#uncovering secrets and betrayals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marcyvamp1re-blog · 7 months ago

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pt.4 SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

synopsis ⸺ In a Gotham steeped in darkness, Bruce Wayne confronts a past resonating with secrets. As he uncovers the identity of an enigmatic antiheroine, he will discover hidden truths that will stain his legacy. Blood, a symbol of betrayals, intertwines with his fate, revealing that darkness dwells within him as well.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, tw.noncon, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— I took a long time because I went on vacation, I wasn’t inspired, I had a lot of things to catch up on, and blah blah blah. The good thing is that I brought part 4, and just so you know, there are about four or five more parts of the story, maybe more.

I'm dirty, infinitely dirty,

this is why I scream so much

about purity.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of the memories and the silence that now inhabited that room. Every corner of that space reminded him of his daughter's presence, a presence that had been fragile and ephemeral, like smoke disappearing between fingers. He looked at the diplomas and trophies on the shelves, those small proofs of her effort and dedication. He caressed them with the same reverence he used when going through old photographs, searching for something, anything, that would tell him he had done enough, that he had been a good father.

But he only saw the same emptiness in her eyes that he had known since childhood. She resembled him more than he would have imagined. In her dull gaze, in her absent smile, he recognized the same pain that had accompanied him after his parents' death. He realized, almost bitterly, that this darkness was an inheritance, a shadow he had left in her without realizing it.

Bruce ran his fingers over an old photo from her first birthday after losing his mother. That day, Alfred had secretly taken her to Metropolis in a desperate attempt to give her some happiness. But even at the amusement park, where laughter and noise were contagious, her face remained a vacant mask. She wasn’t really smiling, as if something inside her knew she would never have the normalcy that other children enjoyed.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce rested his head on the pillow that had been hers, wanting to cling to the scent of his daughter. But there was no trace of her aroma left. Alfred, in an act of rigor that Bruce couldn’t understand, had eliminated any trace of her, perhaps trying to close a wound that Bruce was unwilling to let heal. He had reproached Alfred for hours and hours for erasing that last vestige of his daughter. But Alfred’s look, serious and filled with silence, told him what he already knew: maybe he didn’t deserve to keep those memories because he had failed to protect the person he loved most.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the pain of each thought that emerged from that dark room. Everything reminded him that, somehow, he was responsible for his daughter's disappearance, as if his own shadows had consumed her. In his mind, images of what he could have done differently began to surface, a parade of possibilities where he was a better father, more attentive and less blind to her suffering.

Suddenly, Titus and Alfred the Cat entered together through the door, coming in silently, as if they understood the weight of that moment. Titus approached Bruce, resting his massive head on his knee, while Alfred the Cat jumped onto Bruce's lap, purring softly. Bruce petted the dog and the cat, finding in them the only comfort that seemed left to him. His voice trembled when, in an almost delirious tone, he confessed to them:

"Maybe I’m the real killer here. What kind of father lets his daughter get lost in the dark? What kind of monster was I that I never saw her pain? If she’s dead… if my little girl has left this world… then I am the only one responsible."

He paused, breathing heavily, as the words he wanted to suppress escaped his lips in a bitter and disturbing whisper. "Sometimes I wish I had… had stopped her mother. If she hadn’t been… if I had raised her from the beginning… I could have saved her from so much pain."

The words, though spoken in a barely audible murmur, weighed heavily in the room. He caressed the pillow, almost pleading for the past to change, for every mistake to be undone. The cat purred softly, as if understanding the pain Bruce was trying to stifle deep in his chest. Titus looked at him with eyes full of loyalty, without judging him, but not offering the redemption he desperately sought.

"I would give anything for a second chance," he whispered, his voice broken. "I would give my life to undo every moment that made her drift away. I would give anything to see her smile again, even if it were just once… even if it were just to tell her how sorry I am."

The house was silent, and in that instant, Bruce understood that there were no words, no time, no strength that could change the past. He was trapped in an abyss of guilt, with only shadows and memories now haunting him, reflecting his own empty and broken face.

Finally, he could no longer contain himself. Feeling the emptiness in his chest, tears began to fall onto the pillow, soaking it with his pain, as if the weight of his own guilt slid out in every sob he tried to stifle. His face was buried in the memory of his daughter, lost in the pain that tormented him with an intensity he could no longer bear.

It was then that Damian entered, dressed as Robin, with his katana stained with a dark red liquid that could be nothing other than blood, with a sharp and direct arrogance, breaking the silent mourning of Bruce. Coldly, he looked at his father and pronounced, almost with disdain, "No matter how much you cry like a whore, Y/N won’t come back."

Bruce looked up, surprised and hurt, but before he could respond, Damian continued with the same hardness. "While everyone was out in a gang like a bunch of lowlifes and came back empty-handed, I found something you didn’t even bother to look for while lying here like a cheap whore." Damian looked at him with a mix of disappointment and reproach, as if he couldn’t understand how his father had let so many signs slip by.

"Did you know? I had a relationship with Ivy, that old woman who had the indecency to date my little sister while being an old hag. Plus, she worked as a waitress in some bar wearing little clothes to survive. Like some common bitch. And the last time, she was seen in the subway, with a strange man with psychiatric crazy vibes... surely another one that slipped away while you were lying here." Damian’s words were blows to Bruce, each revelation a testament to how much he had let slip away.

Damian continued, each phrase laden with resentment and questions. "Why did she have to work? Why did she, the daughter of the renowned multimillionaire Bruce Wayne, the masked hero of Gotham, have to depend on a miserable paycheck that didn’t even cover the end of the month? And the subway, father, did she really have to take the subway like any unknown person in this city?"

Bruce looked down, unable to respond. Each of those questions was a dagger reminding him how far he had been from understanding his own daughter. He had ignored, or perhaps never wanted to see, the sacrifices she made to survive, the paths she took in search of something he had never given her. Now, with Damian's words filling the silence, Bruce realized he had condemned his daughter to the same fate he was trying to combat on the streets.

Damian watched him, his gaze cold and critical, as the room filled with a tense silence. For the first time, Bruce understood that perhaps he was never the hero he thought he was, and that in his attempt to protect everyone, he had failed to protect the one who needed him the most.

Bruce felt anger bubbling inside him, intensifying with each word that left Damian's lips. "How dare you come in here and say that? You weren’t a brother to her, you weren’t there when she needed you the most," he shot back, his voice echoing in the room like dark thunder. The image of his daughter intertwined with his rage, each contained tear now fueling his fury.

Damian frowned, unrestrained. "That's how I show my affection; you should be used to it," he retorted disdainfully, recalling that moment when he arrived at the mansion, he had stabbed Y/N with his katana. "I did what I had to do, and I don’t have to accept your reproaches. Everyone failed Y/N, even you."

"Don’t try to blame others for your own failures!" Bruce shouted, frustration filling every corner of his being. "You weren’t there, Damian. You can’t always hide behind your arrogance."

Damian crossed his arms, his defiant attitude unbreakable. "And what if I wasn't? At least I didn’t hide behind a mask of sadness. Better stop reproaching me and listen to what I have for you." He stepped closer, pulling out a half-open old cardboard box. "I brought you a gift."

Bruce looked at him suspiciously. "What is it now?"

"I went looking for Selina, but she slipped away like a scared kitten," Damian said, mocking the situation. "A waste of time, but I found Ivy in Arkham. She said little about Y/N, which annoyed me, so… well, here you go." He opened the box slowly, revealing Poison Ivy's head, the fresh blood still dripping from the edges.

Her face, once beautiful, was now serene, with pale skin and a touch of green that evoked her connection to nature. Her normally vibrant red hair now fell messily around her face, while her eyes, closed forever, seemed almost at peace, as if she had found a breath in the chaos she once inhabited.

Bruce felt as if the world had stopped. There was no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness where anger and sadness collided. "What have you done?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but resignation permeated every word. The life of his daughter, the decisions he had made and what that meant now overwhelmed him.

Damian shrugged. "She was a monster, just like all of us. What matters is that now you have something tangible, something you can show."

"What kind of family are we?" Bruce let slip, feeling defeated. "This family is a failure."

"Oh, so it turns out we’ve been a family all this time?" Damian replied, scornful, but his tone was less certain.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling the discomfort of the situation. "Take me to the apartment where she lived," he said, his voice enigmatic and cold. It was a request that resonated with the gravity of what he had lost, an echo of what he had failed to protect. As Damian looked at him with surprise and a hint of concern, Bruce knew that the truth he would face in that place was beyond any form of redemption. The darkness that had invaded his life was about to be confronted, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what he would find.

As Bruce and Damian prepared to leave, Titus and Alfred the Cat watched them from a distance. The dog remained alert, his ears perked, as if he could sense the tension looming in the air. His instinct told him that something grave was about to happen. Alfred, with his wise and sharp gaze, seemed to share the same unease, his eyes fixed on the men who were heading toward the dark fate they had chosen.

As Bruce and Damian headed for the door, Titus stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and determination. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent message, a call to reason that his owners could not hear amid their emotional turmoil. Alfred the Cat, with his elegant stride, approached Bruce and rubbed his head against his leg, seeking comfort for the hero who seemed on the brink of losing himself even further in the darkness.

Turning around, Bruce felt a pang in his heart. He looked at his animals, those innocent beings who had always been there to offer him companionship, and realized that they were aware of what was about to come. In a world where violence and betrayal lurked around every corner, their departure was the beginning of something much darker.

With one last look, Bruce found himself in Titus's eyes, reflecting a mix of loyalty and worry. It was as if the dog knew that the decision they were making would not only affect them but would also drag others into a chaos from which they could not escape.

Damian, impatient, had already crossed the threshold, but Bruce paused for one more moment. "I’m sorry," he murmured, although he was not sure to whom he was really addressing: whether to the animals who looked at him with eyes full of wisdom or to himself for the path he had chosen.

However, it was already too late to turn back. With one last glance at the room where it all began, and at the animals who looked at him with concern, Bruce stepped into the dark world that awaited them, unaware that soon, everything would get worse. The air was charged with ominous anticipation, and the feeling that tragedy loomed over them like a shadow, deep and inevitable.

You lay on the bed, your body still heavy from the forced encounter, thoughts fluttering in your mind like butterflies trapped in a net. The room was enveloped in an unsettling gloom, the air thick with a tension that could not be ignored. Beside you, he breathed with a calm that contrasted with the whirlwind inside you. There was no name, no face to remember; it was just him, the one who had kidnapped you and made you his own, a figure who had taken your life and distorted it at will.

As you stared at the ceiling, the silence became a mirror of your thoughts. Rage and hatred toward your family surged within you, feelings that had once seemed so distant. They didn’t understand you, they hadn’t been there to protect you, and now, in this strange intimacy, you found yourself wishing to be with him more than with them. Confusion engulfed you; on one hand, there was a part of you longing for affection and acceptance, while on the other, there was a strange pleasure in the situation, a desire to escape the life that had caused you so much suffering.

Despite everything, you missed your mother. Her laughter, her hugs, the way she always knew how to calm your fears. But that maternal figure was slowly fading from your memory, drowned by the anguish of betrayal and loneliness. You found yourself trapped between the desire to remember the good and the hatred toward the past that had brought you here.

As the room remained silent, a dark and almost self-destructive impulse took hold of you. With trembling movements, you picked up a sharp object and pressed it against your skin, feeling a sting that was both physical and emotional. In that moment, you thought about the irony of your situation: you had lost control of your life, and in seeking an escape, you chose to hurt yourself.

The duality of your feelings was heartbreaking. On one hand, you yearned for freedom, to reclaim your identity and the love that had been taken from you. On the other, there was a part of you that felt alive in this new relationship, a twisted connection that kept you captive. The internal struggle manifested in every thought and every action, revealing the complexity of your situation.

You remembered moments from his life, the wounds he carried, and the pain he had faced. Had Bruce ever been so lost, so filled with sadness that he had to do the unthinkable to feel something? The idea that the man you admired could also have been vulnerable struck you like a revelation. You wondered if he had ever cried in solitude, questioning his place in the world, if he had ever felt so trapped in his own life.

As you touched your stomach, an old pain resurfaced. There, beneath the skin, was a scar, a reminder of the time Damian had hurt you with his katana, an act that had been both an attack and a cry of desperation. The brush of your fingers over the wound, although healed, still brought memories of suffering and betrayal, a deep connection intertwined with the pain you felt now. The scar was a metaphor for your life: a wound that would never fully heal, a reminder that pain is part of your existence.

Tears fell more forcefully as you thought about how your family’s decisions, rivalries, and chaos had influenced your life. Bruce, with his constant struggle against the shadows of his past, was a reflection of what you could have been: strong, determined, but also broken and lost. In that moment, you felt just like him, entangled in a cycle of suffering and confusion.

You allowed yourself to cry, feeling that perhaps in that vulnerability there was some freedom. It was a relief, an act of resistance in the midst of the oppression that surrounded you. As the outside world faded away, the pain of the scar became a reminder that, despite everything, there was still a part of you yearning to break free, wanting to escape this darkness. And amid that sadness, one thought grew stronger: perhaps, just perhaps, there was a way to find your path again.

The man let go of your cheek and, with a casual gesture, lit a cigarette, the smoke dancing in the air like shadows in the dim light of the room. His eyes, fixed on you, had a dangerous intensity. "Do you see this?" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Now you are stained, like Gotham. You’ve been in the mud, and it’s your duty to clean yourself up. This is just the beginning."

He looked at you with a twisted smile, an expression that mixed amusement and dominance. "You have to understand that you can’t escape from what you are. The city is a reflection of yourself. And like Gotham, you too need to be purified." With a sudden movement, he offered you the cigarette. "Smoke. It will help you forget the tears."

You hesitated, but his eyes challenged you, a clear message that there was no room for denial. With a mix of fear and despair, you brought the cigarette to your lips, feeling its bitterness touch your tongue. "Don’t make me repeat myself," he said, his voice a cold whisper. "I want you to feel the poison, just like the city does. You are part of it now, and you must accept your role."

The pressure of his words overwhelmed you, each syllable a reminder of your distorted reality. "But why me?" you stammered, feeling desperation twisting inside you. "Why do I have to be part of this?"

"Because there is no choice," he replied with disdain. "There never was. Every day, every decision you made has led you here. Weakness is not an option. Look around you; Gotham has no place for the weak. If you want to survive, you need to get your hands dirty. And believe me, there is a lot of blood to clean up."

Your heart raced as you inhaled the smoke, the burning filling your lungs and leaving a feeling of emptiness. "What do you want from me?" you asked, feeling the power he had over you strangling you.

"I just want you to accept your new place. I want you to understand that in this world, death and destruction are inevitable. There is no redemption for the stained, but you can try to fix it… in your own way."

He trapped you in a dark cycle of thoughts, where each of his words echoed in your mind like a terrifying echo. You knew he was playing with you, manipulating your emotions. "If you don’t clean yourself, you will suffer the consequences. And if you cry for her again, I promise you will pay for it," he said, tightening his grip on your arm.

As the smoke dissipated into the air, the feeling of being trapped became more palpable. You found yourself between acceptance and internal struggle, but deep down, you knew you had to find a way out. However, the darkness around you grew more intense, and each of his words was another chain binding you to this fate you had not chosen.

The air thickened as he exhaled smoke, the room filling with a gray fog that seemed to reflect the chaos in your mind. He looked at you with an intensity that overflowed with obsession, a strange mix of affection and dominance that enveloped you. Despite the tears running down your face, you felt no sadness or fear. You had passed the stage of terror; now you felt strangely alive, almost liberated in your pain.

"My dear," he said in a soft yet authoritative voice, "you must not see this as a punishment. It is a purification. Gotham needs someone who understands its pain, and you are the chosen one." He leaned closer to you, his hot breath on your skin. "You are like a spark in this darkness, and together we can illuminate it. You just have to let the poison flow through you. With each tear, you are cleansing the city."

As he held you, the contact between the two of you was electric, and a part of you began to understand his madness, the way he had woven his dreams of greatness and purification through your own desires for belonging. "Did you know my mother was in Arkham?" he continued, as if sharing a special secret. "She was stained too. In her mind, she fought demons that no one else could see, just like you now. And look where she ended up: trapped in her own memories, in her own shadows."

The revelation hit you. A fragment of pain resurfaced, intertwining with the new knowledge. "What… what happened to her?" you asked, your voice trembling. It wasn’t sadness you felt; it was curiosity to know that story that had remained hidden.

"She got lost in the darkness of Gotham, just like everyone else," he said with contempt. "But that doesn’t have to be your destiny. You are stronger. My mother let herself be consumed by her madness, but you… you can take control. Let me guide you."

You fell silent, contemplating his words. The tears continued to fall, but now they were just a part of you, a manifestation of the internal struggle. You knew you were trapped in a dangerous game, but there was something in his promise of power and control that began to seduce you.

"So cry if you need to," he said, caressing your cheek with a touch that was both gentle and threatening. "But don’t let those tears weaken you. Every time you feel the urge to cry for her, remember what you are. Remember that the city needs someone like you to cleanse it of the filth."

"How can I do that?" you asked, feeling the echo of his words resonate in your mind. "How can I clean something so deeply rooted in darkness?"

"With determination," he answered firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of fervor and madness. "You must learn to see the beauty in chaos. There is power in pain. With every action you take, with every decision you make, you will be purifying Gotham of its own decay. And I will be by your side, guiding you. Together, we will be unstoppable."

As you absorbed his words, a strange sense of purpose began to take shape within you. Although his love was perverse, there was something in his vision that resonated with you, as if you were destined to fulfill that role. As the smoke from the cigarette faded into the air, so too did your fears, leaving only a cold and clear determination: you were going to take control of your destiny, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

"No! I don’t want you to go!" shouted little Y/n, clinging to her mother's handbag with the desperation of someone who knows something important is about to slip away.

Her mother, a blonde woman with a tired gaze, let out a sigh of impatience. Y/n couldn't quite remember her face, but she knew it hardened at the tug on her bag, and without thinking, she pushed the girl, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Y/n looked up from below, her big eyes reflecting a mix of fear and pain.

"Stop being silly, Y/n," her mother murmured, struggling to hide the tremor in her voice. She leaned down, trying to smile, but the coldness in her eyes betrayed her. "You know I have to do this... for both of us. Everything I do is for you, even if you don’t understand it now."

The girl nodded slowly, but inside, she felt the truth—that repeated phrase was just a curtain. She knew there was something broken in her mother, something she was too young to fully comprehend but sensed in every harsh gesture, in every bitter word that hung in the air. Something that made her feel alone, even when they were together.

Her mother straightened up, adjusting the bag as if it weighed tons. She raised a hand in a mechanical farewell, and without another word, she left through the door without looking back.

Days passed in a haze of silence and dry tears. Y/n had no idea how much time had passed since her mother left, leaving the echo of her footsteps as the only reminder of her presence. Hugging herself, she spent the nights waiting for some familiar sound that never came.

When she finally opened her eyes, she realized her surroundings had completely changed. She was no longer at home; she was sitting in a cold, unfamiliar room, with gray walls and flickering lights dimly overhead. In the distance, she could hear whispering voices.

"How is it possible that someone left such a small child alone?" It was the firm, serious voice of a man. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she distinguished a police badge on the man's uniform. It read Commissioner Gordon.

Next to him, a red-haired woman spoke in a low voice. "Dad, you can't be sure. Maybe it was just a lie. You know how her mother was: a history of psychiatric hospitals and drugs at home. How do we know she didn't make up the story about Wayne?"

"Barbara, we have evidence that doesn't lie," Gordon replied coldly, his tone tinged with disdain. "We know the paternity test is real."

The girl felt the world sway around her. She listened to every word and felt each comment like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest. Those adults, figures of authority and trust, spoke of her mother as if she were little more than a mistake, something despicable that had left scars on her life. Sitting there, hidden behind a wall and hugging her knees, tears returned to her eyes, a mix of sadness and a terrifying understanding of what it meant to be alone in the world.

"Do you really think someone like that should have had a child in her care?" Barbara said from her wheelchair, her tone full of contempt. "She was probably just looking for easy money, manipulating everyone she could."

Commissioner Gordon frowned, clearly uncomfortable. "Barbara, that's not fair! Even if she didn’t lead the best life, she was still a citizen like anyone else, and she had the right to rebuild her life. No one is perfect."

From her corner, Y/n tried to cover her ears, but Barbara's words were impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe it, Dad. How could anyone in their right mind have left a child in the hands of that woman?" Barbara said with a cold, almost poisoned voice. "Someone who clearly had drug addiction problems and who was in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I bet she didn’t even know who the real father was."

Each word made Y/n's chest tighten even more. Her mind screamed silently: Stop! Please stop saying that about her! Her small hands trembled as she remembered the moments she had spent with her mother. Her mother, who although had those dark days and her brusque manner, had fed her, tucked her in, and cared for her as best as she could. Despite her mistakes, she had been her mother, and that was all Y/n could understand.

But Barbara’s words kept filling the room, like a storm of resentment. "I don't know how Bruce can even be involved in something like this. That woman was a burden to everyone. I can't imagine anyone worse as a mother."

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block it out. It's not true. She’s not bad. She took care of me. We didn’t have much, but she always tried to be there for me. But no matter how hard her thoughts tried to silence the pain, Barbara's words left deep scars, increasingly difficult to heal.

As Y/n remained there, her tears already dry, her thoughts twisted in her mind like threatening shadows. She heard the echoes of Barbara's cruel words and Gordon's, and a silent resentment grew in her chest, almost like a slow poison. She tried to remember the good moments with her mother, but the dark thoughts seemed to drown them out. She was good, she was good... No, you can't say that about her... But those same thoughts tangled with hate and confusion, and the pain grew stronger.

Suddenly, everything turned white. The walls, the voices, the cold metal chair beneath her legs... everything disappeared into a blinding void that enveloped every corner of her mind. And then, there was only her, standing in that white abyss, with a strange weight on her shoulders and in her hands.

She looked down and saw a white armor, shining as if made of shards of moon and shadow. It covered her body completely, with firm, polished plates that fit like a second skin, protecting every part of her. The gauntlets were solid, with sharp and detailed edges, and in her hands, she wielded two katanas whose blades reflected that void like deadly mirrors.

The design of the armor was imposing and terrifying. The helmet resembled a bat, with long pointed ears extending upward, and a dark V-shaped visor that barely revealed her eyes. The lines that ran across her chest and arms formed the silhouette of folded wings, as if that bat awaited to unfold at any moment. The chest was engraved with fine black details, resembling veins radiating dark power. In the center, a small emblem in the shape of a black teardrop contrasted with the radiant white of the armor, like a mark of pain and sacrifice.

