#so here is the beginning of suffering loop

[askkaimei]

I personally think Miku in BMATTOA is a bit Mary Sue, no ofense

bro, if she charged to the tower by herself, overcame all the trials alone, somehow alive, ran to the top, jumped so high she punched the gods herself & saved THE ENTIRE WORLD FROM ANY MORE TRIALS IN THE FUTURE,

i would say she is mary sue

BUT BRO, she did nothing but CRYING AND ACCEPTING HER MISERABLE FATE while LOSING HER FRIENDS

probably never gonna step down from that tower ever again because u saw neru was there, probably she is going to be there just like her until the next messiah that went through JUST the same kind of despair come hundred years later

[madebycloud]

Ex at Christmas

violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you've been invited to spend the christmas with your ex-girlfriend's family. only one problem is that your ex-girlfriend has not told anyone that the relationship is over. (requested by anon) warnings/themes: fluff and angst, found family af, fake dating, ex lovers, christmas, family gatherings, secret santa, everyone is alive and happy au, modern au vi just begging for you to take her back? words: 17.3k.... (i got carried away) notes: it's so long i should've cut it into parts but idk where... so suffer (╥﹏╥) — ✩ part one, part two

As always, the last drop is a lively spot. warm, cozy, and familiar. Colorful lights hang from the ceiling, a decorated tree stands in the corner, a 'merry christmas' painted on the wall, even a few strings of garland have been hung from the low ceiling.

People are crowding around the bar. Some are playing pool, some are simply chatting amongst themselves, cigarette smoke curling up toward the ceiling.

Vander's voice snaps you from your thoughts. “Look who finally showed her face around here.” He reaches over the top of the bar to ruffle your hair.

“I know, I know.” You laugh, swatting his hand away. “Things are just... busy, y'know?” 

Vander rests his forearms on the countertop, leaning closer to you. “Just making sure you're still alive. “Been an awful long while since I last saw you.”

“I've been fine, old man.” 

“Glad to hear you're doing alright kid. Haven't seen you around here in, what, three months? You need to come by more often, keep an old guy company.” He chuckles. “I almost thought you'd vanished.”

“You sound like a grandma with kids that never call.”

Vander grins and winks at you, taking a rag and wiping at the bartop. “You're like a kid to me, so I guess it checks out.”

You scoff but say nothing, leaning against the bartop as your eyes start to travel across the room. A few people mill about that you recognize as regular patrons, but other than that, there's pretty much no one of interest.

Vander snorts and lifts the rag to his shoulder. “We're having our christmas gathering again this year, you should swing by. Just like last christmas, eh?”

A lot has changed for you in the past month, and you've been dreading this coming up. “I... don't know. I don't think so.”

Vander raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you don't know? Not up to seeing the old gang again?”

“Not exactly,” you murmur, the memory of the breakup is still fresh. It's not that you don't want to see your friends, it's just the idea of seeing Vi again. “It's not that, I just... things have changed, especially recently. I don't want to... accidentally make things awkward or something.”

Vander shakes his head and it almost seems like he's laughing at you. “Why would it be awkward?”

“I don't know…” You sigh, your shoulders slumping in resignation. “Nevermind it, I'm going.”

Your words get a smirk out of Vander, and he reaches over to poke your arm. “That's what I like to hear.” He gives you a wink, folding his arms across his chest. “You better show up or I'll drag you here myself. You know I could.”

“Like I'd let you drag me here, old man—there's no way your back can handle that.”

“Ah, you kids these days have no respect for your elders. You're gonna break my old back and then I'll die,” he pretends to sniffle, making you scoff.

Silco then walks over, looping his arms around Vander's shoulders. The two of them exchange a knowing glance before Silco turns his attention to you. “Look who actually decided to show up.”

Vander laughs as he pats Silco's arm. “Cut the kid some slack. They're just here to have a good time.”

Silco chuckles, his eyes still on you. “So are you coming on Christmas?”

You rub at the back of your neck, and just as you're about to answer, Vander beats you to it. “Yeah, she's coming,” he confirms.

Silco hums, he lifts his arm from off Vander, resting it in his hip instead. “Good, I was beginning to think you were going to weasel your way out of it.”

Vander smacks his shoulder. “Lay off, would ya? let the kid breathe.”

Silco relents and waves his hand dismissively. “I'm just saying.” He looks back at you. “We all want you there, you know. It wouldn't be the same without you.”

Hearing them say that makes you feel guilty for even considering not going. You know they mean it. You just hope it won't be too much awkward with Vi there.

Vander nods and smiles. “He's right, you know. Everyone's been asking about you. They'll be happy to have you there.”

“I get it. You don't have to butter me up, old man.”

Vander chuckles, then he glances over his shoulder, gesturing to a small, unassuming box on a nearby table. “Hey, could you grab that little box over there for me?” Silco smirks and nods before moving to get the box, bringing it over and handing it to Vander.

“What's in the box?” you ask.

Vander grins at you, holding the box in his hands. “We're doing a secret santa,” he explains, “and since you’re coming that means you're participating too.”

Your eyebrows raise to your hairline. You'd completely forgotten about the secret santa. You groan in annoyance, running your hands over your face. “I'm still annoyed I got that whoopee cushion from Powder last year.”

“That was a good one. She was so damn proud of herself too, and besides…” Vander pauses, turning to look at you. “You never know, you might get something less annoying this year.” He then holds the box out to you, a smile on his lips.

There's always the possibility you won't get something shitty, but knowing most of your friends... Yeah, that's unlikely.

You look at the box, then up at Vander. You take the box from him. “I hope you're right, old man.”

Vander chuckles before stepping back to talk to Silco.

You turn the box over in your hands, feeling the weight of it. It's not too heavy, and you feel compelled to shake it. But if you do that, you'll probably end up drawing Vander's name, and that's basically cheating.

Sighing, you decide to just bite the bullet. You take the lid off the box, sticking your hand inside. Your fingers rummage around before they eventually close around a folded piece of paper.

You pull out the slip of paper, unfolding it slowly. You glance at the handwriting, then almost roll your eyes.

Of course you got Vi.

Out of all the names you could have drawn, you get the one person you didn't want to get. You could have gotten literally anyone else. Mylo, Claggor, Powder, Silco, or anyone other than Vi. but no, you had to get your ex. Just your luck.

You look at the note again, and the first thought that comes to your mind is...

Well, crap.

You're so focused on the slip of paper in your hands that you don't notice Vander and Silco peeking over your shoulder.

“So, who'd you get?”

Vander's question makes you jump, you quickly stuff the paper into your pocket before they can see who it is.

“No one,” you say, waving your hand to dismiss the question. “It's not important.”

Silco raises an eyebrow. “Then why are you pocketing the paper?”

“It's a secret for a reason.”

Vander and Silco glance at each other, and you can tell they're silently communicating. 

Vander turns back to you a moment later, rubbing his jaw. “A secret, huh? Well, that means whoever you got won't know it's you.”

Silco hums. “That's probably a good thing.” 

“That's kind of the point of a secret Santa.”

Vander nods, scratches his beard before his lips turn up in a smile. “True means you can give them something real nice.”

Silco glances at Vander before looking at you. “Whoever you got is probably going to be very happy when they get their gift.”

You almost snort at Silco's words. Yeah, right. a gift from you? She’ll probably chuck it straight in the trash.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to shake the thoughts of Vi out of your head. You don't know why you're worried about how she'll react. Why care if she'll like the gift? Why care if she's happy with whatever you get her?

The answer is so obvious, but you don't want to admit it even to yourself.

Vander and Silco are still looking at you, and you realize that you have to say something. Any longer and they might figure it out.

You push those thoughts away. “If they'll actually like it. I'm not the best with gifts.”

“Oh, I'm sure they will,” Silco says, a knowing smirk on his face.

Vander nods. “Just give them something from the heart.”

From the heart, my ass. The only thing you want to give her from the heart is a kick in the ass.

“Because someone's gonna be real happy with something from me.”

Vander and Silco exchange another look again, like they're having an entire conversation without actually saying anything.

You turn away from them, looking out the window. They're probably trying to read your mind, figure out who it is you got. The thought makes your eyes twitch. You don't want them to know. You don't know why, but you really don't want them to know.

“Just do us a favor,” Silco suddenly says, cutting into the silence that had fallen between you. “Try not to stress too hard about it. You'll give yourself gray hairs.”

Vander chuckles at Silco's words, “You'll give us an old heart attack.”

“Ha ha, funny.”

Silco grins at your response. “Well, we're only half-joking.”

Vander's eyes soften. He slaps Silco's shoulder to get him to shut up. “What he means is, you overthink too much,” Vander adds.

Yeah, so what if you overthink? It's a normal thing to do. Especially in situations like this, where you're stuck with the one person you don't want to be.

Why keep thinking about her? You need to stop obsessing over her. She made her choice, and it wasn't you.

You run your fingers to your face, trying to think of something else to distract yourself. It's not like you don't know what you want to get Vi. You just don't know if you should get it.

“I don't overthink,” you grumble, shifting your weight on your feet. 

“Oh yes, you do.”

And they're both right about that. You can't even count how many times you've paced around your apartment, replaying every interaction you had with Vi over and over again in your head. Every word, every touch, and every look. All of it, it's like your brain refuses to let you forget.

You've spent countless nights trying to figure out where you went wrong. What you could have done differently if there was something you could have changed. All of that, just because of one person who tossed you aside without a second thought.

“Listen,” Silco says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You look over at him as he stands up straight, a smirk spreads across his lips. “You're going to drive yourself crazy thinking about something that hasn't even happened yet.”

“He's right,” Vander gives you a look before continuing. “And for the love of God, stop overthinking.”

If only it were that simple. If only you could just switch off your brain and stop thinking about everything. But you know damn well you can't do that. Your thoughts are as uncontrollable as the weather, and right now, they're a mess.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your thoughts. “I should probably go,” you mutter, and the two men nod. 

Vander pats you on the back as you start for the door. “Same place, eh?’ he calls after you. 

“Don't think too hard, kid,” Silco adds.

You give them both a nod as you exit the bar, shutting the door behind you.

Christmas is going to be one hell of a mess this year, you can feel it.

Now all you have to do is figure out how the hell you're going to deal with it.

—

You're standing outside of Vander and Silco’s house, the weight of the present in your hands suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier.

You've replayed this moment in your head countless times, but now that it's happening for real, you're not sure if you're ready.

Christmas music drifts out of the house, it's a familiar tune that you've heard a million times.

You push down the anxiety gnawing at your stomach. You shouldn't be feeling so nervous, it's just a gift. Just a present for a secret santa.

But this isn't just anyone, this is Vi. The one person who you didn't want to get. The one person who broke things off without a second thought.

Stop thinking about this. It's just one night. one stupid night, and then it will be over. You can get through this, you can handle being around Vi for one Christmas. No more thinking about her. No more wondering where you went wrong or if you could have done something to change things. Just get through the night and forget about her.

You take another deep breath, straighten up, and square your shoulders. Then, in one moment, you push open the doors to their house and walk inside.

Your eyes search the room, looking for that familiar pink hair. But you don't see her. Your shoulders relax a little. Maybe she's not here yet. That'll give you a few minutes to brace yourself. No one is around right now, probably in their rooms or preparing for the dinner. 

You were so distracted by looking around that you didn't realize someone was standing right behind you until they grabbed you and spun you around. Your eyes meet their powder blue ones, and your mouth suddenly goes dry.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Woah, hey-” you stumble over your words.

“Don't 'woah hey' me,” she snaps, her grip tightening on your arm.

Vander's deep voice cut in before you could even speak. “You've actually came.”

You feel her look away from you, her hand finally falling from your arm. As soon as it does, you rub the skin where she grabbed you.

Vander looks between the two of you and says, “Hand me the gift, kid. I'll put it there.” He gestures towards a christmas tree where the gifts are already sitting underneath.

You quickly hold the present out for him to take.

He takes it before giving both of you another look. “Go easy with your girlfriend, eh?”

You freeze, your heart stopping as his words register. Your eyes widen as you slowly turn your head to look at Vi.

Girlfriend?

“I will.” Before you can even process what's happening, you're being pulled outside.

You yank your arm back from Vi, quickly putting some distance between the two of you. “What's your problem?”

She spins around and scoffs, looking you up and down. “I should be asking you that. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Vander invited me. He asked me to come.”

“Then you should've said no.”

“Wow? just wow.” You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I know that things didn't go well between us, but you don't get to push me out of this family. They're my family too, and Vander invited me here to celebrate. I have as much right to be here as you do.”

You refuse to break eye contact with her. “You can ignore me all you want, but you don't get to decide how I'm allowed to spend my Christmas. If you want to keep acting like this, fine. Ignore me, pretend I don't exist, just like you've been doing for the past months.”

Vi lets out a laugh, rubbing a hand on her forehead. “They do not know.”

You blink at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks over at the entrance and says, “They all think we're still together.”

Your eyes widen. “What?” you almost shout. “Why the hell would they think that?” “Because I didn't tell them.” She scoffs. “Every time I talk to them, they ask me how you are. Silco and Vander keep making comments about how we make a cute couple. They still think we're together.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell them?” You glare at her. “Were you ever going to?”

“I don't know,” she retorts, throwing her arms up. “They're all so happy about us being together.”

“That's such bullshit,” you snap at her. “That's such a crappy excuse! You should be the one to tell them we broke up.”

She looks away, planting her arm on her hips. “Don't you think I know that?” she shoots back. “It's not that simple. I can't just rip off the bandage like that.”

“Is that it? You’re scared that they'll know?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know how Silco and Vander can get.”

“I know how they get,” you snap back at her. “You're just too much of a pussycat to face them and tell them the truth.”

Her expression hardens, and her jaw clenches. “Look who's talking. You can't even say no to a little family gathering, but here you are.”

“I didn't come here because I wanted to see you. I came for the family, not for you.”

“As if I wanted to see you either. The last thing I wanted was to have to deal with you all night.”

“Fine, you know what? I'll go tell them right now that we broke up. They deserve to know.”

She grabs your wrist before you can take a step towards the door. “Wait”

You look down at her hand, then back up at her. “What?”

“Don't,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just... don't tell them yet.”

You scoff, ripping your arm away from her grip. “Why the hell not? So they can keep thinking we're still together?”

“Just don't tell them tonight. Can you just give me until after Christmas?”

“Why are you still dragging this out? What difference does it make if we wait till then or do it now?”

“Because it's fucking Christmas!” she snaps before dropping her gaze. “Look, it's the holidays. I just... I don't want to ruin Christmas. They've all been looking forward to all of us celebrating together. I don't want to ruin it by spoiling the fun.”

“Wait—let me get this straight. You want to fake it this christmas? Pretend we're still a happy couple?”

She's quiet again. “Yeah,” she whispers, looking down. “Yeah, that's what I'm asking.”

“You're unbelievable, Vi.” You take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself together. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? You're asking me to pretend like we're still together, to pretend that nothing has changed.”

“It's just one day,” she mumbles. “One day, that's all I'm asking for. We can tell them anytime after that, just not tonight, please.”

She even says please. Something about the way she says it makes your heart ache. She looks desperate, like this really means something to her. Who are you kidding? Of course, this means something to her. 

They're her family, they're important to her. And on Christmas, all they want is for everything to be perfect. perfect food, perfect presents, and perfect couples.

You hate the way she's looking at you with those soft, pleading eyes. She always looks at you like that when she wants something, and you always give in. She does it subconsciously, knowing how to get exactly what she wants. And damn it, it works.

“Fine,” you mutter. “You've got your damned wish.”

And there it is. There's the look you've been waiting for. That look of relief that comes to her eyes.

You hate that look. You hate how your heart flutters when she looks like that. You hate it so much. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you've got me for tonight. I'll pretend like we're still together. Happy now?”

There's a flicker of a smile on her face, something quick that's gone before you can even register. “Yeah, thank you.”

She looks away again. Silence falls between the two of you as you shift awkwardly.

This is gonna be a long night.

You sigh, watching as she keeps her focus on the floor. This is so damn awkward.

And it's your own fault for agreeing to this nonsense. There's no way this night doesn't end up being a goddamn catastrophe. You would give anything to just disappear right now.

Powder's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Peeking her head out of the doorway, looking at the two of you. “Hey, you two. It's cold out there, get your asses in here.”

You look at Vi, waiting for a sign of acknowledgment.

She slowly glances up, her gaze meeting yours. “Come on,” she murmurs, holding out her hand.

Taking a deep breath, you take her hand in yours.

You've held her hand so many times before—more times than you can count. Holding her hand used to be nothing, but now it feels so odd. So awkward.

But she doesn't seem to notice how out of place it feels. She slowly leads you towards the door, squeezing your hand as she pulls you along.

“How are my favorite love birds doing?” Mylo's voice greets you as you both enter.

He slings a casual arm over your shoulders, leaning on your shoulder to get a better look at you. “It's about time you two showed up. I thought for sure you were just gonna keep making out in a corner somewhere.”

It takes everything you have not to elbow him in the stomach. Instead, you keep a neutral expression and chuckle awkwardly, “Yeah, you know us. Can't keep our hands off of each other.”

“You two are sickeningly in love, it's really cute, actually.”

Your eye twitches, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah, we're very in love,” Vi says, and you can tell she's trying not to roll her eyes.

Mylo claps you on the shoulder before releasing you. “Well then, I'm going to go find myself some eggnog.” He leaves towards the kitchen, whistling to himself as he goes.

You turn to look at Vi, and you almost feel a twinge of hatred towards the way she so casually holds your hand, like nothing is wrong.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice brings you back to reality, and suddenly you're all too aware of how hard you're clenching your jaw and the fact that you're basically just glowering at the floor with a storm cloud over your head.

You raise your eyes to meet with hers, and you have to force yourself to release some of the tension. “Yeah, fine,” you mutter. “just cold”

It's a lie, obviously. It's not cold at all. Vander always keeps the place nice and warm.

Not even she's dumb enough to fall for that. She glances around, clearly noticing how you're not really hiding your feelings well.

She runs her thumb over the back of your hand. It's an innocent gesture, one that you've seen dozens of times before. It's not meant to be anything special, it never was. And yet, it still makes your heart skip a beat. 

You have absolutely no idea how you're going to get through this night with both your sanity and your heart still intact.

“Okay,” she finally says, “can you stop clenching your jaw so hard? you look like you're trying to grind your teeth down to the bone. I know this isn't the ideal situation, but please don't go around looking like you want to kill everyone in this room.”

Her fingers squeeze your hand, and you realize just how tightly you're holding her hand in yours. Your knuckles are white, and your fingers are probably digging into her skin.

Gritting your teeth, you loosen your grip. 

“There, that's better… please try and just relax for a bit. This is going to be hellish already, so I at least need you to not look like you hate me every second we're in here.”

You look away from her. “Please don't act like you care.”

“I'm not acting like I care,” she says, a tone just loud enough for only you to hear. “I do care, and that's the problem.”

Of course she has to say something like that right now. Of course she has to hit where it hurts the most.

Care? care about what? about you? about what she put you through, how she broke your heart?

You open your mouth, but your response dies in your throat. You have no idea how to respond to that.

A loud shout interrupts your thoughts, and you both turn around. “Oi! Time for dinner!” Powder yells from the doorway into the kitchen.

Vi mutters under her breath, “finally.”

Powder grins as she waves you both over. “Hurry up or Vander will eat everything and complain about his bad back afterwards.”

“We're coming,” Vi calls back.

The two of you head towards the kitchen. There's a long table in the middle of the room, covered in a red and green tablecloth. Everyone is already crowded around the table, taking their seats as you two enter the room. Vander is at the head of one of the tables, Silco seated beside him. Mylo and Claggor are chatting amongst themselves as Powder takes her seat beside Claggor.

Vi looks at the seating arrangement and sighs, realizing what's about to happen. She pulls you over to the table and sits down, pulling you down into the seat right next to her.

After a few moments, everyone quiets down and turns their attention to Silco.

Silco places his hands together. “It's good to see everyone together like this today. I am thankful that we are all here, safe and healthy.” He glances around the room in a quick survey, seeming to count everyone's attendance. “And what better time to be together than the holidays?”

Powder huffs. “Can we just eat? I'm starving.” 

Silco raises his hand for Powder to stay quiet. “Patience, Pow. First, let's do something a bit… different.”

Mylo and Claggor glance at each other in confusion. “Different?” Mylo repeats.

“Indeed,” Silco replies. “Instead of just diving into our meal, I thought it would be nice if we all took a moment to share a few words about what we are thankful for this year.”

“We're really gonna do this?”

Claggor nudges him. “Be polite, Mylo.”

“He's right, though,” Powder chimes in.

Silco raises an eyebrow at them both. “Is it really such a hassle to express gratitude at the end of the year?”

Mylo and Powder grumble something under their breaths.

Claggor is the first one to respond. “I think it's a fine idea.”

“Thank you, Claggor,” Silco replies, “I'm glad we have at least one cooperative person here.”

After a moment of silence, Vander speaks. “Alright, then I'll go first... I am grateful for my family,” he says as he looks around the room. “I am thankful for my health, for my business, and most of all, that everyone is still here with me and safe.”

“That's so soft,” Powder says, but everyone ignores her.

Vander turns his head and looks directly at Silco, as if he's saying something that's meant to be for Silco's ears only, though everyone can clearly hear. “I'm also thankful for you, Sil,” he adds, the corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smile.

You're not sure if you're the only one who noticed, but that comment definitely seemed personal and almost a little out of place.

He collects himself quickly and nods at Vander, seemingly not quite sure of what to say. “Thank you, Vander.” 

Silco clears his throat and composes himself, turning his gaze to Powder. “How about you, Pow? Any words of gratitude?”

Powder groans, slouching back in her seat like a child who's been forced to eat her vegetables. “I swear, if you make me say something corny-”

Mylo leans over the table to look at her sister. “Say something nice for once, or you're not getting dessert.”

“Ugh, fine. I am thankful for…” She looks around the room, taking in everyone's faces. “I'm thankful everyone's here and we're all... whatever, happy and healthy or something like that,” she mumbles.

“I'll take whatever I can get,” Silco mutters before turning his attention to Claggor. “What about you, Claggor?”

Claggor seems to be taking a moment to think, like he's actually putting effort into what he will say. “I'm grateful for…” His eyes are almost unfocused as he thinks. After a moment, he glances up to look at Vander. “I'm grateful for the family I have here.”

Vander gives him a warm look in response.

Everyone's gaze turns to Mylo, expecting him to go next.

He fidgets anxiously, shifting in his seat as he glances around the room. “What am I supposed to say?...er, fine... My whole life's a mess, but...at least all you idiots are here to make my life more miserable.”

“We love you too, Mylo” Powder teases. “Real touching. I think I might cry.”

Mylo throws a glare in her direction. “Shut up.”

Silco glances at Vi, his gaze lingering as he waits for Vi to speak.

“I'm thankful for…” Her voice is quieter than usual, more hesitant. She glances at you before continuing. “I'm... thankful for the people I have in my life.”

Everyone's gaze settles on you next, waiting for you to say something. “Well, I... I guess I'm thankful to be able to still participate in this family gathering, even if I haven't seen everyone in a while.” You take a look at Vi before moving on. “Hopefully I can still be here and spend Christmas with all of you next year too.”

She holds your gaze for a moment, almost as if she's processing what you just said… and then, unexpectedly, a smile forms at the corner of her lips.

It's a subtle change, barely noticeable, but you see it. and just seeing her smile, even a small one like that, has butterflies filling your stomach. It's been so long since you've seen her smile like that. A part of you misses it, a part of you yearns to see it more often.

She quickly looks away, and you notice that her cheeks have turned a light shade of pink.

“There, we all said our little cheesy bullshit,” Powder says, clearly getting impatient.

Silco turns to Powder, his expression disapproving. “Language, Pow,” he reminds. 

Vander sighs. “Yes, Powder, mind your language” he adds, earning a mock-offended look from Powder.

“Like you don't swear all the time.”

“I do not swear all the time, Pow,” he protests, although you know it's a lie. Even the most proper and upstanding people swear, and Vander is definitely not that.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Vander huffs but chooses not to add anything. Silco lets out a dry cough to redirect everyone's attention. “Right, now that that's over, let's go ahead and eat, shall we?” Silco says, as if the whole moment of gratitude never happened..

“Finally,” Mylo grumbles, “I was starting to wonder if you forgot about why we all gathered here.”

Silco gives him a look. “Patience is a virtue, Mylo.”

“We've all been patient for the last hour, so spare me.”

Claggor sighs, but thankfully Mylo and Powder seem to settle into silence for the time being.

Silco nods in approval. “Then, shall we begin?”

Vander gets up from his seat, moving to go grab the food.

Powder and Mylo look at Vander expectantly, and they both look like they're about to get out of their seats. Silco gives them a warning look, silencing them before they can get a word out. “Wait until everything is ready.”

They both grumble, but they obediently sit back down. They're impatient, sure, but they at least know better than to piss off Silco.

Vander returns a moment later, setting a platter filled with food on the table. It looks delicious, and the smell is mouthwatering. Your stomach growls a little, reminding you of how hungry you are.

Powder and Mylo are practically drooling, and you honestly wouldn't be surprised if they lunged for the food the moment Silco gave the word.

Thankfully, he doesn't give them any chance. He simply says, “Please, help yourselves,” and Silco has to gesture for them to wait.

They almost get up and move to the table, and they're clearly resisting the temptation to shove each other to try and get to the food faster.

Mylo lets out a curse, and Powder giggles in response. Vi stands up and grabs both of them, grabbing onto their shoulders and holding them back from each other.

“Enough, you two,” she scolds, “there's plenty of food for everyone. Chill out.”

They look at her with expressions that clearly are saying, 'no, we're hungry'. Powder lets out a huff, and Mylo looks like he's one more remark away from shoving her sister.

Vi's expression sharpens, her eyes boring into Mylo and Powder. “No, quit the bullshit, you can wait a few minutes, and if you two can't act like adults about it, neither of you are getting any.”

Mylo immediately shuts up at that, his expression turning more guilty. Powder just looks like she's about to protest, a pout forming on her face. Vi glares at Powder to shush her as well.

“Just quit it,” she says. “You can wait, the food will taste better if you don't shove it all down your throats like dogs.”

“Fine, we'll wait,” she grumbles.

Mylo just nods with a pout, staying quiet.

Vi seems to notice their looks, and she rolls her eyes, staying put just in case. She seems wary as she watches Powder and Mylo, her eyes switching from them to the food on the table.

And sure enough, the moment Silco gestures for everyone to get their food, Powder and Mylo are gone, rushing to claim their plates.

Powder and Mylo shove each other for their own plates. No one says anything though, they're all just used to it. This is just how Powder and Mylo are, and they've come to accept it. Vi doesn't even seem as bothered as everyone else does. 

Mylo seems like he's really close to just pushing Powder to the side and snatching up the slice he wants, and Powder doesn't look any better. Honestly, if Vi didn't step in, there was a chance they'd start throwing punches.

And judging from how the others' looks, especially Silco, they look like they're expecting this. 

It's like this is all completely normal, they know to expect this kind of behavior when food, and more importantly, free food, is involved.

Powder and Mylo finally settle down after their little fight, and they finally begin digging into the food.

Mylo is practically shoving it into his face, eating it like he's been starved for weeks. Powder isn't any better, although at least she's not making a complete mess.

Claggor is significantly slower when it comes to eating, choosing to take his time as he slowly eats as opposed to just shoving the food into his mouth.

Vander eats at a decent pace, and he doesn't seem as starving like Mylo is.

The last one to begin eating is Silco, and surprisingly, there's a smile on his face. He takes one look at how Mylo and Powder are chowing down on their food, then he turns his gaze and looks at you, as if silently asking if you're going to eat.

You take the hint, and you decide to dig into your own food. The food is delicious, and you can't blame Mylo and Powder for basically trying to swallow their food whole.

Vi also begins eating now that everyone's settled down.

Vander laughs, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Slow down a little, you two, the food isn't going anywhere.”

Mylo and Powder both raise their heads at that, and they both look like they're considering it for a moment... but they immediately go back to shoving food down their throats.

Claggor shakes his head as he watches them eat. “You'd think they'd never seen a Christmas dinner before.”

“You know them, they would scarf down all the food in town if they could.”

Powder glances up at that, a small pout forming on her lips. “Hey, it's not our fault we're just starving.”

Mylo nods in agreement, his mouth too full to say anything.

“You both just had eaten before this,” Claggor counters.

Mylo swallows whatever food is in his mouth long enough to argue with Claggor. “And that was hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Powder agrees, “it was practically an eternity since we ate.”

“Two hours is not an eternity,” Claggor retorts. 

“It might as well be,” Powder counters.

Despite the bickering and arguing the dinner feels oddly... domestic, almost.

Claggor looks like the responsible and mature oldest sibling who's done with his siblings nonsense, Vander almost acts like a tired parent, Silco acts more like a stern aunt, and Powder and Mylo act like rowdy kids who are constantly at each other's throats.

Vi sits next to you. She's making sarcastic comments with Silco, laughing at Powder's jokes, and making small talk with Claggor. She even gives Mylo an unimpressed glare when he tries to snatch all the bread for himself.

It's like you're both back to normal. The way she's acting makes your heart ache. She's giving you all the attention a partner would give.

She gives you fond smiles whenever you make a comment, she casually slides an arm around your shoulders, she even scoots her chair a little closer to yours.

Her eyes are soft, her voice is soft, whenever you look at her, she looks back with this affectionate look.

It's so normal, that it almost takes you back to your relationship and how you two were before the breakup.

She's even doing little things, like leaning closer to you, letting a hand rest on your thigh, even discreetly grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers with hers under the table.

You want to hold her tight and never let her go, but your brain keeps reminding you. You two aren't together anymore.

But when you look at her, when she looks at you with that look in her eyes, everything goes quiet. 

Maybe it could work this time.

Maybe you two could just bury the hatchet and move on.

Maybe things could work between you two if you try it out again.

Then you remember the fights, the nights you spent on your bed, crying while Vi was out with friends. You remember how she treated you after the breakup—how she tossed you aside like discarded trash.

You try to ignore it, push it to the back of your head. But it's so hard when Vi sits next to you, close enough for you to catch the scent of her perfume. She smells like cigarettes and leather, something that's so her.

You're so focused on trying to stop yourself from touching her or even getting closer that you're almost surprised when she suddenly leans her head against your shoulder.

She doesn't say anything, just leans against you. She's pressed against your side, her shoulder against your shoulder, her head against yours, her hand on your thigh.

You notice her scent again, now stronger.

Her hair brushes against your neck, the way you can feel the warmth of her body, and the way her thumb draws little circles into your thigh.

She's so close, and yet you want her even closer.

You want to run your hands through her hair, you want to nuzzle your face into her shoulder, you want to feel her hands roaming your body.

You just want her.

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Powder, her question pulling you out of your head. “It's been a while since we've seen you two together,” she says, her mouth still full of food.

Claggor shoots Powder a look. “Powder-”

“Shush, I'm just wondering,” she argues, shrugging casually, “has she been avoiding you?”

“No,” you say before anyone can say anything. “We just... haven't had time to schedule any dates, that's all.”

“For months? Haven't had time to schedule a single date for months?”

“Life gets busy, y'know,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant.

Mylo scoffs at that. “You two are dating, the least you could do is at least manage one date a month.”

Claggor smacks him over the head. Mylo grumbles and rubs the back of his head, shooting his brother a glare. “What? it's true,” he mutters. “We just kind of... we all miss you.”

Vander gives Mylo a disapproving glare. “What Mylo means is, your presence has been sorely missed around here.”

