#unhinged reader

You had made your presence known to the Raiders a bit after Jabber failed to capture Rudo, the Sphereite that the Cleaners adopted. You weren’t a new recruit, nor were you a Raider for a long time. You were simply hidden away for a short while, partaking in missions Zodyl sent you to do in the meantime.

When Jabber happily introduced himself to you, he had leaned in really close, his odor slapping you in the face. As nice as possible, you scrunched up your face and said, “You smell awful. Please step back from me.” which caused him to freeze and genuinely blank at your words.

Cthoni’s seriousness was one thing, but your brutal honesty was something else. It threw him off so bad he almost got turned on by it.

You thought he’d leave you alone after that.

A lot of people did whenever they encountered you, and it was all because you didn’t sugarcoat anything. You were fine with that, since you were low on social awareness.

But no— he was persistent.

Jabber was always glued to your side, even when he was supposed to be focusing on his opponent. It was almost out of character if he wasn’t demanding you to fight him every now and then.

“You look like you could beat the hell out of me, baby,” Jabber said one time, grinning. “I ain’t gon’ lie, you should hit me. It’ll relieve your stress.” He added, as if it was convincing enough for you.

You avoided him after that. His masochistic tendencies frightened you, to be truthful. It was weird enough that he stank, but wanting to be hit? It was diabolical.

You would’ve called him crazy.

But here was the thing: you were just as insane as he was.

You kept your craziness fossilized, only expressing it when you were really feeling the moment. The first few times you showed it was when you were torturing a random Supporter Cthoni picked up from one of the Cleaner’s missions. Zodyl allowed you to interrogate him, as long as you were able to get information out of him.

You used every tactic you knew— mocking, hitting, isolation without food for a couple of days, even going so far as to kill him in front of his family if he didn’t tell them what the Cleaners were planning to do next. Jabber offered to use Mankira on him, but you ignored him, as always.

When the Supporter still didn’t budge, you snapped.

“You’re so fucking rude.” You spat, tugging his hair angrily. You pulled out a match and lit it with fire in one take, watching the man’s face twist into horror.

From a distance, Jabber watched you.

The way you pressed the tip of the match deep into his skin, the way you didn’t stop, the way you smiled as the Supporter screamed, and the way the glint in your eye burned with satisfaction.

He liked you like this. It made him grin like mad, knowing you could literally be able to keep up with him if you continued being just as unhinged.

You got the information needed, though you returned back to your normal, blunt self. It completely ruined his mood, however, it wasn’t going to stop him. Not until he died.

Jabber poked you in every annoying way possible. He was also more touchy than usual. Every time you found peace, he was there to fuck it up.

The more you were manic, the more it pushed him to do stupid things. He believed that you two were soulmates, though it seemed like he was just throwing the word around like an excuse.

One day, you lounged around the opening of the sewers. The other Raiders weren’t around, so you made use of the time by practicing the use of your vital instrument— a pair of bracelets that tightened around the wrists of your opponent, trapping them into your hold. They wouldn’t be able to move with it on.

You sat down, unaware of Jabber’s hovering presence behind you. Not until you felt something shift beside you.

“What are you doing?” You furrowed your brow at him when he laid his head down onto your lap. Stiffening at his sudden cozy state, you crossly said, “I don’t appreciate being touched, Jabber.”

“Oh, but you’re not really doin’ anything to stop me right now, ma.” He chimed, a bright grin on his face, “Just thought you’d want to know how it feels like to have me as your boyfriend.” He said theatrically.

Your face remained blank.

“We’re not dating.” You said flatly, pushing him off. He yelps, landing on the ground with a “oof,” then sat up. “Leave me alone.” You added with a bite so sharp it could’ve cut someone.

”But baby, we’ve been through so much together!” He huffed, “Am I not romantic enough? Do you want me to beg?”

Your eyebrows twitched, but he continued. “I’ll let you hit me if you’re really mad! Isn’t that boyfriend material already?” He smiles with his entire teeth, “I’m really good at being a stress-ball, baby. Just oonneee hit.” He gets on his knees and leans in. “Then maybe I’ll leave ya alone..”

“You’re a bad liar.” You said, shoving him away again. You stand up, looking down at him without tilting your head, before finally turning to leave.

And he let you.

For now.

—————

You were growing extremely agitated.

It had been a couple of days since your last mission (which failed extraordinarily), and it was slowly pissing you off the more you recalled. You didn’t call it out loud, in case Zodyl or Cthoni heard, but it was obvious in your face expressions.

You hated feeling useless.

So, you did what was logical: relieving every tension in your mean body.

You found Fu by a dark corner a few minutes later. The latter was scared of you, since you’ve said some really uncomfortable truths about him and his benefits for the Raiders. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from approaching.

“Hey,” You called to him. “How good is your pain tolerance?”

Fu flinched, wide eyes blinking vigorously. “U- uhm,” He started. “I- it depends? I don’t really feel anything if—”

“Great.” You say, grabbing a long thread with a sharp needle, “I can try my sewing skills on your skin.”