In the dim light of the void where she stood, Y/n felt the weight of the katanas in her hands as if they were extensions of her own being. In that moment, the white armor fit her like a comforting embrace, a reminder of the power she now possessed. She looked at herself in a non-existent reflection, feeling that every part of her being was ready to act, to reclaim what she had lost.

With a tremor of emotion and a palpable obsession, she held them to her chest, hugging them tightly. Words flowed from her lips, laden with a burning, almost manic desire: "Soon you will be mine... I will go home. I will be my little girl again."

The echo of her voice resonated in the white void, vibrating with the intensity of her longing. In her mind, an image formed of a home, a place where shadows no longer lurked and where her mother, though imperfect, would be able to embrace her once more. The idea of being together again, of transforming her pain into power, filled her with a fierce determination.

"I will come back for you," she whispered, her voice choked with a mix of tears and a crazed smile. "Nothing will stop me. I promise." The choked laughter turned into a murmur of echoes, resonating in the abyss like a sinister promise, as the world around her began to fade again, leaving her alone with her obsession and her new identity.

In the silence, whispers began to rise, soft at first, but increasingly insistent. One word repeated, muted yet burning, like a spark in the shadows.

The word reverberated in the void, growing more intense, like a kind of dark mantra. And when Y/n could barely bear the weight of those voices, one final phrase emerged, chilling and final:

"Death is the ultimate prize."

You walked through the halls of the old apartment block, your white armor shining in the dim light, like a bat defying the embrace of the night. The echoes of your heels resonated, a dark song reverberating in the solitude of the worn walls.

Your figure, sculpted in gleaming metal, was a silhouette of elegance and mystery, as you hummed a forgotten melody, slipping between the shadows like a whisper of the forbidden. Each step was a heartbeat in the silence, a chilling reminder that there is still life in abandonment.

The portraits on the walls watched you, empty eyes that seemed to come alive, as you moved with the grace of a specter, a macabre dance of light and shadow at dusk.

The doors, worn and creaking, whispered secrets of past stories, and you, guardian of those forgotten tales, advanced fearlessly, seeking what was left behind.

You were an enigma, a reflection of the lost, a shadow walking, dressed in white, in a world clinging to its demons, where the past and present intertwine in a lethal embrace, and the night waits, eager for your return.

You paused before the door of one of the apartments, its frayed wood opening like an abyss, a dark invitation that defied logic. The silence became thick, almost palpable, and the echo of your humming faded, leaving a void that swallowed the darkness.

The threshold awaited you, a portal to the unknown, and a cold breeze, laden with whispers, caressed your skin like a lost lover. Inside, the shadows seemed to come alive, a palace of echoes and laments, where time had woven a web.

Your heart raced, a mix of adrenaline and challenge, as you gently pushed the door. It creaked in protest, like an old ghost, and when it opened, revealed an abandoned world, furniture covered in dust, with withered memories.

The remnants of a past life crowded every corner, and a scent of decay floated in the air, but something more, a glimpse of presence, urged you to enter, to explore the hidden. You peered in, and the dimness embraced you, as if the apartment claimed you as its own.

Each step on the creaky floor was an act of daring, and the walls seemed to murmur forgotten secrets, stories of betrayed loves and lost souls. In the center of the room, a dark, diffuse, and shadowy figure formed among the shadows, like an echo of your own existence, a reflection of what could have been.

You stood still, breath held in the abyss of the moment, the half-open door, a threshold to your destiny, and the silence, now laden with promises, stripped you of fears, leaving only the certainty that in that space, you faced the echoes of your own darkness.

As you advanced, your eyes fixed on a dusty, worn wooden box resting on the small dining table. Something about it drew you in, as if it held a dark secret. You approached and, with trembling hands, opened it. Inside, horror was revealed: the head of Poison Ivy, the green hair still vibrant, a gaze frozen in time. You didn’t cry, but a slight tremor coursed through your body, a mixture of surprise and disdain for the brutality that had taken place in that space.

"Normally you enter through the window," you murmur to the air, with an ironic smile on your lips, as if addressing a presence you hoped would appear.

And then, as if the night itself had responded to your call, Batman emerged from the shadows, his dark figure silhouetted against the dim light coming through the window. The air became tense in an instant.

"Who are you?" he asked, his grave voice resonating with a mix of distrust and anger. "What are you doing in the apartment of Bruce Wayne's daughter?"

You laughed, a laugh that echoed in the empty room, filled with irony and knowledge.

"His daughter?" you mocked, your eyes shining with a mix of challenge and amusement. "So Y/n is your daughter. Isn’t it curious how things intertwine in this city?"

The silence grew heavy, and you felt his gaze intensify, evaluating every word you had spoken. He knew you had crossed a line, but the revelation had ignited a spark of playfulness in you.

"How do you know who I am?" The question slipped from his lips, but there was no fear, just an unsettling curiosity.

"Gotham has its secrets, Bruce. And I, like you, am part of this darkness. The identity of a hero or heroine is just a game of shadows, and in this game, you and I know how to move between the lines."

You stood firm, the tension between you palpable, as the echo of laughter still resonated in the air. Batman's figure, always imposing and enigmatic, seemed to waver at the revelation that in this dark labyrinth, he was not the only player.

The tension intensified, and Batman took a step forward, approaching you with an intense gaze.

"How do you know about my daughter?" he inquired, his voice brusque, each word laden with frustration. You remained firm, crossing your arms, letting the silence settle between you.

"Oh, Gotham speaks, even in whispers. The city has a way of revealing what heroes prefer to hide," you replied disdainfully. "Your life, your secrets, are more exposed than you think." He frowned, anger crackling in his eyes.

"What do you know about Y/N?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening, as if waiting for you to throw down a challenge.

"I know you didn't want her. That you left her in the shadows while you dedicated yourself to your personal crusade," you replied, irony dancing in your tone. "That girl grew up without a father, and you, the great hero of Gotham, preferred to be a myth."

Rage etched itself on his face, but there was something more, a hidden pain surfacing behind the armor of his anger.

"It's not that simple, and you have no idea what I've done for her," he retorted, his voice tense, each word like a blow.

"Really?" you asked, flashing a mocking smile. "What have you done? Cut off her partner's head, the only person I love, just to extract invalid information? What a great father."

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, as the air vibrated with unspoken emotions.

"You are not one to judge me," he declared, his voice tense. "You know nothing of what I've sacrificed."

"Maybe not, but I know enough about the void you've left," you replied, undeterred. "And I know Ivy was there for her. You, the hero, vanished while others took on the role of father."

The anger shone in his eyes, but there was also a spark of recognition. He observed you, assessing the courage that led you to challenge him.

"And who are you to come and point fingers? A lost anti-heroine in her own struggle?" he shot back, his voice laden with contempt.

"I am what Gotham needs," you replied, confident. "A reminder that even heroes like you can fail."

The discussion turned into a power struggle, both of you clinging to your truths, while Poison Ivy's head remained a sinister reminder of the choices you both had made.

Suddenly, Batman's fury exploded like lightning in the darkness. Without warning, he seized you by the neck, lifting you with surprising strength. The air became scarce, and the pressure on your throat made you feel vulnerable, although the mockery never left your expression.

"Where is Y/N?" he demanded, his voice charged with rage and desperation. The shadows moved around him, intensifying his figure, which seemed more monster than hero at that moment.

Despite the iron grip, you kept your gaze fixed on him, challenging him, feeling the adrenaline pulse through your veins.

"Are you that worried about her whereabouts?" you replied, a mocking smile barely hiding your disdain. "Maybe she's hanging from a hook in a slaughterhouse, who knows? That would be an ironic twist for a girl who grew up in the shadow of a hero, don’t you think?"

His eyes narrowed, anger and helplessness battling within him. You leaned in closer, feeling the pressure on your neck, but that only fueled your defiance.

"Don't laugh about this!" he roared, tightening his grip slightly. The fury in his voice was palpable, but something deeper kept him on edge.

"Me? Laughing? You, the great Batman, scared for your daughter's life?" you shot back, never breaking eye contact.

The tension was becoming unbearable, but there was something fascinating about the game you were playing. He was caught between rage and fear, and you, in your shadowy game, fed off his anguish.

"Do you know something? You're losing yourself in your own legend," you continued, while he held you in the air. "I'm sure you once dreamed that she would have died in that alley with her mother."

In that instant, something in his expression changed. The anger slowly faded, giving way to a deep concern, though he still held you firmly.

"I warn you," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours. "If you lie to me, I won't show mercy."

You laughed again, though the risk was imminent, as your heart raced.

"And what will you do?" you challenged, your voice trembling but resolute. "Threaten me with your dark past? I'm here because I know the truth, and I do not fear your shadows."

Bruce's patience evaporated like smoke in the heavy air of that apartment. With a sudden movement, he hurled you towards the table, the impact resonating with a crash that reverberated through the walls. Your katanas slipped to the floor, leaving you defenseless. The furniture creaked under your weight, but adrenaline kept you alert, your instincts sharp.

You quickly rose, shaking your head to clear the confusion, while the anger on his face transformed into determination.

"I don't have time for your games, Kerosene," he shouted, stepping forward, ready to fight. "If you know Y/N, tell me!"

You steadied yourself, smiling defiantly as you positioned yourself, preparing for combat.

"Do you really think you'll throw away the only one who can help you?" you replied, feeling the pulse of challenge coursing through your veins. "I'm offering you a chance to know the truth, and you choose to fight. Very typical of you."

With a swift movement, he lunged at you, throwing a direct punch. You dodged, making an agile turn, but the atmosphere became a whirlwind of force and speed.

You charged at him, hitting him in the side, feeling how his tense muscles responded to your attack. It was not just a physical fight; it was a clash of wills, an explosion of repressed emotions.

"You’re an idiot if you think you can scare me!" you yelled at him while he tried to immobilize you. You twisted and managed to sidestep him, landing a blow to his jaw that made him stagger.

Bruce quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. He advanced again, his movements precise and calculated, while you played with speed and agility.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. "I just want to know where my daughter is."

"And I just want you to stop living in your hero fantasy," you replied, with a defiant laugh as you dodged another attack. "The truth hurts you, Bruce, and you prefer the fight over facing it."

The exchange of blows continued, the sound of fists colliding and the creaking of breaking furniture filling the air. The room became a battlefield, with the table as the central stage of your struggle.

Bruce, with a mix of skill and strength, cornered you against the wall, but instead of giving up, you seized the closeness. With an agile movement, you pushed him back, making him lose his balance.

"Are you going to keep this up? Destroying what’s left of this city?" you said, breathing heavily but not yielding. "Or are you going to listen to what’s really at stake?"

His eyes were now inches from yours, the fury and frustration of his search fueling the spark of the battle. Both of you were willing to fight, but deep down, you knew there was something deeper at play than just physical strength.

The battle continued, becoming increasingly intense and violent, like a whirlwind of unleashed fury. You launched at him, landing a blow that hit his chest, but Bruce responded with a punch that made you stagger; the force behind his blow was terrifying. The rage emanating from him was palpable, and with each attack, both of you took the struggle to a new level.

The apartment walls vibrated with the thud of bodies colliding and furniture being dragged. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the air as you crashed into a table, breaking it into pieces.

You got back up, a piece of wood in hand, and threw it at him. Bruce dodged it, but the fragment smashed against a lamp, exploding into a million shards. The light flickered before going out, plunging the place into an unsettling darkness.

Both of you moved like shadows through the chaos, and sweat and blood began to mix, the air filled with a metallic smell that only intensified the battle. Bruce landed a punch on your jaw, and you tasted blood in your mouth. You didn’t stop; with a cry of defiance, you responded with a series of rapid blows, each one stronger than the last.

You darted to his side, using your agility to hit him in the ribs. The impact made him stagger, but before you could capitalize on the opportunity, Bruce spun around and kneed you in the abdomen. The air escaped your lungs, and the sharp pain made you fall to your knees. However, you didn’t give up.

With renewed determination, you got up and threw a direct punch to his face, hearing the crack of his skin upon impact. Blood spurted from his lip, and the fact that you had hurt him only fueled his fury. With superhuman strength, he pushed you back, slamming you against a shelf, which gave way and collapsed on you. Books and personal items scattered across the floor, covering the place in even greater chaos.

But there was no time to stop. You rose amongst the debris, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. With a leap, you charged at him again, landing a blow that left a mark on his face. Rage and pain intertwined in the air, and both of you were on the brink of madness.

The room had turned into a battlefield, with blood staining the floor and walls. The apartment’s decor, once a refuge, lay in tatters, as if Gotham itself had decided to yield to the brutality of your confrontation.

Bruce, with his determined gaze locked on you, lunged at you again. Both of you were exhausted, but the fight was a necessity, an uncontrollable impulse that kept you standing. His fists and your movements were a wild dance, and amidst the chaos, both of you knew that the outcome of this battle would not only define the present but also seal your fate.

You charged at him, landing a direct blow to his stomach, and when he bent forward, you took the chance to hit him in the face once more. Blood spilled from his nose, but he countered with a knee strike, and the impact resonated in your bones.

The fight continued with increasing ferocity, the room transforming into a wreckage. Every blow exchanged resonated like thunder, but it was the moment when Bruce landed a punch to your side that made you fall to your knees again, gasping for air. The pain was intense, but there was no time to lament; rage and frustration drove him to push onward.

Seeing the opportunity, Bruce lunged at you, and with a rough movement, he lifted you off the ground, holding you by the neck and raising you into the air. You struggled, feeling the pressure increase, the air escaping your lungs. The room blurred around you as you began to lose control.

"Tell me where Y/N is!" he shouted, his voice echoing in your mind like a refrain of desperation and fury.

You were on the brink of passing out, your eyes clouding, but amidst the confusion, you managed to maintain lucidity, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Bruce's hands were like a yoke around your throat, and the feeling of suffocation intensified with every passing second.

The pressure was unbearable, and you fought to free your neck, to breathe, but it felt like trying to break chains of steel. Your hands struck his arm, but he wouldn’t relent, becoming more focused, more desperate.

Finally, with a titanic effort, you managed to reach your helmet, and in a twist, you pushed him back, but the pressure of his grip was too much. It was then that, in a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, the helmet slipped off your head, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

The light of the apartment filtered back into your vision, and it was at that moment that Bruce, seeing your face, stopped dead in his tracks, the expression of his fury transforming into horror.

The face before him was not just an adversary; it was a reflection of his own daughter. The reality crashed against him like lightning.

"...Y/N?"

A/N ──── I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT YES, WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THE DOCTOR AND Y/N IS REAL. And yes, it's necessary; you'll understand why by the end. Furthermore, Ivy's death has always been planned. In the next chapter, a female character will appear who, I warn you, will be a victim of the Waynes, and the scene will be a bit graphic and very grotesque.

I want to add that this chapter is very, very, veeeery weak because I’m very tired, not very inspired, and dealing with other things. I’ll try to do better for the next one and bring you a chapter of better quality.

And a warning for those on the taglist: if you’re already on it, please don’t ask me again and again to add your name because I end up getting confused and repeating names.

Also, there are some that I can’t add for reasons I don’t understand.

If you requested to be on the taglist before and you're not, please ask me here or send me a message; I don’t bite.

Feel free to ask me anything if you’d like.

Take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

@redkarmakai @the-rouge-robin @twismare @wizzerreblogs @beeboopneep @mistfire1999 @delfinadolphin @expctron

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing 's work and @klemen-tine 's work, be sure to check them out!

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cazshmere · 9 months ago

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8th house sign in the natal chart and what you fear ❤️‍🩹

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER: These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🥀✨

🥀 Aries in the 8th House:

1. Fear of losing control or appearing weak in front of others.

2. Fear of taking initiative in unfamiliar situations.

3. Anxiety about asserting themselves or putting their needs first.

4. Worry about competing with others, especially when their abilities might be challenged.

5. Concern about having to do things alone without support from others.

6. Fear of not being able to maintain their usual level of confidence and independence.

🥀 Taurus in the 8th House:

1. Fear of instability, especially financial loss or material insecurity.

2. Fear of not having comfort or stability in their life.

3. Anxiety over changes that disrupt their sense of security or routine.

4. Worry about losing possessions that provide a sense of comfort or status.

5. Concern about not having access to luxury or material abundance.

6. Fear of being perceived as "lazy" or "materialistic" due to their desire for comfort.

🥀 Gemini in the 8th House:

1. Fear of being misunderstood or having their ideas dismissed.

2. Fear of communicating their thoughts, especially if they might be misunderstood.

3. Anxiety about being ignored or overlooked in important conversations.

4. Worry about not having enough mental stimulation in life, leading to boredom.

5. Concern about being seen as unreliable due to their versatile nature.

6. Fear of being labeled as "two-faced" or insincere by others.

🥀 Cancer in the 8th House:

1. Fear of emotional vulnerability or being abandoned by loved ones.

2. Anxiety about exposing deep emotions and being hurt or rejected.

3. Worry about being perceived as overly sensitive or dependent.

4. Concern about emotional betrayal or being taken advantage of.

5. Fear of losing the emotional security provided by close relationships.

6. Unease with situations that force them to confront their own emotional depth.

🥀 Leo in the 8th House:

1. Fear of being overshadowed or not receiving recognition.

2. Fear of not receiving the attention they desire or being forgotten by others.

3. Anxiety about not getting validation from others for their efforts or achievements.

4. Worry about not being able to truly express themselves in a way that is appreciated.

5. Concern about not being recognized for their talents and hard work.

6. Fear of being outshined by others, leading to feelings of inadequacy.

🥀 Virgo in the 8th House:

1. Fear of making mistakes or being seen as imperfect.

2. Anxiety about revealing flaws or weaknesses, especially in high-pressure situations.

3. Worry about not meeting the high standards they set for themselves or others.

4. Concern about being perceived as overly critical, which might alienate people.

5. Fear of being seen as less competent or reliable, leading to feelings of inadequacy.

6. Unease with situations where their attention to detail might be overlooked or undervalued.

🥀 Libra in the 8th House:

1. Fear of conflict, imbalance, or being judged harshly by others.

2. Fear of intimacy or being vulnerable with loved ones, leading to emotional exposure.

3. Anxiety about conflicts in relationships that disrupt harmony or balance.

4. Worry about being judged harshly for their decisions or behaviors, particularly in social settings.

5. Concern about being perceived as "rude" if they assert themselves or disagree with others.

6. Fear of not being able to maintain the peace and harmony they strive for in their relationships.

🥀 Scorpio in the 8th House:

1. Fear of betrayal, losing power, or having their secrets exposed.

2. Anxiety about losing control or being manipulated by others.

3. Worry about others uncovering their deepest fears, desires, or secrets.

4. Concern about not being able to maintain their usual level of intensity and focus and sometimes hiding their intensity because they don’t know if others would accept them if they did show it.

5. Fear of emotional vulnerability, which might lead to feelings of powerlessness.

6. Unease with situations that force them to confront their own darker impulses.

🥀 Sagittarius in the 8th House:

1. Fear of being restricted, losing freedom, or facing the unknown.

2. Anxiety about being confined or trapped in situations that limit their independence.

3. Worry about not being able to explore or pursue their personal beliefs and interests.

4. Concern about being forced to conform to rules or structures that limit their autonomy.

5. Fear of losing their sense of optimism or faith in challenging circumstances.

6. Unease with situations that require commitment or settling down, which might limit their opportunities for growth.

🥀 Capricorn in the 8th House:

1. Fear of failure, losing status, or not achieving their goals.

2. Anxiety about not reaching the level of success or stability they aspire to.

3. Worry about losing their reputation or standing in society, especially in professional settings.

4. Concern about not being able to achieve the long-term goals they set for themselves.

5. Fear of being overwhelmed by responsibilities that exceed their capacity to manage.

6. Unease with situations where their sense of structure or control is threatened.

🥀 Aquarius in the 8th House:

1. Fear of conformity, losing individuality, or being rejected by society.

2. Anxiety about losing their uniqueness or being forced to conform to societal norms.

3. Worry about not being able to fully express their innovative or unconventional ideas.

4. Concern about being rejected or ostracized for their differences or their ability to try out new ways of doing things.

5. Fear of losing their sense of freedom or independence in group settings.

6. Unease with situations where they feel pressured to fit in or compromise their values.

🥀 Pisces in the 8th House:

1. Fear of being overwhelmed by emotions, losing their sense of self, or facing harsh realities.

2. Anxiety about being consumed by their own or others' emotions, leading to feelings of instability.

3. Worry about losing their sense of self or identity in relationships, especially if they become overly dependent.

4. Concern about facing harsh or unpleasant realities they'd rather avoid, leading to escapist tendencies.

5. Fear of being perceived as too sensitive or overly emotional by others.

6. Unease with situations that require them to be practical, grounded, or confront life's harsh realities.

banner & photo credits: @/kiaa-chin

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gojoluvs · 1 year ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐑… 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒? જ⁀➴ Masterlist

"You were my everything, my heart, my soul, my love. But now, as I stand here alone, I realize you were never truly mine. I was just a pawn in your game of power, a means to an end. I gave you my kingdom, my trust, my love, and you repaid me with betrayal and heartache.“

pairing; Emperor Gojo x Empress reader

genre;Medieval Au, period piece, Lovers to strangers

↬ summary, Y/N, a young woman, is forced into a political marriage with the cold and powerful Duke of the neighboring kingdom, Satoru Gojo. As she struggles to adapt to her new life and win the heart of her husband, she uncovers dark secrets and conspiracies within the palace. Eventually, she realizes that her marriage was nothing but a facade.

status;on going, (spin off from Forever yours)

tags;Historical romance, Drama, Slight mystery, Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, political intrigue, betrayal, secret agendas, arranged marriage, deception, power struggles, uncovering the truth.

warnings; 18+, Forced Marriage, Mental and Emotional Abuse, Slight Misogyny, Dark Themes, Infidelity, Violence, Manipulation, Trauma, Smut, Major character death.

Ⅰ. The Heir's Dilemma

Ⅱ. A marriage of convenience

Ⅲ. A New Life

Ⅳ. Winning Over the emperor

Ⅴ. Uncovering the Truth

Ⅵ. A Dangerous Discovery

Ⅶ. Betrayal in the Palace

Ⅷ. The Facade of Marriage

Ⅸ. Fighting for the Throne

Ⅹ The Final Reveal.

notes;This fic is a spinoff from my discontinued series, Forever Yours!!! It's based off the Webnovels "What it means to be you" and "My beloved oppressor."(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

taglist;open!