“We all just... we just want you around more,” Powder puts in her two cents, speaking around a mouthful of food again.

You cast a sidelong glance at Vi. You and her are putting up a pretty good facade so far, but Mylo's question seemed to have put her on the spot a little. She catches your glance, and you give her a look that says, just play along. Vi sighs, her hand squeezing your thigh.

“Look, I-” She glances around the table, meeting everyone's eyes before sighing and putting on the most believable expression. “I know we haven't been as... present as we should have been for the past few months. Work just got really hectic.”

“That's true,” you back her up with a nod. “I had to travel away for a business trip a few weeks ago, so it's been pretty hard to find time to spend together.”

Vander, Silco, and Powder all nod in understanding. They're aware of the fact that you have a job in a big city, so it's not an unbelievable explanation.

Mylo, however, snorts and crosses his arms. “You don't have to feed us some lame excuse for not hanging out with us.”

Claggor gives Mylo another smack. “Would you shut up already?”

“Ow!” Mylo grumbles as he rubs his head again, shooting Claggor a dirty look.

Vander sighs. “Regardless, it's good to have you here for Christmas this time.”

Everyone nods and agrees. Powder grins at you, Silco shoots you a small almost-smile, and Claggor and Vander both look genuinely pleased to have you here.

All eyes then land on Mylo, and he shrugs again, mumbling, “I guess it is good to have you here.”

“See, it's a christmas miracle, Mylo isn't being a little prick for once,” Powder teases.

Mylo scowls at her. “Hey, I'm never a little prick-”

“Bullshit.”

Mylo just grumbles again, his eyes narrowing at Powder. “I just think that-”

“Nobody cares what you think,” Powder interrupts again.

That just causes Claggor, Vander, and Silco to laugh. Vi snorts next to you, squeezing your thigh.

The conversation soon changes to talking about old childhood holiday memories.

Mylo tells a story about him stealing Silco's secret chocolate stash when he was twelve. Silco scowls at the memory, but there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Powder tells a story about the time she accidentally burned the back of Vander's hair with a roman candle. Vander laughs and shakes his head at the memory.

At some point, Claggor chimes in to tell a story about a time he and Mylo accidentally broke a window during a snowball fight. Even Mylo himself laughs at that one.

There's lighthearted banter, friendly jabs, and just a lot of laughter in between. This, this is what it should have been like from the beginning. It reminds you of the way it used to be when you were all younger, but still has a different air to it. In a way, it's almost better than those old days. Everyone's grown, but there's still that same energy that always connected you all as a family... it just feels fuller.

You don't know if it's just the christmas lights playing tricks on your mind, but you swear you can see the faintest tearful sheen in Vander's eyes. He's always had a bit of parental pride and love toward all of you, but seeing you all sitting here together, happy... damn, it must bring back a lot of memories for him.

Silco even looks less grumpy than usual, his mouth twisting into a barely visible smile as the rest of the table continues talking. Yeah, this is how christmas should be…

It almost makes you forget that all of this is fake, almost makes you forget why you and Vi aren't together anymore. It's almost like just for tonight, you can pretend like things are back to how they used to be.

But you know this will not last. When everything is said and done, when christmas night is over and you're all saying your goodbyes, you have no doubt in your mind that you and Vi will go your separate ways again.

You glance at her, taking in the sight of her laughing with the rest. Her eyes are bright, her smile is big, and her entire face lights up with joy. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your heart to quiet. 

Vi must notice you looking, because she glances over at you. She's looking at you with that look again. You recognize it so easily.

That look... that damn look she's giving you again. The look that makes your heart stutter against your ribs, the look that makes your stomach twist into knots. It's a look that almost makes you want to lean forward and kiss her.

You almost give into your urges. You almost reach out and push a stray strand of hair out of her face, you almost do something to kiss her, almost.

But you don't, you can't. That would spoil the whole 'still dating' facade, and besides.... you have boundaries.

You give her a nod, offering a small smile, and you swear that you see disappointment flash across her eyes.

She looks like she wants to say something, her hand tightening over your knee again, but she seems to change her mind and just smiles back.

Maybe it's just a figment of your own imagination, you think to yourself. Maybe it was a trick of the light or something.

Claggor reaches over to grab something from the middle of the table, and Silco clears his throat. “How about you two?” he says it casually, like he's just making small talk, but there's a hint of concern in his voice. “Any... any problems between the two of you lately?”

You and Vi both sit up straighter. “Problems...?” Vi repeats.

Silco just shrugs, playing it casual. “I don't know, I'm just wondering... a lot of couples who have been together for as long as the two of you have.” He trails off, but everyone at the table knows the implications.

Mylo grumbles. “I swear, if you start talking about how high the divorce rate is—” Claggor elbows Mylo, and he shuts up.

Silco just chuckles. “Oh, I'm sure you two can last.”

Powder rolls her eyes. “These two have been together since forever. You guys were like... practically attached at the hip, from day one.”

“Yeah, we were like that, weren't we?” Vi looks back at you.

“Yeah,” you say with a casualness you don't feel. “Yeah, we were.”

Silco hums. “I remember when you two first started dating.”

“Oh, do you remember that?” Vander says, looking at Silco. “I remember the two of them coming to me the day they decided they were going to be official.”

Claggor nods. “Yeah, and they were so... so mushy. All 'you're mine' and 'we're never going to break up,” he puts on a mock high-pitched voice, imitating you and Vi

“That was the worst,” Powder groans, shoving food into her mouth.

Mylo grins and elbows Claggor. “How many times did you have to stop them from making out all over the bar again?”

“Way too many times.”

“By the way,” Mylo says. “You two aren't doing anything for new years, are you?”

You and Vi exchange glances. “...we haven't made plans yet,” you say slowly, trying to think of excuses.

“Oh, you should come join us then,” Mylo says, leaning back and stretching his arms. “All of us are getting hammered down here for new years, you two should come.”

“Yeah, it'll be fun!” Powder pipes up, eyes lighting up. “You guys will come, won't you? promise you'll come.”

You open your mouth, trying to wrack your brain for excuses, but before you can say anything-

“Of course we'll come.”

You turn to look at Vi, and she just gives you a shrug.

Mylo grins. “Good, good! That'll be fun.” He sits up and points a finger at you both. “I swear, the two of you used to be so much fun at parties, it's like you both went boring when you got older.”

“Hey, just cause we're getting old doesn't mean we suddenly became party poopers,” Vi says defensively. “We're still fun.”

Mylo cackles. “Are you now? I never see you two do anything anymore.” He leans back in his seat. “Ever since you got that fancy shmancy job, you've been too busy to have any fun.”

“We know how to have fun, we have—” you pause, trying to think of the word, “responsibilities now. Responsibilities that a certain someone is too dumb to understand.”

“I understand responsibilities, but I understand the concept that if you don't get wasted while you're young, then you'll wake up at forty, old and boring,” he says, looking at Silco and Vander. “And I want to make the most out of my young and reckless years. Meanwhile, you've already turned into an old, boring fart.”

You scowl at that, but Silco interrupts before you can respond. “Don't knock on old farts just yet. Some of us are old and still know how to have fun.”

“Yeah,” Vander chimes in, nodding his head. “Just because we're old doesn't mean we don't know how to have a good time.”

Mylo rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, you old farts can still have fun. You just don't know how to have real fun anymore.” Mylo then pouts. “I just... I miss how it used to be, you know?” He sighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Before all that adult crap, when things were easier.”

“Easier,” Powder mutters, poking at the remains of her food. “Yeah, when we were broke and always hungry, real easy.”

Mylo reaches over and flicks her arm. “Easy doesn't always mean money, you dumbass.”

Powder scowls and smacks his arm back. “Don't call me a dumbass, you dumbass.”

“Then don't be a dumbass,” Mylo snaps back, smacking her again.

Powder smacks him again, harder. “Don't you dare call me a dumbass again.”

Before they can start another childish argument, Silco's voice cuts in. “Enough you two," he says, and they immediately grumble and fall quiet.

“Honestly, I sometimes wonder how the two of you aren't still in high school,” Vander says.

“That's an insult to high schoolers, they're more mature than those two,” Claggor jokes, earning him a smack to the head from both Powder and Mylo.

He yells and puts his hands up in surrender, “ow ow ow, ok ok! don't hurt me!”

Jinx and Mylo laugh, while Silco shakes his head. “See what I mean? Children.”

“And they both insist they're mature enough to be out in the real world, independent and capable,” Vander says, and Silco chuckles.

“They're still just as chaotic now as they were in high school,” Silco says dryly. “Nothing has changed.”

Powder and Mylo both glare at him. “Really? like you two were that much better in high school,” she grumbles.

Silco raises an eyebrow at that. “We certainly weren't as immature as some people,” he says pointedly.

“You guys were probably just as bad as us, you just don't remember."

There's a pause, and Silco and Vander exchange glances before Silco snorts. He tries to bite back a laugh, but it comes out anyway, causing Vander to burst out laughing as well.

“I can't-” Vander wheezes between laughs. “I can't believe... you actually…”

Silco doubles over, laughing even harder. After a moment, he manages to gasp out a few words. “Oh, if you only... if you only knew…”

Powder and Mylo exchange confused glances, while Claggor tilts his head. “What? what happened? what's so funny?”

The laughter finally dies down as Silco composes himself enough to speak. “Nothing, it's nothing,” he says, waving a hand.

“All right, all right,” Vander looks around the table. “I think most of us are done eating. Who wants to help with the dishes?”

There's a collective groan from the rest of the table. No one likes doing dishes.

Powder and Mylo immediately groan out a “not it,” and Claggor follows up with “You all know I'm terrible at dishes-”

“Don't look at me either,” Silco grumbles. Vander just sighs and shakes his head.

and that just leaves you and Vi... great, just great.

You're about to argue as well, anything to get out of being stuck in the kitchen with Vi, but she beats you to it. “Yeah, we'll do it,” she says, before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I-” you pause for a moment. You had been fully intending to dodge the chore, but now you can't without looking like an ass and leaving her alone to do dishes.

Vi stands up and picks up the nearest stack of dirty dishes, balancing them on her arms as she turns to you. She shoots you a look, like she's daring you to try and weasel out of helping.

You get the hint, shaking your head and standing up. This is absolutely the last thing you want to do right now.

You follow her to the kitchen, grabbing a few more dishes along the way.

She holds the kitchen door open for you, and you step into the little kitchen with its small stone countertops and simple appliances. You set the dishes down on the counter near the sink, turning to find Vi already rolling up her sleeves.

She's not looking at you, but when she starts to roll up the left side of her shirt sleeve, you swear you can see her eyes dart over to you for a split second.

You pause, staring at the side of her face. You can't tell if she's... no, you must be imagining things. 

She clears her throat, raising one eyebrow. “What, you're not gonna help?”

“No, no, I am,” you hurriedly say.

You're not going to look at her. Not at the way her forearm flexes when she reaches down to turn on the water, not at the way she bends over to grab some dish soap, and definitely not at the way her shirt tightens across her shoulders.

Yeah, you're definitely not going to look at her. Not at the way her fingers move when she soaps up the dishes, not the way her biceps flex when she bends her elbow, and especially not at the way her hair falls into her face when she scrubs at a stubborn stain.

Why is she so fit?

You look down at your own hands, watching the water and soap bubble up between your fingers. You start washing another dish, trying your absolute hardest to look anywhere except at her.

The minutes tick by in awkward silence, but eventually, your mind starts to wander. After all, washing dishes is pretty damn boring.

You glance over at her again, out of the corner of your eye, watching the way her shoulder blades shift under her shirt. The fabric of her shirt is stretched taut against her shoulders, and you wonder what she looks like under it if she still has all the same muscles....

Yeah, okay, you really have to stop staring at her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Well, so much for not looking at her. Your head snaps up at the sound of her voice, and you force yourself to just focus on scrubbing at the glass in your hands. 

“Depends what the question is,” you grumble, shifting a little.

You expect her to ask you something about your current life or something generic. What happened when you were gone, what life was like where you were?

Instead, she asks something completely left-field.

“Do you ever think about us?”

You tense up, the glass in your hands slipping a little in your grip. You were not expecting that question. Hell no, you were literally not expecting that question.

How are you supposed to answer that? yes? no? sometimes?

What was she even expecting to hear? did she want you to say yes, to say that you always thought about her, that you would've come back to her in a heartbeat if you could've? or did she just want to hear you say no, to hear that you moved on, that you had to move on because it was either that or let yourself fall apart?

‘Sometimes’ was definitely not the answer you would've given months ago.

Now, though? you would admit that sometimes, after a rough morning or a particularly lonely night, you'd let yourself think about her. You'd remember those nights you spent in her apartment, on her shitty couch, talking her ear off about everything and nothing, the nights where the two of you would sit on the couch and watch tv, her head resting on your shoulder, and you'd wonder if maybe... just maybe..

You wonder if she thinks about that kind of stuff too, if you cross her mind late at night when she's alone. You wonder if she still thinks about the nights where you would stay in bed together, talking for hours after a particularly good round, your head resting on her chest as she played with your hair, or the mornings where you'd wake up and find her making breakfast for you.

Yeah, you thought about her a lot.

But you couldn't say that to her. You can't tell her that you think about it all the time, about how sometimes you can't fall asleep because you miss the feeling of laying in bed with her, about how you always find your hands searching for her in the middle of the night. No, you absolutely cannot tell her that, no matter how badly you wanted to.

“I used to,” you say instead of letting your thoughts wander any farther. “Not anymore.”

You keep scrubbing, even after there's no longer any more dirt on the glass. Just so you have a reason not to look at her, just so you have a shield from the thoughts you know are brewing in her mind.

She's quiet, and you can feel her looking at you. Looking at you, reading you, trying to figure out if you're telling the truth or not.

After a few moments, she takes a breath like she's going to speak, but then stops herself. It's something you're all too familiar with. She's overthinking something, that much is obvious. She's trying to pick her words carefully, and damn, you just wish she'd spit it out.

The silence feels like it's been going on for a year, but really, it was only around a minute. Your knuckles are turning white from how tightly you're gripping the glass you're washing, and your shoulders are beginning to ache from how tense you are.

“What about you?” you murmur. “Do you... do you think about us?” You force yourself to look over at her, and you instantly wish you hadn't.

She's not looking at you now, she's not watching you suspiciously or anything like that. No, instead she's looking down, staring at the soapy water, and avoiding eye contact with you.

She's quiet for a second, her hands pausing in their scrubbing. “Yeah,” she finally says, “I do.”

Her answer goes straight to your gut and twists deep inside you. You were absolutely expecting a solid “no”, hell, you were even preparing yourself for a cruel “god, no.”

Anything, anything other than “I do.”

She continues scrubbing at a plate as if she hasn't just turned your world upside down. How are you supposed to react to her answer? do you say something, do you not say something?

“Why?” the question leaves your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Why do you think so?”

You don't say anything, you just shrug your shoulders. You genuinely don't know. You'd just blurted out the question without actually knowing what you wanted the answer to be.

Her eyes linger on yours for a few seconds, and you can't quite read them. She looks like she wants to say something, she looks like she wants to reach out and hold you, and you'd bet real money that if circumstances were different, she would've done exactly that.

Instead, she just averts her gaze back to the sink and lets out a sigh. “I don't know... I just do.”

You go back to scrubbing dishes. It's obvious there are a million things that you want to say, that you need to say.

“Oh,” is all you say in response, and the word hangs in the air awkwardly.

You're both quiet after that. It's quiet, except for the faint music playing in the background and the sounds of dishes clinking against one another.

A few times, you catch yourself glancing over at her, trying to pick up any hint of what she could be thinking, what she might say next. But, every time, she stubbornly keeps her eyes down on the dishes she's scrubbing. It's frustrating, the way she just won't look at you, and what pisses you off most is the fact that you understand why she won't look at you.

You have a feeling that if she were to look at you, if she were to meet your eyes right now, she'd either burst into tears or shove you into a storage closet and kiss you until your lungs burned.

You don't know which one would be worse.

It's so quiet, so awkward. You're both just scrubbing and scrubbing, refusing to look at the other.

Every time she takes a breath, you look over at her, convinced she's about to speak. But, time and time again, she doesn't, and the only sound to come from her is a shaky exhale.

It's maddening.

The sound of Claggor's voice finally breaks the stifling silence, and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. He peeks his head into the kitchen, grinning widely. “Yo, you two almost done here? Powder is about to get impatient.”

You're thankful for the interruption, and judging by the look on Vi's face, so is she.

“Yeah, we're done,” Vi says, glancing up from the dish she's been washing for the last ten minutes.

You dry your hands off on a nearby towel, trying to look unaffected. “We're finished.” 

Claggor grins again, “Thank God, Powder is about to start biting people.” He laughs, then disappears back into the main room.

“That sounds like her.” She chuckles, scrubbing her hands off on a towel.

“Guest we should head out there then,” you say, trying to get her to actually look at you.

She hesitates, still running the towel over her hands even though they're no longer wet. She looks down for a moment as if she's contemplating something, then finally lifts her head to look at you.

Her jaw is tense like she's forcing herself to stay quiet. After a few seconds, her features soften a little. “Yeah.”

You want to ask her what she's thinking, you want to ask her why. Instead, you just push the door of the kitchen open and gesture for her to go first.

—

“Now that we've had an amazing dinner, it's time for the best part of the night.”

Everyone gathers around, now sitting either on the couch or on the floor. Powder and Mylo immediately get squished together on the floor. Powder mutters under her breath, “Hey! you're shoving me!”

“Only because you're taking up too much space.”

Vander smiles from his spot on the couch. “Alright! It's time for secret santa. Everyone remembers who they drew, right?”

A group of nods and hums go around as everyone pulls out the slips of paper that have the names they drew.

Vander clasps his hands together. “Good!” he says as he looks around the room, his smile getting wider. “Who wants to go first?”

A few seconds of silence, then Powder’s hand shoots up. As always, she's the most excited one. “me!”

Vander laughs. “Well, look at that, our little girl is so eager. Okay, you can go first, Pow-Pow.”

Powder smiles and scrambles off the floor, almost tripping over herself as she pulls a present from beneath the Christmas tree. She glances down at the tag and grins.

She then scans the room with a giddy smile, then her eyes land on Silco. She bounds over to him, practically shoving the present into his hands as she sits down on the floor next to his legs. 

Silco smiles faintly as he takes the present. “Alright, let's see what you got me, hm?” He's quiet as he carefully unwraps the present, and Powder watches him who barely contains her excitement.

After a moment, the wrapping paper is set aside, and the present is now fully unwrapped. It's just a little box, though Silco is curious as to what's inside.

He glances at Powder as he takes the lid off the box, looking a little wary. Powder just grins at him. “Go on, open it,” she encourages.

He looks back at the box and, with a nod, reaches in and pulls out the item inside. He holds it in his hands and looks at it curiously, then looks at Powdr with a raised eyebrow.

She's still grinning, and she looks extremely pleased with herself. Mylo glances over to look and snorts out a laugh. “Would you look at that?”

Silco looks at the item in his hands, then looks at Powder again. “You got me…” he begins, trying to sound unimpressed. “...a shark plushie?”

Powder nods, her grin getting wider. “Yep!” she exclaims, “I got you a little shark plushie. You like it, right?”

Silco glances at the plushie and then at her again, looking vaguely fond. He carefully sets it down on his lap, then smiles. “I adore it.”

Her grin somehow widens even more. 

Silco chuckles, then looks around. “Who's next?”

Claggor shrugs, raising a hand. “I'll go,” he offers, to which Vander nods.

“Go ahead, Claggs,” he says approvingly.

Claggor gets to his feet from his spot on the floor, then moves to the tree. He crouches down and rummages around, looking for the present with the correct name tag.

A minute passes as a few minutes go by. He eventually stands back up, a small present in his hands. He looks around the room, then his eyes land on Mylo, who's now lying down on the floor and looking very bored.

Claggor moves over to him, tossing the present into his lap. Mylo looks up and catches the present, shooting him a glare. “You couldn't have done that a little nicer?” he complains while sitting up.

Claggor just shrugs and gives him a flat look. “Suck it up,” he tells him bluntly before sitting back down.

Mylo scoffs and begins to unwrap the present, ripping the wrapping paper off carelessly. He tosses the wrapping paper away, then looks down at the present as he tears the box open. He's quiet for a moment, looking at the contents...

..and then he groans, covering his face.

“Oh, come the hell on,” he grumbles, though he sounds more whiny than anything else. He glances up from his hands to give Claggor a withering look. “Dude, seriously?”

“What?”

Mylo just sighs, shooting the toy in the box with a dismayed look. “Really? a stress ball?”

Claggor shrugs. “I thought it was a good idea,” he says, clearly not bothered by Mylo's unimpressed tone. “And you seem to be lacking a bit in the stress management department.”

“Well, excuse me for being a bit stressed when you're being a dick.”

“See, you need the stress ball. You proved my point right there.”

Mylo just groans and throws his head back. He picks up the stress ball and squeezes it hard. “I hate you.”

Claggor merely grins. “I love you too.”

Mylo mutters something under his breath, too quiet for anyone to hear, then looks up as he addresses the group. “So, who's up next? I'm sure there's some poor sap itching to go.”

Silco raises a hand. “I'll go next,” he offers.

Everyone glances at him, then nods and gestures for him to go. He gets up off the couch and saunters to the tree. He scans the presents beneath it, moving a few aside to find the one he was looking for.

He finally finds it and smirks to himself, grabbing the present and standing up. His eyes sweep over the group. He then turns and walks over to Vander, holding the present out to him.

Vander glances at the present, then at Silco, taking the present and curiously giving it a little shake. “What is it?” he asks curiously.

Silco just grins in a vaguely irritating way and sits back down. “Just open it,” he replies, his voice dripping with innocence.

Vander raises an eyebrow but begins to unwrap the present meticulously, occasionally shooting Silco a glance, as if expecting something. He peels away the wrapping paper to reveal a small box, then looks at Silco, his eyes questioning.

Silco just shrugs and gestures for him to go on. Vander quirks another eyebrow up but opens the box anyway, now intrigued.

Then a snort finally escapes him. He's now fighting to hold back laughter.

Mylo sits up suddenly, looking at Vander, then at Silco, curiosity in his eyes. “What? What is it?” he asks eagerly.

Vander doesn't answer for a moment. He's still staring into the box, looking like he can't believe what he's seeing. He looks up at Silco. “Please tell me you're joking,” he implores.

Silco's smile widens. “I couldn't be more serious,” he replies.

Vander lets out a long, suffering sigh, then digs through the tissue paper and pulls something out of the box.

It's a pair of comically large underwear, one that could practically fit an entire person inside of it.

Vander groans, holding the underwear up and staring at them with slight disgust.

Mylo and Powder both start laughing once they register what the present is. Powder laughs so hard she nearly falls over, clutching her stomach as she howls with laughter.

Vi's eyes widen at the sight of the underwear, her mouth dropping open a little in surprise. As much as it pains her to admit it... she just knows the jokes that Silco is going to start making any minute now.

…and she's right.

“You see, I thought it was a necessary gift.”

“Necessary?” Vander repeats, still holding the underwear up in disbelief.

Silco nods. “Of course. you're getting old, and as you get older... accidents happen.”

“I'm not that old,” Vander grumbles, though he knows it's probably not the best argument.

Silco smirks, raising a hand and waving it dismissively. “Oh, you know what I mean. Things begin to... fail as you age. I simply wanted to make sure you had a spare pair.”

Mylo is now practically rolling on the floor, clutching his sides. “Oh, my god, I can't breathe—this is—this is gold,” he wheezes. Powder is laughing so hard she's choking, practically coughing her lungs up.

Vander looks down at the underwear in his hands. He looks like he wants to throw it into the fire and destroy it right there. He glances up at Silco, giving him a look that clearly says, 'I will get you back for this'.

Silco leans back against the couch and crosses an ankle over his knee. “What? You don't like them? I personally thought they were a good choice.”

Vander opens his mouth to reply, but Powder interrupts him.

“Oh, god,” Powder chokes out, “you should try them on. They'd look perfect on you.”

Vander shoots Powder a glare to kill. “No way in hell,” he mutters firmly, folding his arms and sitting back.

But Powder's not done. “Come on, just try them on,” she wheezes. “It really would be a look for you.”

Vander turns his glare to Powder, his expression clearly saying, 'I will murder you if you keep talking.' “No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

Even Silco is starting to look amused.

“Just for a second,” she teases, “come on, just long enough for us to see. We won't even say anything.”

Van shoots a sneering look at both Silco and Powder. Eventually he lets out an exasperated grumble and stands up, mumbling something he heads into the bathroom with the underwear.

Mylo falls back onto the floor, clutching his stomach.

Silco is laughing too, watching as Vander heads to the bathroom to change.

Mylo is dying of laughter, gasping for air in between wheezes. “Holy shit,” he chokes out. “He's really doing it.”

It takes a few minutes, but the bathroom door swings open and Vander exits, looking like he regrets every decision he's made that led him to this. His face is as red as a tomato as he stomps back over to them in the gigantic underwear.

Mylo and Powder are losing it again, falling over and rolling on the floor with laughter.

Silco is smiling, trying to stifle a laugh. “Oh my,” he says, barely containing his amusement. “They look even better than I imagined.” 

Vander can hardly look anyone in the eye, still red with embarrassment. “I hate you. I hate you all.”

Claggor looks at Silco and Powder, clearly trying not to laugh. “You guys are terrible,” he says, a trace of a smile on his face.

Vi can't hold back her laughter anymore, she's grinning from ear to ear. “You look... perfect,” she comments through a strangled chuckle.

Vander turns his glare on her. “I hate you all,” he repeats, shaking his head.

Powder is still giggling from the floor. “I want pictures.” She holds up her phone.

Vander looks like he wants to smack her head off. “Absolutely not. I forbid it,” he snaps, sounding as serious as someone wearing comically large underwear can.

Powder just pouts, lowering her phone. “Oh, come on,” she says with a whine, looking up at Vander with puppy-dog eyes. “Just a few.”

“No, I'm not having pictures of me in these... embarrassing things circulating the internet.”

“The internet? Who said anything about the internet?” she replies, a smirk on her face. “I just meant... a few for my own personal, um, research.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but Silco chimes in first. “Oh, come on. Humor her. It's the season of giving.”

Vander turns his glare to Silco. “There's no way in hell—”

“Pleeeease?” Powder interrupts, holding out her phone again.

Vander looks like he's about to argue, but Powder is already giving him those damn puppy-dog eyes that he struggles to resist. He hesitates, then, with a grumble, he sighs. “Fine, one picture.”

Powder looks like a kid on Christmas. The instant the word 'picture' leaves Vander's mouth, she leaps to her feet and lifts up her phone. “Stand up straighter.”

Vander obeys, reluctantly straightening up.

“Say cheese.”

Vander grunts, but he cooperates. “Cheese,” he mutters, putting on a strained smile.

Powder snaps the picture, then lowers her phone and looks at it with a satisfied smile. “Oh yeah, you're getting on the naughty list for this one,” she grins, wiggling the phone a little.

Once the picture-taking is over and Vander changes his clothes back, Silco motions for Powder to settle down. 

“Alright, settle down. It's time to continue with the secret Santa,” Silco says, looking at the others.

They all nod in agreement, still snickering but mostly focusing on the present exchange.

“Who wants to go next?” Silco asks, looking around the group.

Mylo looks around, then grins. “My turn.”

Powder rolls her eyes, knowing that look on his face all too well. “Here we go,” she says, preparing herself for whatever nonsense Mylo is about to come up with.

Mylo smirks, holding up his present. “Well, I drew someone's name... and it was a pretty easy choice.” He then looks around the group with mock innocence. “Oh, where's my victim?”

Claggor sighs. “Who exactly is the unlucky person this year?”

“There's only one person who I could have possibly chosen…”

“Would you just spit it out before the suspense kills me?” Powder snaps, impatient.

Mylo huffs. “Jeez, have some patience. Anyway, my secret santa is…”

Claggor puts his head in his hands, bracing himself.

“My secret santa is, drumroll please…” They reluctantly drum their hands against any surface near them.  “My very special secret Santa is…”

Mylo grins, looking from face to face, savoring the moment before he does the big reveal.

“My secret Santa... is Powder!”

“Fuck!” She groans, burying her head in her hands.

“Aww, what's the matter, Pow?” Mylo grins, holding up the wrapped present.

Powder lets out another groan, glaring up at him. “You're the worst,” she mutters, looking like she's praying to any god out there to just put her out of her misery already.

Mylo grins, getting a kick out of her misfortune. “Come on, don't be like that. It could be worse, I could have gotten you a box of spiders,” he teases, shaking the present in her direction.

Powder looks like she's seriously considering that as a better option. “You know what? Give me the spiders. Spiders would be better than whatever it is you got me.”

“Nice try. You're not getting out of it that easily,” he says, holding the present just out of her reach. “You have to open it, come on.”

Powder grumbles in protest, then reluctantly reaches out for the present. She snatches it out of his hands, shooting him a glare. “If I die from this, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life,” she mutters, slowly tearing the wrapping paper.

Then, Powder tears back the last piece of wrapping paper, revealing a plain black box. “What the hell is this?”

“You're going to have to open it and see for yourself.”

Powder grumbles, giving Mylo a glare that could freeze hell over. She slowly opens the black box, not sure what to expect. “...Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” 

The others lean in closer, curiosity getting the better of them.

“You did not get me what I think you got me.”

“Oh, you're going to have to be more specific than that,” he replies, trying to hide his smirk.

Powder glares at him, her jaw clenching. “You know what I'm talking about,” she snaps, looking like she's contemplating dumping the contents of the box over his head.

Mylo just shrugs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I honestly have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Vander just rubs his face with one hand, knowing that this situation is about to spiral out of control.

“You're telling me,” Powder hisses, “that you didn't get me exactly what I think you got me?”

“Like I said, you'll have to be a bit more specific,” he responds, looking too smug for his own good.

Powder looks like she's about to explode. “Mylo, I swear to-”

Claggor cuts her off, knowing that she's about to blow her top. “Calm down, Powder,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I'll calm down when the box goes straight over his head.”

“Why so angry? I thought you'd be excited.”

“I can't wait to make you eat that box.” 

“Oh, I'm so scared.”

Vander interjects, trying to diffuse the tension. “That's enough. No need to start throwing things around.”

“I was just having fun.”

“Yeah, have fun with a black eye.”

“Enough,” Silco says, giving both Powder and Mylo stern looks.

Both Mylo and Powder grumble, reluctantly backing down a bit.

“Can we all just get back to opening presents, please?” Vander asks, exasperated.

The others nod in agreement, though Powder still looks like she's not done with Mylo yet. She glares at him one last time before reluctantly returning to her seat.

Mylo just grins, clearly enjoying having gotten the last word in. He takes his own seat next to Claggor.

The others exchange glances, silently agreeing to not let Powder and Mylo be too close to each other for the rest of the evening.

Silco clears his throat, getting everyone's attention. “Now, who's next?” he asks, looking around the room.

Vander nods, leaning back in his seat. “I'm up next, I guess.” He rummages at the gifts under the Christmas tree. After a few moments of searching, Vander finally finds the present he was looking for. He picks it up, holding it in his lap. “This one's for you,” he says, handing the present to Claggor.

Claggor takes the present, looking curious. He glances down at it, then looks up at Vander with a smile. “Thanks,” he says, starting to unwrap it.

Once the wrapping paper is off, Claggor is holding a box of assorted tools. They range from pliers to wrenches to screwdrivers.

“Just like you requested,” Vander says, watching as Claggor starts inspecting the tools.