Fu froze in horror.

You were quick to pounce onto him, pinning him to the ground as your bracelets tightened around his wrists. You watched him tremble while preparing the thread.

You were close to cutting a long piece of his skin when Bundus appeared in front of you, eyes staring down with judgement.

“Get yer ass off of him.” He grunted, towering over you, “Or ‘m reporting this to Zodyl.”

You hissed, but before you could answer, a drawl came from behind the big man—

“Eh? What’s this-?” Jabber peeked from behind, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you with a needle in between your fingers. “Dang, mama! You can do that to wimpy here, but not me?” He pouted.

Fu scrambled up the moment you let him go, still glaring at Bundus. You had respect for the man, but he really needed to mind his own business.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Jabber wrapped an arm around you, “A real man ain’t scared of no needle.” He grinned, “Try me–”

“No thanks.”

You growled, pushing him away violently. “I’d rather poison myself.”

Then, you walked away, clenching the needle and thread in your hand. Only silence filled the sewers, the three men watching your marching figure fade.

“Fu, you lucky as hell.”

©️ headers & dividers are made by me! please do not use 🫶🏼

That’s the truth her brain feeds her at three in the morning while she stares at the ceiling, counting every way she’s ever been too much. Too needy. Too intense. Too eager to build a future with a man who spent most of his life running from one.

He doesn’t touch her in bed some nights. He turns onto his side. Breathes evenly. Pretends not to feel her staring holes into his back.

So she does what any rational, deeply unstable woman in love would do.

She panics.

The thought crawls in quietly at first—soft, poisonous, irresistible.

If I had his child… he wouldn’t leave.

It blooms into obsession frighteningly fast.

She watches the way Bucky softens around kids at the grocery store, how his shoulders loosen when a toddler waves at him, how his eyes go distant and aching when he sees fathers lifting their children onto their shoulders. He never says anything, but she knows that look. It’s the same one he wears when he thinks she’s asleep.

Longing. Fear. Want.

So she stops taking her pills.

She doesn’t tell him. She tells herself she’ll only do it once. Just one month. Just to see. She times it meticulously, reads everything she can, tracks her body like it’s a mission briefing. There’s something darkly empowering about it—about deciding her future with a certainty she’s never felt before.

When Bucky finally touches her again, it’s desperate.

Like he’s been holding himself back for days.

He pulls her into his lap on the couch, mouth hot and hungry against her throat, hands gripping like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. She clings just as hard, nails digging in, heart racing with a secret that feels too big for her chest.

This will fix it, she tells herself.

This will make him stay.

Weeks pass. Bucky is still distant—still distracted—but now he’s gentler. Watching her closely. Asking if she’s feeling okay. Rubbing her back when she’s nauseous in the mornings, brow furrowed with concern.

She almost breaks a dozen times.

When the test turns positive, she sits on the bathroom floor and laughs until she cries. It’s manic and hysterical and terrifying all at once. She presses a hand to her stomach, something feral and triumphant blooming in her chest.

Mine. Ours. Forever.

She waits three days before telling him.

Three days of rehearsing every possible reaction. Rage. Betrayal. Silence. Walking out the door.

She tells him in the kitchen, hands shaking, voice too bright.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stops.

Bucky stares at her like she’s spoken a foreign language. His face drains of color. His hands brace on the counter.

“You’re… what?”

Her heart slams against her ribs. “I—I know it’s a lot. And I know you’ve been distant and maybe you don’t want this and maybe I messed up and—”

He crosses the room in two strides and grips her shoulders.

“Distant?” he repeats hoarsely. “You think I’ve been distant because I don’t want you?”

Tears spill over before she can stop them. “I thought you were leaving. I thought there was someone else.”

His expression crumples.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.

He pulls a folded packet of papers from his jacket pocket with shaking hands. Mortgage listings. A printout with a little house circled in red. A sticky note in his messy handwriting: extra bedroom. nursery?

“I’ve been trying to surprise you,” he says quietly. “I wanted it to be right. I wanted to be sure I could give you—give us—something stable. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew I could do it.”

Her stomach drops.

“Oh.”

He presses his forehead to hers, eyes wet, voice breaking. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to start a family. I just didn’t know how.”

Guilt twists in her chest—but beneath it, something darker hums with satisfaction.

She cups his face. “You don’t hate me?”

He lets out a broken laugh and sinks to his knees in front of her, pressing his ear to her stomach like he can already hear something there.

“Hate you?” he whispers. “I’m terrified. I’m in love. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks up at her then—soft, reverent, ruined.

“I’m yours,” he says. “Both of us are.”

And as she cradles his head against her, fingers threading through his hair, she thinks—

Good.

Your palms slip in the mud, sandals lost from your feet as you try to scramble backwards, something hard digging into the base of your spine. You’re caught at the base of an oak. 