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the-tiny-mia · 2 months ago

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Reply All (H.S. Fic) | Chapter 1

General Masterlist fratboy!harry x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Harry were childhood best friends, inseparable through every laugh, secret, and growing pain. But high school brought unspoken feelings and decisions that tore them apart, leaving both with unanswered questions. Years later, a class project challenges them to face their shared past and uncover the truths they’ve both been running from. And a wrong click unveils the past and what will be the future. A/n: omggg my first series!!! i'm so so so excited for this one, i literally wrote this sooo fast cause i was soooo excited! i hope you all like this too! let me know any feedback you may have. Thanks to my one and only @eileenrry for being my designated proof reader 💖 Word count: 3.4k Warnings: This part has a lot of angst, and the series WILL HAVE smut, so +18 (not on this part tho). Mentions of alcohol, smoking, betrayal.

“Do you want to sit with me?” Said a soft voice, tiny, cutest at it’s best. Your tiny hands were clenched around the straps of your oversized backpack, and even though you were small too, everything around you felt impossibly big—the chairs, the poster boards on the wall, the toys lined up in the back of the room. You felt like the smallest, quietest flea. You weren’t the kind to make noise; you liked to keep to yourself, tucked safely behind your mother’s legs, where the world couldn’t quite reach you.

So when your parents sat you down and said you’d be moving to another city, the world tilted. Everything became a blur of cardboard boxes and goodbyes. You had to choose which plushies to keep, which ones to let go—and somehow, even at that age, you knew those choices mattered. You were so young, but you remember it like it was yesterday. Not just because it was the first time life ever truly scared you, but because it was also the beginning of something. Because that’s how you met Harry.

So when that tiny voice said, “Do you want to sit with me?” you turned your head and saw him—a curly-haired boy with big green eyes and lashes so long they looked like they’d been painted on. He was just looking at you, calm and curious. And all you could do was nod and take the empty seat beside him.

His table was a mess of color and chaos—crayons scattered everywhere, a pencil poorly sharpened on both ends, and an eraser that had once been white but was now stained with every color imaginable. His workbook lay open, half-filled with scribbles and drawings, and across the top in big, uneven letters, it read: Harry.

“Y/N,” you whispered, barely louder than a breath, unsure if he even heard you.

He glanced up, then gave a small nod and a crooked smile. He didn’t say anything, but it was enough. He seemed a little shy too—not as much as you, of course—but just enough to make you feel like maybe you weren’t alone.

🌷

Shy questions turned into giggles soon enough. It turned out you had more in common than you ever expected—both from different cities, both fans of mixing vanilla and strawberry ice cream, and both a little hopeless at math. It was the kind of quiet connection that didn’t need much explaining; it just was.

"Can you lend me the pink crayon?" he asked, eyes focused on the page in front of him, carefully coloring inside the lines of his workbook.

"No," you said, without hesitation.

He looked up, clearly offended. "Why not?"

You shrugged, holding the crayon a little closer. "Because it’s my favorite one."

He blinked at you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to be mad—then smiled like he’d just learned something important about you.

🌷 The class pictures from the early years of middle school began to pile up, slowly forming a little bundle alongside birthday snapshots and silly, candid moments. What once were debates over whether dolls were better than dinosaurs had turned into whispered promises of being best friends forever.

There was a problem with that. It was called high school—or maybe it was called hormones, or growing up, or feelings, or the chaos of social interactions. It was trying alcohol for the first time, coughing behind Harry’s house after taking a sip that burned too much. It was wheezing with laughter after trying a cigarette he somehow managed to swipe from an old lady at the bus stop.

There were countless school dances where the two of you showed up as best friends—even when a girl got the courage to ask Harry, and he politely turned her down. It was like a secret everyone knew, yet somehow, not fully spoken. Something unconfirmed, but undeniable. You two were untouchable in the eyes of the rest of the school—not in a popular, flashy way, but in a quiet, unbreakable one. No one ever teased you about being a couple, but, They knew. Harry knew.

You? You were a bit oblivious.

And then it happened—at a definitely not parent-supervised party—your first kiss. His first kiss. But not with each other.

"Y/N! Your turn!" called Aria —the redheaded girl who, after Harry, was the one you trusted most. She was the one you talked to about period stuff, what to wear, the latest makeup trends, and gossip about the newest hot celebrity.

You looked at the bottle spinning in front of you. Classic. You weren’t even sure why you agreed to join the game in the first place—but then again, most teenagers don’t really know why they say yes to things at parties. Especially when alcohol is disguised as “Just flavored water, Dad, I swear.”

The bottle spun in what felt like slow motion—maybe because of the flavored water in the red cup you were holding, or maybe because you were too busy scanning the circle, trying to figure out which of the guys would be the least awful choice for your first kiss. Of course, there was Harry—though at the time, you were completely oblivious to how nervous he looked. You wouldn’t have minded kissing him; actually, in the roulette spinning inside your head, he was your first choice. But not because you wanted to kiss him—more like, because you really didn’t want to kiss any of the others.

When the bottle finally stopped, the tip pointed at Phil. You gave a small, nervous smile. Not because it was Phil. Not even because it wasn’t Harry. Just because it was your first kiss. And as the group broke into a chorus of “oooh!”s, you leaned in and had it—your first kiss.

It was short. Dry. No spark. Just a kiss.

And kind of the same thing happened with Harry.

When it was his turn, the bottle also seemed to spin in slow motion—at least for you. Your brain kicked into the same overthinking mode, running through the roulette of girls he could possibly kiss. The only one you didn’t mind was Ivy—the shy new girl who was moving away soon, so it didn’t really matter in the long run. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until the bottle landed on her, and you exhaled quietly, telling yourself it was fine.

What you didn’t stop to question was why you’d been thinking all of that. Or why your chest felt tight and hot with jealousy when you watched Harry lean in and press his lips to Ivy’s.

It was quick. Innocent. But still, it stung.

After the kiss, Harry didn’t even glance at Ivy. He looked straight at you. And you looked right back, both of you smiling—soft, uncertain. No words needed. At this time it was like you both telepathically communicated. The OMG we just had our first kisses. It was written all over your faces.

As time passed and 10th year rolled around, everything seemed pretty normal between the two of you—or at least, you thought it was. Nothing about Harry felt off. Nothing seemed different. Until that one Math class.

"The next assignment will be in pairs. Choose and write your names on this list on your way out," the teacher announced. The classroom erupted in whispers and shifting chairs as everyone scanned the room for their ideal partner. But you didn’t even glance around—you didn’t need to. You and Harry were always partners. Always. It was just a given.

But then, you heard his voice beside you. Heard the sound of his finger tapping on Theo’s shoulder in front of him. And then the words that made your stomach twist.

"Do you want to be partners?" Harry asked.

Theo looked just as confused as you felt. He even glanced back at you for a second, like he was waiting for some kind of explanation. But you had nothing to offer—your face mirrored his.

"Uh… yeah?" Theo replied, hesitant.

"Perfect. I’ll text you after school," Harry said with a shrug, already moving on.

You sat there, mouth slightly open, heart racing with that slow, creeping sting of being blindsided.

"What was that?" you asked.

"What was what?" he said, feigning innocence—but you knew him too well. He knew exactly what he did.

"Why did you ask Theo? What about me?"

He shrugged again. "What about you?"

"What—Harry, we’re always partners."

"I know… it’s just..." He sighed. "We’re both kinda bad at math, and I figured I should pair with someone who can, you know… help me out a bit."

You stared at him. That wasn’t the truth. Not fully. You knew it. You felt it.

But the clock was ticking, and you didn’t have time to process it—let alone find a partner who wasn’t a complete disaster. So you swallowed it. The confusion. The hurt. The shift. And kept moving.

You tried to brush it off the first time. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Then he transferred to different classes entirely. Each time came with the same excuse: “I’m just trying new things.” You questioned him—of course you did. Over and over. But it was all nonsense. Every conversation either turned into a fight or ended with one of his hollow, careless excuses.

So you stopped. You decided not to waste any more time chasing someone who clearly didn’t want to be caught.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Him sitting at different tables during lunch? Level 1. Choosing other people for group assignments? Not answering your texts? Level 2. Taking a completely different route home just to avoid walking with you? Level 3. Laughing—no, giggling—like he was having the time of his life with people who weren’t you? Level 4.

There were tears. So many tears. And there were questions. A constant, suffocating loop of them. Was it something I said? Something I did? Was I a bad friend? But no answer ever came. Just more silence. And more tears.

You weren’t technically alone. You had other friends. But you didn’t have Harry. You didn’t have the one who could read you with a glance. The one who could sense your mood from just the tone of your “hello” in the morning. You didn’t have the one you wanted.

Harry wasn’t there anymore. Not for the 3 a.m. calls when you couldn’t sleep. Not to debrief the daily drama. Not to groan through math class or whisper jokes behind textbooks. And worst of all…As time passed, he wasn’t there for your first heartbreak. He wasn’t there for prom. He wasn’t there to hold your hand when you both tossed the graduation caps into the sky.

He was gone.

🌷

It wasn’t really a surprise when you both looked up and locked eyes in the same introductory group on the first day of college.

Neither of you had talked about which colleges you were applying to. Neither of you knew what the other wanted. Because by then, communication had been reduced to absolutely nothing—0%. Silence and space had taken over. So no, it wasn’t exactly shocking when you ended up in the same college. Same career path. Same group. Because the truth was—you’d always been similar.

You’d dreamed similar dreams. Wanted similar things. And no matter how hard you tried not to be, you were always pulled in by each other’s gravity. Even if you didn’t want to admit it. Even if you swore you were over it. Even if you told yourself it didn’t matter anymore.

There he was. Harry.

And suddenly, the air between you was thick with everything unspoken.

Either of you could’ve asked to transfer. Changed groups. Switched classes. Taken the easy way out.

But neither of you did.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the silent, mutual attempt to prove there was nothing left between you. That you were both mature enough. That you could handle being around each other. Just classmates. Just two people, casually coexisting in the same space.

But the truth?

The truth was that something deeper—something neither of you could name or admit—was keeping you both exactly where you were. You swore it was you just being mad but maybe there was a kind of magnetic pull that wasn’t strong enough to bring you together, but just strong enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t even tried to talk to him, or even look at him, always avoiding as much as you could,

Your roommate, Juliet, noticed it from day one. The way your entire posture shifted when Harry entered the room. And of course, how you never actually looked at him, not for longer than a blink.

Juliet was bold, blunt, and had a talent for digging into things you weren’t ready to unearth.

“You two have history,” she said one night, cross-legged on her bed, spooning peanut butter out of the jar like it was therapy. “You don’t flinch like that for someone you barely know.”

You rolled your eyes. “We used to be friends. That’s all.” not even bothering to look up from the book in your hands

“Right,” she said, dragging the word out like it had a hundred letters. “And I ‘used to be’ a vegetarian”

She didn’t let it go. She was always trying to get you to talk to him. “Just say hi like a human,” she’d whisper. Or “What’s the worst that could happen? You explode?”

But she didn’t know the weight of it all. She didn’t know that silence between you and Harry wasn’t empty—it was loaded. History, hurt, heartbreak—all packed into every glance, every ignored moment.

Still, Juliet was relentless. And part of you—maybe the part that still remembered how it felt to laugh with him—was kind of glad she was. Beneath all that pain and being mad at it, there he was your Harry, your best friend.

You stopped going to college parties. At first, it was subtle. A few “maybe next time”s.A couple of “I have a headache”s. But Juliet caught on fast.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said one Friday night, standing in front of a mirror, fixing her hair while you curled up under your blanket like it was a shield. “You’re not going because of him, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because the idea of walking into a room and locking eyes with Harry—of pretending you didn’t notice each other, or worse, pretending you were fine—made your stomach twist.

“I just don’t want it to be awkward,” you muttered.

Juliet scoffed. “It’s college. Everything’s awkward. You think Harry’s out there dancing on tables and living his best life?” She paused. “He never goes either, you know.”

That made you sit up and frown “What?”

“I’ve literally never seen him at a single party. Not even the ones his friends throw,” she said. “You two are like magnets repelling each other, except you’re both convinced the other one wants nothing to do with you.”

You stayed quiet, but her words stuck. Because you hadn’t considered that maybe—just maybe—he was avoiding it too. Not because he didn’t want to see you… But because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Of course it was. He was Harry.

That realization didn’t make things easier. It just made your heart ache in a different way.

🌷

It was just another Thursday. Gray skies outside the window, students half-asleep in their chairs, laptops open but barely touched. You were already zoning out when Professor Merrick’s voice cut through the hum of the classroom.

“For your next assignment,” she said, tapping a stack of handouts on her desk, “you’ll be creating a personal narrative. Think of it as storytelling with a purpose—an exploration of the moments that have shaped you.”

You blinked. “What kind of moments?” someone asked from the back.

“Anything that’s changed you,” Merrick replied. “A loss. A revelation. A success story. A moment of heartbreak or clarity. Something real. Something raw.”

A collective groan passed through the room.

“And,” she added, lips twitching into the faintest smile, “you may do it solo, or… in pairs. Your choice. But if you choose to work with someone, the project must reflect both stories—how they intersect, mirror, or clash.”

You felt your stomach drop. This was the kind of assignment you hated. Not because you couldn’t do it, but because you could. You had too much material. And you knew exactly what your story would be… if you were brave enough to tell it. You didn’t look at Harry, who sat two rows across and one seat behind. But you could feel him. That weird awareness that never really went away.

Juliet leaned over, whispering, “You’re doing it solo, right?”

“Obviously,” you whispered back, already scribbling ideas down just to look busy.

But still, your heart thudded louder than before. Because even if you hadn’t looked at Harry, he had looked at you.

Professor Merrick began passing the handouts down each row, but you barely glanced at the paper when it reached your desk. The words blurred together—“personal narrative,” “emotional depth,” “authentic voice”—all sounding a little too close to home.

“As always,” she said, stepping back in front of the board, “I’ll be sending the full assignment details to your emails this evening. Requirements, due dates, guidelines—all there. This is not just about writing well. It’s about honesty. And trust me, I’ll know when it’s not real.” A low murmur rippled through the class again.

“You have until Monday to choose whether you’re working solo or with someone. If you pick a partner, let me know by then. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re flying solo.” She smiled faintly, but there was something knowing in her expression. Like she enjoyed watching students squirm under the weight of their own unspoken stories.

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped the floor as people stood up, stretching and groaning. You shoved the handout into your bag without a second glance.

Juliet nudged you as you walked out. “Maybe this is your sign.”

You frowned. “Sign for what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “To tell the story you’ve been dying not to tell.”

You didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed your mind. And because behind you, Harry was still sitting at his desk, staring at the same sheet of paper you hadn’t read either.

🌷

Days later, you were curled up on your bed, laptop perched on your knees, the soft hum of lo-fi music playing from your phone. The Word document on your screen was still blank—just a blinking cursor mocking you, waiting for the first sentence that refused to come.

You had typed and deleted the same line four different times. Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right. Your story was too tangled.

And then, like some cruel joke, your email pinged.

New Message: STORYTELLING PROJECT CLASS 305 — Personal Narrative From: Harry Styles To: Class 305

You stared at the subject line, confused. You hadn’t spoken in weeks—not even a polite nod in the hallway. Why would he be—

Then you clicked.

And everything shifted.

The message wasn’t meant for you. It wasn’t meant for the whole class. It was clearly written for one person—Noah. He was asking if Noah would be his partner, saying he didn’t want to do the project alone.

“I was thinking of writing about losing my best friend. Her name’s Y/N. She’s also in the class. I was in love with her. I never told her. I pushed her away because I thought if I kept my distance, the feelings would fade. But they didn’t. I made it worse, got out of my hands, I lost her anyway. But of course i can’t mention her name or make it too obvious it’s about her so i figured i could use a partner to help”

Your heart stopped. Again.

“Anyway, It was my fault. I thought I was protecting something, but I ended up breaking it. I don’t know if your story’s anything like that. Just figured I’d ask. Also, can I get your number?”

You sat frozen. For a second, your brain refused to process what your eyes had read. The story. The feelings. The name. Your name.

And then you realized it—he had clicked Reply All. You weren’t supposed to see this. No one in the class was supposed to see this.

You blinked, staring at your screen in disbelief, heart pounding loud in your chest. It was like someone had dropped a confession straight into your lap, and now you didn’t know what to do with it.Because the problem wasn’t that Harry had sent it everyone

The problem was…Everything in it was true. PART 2

Taglist: @hermionelove

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shybluebirdninja · 4 months ago

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Bite-Sized Betrayal

Summary: When Logan realizes your blowjob is too good to be a “first-timer” move, he launches a full-blown “detective mission,” trying to uncover the truth of your “so-called innocence.”

Pairing : Logan Howlett x Gf!Human-reader

Note : Fluff, suggestive themes

Logan’s jealousy is always kinda… cute. For a guy who’s survived literal wars, he’s got no clue how to handle feelings that aren’t anger or fighting. And now? Oh, you had him in a real mood.

It all started when you decided to surprise him with a little something extra. Y’know, testing out that thing you read about online. A blowjob. Logan being your first—and let’s be real, only—boyfriend, you thought you were doing okay. More than okay, apparently, because halfway through, he completely froze.

“Whoa, whoa, babe,” Logan said, pulling back with a hand on your shoulder, eyes narrowed. “That was a little too good.”

You sat there, blinking up at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about. “Uh… thanks?”

But he wasn’t letting it go. The Wolverine squinted at you like he was analyzing every moment of your past life. “No way you’re that good at this without practice.”

Now, let’s be real here—you know Logan. He’s got this whole rough-and-tough exterior, but the second something doesn’t fit into his perfectly controlled world, he turns into a paranoid mess. And today? That paranoia was locked and loaded.

“Logan…” You started to say, but the man was already up, pacing like he was solving some kinda murder mystery. He ran his hands through his wild hair, muttering something under his breath.

“Who was it?” he suddenly growled, turning to face you like you had just admitted to world domination.

“Who was what?” You blinked, trying so hard not to laugh.

“The guy,” he said, jabbing a finger in your direction. “Who taught ya? Some douchebag in college? Or maybe that asshole at the bar last month—you did talk to him for a bit.”

Now, it’s one thing to have your tough boyfriend jealous, but this? This was next-level ridiculous. You sat back, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting into laughter. “Logan, babe, what are you talking about? You’re literally my first.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “Don’t gimme that, darlin’. No one’s that good the first time.” He crossed his arms like he was about to grill you with hard evidence. “I’ve been around the block, ya know.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laughter came out before you could stop it, making Logan scowl even harder.

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped, pacing again. “I’m serious. I’m startin’ to think you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

“Logan, for the love of—” You wiped away the tears of laughter, finally getting up to stand in front of him. “I’m not hiding anything! You’re my first boyfriend. You know that.”

“Yeah, but that move—” He pointed vaguely toward the couch, still frowning. “That was some professional-level shit.”

You couldn’t stop giggling, and it only made him more irritated. He ran his hand down his face and groaned. “Alright, tell me the truth. You’ve been Googlin’ this stuff, haven’t ya?”

You almost doubled over. “You think I Googled how to give you a blowjob?!”

“Well, I don’t know!” Logan growled, frustration dripping from his voice. “Maybe you did. I’m just sayin’… that was too good to be natural.”

“Logan,” you said through fits of giggles, “I’m not some secret blowjob expert, okay? Maybe I’m just, I don’t know, naturally talented?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly still unconvinced. “Nah. Somethin’ doesn’t add up here.”

You threw your hands up, finally losing your patience. “Okay, so what are you gonna do, Sherlock? You gonna interrogate every guy I’ve ever spoken to? ‘Hey, did she happen to give you a blowjob once upon a time?’”

Logan actually looked like he was considering it for a second, and you lost it all over again. This man, this absolute idiot, was serious.

He huffed, crossing his arms again like he’d already decided on his next move. “Look, babe, I just don’t like not knowin’ things, alright?”

“Oh my God, you’re jealous because I’m good at blowjobs. That’s what this is about.”

Logan’s cheeks actually flushed. He muttered something about it “not being like that,” but you knew better. This was the same guy who once picked a fight with someone for glancing at you in a diner. Of course, he was jealous.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Logan sighed. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m a little jealous. I just… don’t want anyone else takin’ credit for somethin’ we’re supposed to figure out together.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You mean you don’t want anyone else getting the benefits of my natural talent?”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything, clearly trying to figure out how to navigate this weird conversation. Finally, he huffed again. “Alright, fine. But for the record… there’s a right way to do it, and I could show ya.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back more laughter. “Oh, you’re gonna give me a lesson now?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Damn straight. Been around long enough to know what works and what don’t. Consider it… proper education.”

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deception-united · 1 year ago

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Let's talk about killing off characters.

Killing off characters is a dramatic device often used to advance the plot, create tension, or evoke emotional responses from readers or viewers. We love doing it. The initial shock, the mourning after. The effects of it on the other characters. It's fun.

Nevertheless, you can still achieve the desired impact on your plot and characters without necessarily resorting to fictional murder.

Here are some alternatives to drive the plot forward:

Character transformation: Instead of killing off a character, you can have them undergo significant personal growth or change. This could involve overcoming challenges, facing moral dilemmas, or undergoing a shift in beliefs or values. Their transformation can still drive the plot forward and impact other characters. (I especially love it when the transformation is negative—like when a traumatic experience of some sort completely strips a character of their soul. But that's a sentiment for another day.)

Betrayal or conflict: Introduce betrayal or conflict between characters that challenges relationships and creates tension. This can lead to significant plot developments and character arcs without resorting to death. And it can be cause for quite a lot of angst.

Separation or estrangement: Have characters physically or emotionally separated from each other, causing tension and driving the plot forward as they strive to reconnect or deal with the consequences of their estrangement.

Sacrifice without death: Characters can make significant sacrifices that don't necessarily involve their death. This could be sacrificing personal goals, relationships, or values for the greater good or to achieve a specific objective.

Injury or disability: Instead of killing off a character, you can incapacitate them through injury or disability. This will create challenges for the character and those around them, leading to character development and plot progression as they're forced to adapt to their new circumstances.

Redemption arcs: Characters who have committed wrongdoings can undergo redemption arcs where they seek forgiveness, make amends, or strive to become better individuals. This can drive the plot forward while also adding depth to the character. Keep in mind that this may not be a suitable alternative to death for some characters—for instance, the protagonist forgiving their abusive parent despite all they were forced to go through may evoke a sense of indignation rather than admiration for their supposed selflessness.