“Wow, these are great. Thanks, dad,” he replies, running a hand over the tools in the box.

Vander smiles, pleased to see that Claggor likes his present. “I thought you'd like them. I saw them at the pawnshop the other day and figured you could use them.”

“I definitely will. These are a huge upgrade compared to what I have now.”

Vander reaches over and pats Claggor on the shoulder. “You deserve it. You've been working your ass off lately.” He looks around the room, looking for the next person to take their turn. “Alright, who's up next?” 

Mylo's head suddenly snaps up, a smirk on his face. “Oh goodie, it's Vi's turn.”

“Come on, Vi, your turn,” Silco says, looking a little amused.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses,” she mumbles, getting to her feet and making her way over to the christmas tree.

Vi crouches down, rummaging through the presents. After a few moments, she finally finds the present. She grabs it, standing back up. She looks over at you, looking like she's been caught doing something she's not supposed to do.

She makes her way over to where you're sitting, holding out the present. “Here, this one's for you.” 

You take the present from her, looking down at it. It's heavy in your hands, the wrapping paper slightly crinkled from how hard she was holding it. “Thanks, Vi/” You look up at her.

“Don't mention it, babe,” she mutters, her voice strained.

Powder and Mylo both let out a chorus of ‘aww’ when they heard her use the nickname.

“Shut up, you two,” she says, glaring at them both.

You start unwrapping the present, tearing off the wrapping paper to reveal what's inside.

Once the wrapping paper is off, you're holding a small box. It's plain, made of brown cardboard, and doesn't look like much. But as you look back up at Vi, you can see a hint of nervousness on her face.

She's watching you intently, her expression anxious. 

Still curious, you glance back down at the box in your hands. You lift off the lid, opening it slowly.

There, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, is a necklace. It's a silver chain with a small silver heart pendant. It looks delicate and beautiful, and judging by the look on Vi's face, she spent a lot of time picking it out.

You slowly reach into the box, lifting the necklace out of the tissue paper. You hold it up, letting the chain dangle from your fingers. It glints in the light, the pendants catching the glow from the Christmas tree lights.

Vi is still watching you, her eyes fixed on the necklace. “Do you like it?”

You look up from the necklace, meeting her gaze. “Yeah, I do,” you respond. “...It's beautiful.”

You hold the necklace in your hand, running your thumb over the pendant. Without even thinking, you reach up and clasp the necklace around your neck.

It fits snugly against your skin, the pendant resting on your collarbone.

You look up, catching Vi watching you as you adjust the necklace. “Looks good on you.” 

“Thanks,” you reply, still running your thumb over the pendant.

Mylo and Powder both let out another chorus of ‘aww’ clearly touched by the sight.

Vi shoots them another glare, her eyes narrowing. “Would you two shut up, for Christ's sake?”

“Oh, come on, sis. It's cute” Powder teases.

“Ah, young love,” Silco says. 

Vander chuckles, nodding his head. “I remember my younger days.”

“Don't you mean your younger hookups?” 

Vander grins, holding his hands up. “Guilty as charged.”

Silco laughs, shaking his head. “Some things never change.” Then, he glances around the room, looking for who's turn it is next. “Lasty, who's next?” 

You look around, seeing that almost everyone has given out their gift. It's obvious that your turn is next. “I'm up next.”

You get to your feet, making your way over to where the presents are. then you hold the present in your hands, not looking up quite yet. You can feel Vi's eyes on you.

This is it. You take a deep breath and look up, meeting her gaze. 

You walk over to her, your heart beating faster. You feel nervous, but you try to push it down. You stop in front of her, holding out the present. “Here you go, babe.” 

Vi's expression softens, her eyes darting down to the gift in your hands. She reaches out and grabs it, looking slightly puzzled.

You watch silently as she unwraps the gift. 

“Is this... a sweater?” she asks, bewildered. It's clearly hand-knit, with uneven stitching and a clashing color scheme.

“I made it myself,”

“You made it? Like, with your own two hands?”

“Obviously...”

“I mean... it's…”

“It's hideous?” you suggest.

She winces, like she can't deny it. “Yeah, kinda…” 

“Hey,” you say, mock-indignant. “I spent a lot of time making that, you know.”

“I can tell.”

“Then, try it on.”

Vi hesitates, looking at you warily. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” You nudge her. “Just try it on… for me.”

She sighs, realizing there's no way out of this. “Fine.”

She pulls it over her head, struggling to get her arms through the sleeves. The fit is awkward, and the sweater seems too small. But somehow, it kind of makes her look... cute?

She tugs at the sleeves, looking down at herself. “How do I look?” 

You pretend to look her over, like you're seriously considering the question. “I dunno,” you reply. “it's... something.”

“Be serious. I look like an idiot, don't I?”

“Don't be like that” you tease, reaching out to straighten the collar of the sweater. “It's not that bad.”

“Not ‘that bad?’” she repeats. “Are you kidding? I look like a walking Christmas tree.” She groans, tugging at the sleeves again.

“I think you look…” cute. adorable. “Fine” “That's the best you've got? 'fine?'”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don't know… Something more than just ‘fine’”

“Okay, okay, let me rephrase that, you look…” beautiful, cute, adorable. “...very christmas-y”

“You really know how to boost a girl's ego.”

“I didn't realize you needed your ego stroked.”

“I don't,” she protests, flustered. “I'm just saying, a little bit more enthusiasm would be appreciated.”

Silco clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention. “Ahem, now that the present giving is concluded…”

Silence falls over the room as everyone waits for Silco to speak. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock is the only sound that can be heard.

Silco glances at the clock, a smile on his face. “It appears to be midnight,” he says, pausing for emphasis. “Which means…”

A chorus of “Merry Christmas!” rises up from the group, everyone sounding festive and cheerful. 

You look back to Vi, who is still fiddling with the sweater. “Merry Christmas,” you whisper, not wanting the others to hear.

She glances at you, a smile touching her lips. “Merry Christmas to you too,” she replies, her voice just as quiet as yours.

Awkwardly you glance down at the carpet, unsure of what to say next. 

“Hey,” she says suddenly. “Can I talk to you for a second…? In private?”

“Sure,” you agree, following her as she leads you away from the group.

She leads you into a small back room, closing the door behind her. The room is dimly lit, with only a few bare light bulbs lining the walls. Aside from a few boxes and some old crates, the room is empty.

She turns to face you, leaning against the wall. She's quiet for a moment, her gaze averted to the floor. you can tell she's trying to find the right words, fiddling with the hem of the sweater again.

“Listen,” she begins, finally meeting your eyes. “I know this is weird, and I know things are... difficult right now. But…” She pauses. “I just want to say one thing…”

“Go on,” you encourage.

“I…” she starts, then falters. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Her gaze drops to the floor. “Well, I just…” her fingers fumble at the edge of her sweater. “I just... I miss you.”

Your heart skips a beat as she finally says the words out loud.

You've been wanting her to say that for weeks, months even. After everything that's happened between the two of you, you desperately wanted to hear those very words fall from her lips. But now that she's saying it...

What the hell do you say to that?

You're speechless, stunned into silence by her honesty. You open your mouth, intending to say something. But words seem completely lost to you at this point. You just stand there, staring at her, dumbfounded.

“Say something,” she says. “Say anything. You're just staring at me like an idiot.”

“I don't know what to say.” Because, you really don't know what to say. You have so much you want to say, but somehow the words get stuck in your throat.

“Say you hate me. Say you never want to get back together. Just... say something.”

She's waiting. Waiting for something, anything. An opinion, a response. Anything from you. But what can you say? Do you tell her the truth—that you've missed her so much you can't even sleep at night? that the last month has felt like a living hell, having no contact with her?

You want to tell her that you hate her for throwing you away just to come back around wanting something from you again, but your tongue feels like cotton.

“Say something… yell at me, curse me out, anything!”

But her tone gets under your skin, and suddenly you feel the anger start to build inside of you. 

Who does she think she is, demanding a response from you? she's the one who tossed you aside without a second thought. You're sick of this. You've done everything for her, given her everything she wanted, and here she is, pushing you for more.

It is too much—all too much. Without a word, you turn from her, heading toward the door. You can't do this anymore. 

You hear her call out your name as you shove open the door, but you don't stop. You make your way back, stopping at Vander's side. “Vander, I'm going to head out.”

Vander nods, giving you a knowing look. He can tell something's going on, but he's wise enough not to press the issue. “Alright, kid,” he says gruffly. “Get some rest, yeah?”

You nod your head, forcing a smile onto your face. “Yeah, I'll try,” you say, giving him a wave before starting towards the exit.

When you pass by Silco, he gives you a curious look. You catch his gaze and give him a nod.

Finally, you make your way out the front door. The cold night air hits your face, making you shiver. You take a breath, preparing yourself for the walk home.

But then you hear the door swing open behind you, her footsteps hurry after you. “Wait!” her voice calls out. “Wait, stop!”

You keep walking, your steps quick. You're trying to get as far away from her as possible to outrun all of the feelings that came rushing back to you—

“Let me walk you home.”

Her words cut through your thoughts. You falter, your steps slowing down.

You stop walking, turning around to face her. “What?”

She's standing there, looking like a kicked puppy. Her shoulders are slumped, her expression sheepish. She can tell you're not happy she's followed you out here, but she looks like she doesn't care.

She lets out a huff, her breath coming out in a white cloud in the cold air. “I just... look, whatever happened in there, whatever happened between us... just let me look out for you. Just let me walk you home. I.. I have to know you're safe.”

“I don't need a babysitter.” You practically growl, your irritation obvious. “I can handle myself.”

Vi flinches at your words, but she doesn't back down. If anything, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I know you can,” she says. “I'm not offering to babysit you. I'm just... I'm just asking to walk you home.”

You glance back at the entrance of their house, the warm lights and sounds spilling out into the cold night air.  You turn back to look at her, your voice softer this time. “You don't have to walk me home. We don't have to keep up the act anymore, I'm going home and... you've got better things to do than worry about me.”

“Screw the act. I'm walking you home. It's not up for debate.”

You stare at her, baffled by her insistence. “Seriously? What's the point, Vi? We're not together anymore. Why bother?”

Her jaw clenches, her shoulders tensing. You know she hates this. She hates hearing you say it. Her heart is on her sleeve, and you're tearing pieces out of it, right in front of her.

“Because I care!” she snaps. “Maybe it's hard for you to believe, but I still care about you.”

You shake your head, scoffing at her words. “No, no, no, you don't get to act like you care now. You're the one who broke up with me. You're the one who walked away and left me.”

“I made a mistake,okay? I was a damn idiot, and I screwed up.”

“A mistake?” you echo, scoffing again. “You ended everything, and now you want to walk me home? What, you think that makes up for everything? You think it’s that easy? You threw away everything we had like it meant nothing, like all those months we spent together meant nothing.”

Your voice is trembling with anger as you continue. “And then what did you do? You went around, throwing yourself at anyone that gave you a second glance, like I was nothing. Like I never meant anything to you. Yeah, I know all about that. So don't try to act like you actually care when you clearly didn't give two shits.”

She looks away, her jaw clenching. “I was trying to get over you. I was trying to push you out of my head and it hurts like hell. Every night, every morning, it was like there was a hole inside of me, and no matter how hard I tried to fill it, no matter how many times I went out, how many times I tried to forget you, nothing worked. You were stuck in my head, and I hated it.”

She takes a step closer to you. “I know it sounds stupid. I know it doesn't make any sense. I just... I needed something to distract me, something to keep me from thinking about you. Because it hurt too damn much to think about how much I messed things up.”

“Yeah, congrats. You did a damn good job at distracting yourself, huh? It sure as hell didn't take you very long to get over me.”

She winces again, the guilt written all over her face. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to reach out to you. How many times I thought about coming back to you and begging you to take me back.”

“But you didn't,” you say. “You didn't reach out to me, you didn't try to fix things. So why should I believe you now? Why should I believe that you're sincere when you didn't care enough to fight for us before?”

She looks down, unable to meet your gaze. “What was I supposed to do?” she whispers. “I messed up. I messed things up and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to take back what I did, how to make things like they were before I messed up. All I know is that I miss you. I miss you so damn much, and I'd do anything to have you back.”

You swallow hard. Everything she's saying, it's everything you've wanted to hear for months. It feels like a dream.

But you can't let yourself fall back into this. Not when you've worked so hard to move on. Not when you've spent so many nights crying into your pillow, reminding yourself that she didn't care enough to fix things, to fight for you.

“Why now—Why do you want me back now, after all this time? Why didn't you want me back when it mattered, when I needed you?”

She looks up at you, desperation in her eyes. “Because I was an idiot! Because I was stupid, and scared, and I thought walking away would make it easier, but it just made it worse. Because I spent every damn night regretting that I let you go and wishing that I could take it all back. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry for what I put you through.”

“Sorry doesn't fix things,” you say, your voice shaking. “Sorry doesn't take away the pain, sorry doesn't undo what you did.”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I know saying sorry won't magically fix things, but I am sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you, I'm sorry for walking away, I'm sorry for everything I did wrong. Just... just give me a chance. Give me a chance to make things right.”

She takes another step forward, her eyes pleading. “Give me a chance. Let me prove to you that I love you and that I want to make things right. If I screw up again, you can toss me to the curb and never speak to me again. But please, just give me one more chance.”

“I don't know,” you murmur. “I just... I don't know.”

“I'll do anything. I'll get on my knees every day if I have to. I'll beg on my hands and knees. I'll crawl on my hands and knees. I'll grovel on the ground. Just... please, just give me one chance.”

“I'll think about it. Just...just give me some time to think things over.”

“Okay, okay. I'll give you time or whatever you need. Just please don’t shut me out completely.”

Without hesitation, she envelops you in a tight hug. Her arms wrap around your waist, her face burying into your neck. Her body clings to you, every part of her desperate and needy. “I miss you so much,” she mumbles.

You stand awkwardly, unsure of what to do. But then, your body betrays you, your arms slowly wrapping around her.

For the first time in a long while, you're holding her again. Her warmth, her scent, her touch—it’s all so familiar, so painfully familiar. So damn familiar that it hurts.

“I hate you.”

“I don't blame you.” She pulls back, her hands coming up to cup your face. She lifts her hand, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I hate you so much,” you repeat, a tear falling down your cheek.

“I deserve that,” she says, her thumbs wiping away your tear.

“Damn right you do.”

You have no idea what to do or what to feel. Everything is a mess, and you're drowning in it.

For now, all you could do was hold her tight and bury your face in her shoulder. 

You hated how good she felt against you and how right it felt to be held by her. 

Damn her for making things so confusing, for making you feel so damn much.

You felt her hand rubbing your back, her fingers tracing circles over your skin. It was a soothing gesture, a silent apology for all the pain she had caused. It only made things worse, making your heart ache even more.

If only things had been different. If only she had been more communicative. If only she had been more sensitive to your feelings. If only she had been there for you when you needed her.

If only she hadn't walked away and left you broken. If only she hadn't hurt you the way she had.

And most of all, if only you had been strong enough to push her away and protect yourself from this mess.

But here you are, standing in the middle of a street wrapped in her arms. You felt like a fool, like a damn idiot, for still wanting her after everything.

You wanted to hate her, you wanted to make her suffer the way you had suffered.

But how could you hate her when she was looking at you like that? how could you hate her when she was holding you like this?

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she still had this kind of effect on you. 

Her eyes met yours, and you saw everything you had missed, everything you had longed for. and you knew, right then, that you were in damn trouble.

—

In the window, Vander and Silco watched you and Vi from afar, the soft glow of the christmas lights casting shadows over their faces.

Silco takes a drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he exhales. “Your little plan worked quite well,” he says, looking at Vander with a sly smile.

Vander just shrugs, sipping his drink. “I don't know what you are talking about,” he replies, keeping his expression neutral.

“You're not fooling anyone.”

Vander hums, taking another sip of his drink. “I don't know what you mean,” he says again, keeping his gaze locked on you and Vi.

Silco let out a puff of smoke. “Don't play coy, Vander. You knew damn well what you were doing when you rigged that secret santa.”

“I may have had a little influence,” he admits.

“A little influence? oh, don't downplay it. You wanted them back together, and you knew exactly how to make it happen.”

“I have had a hunch that they still cared about each other,” he says, his voice casual. “And plus, I don't want to see Vi moping around for the past months.”

“And we couldn't have that, could we? seeing her moping around like a lovestruck puppy.”

Vander nods. “She was really terrible at hiding it,” he says. “always pacing around, always looking like she lost a puppy.”

Silco takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing rings into the air. “It was painful to watch,” he says, shaking his head.

“It was like watching a kid trying to hide a secret… I just hope they figure things out.”

“I agree,” Silco says, his eyes flickering over to you and Vi. “Hopefully they can work things out.”

“Only time will tell.”

They watch in silence, seeing how you and Vi are still holding each other.

“I still wouldn't forgive you for that damn underwear you got me.”

“That was the funniest thing you could have received.”

Vander grumbles, narrowing his eyes at Silco. “I do not find it funny to receive underwear as a gift.”

notes: idk what is happening

[dailydoseoffanfics]

⭐️ SELF AWARE FORSAKEN AU (GENERAL HEADCANONS)

⭐️ a/n: my first x reader post that i actually wrote (i think) heh. /silly ANYWAYS this idea has been my brainrot for a while and TBH i'm not sure if I'm able to execute it well but. fuck it we ball 🔥🔥🔥🔥 ALSO I'M ONLY GOING TO DO NOOB, TWO TIME AND CHANCE FOR NOW CUZ THEY'RE THE ONLY PEOPLE THAT I HAVE SOME IDEAS FOR.... (DON'T WORRY I'LL MAKE ANOTHER POST ABOUT THE OTHER SURVIVORS AS WELL)

⭐️ warnings: possibly ooc but I DON'T GIVE A SHITE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥 (kinda), also really fucking long

⭐️ reader is gender-neutral so they/them pronouns are used!

(1) <- you're here! (2)

You're a really normal fan about a Roblox game called "Forsaken".......yeah.....totally a really normal and sane fan about that game. But lately, you've noticed something weird about the characters you're playing.

The characters have varying reactions into finding out they're being controlled by something....or someone (you).

⭐️

NOOB (Noob uses they/them pronouns btw if ya'll forgot!)

Bro has NO clue what's happening right.

It was that one specific round, the usual running away from killers, hiding behind walls hoping that they don't get spotted. It just another round. Or so they though.

During that round, while they're in hiding, they felt some type of.....warmth.

They ignored it at first. Could be just instincts.

But this warmth was....growing? In a way that this warmth was growing stronger, and they feel this type of.....force.

It was controlling their movements, and Noob could hear a faint voice.

Noob is looking around, their mind running places. What is going on? Who is controlling them? And WHY are they doing this???

Noob felt their fear increase. It was already bad that they're getting chased by killers every single round, but when they become aware of this type of, weird force, that's somehow controlling every single of their movement, and hearing a voice that's so far yet so close? Not too mention that Noob didn't even know who you are, no face, no name, nothing. Noob just thought that they lost their mind for good.

What's even worse is that they don't if they can actually trust you. For all they know, you might be some kind of sadistic person that controls people for fun and takes pleasure in seeing people suffer.

That's why Noob tried to stop whatever force this is. Keyword: tried.

No matter how much effort they put into escaping this grasp, like trying to go into an opposite direction or just standing still, it wasn't enough.

Eventually, when the round ends, Noob is just in their designated room, laying on their bed, wondering what in almighty christ just happened.

Their mind kept replaying that incident. Genuinely WHO WAS THAT PERSON? AND WHY WAS THIS PERSON CONTROLLING THEM? WHAT DID THEY EVEN DO TO BE SUBJECTED TO...WHATEVER THIS IS???

Their paranoia is multiplied by 10x. Every new round, their face is noticeably more fearful, they're more jumpy, and they're looking around EVERYWHERE. They look like they're on a brink of a mental breakdown. Usually the other survivors got used to Noob's shakiness, but when the survivors noticed Noob getting jumpscared by literally any sounds, that's where the suspicion comes in (Two Time was the first to notice).

Even if Noob feels dread whenever they feel that same warmth, somewhere deep inside of their mind, it feels..... oddly calming?

Overall, Noob is NOT having a good time. Noob will flat out NOT trust you in the beginning, and probably thinks you're up to no good, so they'll try to avoid you as much as possible (even if they fail everytime). You're gonna have to be REALLY patient with them, Noob being trapped in this time-looping game is already bad enough for them. (Think about this video LMAO)

⭐️

TWO TIME (also uses they/them!)

Two Time is......perplexed. They don't know how to feel about this.

Before Two Time gained awareness, Two Time noticed Noob being more jittery than usual. So they confronted Noob about their behavior lately, and (tried to) comforted Noob. (I headcanon Two Time to be a pretty observant person, and while Two Time is usually closed off, they interact with Noob the most. Second being Elliot.)

So this situation about some kind of....force....controlling Noob? Hm.

Two Time thinks about that interaction, and doesn't just brush that conversation off. They will keep in mind of that, questioning about this "force", with furrowed eyebrows and a questioning gaze on their face as they walk down the hallway of the cabin they live in with the other survivors. (I also headcanon Two Time to be kind of...an overthinker. A great listener, but I think they would think too much about things. ALSO also feel like they're generally an anxious and paranoid fella, and it's canon that they're a little crazy in the membrane, so uh, they're pretty much unstable.)

And that's where it happened. Right after that interaction with Noob with a new round started, they felt warm. The type of warmth Noob described, a type of force that's controlling them.

Two Time felt their blood ran cold. Oh...wow. Two Time understands Noob's fearfulness now.

Immediately doing everything on their willpower to escape out of this force even just for little. They're LOCKED THE FUCK IN trying to stand like a statue (with the survivors giving Two Time weird looks and YOU, my dear player, being confused by this absurd behavior your character that you're playing as right now is showing).

Unfortunately, Two Time's attempt was futile, as their legs are jerked forward, forcing them to participate in the round. Throughout the round, Two Time's mind is running a marathon, while also making more attempts to get out this..warmth feeling off of them.

When the round ends, they would....keep this as a secret for some reason. We all know that Two Time's an enigmatic person, they want secrets to be kept as secrets. (Even then, their weird behavior earlier might've confirmed Noob's suspicion that there was, INDEED, something is controlling them.)

I feel like bro would just go from "OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS SHIT HOLY SHIT I DON'T LIKE THIS PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE" to "wait.....what if they're some type of god...omg am i the chosen one ?!?! 🤯🤯🤯"

So the more rounds you played, the more they're starting to think that you're.....a type of deity. And they're slowly starting to stop their escape attempts of the "force".

It's canon that Two Time used to be a part of a cult that believes in the concept of respawning, and this belief grew stronger as time went on, so Two Time thinks that they've been blessed by the gods, and while Two Time can't really hear well of what you're saying, YOU might possibly get them out of this hellhole.

So basically, they slowly went from dreading your presence to......seeking your presence.

Doesn't help that they're pretty unstable though. My guy's gonna look STRAIGHT at you the screen with a smile that you don't whether they despise you or they worship you, which scares the LIVING shit out of you, making you exit out of the game QUICKLY.

And when you exit the game, the warmth automatically disappears from Two Time......which Two Time immediately felt disappointed with. They didn't mean to make you scared! They just wanted to know more about you!

Yeah, Two Time's bummed about that, but now, you're on their mind, and their feelings is having a battle of whether they should be weary of you or trust you.

(Will they eventually be obsessed with you and be desperate of your approval making them do anything, and by ANYTHING, they do for you? Maybe......possibly......likely....)

Overall, Two Time won't trust you at first. But overtime, they'll think you're like a deity or something similar, which is where they'll let you do whatever you want with them. (And where their obsession slowly starts.)

⭐️

CHANCE (canonically uses he/they!)

Chance is.....confused by all of this.

Chance was the third person to notice Noob's weird behavior. Overtime, they also noticed Two Time being...more in La La Land as well.

Chance just shrugs it off. Eh, he just thinks both of them are generally paranoid, and doesn't think too much about it.

HOWEVER, something weird happened to Chance today. When a new round started, they felt something.....odd in their body.

They felt warm, but a type of warmth that is....controlling his movements.

.......Ooooookay. This is weird.......... DEFINITELY weird.

Chance is caught off guard by this, and while some type of force is making him go to who knows what, his mind is jumbled.

Bro is CONFUSED, BEWILDERED, SURPRISED. He's having profound feelings of confusion.

They would be a teeny tiny bit scared at first, because, WOAH, HOLY SHIT, WHAT IS GOING ON????

But eventually, they would become....curious about this force.

Not only do they feel this type of warmth, but they also hear a voice as well......the voice's too muffled. Chance thinks it's probably his luxurious headphones, so he takes them off. The voice's still too muffled, damn. (You definitely noticed Chance taking off their headphones. You immediately go suspicious. Is your mind playing tricks on you or was this just a new animation apart of the new update that the developers forgot to mention?)

I feel like Chance would be the most calm about this. His canon personality type is ENFP, and ENFPs are usually social and open-minded, so I definitely see Chance wanting to know more about you. He doesn't think of you as a scary individual, and yea sure, he may be a little bit on edge, but he feels like you don't seem to be a bad person, which is why Chance becomes interested in you.

Chance would try to communicate with you by looking at the screen and giving you a smirk......which you immediately close your laptop.

Chance feels the warmth disappear, he feels like that one Spongebob meme that has a teardrop, while you on the other hand, feel like you're going insane.

Welp, guess he's gotta find a way to talk to you without making you feel scared.

He wonders if you'll like his pet bunny, Spade.

Overall, the most chill about this situation. He wants to interact with you more.

[xoxochb]

“who's the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm?” it’s jason grace, your honor

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

jason was utterly screwed. from the moment he had entered cabin one and saw you of all people laying atop his bed (yet again— who the hell else would be?) of course it was you, it just had to be you. why couldn’t it have been a harpy coming to eat his intestines? or past monsters seeking revenge? but no, of everyone it was you. he knew that he had training in— by now— under a half an hour but he couldn’t help the fact that right now you had never appeared to be more ethereal, the way you’re wearing his sweatshirt, on his bed, with your bare legs sprawled along it, and the soft light peeking through the thin curtains, like as if the sun had known just exactly how to illuminate your face to make you look like a elysian angel

swiftly, he makes his way to his bed where you sit. you flash him his favorite soft smile of yours and his knees nearly buckle on the spot. you were so doing this on purpose. you close your book and place it on his bedside table before patting the spot beside you for him to sit. and he does, most definitely, without another thought lays beside you. should he make a move and risk being late to training? or perhaps allow you to sit there and look perfect while he suffers horribly? he chose the first option. he urgently connects his lips with yours, sliding a hand underneath his/your sweatshirt. you attempt several times to call out his name, maybe for an explanation as to what the fuck he’s doing, but you can’t find it in yourself to care what he’s doing or why he’s doing it because you’re just happy he’s here and he’s kissing you

with his free hand, jason holds your jaw to assure you can’t part from him as his tongue swipes over your lower lip before you part your lips so it can enter. he lets out a hum of satisfaction when you grant him permission, surely taking full advantage of it. while on the other hand (quite literally), his fingers trail downwards to loop around your lacy underwear, currently the only thing you had been wearing underneath the sweatshirt. painfully slow he slides them down your legs (but again at the same time it was incredibly swift), yet still unsatisfied with the clothing you had own, he pulls back with a frown. with a quiet “life up a little” you elevate yourself from your position so he can remove his/your sweatshirt from yourself before you lay back down as his fingers now find a pathway up your bare thighs

and without a warning (though you should’ve seen this coming), he plugs two fingers into you, eliciting a strangled— somewhere between— a moan and a gasp from you at the sudden pleasurable sensation. his pace begins slow, starting off easy so you can adjust to him at once. but, soon enough he quickens it. you murmur some incoherent ‘sentences’ between soft noises, and as his fingers curl inside you, your mind turns into complete clouds, stopping anything but his name to leave your reddened lips. you tug at his blond hair as you feel yourself growing closer to your climax. what even more so makes your breath grows (progressively) ragged is when you feel an electric shock flow through your veins, once, and twice. at this point you’re completely starry eyed, you arch yourself into him for further pleasure, your moans becoming louder, your legs shaking about ready to collapse beneath you, your hair sticks to your sweat-veiled face— you’re a mess

finally, his fingers curl into you once more, bringing you to the edge. slowing down by only a tad, he continues working you, prolongs your orgasm as you dig your nails into his biceps and you cry out his name. and with one final swirl through you, jason slides his fingers out of you and meets your tear-brimmed eyes with a smirk

“sorry ‘bout that. you look gorgeous in my clothes though, have I told you that before?”

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The sun shines on you once again, the past stretching behind you like a shadow. You escape one madman just to begin a search for another.

Tw: Homophobia

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [14] [16] [Chapter Index]

15 * Better If You Don't [5.2k]

"I feel it now,

The ghosts,

Of people who still exist but shouldn't."

Down the Drain - Sewerslvt

        "There's nothing here." He said.

        "But he said-" Tracksuit patted the walls, looking for a cartoon trapdoor on the slick cave walls. They were at a dead end miles and miles away from the central cavern. Every other path they tried re-looped back on themselves or were also dead ends. Maskless knew there couldn't be anything, he had mapped the area himself but was so hopeful, so hungry, he went along with Tracksuit, feeling fruitlessly in the dark. 

        And now he was going to die. Because it was a set-up, Phantom luring them away so he could have his way with you. He was expecting to find the fire dead and the main cavern empty. He couldn't have predicted what he walked into.

        "Jesus Christ." Tracksuit nudged Phantom's bruised ribs with his foot. "Is he alive?"

        The central cave was a wreck, the cots scattered, some floating in the water, others smoldering in the fire pit. But there was also structural damage, deep indents pressed to the floor, a Phantom shaped hole in the wall. 

        A rattling breath followed by a modulated cough told them Phantom was very much still alive. Maskless wasted no time, "What happened?"

        ***

        The cave air grew heavier every time the story was told and re-told to every Mark who turned up. Omni immediately left to scour the wastes for Scars and Lensless. Mohawk and Gray weren't far behind. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit alone with Phantom who'd dragged himself onto a cot. He'd live, would be walking again in a few weeks. Viltrumite bone could knit itself together without medicine. Still, Maskless did his best to set the bone right and wrap it. He'd prefer Gray do the deed, but he was gone so fast there was no chance to ask. 

        Phantom was insistent, desperate, that they leave. Go look for (Y/n). But Tracksuit and Maskless didn't care enough, didn't need you to survive. If anything, the disappearance was a good thing, one less mouth to feed. Tracksuit would miss staring at your ass but it's not like he could change things. You were definitely kidnapped by those freaks and definitely dead. No more suffering, you were better off dead anyways. You got the easy way out while he had to live- one friend down because that's what you were. He pushed the feelings that thought evoked down.

        As dusk came, the trio returned, unsuccessful in finding the duo. So they laid in wait, hoping against reason they'd come to the fireside to gloat or show off your severed head. 

        "Did they also attack the ugly guy?" Tracksuit looked through the porthole, to the starless night sky. "Haven't seen him since earlier."

        Omni turned on Phantom who clutched his purple-ish chest. Never alone long enough to slip away. "Well?"

        "He-" Phantom suppressed a groan. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. But he had to sell the lie. "He tried to keep her away when they-"

        "What are we talking about?" Lensless touched down with a smile. Head swiveling, immediately noticing your disappearance. "Is she peeing?"

        Scars descended, landing beside him with a scoff, "Probably out pity fucking that ugly freak."

        The whole room seemed to go packed-gunpowder tight. Omni was in front of them both, hovering off the ground to be inches taller. "Where is she?"

        Lensless blinked. "What?"