Sweat slides down your temples. Chest heaving. Nausea stirring. Thighs trembling from exertion. 

Sabre teeth flash before you, claws gouging mud from the ground, tongue flicking saliva from its mouth. 

You’re going to die. There’s sweat cling to your body. Mud and grit lodged beneath your nails. A cloying damp digging into your spine. Lungs searing, aching for breath, more, more, more…

The creature rears on its tail, serpentine body coiling tight as fangs flash and your knees pull to your chest, arms covering your face. 

Steel hisses through scales, a bubble bursting as liquid gurgles. Mud splats on your bare shins as a heavy weight hits the wet earth. Copper bleeds through the forest air. 

No teeth chew your flesh. 

Cool, silken darkness slithers down over the bark, wrapping your shoulders, swirling round your waist. Paces squelch in the damp mud, pausing nearby. 

Then, “You’re okay…” 

That voice… 

Your arms fall away, staring at the male knelt before you, the massive serpent’s head laying decapitated by his side. Blood flecks his brown skin—red ink scrawled on parchment paper that’s been posted through your letter box day after day. Possessive words that fall deaf on romantic ears, while intensity glitters in the dark eyes before you. 

“…Az…riel…?” 

He nods, his black, inky hair grown long enough to flop over dark brows, soft and spiky in his eyes. 

“It’s me.” He tells you. “You’re okay.” 

Breath shudders through your chest, at once suctioned into your lungs with such force you nearly wind yourself. 

You tip yourself forward, uncaring for the gritty mud slicking your bare knees as you struggle forward, arms flying over his shoulders as you shudder. The serpent’s thick throat lies severed at his back, and your fingers clutch at the dark linen of his shirt, staring at the bleeding red hole of its throat you could have been swallowed down. 

His wings shift, pulling taut at his back, and the gore is hidden from sight. Warm, stable hands spread across your back, his fingers curling around the side of your ribs, thumbs softly strumming the bones. 

“You’re alright,” he reminds, soft and low. “You’re okay.” 

“You killed-… You saved…” Breath stammers, lungs stuttering. “Azriel…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, distant enough his breath won’t frighten your ears. “Everything’s okay.” 

But the moment hasn’t ended yet for you. You’re still curled against the tree, the serpent rearing over you. Azriel hasn’t arrived yet. 

“Y-you…” He’s here. 

You can feel him. 

He’s just beneath your fingers, holding you together.

“Azriel…”

Fierce, familiar hands brace the front of your ribcage, ever so gently pushing you to a distance where your eyes can meet. 

Quiet spreads light through the air, time falling away as he engulfs your world. His gaze is grounding, hauling you out from your mind, soul spreading swift through your limbs now it’s been dragged, timid, from your skull.

“You saved me…” You breathe, at last having the sense to push tears from your eyes. “You… You-…” 

His eyes soften, stroking your sides, a small, disarming smile gentling the edges of his mouth. One hand lifts to cup your cheek, securing your gaze. “I never thought it would be you in need of saving,” he murmurs, eyes twinkling. 

It’s beyond you how he can manage such kindness in a moment like this. How he can be so patient, and forgiving despite the terror in your veins. 

A laugh cracks from your lips, hurried, and more than a little frantic. “Guess I owe you,” you force out, hands trembling, forcing yourself to swallow the fear lodged in your throat. 

It doesn’t budge. 

His eyes glitter like black diamonds. Shining coal. Spilled ink. 

Amusement plies his lips into a slow smile, teeth hidden in his mouth. “Promise?” 

You heave down another breath, trying to swallow past the lump blocking your oesophagus. 

You try to laugh. Try to roll your eyes at his teasing. 

It’s no help to your nerves, how much he’s touching you. So delicately. Like you’re something sweet and fragile. 

It’s making you want him to reach his fingers in, and peel back your petals. Flourish with colour and pollen, and tempt him closer. Find out just how sweet your centre is. 

For a moment you forget about bargains. Forget about deals, and the magic that leaks from your mouths.

Somehow. 

You manage a shaking smile, “I promise.” 

Pain stamps itself on your back, a billion needles swiftly pricking your skin, seeping ink inside before withdrawing, leaving your flesh poked and seething. 

Stupid, stupid decision. 

Azriel’s pupils expand, then breath is fluttering from his lungs, offering a breathless smile before resting his brow on your shoulder. Relief clears his scent of its remaining tension. Tension you had presumed was the symptom of the serpent. 

He’s murmuring something. Murmuring something too soft for you to hear. His mouth brushes your skin in the same pattern over and over. Repeating endlessly. 

His shoulders slump, wings turning lax and you’re once again confronted with the violence of his care. The gaping throat, raw and crusting in places. 

Your fingers shake as you clutch onto him. His fingers stroke the sides of your waist, meandering across your back, exploring the curve of your shoulders and tracing up the nape of your neck. His fingers are free and wandering, traveling with a curiosity and greed he’s never once acted on. Those fingers sink into your muddy hair, and he lifts his head to gaze at you, close enough to feel breath against your still mouth. Close enough the tip of his nose brushes your own. Close enough his lashes send a fluttering breath ghosting your cheek when he blinks. 