Revelations or secrets: Introduce revelations or uncover secrets that have significant impacts on characters and their relationships. This can lead to conflict, tension, and plot twists without the need for death.

Forced alliances or unexpected partnerships: Characters can be forced into alliances or partnerships with unlikely allies, leading to interesting dynamics and plot developments as they navigate these new relationships.

Loss of power or status: Characters can experience a loss of power, status, or reputation, which can drive the plot forward as they strive to regain what they've lost, seek revenge on those responsible, or adapt to their new circumstances.

Time constraints or pressure: Introduce time constraints or pressure situations that force characters to act quickly and make difficult, split-second decisions that may end up being quite regrettable later on. This can raise conflicts of who's to blame, or what should have been done.

I feel like I strayed off a little, but there you have it. Hope this was helpful! ❤

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#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #plot development #plot device #torturing my characters #deception-united

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frailsituation · 5 months ago

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Creative writing prompts

1. Betrayal and deception

• A secret organization erases memories, leaving victims to rediscover their lives. One survivor remembers everything—and they’re the one who betrayed everyone.

2. Strange bargains

• A god grants a dying soldier immortality in exchange for serving them—but the soldier wasn’t told how they’d serve.

3. Forbidden connections

• A guardian angel falls in love with their charge, breaking all celestial laws.

4. Power with a cost

• A character gains the power to heal any wound, but every time they use it, they lose one of their most important memories.

5. Unraveling mysteries

• A village’s water turns black overnight, and drinking it gives people strange visions of the future.

• A character receives letters from someone who knows personal details about them—but claims to be writing from 200 years in the past.

6. Survival against odds

• A group of strangers wakes up in a sealed dome with no exits and an unfamiliar night sky. One of them disappears each night.

7. Love and tension

• Two astronauts are stranded on a desolate planet, forced to work together to survive while grappling with growing feelings for each other.

8. Twisting morality

• A rebellion leader discovers their closest ally has been secretly sabotaging the cause—for reasons they might actually agree with.

9. Uncharted worlds

• A city floats above a sea of clouds, but no one knows what lies below. A expedition seeks to uncover the truth.

Follow for more!

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writer stuff #writerscommunity #novel writing #writing tips #tips #writing #creative writing #writers and poets #creativewriters #writing prompt

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anixvl · 3 months ago

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BITTER || Y.J

pairing: boxer!jungwon x detective!fem!reader

synopsis: Months after learning the truth of the real mastermind, you and Jungwon are left standing in the aftermath—scarred and unable to pretend that things will go back to what they once were. Just as you both begin to navigate your fragile connection, a new case arises—one that ties directly to your past. A series of brutal murders mimicking your late partner’s case resurface. The deeper you dig, the more it becomes clear: the original mastermind wasn’t working alone. Now, you are once again forced into each other’s lives, uncovering dark secrets while confronting the bitter unspoken emotions that still linger between you both. But trust isn’t easily rebuilt, and love doesn’t erase betrayal. (pt 2 of BITTERSWEET)

genre: Romance, LOTS OF ANGST, enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies trope, thriller, suspense

warnings: smut MDNI, oral f!receiving, d in p, lots of arguing/profanity, mentions of guns & blood, tears tears tears!

wc: 13.5k

a/n: hi!! there may be a pt 3, “sweet,” to finish off the series! but it’s still undecided, stay tuned <3

The rain fell in thin sheets, casting a silver haze over the city skyline. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, your jaw clenched as you forced yourself to focus on the road ahead. The familiar weight of exhaustion pressed against your bones, but it wasn’t just from the late hours or the endless cases piling up on your desk.

It was him.

Jungwon sat in the passenger seat, silent. He hadn’t spoken in the last twenty minutes, not since you begrudgingly agreed to let him come with you. His presence filled the space between you like a loaded gun—dangerous, tense, and ready to explode at any moment.

you hated that he was here.

you hated that you still cared.

"We don’t have to talk, but you can at least stop pretending I don’t exist,” His voice was quieter than you expected, carrying none of the cocky arrogance he used to wear like armor.

You exhaled through your nose, your fingers tightening around the wheel, “I’m not pretending. I just have nothing to say to you."

Jungwon let out a soft laugh—bitter, edged with something unreadable, “That’s worse."

You didn’t respond.

Because what were you supposed to say?

That you haven’t stopped thinking about him in months since that day at your house?

That every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel the way his hands had held you, the way he had whispered your name like it meant something?

No. You wouldn’t give him that.

Not after what happened.

Not after shattering your heart.

The GPS beeped, signaling the destination. You turned off the ignition and reached for the case file in the back seat, ignoring the way Jungwon watched you. He was waiting for something—for a sign, a crack in your walls, anything to prove that you weren’t as indifferent as you pretended to be.

But you wouldn’t give him that, either.

you stepped out of the car, rain misting against your skin.

The warehouse loomed ahead, abandoned and rotting at the edges. The call had come in this morning—a body found inside, the method eerily similar to the one that had haunted you for the past year. Your partner’s murder.

Your stomach twisted.

Someone was playing with you.

And you weren’t sure you were ready to face it, but ready or not, you didn’t have much of a choice.

It all started on that day. The day at your house, when you first found out the sickening truth.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Seokjin sat behind his desk, his usual smirk absent, his sharp eyes locked onto you. The air between you was thick with months of bad blood, with every accusation you had ever thrown his way.

"You’ve got five minutes before I throw you out," Seokjin said coolly, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.

You pulled the flash drive from your pocket and tossed it onto the table.

"Play it."

Seokjin arched an eyebrow but picked up the drive, inserting it into his laptop. The moment your partner’s voice filled the air, his expression shifted—just slightly.

By the time the recording ended, Seokjin exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes briefly.

"He tried to tell you," he muttered.

Your jaw clenched, “I didn’t know."

Seokjin let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, "No, you didn’t. Because you were too busy trying to kill me."

You didn’t react. He wasn’t wrong.

You had let your grief blind you. Let the pain make you reckless. And in doing so, you had been chasing the wrong enemy this entire time.

"I need your help," you admitted.

The words felt foreign on your tongue, but you forced them out, "I don’t know how deep this goes, but I know my partner died trying to bring it to light. And if they find out I know the truth, I’ll be next."

Seokjin leaned back in his chair, studying you. Then, after a long moment, he let out a slow sigh.

"So. The detective finally realizes she’s been hunting the wrong man."

You clenched your fists, “I don’t need a speech, Seokjin. I need to finish what my partner started. He was our friend. Help me take down the people who really did this."

A tense silence stretched between you both. Then, to your surprise, Seokjin chuckled.

"You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges, detective."

You arched an eyebrow, “That’s funny, considering you spent months trying to kill me and even locked me up."

Seokjin smirked, standing up, “Fair enough."

Then, his expression darkened, “But you’re right about one thing. Whoever’s behind this? They’re not just coming for you. They’ll come for me. They’ll come for Jungwon, too. Which means…" He extended a glass of alcohol for you to take, "We’re in this together."

You hesitated—but only for a moment. Then you grasped the glass from his hand, swallowing it down—sealing the deal.

Because this time, you knew exactly who the real enemy was.

And you weren’t going to stop till you were satisfied.

The warehouse smelled of rust and decay. The air was thick with something else, too—something heavier, something familiar.

You stepped inside, your boots barely making a sound against the cracked concrete. The body lay in the center of the room, partially covered with a tarp. Red pooled beneath it, dark and glistening, seeping into the floor like a stain that would never wash away.

Jungwon moved beside you, silent. He watched you carefully as you looked at the scene before you. He wanted to be there for you, despite your barriers. He wasn’t supposed to be here—you didn’t want him here—but somehow, he had a way of inserting himself into things you wanted to keep far, far away from him.

"Same MO?"His voice was steady, but you knew him well enough to hear the tension beneath it.

You crouched beside the body, your fingers ghosting over the cold edge of the tarp before you pulled it back. The sight sent ice through your veins.

A clean shot to the chest. A knife wound to the abdomen. The precision of it was deliberate, almost surgical.

Exactly like your partner.

your stomach twisted.

"This isn’t a coincidence," you muttered, "Someone’s sending a message."

Jungwon was quiet for a moment before he asked the question you didn’t want to answer, "You think it’s connected to his murder?"

You exhaled, standing, “I don’t think. I know.”

You turned to face him, and for the first time since you let him come with you, you let yourself meet his gaze fully. There was something in his eyes—something unreadable, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

It irked you how, despite everything, your body never failed to react to him. You hated how your heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Your shortness of breath near him. And the stupid, stupid, feeling of wanting his touch. You looked away.

"This isn’t over," you said, your voice steady.

Jungwon nodded, his jaw tight, “Then let’s end it."

The words should have been comforting. They weren’t.

Because ending it meant reopening wounds that had never fully healed. It meant severing ties that bounded you both together. And you weren’t sure either of you were ready for that.

The night was thick with silence as you walked back to the car, the dim light from the streetlamps flickering over the rain-slick pavement. Your steps were quick, purposeful, though your mind was miles away. Every instinct told you to push him away—push him far away—but there he was, walking beside you like nothing had changed.

And everything had changed.

Jungwon was supposed to be a ghost in your life, an ex you had buried with the pain and regret of your past. Yet, somehow, he kept finding his way back. Every time you thought you had moved on, every time you thought you could lock away the pieces of yourself you had given him, he tore through the walls again, leaving you wide open.

You tried not to look at him as you fumbled with the keys to the car.

"You don’t have to come with me," you said quietly, your voice betraying none of the turbulence inside you.

Jungwon didn't respond immediately, and for a moment, you thought he might listen, that maybe he was starting to understand the depth of your walls. But then he spoke, his voice softer than you expected.

"You know I’m not going anywhere."

The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a heavy mist that clung to the streets, distorting the neon glow of the city like a mirage. You leaned against the hood of the car, staring at the warehouse in front of you.

Jungwon was beside you, his presence like an anchor—his silence louder than any words he could’ve spoken. He hadn’t said much since you got in the car. He wasn’t the same cocky, reckless fighter you had once known. He was different, quieter, broken in a way you couldn’t understand. And yet, here he was, once again dragged into your mess, whether he liked it or not.

"You can’t keep chasing this, Y/n," Jungwon said, suddenly closer, his voice firm, bordering on pleading, “Whatever this is, it’s going to end up destroying you."

“You think I don’t know that?" You turned to face him, your fists clenched by your sides.

“I don’t care if this is bigger than us. My partner died without receiving justice. The murderer is still out there.”

"And you think you can fix it? By yourself?" Jungwon’s tone was almost incredulous, but there was a quiet fear in his eyes now—a fear that you hadn’t seen before.

"I don’t need your help, Jungwon,” Your words were cold, sharp.

But they weren’t the truth. You did need him. You needed him more than you cared to admit.

Jungwon’s face hardened, and for a moment, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a precipice—one wrong move and everything would crumble. He stepped back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stared at you with a mixture of frustration and something else.

Something you hadn’t seen in a while.

He was always putting effort in trying to gain your forgiveness. Always supportive, taking care of you, sweet gestures, affectionate phrases, he’s tried doing it all.

This was his breaking point.

"Fine," he said after a long pause, his voice low, “Do it on your own then."

But just as he turned to leave, something in you snapped. The frustration, the years of pain, the endless cycle of not being able to fix the past—it all came crashing down.

And suddenly, for a split second, you were the girl from months ago who was head over heels for Jungwon. Before the betrayal, before the lies, before the pain.

You grabbed him by the arm, spinning him back around.

"I need you, Jungwon,” Your voice broke slightly, but you refused to let it show.

"I need you to help me fix this. Because if you don’t, I’ll do it myself. And I don’t care what happens to me in the process,” your eyes glossed as tears begin to form.

You didn’t understand it yourself, you hated him being around but hate it worse when he’s away from you.

Deep down, you must’ve known, you’ve gotten to the point in which you can’t be without him. Not even if you wanted to.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jungwon’s guard lowered. He looked at you—really looked at you—like he was seeing you for the first time. Your eyes were full of desperation, yes, but also something darker, something you’d buried deep inside for far too long.

Love.

"You’re not alone," he whispered, his voice quieter and softer now, filled with something that almost sounded like regret.

He took his hands out from his pockets, cupping your face tenderly. You instantly melt into his touch, feeling your anger almost wash away. He looked into your eyes, searching for the girl you once were.

Back when you loved him so wholeheartedly.

"I’ll help you. But you have to promise me one thing,” he said, drawing soft circle on your cheek with his thumb.

Your brows furrowed, "What?"

"Promise me you won’t destroy yourself in the process."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you were quiet, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders. You didn’t know how to answer—didn’t know if you could promise him that. But in the end, you nodded.

"Fine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll try."

Jungwon didn’t speak again, but his kiss on your forehead was all the confirmation you needed. You were in this together, whether you wanted it or not.

The morning after was nothing like you imagined. Inside your bedroom, the light through the blinds was dim, casting long shadows over the space. You stood by the window, staring out at nothing in particular, your mind far away, racing over the events that had brought you to this point.

Jungwon was still asleep, sprawled across the bed with his face to you. The sight of him, so vulnerable in sleep, made something twist inside of you. He had become a person you could barely recognize, and yet, something about the way he protected you—no matter how messy it got—still made you believe there was something worth saving.

But you couldn’t forget how you had gotten here. The anger. The betrayal. It all still felt raw.

You had been fighting this case alone for so long. And in the back of your mind, you knew—no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t do it without him. But that didn’t mean you would let your guard down. You couldn’t afford to.

When you turned to look at him again, Jungwon was shifting in his sleep, a low groan escaping his lips. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to even approach him. You had so many questions, but none of them felt like they mattered. Not yet.

You walked over to the desk, grabbing the file that had caused everything to spiral. Your fingers skimmed the pages, still looking for something that could tie all the loose ends together. There was too much at stake. Too many pieces missing.

"You really can’t sleep, huh?"

His voice was rough, but it was familiar, and it made you freeze in place. You didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, you stood there, still clutching the file, wondering how to fix everything.

"You still thinking about last night?" he continued, his voice softer this time, like he knew exactly what you were feeling.

You finally turned around, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were intense, but there was something unreadable in them. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, frustrated, or just tired.

"Yeah." The word came out sharper than you intended. "I need answers, Jungwon."

His gaze softened for a moment, and then his mouth twisted into a half-smile, “I know you do."

He sat up and opened his arms to you. The room felt smaller now, the space between you both charged with the tension that had been building ever since you decided to work together. He wasn’t who he used to be. But Neither were you. But in some ways, that was what made everything feel more real. You slowly made your way inside his arms. Your body instantly melted against him, feeling a soft, heavy, sigh escape your lips.

"You’re not gonna let it go, are you?" he asked quietly, holding you tightly, "You think I don’t see it in your eyes?"

You shook your head slowly, “I can’t. Not when I’m this close to finding out who did it."

He was silent for a long moment, and the only sound in the room was the hum of the air conditioner. You weren’t sure if he was contemplating something or just frustrated, but when he finally spoke again, it was with a weariness that didn’t match his usual bravado.

"You know, sometimes, there’s no closure."

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you could feel the sting in your chest. You knew that. You knew it better than anyone. But that didn’t mean you were willing to accept it.

"You’re wrong," you whispered, turning to face him, "I can’t just walk away from this. If I do, I’ll never be able to look at myself the same way again."

There was a long pause. Then you felt Jungwon tenderly caress the top of your head, gazing at you with such intensity. You could feel the weight of his touch, warm and familiar, and it made your heart race in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I get it," he said, his voice gentle now. "But you promised me something."

You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat.

"You won’t lose yourself in all of this. You can’t let it destroy you. You can’t let it be your whole world."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could you promise him that? How could you promise him you wouldn’t burn yourself out chasing after a ghost when you weren’t sure if you could handle the truth?

But in that moment, you realized something. You didn’t know how to let go. And you didn’t know how to trust again. But maybe—just maybe—he was right. Maybe you needed to find a way to let the case be part of your life, not your entire existence.

You nodded slowly, meeting his eyes, "I know."

And just like that, the air between you shifted. There was still so much left unsaid, but for the first time in a long time, you both knew you were on the same side. Together, for better or worse.

The investigation had hit a dead end. Every lead you chased only seemed to open more questions, but none of the answers ever brought you closer to the truth. Every night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, wondering if you were wasting your time, wondering if you had already missed something important.

Jungwon had been quieter since that night—still here, still present, but something had shifted. It was like a wall had gone up between the two of you, even though you were both stuck in the same place, in the same mess.

He could feel the distance growing. And that hurt more than anything.

Jungwon had spent the last few months trying to earn back your trust, be worthy of your love again. To go back to how things were, how much you loved each other despite the mess you both were in.

The touches, the gazes, the affection, the laughs, the nights you spent entangled in each other’s arms. He wanted it all back. More than anything. But it seemed the more he reached for you, the more you seemed far away. So close yet so far. Oceans apart.

He was done with it.

You pushed yourself up from the bed, throwing on your jacket and grabbing your keys. Your room was suffocating, its stale air mixing with the heavy tension in the room. You needed space, needed to think.

When you stepped outside, the cool air hit your face, a welcome relief from the suffocating silence inside. The world outside your room was just as empty as it felt in your mind. You walked down the street with no clear destination in mind, your thoughts swirling, trying to make sense of everything.

“Y/n."

Jungwon’s voice cut through the silence, and you stopped in your tracks, turning slowly. He stood a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets, his frantic breath vaporizing into the cold air.

He had ran to follow you.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you just met his gaze, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You’re pushing yourself too hard,” His voice was low, his concern hidden beneath layers of uncertainty, "We need to step back, rethink the case. There’s something we’re missing."

You shook your head, “No. I’m close. I can feel it. I just need to find the right piece."

"You’ve been saying that for weeks!” he bursted, frustration creeping into his tone, “…But we’ve been chasing shadows, y/n. We need a new approach."

You were silent for a long time. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface was bubbling up again, but this time, it was mixed with something else. Something raw. Something you didn’t want to face.

"You don’t get it, Jungwon," you finally snapped.

"You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re losing everything, and you can’t fix it. You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering if you’re going to lose another person you care about!”

Jungwon’s expression softened, and he stepped closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a tenderness that made your breath catch. He didn’t say anything at first—just let the words hang in the air between you.

And for a moment, you thought you might crack. You thought you might let the anger go and let him in.

But then the weight of everything came crashing back. You weren’t ready to let him back in, not when you still didn’t trust yourself.

You took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Don’t. Don’t say anything—Don’t do anything,” you stated, your voice trembling. Your eyes watered.

The words came out harsher than you intended, and you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. But before he could respond, you turned away, walking quickly down the street, trying to outrun the suffocating feeling of being trapped.

You didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t want to push him away. But you couldn’t help yourself. You were scared. Scared of losing him.

Scared of what would happen if you let him too close again.

You didn’t realize how far you’d gone until you found yourself standing in front of the alleyway, the one where your partner had died. The sight of it made your stomach turn. Memories flooded back—his laughter, his promise that everything would be okay. The days he would accompany you to your parent’s graveyard. Your birthdays he’d make sure to celebrate, knowing you were too busy to remember. He might not have been blood, but your connection went further than that. You had failed him.

And finally, you let go. You squat to the ground, soft and frustrated sobs escaping your mouth.

So close, yet so far. It’s never enough. Why?

"You’re not alone."

Jungwon’s voice echoed in your mind, and you felt the weight of his words like a rope pulling you back.

You were so focused on the past that you hadn’t even realized Jungwon had followed you. You turned, startled, only to see him standing a few feet behind you. He wasn’t angry anymore. He was just... there.

He met your glistening eyes. His face softened. You got up, wiping away your endless tears. You looked away.

"I know you’re scared," he said quietly, "But pushing me away won’t help you. You don’t have to carry this burden alone."

You stared at him, your heart aching. You wanted to fight it. You wanted to tell him to leave, that you didn’t need anyone. But the truth was, you did need him.

You needed him more than you were willing to admit.

You took a step closer to him, your voice trembling as you spoke in broken sobs.

"I’m scared, Jungwon. Scared that if I get too close to anyone again, I’ll lose them. And I don’t know if I can survive that again,” you cried, slightly losing your balance from exhaustion.

He reached out instantly, gripping onto your arm. He pulled you close. The touch was soft, comforting. He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. You could feel the understanding between you, the shared pain, the shared fear.

"I love you," he breathed out, his voice firm but gentle, "so ardently."

And for once, you allowed yourself to believe that. You didn’t have all the answers. You didn’t know how everything would turn out. But with Jungwon by your side, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could find a way through the darkness.

And that was enough for now.

Before you knew it, his lips connected with yours. Your hands gripped onto his jacket, the force of his kiss pushing against you. Your lips instantly melted into his. He kissed you with such longing and relief. He sighed against your lips, placing his warm hand onto your cheek. He tilted your head back slightly, deepening the kiss. Your eyes shuttered close, allowing yourself to get lost into him.

your heart fluttered, a familiar feeling that brought you joy.

He pulled away, looking into your eyes in desperation.

“Let’s go back home,” he said.

Home.

Yes, that’s where you longed to be. That’s where you are meant to be. A place where you share a space and affection with Jungwon, Home.

You were too busy to notice it before. You had it there all along. You were never alone. He was there. Every second and step of the journey. He is home.

You nod, a genuine smile plastered across your face. He flashed you a dimpled smile, one you haven’t seen in a while. He grabbed your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. He led the way back to your home, tightly gripped onto your hand.

As if savoring the moment, to make sure it’s real. Scared of letting go, as if you were to disintegrate with the wind. As if he was a threat of losing you any second.

You close the door behind you. When you turn around, Jungwon cups your face again, smashing his lips onto yours. You softly yelp against his lips, startled. You grip onto him tightly, closing your eyes. Despite being outside in the cold, you can’t help but to feel like you’re burning up.

Jungwon picks you up and you immediately wrap your legs around his torso, refusing to break the kiss. He leads you to your room, softly dropping you onto the bed. You both rush off your clothes, desperate and hungry for each other.

He hovers over you, kissing you passionately. Your eyes shuttered clothes, your arms wandering around his bare back and chest.

You needed this, badly. His touch, his warmth, his closeness to you. It had been a long time since you both last were ever this close, let alone this intimate.

“Missed this so much,” he murmured against the kiss, “missed you so much.”