        Omni had him by the throat. Veins popping on his forearm with the grip. "What have you done to my wife?" Lensless choked. Both hands coming up to pry his grip away. Gone before he could escape. Omni realized Lensless couldn't answer if he was dead. "Tell me, now."

        Lensless swallowed, cracked his neck, and grinned. He'd been joansing for a good fight out in the wastes and it looked like he was going to get one.

        Though he was curious, "What are you talking about?" He looked past Omni, to the others and their death glares. "Did he go apeshit while we were gone? Aw, wait, shit- did you miss us that much big guy?"

        He ducked under Omni's fist. Laughing as he threw his own punch to Omni's gut. Wondering in the moments before bloody impact, how his blood would look, how it would taste. 

        The blow was blocked by a yellow glove. "Stop, you idiot."

        Lensless looked to find Scars scowling. He considered turning the fight to him. Scars obviously thought he was the better, smarter of the two and Lensless agreed, he was sort of right, but also that he was a dick. A dick that liked the same things he did. Not quite a friend but definitely no enemy. He lowered his fist. 

        "What do you mean 'where is she'?" Scars words made Lensless remember. There was a mystery afoot. You were gone, apparently not out pissing.

        "Don't play dumb, shithead." Mohawk was by his side in a second. "You took (Y/n). Where is she?"

        The realization dawned on Scars. Something heavy and sharp twisted in his gut. A feral need pulsed behind his eyes to find your form but nowhere he looked housed you. Under the surface, he was boiling, yet he laughed in their faces. "You think I kidnapped her and came back to get my ass kicked?" He was sure he could take on most of them but Scars was no fool. He was clearly outnumbered, even with Lensless by his side.

        Mohawk hadn't considered this. It was a... good point but he wouldn't accept it, "You're trying to keep up the routine so no one suspects you or something stupid like that. Yeah?"        

        Lensless furrowed his brow. "We've literally talked about this like a billion times. We were gonna take her, hide out, use her as bait to lure you, kill you, and eat you one by one. We wouldn't be with you lames if we had her- we'd be balls deep in some hole right about now." 

        Scars glared but Lensless didn't see the point in hiding things. Clearly, their plan wasn't happening if you were gone.

        He was too busy grinning at Scars to see the fist coming for his throat. Lensless shot back, rammed into the wall. Broke through rock in a person-shaped hole foot after foot until he decided the pain was enough, it was his turn. He blasted out of the hole, teeth bared happily, fist raised. Omni waited for him but the fist was a feint. Lensless slipped behind the man and grabbed him by that stupid red cape that reminded him so much of dad. Laughed as he spun him round by the neck, stopping when he slung him into a wall. 

        Omni recovered quick, came back strong, "You-"

        "We can't get answers like this." Gray's voice stopped him. Inches away from smashing Lensless's head in. The deed would be done, once he had some answers. He didn't back down. "Our comrade saw you take (Y/n)," Gray gestured to Phantom.  "In the process you either maimed or killed the Viltrumite prisoner."

        Lensless and Scars noticed Phantom wasn't on his feet or in the air waiting to attack, but hadn't seen the sorry state he was in. Now they watched like predators, peering over Omni's broad shoulders. 

        "If I attacked that one, he'd be dead." Scars says. 

        "Well, he's not." Omni growled. "You failed in your assassination attempt."

        "Assassination what?" Lensless zipped around him, got close to Phantom as he could before Gray was in front of him. 

        "You've done enough damage," Gray says.

        Lensless tried to peek around him, but Gray kept moving in his line of sight. He only saw Phantom's condition through momentary glimpses. "Uhm, yeah, I didn't do that. Did you, dude?" 

        "No."

        Phantom rose off the cot, aching and groaning but managed to balance in the air above it.

        "Stop lying." He huffed, holding his pulsing ribs, "I heard your voices before you came up behind us. I saw you kill him and take her." He came forward, just behind Gray. Weak but needing to sell the act that he was willing to fight for revenge, for you, wrongfully taken. 

        A smile broke out across Scar's cheeks. Stretching that old wound he liked so much. "Yer lyin' through your teeth." He laughed, once, twice, before it was a full blown belly-clutching fit that infected Lensless. Phantom bristled but tried not to let it show, this was not the reaction he was expecting. 

        Not stopping until Omni asked, "What's so funny?"

        "You actually believe him?" Scars wheezed, shoulders still hitching. 

        "Has he threatened her the entire time we've been here?" Omni asked, though they all knew the answer.

        Which made Scars smile stretch impossibly more, though the eye behind the busted lens gleamed with no mirth. Only a boiling, soulless fury. "That's good, man, real smart. You're not a half-bad actor either. One lil critique though-" 

        He was fast. Faster than Gray could turn, could defend, faster than Omni could grab his cape. He had Phantom by the throat with one hand while the other tore off his mask. Showing off his pasty pretty boy face and long hair dad would hate.

         "Look me in the eyes and tell me it was me." Phantom's eyes- slate blue, Nolan blue- slid to Gray who'd come to his rescue, but paused when Scars didn't immediately rip Phantom's head off. Restraint wasn't something Gray (or any of them) associated with Scars. It gave their doubt merit.

        Scars hand squeezed around his throat with a growl. "Don't look at them, look at me." 

        He knew the punch was coming. Caught it easily. Phantom was slower than him, even slower with pain. Punishment was immediate, a flex of Scars' hand around Phantom's. The crack of thin bones. Phantom writhed, kicked, thrashed in his grip but Phantom was a limb down and weaker, way weaker than Scars. 

        "The longer you make me wait, the more of you I'm going to break." Scars said. He saw it then, the beady glint of truth in Phantom's eyes. That burning malice Scars wore on his sleeve, hidden behind Phantom's mask and silence.

        Phantom snarled, tried to headbutt him, but was again, too slow. The sound replaced with the wet snap of Phantoms forearm, bone jutting out through kevlar.

        "You-!" He caught a flash of the others, hovering behind Scars. Wondering. Untrusting. He knew he should've built better interpersonal relations. 

        "Aaannd that's time, onto your left." Scars grabbed his good arm, the one beating against his chest. Was poised to snap it clean off when a foot to his ribs send him careening off.

        Scars hit the wall while Phantom hit the ground, scrambling for his mask. To not be naked and under so many judging eyes. He could lie with the mask on, but without it he was unsure. Things were always so much easier through a barrier of fabric.

        It was about time the others realized, lying or not, Phantom was the last of them to see (Y/n) alive. 

        "Enough," Omni said over the two. "I don't care who did what. Where is my wife?"

        "I don't know." Scars and Phantom both said. Scars rose from the rubble, muscles flexing, properly pissed because hadn't these idiots figured it out by now? He wouldn't pussyfoot kidnapping (Y/n). He'd have fucked her on the cave floor and left their bloody, combined juices as a calling card. 

        "Wait." Lensless counted off on his fingers. He'd been separated from the camp for some time but he still had the chore rotation memorized. Always counting down to when he could be alone with you. "Wasn't it your turn to watch her today?" 

        Attention turned to Maskless who had already been considering fucking off before this got any worse. He wasn't scared per se, but blame could technically fall on him for Phantom getting jumped.

        Better him than me, he thought but said, "He told me he found food." Finger pointed to Tracksuit.

       Tracksuit burned his brain cells in a space-weed smoke stack daily when not trapped in a wasteland. He never finished school and when he was enrolled, he flunked almost everything. Even gym by pissing off to fuck and smoke behind the bleachers. Him having an intelligent thought was as rare as finding diamonds digging in cow shit. He felt like Einstein when he said, "Wait. Wait. The bald guy told me he found food." He pointed to the cave they'd been in, "So we went to look for food so you," one arm crossed over the other to point at Maskless, "left (Y/n) with him," his hand twisted again, pointing at Phantom, "and while we were out looking for food, all that stuff happened and like... We never found the food the bald guy said was there... So like... You know." 

        "You left!?" Mohawk barked. Ready to pounce at whoever moved first. Angry at everything. At nothing. At the fact that you weren't here. At the fact that you could be dead- again.

        "I left her with him!" Maskless gestured to Phantom. "It's not my fault they attacked!"

        "We didn't." Lensless said. 

        "And why should we believe you!?" Mohawk said.

        "I mean, you shouldn't, but I'm not lying." Lensless replied with a shrug. 

        "So he just beat the shit out of himself?" Mohawk gestured to Phantom, trying to gather himself on the ground.

        "He wasn't alone." Scars said looking to Lensless, "He had a partner. Pretty smart, trying to make it look real but," he cracked his neck, stretched out his arms, "I'd never leave a weakling like him breathing."

        He lunged.

        It was chaos from there. Scars slamming Phantom through layers of rock, breaking into and out of cave systems. Some they'd discovered some not. Omni and Gray raced after them while Lensless and Mohawk shredded the main room apart fighting each other. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit outside of the action and not particularly looking to be a part of it.

        They shared a look across the freshly bloomed hell, and an alliance was struck. Tracksuit grabbed the rest of the Emperor meat. Maskless grabbed basins and filled them with water. They were gone as Mohawk punched Lensless through the wall, as Scars battered Phantom around, avoiding Omni and Gray's pursuit, ripping apart the caves wall by wall until the whole thing collapsed. 

        Last they checked, days later, and found the ground above the caves had sunken miles down. Everything was gone, filled with dirt. Along with everyone. Leaving Tracksuit and Maskless alone in the desert, thinking it was over, thinking they'd have to kill one another for food once they ran out of Emperor and starting starving. 

        ***

        "That's it? They're all dead then?" You sat by the fire but didn't feel the warmth. 

          It'd been hours since Maskless pulled you out and you re-met with the sun. You were in and out of consciousness as the sun crossed the sky. Sweating for the first time in days while lying still in the sand, Maskless pulling together a makeshift splint. They'd dug themselves out a camp in the concrete ruins of what used to be a skyscraper. All the windows long since smashed out, all the paint peeled away. 

        When you woke up, really woke up, you tried to get them to take you back. Take you to Mark because he needed help. Maskless covered your mouth, let you beat at him while you screamed. You punched and punched and punched and bit and kicked until exhaustion and the truth caught up with you. He didn't have to tell you but you knew. Mark was gone.

        Only when he saw that dreading acceptance cross your face did he let you go. Truce shaky. Both of them were unsure if you'd lash out. You were unsure if you should or shouldn't lash out. You wanted to make them take you back despite the obvious truth you couldn't fully grasp. You didn't see the body. The wound. Whatever that bloody thing in his hand was. You knew you should fight, make them take you but part of you was too cowardly to go back to the cave. Terrified you'd be trapped all over again. So you stayed and listened while they filled you in on the happenings of the last two weeks. Thirteen days, actually, but when Tracksuit corrected you, you looked like you were going to bite his head off.

        The two glanced at one another. Haggard looking with longer hair and growing beards. Tracksuit kept his mask on but the hair poked out the sides. He'd complained of itchiness but made no move to remove it. 

        "Not exactly." Maskless conceded. "The others are around."

        "Yeah and batshit crazy," Tracksuit added. 

        "All of them?"

        "Yes." Maskless said.

        You nodded shallowly. Watched the bugs dig in and out of the sand around your legs. They had followed you up here. Showed up when you were still unconscious, digging up from the sand and chattering quietly. Maskless was confused when you mentioned the nursery. Apparently, there were no other caves except the main one, filling with sand. They'd collapsed, the queen-fed larvae crushed. You were the only thing left that smelled like the old queen's pheromone. The bugs around you now, were the last of the species, the last thing you had to hold onto, the last pieces of Mark. 

        Some of them were de-shelled and boiling in the basin now. At some point, Maskless left to fill the bowl which had been empty for days. The duo apparently took turns while you were out, eating bugs and drinking cave water. They didn't technically need to eat more tonight but they were both still hungry and you had practice making your little friends edible.

        They didn't bring up Mark. Not after your initial outburst. 

        "We split into groups after the big fight. Kinda unanimously decided it'd be better if we all fucked off, you know?" Tracksuit said. "We've been chillin' together. Wonder Boy and that stick-up-the-ass guy are rolling. We run into 'em sometimes, leave each other alone long as we give 'em updates on if we seen you or not. Mohawk dude's on his own but all three of 'em have been lookin' for the others. Wonder Boy said those two shitheads got away. And that other guy..."

        "You agree, right? He should've been here by now."

        Thirteen days in the dark. Thirteen days of isolation, re-traumatization, light deprivation.

        "He's leaving us down here on purpose."

        Phantom never came back. Left you to rot. Left Mark to regress. Left everything to fall apart because Mark was right. He was obsessed just like the others. He who snatched you up after you killed Psychopomp, who hid you away the first night in the desert, who wanted you all to himself with no competition in the way. He gave you a tracker and ignored the emergency alert because that meant Mark was cracking up, fucking up. 

        It was Phantom's fault things had ended up like this.

        "Where is he?" You barely recognize your own voice. It was hoarse, throat raw from earlier screaming. Eyes burned, all cried out. 

        Tracksuit surprised by the intensity, asked, "The School Shooter guy?" Mohawk would be glad the name stuck.

        But you were not calling him that, "Phantom."

        Tracksuit took a hissing breath, hand going to the back of his neck. "Well... Uhm..."

        "Tell m-" Your head bowed as if weighed down by the blood rolling down your nose. Your body telling you to quit while you were ahead. Mark soaked up your power like a bloody, bloody sponge. You still smelled him on you. His blood crusted your tank top brown, dried on your skin and made it itch. 

        You felt like you were trying to walk on a boat, though you were sitting. You leaned back on your palms, trying to retain a shred of dignity. "Tell me." You croaked as the blood ran over your lip.

        Tracksuit hesitated, a little more humane. Maskless didn't care, just wanted the conversation to be over faster. "For a day or two, we didn't know if anyone else was alive. Ended up running into Wonder Boy and his sidekick but not the others. They didn't know either. Wasn't long after that the screaming started."

        "The what?"

        "Ya'know, like... screams of torture?" Tracksuit said like it was nothing. "I'm surprised you didn't hear them." Maskless shot him a look. "Oh, right. It's usually pretty quiet out here but every once in a while this guy screams loud as fuck." 

        Since his partner didn't elaborate, Maskless did, "We think it's Phantom." He felt stupid saying the name but you seemed offended by the other one. 

        "Or he's dead and those goofballs are torturing each other to death?" Tracksuit added helpfully. 

        "The others haven't intervened?" You hope Phantom was still alive. Hoped, prayed to God. You were in dire, thirsting need for revenge.

        Tracksuit shrugged. "Dunno. Every time we see 'em they only ask about you 'n food. I'm sure they know where those two are 'n sometimes it's quiet. Quiet enough you think it's over, then boom another night of distant screaming."

        "What direction is it coming from?"

        Tracksuit spluttered, splayed out his hands. "You stupid? You don't go towards tortured screaming."

        "Mark is..." You can't say it. If you say it, it'll be real. "Everything that happened is his fault."

        "Everything that... Dude, you had it made in the shade! Fuck, if I was you, I wouldn't come back up here for nothin'. Speaking of, why aren't we kickin' it down there right now? Like, what even happened, dude?" He pointed to your wrists, raw from rebar, your cheeks, blooming with bruises, "And where's that bald guy?"

        Maskless elbowed him hard in the ribs. After he'd flown you out, he returned with Tracksuit to eat and drink. By then, the falling sand had buried him completely. He didn't bring up the corpse. Thought it wouldn't help things. Knew his counterpart would be stupid and tactless.

        Thirteen days worth of memories smack you in the face so hard they shake your tearducts into working again. You raised your head, snarling a smile, thin tears streaking your cheeks. "What happened? You want to know what happened?"

        "Uh yeah, that's what I asked." But he didn't sound so confident now. Tracksuit was strong, a killer, uncaring for human and alien life. Nothing scared him, but navigating other's emotions was not a strong suit. He hadn't seen you cry no matter what crazy shit went down, didn't know why you were now. Frankly, he was a little uncomfortable and off-put by the visual as your chest started to shake with hiccuping breaths. If this was your reaction he could only imagine what had happened. "It's just a question, jeez."

        "He fucked us, that's what happened. He knew what would happen. He knew." You were starting to sound like Mark. Days ago, you'd condemn the thought, be annoyed by it but now the anger was like a mother's swaddling comfort. "We were going to work together. Make it without you assholes and he-" You don't know if you were sobbing or laughing. Felt like both. Maybe it was. "Mark was good to me. I think I could've really loved him but I-" Tracksuit leaned forward, thinking oh, this is going to be good. Maskless pulled him back while you wiped your eyes. 

        You couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't go on. "Where is Mark?" You asked Maskless who'd taken you out, who had seen you laid beside him.

        "I buried him." He didn't need to tell you the sand did it for him. He was heartless but not cruel. 

        "That's nice of you man but like, shouldn't we eat him?" Tracksuit was ignored by you both.

        The tears came faster, hotter, running messy down your face, slipping down your nose, getting into your lips. "I want see him."

        "It's..." Maskless blinked and it was suddenly years ago. He was in front of his house, sweet and eighteen. William's car was pulled to the curb, Burger Mart for two waiting in a greasy bag in the passenger seat. Dashboard dinging, driver's side door open. Blood in the street. The neighbors screaming, running into their houses, they didn't know if wouldn't save them. 

        Dad held William by what was left of his narrow neck. The rest of him, mostly skin and some subcutaneous fat, was laid on the lawn. Mom stood in the window, hands over her mouth, tears on her cheeks. 

        "This is who you've been dating this whole time?" Nolan was planning on telling him about the murder of The Guardians soon. Pulling him to the side of Viltrum, but this expedited things. Mark wasn't supposed to be keeping secrets from him, not like this. 

        He knew Mark was a soft, funny boy by Viltrumite standards. He'd told him and Debbie months ago he thought he liked boys. Nolan could excuse it. On Viltrum, romance wasn't a thing. Unneeded. The only coupling that occurred was heterosexual for the sake of procreation. It was a foreign Earthly concept, but one he thought inconsequential. Debbie said it could be a phase, many teenagers went through them. Nolan thought he'd get a girlfriend eventually, settle down, and forget about that unproductive nonsense. Give him grandbabies that'd fight for the Viltrum Empire.

        But no. 

        He'd been dating that wispy, waste of oxygen for years behind Nolan's back. Today he'd come with flowers and a cheap drug store 'Happy Anniversary' card while Nolan was leaving the house. He was too slow to hide it, simple and human. He had tried to backtrack, lie and say it was for his girlfriend, but Nolan knew what William was. Still, Nolan beat the truth out of him. Then tore him in half for what he'd done to his son- for holding him back and making him soft even by human standards. 

        Mark threw himself at his father who let William's skinless, twitching body drop- splat- to the street. Dad won. Beat his face half in. He thought he was dead, the last thing on his mind William's puddle of a body. But his Viltrumite body wouldn't let that happen, he could come back from almost anything- as long as his heart was intact. Broken as his was. 

        In the time he was healing, the Earth was overtaken. Everything he'd known gone. Burnt and torn in the resistance. He was forced to join the empire, enforce Viltrum's rule on Earth. When Angstrom came along and offered him a way out he took it without question. 

        His eyes opened. William was dead. The planet was not cured of the Viltrum cancer. He was sitting across from some girl who was in his seventh grade science class and was crying about a bald, dead version of himself. And he thought God had a sick sense of humor.

        "...It's better if you don't." He finished.

        Your stomach churned. It was bad. Oh God, it was bad. It had hurt. He was dead and dying hurt the whole time. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to keep you safe in his twisted way and you made him do it. You killed him. Not just snap his neck or bite off his tongue but something so gruesome someone like Maskless was trying to hide it from you.

        Your hands pressed to your eyes so hard you saw stars. You couldn't stop crying.

        Tracksuit was very uncomfortable and wanted the sound to stop. He took a shot at comfort, overrated as he thought it was, "Hey, uhm. I'd kill his crazy ass if I was stuck in a cave with him too. I totally get it. You did the right thing."

        Maskless considered punching him in the throat. You only cried harder. There was no comfort or solace offered after that, but at least they let you grieve in silence.

        ***

        You don't know when you slept, only that you woke up to blistering heat even in the building's shade. Tracksuit leaned in the doorway to the desert, watching you stand and lean hard on one leg. "Took you long enough."

        You ignored him, sitting up and stretching on your own time. You saw Maskless not far behind him, also watching. Waiting for you as well. He walked over, reaching out to offer you a piece of rebar he bent to act as a crutch. 

        "The others will want to see you." He dropped the scrappy, stitched cave map at your side. They'd gone back to the main cave in the days after and found nothing but the map and stalactite stools. You'd been wearing the soldier pants and tank top when they found you, no sign of your armor or chest plate. "We might be flying awhile. You'll need to cover up from the sun."

        You didn't answer, took the cane and the fabric.

        "Wha- Hey, that's my hammock!" Tracksuit cried as you wrapped it around your head and shoulders. 

        "You'll live," Maskless said, gathering up some things before stepping out the pit and hovering above the dunes. "Come on."

        Tracksuit clicked his tongue. Wordlessly given the chore of carrying you along. He scooped you up, one bicep under your knees, the other supporting your back. You clung to him, numb and dry eyed. You could fight but you don't. Just let it happen, hot wind whipping at your face as you thought about Mark under the sand. Thought about revenge. Omni and Gray had information on Phantom, you didn't care about anything else. The trip felt short with your brooding, the wind slowing as Tracksuit lowered to the dunes. 

        You should've known it'd be a tent. Bigger than the first with more supports. Trash woven roof flattering in the sandy wind Tracksuit kicked up as he landed. "Knock, knock."

[floweycidal]

there was never any other way this could have gone. 

the universe is not cruel, but it is not kind. it does not cup hands around a trembling flame to keep it from going out. it does not press balm to old wounds, does not soothe, does not spare. 

no. if it answers at all, it does so only in the way it must.

with necessity. with inevitability. with the understanding that some things cannot be saved, only changed.

and for siffrin, fate wore but one face.

no one else could have been sent. not a well-meaning friend, not a compassionate stranger, not some wise soul raising patience like a lantern through the dark. siffrin would have turned them all away, one by one, until none remained.

to accept help means admitting its necessity. to ask for it is to believe oneself worthy of receiving it. siffrin had never allowed themself either indulgence.

so, the universe did not bother sending a savior. it instead wrought the one thing that could not be disregarded, could not be waved away with distance or deceit.

it sent consequence, something so close to the marrow of siffrin’s being that ignoring it would have been akin to ignoring breath in their lungs.

see, hatred is easy when its target is nothing more than a specter, a formless thing against which one can rage without consequence. phantoms do not cry out. shadows do not bleed.

but when that hatred is split into two, when it gains corporeality, when it articulates with your own voice and quakes with your own hands... it becomes much harder to turn your back.

for suffering cannot be disavowed when it stands before you in bone and breath.

you cannot look away when your reflection refuses to blink.

rage cannot maintain itself when the thing you are fighting flinches just as you do.

recognition is a dangerous, dangerous force. once you recognize something, you give it permanence. you name it, bind it to your reality, and in doing so, you invite it to stay. you give it the semblance of understanding.

and understanding, whether accidental, begrudging, or dragged out of you kicking and screaming, comes frighteningly close to love. 

not quite. but enough.

enough for loop to reach out. 

enough for siffrin to reach back, fingers shaking. 

enough to make survival possible.

self-hatred does not tolerate exposure. it swells on distance, gorges itself on the safety of never having to face itself. but then drag it into the light–force it to stand, to see, to know–and watch how quickly it begins to starve.

loop resented siffrin for making it out. for being given something they never got. they didn’t believe they had helped. as far as they were concerned, the universe had written them off as collateral, something to be spent so siffrin could rise.

but then siffrin thanked them. and for all their wrath, for all their acrimony, loop had no answer for that.

because how do you hate something that thanks you?

how do you hold onto the toxin in your veins when the very thing you created whips around and tells you it was never meant to be your grave?

how do you look into your own eyes, your own hands, your own voice, and deny the truth standing right in front of you?

that you are here. that you existed. that you mattered.

that you were never the price. that you were the point.

that in every branching possibility, every outcome the universe could have siphoned, you were the only answer that ever could have worked.

siffrin never asks for help. but the universe made sure someone would.

[coff33andb00ks]

world around us

summary: you're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter's night word count: 1k pairing: lando norris x oscar piastri x driver!reader (lilli. it's lilli) warnings: just pure fluff, slightly suggestive language(?) a.n.: final installation of my I need Lilli to have an amazing birthday series! this is once again for @maxlarens HAPPY BIRTHDAY LILLI MY LOVE!!! playlist: completely unhinged songs that fit the vibe

"No no no no no no no! You can't do that! You fuckin' muppet!"

Oscar mirrors your eye roll as Lando protests you placing a house on one of your properties. "She owns it though?" he says tentatively.

Lando scoffs, snatching up the guide and snapping it open. "The rules say–"

"I refuse to follow rules when you rolled twice so you wouldn't go to jail," you say with a huff, snatching the guide from him.

"I had to! One of the dice landed on the floor!"

"Oh but when we play golf I have to play no matter where my ball lands?"

"Yes." Lando gives you a look of disbelief, as though the idea of breaking a golfing rule is akin to murder. "It's not my fault you can't hit a ball straight."

"Just for that–" You slap more brightly colored money in front of Oscar - Oscar has to be the banker he's the most honest one among us - and grab a hotel to replace the house. "Suffer."

Lando groans, throwing up his hands. "You're cheating. I hate games night."

Oscar's grin shifts and he begins to chuckle. "We could play Trivial Pursuit?"

"No," Lando whines, picking up the dice to take his turn. "That game makes me feel stupid."

"Uno?" you suggest sweetly.

"No, we'll finish this. Capitalism is good to me, I'll make a comeback." Lando nods to himself as he shakes the dice. "Just shut up so I can focus."

And then, twenty minutes later–

"What d'you mean I owe you double the rent?!"

The rules are checked - well this is fucking bullshit - and he counts out all of his money to pay up. Suddenly capitalism sucks and he's clinging to his one property block and his cash like they're his lifeline.

You'll never know how (he probably cheated) but he wins. Monopoly money rains down as he celebrates and you fall back with laughter when Oscar flips the board in disgust.

You love games night. The silly playlist Lando put together plays, Disney movies play, muted, on the tv, and you've got them.

Lando and Oscar. Your biggest rivals on the track and your closest friends off. You're celebrating Oscar's first win this week now that summer break is here, enjoying the lazy days before you each take off in different directions to visit family and recuperate from an exhausting first half of the season.

"Loser cleans up," you remind Oscar and he groans as he gives you a kiss then begins picking up the mess. Lando's singing along to the latest country song he's obsessed with - Is it your heart or mine? Is it whiskey or wine? Is it somethin' in the night Makin' us wanna cross that line? - and he follows you into the kitchen to get more drinks.

"You sure you don't want to come along with me?" he asks, reaching around you to get a beer from the fridge.

"Let me see... Golfing with a bunch of men versus beach time with my best friends…" You hum thoughtfully, squealing when loops an arm around you.

"That can't be right. Me and Osco are your best friends," he says.

"Let me rephrase. Best women friends."

He's holding you close, swaying a little to the song playing - you think Oscar's the one who added ABBA, or maybe it was you - and you smile a little as you sway with him. He hums songs without realizing it and it's one of his more endearing habits.

"But I'll miss you," he murmurs, tucking his chin on your shoulder.

"I'll miss you too." And you will. This season you've grown closer to him. Literally, considering he finally talked you - and Oscar - into moving to Monaco. But also figuratively. You're just as rough on yourself as he is on himself, and with all the macho bravado that surrounds you every race week, it's nice to have someone who understands your being upset over missing out on a podium due to your own failings as a driver, your miscommunication with the team. It's rarer to have someone who understands shouldering the blame of the team's missteps – if I was better at this, they would trust my judgment but I'm not so they don't and that means—

"Not getting sappy on me are you?" Lando teases.

"You started it," you mutter. Turning, you wrap your arms around him. "We can live a few weeks without each other."

"I mean… You'll text right? Call?" he asks softly.

"FaceTime too," you promise.

It's tentative and new and so fucking scary but he gives you a soft kiss. Not your first with him, but it still makes your heart do that weird little flutter that it's only ever done with one other person.

"Jenga?" Oscar calls from the living room and Lando perks up instantly, nearly knocking you down in his haste to get back to the only other person he's going to miss during break.

Jenga with your boys is impossible. They're too competitive, know too many things they can say that make the other break and send the blocks flying.

"Oh of course he's going for the bottom, man loves to be at the bottom," Oscar mutters to you and Lando's giggling, covering his face with his hands as the tower collapses.

The games are abandoned, and you're squished on the couch between them, Oscar's lips on your ear, Lando's head on your stomach as the three of you, tipsy and relaxed, begin making plans for the last days of break while a Studio Ghibli movie plays. It's not said by either of you, but you already know that the three of you will find each other long before the break is over.

The world is easier to bear when it's the three of you together. It's still new, still tentative, still scary as hell, but it feels oh so right.

[bradleysass]

Play - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 588

“This is a kidnapping,” Regulus says, arms crossed as James practically drags him down the uneven pavement of the dimly lit street.

“It’s a cultural experience,” James corrects cheerfully, his grip firm around Regulus’ wrist as he tugs him along. Sirius, strolling beside them with his hands in his pockets, cackles at the entire ordeal.

“He’s been complaining for the last twenty minutes,” Sirius points out. “Might be time to let him go, Prongs.”

James scoffs, tightening his grip as Regulus makes a feeble attempt to wrench his arm away. “No chance. We’re already here, he’s sitting through this whole thing.”

They come to a stop in front of a tiny, rundown community theater. The sign above the door is missing several letters, so instead of The Grand Oak Theater Presents: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it just reads: Th Gr d O k Pr sents: A Mids mer Nigh Dr am.

Regulus eyes the place like it’s personally offended him. “You owe me for this,” he mutters.

James grins, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll buy you popcorn.”

Inside, the theater is small, cozy, and very much not up to Regulus’ standards. The seats are slightly lumpy, the air smells faintly of mildew and cheap perfume, and the curtain is a bit askew. It’s charming in a way that makes him miserable.

Still, he lets James shove him into a seat between them, sinking into the cushion with a suffering sigh as Sirius stretches out beside him.

“I give it ten minutes before you fall asleep,” Regulus mutters.

Sirius grins. “Five.”

The lights dim.

The play begins.

Regulus sulks.

And then—something happens.

The actors aren’t professionals, but they perform with such heart. The costumes are a little ragged, but there’s something endearing about the way the cast moves across the stage, full of emotion and passion. Titania sweeps onto the stage, her voice rich and powerful. Puck is delightfully mischievous, spinning poetic nonsense that somehow makes perfect sense. The lovers bicker and stumble and fall deeper into their entanglements.

And Regulus—Regulus can’t look away.

Somewhere beside him, Sirius starts snoring softly.

James doesn’t notice. Or, rather, he doesn’t care, because he’s too busy watching Regulus.

Regulus, whose expression has softened, whose arms are no longer crossed, whose entire body has leaned forward ever so slightly. His sharp gaze follows every movement, his lips part slightly as he drinks in the story unfolding before him.

James smiles.

He loves him like this. When he lets himself get lost in something. When his rigid walls slip just enough for James to see how much heart he has beneath all the prickliness.

The play ends. The applause is thunderous, at least for such a small audience. James and Regulus clap enthusiastically. Sirius wakes up mid-cheer, entirely unsure what he’s celebrating but clapping along anyway.

They step outside into the cool night air.

Regulus clears his throat, still avoiding their eyes. “That was… not entirely horrible.”

Sirius snorts. “You loved it.”