“Accept it,” he whispers. “Accept me.” 

You blink, not understanding his words, periphery coming into view again. 

“Accept…?” You whisper, scanning his face. “Accept what?” 

“Me.” He breathes. “Our… The bond.” 

You blink, body pausing, “…what?” 

He swallows, shifting your body in his arms—so delicate; you’re so fragile. “There’s one between us. I can feel it. I’ve felt it for years.”

“A…” You don’t know what to say.

“A mating bond,” he whispers, “for us.” 

Your skin cools, remembering parchment shoved through your letter box, riddled with carefully curled letters, sketched in bloody red ink. Delicate and beautifully scrawled—years of practice to perfect the jagged kicks in his fried nerves. 

A bouquet left on your kitchen table, found after a long night out, coming back to a locked door that must have been tampered with while you were away. 

Torn pages slid between the iron of your windows, trapped between the panes, containing short passages from stories you sometimes recognise. Passages you love; passages you’ve never read before; passages that make your hairs stand on end. 

“…You…?” 

You stare at him. Breath trembling. 

It’s him? 

It can’t be. 

But his eyes show a hunger you’ve never seen in him before. 

At least not one you’ve noticed. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and it’s real. It’s him. 

“I won’t force you into anything,” he swears, attention briefly dropping to your mouth, then lifting back to your eyes. He swallows. “Except this. This is it. …It’s all I want.” 

“You…” you stammer, lungs panicking. “You- You sent the letters. The notes.” 

He nods. 

“You left the flowers? The pages?” He nods. 

You stare at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

It’s softer than a whisper. 

Revulsion fills his eyes. He looks away. “I’d never…” His throat rolls. You hear it move. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s not your…” He looks back at you, and your heart stutters. “I’ll deal with it. You don’t have to… I’ll keep out of Velaris. I’m leaving you alone. It’s not your problem.” 

Fear filters through your blood. Panic slipped into your drink. 

“Accept it,” he repeats. 

His eyes are imploring. Intense. A gravitational pull all to themselves. 

Words catch in your throat. “I don’t know how.” 

His features pale. Hands stiffening. Fingers falling away from your hair; your skin. 

“Please…” His breathless plea’s not directed at you. 

“Don’t disappear,” you choke out, sinking fingers into his hair, smearing crusted mud against the crest of his cheek, flecks of blood flaking away. 

“You should’ve-” Told me. 

“Why didn’t you-” Tell me. 

“Please-” Don’t leave me. Don’t be so cruel to yourself. 

You kilter into him, and his eyes widen, arms catching you as his back hits the serpent’s dead scales. Blood pumps out into the mud, and your knees and hands mix it well as you struggle over him, struggle to pin him down so he won’t leave, struggle to correctly find his mouth amidst the panic. 

A sound catches in his throat as your wet fingers splay across his shoulders, mouth pushing down atop his own. 

You taste him, swipe across his lips, pry him apart with your teeth and tongue. 

You recall the hunger in his eyes, the desire he had. For you. 

His hands shake, then they’re gripping your waist, slow at first, then rough, slipping beneath your top, spreading muck and blood up your bare back. Overhead the clouds converge, dark and heavy and ripe with rain, the first few droplets spitting onto the serpent’s scales; wetting the dried dirt on his cheek; cooling the burning heat of your skin. 

Azriel’s wings shift, readjusting himself in the mud, sitting upright so you’re over his lap, knees deep in the mud either side his hips, and he’s hungry again. All over again. Fingers creeping and crawling while your own stroke and squeeze, pushing your mouths so close together there’s no room for fresh air. 

You pull away panting, clutching back to one another before you’ve reset, and the rain falls heavier, pittering into already gathering puddles. His mouth is hot and everywhere, and your lungs burn but you’ve never been so desperate and starving with the solution already before you.

Water streaks down your back, soaking your clothes, wind whipping at wet linen as the trees hiss, rain pelting his wings that flare then draw in close, shielding from the slanting rain. 

You’re coming undone. 

————

Her mouth is persuasive in a way even his own twisted imagination couldn’t comprehend. Luring him in, seducing him, convincing him she wants him. 

It can’t be true. 

He’s spent so long convincing himself otherwise, wallowing in freezing misery and endless hunger that having her on top of him, open-mouthed and touching seems impossible. He wouldn’t have made the effort to lure the serpent so far from it’s home if he’d believed he had a chance. Wouldn’t have aggravated it so it would chase the first scent it caught. Wouldn’t have hounded her with notes and love letters detailing the affection he wished he could give her. 

But she’s here, a weight in his lap, a pushing heat against his skin that soothes every place she touches. A single, mellow flame stolen from the sun, coddled by darkness and brought down overnight just so he can drink her in and warm his hands without fear of burns. 