His hand travelled down to your pantie lining, pulling it down slowly by its hem. You let him. His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking softly onto your skin, marking and leaving trails of him on you behind.

He unclasped your bra, sucking in the bud of your breasts. You moaned softly, closing your eyes in pleasure. He sucked onto the soft skin around your breasts, leaving more love bites. He rubs his fingers onto your wet cunt, plastering your wetness around his fingers. He inserts one finger in, slowly and almost punishingly.

“F-Fuck, Jungwon,” you breathed out, gripping onto him.

Then, he inserts another. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, causing your mouth to fall agape in pleasure. He watched your lewd reactions to him, fascinated by your mesmerizing beauty and pleasure given to you. His dick became hard at the sight of you and the feeling of you clenching around his fingers.

“Yeah? you want me to continue, pretty?” he teased, kissing you sloppily in order to muffle your broken moans.

“Can you take my cock now, baby?” he said, kissing your neck softly.

You nodded, a moan in response, “mhm..”

He took his fingers out, sucking onto them. He took his boxers off, his cock begging to be released from the tightness of it. He aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with his tip.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he breathed out, “so ready for me.”

And with that, he pushed himself into you. He groaned, as you clenched around his cock tightly. You instantly feel full. He starts to move slowly, waiting till you get adjusted to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gazed down at you under him, so defenseless and in pleasurable daze.

He picked up his pace, his cock glistening from your wetness. You whimpered, gripping onto the bed sheets.

He leaned over you once again, using his arms to prop himself up. He kisses you as he thrusts his hips deep against yours. You struggle to kiss him back, causing a sly smirk on his lips against the kiss. He breaks the kiss, quickening his pace mercilessly. whines and soft groans come from the both of you, in a rhythmic sync, deepening the intimacy shared between each other.

It’s just as you remembered. Connected, interlinked, as if no one has touched you quite the way Jungwon has. No one else compares.

The soft moans of his name drove him crazy. It was like a melody, an addictive tune he could never get tired of. All he wanted was to continue hearing it, pleasuring you. Loving you. Consuming you.

He pounded relentlessly into you, his cock twitching as he approached his orgasm. You gripped onto his back tightly, your nails digging into his skin.

“I love you,” he breathed, “I love you so much.”

Your body arched into him, feeling the tight knot in your stomach threatening to undo.

You wanted to say it back, but your mind was so fucked-out to build coherent words.

Instead, you just held him, tightly. You held his tender gaze, exchanging meaningful messages beyond words.

‘I know. I love you, too.’

His head rested on the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin and hair. The scent of both of your bodies interlinked. The scent of him on you.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, crying out in pleasure.

“Yes, oh, just like that,” you whined, “m’cumming.”

Jungwon thrusted his hips harder into you, hitting your spot with no fail. Your eyes shut close, mouth agape, as you reach your orgasm hard.

“Fuck, pretty, cum on my cock,” he grunted, thrusting slowly but hard, riding out your high.

His cock twitched as he released his load into you. Your legs quivered, feeling yourself recover from your hard orgasm. Jungwon kissed your cheek softly before plopping next to you, exhausted. You were both sweaty, tired, and still panting. His bare chest glistened in sweat yet he seems so attractive. You reach out to cup his face, he grabs your hand and plants a tender kiss on your palm. You smile.

“Do you want to take a bath or get some sleep?” he asked, moving away a strand of your hair from your face.

“To be honest, I don’t think I can walk right now,” you laughed.

He chuckles, “I’ll carry you.”

You nod, flashing him a soft smile. He gets up, sweeping you off the bed and into his arms. You hold onto him tightly, as he takes you to the bathroom. He places you gently onto the counter, capturing your lips softly. The kiss is softer this time, tender, and sweet. With a wet sound of the kiss, he breaks away. He turns around to prepare the bath for you. Dipping his hands into the bathtub, he looks over at you.

“It’s ready, pretty,” he said, walking over to you.

You climb off the counter, he holds you for support. You slowly get into the bathtub, Jungwon following. A soft sigh of relief escapes your lips at the feeling of the warm bubbly water. Jungwon holds you from behind, leaving soft kisses on your shoulder. You melt into him, allowing yourself to rest against his chest.

“Better?” he asks, kissing the side of your head.

You smile, “Much better. Thank you.”

The tension in the air had lessened in the days that followed. It was easier to breathe, to speak, and to be in each other’s company. It wasn’t exactly like how it used to be, but it was a step closer to it.

Every step you took seemed to lead you further into the web of lies, but none of the pieces fit. It wasn’t just about your partner’s death anymore. It was about a deeper conspiracy, something that reached far beyond what you had ever imagined.

Jungwon had been quieter, more thoughtful, his sharp eyes noticing things you missed. The two of you had spent hours combing through records, analyzing evidence, and following up on any leads that seemed even remotely promising. But nothing had connected. Nothing made sense.

Not until now.

You sat at the table in the dining room, your mind running through the reports in front of you. The scattered photos of your partner, the witness statements, the security footage that seemed to repeat the same things over and over again—until something caught your eye.

"Wait a second," you muttered, your finger tracing a line on the page. Jungwon, who had been sitting across from you, leaned in, his curiosity piqued.

"What is it?" He asked, a faint edge of urgency in his voice.

You flipped the page to a new report, showing the names of officers involved in the initial investigation. Most of the names were familiar—colleagues you had worked with, trusted for years. But one name stood out to you, circled in red ink by a source you hadn’t recognized.

"This guy," you said, tapping the name with your finger, “Officer Han Joon."

Jungwon frowned, “I don’t know him. Should I?"

"He’s one of the officers who was first on the scene after my partner was killed," you explained, your mind beginning to race, “But what I didn’t realize at the time was that he’s also been involved in a number of other high-profile cases that were later marked as unsolved or closed for ‘lack of evidence.’"

You paused, staring at the report, your pulse quickening.

"It doesn’t make sense. What if the rat is closer than we thought? What if it’s him, ‘someone inside the department,’ just as Hyunjin said?"

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed what you had said, "If Officer Han’s involved… that means someone in the department’s been helping the mastermind all along. Giving him the inside info, covering his tracks."

The weight of his words hit you hard. The realization that the danger you were facing wasn’t just coming from the outside—it really was also already inside the walls you had trusted.

"We need to get to him," you said, your voice low, determined, “We need to find out what he knows."

Jungwon nodded, standing up. He was already slipping on his jacket, his expression set, “We’ll need to be careful. We don’t know who’s watching us."

You nodded, the familiar chill of danger settling in. But this time, it didn’t feel like something you could run from. You couldn’t back down now—not when you were so close to the truth.

The two of you moved quickly, gathering the evidence you had and heading toward the police precinct where Officer Han worked. The building was busy with activity, the hum of officers and detectives moving between desks and filing cabinets. But despite the seeming normalcy, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you. Every time you passed an officer, you felt their gaze linger just a little too long, a little too knowingly. It was almost as if they could tell you were onto something.

You and Jungwon split up, each of you taking different routes to avoid drawing suspicion. You knew Han’s schedule—he usually worked the late shift, spending hours at his desk. You made your way to the back of the department, where the file room was kept, the one that was usually off-limits to anyone except senior officers.

It wasn’t hard to find a way in. You had the right credentials—though they felt fake now, like you were wearing a mask you didn’t quite recognize. You slipped past the guarded door, heading straight for the row of locked cabinets where sensitive files were kept.

Jungwon had already hacked into the system, disabling the security cameras for the moment. You were in, but the clock was ticking. If Han showed up early, you would be trapped, exposed, and most likely caught. But you were running out of time.

You pulled out the files, your heart racing as you rifled through the papers, skimming over each one, looking for any clue that would tie Han Joon to the mastermind. You weren’t sure how long you had before the others would catch on, but you weren’t about to let that stop you. Not when you were so close.

"Found something," Jungwon’s voice echoed through the comms in your ear, and you froze. His tone was low, cautious.

"What is it?" you whispered, still flipping through the papers in front of you.

"Han’s phone records. He’s been in contact with someone outside the city. Someone with a criminal background. They’re scheduled to meet next week, at a warehouse on the outskirts of town."

Your heart skipped a beat. This was it. This was the break you had been waiting for.

"We need to go," you said, quickly grabbing the most relevant files. You didn’t hesitate.

"We’ll confront him. We take him down then, for now we need to make a plan."

As you and Jungwon raced to your car, your mind was already working through the next steps. This was the moment you’d been working toward, but with it came a sense of dread. Officer Han was one piece of the puzzle, alongside with other newly discovered suspects to investigate. But if you were right, it meant the mastermind was still out there, still pulling the strings. And now, you had a target on your back.

"Y/n," Jungwon said as you slid into the passenger’s seat, his voice low but steady, “We don’t know how deep this goes. We’ll need to be careful."

You nodded, bringing your hand to caress his cheek, “Of course.”

Tonight, you weren’t just chasing for the truth. You were fighting for your life. One you have found worth living for: Him.

Once you both returned home, you immediately went into inspecting all the files you took. Jungwon joined, as always, by your side. A few hours later, you had a list of prime suspects to investigate. Exhausted and evidently stressed, you slumped into your chair. You dropped the piles of paperwork onto the table, calling it a night.

Jungwon looked over at your tense expression. He got up from his seat, walking over behind you. He took a look at the paperwork you had. His hands gently massaged your shoulders, causing you to close your eyes in satisfaction.

“You need to relax, pretty,” he said, “you’re so tense.”

You keep your eyes closed, enjoying every bit of the massage. You softly moaned in satisfaction, a signal for him to continue. His mouth curled into a sly smirk. He leaned over to your neck, placing soft kisses from behind. Slow, sensual, deliberate.

“Jungwon,” you breathed out.

“yes, baby?” he whispered, walking over to lift you onto the table.

You open your eyes, startled. Before you can question him, he positions himself between your legs, his hands resting onto your waist. He kisses you, gently. You kiss him back, lazily, your exhaustion getting the best of you.

“Let me take care of you,” he offered, “just relax, okay?”

You don’t protest, instead you just nod. His hands pull onto the hem of your pants, pulling them off. He plays with the hem of your panties, before taking those off, too.

Too sleepy and in daze, you didn’t realize what was happening till your panties were on the floor. Your eyes widen slightly in realization. But it was already too late.

“Jungwon, wait—”

He takes a few long, slow, wet licks onto your cunt. You bit back a moan, gripping onto the table. He pushed open your legs apart, opening you up on display on the dining table like a meal. Then, he enfolds your cunt into his mouth. You moan, gripping onto his hair. Wet slurping sounds and the sound of your whines fill the room.

“ngh…jungwon,” you moaned.

He looked up at you, meeting your sultry expression. He swears he could cum at the sight of you like this. His tongue sloppily glides onto your cunt, sucking and flicking your bean. Your legs tremble, your breath is rigid.

“Feels so good,” you whimpered.

Jungwon stuffed his face deeper, savoring and devouring all your juices like a starved man. He needed more of you. All of you.

He pushed you onto your back, forcing you to lay on top of all the paperwork. Now propped open on the dining table, Jungwon ate you out passionately.

Your legs shifted uncontrollably, your hands laced within his hair. Insistent moans slipped from your mouth, instinctively pushing his head further into your cunt.

Jungwon wrapped his arms around your thighs, deepening his tongue into your cunt. Wetness dripped from his chin from his sloppy mess on your cunt.

“I’m—ngh,” you fisted his hair, pushing him closer as you approached your orgasm.

Your back arched into him, no longer caring a bit about the time you spent organizing the paperwork on the table.

And then, finally, with a loud gasp the knot in your stomach came undone. Your breathing was rigid, your body trembling from the ecstasy.

Jungwon smirked, wiping away the wetness from his chin.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he whispered, grabbing you from the table and tossing you over his shoulder.

You yelped in surprise, holding onto him. He gently dropped you onto the bed sheets, in which he tucked you into. It wasn’t long before he got under the covers, enfolding you into his arms. You melted in his arms, the rhythm of his heartbeat bringing a sense of calming to you. You inhaled his scent, as if memorizing it by heart. You both drifted off to sleep, entangled into each other’s arms. And even during the night, when you would quietly jerk awake from nightmares, you couldn’t help but to think.

‘I don’t want this to end,’ you thought.

‘I want to be selfish. I want to pursue this stupid dream with just the both of us.’

You could feel it in your bones, with every breath you took: the guilt. Could it really work out?

Could you really be happy, be selfish for once and have it all?

The past still crept up on you, even when you told yourself it was time to let go. Jungwon had started to repair your broken heart, putting back the pieces. Slowly, but surely.

You wanted to be selfish. You wanted to let your guard down. You deserved it.

But despite it all; it was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

it started with a lie.

Or maybe it started long before that—with the wounds they never let heal, with the trust you both never fully rebuilt. Either way, by the time you found out, it was already too late.

You stormed into your apartment, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls. Jungwon barely had time to react before you threw a crumpled piece of paper onto the table between you both.

"What the hell is this?" you demanded.

Jungwon frowned, picking it up. His chest tightened the second he saw what it was—a file, fresh off the precinct database, detailing an anonymous payment wired to a key witness in their case. One that was meant to be there at the meeting spot you figured out. But, now that Jungwon approached him, the key witness must’ve snitched on you and fled with the money by now. It was a dumb mistake: a fatal one.

Blood drained from his face.

You saw it.

"You bribed him?" you spat, your voice laced with disbelief and something far painful, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Jungwon exhaled, running a hand through his hair, "It wasn’t a bribe, y/n. You needed answers, and you were slowly becoming miserable without them. I couldn’t see you like that. And he wasn’t going to talk unless he had a reason to."

"So you threw money at him?" You let out a humorless laugh, "Great. That’s real reliable evidence."

‘Just an arrogant rich boy,’ you thought. You hated the selfish actions of him, which he carelessly does because he knows he can do them. With no worry, no thought. Because he has people to protect him, money to support him, and higher-ups to keep him out of trouble. You hated how low he stooped.

Doesn’t that make him equal to who you’re going after?

Jungwon’s jaw clenched, “I did what I had to do."

"No," you shot back, stepping closer, your eyes burning with rage, "You did what you wanted to do, without telling me. Without even thinking about the consequences."

Jungwon’s patience snapped, “And what the hell have you been doing, y/n? Losing yourself over this?You put a gun to my fucking head to force me into this shit, but now you’re acting like you’re the only one allowed to make choices?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, "I didn’t blackmail you for fun, Jungwon. I needed help—I needed someone I could trust."

Your voice broke slightly on the last word.

And that was what did it.

Because you had trusted him. And now, here you both were, in the same cycle of betrayal, the same aching disappointment.

Jungwon felt his pulse hammering in his skull. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell you that it hadn’t been about secrecy, or control, or hurting you. He just wanted to end this war before it destroyed you both. But most importantly, you.

It’s always been about you.

But instead, the words that left his mouth were the wrong ones.

"Maybe I never should have come back."

And just like that, whatever fragile thread had been holding you both together—snapped.

Silence crashed over the room like a violent wave, drowning everything in it.

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. For a second, just a split second, he saw something in your eyes—something that almost looked like hurt. But then it was gone, replaced by cold, hard indifference.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, “Then go."

Jungwon clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. He hadn’t meant it. Not like that. But the damage was already done, and you…

you weren’t the type to let a wound fester without striking back.

"You know what’s funny?" you said, stepping closer, her voice smooth, lethal.

“I used to think i needed you,” you said.

Jungwon’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"Y/n—"

"I thought that maybe—just maybe—you could make up for the way you left, for the way you let me fall apart alone,” your lips curled into something cold, something sharp, “But I should’ve known better. You were always good at running, weren’t you?"

His fists tightened, “You think I wanted to leave you?!" His voice came out raw, splintered.

“you think it was easy for me?” he stated.

"I don’t give a damn if it was easy," you snapped, "You still did it."

Jungwon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, "And you haven’t forgiven me since."

"Why should I?" you shot back, eyes burning with something dangerously close to fury, "You don’t deserve my forgiveness, Jungwon."

His breath caught.

And then, softer—deadlier— "You never did."

He didn’t know why it hurt so much. Maybe because deep down, he had been clinging to the idea that if he fought hard enough, you would let him back in. That if he proved himself, if he stayed this time, you would finally let yourself forgive him.

But maybe that had never been an option.

Maybe, he had been chasing your ghost this entire time.

Maybe, he had been a fool to think he still had a chance.

Jungwon exhaled slowly, his expression hardening,

"Then maybe I should stop trying."

Something flickered in your gaze, but before he could figure out what it was, he turned away, walking toward the door.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t look back.

Your hands instinctively reached out for him, yet no words could come out of your mouth. Your hand fell back to your side at the sound of the front door slam. A unspoken sign of goodbye. And before you knew it, tears spilled from your eyes. It was a piercing feeling, a suffocating one. And before you knew it, you were sobbing on the living room floor. Where he had left you.

And for the first time since he came back into your life, You finally let yourself wonder—

Maybe you really had lost him for good.

He didn’t show up at your house anymore. The house was void, uncomfortably silent, and suffocating. The bedroom in which you would once walk in to find him already sprawled onto your bed, was empty. Intact, just as you left it. The bedroom was tidy, just as you had done it in the morning—a painful reminder that he was no longer here.

Only the smell of him lingered in the air. Along with his soothing voice, the one that hummed you to sleep when you were tormented at night.

But things didn’t stop there.

After many days had passed and the day of the secret meeting approached, you wondered if Jungwon would come find you at all. To accompany you, like he always would. You quickly resigned the idea, forcing yourself to grasp that he’s gone. Permanently.

But as you made your way out of your bedroom, you heard the sound of the front door open.

And then, somehow, it started all over again.

"…You’re not even thinking straight!" Jungwon’s voice echoed through the living room, raw with frustration.

“You’re so desperate to chase ghosts, you don’t even care if it gets you killed!" He continued.

You slammed the case file onto the table, papers scattering across the surface, “Don’t act like you give a shit, Jungwon. You didn’t care when you walked away the first time, so don’t pretend now."

His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides, "You think I didn’t care? You think leaving didn’t fucking kill me?"

"You still did it.”

The words cut deep, sharper than any knife, and you saw the way they hit him—the way they hurt. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The anger was still fresh, the resentment of his betrayal.

"You had a choice, Jungwon," you continued, voice laced with anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak, "And you chose to walk away. So don’t stand here and act like you have a right to tell me what to do now."

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, “y/n, I didn’t—" He stopped, shaking his head, as if even he didn’t know how to explain himself.

“You wanted me to stay, but for what? To watch you destroy yourself over something you couldn’t fix?"

"It wasn’t your decision to make,” you retaliated.

Jungwon let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer—too close, “And this?"

His voice dropped lower, "Dragging me back into your war? This was my decision to make?"

You felt the heat between them, thick and suffocating.

"You owe me," you said, your voice dangerously sharp, laced with pain and rage.

Jungwon’s eyes darkened, “I owe you?"

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down, "You let me believe I was alone. You gave me over, locked me up in your basement! You lied to me! You left me with nothing but questions, and now that I have the answers, you want me to stop? You want me to just let it go?"

He was so close now, close enough that you could see the way his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, “I want you to stop throwing yourself into the fire like you have nothing left to lose."

"I don’t."

Silence.

Something shifted in his expression—something dangerous, something almost desperate.

"That’s bullshit,” he narrowed his eyes at you, “and you know it.”

You swallowed hard, refusing to let the weight of his words settle, “You don’t know me anymore, Jungwon."

His gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, before flicking back up to your eyes, "Yeah?"

“Then why do you still look at me like you wish I never left?"

your breath hitched.

Because he was right.

And that was the worst part of all.

You stared at him in silence, in disbelief. The tears rushing into your eyes like a hit of a merciless wave. You hold back a sob from your mouth with your trembling hands, forcing yourself to look away.

Standing only a few steps away, Jungwon instinctively reaches out for you.

His fingertips burn on your skin. You move, facing him once more with rage.

“Go right now!” you shouted, pushing him away, “go now!”

“Go!” You broke out into another painful sob, your harsh words now sounding like a desperate plea, a broken, pained one.

You didn’t know what else to do, grief crashing down on you at once.

You didn’t want to hurt him; You were terrified of what would happen if he was to stay around. In your own way, you wanted to protect him from you. Despite it all.

He could see it.

He shook his head, reaching out for you once again.

You rejected him. You pushed his hands away.

He tried again, taking a grip onto your arms, “Y/n, listen to me, baby…”

“No!” you moved frantically, trying to get out of his grip, “No! Let go of me!”

You hit him repeatedly in his chest, hot tears streaming down your distressed face.

He took every hit, gazing at you with such tenderness.

It broke you even more.

Your blows decreased. They became weaker and your voice trembled, “please…go home, Jungwon.”

Finally still, Jungwon pulled you into a warm and tight embrace.

You didn’t fight it this time. Maybe because you didn’t have the strength, or maybe simply because you wanted this. You needed it.

“I’m already where i’m supposed to be, y/n.”

You sobbed gently against his chest, melting into his arms. You gripped desperately onto him, every sensorial part of you obsessed with him. He caressed your head soothingly.

“I didn’t mean what i said the last time. I’m so sorry, I know it’s my fault. I don’t deserve you, nor your trust or your love. I know that,” he explained, “but i choose to continue trying. Even if you push me away. Hit me, curse at me, fuck—tell me you hate me. Anything. Just as long as it gives me your forgiveness.”

He brought his hands to cup your face, bringing your softened face towards his.

“And you know why?” he looked into your eyes, “because I love you, y/n.”

Your eyes flickered. He slowly lowers himself before you, his hands holding yours, getting on his knees.

“I truly don’t think I can be without you, y/n. I love you so much it hurts. So please…please, baby…if you can find it in you to love me one more time, i’ll spend the rest of my life in proving it to you. Just one,” he begged, “please love me one more time.”

And even though he tried to stabilize himself, you could hear the small tremble in his voice and the glistening in his eyes.

He so desperately wanted it to be you.

You stood there, lost at words. Many thoughts rushing through your mind. You weren’t sure what to do. You didn’t want to think.

“Okay…” you breathed out.

His face softened immediately, his shoulders relaxing. He kissed your hand, standing up once again. He cups your cheek, bringing you into a soft kiss. He left soft pepper kisses around your face, whispering ‘I love you’s in between.

“You don’t have to say it now,” he said, “this is enough for me.”

And then, he reconnected your lips tenderly. Your eyes flickered close, gripping onto his arms. He cocked your head back slightly, deepening the kiss. Close wasn’t close enough for him.