Regulus glares. “I tolerated it.”

James loops an arm around his waist. “Admit it, love. You’re a changed man.”

Regulus huffs, but he doesn’t push James away. “You owe me dinner,” he grumbles.

James beams. “Deal.”

And as they walk down the street, Sirius groggy, James smug, and Regulus still thinking about the poetry of the play, James squeezes his hand and thinks—he’ll be dragging him here again soon.

Because Regulus might fight him every step of the way.

But in the end?

He always loves it.

[winwintea]

stolen dance

PAIRING ↬ idol!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ romance, fluff, they dance a bit, there is totally no angst, i would never lie!

SUMMARY ↬ jisung has been teaching you how to dance lately. but is it really to teach you or is jisung using these dances as a form of escapism to hold onto a deeper secret?

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ in classic winwintea fashion here is jisung's birthday fic <33 suffer.

PLAYLIST ↬ stolen dance - milky chance; show me the meaning of being lonely - backstreet boys

“Alright, alright, one more time!”

Jisung grins, as he claps his hands and beckons you to step back into the middle of the room.

The living room is bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp in the corner, casting warm shadows across the room. The faint hum of a speaker plays an upbeat pop track, its rhythm pulsing like a heartbeat through the air. A pile of mismatched socks and sneakers sits abandoned by the couch, proof of your long evening spent dancing. You groan dramatically, flopping onto the couch instead. “I can’t feel my legs anymore, Jisung. This is basically torture.”

“Nope, no quitting!” he says, darting over and tugging you up by the wrists. His hands are warm, steady, and they pull you effortlessly to your feet. “We’re not done until you can at least try to keep up with me.”

You roll your eyes but smile, letting him guide you into position. “I’m only doing this because you’re making me, you know.”

Jisung smirks. “And because you secretly love it. Admit it, you want to keep up with me on stage one day.”

“Oh, sure,” you laugh, stumbling a little as he begins to guide you through a spin. “Me, a world-class dancer. We’re talking about K-pop standards too. Totally believable.”

“Hey, don’t doubt yourself like that!” Jisung says, catching your hand to stop your wobble. “Besides, I’m a great teacher. You’ll be better than me in no time.”

“Better than you? Let’s not get carried away.”

He steps back, giving you a playful once-over. “Okay, fine, maybe not better. But decent. Maybe passable.”

You swat at his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

The music shifts to a softer beat, and Jisung takes a step closer. “Alright, let’s try that one move again. Step left, then cross. No, your other left—”

You fumble the step, tripping slightly, and Jisung reaches out just in time to steady you. His arm loops around your waist, holding you close for a moment.

“Gotcha,” he says softly, his voice losing its teasing edge for a second.

You look up at him, breathless but grinning. “You know, for someone who claims to be a great teacher, you’re not very patient.”

His lips twitch into a smile. “And for someone who says they hate dancing, you’re not as bad as you think.”

The room feels still for a beat, the music fading into the background. Jisung’s dark eyes linger on yours, something unspoken passing between you. It’s the kind of gaze that makes your heart skip, though you can’t quite place why.

“Anyway!” Jisung suddenly blurts, breaking the moment as he steps back with a sheepish grin. “Let’s try again. I’ll slow it down this time, I promise.”

“Good. My feet are already filing a complaint,” you joke, shaking off the strange flutter in your chest.

He grins, taking your hands in his again, and the music picks up once more. The two of you fall into the rhythm, tripping over each other’s feet and laughing so loudly that it drowns out the sound of the song.

The days start to blur together, each evening spent in the same corner of the living room. The small space becomes your personal dance studio, the furniture pushed against the walls to give you just enough room to practice. Jisung shows up every time with the same excitement, the kind that’s so contagious you can’t help but play along.

“Step, step, and pivot—yes! That’s it!” Jisung exclaims, clapping his hands together as you nail the move for the first time. His grin lights up the room.

You beam, sweat dripping down your face, and collapse onto the floor. “Finally! That only took, what, twenty tries?”

Jisung flops down next to you, still full of energy. “More like thirty, but hey, who’s counting?” He nudges you with his shoulder, handing you a water bottle.

You take a long sip and gasp dramatically. “I didn’t sign up for this boot camp, you know. What happened to ‘just a fun dance session’?”

Jisung leans back on his hands, smirking. “This is fun! Besides, you’re getting so much better. Look at you, two weeks ago, you couldn’t even figure out which foot was your left.”

“Wow, thanks,” you deadpan, though your smile betrays your mock annoyance.

The next night, the routine continues. The two of you move in near-perfect sync as Jisung teaches you a new routine to a faster song. Your steps are cleaner, your turns sharper, and when you finish the sequence without a single mistake, you both cheer so loudly the neighbor downstairs bangs on their ceiling.

“Oops,” you whisper, covering your mouth to stifle your giggles.

Jisung shrugs, unbothered. “Worth it. You nailed that!” He holds up a hand for a high-five, which you give him, laughing at how proud he looks.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice how your progress isn’t the only thing changing.

One evening, as you struggle through a particularly tricky move, Jisung stops mid-step. His gaze drifts off toward the window, his body going still.

“Jisung?” you call, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Jisung?”

He blinks, shaking his head quickly. “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

You frown. “You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a too-bright smile, waving you off. “Just tired, I guess.” He grabs the remote and cranks up the music. “Come on, let’s run it again.”

You hesitate but decide not to press him.

Later, after another exhausting session, you collapse on the couch, panting. “I’m done. For real this time. My legs are basically jelly.”

Jisung sits beside you, his gaze soft as he watches you. “You’re really doing great, you know.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you joke, but the sincerity in his voice makes your heart skip.

“I mean it,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I just... I like seeing you like this. Happy. Laughing.”

You glance over at him, and for a moment, he looks... sad, though the expression vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously.

“Of course,” he says, forcing a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

“Lucky me,” you tease, but his words stick with you as the night goes on.

The dance sessions grow more frequent, his enthusiasm almost desperate. Every moment feels heavier, though you can’t quite figure out why. You catch him watching you sometimes, his smile softer, as though he’s trying to memorize the way you move, the sound of your laugh.

“What?” you ask one night when his eyes linger too long.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, spinning you around before you can press further. “Just... don’t stop dancing, okay?”

You laugh, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice that makes you wonder what he’s not telling you.

The music echoes softly through the living room as you and Jisung move together, your steps slightly out of sync but improving with each pass. The rhythm feels effortless now, the usual fumbling replaced by a newfound fluidity. You’re laughing, breathless but exhilarated, when the sharp buzz of Jisung’s phone cuts through the song.

It vibrates insistently on the counter, the screen lighting up in the dim room.

“Hold on,” Jisung mutters, his usual smile faltering as he jogs over to check it. He picks up the phone and stares at the screen, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your shirt, catching your breath. “What is it?” you ask, noticing the way he hesitates.

Jisung’s thumb hovers over the screen, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, in a voice that’s a little too casual, he says, “It’s nothing. Just a friend checking in.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Must be a pretty intense message to make you zone out like that.”

He glances at you quickly, forcing a small smile. “It’s not important. I’ll deal with it later. Come on, let’s not lose our momentum.” He sets the phone back down, face down this time, and crosses the room toward you.

Before you can say anything, he reaches for your hands and pulls you into a hug. It’s sudden, uncharacteristic, and tight. Tighter than his usual playful embraces. You blink, caught off guard.

“Uh, Jisung? You good?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he buries his face against your shoulder, his grip unyielding. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost fragile. “I’m just... really proud of you, you know? You’ve worked so hard.”

The hug lasts longer than it should, and something in his tone feels off. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he only holds on tighter.

“Jisung, what’s going on?”

He shakes his head against your shoulder and releases you just as abruptly as he hugged you. “Nothing. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His smile is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now, come on. Let’s run through it again. You were so close to getting it perfect!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you press, still watching him carefully.

“Of course I am,” he says quickly, bouncing on his toes to reset the mood. “Now, less talking, more dancing!”

You hesitate but eventually let it go, letting him take your hand and spin you back into position. Yet, as the music starts up again, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more to the text than he’s letting on.

On the counter, Jisung’s phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up briefly before going dark. The message still sits there: "You ready to see her?"

The rhythmic click of Jisung’s shoes echoes down the hospital hallway, a stark contrast to the sterile silence that surrounds him. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, clenched tightly as if to keep himself from shaking. The confidence and playfulness that had defined him earlier in the living room are gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy weight in his chest.

He pauses outside the door to a room, staring at the small plaque on the wall with your name printed neatly on it. His heart hammers in his chest as he exhales shakily, steeling himself before finally pushing the door open.

The fluorescent lights overhead hum faintly, casting an unforgiving brightness across the room. Machines beep softly, their rhythm steady and monotonous. And there you are. Completely motionless in the hospital bed, your face pale, your body almost swallowed by the thin blankets. Tubes and wires tether you to the machines keeping you stable, their presence stark and invasive.

Jisung freezes in the doorway, the sight of you knocking the air from his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice cracking. He steps closer, his movements hesitant and unsteady. The sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening.

He lowers himself into the chair by your bedside, his trembling hands reaching for yours. Your skin is cold, unmoving, and his grip tightens instinctively, as though holding on to you will keep you from slipping further away.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m here, so… you can wake up now, okay?”

The only response is the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Jisung leans forward, pressing his forehead against the back of your hand. His shoulders begin to shake as tears spill over, falling silently onto the thin hospital sheet.

“You know,” he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion, “I taught you how to dance. I mean, not perfectly, but we were getting there. You were laughing so much, and—” He stops, his breath hitching as the reality of his words catches up to him.

Because it wasn’t real.

The living room, the music, the laughter— it was all in his head. His imagination, his desperate mind, had conjured you up to fill the unbearable silence you’d left behind.

“I just…” His voice cracks again as he squeezes your hand. “I just wanted to see you smile. To hear you laugh. Even if it wasn’t real.”

The weight of the truth crashes down on him, suffocating and relentless. His mind replays every moment of the past few weeks—the way he had clung to the image of you, teaching you to dance, pretending everything was okay.

His tears flow freely now, soaking into the fabric of your blanket as he clutches your hand like a lifeline. The room feels unbearably quiet, the sound of the machines and his muffled cries the only noises breaking the stillness.

He sits there for what feels like hours, talking to you about everything and nothing—how much he misses you, how much he needs you to come back.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice raw, “don’t let this be the end. 

But you don’t move. Not yet. And Jisung can only sit there, crumbling under the weight of his grief, as reality continues to sink its claws into him.

“I thought…” His voice cracks, and he pauses, choking back a sob. He grips your hand tighter, as if that alone could anchor him in this unbearable moment. “I thought I could bring you back. Even if it wasn’t real—” His words catch in his throat, and he pulls his hands to his face, muffling the anguished cry that escapes him.

Tears stream down his face as he looks back at you, his expression one of complete devastation. “It felt real,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “You were laughing. You were dancing. It was like… like you were still here with me.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against your hand as he begins to unravel completely. “I just wanted one more dance with you,” he says, the words slipping out in a strangled sob.

The silence in the room presses against him, suffocating and unrelenting. His shoulders shake as he cries, the weight of the last few weeks crashing down on him all at once.

“I don’t know what to do without you,” he confesses, his voice thick with grief. “You were the one who kept me grounded. When everything felt too hard, you… you were my anchor. You gave me a reason to keep going.”

He lifts his head slightly, his tear-streaked face staring at your still form. “And now…” His voice falters, his lips trembling as he struggles to find the words. “Now I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His gaze drops to your hand in his, his fingers tracing over yours with a tenderness that breaks his heart all over again. “Dancing with you, even in my head… it kept me going. It made me feel like maybe… maybe you were still with me.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. “But they stole it from us,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “They stole our dance.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as Jisung lets out another ragged sob. His grief pours out of him uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered, as he buries his face in his hands.

The walls of the hospital room seem to close in around him, the sterile brightness only amplifying the darkness he feels inside. He leans forward, pressing his lips gently to the back of your hand, his tears falling onto your skin.

“Please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me. I don’t care how long it takes. Just… come back.”

His words are met with the same unyielding stillness, the heart monitor’s steady rhythm the only response. And so he sits there, broken and lost, holding on to you as tightly as he can, afraid to let go of the only piece of you he has left.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from crying. He looks down at your hand, his tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of your still fingers. “I want to believe you’ll wake up, but… what if you don’t?”

The question lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating. He lets his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against your hand as his shoulders slump in defeat. “I’m so scared,” he murmurs, barely audible. “Scared that I’ve already lost you.”

For a moment, the only sound is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

And then it happens.

A faint movement—so subtle he almost misses it.

Your fingers twitch beneath his.

Jisung freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His head snaps up, his wide, tear-streaked eyes darting to your hand. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as your fingers twitch again—just the slightest motion, but enough to send a jolt through his entire body.

“Y/N!” he says again, louder this time, his grip tightening around your hand. He leans forward, his eyes darting between your hand and your face, searching desperately for any other sign of movement.

The heart monitor continues its steady rhythm, the faint beeping echoing in the room as the scene begins to fade.

“Please,” he whispers one last time, his voice breaking. “Please come back to me.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[sunflowersandsapphires]

There Was Love Here

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 9

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: Frank's fragile mental state, heart to heart between friends, swearing, mentions of a cemetery, Frank angst, but I promise it's going to go somewhere positive y'all.

a/n: Thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates this year! I had some time to write, and then decided to adopt another cat...so... Anyways, his name is Wilbur and he's an angel. I have chapters 10-12 finished as well for this fic, so I'll be posting every few weeks to get those published! As always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! Tell me what you want to see next!!!

w/c: 3.6k

Despite his best efforts, sleep was evading him. Rolling his shoulders as he lay against the thin, lumpy mattress, floaters danced across his field of vision as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Any amount of shifting caused the jagged edges of the box springs to further prick at his skin, no doubt leaving small marks in their wake. His right pointer finger tapped aimlessly against his abrasive sheets, his mind flooded with thoughts and yet eerily silent at the same time.

Maybe that was because every new idea flashing across his brain, every synapse that fired, just contributed to the crippling guilt he felt. For growing soft, and allowing himself to want things again. For using you to get what he wanted. And for putting you through hell when he tried to backpedal, to retreat to the safety of loneliness and grief.

A growl rubbed at the inside of his throat, barely loud enough to be audible when it slipped between his lips. It would be so easy to let rage overtake the discomfort he was wading in. To get angry with you, with himself, with every force in the universe that caused the two of you to meet. It would be much less painful to write off your outburst last night as the musings of a drunk, bratty woman and avoid taking any accountability for his hand in your fury.

But every word out of your mouth was honest. And he didn't disagree with most of them.

He'd been the one to send mixed signals. It wasn't deliberate, but it had happened. After you stumbled into his life, he was so charmed by your sweetness and positivity, it didn't occur to him that he was pursuing something more than friendship with you. He’d been swept up in your sparkling current, carried halfway to hell before realizing that he couldn’t see the shore. Suddenly, “platonic” didn’t begin to describe his need to be near you and your beaming smile; the pain guiding his every breath had been abruptly left behind and he’d been too smitten to notice its absence. 

And when his mood inevitably turned, the lack of suffering became glaringly obvious. The darkness within him scrabbling for the penance it always sought out, his family’s horrified faces playing on a loop, haunting him. He didn’t deserve comfort, or peace, or love. He was destined to wither away with no company but his own regrets and the mangled corpses of any douchebag he could drag down with him.

Which is why, when you’d surrounded him with your presence rather than allowing him to wallow in his losses, he’d opted for a watery burial. 

Maria, Lisa, Frankie, Billy, the countless innocent civilians he’d taken from their families when he’d served…the list of bodies he’d left behind was innumerable. All of them turning to worm food because Frank fucking Castle was too thick to see through the lies he’d been fed by faceless men in tailored suits. Why not add another to that list? 

He was a selfish piece of shit. Taking for granted everything you gave so readily and turning on you without cause. As if you were the reason he couldn’t handle when his mind was quiet. Directing his emotions at you in a frenzy instead of growing a pair and sorting out his own shit.

The words you'd used–calling yourself a mistake, a regret–far too vile to ever address you. But those weren't pulled out of your ass. He'd put those thoughts there. He'd implied that he'd made a mistake getting to know you, that he regretted your time together. And in the moment, he'd meant it—just not in the way it had come off.

The mistake was leading you on. Moving too quickly, maybe moving on at all... But you? You were not a mistake. Nor were you a regret. He savored every minute he'd spent with you, it was his own damn fault that he couldn't accept them anymore.

Gripping his hair between trembling fingers, he ripped through the slick, knotted curls with a solicitous grunt. His gaze wandered to the volume of poetry hidden in the stack of books on his nightstand.

Doesn’t everyone want love?

The faded memory of Gluck’s hollowhearted depiction of love bubbled up in his consciousness, piling another heaping of guilt onto his fracturing shoulders. He was no better than Hades. Plucking an innocent girl from the lush meadows she knew, dropping her into a secluded cavern to serve as his plaything. No more than an object to channel his affections until he tired of you, casting you aside like the burnt husk of a match. 

He deserved to feel this fucking awful for what he'd done. For hurting you so abruptly, for placing you in harm's way when you were offering him another chance. Not even the god of the dead was that malicious. 

Fuck, he needed a fucking drink. 

Curtis took a sip of his coffee, savoring it as he swallowed. With a puff of an exhale, a thought abruptly sparked and he lifted his pencil, pressing the graphite tip into the respective squares to write the answer to the Crossword clue. Chuckling softly to himself at the author's obvious mischief, he shook his head. 'Eggbeater' what a dumbass answer for the hint 'whirlybird'.

As if the universe wanted to punish him for solving the puzzle at such a brisk pace, a pounding knock on his front door jolted his heart like an electric current. Blood rushing in his ears, he crept toward the door as quietly as his ancient floorboards allowed. Reaching his front hallway, he opened the rightmost kitchen drawer, palming the gun he stowed there and taking the last few paces to the door.

Leaving the security chain in place, figuring it would at least buy him a second to empty the clip into the intruder before they knocked him to the ground, Curtis cracked the door. Relief flooded his rigid body as he took in his visitor.

“Christ, Frank. You couldn't have called first? I was about to put a bullet in your chest,” He scoffed. Closing the door to undo the remaining lock, he yanked it open to grant the obnoxious man entry.

Rather than striding past him with his usual rageful arrogance, Frank hesitated. The moment was brief, but present enough to set off alarms in the back of Curtis' brain. Nodding tersely, Frank stepped over the threshold, allowing his friend to shut and bolt the door behind him.

The other man’s posture was tight, teeth clenched and eyes bloodshot. His clothes were rumpled and clearly a few days old. His face was pale and wan, exposing his obvious lack of sleep. Perhaps more worrisome, he hadn't even grunted in acknowledgement of Curtis' greeting.

“Where and how bad is it?” Curtis sighed, turning towards his kitchen to rummage for his first aid kit before an arm blocked his path.

“It's not—I ain’t here for a patch job, Curt.” Frank's voice was hoarse, quiet, and wrought with emotion. Meeting the Marine's unwavering gaze, Curtis took a step back.

“Then why the fuck are you turning up on my doorstep at 6am looking like flaming shit, Castle?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Frank's face fell. “Fuck, I dunno, I...I fucked up.”

Barking out a frustrated laugh, Curtis spun away from him, heading back to his seat. “Of course you did. Of fucking course you did. Too good to come to group, but you can ask me for a favor at 6am on a fucking Sunday. That's what I'm here for!” He muttered, collapsing back onto the cushioned chair behind the table.

“I'm sorry, Curt.” Frank grimaced, still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “I didn't—”

“No, you didn't.” Curtis scolded. “I know you've been through some shit, Frank, but you can't just turn your back on everyone to fuck off and go shoot a bunch of people, expecting me to help you clean it all up when it falls apart.”

“That ain't why I'm here.” Frank bristled, clenching his fists tightly.

“No? Then why are you here, Frank?” Curtis asked, irritation still coating his words.

“Because I met someone, ok?” Throwing his hands up, Frank spat out the words, a few decibels below yelling. Eyes widening as he realized what he'd admitted to, he shrunk in on himself with a flippant exhale. “I...I met someone and I don't know what to do.”

Curtis couldn't help but feel bad for the man. From where he stood a few yards away, he looked damn close to a dog that had been kicked and left to rot in the pound. Deciding to table his reprimand for later, he stretched his arm to slide out the neighboring chair.

“Coffee's in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

Frank looked slightly shocked at the change of pace, but nodded dutifully and marched to grab himself a mug before joining Curtis at the dinette. Staring intently into the reflection of the dark liquid, Frank's lips were pressed tightly together. After Curtis cleared his throat pointedly, the hulking man growled.

“What?”

“I don't know, Frank,” Curtis rolled his eyes. “You tell me! How'd an asshole like you manage to charm someone into spending a single minute with you?”

Letting out a small laugh, Frank took a generous gulp of his drink before settling back into his chair. “Beats me.“

Whether it was the strong coffee or the exhaustion eating at his brain, Curtis barely had to pry before Frank was fully immersed in the story of how you'd met. He didn't share too much about you specifically, just general information about your initial interactions and how much time you'd spent together.

“Sounds like a good deal,” Curtis hummed, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes. “How'd you fuck it up?”

Swallowing whatever apprehension he had, Frank grumbled under his breath.

“What was that, soldier?”

“I said I broke it off.”

Understanding dawning on him, Curtis nodded absently, bringing a coffee cup to his lips. “You chased her away, you mean. And now you regret it.” 

Something akin to a wince flashed across Frank’s face at the accusation, but he grunted in agreement. 

“Fucking hell, Frank.” Curtis laughed humorlessly. “If you liked her so much, why’d you break it off?” 

Frank was silent for a moment, his jaw twitching as he contemplated his words. Curtis was familiar enough with the other man’s mannerisms to know he wasn’t avoiding the question, he just needed time to answer. Previous annoyance successfully pushed aside, he was willing to give Frank as much time as he needed. It was honestly groundbreaking that he’d come here at all, rather than continuing to slog through his own misery alone. 

“How can I do that to them, Curt?” Hands circling the half empty mug, Frank sounded uncharacteristically small. 

“Do what to who, Frank?” 

“How can I forget about Maria and the kids?” Frank rasped, taking a sip of his drink before choking out his other question. “How can I leave them behind?”

Feeling a strange sense of deja vu, Curtis scratched at his chin. “Who’s asking you to forget, Frank?”

Growling in apparent frustration, Frank’s brow pinched in distress. “You know what I mean.”

“I know what you're implying, that doesn't mean I agree with your self-deprecating bullshit.” Curtis explained, studying Frank as the man stood and began pacing.

Tugging harshly at his hair, each step conveyed Frank's restless energy. “I can't leave them behind. That's not fair. I don't...I don't deserve that.”

“Frank,” Curtis leaned forward onto the table, weight supported on his elbows. “Grief and remembrance are only part of you. Living your life is not the same as tarnishing or abandoning their memory.”

“Then why the fuck does it feel like I'm killing Maria all over again?” Frank asked, his posture haggard and face barely concealing a devastation at the thought of his wife.

“Survivor's guilt is a unique beast,” Curtis reasoned.  

“Fuck's sake, man, don't give me that shit again.” Frank protested, looking away from Curtis' earnest stare and glaring towards the door, a single intrusive thought from bolting through it.

“I'm 'giving you this shit again' because you're a dead man walking, Frank.” Curtis scoffed, body tensing to prepare to dive after his friend if he fled. “All you've done since getting home is torture yourself over your losses. You are still alive, Frank. You deserve to live.”

“The fuck I do.” Frank sneered, knuckles flexing beneath his skin as he clenched his fists. 

“Frank, you're an asshole, that's true,” Shoving back from the table, Curtis stood, moving as quickly as he could to block Frank's path of escape. “But you're not a bad man. What happened to your family was tragic and unfair, but it is not and has never been your fault.”

Frank opened his mouth to argue, but Curtis pointed a finger at him sternly. “Don't start with your usual crap, Castle. Deep down, you know I'm right. Isn't that why you killed all those shitbags around the city?”

Rolling his shoulders with an irritated huff, Frank settled his weight against the back of Curtis' couch, still not making eye contact.

“It's ok to miss them, Frank. To be upset about your loss. But living with one foot in your own shallow grave won't bring them back. Letting yourself have something good won't change the past. It might make you less miserable to be around, though.” Curtis raised a brow, lips curved into a smirk to indicate that he was joking. Frank snorted, mumbling something about him being a dick.

Stepping into line beside his friend, Curtis patted him on the back. “You’re human, Frank. Humans crave companionship. It's written into your biology. You don't need to beat yourself up every time you look twice at a pretty girl.”

Groaning loudly, Frank dug a fist into his left eye socket to rub at it. “It ain't that easy, Curt.”

“I fucking know that, Frank. There isn't one thing about this life that's easy. But that's a dumbass reason not to try for something decent.”

Exhaling forcefully, Frank's head bobbed in a miniscule nod. “Yah.”

“Yah?” Curtis asked, shocked that he wasn't receiving the typical brick wall of stubbornness he was used to. “Huh, don't think you've ever listened to me before.”

Frank chuckled. “Shut up.”

“So, you think she's good for you?” Curtis asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the first good thing Frank had experienced in a long time.

Blowing out a breath, a blush crawled up Frank's neck, saturating his cheeks with a pink tint. “I know she is.”

“And that scares you.” Curtis stated matter-of-factly.

Initially, Frank's posture went rigid, a scoff clearly brewing in his lungs. But, meeting Curtis' knowing gaze, he deflated and grunted in timid affirmation. “I ain’t…I hurt her, Curt. Bein’ with me, you know damn well it ain’t safe for her.” 

“Because of loose ends? Or because of you?” Curtis let his question ruminate despite being pretty sure he knew the answer already.

“Both.” Frank muttered, kneading at his forehead with the heel of his hand. 

Curtis pursed his lips, knowing exactly the struggle Frank was facing. After a moment, he shrugged. “Do your best to make it safe.” 

“Not sure that’s possible, Curt.” Frank huffed bitterly. 

“Relationships are always trade-offs, Frank. That’s just life.” The scowling Marine rolled his eyes, broad arms sliding into a defensive cross over his chest.

“And I’m supposed to be ok that? Force her to accept everythin’ I’ve done and everythin’ she’d have to deal with cause that’s ‘just life’?”

Stifling a frustrated groan, Curtis socked Frank in the shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to force her into anything. If she wants to accept it, let her. And if this is what you want, then you make it good for her. But first, for Christ's sake, apologize for the record-breaking stick up your ass.”

The corners of Frank’s mouth quirked up. “Any suggestions for that last point?”

“Shit man, if you want me to advise you on your life AND your relationship, I'm gonna need something to eat.“ Striding down the hallway and snatching his jacket from the hook on the wall, Curtis jerked his head toward the door. “C'mon, Frank. You're buying.”

Laughing genuinely, Frank shook his head. ”Alright, alright. Gonna bleed me dry over here.“

”I'm sure I wouldn't be the first,“ Curtis remarked. ”Now, how badly did you fuck up with this girl?“

Frank just grimaced, drawing a knowing laugh from Curtis. “Ok, well, hopefully we can do something about it.”

The night was damp, humid. Muggy air circulating between haphazardly mowed grass and the surrounding space, bouncing off of trees and headstones. He strode across the green carpet, through the shadows and straight for the pair of them. Each step dented the ground, the moss and dense soil clinging to the sole of his boot as he lifted it with a slight squelching noise as the suction released.

As he strode further into the cemetery, the scent of petrichor soured; rotting bodies leached into the dirt, the smell of decay seeping through the ground until it reached his nostrils. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he set his jaw–hoping the emotionless exterior would force the chaos within him to quiet down. Dancing through the jags of marble and stone, fireflies illuminated the slight hill, briefly flashing over a name or the dried stalk of a rose before disappearing.

At the base of the incline, two slabs of granite held the line. The left engraved with his name, the right with Maria’s. As he closed in on the sturdy pair, his fist clenched around the burlap cloth in his hand, rustling the mess of stems tied beneath. Kneeling between the two burial sites, Frank draped the peonies over the surface of Maria’s grave, their petals fanning out over the dew-ridden earth. 

Sighing roughly, he fiddled with them, spreading out the blossoms, careful not to damage the delicate flowers with his harsh movements. His chest felt tight as he worked, quickly moving on from the bouquet to the few stray weeds trailing away from the carved rock. 

“You hate this, don’t ya?” He murmured, a sad smile breaking through his stony expression. “Always on my ass for stayin’ too busy to talk things through. Drove you crazy.” 

A hazy memory surfaced, a young Maria yanking a dish out of his hands as he tried to wash it, staring him down while he hung his head guiltily. He huffed out a tight laugh.

“I’m sorry, baby. Never could do right by you.” Tracing beneath the imprints on her headstone, Frank’s throat ached as he fought back the feelings of guilt and shame and despair he’d been battling for days, all of them threatening to spill over at once. “I’m so sorry, Mar.”

His fingers tightened around the marker, gripping it for dear life as his composure wore thin. “It’s been so long and I..I still miss you every day. Every damn day, baby. You’re my everythin’, ya know that?”

Drawing in a breath, he ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the grimy strands as he grappled for control. “Mar, I..I’m tired. I’m so fuckin’ tired and losin’ you..it’s eatin’ me away, baby. But I–”

His voice broke, a cracked syllable breaking off into a snarl as his fear burst forth. “I can’t do it anymore. I-I can’t. I’m not– I ain’t strong enough, Mar. I can’t live without ya. Not on my own.” 

A breeze ruffled through the trees beyond the cemetery border, whistling lightly as it rounded the headstone and fluttered over the satiny petals of the flowers at his feet. The weight of his existence inexplicably felt unbearable, the tension in his shoulders threatening to snap him in two. Lifting his dirt-streaked hand, his fingers landed on the thin chain hanging around his throat, fiddling with the metal until they landed on the smooth band of a wedding ring. Twisting the sanded gold between the pads of his fingers, he raised his chin, blinking rapidly at the sky to clear the moisture from his vision. 

“Forgive me, baby.” Bending forward, he pressed chapped lips to the slab of granite, its chill surface intent on sapping his body heat. Sinking to his knees, his head landed against the polished stone, fingers viciously gripping handfuls of wilted sod as his emotions clobbered him. 

Closing his eyes did nothing to quell the turmoil, the recesses of his mind swarming with memories. His two beautiful children, smiling wide as he returned home, their tiny arms too short to wrap completely around him when they hugged. Lisa pressed against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder as he thumbed through the pages of a weathered book. Frankie screeching out a laugh as Frank caught him by the waist during a game of catch, thwarting the boy’s attempt to dart away with the football. Maria grinning at him as he hefted all the grocery bags inside in one trip, shaking her head as she ushered him inside. The three of them piled together beneath an oversized blanket, sleeping through a particularly rough thunderstorm. 

Heaving in a breath, he released the ground from his clutches, wiping his palms on his jeans as he tried to get himself under control. 

“Please, Mar, please forgive me.”

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @agirlcandream84 @vsplanet @pigeonmama @silas-aeiou @frogbinch @chwlogy @valhallavalkyrie9

[elikajinnie]

The Goblet Of Hate And Suffering - P.S

P: Durmstrang!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @rustymoons <3 (hope you like it!)

Warnings: Angst, Ex-Lovers, Hurt/No Comfort.

