a normal 22 yo getting her life together

(Not that you NEED college to have your life together - it’s just how Laura’s life went)

Laura walks across the stage about three years later - having took a four year major but did it in three - and looks out in the crowd to see her weird ass family she made along the way

Her roommates turned life long friends, Blind Al whose turned into a weird grandma figure, Peter whose kinda like an uncle, Venessa whose label isn’t solid; balancing between mother, aunt, friend, Wade’s friends/family becoming her own friends/family

And most importantly she saw Logan looking at her like she’s his everything. It’s not the same man, not at all, but he’s still her dad.

The years were strange to build their timid but solid relationship

They had to balance the fact Logan wasn’t her Logan, no matter how similar/not similar they were. They had to balance the fact that, yes, they still care for each other on a deep and intimate level. Logan, most of all, had to come to terms that, despite not being his, Laura was his.

And of course, Laura saw Wade, wearing a matching jogging suit with her face printed all over it with a foam-finger reading “number one Laura fan” as she walked across

[laundryandtaxes]

The reason that tariffs against China will not last long-term is not just that Americans will not tolerate all of their useless overconsumption trinkets more than doubling in price for four years, although that is also true. The reason they will not last is that the notion that China would somehow just die if it lost 15% of its export market when it has the ability to basically value its own currency, greater export potential than the US in every single consumer economy or consumer group in the world, the ability to control its own markets to many extents, and strong international relations forged for the past many decades while America has openly given up the notion that it's relationships with other nations are for anything other than exploitation, is outright, simply nonsensical; therefore, there is simply no real benefit to maintaining them long-term except potentially political points, which will wane quickly as people feel the crushing weight of tariffs on even the raw materials which would in theory be needed in order to manufacture in the US.