“Should we…go to my room?” you said, quietly.

He flashed you a dimpled smile, “Is that what you want? Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you—”

you cut him off with a kiss. He took the message, scooping you up in his arms. He led the way into the bedroom, sitting onto it with you on top of his lap.

And before you knew it, you were holding onto him, taking every single inch of him. He sat against the headboard of your bed, while you bounced on his cock. He wrapped his arms around your waist, his face snuggled into the crook of your neck. He left bite marks, kisses, and love bites all over your skin. Worshiping every part of you, honored to breathe the same air you breathe, let alone to have the privilege to touch you. He whispered a few affectionate words into your ear, gripping onto your ass to slam it back down on his cock. He guided your hips, rocking you. A few whines and groans left his mouth, thrusting further into your tight cunt.

you moaned, making a mess of his hair as you fisted it.

There weren’t many words exchanged, letting your body and small whispers exchange the message. You could feel it in every touch, every kiss, every gaze—the love he had for you.

Your body’s felt interlinked, your heart fulfilled with every inhale you took of his bare skin.

You took time to take in his touch, the way his warm, big, arms wrapped around you perfectly. In a protective stance, assertive, yet so tender.

It was a form of ecstasy only he could bring you.

Body and soul.

And it didn’t stop there. Jungwon took you the entire day, round after round without much of a break. He was a madman, deeply entranced and bewitched by his love for you. He wanted you, every part of you, he wanted to satisfy you. And he did his part, too well. He knew that.

He pleasured you all day, overstimulating you in the best way, till tears formed into your eyes and your eyes rolled back. Orgasm after orgasm.

By the time you both were done, you both laid entangled in each others arms. His chin rested on top of your head, while you laid against his chest. The sound of his breathing, soothing you. You woke up in the middle of the night, realizing your position. You stared at him, watching the way his chest rose and went down. His handsome face, his pretty features, every curve on his face.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were far too in love with him than you let yourself think.

You smiled, planting a very gently and soft kiss onto his lips. He softly stirred, instinctively pulling you closer. You let him, closing your eyes to fall asleep once again.

And finally, the day had came in a blink of an eye.

The night air was thick with tension, the city lights fading behind you as you and Jungwon sped toward the warehouse on the outskirts of town. The roads were mostly empty, except for a few passing cars, but every shadow felt like a threat.

His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white as he saw the way you fought the unease creeping up your spine. You had spent years working inside the system, believing in the justice you served. But now, that same system had betrayed you. Someone on the inside had been feeding information to the mastermind all along. And if Han Joon was the rat, then confronting him wasn’t just about exposing the truth—it was about survival.

"If this goes sideways," he finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm, "you get out. You understand?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, you shot him a glare, “What are you talking about? Not happening."

"Y/n—"

"Don’t start," you cut him off, "We’re in this together. I’m not leaving without you. You don’t get to make that call."

Jungwon exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. He knew you too well. Knew that you weren’t the type to run.

As the warehouse came into view, he slowed the car, pulling into the shadows of an abandoned loading dock across the street. The building itself was old, its metal siding rusted and covered in graffiti. A single dim light flickered above the entrance, casting eerie shadows against the walls.

You scanned the perimeter. No guards. No backup. That was suspicious in itself.

"Too quiet," Jungwon murmured, voicing your exact thoughts.

"Han wouldn’t come here alone," you said, reaching for your gun, “He’s either already inside, or we’re walking into a setup."

Jungwon reached into his jacket, checking his own weapon, “Then let’s make sure we’re not the ones getting trapped."

He leaned over to the passengers seat to place a soft kiss onto your lips before getting out the car. You froze, blankly, before a small smile crept onto your face.

You moved together, keeping low as you approached the side entrance. The door was slightly ajar, a dark gap in the metal frame.

You glanced at Jungwon. He nodded once.

With careful steps, you pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. The warehouse was dark, save for a few overhead lights illuminating the main floor. Rows of crates and shipping containers lined the space, providing plenty of places to hide. The air smelled of dust and old metal, the silence heavy, almost suffocating.

Then, the sound of footsteps.

You pressed yourself against a metal beam, your breath steady as you peeked around the corner. Han Joon stood near the center of the warehouse, his back turned to you. He was talking to someone on his phone, his voice low but urgent.

"No, listen—this isn’t what we agreed on."

A pause.

"I told you I’d handle it. But if we move too soon, they’ll figure it out."

Another pause.

"Yes. I know. I’ll take care of it."

He hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket. His posture was tense, his fingers twitching like a man in over his head.

You exchanged a glance with Jungwon. This was it.

Gun raised, you stepped out from the shadows. "Put your hands where I can see them, Han."

He stiffened at the sound of your voice but didn’t turn immediately. Instead, he let out a slow, almost resigned sigh, “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that."

Jungwon moved beside you, his own gun trained on Han, “Who were you talking to?"

Han finally turned, his face unreadable, “Does it matter? You’re already too late."

A chill ran down your spine.

"Too late for what?" you demanded.

Han’s lips curled into a humorless smirk, “You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about your partner. It never was. You think you’re solving one case, but you’re playing in a much bigger game. And the people pulling the strings?" He let out a low chuckle.

"They don’t lose,” Before you could react, Han moved.

His hand shot toward his waist, reaching for a weapon. Instinct took over—you fired.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse as Han staggered backward, clutching his shoulder. He gritted his teeth in pain, but even then, there was something almost smug in his expression.

"You think this ends with me?" he panted, blood seeping through his fingers. "You’re chasing ghosts, y/n. And you have no idea who you’re really up against."

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach.

Jungwon stepped forward, grabbing Han by the collar and slamming him against the nearest crate, "Start talking. Now."

Han let out a low, pained laugh, “I’d love to, really. But I don’t think my boss would like that very much."

Then, the sound of a phone vibrating.

Han’s eyes flickered downward, and you followed his gaze—to his jacket pocket.

Jungwon yanked the phone out, glancing at the screen. An unknown number.

Your heart pounded. Whoever was calling, they were watching.

Jungwon answered without hesitation, “Who is this?"

Silence.

Then, a voice distorted by a voice modulator.

"You should have stayed out of this, detective."

The line went dead.

And then, the warehouse lights cut out.

Everything plunged into darkness.

Then—footsteps. Fast. Closing in.

"It’s a setup!" Jungwon shouted.

Gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks splitting through the silence. You barely had time to duck behind the crates before bullets ricocheted off the metal walls. Han slumped to the floor, his wound making him an easy target.

Shadows moved in the darkness. More than one. More than two.

You and Jungwon were outnumbered.

And the real mastermind was still out there, watching. Waiting. Smiling in the dark.

"They knew we were coming," you whispered, pressing your back against the crate.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, “Of course they did. Han was stalling—he led us right into this trap."

Han’s barely conscious body laid on the floor. He wasn’t your priority anymore. The real threat was closing in.

Another round of bullets tore through the air, forcing you and Jungwon to shift positions. You caught a brief silhouette moving in the distance—at least four shooters, maybe more. Well-trained. Tactical.

"We need to move," Jungwon muttered, “Sitting here makes us easy targets."

You nodded. There was no choice. You counted down in your head—three, two, one—then broke into a sprint, dodging between crates as more bullets chased your shadow. Jungwon was right behind you, firing precise shots that forced the gunmen into momentary cover.

As you weaved through the maze of containers, you spotted something—a narrow metal staircase leading up to a catwalk. Higher ground. An advantage.

"Up there!" you called out, and Jungwon followed your gaze.

You darted toward the staircase, your heart pounding, adrenaline surging through your veins. Gunfire rang out again, a bullet grazing your arm, but you bit down the pain and kept moving. Jungwon returned fire, covering you as you scrambled up the stairs.

From the catwalk, you finally got a better view of your attackers. Four men, all dressed in black, all moving in coordinated patterns. But then your stomach twisted.

One of them wasn’t just a man.

It was an officer.

Your blood ran cold.

"Jungwon," you said through gritted teeth, your voice barely above a whisper, “They’re not just hired guns. They’re cops."

Jungwon’s expression darkened, “That explains why we’ve been one step behind this whole time."

Your worst fears had been confirmed. The mastermind wasn’t just using a single rat inside the department—he had an entire network. People who had sworn the same oath you had. People willing to kill to protect their secret.

You took a slow breath, leveling your gun, “If the department’s compromised, we can’t trust anyone."

Jungwon nodded, his gaze sharp, “Then we take them out ourselves."

He moved first, a single shot taking out the closest shooter below. The man dropped before he could react. That left three.

You spotted the officer—the traitor—and aimed. But before you could fire, he shouted something into his radio.

"They’re here! Move now!"

Your gut twisted.

Move now?

Something was wrong.

Then, in the distance, you heard it—sirens.

Jungwon cursed, “They’re bringing reinforcements."

Your mind raced. If backup arrived, they wouldn’t be there to help you. They’d be here to clean up the mess—to silence you permanently.

"We have to get to Han," you said.

Jungwon glanced at you like you were insane, “Han? He’s dead weight. We need to get out of—”

"No," you cut in, "he knows something. And if we let them take him, we lose our last chance to expose them."

Jungwon hesitated—but then nodded. He trusted you.

With no time to waste, the two of you leaped down from the catwalk, landing hard on the concrete floor below. The remaining gunmen fired, but you ducked and rolled behind a metal crate. Jungwon grabbed Han, who was barely conscious, dragging him up.

The warehouse doors burst open, more figures flooding in. Too many.

You looked at Jungwon, He looked at you.

No words were needed.

This was it. It was all or nothing.

You took a breath, steadied your gun, and charged straight into the fire.

The warehouse was collapsing into chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, gunfire echoed through the massive steel structure, and the acrid scent of smoke and blood filled the air. You and Jungwon moved as one, dodging bullets, returning fire, pushing forward through the swarm of corrupt officers determined to silence you.

Han Joon was slumped between you, barely able to stand as Jungwon dragged him along. He was your key—your last chance to expose the mastermind behind everything. But getting out alive was another story.

The loading dock was ahead, a massive set of double doors that led outside. Your car was parked just beyond them, a possible escape—if you could make it there.

"We need cover!" Jungwon shouted as more bullets rained down from the catwalk above.

You spotted a forklift and an overturned stack of crates, “There!"

Together, you moved swiftly, taking down one of the gunmen in your path. Blood splattered across the concrete as he crumpled. You had no time to hesitate. Every shot you fired, every step you took, was life or death.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Drop your weapons."

Everything stopped.

From the shadows, a man emerged. Dressed in a sleek black suit, calm despite the bloodbath surrounding him. His dark eyes met yours, and the moment they did, your breath caught.

Commissioner Park.

Your superior. Your mentor. The man who trained and watched you and Hyunjin grow into the detectives you once were.

The mastermind.

Your grip on your gun tightened, rage curling in your stomach, “It was you."

Park smiled, "It had to be me."

Jungwon stepped forward, his gun raised, “You killed Hana’s partner. You framed Kang. You let innocent people die just to keep your operation alive."

Park tilted his head, as if amused, “And yet, here we are. With you making the same mistake he did—getting too close to the truth."

At his signal, more officers surrounded you, guns drawn. You and Jungwon were outnumbered, outgunned. Even if you fought, it would be a massacre.

Han Joon coughed weakly, lifting his head, “You… bastard…" he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Park barely acknowledged him. Instead, he sighed. "I told you before, y/n. There are forces bigger than you at play. This city? It belongs to us. And you…?" His expression darkened, “You should’ve learned to stay in line."

Your mind raced. If you were arrested, you'd never see a courtroom. They’d kill you before you even had the chance to testify.

Jungwon must have realized the same thing. His grip on his gun shifted slightly, his muscles tensing. Ready to fight. He instinctively stepped in front of you, protectively.

And that’s when you saw it—Han Joon’s fingers twitching, slowly reaching into his jacket.

A grenade.

Your eyes widened, “Han, don’t—"

But it was too late.

With the last of his strength, Han pulled the pin.

"Run!"

The explosion was deafening. The shockwave sent you flying backward, crashing against a stack of metal pipes. The entire warehouse trembled as flames erupted from the blast site, smoke billowing into the air.

Dazed, ears ringing, you forced yourself to move. Jungwon was already pulling you to your feet, his face streaked with soot and blood. He cupped your face, worriedly. Although it was muffled, you could hear him ask, “are you okay?”

you nodded, signaling to move quick.

Park was still alive, thrown back by the explosion but struggling to stand. His men were scattered, some dead, others too disoriented to react.

This was your chance.

You staggered forward, gun in hand, leveling it at Park’s chest. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something in them—fear.

"This is for my partner."

You pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out. Park staggered, a red bloom spreading across his suit. His body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

It was over.

Jungwon grabbed your hand, tugging you toward the exit. "Come on, before the whole damn building collapses!"

With smoke filling your lungs and fire raging behind you, the two of you ran.

Justice had been served, But at what cost?

The morning air was crisp, a stark contrast to the chaos of that night. It had been a few days since then. You stood on the rooftop of the precinct, watching as the city slowly came to life beneath you.

Park’s corruption had been exposed. Every officer on his payroll was being investigated, and arrests were happening by the hour. The department was in shambles, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like real change was coming.

But the victory felt… hollow. Though it brought you peace, it wouldn’t bring back Hyunjin.

You watched Jungwon get out the car from your view, making his way to your apartment. He looked up, catching you looking at him. He smiled, waving at you enthusiastically. You smiled back, signaling him to quickly come up. He had a cake box in his hand, your favorite cake to celebrate for the victory.

Then, your eyes flickered over to the loud motorcycle speeding down the road.

Your smile faded. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

As if time was moving slowly, the motorcyclist took out a gun from their pocket, pointing it at Jungwon.

You looked over at Jungwon, “Jungwon, watch out!”

Jungwon followed your gaze, confused, but it was too late.

Then, you heard the gun fire. You screamed, instinctively reaching out for him as if you could safe him.

Your eyes widen, your body trembling and going cold.

Jungwon stumbled to the ground, the motorcyclist rushing off but crashing into a large truck. The force impact causing him to fall off his bike, taking hard blows. He fell unconscious.

You ran out of your apartment, tears falling out of your eyes. You took the emergency stairs, impatient to get down there. You were bare foot, still in your home clothes—nothing could prepare you for this.

By the time you made it out, people gathered around, watching. You dropped beside Jungwon, reaching out to him. You hands trembled terribly, hovered over him. Unsure of what to do, still in shock. You sobbed, holding onto his face.

“Oh my God,” you choked out, “please. Please hold on a little longer—jesus, someone call the police please!”

you sobbed frantically, looking around to the others for help. You placed your hands over his bloody wound on his lower stomach, your hands coated in his blood. As if you could stop it from flowing, but it was no use. He looked at you, trying to maintain a reassured expression. He cupped your cheek with one hand.

“Y/n—”

“No,” you cut him off, ��don’t talk. Don’t use your energy. Everything is going to be okay, just wait till later—”

“Y/n, listen to me,” he continued, “I need you to promise me something.”

You shook your head, broken sobs escaping your lips, “No…no! for what? You’re going to be okay, I promise…”

He wiped away your tears with his thumb, his complexion looking worser by the second.

“Why aren’t they here yet,” You shouted, frustrated and desperate.

“Promise me,” his soft gaze lingered on you, “that you’ll live in peace now. That you won’t stress yourself out for things out of your control.”

You watched him, words becoming futile devices. You nodded, your breath rigid from the sobs. Your hands were dripping in his blood, his face flinched in pain.

“Please, hold on a little longer,” you sobbed quietly, caressing his head and cheek in desperation.

As if to memorize his face. His touch. His warmth. Of what was left of him, at least.

He tried to laugh but choked on it, grimacing. "Guess I’m not as invincible as I thought."

You pressed down on the wound, your heart hammering, “Stay with me. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere. You can’t leave me. You owe me, don’t forget that!”

His eyelids fluttered, his breathing ragged, “You’re bossy, you know that?"

"Shut up,” your voice trembled.

The sirens were distant, help on the way, but time felt slow. Too slow. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

His fingers found yours, weak but firm, “I worry I may not have told you this as much as I wished to, I love you, y/n."

"Don’t say that,” Your voice broke.

“Promise me one more thing,” he brought his bloody hand to your cheek.

“w-what?”

“In some universe, if by some miracle we cross paths, fall in love with me,” his loving gaze softened, “but If one day you find yourself in the position to love someone again after i’m gone, allow yourself.”

Jungwon smiled faintly, but his grip was slipping.

Then, in the distance, the sirens grew louder. Help was coming.

You didn’t know if it would be enough. A few sobs escaped your lips at his words.

“No—”

“Yes. Promise me,” he replied.

“No!” you shouted, “If this is about my happiness, take it, I don’t want it without you!”

His eye lids grew heavy, he coughed a few times.

“Please, promise me…” a tear slipped from the corner of his eyes.

You felt sick to your stomach. You swallowed down, hard. You nodded.

“I promise,” you cried, “but that won’t need to happen. Because you’ll be okay, just hold on a bit more, help is on the way.”

Your attention was caught by the ambulances turning the corner. You felt hope. But as you turned to face Jungwon, you felt his hand slip down your face. His blood smudging against your cheek.

Your blood went cold.

His eyes were flickering close, his chest not rising fully.

You jerked forward, tapping his face.

“Jungwon, no, no, listen to me,” you said, “do you hear me?”

It hit you again, a wave of tears. Worse than what it was before. You held him in your arms.

“I love you,” you whispered, “did you hear me? I’m ready. I love you, Jungwon. So much.”

You sobbed loudly, your piercing screams for help breaking through the cold air. You planted soft kisses onto his lips.

“I love you. Did you hear? I said I love you!” you laid your forehead against his, “Please. Wake up. I forgive you, okay? You can’t leave me. You said you’d never leave…”

The ambulance responders rushed out the vehicle, checking him. The time felt like it went slow, everything sounded muffled, watching them take him from your arms. You watched as his hands separated from yours, dropping to his side. A harsh reminder that this was real, along with other things.

That he never got to hear you tell him you loved him.

And that he’ll never know you forgave him.

You sat there, watching as they took him from you. His blood all over you, becoming cold. You stared off into the air, the shock crashing down on you. As memories of him flashed through your mind, the many things you still had to say, the things there was still left to do.

You were left with a bitter taste in your mouth, and the pain of losing him forever.

to be continued…

#enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #yang jungwon #jungwon smut #jungwon #enhypen jungwon

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jayflrt · 1 year ago

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yours forever in 786

PAIRING ▸ private investigator!jay park x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), smut, fluff, angst, mystery, drama, enemies to lovers au, college au, rich kid au

SUMMARY ▸ after being blackmailed into accepting an assignment, jay park, a young private detective, is thrown back into college. this time, though, he’s at an ivy league and tasked to follow you to uncover what dark secrets your old money family is hiding. in doing this, jay must fraternize with your inner circle by joining a secret society called the "order of kryptos.” what he doesn’t realize is that the deeper he gets into his mission, the more he starts to lose himself.

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slowburn, alcohol/drug consumption, portrayals of addiction, sexual jokes, sexual content, betrayals!! backstabbing!!, toxic relationships, order of kryptos isn’t a real secret society but heavily inspired by the ivy league secret societies, emotional cheating (BOOOO! not from mc or jay tho), jay and mc have a small age gap (2 years), most of the characters are pretty toxic so please note that this is not attune to their real life personalities at ALL

STATUS ▸ on hold (coming back soon)

PLAYLIST ▸ fatal trouble by enhypen • still sane by lorde • this is what makes us girls by lana del rey • too good by troye sivan • paparazzi by lady gaga • old money by lana del rey • i was never there by the weeknd, gesaffelstein • prisoner by the weeknd, lana del rey

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i’m back with another smau but this one’s less lighthearted and more heavy ? sort of an experiment let's see how it goes, but hope u enjoy and lmk what u think !! ♡

CHATROOMS !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

ACT ONE: THE TRANSFER

01. skip tracer to millionaire pipeline

02. besties with testes

03. who the fuck is princessyuna

04. the world of the elite

05. please don't the tom nook

06. standing on business (vlog boycott)

07. friend (noun.) not heeseung

08. boo boo the fool

09. professional haters debut

10. 21 jump street for nepo babies

11. how to not bleed to death

12. jay/n train

13. leather jacket

14. no goodbye sucks or fucks

15. ugly truths

16. girlfriend but the girl is silent

17. justice for stress shitters

18. alcohol shortage when

ACT TWO: THE INVITATION

19. attention seeker

20. and there was one bed

21. every boy for himself

22. rhymes with loona

23. out-testosteroned

24. white lies

25. heart-to-heart

26. the athenaeum

27. sock sock shoe shoe

28. group ass fucking

29. post defamation dinner date

30. final verdict

31. do you have time to talk about our lord and savior

32. tap to get tapped back

33. mad as fuck (the remix)

34. in too deep

35. change my world

36. provisional fight club

37. go piss girl

38. girlhood won

39. we can't do this

40. pledge week

41. babygirls with daddy issues

42. they must be really good friends

43. hot jay summer

44. dangerous entanglements

45. the fifth interview candidate

UNCUTS !

TBD.

ONGOING 7/29/24

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen smau #jay smut #jay smau #jay imagines #enhypen social media au #jay x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios #jongseong smut #park jongseong #jay park #jay hard hours #enhypen hard hours

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badasoneandonly · 4 months ago

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𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕 || 𝘏𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘐𝘕-𝘏𝘖 × 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘞𝘤: 1,154𝘬

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

Y/N endures heartbreak as she suspects In-Ho of cheating but avoids confronting him, fearing loss. Trapped between love and betrayal, she clings to the small remnants of his affection.

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘙𝘌:

𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘙¡ 𝘐𝘕𝘏𝘖!, 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘐𝘕𝘎¡𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙!, 𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌, 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘚𝘛, 𝘔𝘌𝘓𝘖𝘋𝘙𝘈𝘔𝘈, 𝘐𝘕𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘛, 𝘉𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘠𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘗, 𝘚𝘈𝘋 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘉𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘒

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢 :) 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘸 𝘪'𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺... 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 ;)

The night was cruel in its quiet. The faint hum of the streetlights outside crept through the drawn curtains, casting pale shadows across the room. Y/N sat on the edge of their shared bed, staring blankly at the wall. Her phone sat on the nightstand, face down, like a secret she didn’t want to uncover.

She already knew the truth.

In-Ho wasn’t at work, nor was he out on a late-night errand as he had claimed. He was with her.

The woman she’d never met but knew existed.