Synopsis: The Triwizard Tournament should be thrilling, but not when it means facing your ex, Sunghoon—the boy who vanished from your life without a word years ago.

a/n: okay this really took everything out of me xD i had the movie on replay besides me to keep up xD some things are different though as i had to adapt and not take it fully from the movie.

see request here -- hogwarts au masterlist

--

Hogwarts was, in your opinion, one of the best wizarding schools in the world. How could it not be? You loved everything about it. Being there was like living in a dream, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This year, though? This year felt special. It wasn’t just any ordinary year—it was the year. The Triwizard Tournament was set to begin, a once-in-a-lifetime event that brought wizards and witches from other schools right into Hogwarts' walls. And if that wasn’t enough to set your heart racing, there was the Yule Ball.

So before the start of the year when your friends invited you to the Quidditch World Cup, you didn’t hesitate for a second to accept the invite. How could you possibly say no?

The moment you stepped into the enormous stadium, your heart had practically leapt out of your chest. It was massive—larger than anything you could have ever imagined, with stands that stretched so high it felt like you could reach out and touch the clouds. And now, as you sat among the sea of cheering fans, the colors of Ireland’s emerald green and Bulgaria’s crimson red swirling together in a chaotic, dazzling display, you could hardly contain your excitement.

The Irish team soared onto the field first, their green robes shimmering in the stadium’s enchanted lights. The leprechaun mascots darted above them, leaving trails of gold sparks in their wake, and you cheered with all your might, your voice nearly getting lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. It didn’t matter, though—you could feel the energy buzzing through you, as if you were part of something monumental.

"Did you see that entrance?" one of your friends shouted over the noise, nudging your shoulder. You grinned, unable to tear your eyes away from the players looping gracefully in formation.

"Brilliant!" you yelled back, clapping so hard your palms stung. "They’re going to destroy Bulgaria!"

“Don’t count Viktor Krum out just yet!” another friend argued, their voice full of competitive glee. “He’s the best Seeker in the world for a reason.” You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing the Bulgarian team take to the skies moments later. Krum himself was a force of nature, cutting through the air with effortless precision. A part of you couldn’t help but admire his skill, though you weren’t about to admit it out loud.

But just as your attention shifted back to the Irish Chasers speeding across the pitch, something else caught your eye—a blur of red robes twisting and flipping through the air in a dazzling display of skill.

You squinted, leaning forward in your seat as the figure effortlessly flipped on their broomstick, narrowly dodging a Bludger before sending it hurtling back across the pitch. The force behind the hit was incredible, and the crowd erupted into cheers as it nearly unseated one of the Irish Chasers. Whoever that was, they were good—too good.

“Who’s that?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the roar of the stadium.

One of your friends leaned in, grinning as they pointed toward the player. “That’s Park Sunghoon! Bulgaria’s star Beater. Isn’t he incredible?”

Your heart stopped.

Park Sunghoon?

No, it couldn’t be.

The name echoed in your mind, dragging you back to memories you had buried long ago. Childhood laughter, stolen glances, the warmth of holding hands under the winter sky—those memories had once meant everything to you. But they’d been shattered just as easily as they were made.

You stared at the figure in the sky, your heart pounding as if it were trying to break free from your chest. Even from this distance, you could make out the sharp features of his face, the way his dark hair was pushed back by the wind, the familiar confidence in every move he made. It was him.

The boy who had left you.

The boy who had broken your heart.

Your hands tightened around the edge of your seat as you tried to steady your breathing. He hadn’t just left—he’d vanished, disappeared from your life without a trace. No goodbye, no letter, no explanation. One day he was there, the next he was gone, and you were left wondering what you’d done wrong.

And now here he was, soaring through the air like he hadn’t once meant the world to you and then destroyed it.

“Are you okay?” your friend asked, nudging you gently.

You forced yourself to nod, though your heart felt like it was lodged in your throat. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely steady. “Just surprised, that’s all. I… I didn’t know he played for Bulgaria.”

Your friend chuckled. “He’s been their Beater for a few years now. A real prodigy, apparently.”

You bit your lip, your gaze never leaving him as he soared through the air, completely unaware of your presence in the crowd. A prodigy. Of course he was. He’d always been talented—good at everything he did. But that didn’t change what he’d done to you.

As the game continued, you tried to focus on the match, on the thrill of the Quaffle being passed and the Bludgers ricocheting through the air. But no matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept drifting back to him.

Park Sunghoon.

The boy you’d once loved. The boy you now hated.

The game went on, but your excitement had dulled, replaced by a heavy weight in your chest. So this was where Sunghoon had been all these years, living a life that seemed as untouchable. You couldn’t help but feel bitter. While you had spent so long trying to pick up the pieces of what he left behind, he had been here, chasing glory.

Your gaze flicked back to him, even though you wished it wouldn’t. You watched as he hit bludger after bludger with perfect precision, his every move calculated and controlled. The way he maneuvered his broom was flawless, almost effortless, as if he were born to be up there.

The crowd roared when he sent a Bludger careening toward one of Ireland’s Chasers, nearly knocking them clean off their broom. Sunghoon didn’t even look back to see if it landed. He just smirked—smirked—like he already knew the damage was done.

That same smirk used to make your heart flutter. Now, it made your stomach churn.

“He’s unbelievable,” your friend said beside you, shaking their head in awe. “You can tell he’s got nerves of steel. Never seen anyone handle a Bludger like that.”

You forced a tight smile, nodding just enough to seem engaged, but your thoughts were elsewhere. It was strange, seeing him again after all this time, yet not entirely surprising. Of course, Sunghoon would end up here, in front of a massive crowd, basking in the spotlight. He’d always been good at standing out, at making people notice him. You just wished you weren’t one of them.

“Why do you look like you’re about to hex someone?” your other friend teased, nudging you with their elbow.

You blinked, realizing you’d been gripping the edge of your seat so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed the lie.

But you weren’t fine. You couldn’t shake the memories of his laugh, his promises, the way he’d told you once—so sincerely—that he’d never leave you. And yet, he had. Without warning, without explanation, he’d vanished from your life like you’d meant nothing to him.

The game’s pace quickened, but you couldn’t focus. Your attention kept returning to him, to the way he moved, so confident and sure of himself. You wondered if he even thought of you anymore. Did he remember the promises he’d made? The summers you’d spent together? Did he ever regret what he’d done, or had he left it all behind as easily as he’d left you?

When the final whistle blew and the game ended with Ireland’s victory, the stadium erupted into cheers. Your friends jumped up, clapping and hollering, but you stayed rooted to your seat, staring blankly at the field as the players descended from the sky.

Sunghoon landed with the rest of the Bulgarian team, his broom slung casually over his shoulder as he laughed at something one of his teammates said. He looked so… unbothered. Like he hadn’t shattered someone’s heart all those years ago. Like he didn’t even know you were there, watching him from the stands.

And maybe he didn’t. Maybe you didn’t matter to him anymore.

After the match, you followed your friends out of the stadium, their excited chatter filling the air around you. They were still buzzing from the game, reenacting their favorite moments and arguing about who had played the best. You forced yourself to smile, to nod along and laugh at the right moments, but your mind was miles away.

By the time you reached the tent you were all sharing, the exhaustion from the day was starting to catch up with you—not just from the excitement of the World Cup, but from seeing him. You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on keeping your friends from noticing that anything was wrong. They didn’t know about Sunghoon. They didn’t know what he’d meant to you—or what he’d done to you.

And you weren’t about to tell them.

“Can you believe that Bludger hit in the second half?” one of your friends exclaimed as they flopped onto their cot, still brimming with energy. “That was insane! I swear, Park Sunghoon almost took that guy’s head off!”

You froze for a moment, but quickly forced yourself to shrug as you started unpacking your things. “Yeah, it was pretty impressive,” you said, keeping your tone light.

“Pretty impressive? That was legendary!” another friend chimed in, throwing their arms up dramatically. “No wonder everyone’s obsessed with him. He’s a total star.”

You laughed softly, though it felt hollow. “Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re not!” they teased, pointing at you with mock disbelief. “Come on, even you have to admit he’s incredible.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to focus on unrolling your sleeping bag. “Yeah, yeah, he’s talented. Can we move on now?”

Your friends laughed, and thankfully, the conversation shifted to other parts of the game. But even as you listened to them, nodding and adding a comment here or there, your mind kept drifting back to Sunghoon.

What were the odds that he’d be here, of all places? That you’d see him after so many years, so many unanswered questions? You hated how easily he’d managed to worm his way back into your thoughts, how the sight of him had unraveled the carefully built walls you’d constructed around those memories.

“Hey, you okay?” one of your friends asked suddenly, breaking through your haze.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring blankly at your hands. “Yeah,” you said quickly, offering them a small smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Fair enough,” they said, stretching out on their cot with a yawn. “That match was exhausting to watch, let alone live through.”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse as you turned away and crawled into your sleeping bag. You faced the side of the tent, your back to your friends, and let out a quiet breath.

It wasn’t like you to dwell on the past. You’d worked so hard to leave all of that behind, to move on. But now, with Sunghoon’s name echoing in your head and the memory of his smirk burned into your mind, you weren’t so sure you could.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. Because no matter how much your heart ached, you couldn’t let yourself go back to that place. Not after everything.

But one simple thought lingered in your mind: What would you do if you saw him again?

The distant sound of fireworks pulled you from your restless thoughts. At first, you thought it might just be the crowd outside celebrating the World Cup—parties like this often went late into the night. But the noises grew louder, more chaotic, and the muffled sounds of shouting sent a chill down your spine.

You sat up in your sleeping bag, your heart already starting to race. Your friends were still talking and laughing, oblivious to the growing commotion outside. Without saying a word, you crawled out of the bag, brushed past them, and unzipped the tent flap.

The sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

People were running, their faces pale with terror. Screams echoed through the night, and the sky was lit not with celebratory fireworks but with harsh flashes of green and red. And then you saw them—dark figures in masks and robes, moving through the chaos like shadows of death.

Death Eaters.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were frozen, rooted to the spot as the realization sank in. This wasn’t just some drunken brawl or post-match celebration gone wrong. This was an attack.

You turned back into the tent, your voice urgent and trembling. “We need to go. Now.”

Your friends stopped mid-conversation, confusion flashing across their faces. “What are you talking about?” one of them asked.

“Death Eaters,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “They’re here. Outside. We have to leave!”

The panic in your tone must have convinced them because they scrambled to their feet without another word. The tent was abandoned in seconds as you all spilled out into the chaos.

The campsite was a mess of panic and fear. Tents were collapsing as people fled in every direction. Fires blazed, casting flickering shadows across the ground, and the masked figures moved through the crowd, sending spells haphazardly into the air.

“Stay together!” one of your friends shouted, but it was easier said than done. The crowd was a tidal wave, and you could barely keep track of where anyone was.

You ran as fast as you could, weaving through the mass of people, your heart pounding with every step. You tried to stay close to your friends, but the crowd pushed and pulled at you, dragging you further away.

“Wait!” you called out, but your voice was lost in the din of screams and crackling spells.

A sudden explosion nearby sent you sprawling to the ground, dirt and debris flying into your face. You scrambled to your feet, coughing as you wiped the dust from your eyes. Your friends were nowhere to be seen now—just the chaos of the crowd and the ominous figures of Death Eaters looming in the distance.

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t freeze. The only thing that mattered now was getting out, finding safety, and praying that your friends had done the same.

--

You, of course, loved when new things happened at Hogwarts. That was why you made sure you had a perfect view of the grand arrivals. You craned your neck along with the rest of the gathered students, excitement buzzing around you.

First came the Beauxbatons carriage, a massive, sky-blue structure that seemed almost too grand to be airborne. Yet there it was, floating gracefully through the sky, pulled by enormous, snow-white horses with wings. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as it descended, landing smoothly on the lawn with an elegance that seemed fitting for the French wizarding school.

You couldn’t help but smile as the Beauxbatons students emerged, their blue silk uniforms shimmering in the light. They moved in perfect synchronization, their grace and poise commanding attention. Even their Headmistress, Madame Maxime, who towered over everyone, carried herself with an air of refined dignity.

But before you could fully admire the carriage’s arrival, the lake began to ripple, the surface breaking apart in shimmering waves.

“The Durmstrang ship!” someone whispered beside you, and all eyes turned toward the water.

The ship emerged slowly, like a great beast rising from the depths, its dark, weathered hull dripping with lake water. It was both eerie and magnificent, its towering masts piercing the sky, flags billowing in the breeze.

Durmstrang students filed out next, their crimson and black uniforms stark against the gray sky. They looked formidable, each of them tall, sharp, and exuding an intimidating confidence. And among them, you noticed Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star, standing out even in the midst of his peers. His presence sent a ripple of whispers through the crowd, but your focus wavered when your gaze caught someone else.

Your breath hitched.

Park Sunghoon.

There he was, standing with the Durmstrang group, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the Hogwarts grounds. His robes fit him perfectly, the deep crimson accentuating his sharp features, and his dark hair was slicked back just like it had been at the Quidditch World Cup.

You froze, every emotion you’d felt at the World Cup flooding back all at once. Shock, anger, and something far more complicated swirled in your chest as you stared at him. He didn’t look your way—of course he didn’t. He probably didn’t even know you were here.

But that didn’t matter. He was here now, at Hogwarts, and there was no escaping it.

“Isn’t this exciting?” one of your friends said beside you, nudging you with a grin. “We’re finally going to meet all these international students!”

You forced a nod, tearing your eyes away from Sunghoon and back to the grand arrivals. But the excitement you’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by a sinking feeling in your stomach.

This was supposed to be your year.

The chatter in the Great Hall was electric as you slipped into your usual spot at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your robe. You tried to focus on the hum of conversations around you, but it was impossible to ignore the nervous flutter in your chest.

Sunghoon was here. He was actually here, walking the same halls you called home.

You tugged at the fabric in your hands, trying to steady your breathing as the hall quieted. Dumbledore rose from his seat, his warm smile spreading across the room as he raised his hands to speak.

“Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts,” he began, his voice carrying easily through the enchanted hall. You leaned back slightly, listening but not fully absorbing the words.

Just as he was finishing his introduction, the doors creaked open, and the sound of hurried footsteps drew everyone’s attention. You stifled a laugh as you saw Filch rushing toward Dumbledore, clutching at his robes like the world was ending.

The two of them whispered hurriedly, and though you couldn’t catch the words, the way Filch waved his arms animatedly made it hard to keep a straight face. After another moment, Filch nodded and scurried back toward the entrance, leaving Dumbledore to clear his throat and return his focus to the students.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling as he looked out over the gathered students, “Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their Headmistress, Madame Maxime!”

With a flourish, Dumbledore gestured toward the doors, and they swung open once again. A quiet gasp swept through the hall as the Beauxbatons students entered,they moved in perfect harmony, a vision of elegance and grace, their soft blue uniforms shimmering as butterflies seemed to materialize and flit around them.

Madame Maxime followed, her towering frame commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

But then Dumbledore spoke again.

“And now, our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang! And their Highmaster Igor Karkaroff.”

You felt your pulse quicken as the Durmstrang students made their entrance.

Their movements were sharp and precise, their staffs sparking with flashes of fire and light as they marched in perfect unison. The rhythmic stomp of their boots echoed through the hall, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

And then, at the end of their group, Viktor Krum appeared. His presence sent a wave of murmurs through the crowd, and for a moment, all eyes were on the famous Seeker.

But yours weren’t.

Because walking beside him, just besides Igor Karkaroff, was Sunghoon.

Your heart dropped as your gaze locked on him, even for just a second. He looked composed, his expression calm and unreadable as always, but there was something about seeing him here, in the Great Hall, that made everything feel far too real.

Panic surged through you, and you quickly turned your head away. You couldn’t let him see you. Not now. Not ever.

Your hands clenched into fists under the table, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to steady yourself. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you kept your head low, praying he wouldn’t notice you in the crowd.

The Durmstrang students reached the front of the hall, and Karkaroff stepped forward to greet Dumbledore, but you barely registered the words.

Sunghoon was here.

Luckily, you found yourself seated far away from Sunghoon, who was sitting with the Durmstrang students. Your focus remained on your plate, keeping your head down, eyes fixed on the food in front of you as you tried to ignore the turmoil churning in your stomach. You couldn’t help but steal quick glances at the table near the front where Sunghoon was sitting. His presence seemed to hang in the air, like an unresolved knot that you couldn’t untangle. You turned your head quickly whenever you thought he might notice, trying to appear casual, but your heart was racing.

The chatter around you died down as Dumbledore stood up, his presence commanding attention.

“Your attention, please,” Dumbledore called, his voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd. You straightened slightly, curiosity piqued.

He raised his hands, pausing for a moment, allowing the silence to settle in the Great Hall. His voice, when it came again, was full of gravitas.

“I would like to say a few words," he looked around. "Eternal glory,” his words was slow and deliberate, “that is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this, that student must survive. Three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks.”

A murmur rippled through the students at the mention of the danger involved.

“For this reason,” Dumbledore continued, his gaze sweeping the room, “the Ministry has seen fit to set a new rule.”

At that moment, the doors at the back of the hall opened, and a tall, thin man entered—Mr. Bartemius Crouch. He was ushered to the front, where he stood beside Dumbledore.

Mr. Crouch cleared his throat and began to speak. “After much consideration,” he said, “the Ministry has decided that no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to enter the Triwizard Tournament.”

A murmur of surprise and disappointment spread through the hall. Students exchanged glances, some groaning in frustration, others whispering indignantly among themselves. You could see the disappointment on the faces of younger students, especially those who had hoped to be chosen for the Tournament.

The murmurs grew louder, voices rising in protest as the students reacted. You felt a small frown tug at your lips.

But before the murmuring could escalate into full-blown chaos, Dumbledore’s voice rang out, louder and more commanding than ever.

“SILENCE!” he shouted, his tone firm and authoritative.

The hall went quiet in an instant, the only sound now the echo of Dumbledore’s command hanging in the air. Every student seemed to hold their breath, awaiting the next word from the Headmaster. His blue eyes sparkled as he surveyed the room, ensuring no one would dare speak again.

With a swift motion, Dumbledore raised his hand, and there, at the front of the Hall, the Goblet of Fire appeared. A blue flame flickered to life inside it, casting an glow.

“It is from this very Goblet,” Dumbledore said, his voice softer now but no less commanding, “that the champions of the Triwizard Tournament will be selected. If a student wishes to participate, all they must do is write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the fire. The Goblet will then choose the most worthy candidates, and their names will be revealed.”

Dumbledore stepped back slightly, and with a flourish, he announced, “And so, I declare that the Triwizard Tournament has begun!”

The next day, after classes, the Great Hall was buzzing with chatter. The Goblet of Fire sat on its pedestal, as students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang gathered around it, their faces alight with excitement as they stepped forward to submit their names.

One by one, students dropped their parchment slips into the Goblet, their expressions a mix of confidence and nerves. You lingered at the edge of the crowd, watching as some strutted forward with exaggerated bravado while others hesitated before tossing their names in.

You had hesitated at first. Surely there was no chance the Goblet would choose you—not when so many others had entered, each with their own skills, talents, and dreams of glory. But something inside you had nudged you forward. You didn’t expect much, but you’d decided to try.

So, slipping through the crowd, you had carefully written your name on a piece of parchment, folded it neatly, and tossed it into the fire. The flames had flared briefly, consuming your name in an instant, before returning to their steady flicker. It was done.

You had just rejoined a group of students who were chatting excitedly about their chances when a wave of murmurs spread through the hall. The sound of heavy boots echoed against the stone floor, and you turned your head toward the commotion.

In came Viktor Krum and Sunghoon, walking side by side, flanked by two other Durmstrang boys you didn’t recognize.

Krum approached the Goblet first, his expression stoic as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, and dropped it into the flames without hesitation.

Then, with a smirk, Krum turned to Sunghoon, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a gentle shove toward the Goblet. You watched as Sunghoon stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

He pulled out his parchment and stared at it for a moment before tossing it into the flames. The Goblet roared briefly, swallowing his name, and just as he turned to step back, his gaze shifted.

Your heart skipped a beat as his eyes locked onto yours.

For a moment, it felt as though the world had slowed down. His eyes widened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out.

You felt your stomach tighten, heat rising to your cheeks. You quickly huffed, turning away before he could say anything—or worse, before you let your emotions show.

The voices around you blurred as you focused on anything else, anywhere else, willing yourself to calm the storm of emotions threatening to rise.

“Everything okay?” one of your friends asked, nudging you gently.

You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just... thinking about the tournament,” you lied, keeping your voice steady.

After some significant time the Great Hall was filled with students as everyone gathered around the Goblet of Fire. You sat down with your friends at the long table, your heart pounding in anticipation. The conversations around you buzzed with excitement, but you found yourself tuning them out, stealing glances at the Goblet instead.

You avoided looking at Sunghoon, though that was easier said than done. He wasn’t sitting far, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. Every time you caught yourself glancing in his direction, your eyes snapped back to your hands, pretending to fiddle with your robes.

"Now," Dumbledore’s voice suddenly boomed, capturing everyone’s attention, "the moment you have all been waiting for—" he paused for effect, "the champion selection."

The hall fell silent, so quiet you could hear the crackle of the Goblet's flames. Dumbledore raised a hand, and as he approached the Goblet, the flames dimmed slightly, casting a faint glow over the room.

Atmosphere. Nice, you thought to yourself, though your stomach churned nervously.

Finally, he touched the Goblet, and with a dramatic flare, the blue fire turned red, roaring upward before spitting out a small piece of parchment. The paper fluttered through the air, and Dumbledore caught it with ease.

He glanced at the name written there, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "The Beauxbatons champion is... Kim Seon-mi!"

Applause erupted as Seon-mi, a graceful girl with striking features, rose from her seat at the Beauxbatons table. She walked toward the champion area with the poise of someone who had been preparing for this moment her entire life.

The Goblet flared red again, the fire roaring before another parchment was ejected. Dumbledore caught it as effortlessly as before. "The Durmstrang champion is... Park Sunghoon."

Your breath hitched as you watched Sunghoon stand. He walked confidently up to Dumbledore, shaking his hand before moving to the champion area.

You clenched your fists in your lap, focusing hard on anything but him, willing the moment to pass.

The Goblet flared for the third time, the red flames licking upward and spitting out one last piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it and unfolded it carefully.

"The Hogwarts champion is..." A pause, then your name rang through the hall.

Time seemed to stop. Your name echoed in your ears as your friends erupted into cheers around you, patting your back and shouting their congratulations. You sat frozen for a moment, your heart pounding, unsure if you had heard correctly.

"Go on!" one of your friends urged, nudging you toward the aisle.

Slowly, you rose from your seat, your legs trembling beneath you. The eyes of the entire Great Hall were on you, and you felt their weight like never before. The cheering, the clapping, the sheer noise of it all—it was almost overwhelming.

You walked up to Dumbledore, his warm smile offering a sense of reassurance. He extended his hand, and you shook it firmly, though your own hand felt clammy.

"Congratulations," he said softly, and you nodded, unable to form words.

With that, you walked toward the champions’ area, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. As you joined Seon-mi and Sunghoon, you couldn’t help but feel the intensity of Sunghoon’s gaze again, though you refused to meet his eyes.

You were the Hogwarts champion.

Why should you look at him? Why should you give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence after everything he’d done—or rather, everything he hadn’t done?

He had left you. Without a word, without an explanation, without a single ounce of consideration for how much it would hurt. And for years, he had acted like you didn’t exist. No letters. No effort to stay in touch. Nothing.

So, as far as you were concerned, he didn’t deserve even a glance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, as if debating whether to say something. But you kept your expression neutral, your posture strong, pretending that the walls was more captivating than his presence mere feet away.

"Congratulations," Seon-mi said, her voice warm and genuine, breaking the silence as she offered you a small smile.

"Thank you," you replied, returning her smile and grateful for the distraction.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything, but you could feel him still looking at you. You clenched your fists subtly, willing yourself to focus on anything but him.

The next day, you found yourself standing awkwardly alongside Sunghoon and Seon-mi in a small corner of the castle grounds. The autumn breeze was crisp, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees and tugging at the edges of your robes. The morning had started off normally enough, but now you were here, lined up like trophies in front of a camera.

The woman in charge of the commotion was someone who had introduced herself with an exaggerated flourish as Rita Skeeter, a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Her bright green robes shimmered in the sunlight, and her perfectly styled hair didn’t move an inch despite the wind. She was, in a word, dramatic.

The camera clicked rapidly as a wiry man darted around you, capturing shots at every angle. Rita stood off to the side, eyeing the three of you with a shark-like smile, her quill floating in mid-air beside her, scratching furiously on a piece of parchment.

“Lovely, just lovely,” Rita cooed, clapping her hands together. “Our three champions, so young, so promising! This will make an excellent story, I can already tell.”

She turned her attention first to Seon-mi, her gaze sweeping over the Beauxbatons champion. “Tell me, darling,” she purred, stepping closer. “What hides in those large, expressive eyes of yours? Is it determination? Fear? Or perhaps… a secret?”

Seon-mi blinked, looking startled by the question but managing to keep her composure. “I’m simply honored to represent my school,” she replied politely, though the corners of her mouth twitched in what might’ve been discomfort.

Rita didn’t linger long on her, however, before turning to you. Her piercing eyes raked over your face, and you felt like you were being dissected under her gaze. She tilted her head slightly, her quill poised mid-scratch as if it too were studying you.

“And you,” Rita said, her voice almost sing-song. “What thoughts swirl behind that composed face of yours? Hmm? Are you confident in your abilities, or is there a storm brewing within you?”

You stiffened slightly, trying not to let her get under your skin. “I’m focused on the tasks ahead,” you said curtly, refusing to give her the drama she was clearly fishing for.

“Oh, how mysterious,” Rita said, her smile widening. “A picture of resolve, aren’t you? Let’s see if we can crack that facade in time.”

Before you could respond, she had already turned to Sunghoon. Her gaze shifted, lingering on him longer than was comfortable. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of glee as she took in his tall frame and broad shoulders.

“And you, my dear boy,” she said, stepping closer and dramatically gesturing to him. “What lies beneath all those muscles, hmm? Confidence? Strength? Or perhaps… vulnerability?”

Sunghoon didn’t flinch under her gaze, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “I’m here to compete,” he said simply, his voice even and detached.

Rita clapped her hands together again, clearly delighted by the responses—or lack thereof—from the three of you. “Oh, I love this group already,” she said with a sly grin. “So much potential, so many untold stories. I’m sure the wizarding world will adore reading about you all.”

You exchanged a glance with Seon-mi, who gave you a subtle shrug as if to say, Just go with it.

Rita gestured for the three of you to stand closer together, her quill darting across the parchment as she continued to scribble furiously. “Now, darlings, one last photo—let’s make it dramatic! Look determined, fierce, ready to take on the world!”

The three of you exchanged awkward looks but complied, standing stiffly as the camera flashed.

As soon as the photo session was over, you were quick to step away, eager to put as much distance between yourself and Rita Skeeter as possible.

As you walked away from the chaotic photo session, it wasn`t long before you and Seon-mi started talking.

“She’s absolutely mad, isn’t she?” Seon-mi said, her soft accent lilting with amusement as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “The way she kept digging for drama—it was like she’s writing a novel, not an article.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “What was that about ‘what hides in your eyes’? I thought she was going to suggest some tragic backstory for you on the spot.”

Seon-mi giggled, shaking her head. “And you—‘a storm brewing behind your composure’? Very ominous.”

“She probably thinks I’m secretly plotting world domination,” you replied dryly, rolling your eyes.

However, the sound of footsteps close behind made you aware that you weren’t entirely alone. A glance over your shoulder confirmed it: Sunghoon was trailing behind, just a step or two away, his expression unreadable.

Seon-mi noticed him too, and her laughter faltered slightly as she gave you a questioning look. You didn’t say anything, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your robes.

It was clear he wanted to say something. You could feel it in the way he hovered, the occasional shuffling of his feet or the way he opened his mouth slightly, only to close it again without speaking.

You and Seon-mi exchanged another glance, and she arched a delicate brow at you as if asking, What’s this about?

But you weren’t about to indulge Sunghoon, not after everything. If he wanted to say something, he’d have to figure out how to do it himself.

“So,” you said, turning back to Seon-mi and pointedly ignoring Sunghoon’s presence. “How long do you think it’ll take before that article comes out? My guess is tomorrow, and it’ll be something ridiculous like, ‘The Champions: Secrets, Strengths, and Scandals.’”

Seon-mi laughed again, picking up on your determination to brush off Sunghoon. “Oh, definitely. And she’ll probably exaggerate everything we said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she claims one of us is cursed or something.”

“That sounds exactly like her,” you said with a grin.

Sunghoon cleared his throat softly behind you, and for a split second, you almost turned around. Almost. But you stopped yourself, forcing your attention to stay on Seon-mi.

Seon-mi glanced back at him briefly, then looked at you again, clearly curious but not pressing the matter.

Sunghoon shifted awkwardly, his hand brushing through his hair as though he was trying to think of what to say. But you didn’t give him the chance, quickly filling the silence with another comment to Seon-mi.

“She’s probably going to make it worse by adding some dramatic headline about our ‘secrets,’” you said, smirking. “She’ll make it sound like we’re all hiding something dark and mysterious.”

Seon-mi chuckled, though her eyes flickered back toward Sunghoon once more. “Well, I guess we’ll see soon enough. Let’s just hope she doesn’t turn us into some love triangle nonsense. You know how those types of stories go.”

You tensed slightly at her words but quickly masked it with a laugh. “That would be a disaster.”

The day of the first challenge arrived with a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your bones. The castle was alive with an electric buzz, students whispering excitedly in the corridors, the tension palpable. You tried your best to keep calm, but the knot in your stomach was relentless.

You had barely slept the night before, lying awake in your dormitory, imagining all the ways the challenge could go wrong. The uncertainty of what awaited you was maddening. None of the champions had been told what they’d face, only that it would test their courage, skill, and quick thinking.

As you made your way to the champions' tent on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, you could feel the weight of every stare from your fellow students. Your friends offered you encouraging smiles and pats on the back, but their optimism felt distant compared to the unease bubbling inside you.

Inside the tent, you were greeted by Seon-mi and Sunghoon. Seon-mi looked nervous but determined, smoothing down her pale blue robes as she offered you a small, reassuring smile. Sunghoon stood off to the side, leaning against the tent pole with his arms crossed, his usual confidence replaced by a subtle tension.

“Good luck,” Seon-mi said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

“Same to you,” you replied, managing a faint smile.

Sunghoon glanced at you, his lips parting slightly as though he wanted to say something. But you quickly looked away, focusing on the commotion outside as the crowd’s cheers grew louder.

The officials entered, holding three small, crystalline spheres that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

“Champions,” one of them began, their voice steady but commanding. “Your first challenge is a test of wits and resilience. Hidden deep within the Forbidden Forest lies the Labyrinth of Whispers. Each of you must navigate its paths, to retrieve magical relics hidden.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Seon-mi, who looked intrigued but tense. Sunghoon, meanwhile, straightened up, his expression unreadable but his shoulders tense.

The official held up the glowing spheres. “Each of these will serve as your guide and key. They will light your path but will also test your worthiness as a champion. You must keep it with you at all times. If you lose it, you forfeit the task.”

Your fingers brushed the cool surface of the sphere as it was handed to you. It pulsed faintly in your hand, like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you could swear you heard a faint whisper coming from it.

“The Labyrinth is alive,” the official continued. “It will attempt to mislead you, confuse you, and perhaps even turn you against yourself. Stay focused, champions. This task will test not only your stamina but your mind.”

As the crowd roared outside, each of you was led to separate entrances of the labyrinth, its towering hedges twisting and pulsing as though they had a mind of their own.

Standing at the threshold, you glanced down at the sphere, which began to glow softly, casting an eerie blue light over your face.