The bond glitters in his chest, pulsing like a river preparing to flood its banks. Brimming with molten gold searing at the dam blocking its path. 

His hands grip her waist, lifting her so they can be equal on their knees, so his arm can push at her spine so she can push into him, front flush to his chest and when their mouths collide again, the dam dissolves. 

Nails rake through his hair, clawing at his shirt as her body noticeably heats, her legs shaking in the cocoon of darkness they’re sharing, the roaring of the wind kept far enough at bay he can hear when she whispers, “the bond… I can feel it.” 

Azriel feels it too. Feels the pent up pressure finally release, met with surging waters that hiss and boil on contact, rising to share temperature. 

Never did he think he’d experience the relief of mutual adoration. 

Never did he think the Mother would deem him worthy of love. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

But the female on top of him—his mate… In her eyes, he’s worthy.

~~~~~~~~

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He whips around to face you, the shock evident on his face, before it steels to a blistering anger.

“What are you doing here?” He hisses at you, then glances about the room as if searching for any others who may hide in his shadows. You stalk towards him predatorily, eyes narrowed and hungry for blood.

“Surprised to see me? After you so callously threw me away?” The threat in your voice is thinly veiled and his eyes widen in surprise. Most don’t have the courage to speak to him in such a manner. The ones who did are all gone now. Thrown to the lions and gladiators for public entertainment. The fate he would have befall you for some imagined transgression. Your death warrant has already been signed in a familiar pen, and here and now, you have nothing else left to lose. You know nothing of the fear those men faced. “I am not a possession, Geta. Not anymore. In your betrayal you have freed me from any idolization you had previously claimed. I am nothing but a woman scorned now.”

You draw a blade from behind your back and his eyes catch on it immediately. It glistens a glorious gold. It was a gift, from him nonetheless, and you watch as recognition, then fear, flash in his eyes. You take a step forward and he takes one back, bumping into another side table and knocking something else free, to shatter against the floor.

“GUARDS!” He calls out, but you know they are too far away now. He is the one responsible for sending them so far away, in fact. Certainly there is some lowly, expendable attendant, close enough to hear any distress, likely running off as you speak, to get them. They will be there soon. But, not soon enough. You watch as tears form in his eyes and you sneer.

“Are you going to cry for your betrayal? You are pathetic Geta! Face me like a man if you are to condemn me to death!” 

He turns on you suddenly, vicious and snarling, teeth bared in barely contained emotion. There he is, you think, the other side of the coin. The other face to this man you love. This is Emperor Geta.

“Who are you to address me as such? I am your emperor! I am your master! I am your god!” Briefly, the fear leaves his eyes and he is suddenly upon you with fast steps and his hand closes around your throat. He squeezes and you allow him this last assault on your person. You lean into the grip and watch as his eyes darken ever so slightly. You let your eyes fall close. His voice is dripping with bravado and venom, it demands respect. And you almost lose yourself to the memory of what it was like to be his. But you can hear it. You can feel it. The underlying tremble of a man who knows he no longer has power over you. A man who understands deep down that he is mortal.

Slowly you open your eyes and look at him, the resolve of what must be done blazing anew within you.

“You are nothing to me any longer. Do not speak to ME as though I am one of your whores. You have lost the right.” You spit back, low and dark and sad. The hand around your throat tightens. His face comes ever closer and you feel his hot breath fan over you.  

“And how should I speak to you? You are NO ONE! YOU ARE NOTHING! HISTORY WILL KNOW NOTHING OF YOU!” He sounds desperate as he yells at you. Like it isn’t you he’s trying to convince. 

You rush him then. Your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, knocking him from his feet. He reaches out, but his instinct is untrained. He can’t seem to decide whether he should grab hold of you or brace his fall. He chooses wrong as his hands circle your wrists. You keep pushing further still and you both tumble to the floor. You land on top of him, weighing heavily upon him, pinning him down.

“I have never cared whether history remembers me. I have only ever cared about you.” Your eyes burn hot with unshed tears but you don’t waiver in your actions. You maneuver your wrists around, despite his struggle against you, until you hold his hands in yours. His fingers are cold. You wrap them around the hilt of the blade and hold them there, hold him there. “I have only ever had loyalty to you! I’ve only ever loved you!”

You looked deeply into his eyes. This close you can see the depths of his brown irises, and a sense of almost peace comes over you. There is something comforting about knowing your final moments will be with him. And then you push, and feel searing pain as metal pierces through skin, muscle, and organ. As blood spurts from your wound onto his chest and bile and blood rises in your throat. It is acrid and metallic on your tongue and you spit it out. You watch in slight amusement as he flinches when red splatters across his delicate features. You lean down, barely holding yourself against the gravity that threatens to drag you into darkness, the edges of your vision fading fast. Your lips graze upon his, just shy of one final kiss.