Her chest ached as she glanced at the clock. Midnight. He hadn’t even texted to let her know when—or if—he would come home. It had been this way for weeks now: the late nights, the distant glances, the perfumed scent on his clothes that wasn’t hers. At first, she’d convinced herself it was nothing. That he was just busy. But the signs were too clear, too glaring to ignore.

In-Ho was cheating on her.

“The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume…”

The song played softly in her head, the lyrics cutting into her like glass. She imagined the other woman—poised, confident, everything Y/N wasn’t. She pictured her with In-Ho, laughing at his dry humor, running her fingers through his dark hair, holding his attention in a way Y/N could no longer seem to do.

Her stomach churned at the thought. She wiped her damp palms against the blanket as the clock ticked forward, dragging the night with it. Every second felt like an eternity.

But Y/N didn’t dare confront him.

The fear of losing him entirely outweighed the agony of knowing she already had. What would she do without him? Despite everything, he was still her anchor, her safe haven in a world that often felt too heavy. If she confronted him, he might leave—and she wasn’t sure she could survive that.

---

The pattern continued.

Each night, Y/N sat in the same spot on the bed, waiting. She left the bedside lamp on, its faint glow her only company as the hours ticked by. Sometimes she wondered if she should turn it off and pretend to sleep. But her body wouldn’t let her. It craved the sound of the door unlocking, the proof that In-Ho would come home—even if his heart didn’t belong to her anymore.

It was nearly 3 a.m. when she heard the familiar jingle of keys. Her breath hitched as the lock turned, and the door creaked open. She stayed still, her back to the doorway, feigning sleep. She listened as he shuffled inside, his footsteps hesitant and soft, as though he didn’t want to disturb her.

The faint scent of perfume wafted into the room, mixing with the cold night air. Her stomach twisted at the smell. It was sweet, floral—so unlike her own.

In-Ho sighed heavily as he sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and she felt the warmth of his presence even as her heart ached. She wanted to turn to him, to grab his hand and ask him why. But the words never came.

Instead, she lay there, tears slipping silently down her cheeks as the lyrics echoed in her mind:

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

---

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N became a ghost in her own life.

She stopped going out, stopped calling her friends. She moved through her days like a shadow, her energy drained by the constant weight on her chest. The apartment, once filled with laughter and warmth, now felt like a cage.

She busied herself with small tasks, trying to keep her mind occupied. Cleaning became her solace, her escape. She scrubbed the counters until her hands ached, vacuumed the carpets until the hum of the machine drowned out her thoughts. But no matter how hard she worked, the sense of emptiness never left.

One evening, as she was folding laundry, she found a lipstick-stained napkin in one of In-Ho’s jacket pockets. The stain was faint, but it was enough. Her hands trembled as she stared at it, the reality of his betrayal staring back at her in stark clarity.

She wanted to throw it away, to tear it to shreds. But instead, she folded it neatly and placed it back in his pocket. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was easier to pretend she hadn’t seen it than to face the confrontation she was too afraid to have.

---

The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the world in a quiet, peaceful white. Y/N sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she watched the flakes drift down.

The silence in the apartment was deafening. In-Ho had left hours ago, muttering something about meeting an old friend. She didn’t ask for details. She knew better by now.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. But when she saw her best friend’s name on the screen, she hesitated.

“Hey,” her friend said when Y/N picked up. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied automatically.

“No, you’re not.” There was a pause, the silence heavy with concern. “Y/N, talk to me. Please.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. The words were right there, begging to be spoken. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“I can’t,” she whispered finally. “I’m sorry.”

Her friend sighed, the disappointment clear in her voice. “I’m here when you’re ready.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N feeling more alone than ever.

---

One night, as In-Ho slept beside her, Y/N lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She could hear his steady breathing, feel the warmth of his body next to hers.

She wanted to shake him awake, to demand answers. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt her. But fear held her back.

Instead, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall silently, the ache in her chest growing heavier with each passing moment.

She thought of the other woman, wondering if she ever felt this way—if she ever cried herself to sleep the way Y/N did.

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

The lyrics played over and over in her mind, a cruel reminder of her own heartbreak.

---

The weeks blurred together, each one more unbearable than the last. Y/N found herself sinking deeper into despair, her once-vivid world now a dull gray.

She stopped trying to hold onto the pieces of her old life. The framed photos of her and In-Ho that once adorned the walls were now tucked away in a drawer. The books she used to love sat untouched on the shelves. Even her favorite mug, the one In-Ho had bought her when they first moved in together, stayed hidden in the back of the cupboard.

It was easier this way.

Easier to pretend that the life she had once dreamed of no longer existed.

---

One night, as the snow fell outside, Y/N sat by the window, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She watched the flakes drift down, her mind blank.

In-Ho was out again, and she hadn’t bothered to ask where he was going. She didn’t need to.

Her phone buzzed on the table, but she didn’t pick it up. She knew it wasn’t him.

The hours ticked by, the apartment growing colder as the night deepened.

When the door finally opened, Y/N didn’t turn to look. She stayed by the window, her eyes fixed on the snow.

“Y/N,” In-Ho said softly, his voice hesitant.

She didn’t respond.

He stood there for a moment before walking past her and into the bedroom, the faint scent of perfume lingering in his wake.

Y/N closed her eyes, the ache in her chest threatening to consume her.

“The other woman will always cry herself to sleep…”

The tears came silently, soaking into the blanket draped over her shoulders. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Because she knew nothing would change.

And so, she stayed.

Not because she forgave him, or because she believed things would get better.

But because she was too afraid to leave.

And in the quiet of the night, as the snow continued to fall, Y/N cried herself to sleep once again.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @warlabels @sandor4ochk @totowolfffcheco @icomehereforthefics @m0rtifiedg0th @crystalizia @endlessfl4mes @floweradroble1123

𝘈/𝘯: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘬𝘬, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮 :) (𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘸)

#Spotify #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in-ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #player 001 #frontman x reader #lee byung hun #squid game #squid game fanfic #oh young il #hwang in ho #lee byung hun fanfic #oh young il fanfic #hwang inho

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s-soulwriter · 2 years ago

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Creative misfortunes for characters

Identity Crisis: Have your character lose their memory, forcing them to rediscover their true self and past.

Betrayal by a Loved One: A close friend or family member betrays the character's trust, leading to emotional turmoil and inner conflict.

Physical Transformation: Give your character a physical ailment or transformation that they must come to terms with, such as sudden blindness, a debilitating illness, or turning into a different species.

Unrequited Love: Make your character fall deeply in love with someone who doesn't reciprocate their feelings, causing heartache and a quest for self-discovery.

Financial Ruin: Strip your character of their wealth and privilege, forcing them to adapt to a life of poverty and face the harsh realities of the world.

False Accusation: Have your character falsely accused of a crime they didn't commit, leading to a desperate quest to clear their name.

Natural Disaster: Place your character in the path of a devastating natural disaster, such as a hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami, and force them to survive and rebuild.

Loss of a Sense: Take away one of your character's senses (e.g., sight, hearing, taste) and explore how they adapt and cope with this profound change.

Forced Isolation: Trap your character in a remote location, like a deserted island, and make them confront their inner demons while struggling to survive.

Haunted Past: Reveal a dark secret from your character's past that comes back to haunt them, threatening their relationships and well-being.

Time Travel Consequences: Send your character back in time, but make them inadvertently change a crucial event in history, leading to unintended consequences in the present.

Psychological Breakdown: Push your character to the brink of a mental breakdown, exploring the complexities of their psyche and their journey towards recovery.

Unwanted Prophecy: Have your character be the subject of a prophecy they want no part of, as it places them in grave danger or disrupts their life.

Loss of a Loved One: Kill off a beloved character or make your protagonist witness the death of someone close to them, igniting a quest for revenge or justice.

Incurable Curse or Disease: Curse your character with an incurable ailment or supernatural curse, and follow their journey to find a cure or accept their fate.

Sudden Disappearance: Make a character disappear mysteriously, leaving the others to search for them and uncover the truth.

Betrayal of Morals: Force your character into a situation where they must compromise their ethical values for a greater cause, leading to moral dilemmas and internal conflict.

Loss of a Precious Object: Have your character lose a cherished possession or artifact that holds sentimental or magical significance, setting them on a quest to recover it.

Political Intrigue: Place your character in a position of power or influence, then subject them to political intrigue, manipulation, and power struggles.

Existential Crisis: Make your character question the meaning of life, their purpose, and their place in the universe, leading to a philosophical journey of self-discovery.

Remember that misfortunes should serve a purpose in your story, driving character growth, plot development, and thematic exploration.

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honeyhaeya · 6 months ago

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hiii, I love your works so much and I couldn't help but to read them over and over! so may I please req actor reader x actor jeonghan but if you don't want to do it it's fine it's up to you but if you're going to do it I'm going to thank you very much!, ily🤍

Second Lead, First Choice

Yoon Jeonghan x F!Reader

Genre: smut, actor x actor, second lead x male lead, rivals to lovers(?), fake friends, unrequited love, jealousy, angst, dark romance, modern au, slowburn, toxic relationships, obsession, manipulation, betrayal, power imbalance, nsfw (18+), forbidden romance, possessive behavior, softdom!jeonghan, sub!reader, fluff (?), revenge, and emotional turmoil. (minors are NOT welcome. stay out.) warnings: explicit smut (18+), obsessive behavior, manipulation, mild dub-con, filming without consent (non-public), unhealthy relationships, slowburn tension, power dynamics, jealousy, angst-heavy themes, dark plot twists, possessive behavior, and mentions of betrayal. smut warnings: explicit sexual content, public/semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, oral fixation (kissing, biting), dom/sub dynamics (soft dom jeonghan, sub reader), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink implications (mentions of cumming inside), slight cockwarming, mild praise kink ("good girl"), use of dirty talk, mentions of squirting and unproctected sex (wrap that boner !!) preview: You never expected to find yourself locking horns with Yoon Jeonghan, the nation’s beloved leading man. Being cast as the second lead was bad enough, but sharing the screen—and off-camera moments—with him tests every ounce of your patience. Jeonghan is intoxicating, infuriating, and far too good at blurring the lines between acting and reality. His touch lingers longer than it should, his whispers send shivers down your spine, and his smirk hides secrets you’re desperate to uncover. But behind the glamour lies a dark game of power, manipulation, and obsession that threatens to unravel everything you’ve worked for. It was never just about the spotlight—or even revenge. Now, every glance, every word, and every forbidden kiss carries consequences neither of you are ready to face. wc: 7773 a/n: im sorry it took me months to finish ! i hope i make it up to you by this, and please do enjoy. (i write too many stuffs before getting to the real stuffs. sorry not sorry lmao) THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING !

"CUT!" the director's voice boomed across the set, signaling the end of the take. Jeonghan pulled back from the female lead, Hye-soo, his face carefully neutral despite the exhaustion tugging at his features. He tried not to grimace as he stepped away, running a hand through his styled hair. The bright lights, the endless retakes, and the physical closeness—it was all too much for him today.

On the sidelines, you sat perched on a folding chair, clapping your hands softly in a show of support. "Good work!" you called out cheerfully, your voice cutting through the hum of the bustling set. You'd wrapped your own scene hours ago, but instead of heading home to rest, you stayed to watch him.

Jeonghan noticed you immediately. It didn't matter that there were dozens of people milling about—his gaze found yours like a magnet. And for the first time all day, he felt a flicker of relief. If only you were the female lead. If only it were you standing in front of the camera with him, sharing the screen and the story. The thought had crossed his mind far too often, lingering in ways he wasn't sure he could hide anymore.

He walked toward you, his usual easygoing smile faltering at the edges. It was subtle, but you caught it. Even through his perfectly sculpted persona, you could tell he wasn't feeling his best.

"You did well," you said when he reached you, your voice softer now. Your hand lightly brushed against his as you stood, the gesture so casual and natural that no one else might have noticed. But he did.

Jeonghan looked at you, his heart thudding a little harder at the warmth in your expression. You were smiling sweeter than usual—just a tiny shift, but enough to send his thoughts spinning. He knew that look, the way your eyes sparkled when you wanted something.

Without saying a word, he took your hand, holding it for just a second longer than necessary before his lips curved into a faint smirk. "You're too nice to me," he teased lightly, though his voice was quieter than usual.

"You deserve it," you replied simply, squeezing his hand.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, leaning just enough so that your faces were closer. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "You're the main character of my life," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The confession hung in the air, delicate and fragile, but he didn't give you the chance to respond. Instead, he gently tugged you by the wrist, leading you toward a nearby hallway where the noise of the set faded into the background.

He pushed open the door to an empty dressing room and pulled you inside, your lips quirked into a small grin as you cast a glance over your shoulder. There, just outside the hallway, you caught sight of Hye-soo, her expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief as she watched Jeonghan whisk you away, before he shut the door softly behind you.

The satisfaction was instant, your grin widening as you turned your attention back to Jeonghan. His eyes searched yours, an unspoken question lingering in their depths.

"Someone's jealous," you whispered, a playful lilt in your tone.

"Let her be," Jeonghan replied, his gaze dropping briefly to where your hand still rested against his arm. "I only care about you."

Jeonghan caught your lips into a deep, deep kiss. His hands finding your waist, kissing you hungrily like he's never before. You gladly let him, kissing back with precision, catching up with his desperate kisses.

Four months ago, the welcoming party was an elaborate spectacle where actors who are casted and crews, glittering lights and clinking glasses, an unspoken contest of charisma and charm playing out in every corner of the opulent ballroom. Jeonghan stood near the director, his expression schooled into polite interest as Hye-soo's melodic laughter rang out beside him. She had been holding court all evening, effortlessly drawing attention to herself, her hand resting possessively on Jeonghan's arm like it was her rightful place.

But Jeonghan barely noticed her.

From the moment you stepped into the room, late enough to make an entrance but not so late as to be rude, his attention was a prisoner to your presence. You hadn't done anything dramatic—there was no sweeping motion or grand gesture. It was simply the way you carried yourself. The flow of your dress, the way it seemed to move with you like an extension of your being. The quiet confidence in your steps, your head held high but your smile understated, as if you knew you didn't need to demand attention; it came to you on its own.

It wasn't just beauty—though you had that in spades. It was something deeper, more magnetic. A natural ease, the kind of charisma that didn't shout for recognition but instead whispered for it, softly and irresistibly.

Jeonghan felt it before he could stop himself—the tightening of his chest, the way his eyes betrayed him by seeking you out even as Hye-soo leaned closer, brushing her arm against his as she spoke. He forced a polite laugh, nodding at whatever she was saying, but his focus was across the room.

And you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up.

Your eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the noise of the ballroom faded into nothingness. You didn't smile right away; you just held his gaze, the faintest quirk of your lips following as though you knew exactly what you were doing to him. It was infuriating, how effortlessly you dismantled his composure with nothing but a look.

Hye-soo's hand on his arm tightened, her laugh becoming just a touch louder as if trying to pull him back. But Jeonghan's thoughts were already elsewhere, his mind circling a question that had been nagging him since the cast list was announced.

Why were you the second lead?

You had everything—beauty that could silence a room, talent that elevated every scene you touched, and a presence so commanding it didn't just complement a story; it shaped it. He'd even asked the director about it once, in a moment of unguarded curiosity.

"She's too perfect," the director had said, a bemused smile on his face. "We needed someone who could challenge stereotypes. Beauty isn't everything, and we're trying to show that. It's about balance, Jeonghan. She's our second lead because she'll redefine what it means to be one."

At the time, Jeonghan had accepted the explanation. It even made sense—logically. But now, watching you glide through the room like you owned it, he couldn't shake the thought that the story needed you at its heart.

As the evening wore on, his fascination deepened. He wasn't the only one who noticed you, of course. By the time he'd taken a sip of his champagne, you were already surrounded. First, a well-known photographer approached, gesturing animatedly as you listened with that soft, knowing smile of yours. Then a manager from a major modeling agency joined the conversation, their posture deferential despite their stature in the industry.

You handled it all with ease, laughing lightly here, tilting your head thoughtfully there, your charisma weaving a web that no one seemed able to resist. Jeonghan felt something strange stir within him—a mixture of pride, admiration, and something heavier, something unfamiliar.

"You should go talk to her," the director said suddenly, his voice breaking through Jeonghan's thoughts.

Jeonghan blinked, glancing at the older man. "What?"

"You've been staring all night," the director said with a chuckle, clapping him on the shoulder. "Might as well make an introduction."

Before Jeonghan could protest, the director was already leading him across the room. Hye-soo followed, her expression tight as she trailed behind, her earlier ease replaced with something sharper.

When they reached you, the director spoke your name warmly, introducing Jeonghan with a familiarity that suggested he'd been waiting for this moment. You turned to face Jeonghan fully, and for the second time that night, his world narrowed to just you.

"It's nice to finally meet you," you said, your voice smooth and melodic, the kind that lingered in the air even after the words had faded.

Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond, but for a brief, embarrassing moment, nothing came out. You smiled at that, a real smile this time, not the polite ones you'd been giving all evening. It was a little crooked, a little playful, and it hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

"Likewise," he managed, his voice quieter than intended.

Hye-soo stepped forward then, her smile a touch too bright, her hand reaching out to touch your arm as she offered some polite compliment. You accepted it graciously, your demeanor unchanging, but Jeonghan saw the way your eyes flickered—sharp, assessing, taking in every detail of her performance.

He didn't know what passed between you in that silent exchange, but when your gaze shifted back to him, something about your expression had changed. It was softer, more amused, like you'd already decided he wasn't worth sharing.

And for the first time that night, Jeonghan smiled—a real one, small and almost shy, but real. Because for reasons he couldn't yet explain, he wanted nothing more than to be worthy of the attention you'd just given him.

The door to the dressing room clicked shut behind you, the muffled chaos of the set fading into a distant hum. Jeonghan's gaze was dark and focused, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more raw, more consuming. You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips claimed yours with a fervor that sent your head spinning.

It was a whirlwind—a blur of heat and longing. His fingers slid under the fabric of your top, skimming the bare skin beneath, his touch both electrifying and soothing. You gasped against his lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as your knees threatened to give out. Jeonghan was gorgeous, unbearably so, and in moments like these, he felt almost unreal.

Your heart pounded wildly, each beat echoing in your ears. It was impossible to reconcile this moment with the doubts you'd carried when you first met him. Back then, you thought he'd barely notice you, that someone like Jeonghan—dazzling, untouchable—would never look at you twice. Yet here you were, his hands roaming your body like he couldn't get enough, his lips moving against yours like you were the air he needed to breathe.

You broke away for a moment, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself. But Jeonghan didn't let you get far. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you back as his lips hovered over yours, the soft warmth of his breath brushing against your skin.

"I can't let her lips stay on mine too long," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a stark contrast to the teasing words. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing yours lightly before retreating just enough to make you ache for more.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your fingers threading through his hair as you tilted his face toward yours. "I'll wash them off for you, my love," you whispered, your voice thick with both playfulness and desire. The words barely had time to settle between you before you captured his lips again, pulling him into a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, more desperate than before.

Your tongues tangled in a rhythm that felt instinctual, a dance of passion and unspoken words. His hands roamed freely, tracing the curve of your spine, brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You shivered under his touch, your body pressing closer to his as if proximity alone could satisfy the yearning that consumed you.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Jeonghan whispered against your lips, his voice trembling just enough to reveal the depth of his emotions. His hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as his forehead pressed against yours. "You drive me insane."

A blush crept up your neck, heat pooling in your chest as you tried to catch your breath. "I could say the same about you," you replied, your voice breathless but steady, your eyes searching his. "You're impossible."

He smirked, that familiar glint of mischief returning to his gaze. "Impossible, huh?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, his hands slipping to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're the one who walked into my life and flipped everything upside down."

You wanted to respond, to tease him back, but the intensity in his eyes silenced you. It was a look that made your chest tighten, a look that spoke of feelings too complex to put into words. So instead, you kissed him again, pouring everything you couldn't say into the way your lips moved against his, the way your hands clung to him like he was your lifeline.

Minutes passed, maybe hours—it was impossible to tell. All you knew was the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, the way his presence consumed every inch of your awareness. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. Not the set outside, not the chaos of your lives, not even the knowledge that this would complicate everything.

In this room, in his arms, it was just the two of you. And that was enough.

The two of you stepped out of the dressing room, the air between you still charged with the remnants of your stolen moment. Jeonghan's hair was slightly tousled, his lips swollen and redder than usual, while your soft pink lipstick was now smudged, leaving just enough evidence for the curious stares around the set. The whispers were immediate.

It didn't take long for someone to notice, and of course, it had to be Hye-soo. Her eyes darted between you and Jeonghan, narrowing with an intensity that made her look like she was plotting to leap and attack you. She clenched her jaw, her entire body radiating frustration. You, however, were perfectly unbothered.

Pausing mid-step, you turned to Jeonghan and tugged him gently by the arm, making him face you. With the utmost care (and an intentional touch of theatrics), you reached up to fix his disheveled hair.

"You're such a mess," you said playfully, brushing his bangs into place.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning down to your level as if he couldn't resist getting closer. "And whose fault is that?" he teased, swiping his thumb over your lips to clean up the smudged lipstick. The gesture was tender, but there was a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes as he added, "If you're trying to make a statement, you're doing a phenomenal job."

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Hye-soo, who looked seconds away from exploading. "Putting on a show?" Jeonghan whispered, his hands finding your waist like it was second nature.

"Maybe," you replied with a sly smile, purposefully glancing in Hye-soo's direction. The minute your gaze met hers, her expression darkened, and she stormed out of the studio with a huff loud enough to make the crew turn and stare.

Jeonghan chuckled lowly, watching her retreat. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, turning back to him with a lighthearted grin. "Honestly? This isn't even about her anymore. It's about us." You punctuated your words with a quick kiss to his cheek, then pulled away before he could pull you back in.

Just as Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond, the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air. The two of you turned, and there stood the director, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"Woah," Jeonghan said, feigning surprise as he chuckled nervously. "How long have you been standing there, sir?"

"Long enough," the director replied, visibly irritated. "You two shouldn't be doing this in the middle of the studio. Get a room, will you?"

You suppressed a laugh, but Jeonghan, ever the troublemaker, grinned and replied, "We already did."

Your elbow jabbed him sharply in the stomach before he could elaborate further. "Ow!" he yelped, doubling over slightly, though he was still smirking.

The director pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly like a parent scolding unruly children. "Do you two have any idea how much trouble this could cause for the production? I can already see the headlines: 'Male lead Yoon Jeonghan and second lead Y/N caught in scandalous affair!'" His tone was exasperated, though slightly melodramatic.