“Champions, you may enter” the voice announced, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

The air grew colder the moment you entered, the sounds of the cheering crowd muffled by the dense walls of the maze. The sphere in your hand pulsed gently, its light flickering to guide you forward.

But the labyrinth was nothing like you expected. The paths shifted beneath your feet, the hedges curling and uncurling as if they were alive. Whispers filled the air, faint and unsettling, their words indecipherable but laced with a strange pull that made you want to stop and listen.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus as the sphere brightened, leading you down a path.

The first obstacle came quickly—a swirling mist rose from the ground, obscuring your vision. It shimmered unnaturally, and as you stepped closer, figures began to emerge from the haze.

They were familiar.

Your friends, their faces twisted in fear and accusation. They called out to you, their voices blending with the whispers of the maze. “Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you help us?”

It was an illusion, you told yourself firmly, gripping your wand. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to move.

The sphere in your hand pulsed sharply, breaking the spell. The mist dissolved, and the figures vanished, leaving you shaken but determined.

Further into the maze, the challenges grew more complex—a riddle spoken by a disembodied voice that demanded an answer before a path would open, a series of enchanted vines that tried to trap you until you cast the right spell to sever them, and a pool of shimmering water that you had to cross without touching it.

And then, just as you thought you were making progress, the maze shifted violently. The path behind you closed, and the hedges ahead twisted into a new formation. You stumbled, clutching the sphere tightly as its glow flickered uncertainly.

You grumbled under your breath, frustration bubbling up as the maze twisted yet again. The hedges seemed to have a mind of their own, changing direction as if to toy with you.

But you didn’t give up. You kept pushing forward, focusing on the gentle pulse of the sphere in your hand. Its glow flickered faintly, as if it was trying to reassure you.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you saw it—there, nestled among the twisting branches of the maze, was a glowing relic. It was an ornate, silver chalice, encrusted with gemstones that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

Your breath caught in your throat. This was it—the relic you were sent to find.

You picked it up carefully, feeling its weight in your hand. The moment your fingers touched the cool surface of the chalice, the sphere in your hand pulsed brightly, its light turning a brilliant white. The hedges around you seemed to tremble, and with a sudden, sharp crack, the labyrinth opened up a clear path before you.

A pathway leading directly to the exit.

You couldn’t help but smile as you started walking briskly, the pressure of the maze’s tricks slowly fading away. The light from the sphere illuminated the way, guiding you confidently.

And then, in the distance, you saw it. The edge of the labyrinth. The exit.

You broke into a sprint, heart racing with a mixture of triumph and relief. You burst through the final stretch and out into the open air, the sound of sudden loud applause brusted in the air.

As you caught your breath, basking in the glory, you realized something.

You were the first to make it out of the labyrinth.

“You did it!”

Before you could react, your friends rushed at you, nearly knocking you off your feet as they wrapped you in a tangle of hugs and cheers.

“You were amazing!” one of them exclaimed, shaking your shoulders in giddy excitement.

“First one out? Are you kidding me? That was brilliant! You’re going to crush this tournament!”

You couldn’t help but smile as their words of encouragement washed over you, the sound of their cheers louder than the crowd’s applause.

But then your eyes flickered toward the labyrinth’s exit.

And there he was.

Sunghoon stepped out of the maze, his sphere still glowing faintly in his hand. His dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath.

Your smile faltered.

He scanned the crowd quickly, his eyes landing on you almost immediately. His gaze was sharp, and it made your chest tighten in a way you hated. You could see the faintest trace of something in his expression—surprise, pride, maybe even regret—but you looked away before you could decipher it.

“You okay?” one of your friends asked, noticing your sudden silence.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile back onto your face. “Just tired, that’s all.”

But your heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Even as your friends continued to celebrate around you, patting your back and shouting about how you were destined to win, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Sunghoon’s eyes still lingering on you.

The labyrinth's exit shifted again, and you turned just in time to see Seon-mi stumble out, her sphere glowing faintly as she clutched an ornate relic in her hands. Her face was flushed, her hair slightly disheveled.

“Seon-mi!” you yelled, breaking away from your friends and running toward her.

Her head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and when she saw you running toward her, her lips curled into a tired but radiant smile.

“You did it!” you cheered, throwing your arms around her in an enthusiastic hug. She let out a surprised laugh, nearly dropping her relic as she hugged you back.

“You too!” she said, her voice breathless with exertion. “First place, huh? Absolutely crushing it!”

“Barely,” you teased, stepping back to look her over. “But look at you! That was amazing!”

She let out a small laugh, holding up her relic. “I thought I was done for at least three times in there. That maze is evil.”

“Tell me about it,” you said, shaking your head. “But you made it out—and with style, might I add.”

But then, as the sound of the crowd swelled again, you felt a presence nearby. You glanced over your shoulder and saw Sunghoon standing off to the side, watching the two of you.

His expression was hard to read—somewhere between reserved and contemplative—but his gaze lingered on you just a little too long.

Seon-mi seemed to notice as well, her laughter trailing off as she followed your line of sight. She arched an eyebrow at you, leaning in slightly. “So… what’s the deal with him?”

You shook your head quickly, pulling your attention back to her. “Nothing,” you said, forcing a casual tone. “Let’s just focus on celebrating this, okay?”

Seon-mi gave you a curious look but didn’t press further. Instead, she slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning. “Fine, fine. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily! Later, I’m getting the full story.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but you couldn’t help but smile.

--

The cool breeze of the courtyard did little to calm the storm of thoughts in your mind as you sat on the stone bench, books and notes spread out before you. You were determined to be as prepared as possible for the next challenge. Your quill scratched furiously against the parchment as you jotted down strategies and possible spells to master.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a shadow fell over your notes.

“Uhm.. hi” came a familiar voice, soft but hesitant.

You froze for a moment before slowly looking up. Sunghoon stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his Durmstrang coat, his expression unreadable.

“What do you want?” you asked curtly, frowning as you set your quill down.

“I just… thought I’d check on you,” he said, his voice steady but tentative. His dark eyes scanned your face, searching for something. “You look good.”

You blinked at him, taken aback for a split second before your frown deepened.

“I look good?” you repeated, scoffing. “That’s what you’re starting with?”

Sunghoon shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s been a long time. I just—wanted to see how you’ve been.”

“How I’ve been?” you echoed, your tone sharp. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms as you fixed him with a glare. “You disappear for years, act like I don’t exist, and now you suddenly care about how I’ve been?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. “I—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’m busy.”

You turned your attention back to your notes, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But instead, Sunghoon stayed where he was, his presence looming over you like an unwelcome shadow.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded like regret.

You let out a bitter laugh, not bothering to look up at him. “Well, congratulations anyways, Sunghoon. You did a fantastic job of it.”

There was a long pause, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his gaze on you, but you refused to meet it.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said finally, his voice barely audible.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

You exhaled sharply, your chest tight with emotions you didn’t want to name. Shaking your head, you forced yourself to focus on your studies again. You didn’t have time to dwell on the past.

--

You sat at the long table with your housemates, absently picking at your food as they chattered excitedly about the upcoming Yule Ball. The air was full of laughter and bright energy, but you couldn’t shake the distant feeling that seemed to cling to you.

The news had spread like wildfire—people were already planning who they would ask to be their dates. You watched with a faint sense of detachment as a group of boys at the far end of the table gathered their courage, each nervously approaching the girls they had set their sights on. One by one, the proposals were made, and you noticed how the girls blushed, some laughing, others squealing in excitement.

The laughter echoed around you, but you were strangely unaffected. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go—of course, you did—but the thought of asking someone, or even being asked, felt… far away. Maybe it was the pressure of the tournament, or maybe it was something else.

“Are you going to the ball?” someone asked, pulling you back into the conversation.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh, yeah, probably,” you answered, your voice a little more distant than you intended.

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound too excited about it.”

You shrugged, not quite knowing how to explain. “I just… have other things to focus on right now.”

Your housemates, seemingly unfazed by your answer, continued on with their talk of dresses and tuxedos, and who they thought would be the first to ask who. You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the midst of all their enthusiasm.

Later in the day you stepped out of the classroom, still absorbed in your thoughts, when a sudden voice pulled you from your reverie. You turned, slightly startled, to see a Durmstrang boy standing there, his posture straight, a confident but friendly smile on his face.

"Excuse me," he said, his accent thick but clear.

You didn't recognize him immediately, but something about his presence stood out—he had an air of quiet confidence that seemed to command attention. He looked at you intently for a moment before extending his hand in a polite gesture.

"I'm Park Jisung," he introduced himself smoothly. "I was wondering... would you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. Your first instinct was to look around, as though checking for any signs of teasing or mockery, but there was none. The confidence with which he spoke was genuine, and something about his demeanor made you feel less like a spectacle and more like someone he'd truly wanted to ask.

You hesitated for a moment, before realizing you hadn’t even considered asking anyone to the ball.

"Well..." you began, your voice trailing off as you looked him over once more. He was undoubtedly handsome, and you had to admit, there was something refreshing about his approach. It wasn’t shy or hesitant like some others, nor was it awkward. He had simply asked.

You exhaled slowly, smiling faintly. "I’ll admit… you’re the first one to ask me," you said, your tone a little more playful than you intended. "And I guess I like that you’re confident enough to actually do it."

Jisung’s smile widened, clearly pleased by your response. "So, does that mean I have a yes?"

You paused again, just for a second, but the weight of everything else made it hard to focus on anything else. But here was someone who seemed genuine, without baggage.

"Yeah," you said, finally nodding. "I’ll go with you."

Jisung grinned, looking pleased, his expression softening a little. "Great. I’ll make sure you have a good time, then."

You smiled back, feeling a little lighter than before.

--

You stood before the mirror, taking one last look at yourself. The gown you wore was a beautiful shade of deep blue, with delicate silver embroidery that caught the light every time you moved. Your hair was styled elegantly, with soft waves that framed your face, and a delicate sparkle of jewelry adorned your neck and wrists. Despite the reflection staring back at you, a feeling of unease lingered in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t look good—no, you felt pretty, even confident in the gown. But your mind was elsewhere.

Sighing, you turned away from the mirror and took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts aside. Tonight was supposed to be fun. You didn’t want to ruin it by overthinking.

As you made your way to the Grand Hall, your steps quickened, a sense of anticipation growing within you. The music and chatter filled the air as you approached, and just as you were about to enter, you were suddenly ushered inside by none other than Professor McGonagall.

“Ah, there you are,” she said with a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You look stunning tonight. Enjoy yourself.”

You nodded, smiling in return, and walked into the hall, where the grand spectacle awaited. The chandeliers glittered above, casting a warm glow on the swirling dancers below, their laughter and joy filling the room.

There, standing near the edge of the floor, was Jisung. He was dressed impeccably, looking every bit the gentleman in his sleek suit. When he saw you, his face brightened, and he gave you a warm smile. He took a step toward you, bowing deeply with a flourish.

“You look absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice genuine and kind. He reached out a hand, and you placed yours in his, letting him gently lead you onto the dance floor.

As the music swelled, Jisung guided you gracefully, his movements smooth and practiced. You couldn’t help but be impressed by how well he moved—he was a good dancer, relaxed, and seemed to know exactly how to hold you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept away, forgetting everything else.

But then, you caught sight of him.

Sunghoon.

And with him was Wonyoung.

Your heart skipped, a flutter of nerves taking over as you saw the two of them talking, laughing together. Wonyoung, the elegant Beauxbatons student you’d gotten to know a little through Seon-mi, was standing so gracefully beside him, laughing at something he had said. She was every bit the picture of poise and beauty. Her long, shiny hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes sparkled with charm as she spoke. It was hard not to admire her—she was one of the most beautiful girls you’d met, and she carried herself with such effortless grace. You had nothing but kindness for her, but seeing them together made your stomach twist in a way you hadn’t expected.

Wonyoung's family was one of the wealthiest in France, and it showed in the way she carried herself—refined, composed, and effortlessly elegant. Everything about her seemed so perfect, and in comparison, you felt almost... ordinary.

You had always tried not to let those insecurities show, but seeing Sunghoon with her, so at ease, made you wonder if you'd ever really meant anything to him at all. You quickly looked away, focusing instead on Jisung, who was still guiding you through the dance with ease.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sensing your change in demeanor. His eyes softened with concern.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just a little distracted, I guess.”

Jisung gave you a knowing smile. “It’s a big night. I can’t say I blame you for having a lot on your mind.”

You let out a breath, grateful for his understanding.

As the night wore on, you allowed yourself to enjoy the dance, the music, and the lighthearted conversation with Jisung. His presence was calming, and his gentleness made it easy for you to forget about the stress that had been gnawing at you. He was attentive without being overbearing, asking questions, and making sure you were comfortable. He never pushed, never rushed. It was a kindness that was rare, and you couldn't help but be grateful for it.

You weren’t thinking about the pressure or the heartbreak—you were just here, in the moment, dancing with someone who genuinely cared.

As the night continued, you found yourself smiling without restraint. Jisung's soft laughter filled the air as he spun you around with grace. And when the song ended, he pulled you gently to a stop, holding your hand as he looked at you, his eyes soft.

"You've got the best smile," he said, his voice low but warm, "It's nice to see you so... carefree."

You blushed, a soft warmth spreading across your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. "Thank you," you said, smiling back at him.

"Anytime," Jisung replied, and his eyes sparkled with genuine kindness.

--

The day of the second challenge had arrived, and despite the tension in the air, you and Seon-mi couldn’t help but find small moments of humor. The two of you sat together, sharing sweets from a small pouch she had brought along.

“These are amazing,” you mumbled, popping another sugary treat into your mouth.

“Right? My mom sends them from home,” Seon-mi said with a proud grin. “I swear they’re the only thing keeping me sane during all this madness.”

You both started snickering as she nudged you with her shoulder, and you nudged her right back. The lightheartedness between the two of you felt like a much-needed reprieve from the stress of the tournament.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sunghoon standing a short distance away with Krum and a couple of Durmstrang students. They were speaking in low tones, their expressions serious as they seemed to discuss strategy.

But Sunghoon wasn’t paying attention to Krum.

Every so often, his gaze flickered over to where you and Seon-mi were laughing, his brow furrowing slightly as though he was trying to figure out what was so funny.

Seon-mi caught on and leaned closer to you. “He’s staring again,” she whispered, her voice laced with teasing.

You glanced over briefly, meeting Sunghoon’s eyes for half a second before quickly looking away. “Let him,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging as you reached for another sweet.

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on there?” Seon-mi asked, her grin mischievous.

“Absolutely nothing,” you said firmly, though the slight edge in your tone made Seon-mi raise an eyebrow.

“Alright, alright,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “But if he keeps looking at you like that, I might start thinking he’s got something to say.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing her off. “He can keep whatever he wants to say to himself.”

Just then, a whistle blew, signaling that the champions should gather at the starting line. The lighthearted atmosphere shifted as the reality of the challenge set in, and you exchanged a quick look with Seon-mi.

“Let’s do this,” she said, offering you a fist bump.

You knocked your fist against hers, giving her a small smile. “Let’s.”

The crowd gathered around the edge of the massive lake, buzzing with anticipation as the cold morning air nipped at your skin. You stood with Seon-mi and Sunghoon on the raised platform overlooking the water, your nerves bubbling beneath the surface, though you tried to appear calm.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his long silver beard glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. The murmurs in the crowd quieted as his voice, amplified by magic, rang out clearly across the grounds.

“Champions!” he began, a warm yet commanding tone in his voice. “For your second challenge, you will face one of the most formidable and ancient tests: navigating the depths of the Black Lake.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you could hear a collective gasp ripple through the students behind you. Even Seon-mi shifted nervously beside you.

Dumbledore continued, “Hidden beneath these waters are treasures most precious to you—each chosen specifically for this challenge. Your task is to retrieve these treasures and return them safely to the surface. But beware… the lake holds many secrets, and its creatures are not known for their kindness.”

The mention of creatures sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your face neutral.

“The time limit is one hour,” Dumbledore added, his gaze sweeping across the champions. “Failure to return within this time will result in… unfortunate consequences for what you leave behind.”

The cryptic phrasing made your stomach turn, and you couldn’t help but glance at the still, dark surface of the lake. The Black Lake had always seemed mysterious, but now it felt downright menacing.

“Your wands will, of course, be allowed,” Dumbledore added. “You may use any spell, charm, or potion you’ve prepared to aid you. The challenge begins shortly—champions, prepare yourselves.”

As the crowd broke into excited murmurs, Ludo Bagman stepped up to add his usual theatrical flair. “Ladies and gentlemen! Gather around and make your bets—oh, er, I mean—place your predictions! Who will prevail in this challenge of skill, bravery, and a touch of aquatic ingenuity?”

You barely paid attention to him as you turned to Seon-mi, who gave you a slightly nervous smile. “What do you think they mean by ‘most precious to you’?” she asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your mind racing with possibilities.

Before either of you could speculate further, Igor Karkaroff approached Sunghoon, muttering instructions in his ear. You noticed Sunghoon glance at you briefly before nodding, his jaw tightening.

“You’ll be fine,” Seon-mi whispered, nudging you gently. “We’ve got this.”

You nodded, giving her a small, determined smile. “Yeah, we do.”

The sound of the starting gunshot echoed, and without hesitation, you dove forward. As you leapt off the platform, you muttered the Bubble-Head Charm under your breath, feeling the familiar sensation of the magical air bubble forming around your face just as you hit the freezing surface of the Black Lake.

The cold water wrapped around you like an icy embrace, sending a shiver through your entire body. You pushed through it, forcing yourself to focus. The world beneath the lake was murky, dark, and eerily quiet, broken only by the distant swaying of underwater plants and the occasional darting shadow of a fish.

You kicked your legs hard, propelling yourself deeper into the water. The sunlight above barely penetrated the lake’s depths, leaving everything shrouded in an unsettling gloom. You gripped your wand tightly, its faint luminescent tip acting as your only reliable guide.

Your breath echoed softly within the bubble charm as you swam forward, eyes scanning the seemingly endless expanse of water for any clue to what you were looking for.

The silence was suddenly broken by a ripple of movement far ahead. You squinted, trying to make sense of the shifting shapes in the distance. Were they merpeople? Grindylows? Or worse?

As you swam closer, you felt the water begin to stir unnaturally around you, currents pushing against your path as if trying to steer you away. Ignoring the resistance, you pressed onward, following a faint glow that seemed to pulse ahead of you.

The glow of the archway cast an eerie light on the scene before you, and your heart nearly stopped when you saw the frozen, lifeless forms suspended in the water. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized one of them—Jeongseob. His eyes were closed, his body eerily still, tethered to the rocky floor by a thick strap around his ankle.

Without hesitation, you swam toward him, your heart pounding as you reached for the strap holding him in place.

Out of the corner of your eye, movement caught your attention. Turning your head sharply, you spotted a cluster of merpeople circling nearby, their sharp eyes fixed on you. Their expressions were unreadable, but their tridents glinted threateningly in the dim light.

You huffed, pushing away the unease crawling up your spine, and focused on the strap. Your fingers fumbled with the knot as you tried to release him, but it was tighter than you anticipated. Pulling out your wand, you muttered a quick Diffindo, and the strap snapped cleanly apart.

Grabbing Jeongseob under his arms, you began to lift him when a figure suddenly darted past you, cutting through the water with precision.

Sunghoon.

You froze for a moment, watching as he swam toward another frozen figure—you recognized immediately as Wonyoung. His movements were swift, almost practiced, as he reached her side and inspected the strap binding her.

Sunghoon released her with practiced ease, and with one strong kick, he began swimming upward, her unconscious form in tow.

You snapped back to reality, your grip tightening around Jeongseob as you adjusted his weight. With one last glance at the merpeople, who thankfully didn’t move to stop you, you started your ascent toward the surface.

The water seemed heavier now, the glow from the archway fading the farther you swam. You pushed yourself harder, focusing on Jeongseob’s still form and the faint light of the surface above. Your lungs burned, your muscles ached, but you refused to stop.

When you broke through the surface, gasping for air, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You swam toward the platform as quickly as you could, hauling Jeongseob out of the water with the help of a few officials.

Turning your head, you caught sight of Sunghoon already on the platform, placing Wonyoung gently on the ground.

The way he looked at her made something twist uncomfortably in your chest, though you couldn’t quite name the feeling. His soaked hair stuck to his forehead, droplets trailing down his face.

You quickly averted your eyes, focusing entirely on Jeongseob, who was coughing and spluttering as he tried to sit upright.

"Hey, take it slow," you murmured, brushing his damp hair out of his face. Relief coursed through you as his breaths steadied. "You're okay now."

Jeongseob gave you a weak smile, his voice hoarse. "I knew you'd save me."

You helped him to his feet, steadying him as one of the mediwizards approached to check on him.

The crowd roared again as Seon-mi broke through the surface, dragging her younger brother along with her. She looked utterly exhausted, but a triumphant grin spread across her face as she hauled him onto the platform. You cheered for her, clapping as she waved in your direction, her relief evident.

"You did amazing!" you called, and she laughed breathlessly, collapsing onto the platform beside her brother.

You could only smile at her.

After that, it seemed like the universe had decided to work against you. Everywhere you turned, Sunghoon and Wonyoung seemed to be there—together.

At breakfast in the Great Hall, you’d glance up from your toast only to see him leaning slightly toward her, talking quietly while she smiled, twirling a strand of her dark hair between her fingers. In the corridors, you’d catch them walking side by side, Wonyoung’s melodic laugh ringing in the air as Sunghoon’s eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement.

Even during the rare moments you found peace in the library, they’d somehow find their way to a table not too far from you. Wonyoung would whisper something, her delicate hand brushing against Sunghoon’s arm, and he’d lean closer, murmuring back with a small smile that made your stomach churn.

Wonyoung wasn’t the problem, you reminded yourself.

But knowing she wasn’t the problem didn’t make it hurt any less.

Every time you saw them together, it was like a thorn pressing deeper into your chest. You’d tell yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what Sunghoon did or who he spent his time with. He wasn’t your problem anymore.

Yet, the memories of your shared past refused to fade. The way he used to look at you like that, the way he used to make you laugh until your sides hurt—it all lingered in the back of your mind, taunting you.

"You're staring again," Seon-mi teased you, nudging you with her elbow.

You snapped your gaze away from the corner of the courtyard where Sunghoon and Wonyoung were talking. He was holding something out to her—a book, maybe—and she took it with a grateful smile.

"I wasn’t staring," you lied, biting into the apple in your hand with more force than necessary.

Seon-mi raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, and I’m secretly the Minister of Magic."

You rolled your eyes, refusing to engage further.

But even as you tried to brush it off, the frustration bubbled under your skin. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself. It was annoyance. Annoyance that he had the audacity to walk back into your life and act like nothing had happened. Annoyance that he was suddenly everywhere, an unavoidable presence that reminded you of things you’d tried so hard to forget.

You bit down harder on your apple, you silently vowed to keep your focus on the tournament and nothing else. Sunghoon could do whatever—or whoever—he wanted. You had more important things to worry about.

The day of the third challenge arrived, and the anticipation in the air was palpable. The weight of the past challenges hung heavy, and with every passing moment, the dread of what lay ahead only grew. You stood there, in the cold, feeling the slight tremor in your hands as you clasped them together, trying to steady yourself.

The arena was unlike anything you’d seen before—towering stone walls, an eerie silence that almost seemed to press in on you, and the unnatural stillness of the sky overhead. The crowd’s murmurs were distant, but your mind was too focused on the task ahead to truly hear them.

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest, the adrenaline starting to kick in. The previous challenges had been difficult, but this one? This one was unlike anything you had ever prepared for. There was no room for hesitation or second-guessing.

“Competitors, step forward,” a booming voice called, pulling you from your thoughts.

You took a deep breath and walked forward with purpose, fighting the nerves that clawed at your insides. This was it. The final challenge.

The stands were packed with eager faces, eyes fixed on you and the other competitors.

Ahead of you stood the final challenge—a labyrinth of twisting hedges, rising walls of thorns that reached high above your head. You could feel the weight of the crowd's gaze, but you focused on the task ahead.

"Your task is simple," the voice of the Headmaster rang out again, "Navigate the maze, retrieve the Triwizard Cup at the center, and return. The maze will change as you progress. Be alert. Be ready."

With a final glance around at your fellow competitors you took a steadying breath, stepping toward the entrance of the maze. The world seemed to fall silent as your footsteps echoed, each one leading you deeper into the unknown.

The first few moments were calm, and you felt your nerves settle as you moved swiftly through the narrow paths. But then, as you rounded a corner, a sudden shift in the maze occurred. The path behind you collapsed, leaving no way to retrace your steps.

You gritted your teeth. No turning back now.

The wind howled through the labyrinth, whistling past your ears as if the very maze itself was trying to disorient you. Every step felt like it led you in circles, the twisting paths all blending together in a maddening blur. Frustration bubbled up inside you, and you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to stay focused.

You clutched your wand tighter, the familiar weight grounding you. With every turn, you muttered spells under your breath, trying to manipulate the maze, hoping to find some way to make it easier, but the labyrinth seemed to grow more chaotic with each passing second. The walls shifted again, and you cursed under your breath as the path you’d just taken disappeared behind you, leaving you with only a narrowing tunnel ahead.

A flicker of light suddenly caught your attention. You turned, heart skipping a beat as you saw the glow of something ahead, faint but undeniable. The Triwizard Cup.

Without thinking, you sprinted toward it, adrenaline pushing you to the limit. But the wind picked up again, this time more violent, the trees around you creaking under the pressure. The air grew heavier, and you had to shield your face against the sharp sting of the gusts.

Just as you thought you were getting closer, a new barrier rose in front of you—a wall of thick, thorned vines, their sharp tips glinting like daggers. You skidded to a halt, barely able to avoid running into them.

Your heart raced as you glanced around, trying to find another way. You reached for your wand, but before you could cast another spell, something in the corner of your eye caught your attention.

Movement. A shadow darting through the maze. You narrowed your eyes, instinctively reaching for your wand again, but when you looked closer, you realized it wasn’t an enemy.

It was Sunghoon.

You froze for a moment, but there was no time to waste. You had your goal: the Triwizard Cup. You couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now, not when you were so close.

You pushed forward, every muscle in your body screaming, but you couldn’t afford to slow down.

Sunghoon was right behind you now, running just as fast, his dark silhouette cutting through the chaos of the maze. The wind howled, fiercely whipping around you both.

You could hear his footsteps, closer now, like a shadow trailing in your wake. With the wind pushing against you, it felt like an invisible hand was trying to drag you back, but you fought it, forcing your legs to move faster, your heart pounding in your ears. You couldn’t let him win.

The thorns of the maze lashed out like wild creatures, scraping your arms as you rushed past. You barely noticed the pain. All you could focus on was the glowing cup just ahead.

You shot a glance over your shoulder. Sunghoon was gaining on you, his pace matching yours with frightening precision. You swallowed hard, feeling the competitive drive surge through your veins. There was no way you’d let him get there first.

In that instant, the wind picked up again, stronger this time, pushing against both of you with brutal force. It felt like the very maze itself was trying to separate you, to tear you both apart. The gusts howled louder, as if the maze itself had come alive to stop you from reaching the prize.

You pushed through the wind, the air sharp in your lungs, heart hammering against your ribs.

But just as you thought you had gained an edge, the wind howled even harder, and a massive gust swept across the maze. You stumbled, feet slipping beneath you, and you heard Sunghoon’s sharp breath as he took advantage of the opening.

You were neck and neck now, the cup within both of your grasps, but who would get there first?

Your hand reached out, fingers brushing against the golden edges of the cup...

And just like that, it was over.

In a flash, Sunghoon's hand shot out, quicker than you could react, and he snatched the Triwizard Cup from right before you. Your heart sank as you watched him grasp it tightly, his fingers curling around its surface, his expression set in triumph.

For a moment, the wind seemed to quiet, almost as if it too had paused to watch the final moment unfold. You froze, chest heaving, the adrenaline crashing through your body like a wave.

He had won. He had beaten you.

--

You stood there, surrounded by your friends’ supportive words, each one trying to lift your spirits. It helped, in a way. You had made it this far. You had survived the Triwizard Tournament’s challenges, something that not everyone could say. You had won the first challenge, and that counted for something.

But as the cheers echoed around you, you couldn’t help but feel a lingering disappointment. You had been so close, so close to finishing it all. You had fought hard, but in the end, Sunghoon had been the one to claim victory.

You glanced over at him, watching as he was surrounded by his fellow Durmstrang students. Their excitement was palpable, and it stung to see him raised up on a pedestal, holding the cup aloft like a hero. He posed for pictures, a small smile on his face, as if everything had gone exactly according to plan.

Your gaze shifted to Igor Karkaroff, who was grinning from ear to ear, his greedy eyes never leaving the cup. As Sunghoon handed it over to him, Karkaroff’s hand clapped firmly on Sunghoon’s back, a gesture that seemed more like a possessive claim than a congratulatory pat.

You swallowed hard, that familiar bitterness rising in your chest.

It wasn’t just the victory that stung—it was everything that came with it. The attention, the admiration, and the way people seemed to bend around Sunghoon like he was the center of their world.

You shook the thoughts away, reminding yourself that you had made it through. You had done your best.

--

The courtyard was alive with activity as students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang prepared to depart.

You stood with Seon-mi, your heart heavy. Despite everything, she had become a true friend to you.

“You better write to me,” she said, her voice tinged with emotion as she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Only if you write back,” you teased, your voice wavering slightly.

Seon-mi laughed, stepping back to look at you. “I will. I promise. And maybe I’ll convince my parents to let me visit Hogwarts sometime.”

“Please do,” you said, smiling despite the ache in your chest.

With one final hug, Seon-mi stepped onto the carriage, giving you a cheerful wave before disappearing inside. You stood there for a moment, before turning to leave.

That’s when you saw him.

Sunghoon stood by Krum, speaking quietly. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to his expression that you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart was pounding as you approached Sunghoon. With every step closer, you felt the weight of everything unsaid between you. This was it. If you didn’t confront him now, you never would.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and grabbed his arm. He turned to you, startled, his eyes wide.

“Come with me,” you said firmly, dragging him away from the group and toward a quiet corner near the castle walls.

“Wait—what are you doing?” he asked, but he didn’t resist.

When you stopped, you let go of his arm, crossing yours tightly over your chest. “I need to know something, Sunghoon. I need to know why you left.”

His expression faltered, the usual confidence in his gaze replaced with unease. “Why I left?” he echoed, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“Yes,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why you left me. You just disappeared without a word, Sunghoon. I deserve to know the truth.”

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse to answer. But then, he finally spoke.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low. “I… I liked you when we were kids, alright? I did. But then… I don’t know, I guess I just… fell out of love.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your heart stopped, and for a moment, all you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears.

“You’re lying,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I’m not—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “That’s not the truth. Tell me the real reason, Sunghoon. I deserve that much.”

He sighed again, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the conversation was finally catching up to him. His brows furrowed, and he looked away from you, his jaw clenching.

“Fine,” he muttered, his tone sharper now. “You want the truth? My parents didn’t like you.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“They didn’t like you,” he repeated, looking at you now. His eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place—regret, anger, guilt, maybe all three. “Your family… you’re not pureblood. My parents didn’t think you were good enough for me. And when they decided to send me to Durmstrang, I had the chance to leave everything behind. So I did.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, the truth sinking in like ice water in your veins.

“So, what?” you finally managed, your voice shaking. “You just… left because they told you to? Because you couldn’t be bothered to fight for me? For us?”

He flinched at your words, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly. “I was a kid, okay? I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the cold air. “Well, you did. You hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders tense and his expression unreadable.