“Now-“ your throat produces a wheezing sound and more blood gurgles onto your tongue. It continues to drip out and onto his face. His eyes stare up into yours in unabashed horror. You relish the pain that swirls there, feeling a sick sense of joy that this hurts him too. “Try… and forget me.” 

And with your final breath finally passing from your lips, you collapse upon him fully. Finally accepting the fate he has dealt you, and sealing it for yourself. In the blink of death, you might have sworn his arms close tight around you, that he might have even shed a tear. You will never know.

Your body went cold first. Then the burn came—slow, crawling from your stomach to your throat, until you couldn’t breathe past it. The phone trembled in your hand. You replayed that half-second over and over, hoping the angle was weird, that maybe she had just brushed his hand. But no. Every frame screamed the truth you didn’t want to face.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the wall, feeling the quiet twist tighter around you. Then the sadness curdled into something darker. You started moving—grabbing the hoodie he’d left on your chair, the toothbrush next to yours, his favorite mug that you’d pretended to hate because it was chipped. Everything of his went into a box. No tears this time. Just silence and a steady, shaking rhythm in your chest.

By the time he arrived, headlights cutting across your porch, the box sat outside like a waiting verdict. You didn’t plan to see him—but curiosity was cruel. You peeked through the window as he climbed the steps, confusion spreading across his face. He looked tired, still in his event clothes, hair tousled from the night.

He knocked once, then called your name. You opened the window instead.

“Oh hey,” you said, voice calm in a way that scared even you. “You might want to be more careful at events. Cameras are everywhere, you know.”

He froze, his hand still hovering over the doorknob. “Wait, what are you talking about?” His voice cracked, the kind of crack that begged for a chance to explain.

You laughed—a sharp, tired sound. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He stepped closer to the window, guilt already written all over his face. “It’s not what it looked like, I swear. She—”

You cut him off. “Stop.” The word sliced through the air. “You’re lucky I only threw your stuff out instead of setting it on fire.”

His eyes softened, the way they did when he was trying to fix something with words. “Y/n look....I’m sorry,” he said, and for a moment, it almost sounded real.

You shook your head, the anger keeping you upright. “You can take your sorry and shove it up your ass.” You leaned against the window frame, folding your arms. “Now, if you don’t want another livestream catching you picking through your ex’s porch at midnight, I suggest you take your things and fuck off."

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there, looking at you like he wished he could rewind time. Then he bent down, picked up the box, and whispered your name again, quieter this time.

You shut the window.

His car engine faded down the street, leaving only the hum of the night and your heartbeat, still pounding against your ribs. You stared at the empty porch, the ghost of him already dissolving into the dark, and told yourself this was revenge enough—letting him see exactly what it looked like to lose you.

Theo

You thought the night would be sweet. A small surprise, nothing huge—just coffee the way he liked it, the one with too much caramel syrup, and a box of donuts because you knew he’d been living off studio vending machines again. Theo had texted you earlier that he’d be “working late.” You imagined him humming behind the mic, headphones askew, lost in melody. So you thought: why not show up, be the warmth in his long night?

You even smiled to yourself on the walk there, picturing his reaction—his wide grin, the soft “You didn’t have to, babe,” before stealing a sip of your drink like he always did.

The door to the studio was slightly open, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. You raised your hand to knock but froze when you heard it—his laugh. Not the polite one. The one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. A girl’s laugh followed, softer, close.

You leaned closer to the door. Through the gap, you saw them. Theo, half-turned toward the producer’s assistant, his arm looped casually around her waist. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers playing with the chain he always wore. They were whispering, faces too close, the air between them heavy with something you’d once thought belonged only to you.

Then he leaned in. So did she.

You cleared your throat. Loudly.

Both of them flinched apart like guilty kids. Theo’s eyes went wide when he saw you standing there, coffee cup in one hand, donut bag in the other. The assistant mumbled something and fled the room like smoke.

You stepped inside, your smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Hi,” you said, voice bright, cheerful, wrong. “Long night?”

“Babe—” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I—it wasn’t—she just—”

You held up a hand. “Relax. Everything’s fine.” The fake smile didn’t waver, even as your heart clawed at your ribs. “I actually brought you something.”

He blinked, confused, eyes darting between you and the coffee cup. “What?”

“Your favorite,” you said sweetly. “Extra caramel right?”

Before he could move, you tipped the cup forward, watching the liquid pour across his laptop keyboard in a slow, hissing wave. The smell of burnt sugar and electronics filled the air. Theo just stared, frozen, mouth slightly open.

You set the empty cup down beside the puddle, turned to the box of donuts, and launched them against the wall. Frosting splattered across the soundproof foam in pale pink and chocolate streaks.

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet dripping of coffee from the table.

Theo pushed back his chair, standing. “Okay, I know you’re angry—”

You met his eyes, your voice low now, steady as a loaded gun. “Don’t,” you said. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Can we just talk—”