That was the final straw—you burst out laughing, the sound bright and carefree, echoing through the studio. Jeonghan froze, his gaze softening as he watched you. His irritation melted away entirely, replaced by a warmth that made him forget anyone else existed.

Your laughter was infectious, and even the director blinked, momentarily disarmed. The entire crew, who had paused to watch the scene unfold, also seemed captivated. It wasn't just Jeonghan who adored you—you had the entire set under your spell.

Jeonghan caught the lingering stares from some of the staff and cast members, their admiration for you clear as day. His expression darkened almost comically, his gaze sweeping the room as if to warn everyone, Back off—she's mine.

Finally regaining his composure, the director shook his head. "You're impossible," he muttered. "If this blows up, I'm blaming you two."

Smiling sweetly, you clasped your hands together like a picture of innocence. "We'll make sure that never happens, our best director-nim," you said, your voice as soothing as a lullaby. Somehow, even the director, who moments ago had been fuming, softened under your charm.

Jeonghan leaned in, muttering under his breath just loud enough for you to hear, "You could get away with murder if you wanted to."

You bit back a grin, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Only if you're my partner in crime."

The air outside the studio felt heavy, the crisp breeze doing little to soothe your frayed nerves. You excused yourself from Jeonghan and the director, feigning the need for a breath of fresh air when, in truth, you were looking for her—Hye-soo. She'd been haunting your thoughts ever since the shoot began, her presence always a bitter reminder of the tangled history you shared. You weren't sure what you expected from this conversation, but you had to try. You always had to try.

You found her near the corner of the lot, scrolling on her phone with an air of detachment. Her perfectly styled hair caught the golden light, making her look like the picture-perfect heroine she was cast to be. The sight of her still brought a pang of nostalgia, even after everything. For a moment, you hesitated. Was this worth it? Would she even listen?

"Hye-soo," you called out, your voice steady but soft.

She turned, her expression cool and guarded the moment she saw you. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone sharp enough to cut.

"I just want to talk," you replied, taking a cautious step forward. "Can we please—can we try to fix this? Whatever happened between us, I—"

"Fix this?" she scoffed, lowering her phone to give you her full attention. Her eyes blazed with an anger you hadn't expected. "You think you can fix this? After everything?"

"I've been trying to," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I've tried to reach out to you, to explain—"

"To explain what? That you're not guilty of anything? That you didn't go behind my back and let people pit us against each other?" She laughed bitterly. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't something you can just apologize for."

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling like a stone. "I never wanted any of that. I hated the comparisons, the rumors—it wasn't my fault. You were my best friend, Hye-soo. I didn't ask for any of this."

"And yet, here you are," she snapped, crossing her arms. "The second lead, with Jeonghan wrapped around your finger. Isn't that enough for you?"

Her words stung, but you held your ground. "This isn't about him. It's about us—about how we used to be. Don't you miss that?"

Hye-soo's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of something soft and familiar crossing her face before it hardened again. "If you want to make it up to me," she said coldly, "then break up with him."

Her demand hit you like a slap. You stared at her, stunned, your heart racing as your blood began to boil. "That's not fair, and you know it," you said, your voice low and trembling with emotion.

"Fair?" she echoed, taking a step closer. "Nothing about this has ever been fair. You were handed everything—"

"I earned it!" you shot back, cutting her off. "You think my life has been easy? That I didn't work for every single thing I have? You know that's not true."

She glared at you, her jaw tightening before she turned on her heel and walked away without another word. You stood there, your chest heaving, your emotions swirling in a chaotic storm.

The memory of her retreating figure lingered as you stared into the distance, your hands balled into fists at your sides. The bitterness between you two hadn't always existed. Once upon a time, Hye-soo was your everything.

The flashback crept in like an unwelcome guest, bringing with it the bittersweet memory of your early days in the industry.

Back then, Hye-soo had been your anchor, your partner-in-crime. You two had been inseparable, bonded over sneaking snacks during strict diets and whispering secrets late into the night. She was the person you looked up to, admired, maybe even loved in a way that you didn't fully understand at the time.

She had always been magnetic—bright, charming, and full of life. It was impossible not to be drawn to her. And for a while, things had been perfect. Until the comparisons started.

It wasn't your fault. At least, that's what you told yourself. You couldn't control how the managers and producers favored you, how they praised your acting skills and visuals. But the more they built you up, the more they tore her down.

At first, Hye-soo acted like it didn't bother her. She'd laugh it off, telling you it was fine, that she didn't care. But you knew her too well. You saw the cracks in her facade, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes anymore.

You tried to confront her, to assure her that you didn't want the comparisons either, but the rumors had already started. Whispers about you sleeping with managers and producers to secure your roles spread like wildfire. It was cruel, baseless, and you hated every second of it. But the damage was done.

Hye-soo began pulling away, her warmth replaced by icy indifference. And then, when this project came along, you both fought for the spot. You knew she wanted the role for Jeonghan's sake—her feelings for him were no secret. But no amount of her family's wealth or influence could erase the connection you and Jeonghan had. Even as the second lead, you'd won a part of him that she never could.

The sound of footsteps snapped you back to the present. Turning, you saw Jeonghan approaching, his expression unreadable. He must have seen Hye-soo leaving—or rather, storming away.

He stopped in front of you, his gaze searching your face for answers. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. "She doesn't want to talk."

Jeonghan's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm in silent comfort.

"I told you this would happen," you admitted quietly, your voice trembling. "That being with me would make everything worse."

Jeonghan shook his head, his gaze softening. "It's not your fault. None of this is."

For a moment, the weight of everything—the past, the present, the impossible tangle of emotions—felt a little lighter. With Jeonghan by your side, you felt a flicker of hope.

"She said I should break up with you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"And?" Jeonghan asked, his lips curving into a faint smile.

You looked at him, your heart aching with the intensity of how much you loved him. "That's not an option."

Jeonghan's smile deepened, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made the air around you feel a little less suffocating. He took a small step closer, his presence grounding you in a way you couldn't fully explain. "Good. Because she's not the one you need to be worrying about right now."

You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the ground for a moment, trying to gather yourself. It was hard to look at Jeonghan without feeling both a sense of relief and a twinge of guilt. Hye-soo's words kept echoing in your mind—If you want to make it up to me, break up with him—but you had already made your choice.

Looking back up at him, you smiled faintly. "I don't know what I expected, honestly. She's changed. We've changed. I never thought it would come to this."

Jeonghan's fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch so gentle that it almost felt like a promise. "Sometimes people change, but that doesn't mean you have to. You're not the person she's trying to make you out to be. Don't let her take away your peace."

His words were like a balm for the wound Hye-soo had left. You swallowed, feeling the weight on your chest slowly lift. Jeonghan was right—this wasn't your fault. But the pain of losing Hye-soo, of watching the bond you once shared with her unravel, still cut deeply.

"It's just... hard, you know? I never wanted to lose her." You looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't think I can keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

Jeonghan's eyes softened even further, and he placed both hands on your shoulders, steadying you. "You don't have to pretend with me. And you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You've got me, always."

For a moment, there was silence between you two. The weight of the past few months—the rumors, the lies, the rivalry, the betrayal—hung thick in the air, but Jeonghan's presence made it feel bearable. He wasn't just standing by you; he was anchoring you, in a way only he could.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly, his gaze not leaving yours. "The rumors, the truth... whatever you need to say, I'm here."

You swallowed again; your throat tight with the emotions you'd kept hidden for so long. "I don't want to drag you into it... but it feels like everything I've worked for has been overshadowed by rumors that I can't control. I've done everything by the book, Jeonghan. I've worked so hard to get here, and now it feels like everyone's just waiting for me to fall."

Jeonghan shook his head, his hands gently cupping your face as he forced you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. I know who you are. I know what you've been through. And I know how much you've sacrificed to get to this point. Don't let anyone's words—especially hers—make you doubt that. You're not alone in this. I'm not going anywhere."

Tears welled in your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let them fall. You didn't care. Not anymore. Not when Jeonghan was holding you like this, as if you mattered more than anything else in the world.

"I just... I feel like everything's falling apart," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Hye-soo, the rumors, even my own family. I don't know who to trust anymore."

Jeonghan's thumb gently wiped away a tear, his expression soft but unwavering. "You trust me. And I trust you."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as the weight of everything seemed to melt away, if only for a moment. His words were like a quiet promise, a reassurance that despite all the chaos around you, there was one thing you could count on—him.

You finally opened your eyes again, meeting his gaze with renewed resolve. "I'm sorry, Jeonghan. For everything."

He smiled, the corners of his lips curving up in that familiar, reassuring way. "There's nothing to apologize for. We're in this together. You don't have to face it alone."

For a long moment, you simply stood there, enveloped in his warmth, the world outside fading away. Hye-soo, the rumors, the industry—they all seemed distant now. Because right here, in this moment, you had Jeonghan. And that was all that mattered.

A few days later, you found yourself once again in the studio, the weight of the past still lingering, but a quiet sense of peace settling within you. Jeonghan had been right there by your side every step of the way, offering unwavering support when things felt impossible.

The shoot was going smoother now, though the tension with Hye-soo was still palpable. She avoided you at every turn, and the coldness between you two lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge. But you no longer cared.

As you prepared for the next scene, Jeonghan leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You turned to face him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he said softly, his fingers brushing against your hand. "Don't ever forget that."

The connection between you two was undeniable. And in that moment, as you shared a quiet, knowing smile, you realized that everything else could fall away—but this, this bond, was something that would never break.

The sound of bustling voices fades as you and Jeonghan slip away from the chaos of the shoot, finding yourselves in a secluded, dimly lit lounge area. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of unsaid words, the quiet hum of the room pressing down on you both. You're sitting close on the couch, but the space between you seems like miles. The room smells faintly of leather and wood, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air from where Jeonghan leans in a little too close.

You both start talking about the shoot, trying to keep things light, but the tension is palpable. It's as if every word you speak makes the air thicker, more suffocating. You catch him glancing at your lips a few too many times, but each time you meet his gaze, you notice how his eyes darken, his pupils dilating just a little. The subtle but undeniable spark between you two has always been there. Today, it's dangerously close to setting everything on fire.

You reach for your glass of water, your hand brushing against his as you both move at the same time. It's subtle. An innocent touch. But the moment your skin makes contact with his, everything changes.

His fingers freeze for a split second, the warmth from his hand making your skin burn. You pull away instinctively, but the damage has already been done. The soft touch, the heat from his hand, lingers on your skin like an invisible brand. You swear you can still feel it even though the touch is long gone. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching slightly in your throat as you glance up to meet his gaze.

His hand is still hovering near where you touched. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, as if trying to regain control of the situation. His lips part slightly as if he's about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, there's just a sharp, silent acknowledgment in his eyes.

The tension between you two is unbearable now.

Jeonghan shifts slightly in his seat, and his gaze flicks down to your lips for a fraction of a second. It's as if he can't help it. He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. It's clear he's fighting something—fighting the urge to pull you in, to kiss you, to close the space between you that feels too far apart.

You don't move, frozen in the moment, feeling your body heat up in ways you hadn't expected. His breath hitches as he leans just a little closer, his body language unmistakable. You can't ignore it any longer. The undeniable pull between you two has taken on a life of its own, and you're both powerless to resist it.

"Jeonghan..." You whisper his name like it's a question, but it comes out more like an invitation.

His breath catches again, his lips barely an inch from your ear. You feel the heat of his body close to yours, the warmth radiating off him, as he leans in even further, his breath hot against your skin. His lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers softly, "Do you feel it too?" His voice is low, barely a whisper, but it sends a thrill through you.

You don't answer him with words. Instead, you let your body answer for you, shifting slightly toward him, tilting your head back just enough to give him the opening he's been waiting for.

Jeonghan's lips brush against your neck, soft at first, but with a slow, deliberate pressure that sends shivers down your spine. He's testing the waters, sensing the way your body reacts to his touch, and it's driving you crazy.

He grabs the glass of water you were holding, placing it back on the table without pulling away from you or your body.

His hand moves from the edge of the couch where it had been resting, coming to rest on your thigh. He doesn't move it at first, just leaves it there, the pressure of his hand causing your skin to burn beneath the fabric. It's a gentle touch, but you feel it deep in your core, your body reacting almost involuntarily.

You shift slightly, your breath quickening as you feel him slowly inch his hand further up your thigh, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there. Every small movement from him feels like an invitation, and you can't resist anymore. You lean forward just slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that's soft at first but quickly grows deeper, more desperate.

His hand slides from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you harder. You can taste the urgency on his lips, the need that's been building for far too long now.

His other hand moves to the back of your neck, threading through your hair and gently pulling your head back, exposing your throat to him. His lips follow, trailing soft kisses down your neck, before they return to your lips in another searing kiss.

You can feel his heart beating against your chest, and you can't help but want more, the desire building between you two like a slow burn that's finally breaking through.

Jeonghan's lips pull away from yours for a brief moment, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. It's a question, but his eyes already tell you he's certain of the answer. He doesn't need to hear the words; he can see it in your eyes, the way you're looking at him, the way you're holding him closer.

You nod, your fingers gripping his shirt as you pull him back toward you. Your lips meet again, this time more fiercely, more urgently. You're both hungry for each other, the restraint that had held you back now gone.

Jeonghan's hands are everywhere—on your back, your hips, your legs. His touch is both gentle and possessive, as if he wants to savor every inch of you but also claim you as his own. You can't help but respond to his every move, every touch, your body betraying you as you lean into him, giving him more of yourself.

His lips find their way back to your neck, trailing kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbone. The way his lips feel against your skin, the pressure of his touch, sends waves of pleasure through you. His hand moves lower, resting on your waist before slipping under your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin.

You gasp as his hand moves higher up to the inner of your thighs, and you spread your legs open, his touch insistent but slow, savoring every moment. His lips return to yours, and the kiss deepens, filled with the hunger and need that you've both been holding back for far too long.

He moves your skirt up, now feeling the wetness of your underwear. You muffled in between kisses, with Jeonghan swallowing your every moans. He pulled the fabric off your legs and buried his fingers deep into your cunt, his thumb running circles on your clit.

You shivered under his touch, his fingers working to stretch your already soaked cunt. He fucked your pussy with his fingers well that you were squirming under his touch, sounds escaping from your lips louder.

Jeonghan had to shut you up with him kissing your lips. Once you reached your high, cumming all over his fingers, he unbuttons his pants down and you can see the tip of his cock glimmering with precum. "I'm going to put it in, stay quiet this time."

You swallowed hard before nodding. He placed his cock on your clit, giving it a few rubbing before slowly inserting it fully in your cunt. "F- fuck..." He grunted, his head spinning because the way he slid in you almost too easily was too hard to miss. You covered your mouth, not risking being caught by someone again like the last time.

"J- Just put it in," you muffled out, but Jeonghan didn't listen.

"Can't have you begging me to stop later," he whispered, his fingers stretching you out, making it impossible to hold out your moans. Jeonghan just had to kiss your sounds—as much as he wants to hear you make those sounds of pleasure, he just can't. Well, not at a public space like this. It's possible that someone will eventually step in.

As he pulled his fingers out, he pulls his pants down just enough for his cock to be freed. It was long, and hard as ever. Jeonghan places the tip of his cock on your clit, rubbing it in your pussy before entering you fully.

You moaned, with Jeonghan trying to quiet you down. "Shhh... Damn it."

"I- W- wait," you muffled, your cunt twitching on his cock. "I can't." Jeonghan replied, moving his hips in slow thrusts. "Your walls are swallowing me whole. You're awesome."

His hips moved a little faster this time. You were breathless. Jeonghan has you pinned down on the couch, fucking you now roughly while you hold back the sounds from coming out of your mouth.

The sound of skin slapping, your pussy squirming and squelching when you meet his hard thrusts, and muffled moans filling the room. When your walls started to tighten around his dick, that's when he lets out grunts.

Jeonghan thrusted in your cunt, burying himself inside you like never before. He was fighting hard to meet his highs, and yours too.

You cum all over his dick before him, but that wasn't enough for him to pull away. He ran circles on your clit, his tongue all over your neck as he finally reaches his own high.

Cumming, he lifted your shirt as he took his hot load on your stomach. Your cunt glistened with your own fluids.

"You're amazing," Jeonghan says as he looked at the quivering mess underneath him. Your hair disheveled, cheeks all red looking so pretty like that.

You pushed him before straddling on his lap. "Let me take care of you," you muttered, kissing him immediately right afterwards, leaving him no room to respond.

Him already hard cock springs up again and leaks with precum as you fucked him with your soft thighs. His cock twitching as you rocked your hips back in forth. Rubbing yourself on his cock, hips shaking as you overstimulate yourself above him.

And that's when you finally entered him. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Jeonghan looked at you with awe.

He lifted your shirt, unclipped your bra as he finds your nipples, kissing and nipping on the sensitive skin there, making you let out a moan. He didn't stop you this time. Who cares if you get caught.

You finally bounced on him, making Jeonghan pant breathlessly. His eyes focused on the way your tits were bouncing before him so sinfully—he loved how you took control over him. Especially when he knew you wouldn't do something like this in a public space.

Jeonghan kissed your lips as you grind yourself further into his cock, reaching the depths of heaven. Jeonghan held your hips in place before cumming inside you, the mix of your cum and his blending perfectly as it coated your walls.

Your head fell down on Jeonghan's shoulder. Catching your breath as he clips your bra back, cleaning your messy body. His fingers moving to the soft of your hair as if to soothe you off.

"You did well," he whispered, planting a kiss on your cheek. He didn't let you pull away from his cock just yet. He wanted to feel your warmth covering his cock. Just by the feeling of your gummy, hot pussy made him hard again, and your tried to squirm away, but Jeonghan didn't let you.

He rocked your hips slowly as he grunted with lust. Moaning as he felt you pussy twitching. "J- Jeonghan... Wait..." You called out, finding his shoulder to bite into his shoulder as he moves you a little faster now.

"Last... one..." He muttered; his breathing heavy as he slides in your cunt a little rougher.

With a few more pounds and squirms, he finally cums in you again, with you passing out on his arms right after you squirted three times on his cock.

The room was heavy with the aftermath of passion, the air thick with warmth and the lingering scent of Jeonghan's cologne mixed with your own. Your body was draped against him, utterly spent, your breathing shallow as you rested in his arms. His hands traced lazy patterns along your bare back, his touch possessive, yet oddly tender. You felt the faint thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Jeonghan, finally contended, ran his fingers through your hair, lulling you deeper to sleep as he uses your pussy to warm his cock.

You barely registered his quiet chuckle, the sound sending a faint shiver down your spine. Your mind was hazy, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. You were vaguely aware of his body still connected to yours, his warmth anchoring you as your consciousness started to slip away.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice low and laced with something darker, something triumphant. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear as he studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, even in your half-dazed state.

You stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, but Jeonghan only smiled. "Shh," he cooed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You've worked so hard, my love. Rest now."

And you did, succumbing to the pull of sleep, blissfully unaware of the way his gaze shifted, how his expression turned from soft affection to something far more sinister.

The soft click of a door opening pulled Jeonghan's attention, though he didn't move. He didn't need to. He knew exactly who it was.

"Good job, Hyesoo," he called out casually, his voice smooth and unbothered. His fingers skimmed along your bare skin one last time before resting on your hip, his touch possessive as he glanced up.

Hyesoo stepped into the room, her face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. In her hands was a camera, and she held it out to him silently. Jeonghan smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took it, already eager to see the results.

"She's full of my scent," he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent as his gaze shifted back to your sleeping form. His pupils dilated as he took in every detail of you—the flush on your cheeks, the marks he'd left on your skin, the way your body was still connected to his, as if even in unconsciousness, you belonged to him. "I'll save this picture in my head forever."

Hyesoo said nothing, her jaw tightening slightly as she turned away. She didn't need to watch him replay the footage; she already knew what was there. She had filmed it herself, after all. Jeonghan's obsession was no secret to her—it never had been. And yet, she stayed by his side, playing her role in his elaborate scheme.

Jeonghan leaned back against the couch, his free hand absently brushing over your arm as he scrolled through the clips. Each one was a masterpiece to him, a testament to his control, his possession of you. He watched them over and over, his expression shifting between adoration and something far darker.

"You're mine," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The words were both a promise and a declaration, one he had ensured would be true no matter what.

Jeonghan's smirk deepened as he reviewed the footage one last time before setting the camera aside. Everything had gone exactly as he had planned.

From the moment he saw you, he had known you were meant to be his. But he also knew you wouldn't come to him willingly, not at first. So, he orchestrated everything—down to the finest detail.

Hyesoo had been a key player, pretending to be your friend, earning your trust only to betray it when the time was right. The rumors about you? All planted. The whispers about your connections to the higher-ups, the way people started to question your integrity—it had all been his doing. He needed you vulnerable, isolated, desperate enough to turn to him.

And it had worked. Every step, every move, had brought you closer to this moment. To him.

Even your role as the second lead in the film had been a calculated choice. He had pushed for it, knowing it would keep you close, knowing it would force you to rely on him as the chaos of the industry swirled around you.

"You really are perfect," he murmured, his fingers brushing over your cheek. "Even better than I imagined."

Hyesoo shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the room, her arms crossed as she avoided his gaze. She had agreed to help him, but even she hadn't anticipated the extent of his obsession. Watching it unfold, seeing the lengths he was willing to go—it made her stomach twist.

But she stayed silent. She always did.

Jeonghan glanced up at her, his smile sharp. "You've done well, Hyesoo," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Don't think I've forgotten how valuable you've been to me."

Hyesoo's jaw tightened, but she nodded, her expression betraying nothing. She knew better than to challenge him. Not when he held all the power.

As you slept peacefully in his arms, Jeonghan allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He had won. Everything he had ever wanted was now his.

And he wasn't about to let you go.

Not now. Not ever.

a/n: thank you for reading. the plot isnt plotting cause like.. wtf did i just do? i shouldve just put a smut with no actual plot lmao. anyhow i hope reader likes it ! lmk if i missed a few waqrnings or what i should add on the tags/genre. ty ! LY! ᓚᘏᗢ

also, huge thank you for @ririesna who requested for this fanfic idea (actor x actor). without her req, i wouldnt be able to post anything at all. im open for requests, if you want to leave some, i will be posting.

i just made a taglist for oneshots (general groups)? click this link if you want to be added ;)

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