You shook your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to decide what hurts me, Sunghoon. And you don’t get to justify what you did. You could’ve told me the truth back then. You could’ve given me the chance to understand. But you didn’t. You just… left.”

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but you didn’t want to hear it. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there alone.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was the answer you needed. And now, at least, you could finally start moving on.

a/n: my angst is a bit rusty... LUCKILY I GOT MORE ANGST COMING!

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

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[etherealstar-writes]

I WANNA BE YOURS | WOSO X READER | PT 15

pairings: woso x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: fifteen

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ nahhh that's it i'm quitting this job tillies my baes you guys hiring? 🙏

stairway NOOOO Y/N IM SOO SORRY

willybum Y/N NO

elton ABSOLUTELY NOT

kyra ABSOLUTELY YES

cha cha YESSS WE WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS

stephy of course! 🥰

the REAL karate kid NAHHH

neev WE DIDNT MEAN TOO Y/N WE'RE REALLY SORRY

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ NO YOU GUYS ARE NOT

meado what did you guys do this time

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

stairway it was nothing!

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ NOTHING?!

willybum did you just make a meme of me ....

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ i've made memes of all of you BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT RN i hate you all except lotte i love you you're the only lioness i'll support

tom holland's twin while i really appreciate that pls don't leave me with these idiots 🥺🙏

meado waittt i wasn't part of all this why hate meee

earpsy yeah i wasn't there either why do we gotta suffer tho

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ MARY you not being there was what caused this torture and suffering in the first place 😭😭

keira i'm so out of the loop rn

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ SO THESE IDIOTS THOUGHT I'D BE GREAT FOR TARGET PRACTICE IN GOALS AND SHOVED ME IN THE BATTLEFIELD WITHOUT MY CONSENT ME WHOS THE OPPOSITE OF ATHLETIC GOT ABUSED BCUZ OF THEM ALL only lotte being the angel she is helped me

willybum it wasn't even that badddd

stairway yeahh you're being kinda dramatic

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ WASNT EVEN THAT BAD?! EXCUSE YOU I HAVE A CONCUSSION BCUZ OF YOU GUYS AND A MASSIVE BUMP ON MY HEAD AND YOURE CALLING ME DRAMATIC?!

tom holland's twin yeah it was a nasty bump ngl y'all knocked out her braincells

elton i mean to be fair she kinda didn't have many braincells to begin with anyway ....

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ SPEAK FOR YOURSELF THATS ITTT TILLIES YALL MY NUMBER ONE MY MAIN MY HOMELAND

the REAL karate kid

willybum NOOO NOT THEMMM WE SHOULD BE YOUR NUMBER ONE

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ WELL YOU SHOULDVE THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE YALL ATTACKED ME AFTER EVERYTHING IVE DONE FOR YALL AND THIS IS HOW YOU GUYS REPAY ME?!

kyra charli and i are coming to get ya rn from these losers we're on our way

stairway WHO YOU CALLING LOSERS?!

willybum this is unacceptable

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

willybum

the REAL karate kid

neev NAHH WE'LL WAGE WAR

kyra

come at me you colonisers

tom holland's twin NAHH NOT COLONISERS 😭😭

stairway WE WILL

cha cha imma bring in the big guns

cha cha added brick wall, ford, lani and sammy the skippa

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

OMG MORE AUSSIES AYEE

cha cha um that photo .... anyway macca cait lani protect y/n at all costs

brick wall

aye aye

lani on it!

ford okay!

sammy the skippa um what is happening rn

stephy all you need to know is that we gotta protect y/n from the lionesses

sammy the skippa

neev we got our own big guns lucy millie mary rach need ya rn

earpsy here!

brightness yes.

daily i was summoned

rusty metal yeah?

kyra well WEVE GOT MCCABE KATIE MCCABE

the REAL karate kid WHAT?!

willybum SINCE WHEN WAS MCCABE WITH YOU GUYS?!

brick wall since always?

stephy yeah katie's an honorary aussie

meado katie?!

mccard yeah i am

elton WELL WEVE GOT ONA ISNT THAT RIGHT?

rusty metal ona?

ona well ..... i'm afraid to tell you that we spaniards have formed an alliance with the aussies

kie THE BETRAYAL 😭😭

willybum what is this blasphemy

tom holland's twin wait isn't spain also a coloniser tho ....

stairway oh yeahhh that's hypocritical of you

ona shhhhhhh

kyra

cha cha well y/n is successfully ours

willybum ABSOLUTELY NOT

neev WE'LL GET HER BACK JUST YOU WAIT

stairway YEAH WERE COMING FOR YOU KANGAROO RIDERS

samma the skippa

what are you all gonna do? drown us in your cup of teas?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ DAMN yall got violated haha

the REAL karate kid

neev i cannot believe this just happened 😔😭

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

next part here

[obsessedwithceleste]

So American

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Summary: based on this request🫶🏽 So American by Olivia Rodrigo is ON LOOP💕

word count: 3.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Pushing open the heavy doors, eyes begin turn and you try to ignore all the chattering and stares directed your way as you make your way into the dimly lit defense against the darks art class room.

You knew people would talk. Transfer students were rare. And transferring during the sixth year? Basically unheard of. So the intrigued whispers were valid you supposed. But that didn’t make them any less annoying, and didn’t make you feel any less self conscious.

“You’re the new student aren’t you?” A voice asks, startling you.

You look to your side to see a girl with pale skin and short, cropped black hair staring up at you from her seat. A slight smirk dancing on her lips as she leans back in her chair.

“Uh yeah, that’s me,” you reply cautiously.

You hadn’t made any friends quite yet, though not for lack of trying. It was all just a bit overwhelming.

The girl tilts her head, looking at you in consideration.

“Sit.” She says, patting the seat next to her. “I’m Pansy. Pansy Parkinson. I want to hear all about wherever it is you came from. I’ll bet Daph and Milly would too. We don’t get new students often.”

"Yeah, I kind of got the sense," you reply, gingerly taking a seat.

The two girls sitting at the desk in front of Pansy look back, offering friendly smiles as you place your bag on the ground beside you.

“So where exactly did you transfer from?” Pansy asks, leaning in.

“I’m from America. I just transferred here from Ilvermorny,” You reply.

“That is so wicked,” Daphne gasps, beginning to look excited.

“Have you ever pet an eagle?” Milly asks.

Pansy turns to the girl, making a face. “Millicent, it’s the American muggles who worship eagles,” she says with an annoyed huff.

You open your mouth to correct them when a voice from behind you interrupts.

“Hey, that’s my spot.”

The four of you turn now to see a boy with platinum blonde hair glowering at you. A rowdy looking group of boys surrounding him.

“Oh bugger off Draco. Haven’t you met the new student? They’re from America,” Pansy says, dismissing the boy with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah? How’d you find yourself on this side of the ocean?” The boy, Draco asks, crossing his arms.

“My mom works for the American ministry, our family got sent over as part of the ambassador program,” you reply easily, not really liking the boy’s tone.

“Ha. Mom. Listen to them, they’re so American!” One of the other boys laughs.

“Oh shut it Lorenzo,” Daphne sighs, giving the boy a light whack on the arm.

“Wow, I'm using American dialect, who would’ve thought? It’s almost like I’m from America. Shocker,” you retort.

Pansy lets out a snort. “Oh I do believe I’m going to like you.” She says, giving you a large smile. “And Draco, for Salazar’s sake, go sit with Enzo. Not everything is about you.”

“You’ll have to excuse the boys, they’re, well- boys. They’ll grow on you,” Daphne tells you with a grimace.

You let out a laugh as the professor appears at the front of the room and a hush falls over the classroom.

You do your best to concentrate on the lesson, not wanting to start the year off with a bad impression, but can’t help but notice the cheeky smiles the brunette boy, Lorenzo, keeps shooting you from a few rows over. No matter how many times you try to refocus, your eyes keep wandering over, meeting his. Pushing him from your mind, you force yourself to once more to focus on the professor at the front. His long, black hair was awfully greasy.

“Professor Binns is a drag. He’s dead, and wants us all to die of boredom so that we suffer with him,” Daphne tells you.

“And Flitwick is a bit of a loon, but at least he’s entertaining,” Pansy adds.

“And course there Snape. Scary as all hell, but won’t bother you long as you’re quiet and mind your business.”

Tapping your glass with your wand, you shake excitedly as it fills to the brim with coffee. You had a particular weakness for iced lattes and hadn’t had a good one in ages. The group of Slytherin girls had once again accosted you, not that you minded, and had taken it upon themselves to give you a full run down of the school. Now, the four of you sat in the Great Hall as it slowly filled with students eager for dinner.

“Hey ‘merica,” a voice greets cheerfully from behind you.

You turn to see Lorenzo grinning down at you as he takes the seat on your open side, the rest of the boys joining as well.

“Havin a cup of coffee?” One of the other boys, Mattheo, asks in what’s probably the worst American accent you’d ever heard. Somehow the teasing was significantly less charming when he did it.

“Bloody hell Lorenzo, Matt, leave the girl alone. Being from America is not her only personality trait.” Pansy says with exasperation.

“Oh come off it Pans, I’m only teasing. Besides, look at her, drinking iced coffee, so American.” Lorenzo laughs.

“Sorry I’m not interested in drinking your dried leaf water,” you reply, rolling your eyes. But you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you.

Lorenzo gives you a satisfied smirk before going to fill his plate with food, and when you turn back to the girls, a huge smile is plastered across Daphne’s face.

He so likes you. She mouths, looking rather giddy.

You choose to ignore the girl however, opting instead to turn back to Pansy.

“What does the rest of your schedule look like tomorrow?” She asks, leaning over to look at the class list you’d placed on the table before you.

“Dunno. Dumbledore just gave me the list when I arrived, didn’t really get a say in picking classes,” you reply with a shrug.

“He clearly has taste, I’ll see you tomorrow in herbology ‘merica,” Enzo butts in, glancing at the page himself.

“Oh shove it pretty boy,” Pansy retorts, not even bothering to look over at the boy who was smiling down at you warmly.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll save you a seat.”

The rest of dinner goes smoothly as you seem to fit right in with the group of Slytherins who had apparently decided to keep you. While a bit of a prick at first, Enzo was growing on you, laughing at all your jokes and over all just making you feel at home.

“I don’t know what you put in that boy’s tea, but it’s working,” Daphne says lightheartedly as the four of you leave the dining hall.

“Sorry?” You ask, caught very much off guard.

“Enzo. I’ve never seen him warm up to someone so fast. He’s usually a right foul git,” Milly explains.

Pansy sighs, “What Millicent means, is Enzo isn’t usually one to be overly friendly to new people,” Pansy says.

“Oh. Well, I don’t know that he’s friendly with me, so much as teasing constantly,” you reply, growing nervous as you’re not quite able to make out the direction of the conversation.

“Oh no. He’s totally into you, he wasn’t being a complete pompous prick tonight” Daphne reassures confidently as you make your way back down the stairs to the dungeon.

“You are so lucky that we’re here to guide you,” Pansy declares.

The next day, you find your way out to the greenhouse and are honestly unsurprised to find that Enzo had stayed true to his word, saving you a seat next to him at one of the creeky, wooden tables covered in greenery.

“Didn’t pick you out to be one for herbology,” you comment idly as you take your seat next to the pretty brunette boy.

Lorenzo smirks over at you. “Think I can’t get my hands dirty?” He asks with a teasing grin.

“Well we wouldn’t want you breaking a nail would we?” You reply, shooting a sly look back at the boy.

“Not to worry love, lucky for you, I’m the best herbologist in the class so you won’t have to worry about my pristine nail beds thank you very much.”

“Lorenzo Berkshire, you are an arrogant prick,” you say with a laugh.

“You like it.”

You feel heat rushing to your cheeks as you turn away, eyes roaming the greenhouse for the Professor. You see the plump old lady waddling up to the front of the room, a cart of strange cactus looking plants following dutifully behind her.

“Well?” She prods, once she’s standing at the front, gazing ahead at the rows of students. “The Mimbulus mimbletonia isn’t going to walk itself to your stations now is it? Come along!” She urges, gesturing for everyone to approach the cart to collect one of the oozy looking plants.

You see Lorenzo’s nose scrunch up in disgust as you both choose a pot from the cart.

“Careful not to touch the boils,” Enzo murmurs to you, gingerly lifting his plant and making his way back to your table.

You follow closely behind, noting the rather putrid smell the plant emitted. You let out a shudder.

“Who can tell me the properties of these lovely specimens?” The Professor, who Lorenzo whispers is called Professor Sprout, asks as students are still moving around to collect their plant. “Mr. Longbottom?”

“It’s known for being rather squirming I think. And if you poke the boils, it squirts out stinknap. My gran used to collect bottles of the stuff,” a timid looking boy answers from the back of the class.

“Excellent! 5 points to Gryffindor!” Sprout exclaims gleefully, clapping her hands with excitement.

Lorenzo scowls at the boy who visibly shrinks back.

“Mr. Longbottom was quite right! We will be extracting the stinknap from our Mimbulus mimbletonia today as it’s a rather rare potion ingredient indeed!”

Professor Sprout goes on to demonstrate the technique used to extract the foul smelling liquid and you force yourself to listen intently, not wanting the rancid smelling odor all over you.

Once Professor Sprout releases the class back to perform the task themselves, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that Lorenzo is able to replicate the process with flawless precision.

You watch in fascination as the boy’s usually soft features harden with concentration as he carefully fills his first vial. You watch him fill a second before moving over to your own plant to copy his process.

“Make sure you keep a consistent pressure, that way it won’t spurt out at random,” the boy tells you as your vial slowly begins to fill. You keep a steady concentration, determined to impress the boy, eyes not leaving the task before you.

The vial is almost full when you suddenly feel yourself being shoved forward. Your concentration broken, the boil spews out the foul smelling liquid, covering your robes in the sticky substance.

Whipping around, you see the tall boy from earlier, Longbottom was it? Looking at you with wide eyes.

“What the bloody hell Longbottom?” Lorenzo snaps, glaring at the boy who’s now visibly shaking.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you! Just almost dropped my plant is all, I’m sorry!” The boy stutters, stumbling over his words under Lorenzo’s piercing stare.

You feel bad for the boy as it was clearly an accident, but can’t help being annoyed that you’re now covered in manure smelling gunk.

“It’s fine,” you sigh, stripping your robe off. Surely Professor Sprout would understand you not wearing your foul smelling robe. You grimace seeing the slimy substance splattered across the fabric. The poor house elves wear going to have one hell of a time getting that stain out.

With a quick nod, Longbottom scurries off without another word.

“He’s always been a bit of a wanker,” Enzo mutters, still glaring at the retreating back of the boy before turning his attention back to you. “Here, take this,” he says, shrugging off his own robe and offering it to you.

“Oh, it’s really fine,” you try to tell him, but he insists. After a bit of back and forth, you finally give in, sliding the still-warm robes on.

“You’re pretty wearing my clothes,” Lorenzo tells you with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh shove off,” you laugh, feeling heat rise in your cheeks once more.

“Oi, shove off,” he mimics with an ever familiar teasing grin. “Your accent is so American.”

“Yeah? You like it.”

It was a windy day for a quidditch match you thought as you brushed your hair away from your face for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Do you have quidditch in America?” Daphne asks from her spot right next to you in the stands.

You, Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent had managed to wade through the crowds of students to the front of the stands, securing a perfect view of the pitch.

“Of course. I used to play for my house at Ilvermorny,” you reply, watching as the two teams enter the field.

“Really? I was never much into quidditch, but Matty always likes when I watch his games. He’s the beater, just there,” Daph chatters, pointing out the curly haired boy on the field below.

“And there’s your lover boy. Lorenzo’s a chaser, long with Theodore and Marcus,” Pansy adds, giving you a playful nudge.

You just roll your eyes at the girl’s playful antics, but can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips as you see Enzo wave up to the stands in your direction. Of course Pansy takes notice, but says nothing, allowing her smug smile to speak for itself.

After your herbology class, Lorenzo just kept popping up everywhere. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was friends the group of girls that had accosted you, but he always seemed to have an eye for you.

Just this morning at breakfast he had taken his usual seat beside you, determined to ensure your presence at his match today. He’d even given you one of his thick green and silver scarves ‘so that you’d fit right in’ he’d said.

You watch contentedly as the match begins, the dark green robes contrasting nicely against yellow. Lorenzo weaves through the air with enviable agility, working seamlessly with Theo and Marcus. It’s not even ten minutes in when Theo is able to make the first goal of the game.

“Slytherin usually has a pretty easy match against Hufflepuff,” Pansy tells you, eyes not leaving Blaise as he and Mattheo wreak havoc on the other team.

Pansy’s words seem to ring true as the match goes on with Slytherin able to take a sixty point lead.

Watching the match it’s easy to begin missing home. Quidditch had been something you looked forward to every school year, and you missed your teammates. Watching Lorenzo, Theo, and Marcus now and the ease with which they worked together to make the game seem effortless felt like a blow to the gut.

It was a fun match to watch, and you couldn’t help but cheer wildly when Lorenzo scored yet another goal. But in the back of your mind, you wished it was you on that pitch. You really hadn’t felt a sense of homesickness since moving, so it surprised you that it was hitting you now of all times.

Still, you continue to smile and cheer, hoping the adrenaline of Slytherin’s win would overtake you as you and the other girls rush down to the field to congratulate the boys on a match well played.

“Hey ‘merica, enjoy the match?” Lorenzo asks, his charismatic smile practically glowing as he steps off the pitch.

You’re about to respond when you get your first real good look at the boy in front of you.

Shit.

His fluffy, brown is tossled from the wind and you can see the sheen of sweat across his forehead. And his uniform. God, his quidditch uniform fit him deliciously.

“It was great,” you finally spit out, horrified by the way your thoughts had spiraled dangerously off course.

Making eye contact with Enzo though, you’re a thousand percent sure the boy knew exactly what you were thinking if his sly smirk was anything to go off of.

Daphne swoops in to unknowlingly save you however, as she sidles up next to you.

“Enz, did you know y/n played quidditch in America?” She asks, resting her arm on your shoulder and cocking her head to the side innocently.

Lorenzo’s eyebrows shoot up at this as he glances down at you in surprise.

“Really? We’ll have to go flying sometime then.” He replies, his smile reverting comfortably on his face.

"Yeah! Today seemed like such a nice day for flying though," Daphne comments.

“‘Fraid I don’t have my broom,” you respond, trying to make out what Daphne was getting at.

“That’s alright, I have mine right here,” he says, thumping his broom lightly on the ground.

Daphne watches the two of you banter with delight.

"You should take her flying Enz. Come on y/n, I saw the way you were looking at those brooms earlier. You totally were thinking about going for a ride," she tells him. You can tell she's egging the two of you on.

"Oh, I don't know if now's the best time-"

"What's Enzo doing now? You're not cutting out of the afterparty now are you?" Mattheo asks, coming over and wrapping a sweaty arm around Daphne. Her nose wrinkles in disgust, but she doesn't say anything.

"Think I'm going to take 'merica here for a spin on the broom, hear she used to play quidditch herself," Lorenzo tells him before you can protest. "We'll be back before the party starts, we'll meet you there."

As though it had already been decided, Lorenzo hops back on his broom, patting the spot in front of him, gesturing for you to get on.

"Go on, we'll catch up with you later," Daphne says, shooing you forward.

Hesitantly, you climb on, hyper aware of the fact that Lorenzo's arms were now wrapped securely around you, his breath tickling the hairs on your neck. He kicks off, and the two of you soar into the sky, your friends getting lost in the distance.

You feel a smile grow on your face as the wind blows wildly through your hair. Leaning forward and closing your eyes you revel in the feeling of freedom that flying brings you. You'd missed the feeling of being on your broom more than you'd realized.

"Having a good time love?" Enzo asks, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Mhmm. Didn't realize how homesick I'd get just watching a quidditch match. Seems so silly," you reply.

"It's not silly," Enzo reassures, "were you any good?" he asks. You can't see his face, but you can practically see the teasing grin in his voice.

"My house won the cup two years in a row," you boost proudly. "I was a chaser too. Maybe I should join the quidditch team here."

"Yeah? Think you could beat me?"

"Why? Afraid of a little competition? It wouldn't be the first time us Americans beat you Brits," you taunt.

"Ha ha, 'merica. Original." Lorenzo responds dryly. You can feel the boy shaking his head at you from behind.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so American, I know."

"You are though! What kind of psycho puts ice in their water?" He protests.

"Those of us who want cold water! Obviously. But in all seriousness, you wouldn't stand a chance against me on the pitch" you laugh.

When you don't hear Lorenzo laugh with you, you lean back, turning to find your noses brushing as he stares down intently at you. You suddenly realize that your back is now nested contentedly into his chest as his arms tighten around you. It feels as though all thoughts disappear from your brain as you lean in, closing the gap between you.

It starts out gentle at first, as if Lorenzo was shocked that you had actually kissed him. But as soon as realization fully hits him, he takes over with a determined hunger, moving his soft lips eagerly against your own. You find yourself lost in the warmth spreading over you as the whole sensation leaves you buzzing. His lips work against your in a mesmerizing dance, your head spinning as you melt into him.

You don't even realize immediately when your feet touch the ground once more, forgetting that you had previously been soaring over the school grounds just moments ago.

"How?" you ask, your mind still hazy.

Lorenzo just laughs, his hands grasping your waist to steady you.

"What can I say? Maybe I'm just the better flyer."

"Oh as if, you just distracted me," you scoff.

"Yeah? Let me do it again."

I simply do not want to talk about how long it took me to write this okay? Okay.

Anyway, channeled my inner Mean Girls obsession into this one, cry abt it🫶🏽

[melshifting]

⋆˚࿔ shifting pick a pile: your 'weaknesses' vs your strengths ―୨୧⋆ ˚

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is a collective reading, which means that not everything written here may resonate with you 100%; if it's not for you, let it go.

choose an image below!

.☘︎ ݁˖ For my pile 1...

Your weaknesses are as clear as water my friend lmao ― what did we say about obsessing over someone else's process? god, you are poisoning yourself with envy. This somehow drives you, but not with a good connotation; you think you should “hurry up” and shift so you don't feel jealousy anymore. Being this way makes you alert ― you're having your guard up as if you were taking it almost a little too personally.

Buttt, nevertheless, I must admit that you sure are persistent; once you find something you like, you really put your all into it for as long as it takes. That gives you the endurance to fight when something doesn't go right or you feel you are falling into destructive patterns. You have the willpower to break that bad habit, and you know it; maybe it's something unconscious, or you think it won't change your process, but oh boy, you're hurting yourself.

The advice for you is that you have to decide: either you stay suffering in silence, watching how apparently everyone enjoys shifting but you; or, you put on your big boy/girl pants and leave your envy aside.

.☘︎ ݁˖ For my pile 2...

You're in constant conflict with your own beliefs: you have the fixed idea that “you're not going to make it” or that “it's not for you” or any other silly excuse you can think of in an attempt to sabotage yourself. One side of you thinks that this is a temporary thing somehow, that it's too good to be real, and that, at some point in your life, your devotion to shifting will simply float away.

This other side of your conflicted mind is what keeps you going and what you have to keep on polishing, rather than the negative thoughts babe; your love for shifting gives you ambition ― this side resists the idea of looking at shifting from the logical side. While your ego tells you to stop this “bullshit”, your higher self knows that this is what you love and what you must continue to fight for with the strength you fought through other things.

The cards advise you not to be anxious if your ego rules your thoughts at times. Remind yourself that this is not you; you are not your negative thoughts ― The sun always comes out after the storm.

.☘︎ ݁˖ For my pile 3...

Dang, why do you feel like you are not moving forward in your process? You think that instead of moving forward, you are even going backward (and let me intrude and tell you that this is not true love). You are losing hope because of this, which sends you into a spiral of bringing that negativity into other aspects of your life as well ― it's like you truly believe there must be something wrong with you. And honestly, this becomes an endless cycle: you think you are slipping backwards ➝ you feel bad about it ➝ you unconsciously apply it to other things ➝ you lose hope ➝ repeat.

But not all is lost (it never was from the beginning anyway) ― you're full of knowledge and experience, and you are a wise person who knows what's best for yourself. If you need reinsurance, rely on past experiences: you have all the potential to work on this and get through it!! You've accomplished so much through hard work, why give up now?

And pleaseeee don't fight the change!! You know that one tiktok audio that goes: "you must break the pattern, or the loop will repeat itself tomorrow.." and so on? Well do it babe, because you know you have to get out of this. Don't be fooled by your ego, otherwise, you will continue to damage yourself for longer.

thanks a lot for reading! feedback and opinions are appreciated (as long as they are respectful)

happy shifting :3

[callingofstars]

for anybody who is a bit lost with the new myriad celestia trailer i gotchu !!

(elaborations below the cut)

in a recent special program the developers said they would be touching on aeon and faction lore more heavily in the main story, and this is what we’re seeing now!

this war of aeons hasn’t just been foretold by one prophecy - since the beginning of the universe, there have been divine forces in preparation for some large-scale calamity that mortals can’t seem to understand yet.

followers of the preservation, namely, try to prepare for this without even knowing what’s going to happen. some pathstriders worship the calamity itself, waiting for all life to end with anticipation. i’m not sure if this event specifically is what they’re talking about here, but it could be.

I WOULD RECOMMEND TURNING ON SUBTITLES BECAUSE OF THIS. absolutely insane lore drop on hoyo’s part, for a couple reasons: the event of the Erudtion’s fall is going to create a chain reaction all throughout the cosmos.

the trailer has also hinted on how Nous falls, mentioning their “end of yearning.” for those unaware, there are three ways an aeon can be killed: in a war between larger aeons, if they stop believing in the path they represent, and a secret third way we are unaware of.

this likely means Nous loses faith or is assimilated into a different path. which in turn is going to mess up some other paths and factions, namely the Masked Fools.

“the fools flounder in tears after the wise have been burned” - this implies the path of Elation is going to suffer after Erudition’s fall, since their abilities are quite literally designed to break logical thinking. the mentions of tears and mourning makes me think that the Mourning Actors are going to play a part in this.

(context: Mourning Actors, though they follow Elation, act as complete opposites to the Fools and remain constantly solemn to act against Aha’s path of laughter)

Jingliu wants to take advantage of this war between aeons to kill even more aeons. the abundance and the hunt have been at war on the Luofu forever, and she implies that the Xianzhou Alliance has the ability to KILL AN AEON. if either Lan or Yaoshi fell, their endless battles would cease and only one would reign over the planet.

do i think this is the “secret third way”? not particularly. but it is extremely interesting for another reason.

ARE WE SEEING THIS????? THE XIANZHOU LUOFU HAS NANOOK’S BLOOD. this is important because, in legend, the aeon of destruction’s golden blood is extremely powerful, and if someone were to drink it, they would undergo some sort of “transformation”.

we don’t know what this means exactly, because as far as my knowledge is concerned nobody has done it. i have a speculation that the trailblazer is very connected to this, but am not sure how yet.

silly mention to the imaginary tree lore :3

also is this implying the fact that some factions believe paths and the imaginary are bad? are people trying to destroy it????? because if so that would be a disaster i think

ALSO THIS. THIS IS EXTREMELY INTERESTING. they’re referring to Phainon, surely, but Amphoreus is the “end of time”? i had always thought of it being a looped memory of the past, but what if it’s the future?

this has ties to other aeons, namely the finality, who exists at the end of time and whispers prophecies of the end to everyone else. basically every divine force agrees that there is a calamity that will kill every god, and it lives at the end of time.

what if this prophecy isn’t referring to an event, but a person who embodies calamity? if the end of time isn’t anything to do with the silver rail or even the universe, but it’s a place where time has no end? LIKE AMPHOREUS?

i’m just thinking. the Erudition seems closest to where Phainon is undergoing his trial right. if Lygus really was an emanator of erudition (might’ve missed a page there but that’s what i gathered). if the “end” has something to do with Phainon.

and we’re gonna have to clean up the cosmos after all of this goes down. sigh

ANYWAYS I AM SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

[xoxochb]

I'm so ashamed to ask this but idc

Write more Leo x f!reader smut PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLS🙏🙏🙏🙏IM BEGGING YOUUUU

— it just makes sense ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

★ - warnings: smut I fear… spanish dialogue was translated using google translate so it’s probably not correct my apologies pairing: leo valdez x fem! reader a/n: had this idea in my head for DAYS 🙏🏼🙏🏼

this was utter suffering. the fact that you had to sit here, doing nothing but watching your boyfriend work. a pout veils your lips, though your eyes say entirely different— it’s the way he handles the metals and tools, calloused fingers running both over and inside the contraptions, causing a pool of heat to rush between your thighs. you try your best attempt to ignore it, to go back to gazing out the window as it rains, but every time you attempt to your eyes wander and find themselves trailing over leo’s hands again

you suppose that he notices you from the corner of his eyes because he smirks only a tad and breaks the silence, “bored, mi cielo?”

your eyes widen and you snap out of your trance quickly. “uhm… a little, yeah”

leo smiles and sits down on his workbench, patting his lap and beckoning you over. happily, you rise from your set on his bed and to stop his lap, steadying yourself with arms around his neck. though, now that you were sitting here he continues his work on the machines, yet still holding you at the same time. you pout and rest your head on his shoulder, resuming your staring session. you sigh and avert your eyes in realization that the heat from between your legs had then traveled through all your senses. you instead listen as it begins to thunder outside, lightning following closely after. and the rain, the patterns of drops against the window… one… two… three… three… two… one… one… two… three and on and on again. nope, so not working in any way shape or form, your mind ends up traveling back to leo’s fumbling hands. you shiver and bury your head further into his shoulder

“cold?”

you shake your head. “no… just- I’m just thinking”

leo smirks and places down his machine, tapping the back of your head to pull you out of his shoulder. “about what?”

your face flushes red. you frown and avoid any eye contact for as long as possible, this was, until leo uses one hand to hold your jaw to force you to look at him

“I- it’s… weird. it’s stupid”

“I won’t make fun of you”

you frown. “I was just… watching you. that’s it”

“yeah? like what you see?”

you throw him an unamused look. though you did like what you saw, he would not be granted the pleasure of knowing that. “I was- no. you’re always… working on your machines and I think I like… watching.” your cheeks get even redder if that’s possible “not… the machines though”

“then what-” leo begins, but then realization washes over him and his eyes widen. his hand leaves your face and instead rests over your upper thighs “oh”

“It’s stupid, I told you” you attempt to get up but leo tightens his grip around your waist and stops you from doing so. you send him a “what’re you doing?” look, silently demanding an answer

and an answer he gives. his finger loops around the waistband or your shorts, but he doesn’t go far before looking up to you with pleading eyes, a quiet consensual act. you nod— though in reality you wish you had said please please please please!! slowly, he slides them down, you help by kicking your legs to get the rest of them off, now he repeats the same action again, sliding your lacy underwear down your legs in a similar manner. then, he trails his fingers back up your thighs and before they get any higher he connects his lips with yours just as his fingers slip inside you, stifling your guttural moan. your hands grip his shirt tightly, when he pulls away from the kiss you throw your head back pleasurably as he works inside you, your walls beginning to tighten around his calloused hands

it’s better than you imagined, though the imagination wasn’t that slim— you had done this before, but more specifically this is better than watching him repeat this action with his stupid machines

leo rests his head in your neck, pecking it gently. “you were thinking?”

oh how you want to respond with a coherent sentence, all that comes out is broken pieces. “I was- mhm- leo, I’m gonna-” your cut off by another moan, every word diminishing from your mind as it turns to utter television static

though your incoherent “sentences” were far better than watching him finger his machines opposed to you