“I said don’t.” You took a step back, shoulders squared. “Because if you touch me, Theo, your face is going to be the next thing I smash against that wall.”

The words hung between you, sharp and final.

He stopped.

The studio light flickered, catching on the ruined laptop, the donuts sliding down the wall like melting ghosts. You turned to leave, the door creaking behind you.

Theo called your name once—soft, desperate—but you didn’t look back. You’d brought him something sweet, and he’d ruined the taste himself.

Jiung

You were curled up on the couch when your phone rang. It was late, the kind of late where thoughts got louder and the room felt too big. Jiung had texted earlier that he was going out with friends, told you not to wait up. You trusted him. You always did.

Your friend’s voice came out rushed, uneasy. “Listen....I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but… I’m at the club right now. I saw Jiung.”

Your chest tightened. “Okay,” you said slowly. “And?”

There was a pause. Too long. “He was kissing another woman. Like—making out. I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, everything went quiet. You thanked your friend, hung up, and just sat there. Your hands rested uselessly in your lap. The hurt came first, heavy and suffocating, pressing down until your eyes burned. You pictured his smile, the way he promised loyalty so easily, like it was a given. You felt stupid for believing it.

Then the sadness snapped.

Anger rushed in, hot and electric. You stood up so fast the couch creaked behind you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t hesitate. You went to your room, pulled on something sharp and confident, something that made you feel tall. You fixed your hair, your makeup deliberate and bold. If Jiung was going to embarrass you, you would not arrive broken.

The bass of the club hit you the second you stepped inside. Lights flashed red and blue, bodies pressed together, sweat and alcohol thick in the air. You scanned the room once, twice, until you saw him.

Jiung stood in a dark corner, one hand tangled in another woman’s hair, her mouth on his like nothing else mattered. He looked careless. Comfortable. Happy.

Your jaw tightened.

You walked straight toward them, every step steady. When you reached him, you tapped his shoulder.

Jiung turned around, already smiling—until he saw you. His face drained of color. His mouth opened, probably to say your name, probably to lie.

You slapped him.

The sound cracked through the music, sharp and clean. The club seemed to inhale all at once. Jiung staggered half a step back, hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. The woman beside him froze, her hand still half-raised, lipstick smeared.

You didn’t say a word.

You turned around and walked toward the exit, heels striking the floor in time with the pounding bass. Behind you, the crowd erupted. Cheers, whistles, laughter. Someone shouted approval. Someone clapped. The club carried you forward like a wave, loud and unapologetic.

Jiung called your name, his voice lost in the noise, cracking with panic. You didn’t stop. You didn’t look back. He didn’t deserve that last glance.

The cold air outside hit your face, grounding you. Your hands shook now, the adrenaline fading, but your spine stayed straight. You had walked into the fire and left without burning.

Inside the club, Jiung stood frozen, cheek red and stinging, surrounded by noise and strangers. For the first time that night, he looked small. And you kept walking, heart pounding, knowing the slap wasn’t just anger—it was the sound of the door closing behind you.

Intak

You had always felt it. The way his phone tilted away from you sometimes. The way his voice shifted when a certain name came up. Intak swore he didn’t talk to his ex anymore. Promised it, hand over heart, eyes wide and sincere. You wanted to believe him. You told yourself that trust meant swallowing the ache and calling it nothing.

Then one afternoon, boredom got the better of you. You checked his location, half-expecting to see the practice room. Instead, a restaurant pin glowed back at you.

Your stomach dropped.

You called him. No answer. You grabbed your keys and drove, knuckles white on the steering wheel, your thoughts racing faster than the traffic. By the time you arrived, you already knew what you would find. Still, the sight hit like a punch.

Intak sat in a corner booth, her body pressed close to his. His arm wrapped around her like it belonged there. She laughed into his shoulder, and he leaned down to kiss her like it was muscle memory. Soft. Familiar.

You walked straight to the table.

“Wow,” you said. “Practice must’ve changed locations.”

Intak jolted like he’d been electrocuted. His face drained of color. “What—why are you here?” He pulled away from her too late.

You looked at him, really looked. “So you lied to me,” you said, calm in a way that scared even you.

He stood up so fast the table rattled. “Okay wait I can explain. It’s not—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. “You already explained when you told me you were somewhere else.”

His mouth opened and closed, apology scrambling over itself. “I’m sorry. I messed up. Please—”

You laughed quietly. “Don't worry honey. I mean I lied to you, too."

He froze. “What?”

You crossed your arms. “I lied every time I told you everything was perfect. I lied every time I said I was happy. I lied every time I told you I had a GROUNDBREAKING Orgasm thanks to you."

His eyes widened, wounded pride flashing through the guilt. “Wait, what the fuck?"

“Uh huh,” you said coolly, “And I'm not even done! Your last solo? It SUCKED!"

The words landed harder than you expected. He flinched.

You tapped your chin, pretending to think. “What else...ooh right! Remember before we started dating and I promised you that San and I had just been friends?"

His breath caught. “Yeah.”

You met his gaze, unblinking. “Oh well, I lied.”

Silence swallowed the table. Even his ex shifted uncomfortably.

“He did fuck me,” you added, voice steady, deliberate. “And unlike you, he made me cum for real.”

Intak’s face crumpled, shock giving way to something raw and helpless. “Why would you say that?”

You picked up your bag. “Because apparently we both are huge fucking liars."

You looked at both of them then, offering a polite, venom-sweet smile. “Enjoy your dinner. I hope it’s worth it.”

You turned and walked out, heels striking the floor like punctuation marks. Behind you, Intak called your name once, desperate and cracked. You didn’t slow down.

The night air hit your face, sharp and cleansing. Your hands shook, but your chest felt lighter. You had said everything you needed to say. And this time, none of it was a lie.

Soul

You were tipsy in the good way, warm and buzzing, packed into a booth with your girls. The music was loud, the lights low, and for once, life felt light. Someone asked about your love life, and you smiled before you could stop yourself.

“You know,” you said, stirring your drink, “I actually just started seeing someone.”

They leaned in immediately. You talked about Soul, about how strange and sweet it felt, how new everything was. How he was quiet but attentive, how you liked the mystery of him. You laughed, cheeks warm, heart stupidly hopeful.

When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you were still smiling.

You didn’t expect to see him.

Soul stood near the hallway, half-hidden by shadows, leaning close to another girl. Her hand rested on his arm. He bent down to say something in her ear, and she laughed, fingers tightening like she belonged there.

Your smile fell apart.

For a second, you thought you were wrong. That your brain was glitching. Then Soul looked up and saw you.

His eyes widened.

He stepped away from her immediately and walked toward you, meeting you halfway before you could even move. “Hey,” he said, voice too careful.

You stared at him, your confusion slowly turning sharp. “What is this?” you asked. “Are you on a date or something?”

He hesitated. Too long.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly.

The sound that came out of you surprised even yourself. You laughed. Loud. Broken. It echoed down the hallway, turning a few heads. “You’re kidding me, right?”

He frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

“We literally just started dating,” you said, laughing harder now, disbelief curling into anger. “Like, days ago. Did you forget that part where we said that this is an official relationship?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed the back of his neck. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how to—”

You tilted your head and mimicked him, exaggerating the pauses, the nervous gestures. “I just didn’t know how to—” You dropped the act instantly. “Wow. Incredible performance.”

“Please, let me explain,” he said, stepping closer.

“Fuck off,” you snapped.

The word landed hard. He froze.

You took a step back, pointing at him. “Don’t do that thing where you act confused. You knew exactly what you were doing.” Your voice shook now, but you didn’t stop. “You don’t get to have me and shop around at the same time.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, panic creeping in. “I just—”

You cut him off. “Don’t get near me again. Ever.”

The finality in your voice made his shoulders drop. He stood there, silent, watching as you walked past him toward the bathroom, then straight past that too, back toward your table.

Your girls saw your face and stood up instantly, questions spilling out. You shook your head. “We’re leaving.”

As you walked out, you didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. Soul stayed rooted where you left him, surrounded by noise and lights, realizing too late that new beginnings were fragile things. And he’d broken this one before it even had time to breathe.

Jongseob

Morning crept in quietly. Pale light slipped through the curtains, painting the room soft and harmless. You woke first, as you often did. Jongseob slept beside you, face relaxed, lashes resting against his cheeks like nothing in the world could touch him.

You leaned over and kissed him quickly, a habit born from affection. He shifted but didn’t wake. You smiled faintly and slipped out of bed, padding into the living room.

That was when his phone lit up.

The vibration was small, almost polite. You told yourself to ignore it. You really did. But then you saw the name on the screen.

Minji.

Your chest tightened. You picked up the phone, hesitation buzzing in your fingers. One message. Short. Clear.

Thank you for last night. I had a really good time.

The room felt suddenly too bright. Too loud. Jongseob had told you he was at practice. Complained about how tired he was going to be. Apologized in advance for not texting much.

Your hands went cold.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just stood there, staring at the words until they burned themselves into your head. Then you set the phone down carefully and walked back to the bedroom.

Jongseob was still asleep.

You sat on the edge of the bed and watched him for a while. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted slightly when he breathed. You wondered how easily he’d slept after lying to you.

Then you stood up.

You grabbed the vase from the dresser, flowers drooping lazily inside it, and walked back to the bed. Without hesitation, you tipped it over.

Cold water crashed down on him.

Jongseob jolted awake with a shout, scrambling upright, hair plastered to his forehead, sheets soaked. “What the fuck—what are you doing?”

You crossed your arms, your voice steady and sharp. “Did you have a good time with Minji?"

Confusion flickered across his face before panic rushed in. “What? No, you don’t understand—”

“You’re disgusting,” you said flatly. “A lying, cheating motherfucker.”

He shook his head, water dripping from his chin. “I didn’t—she’s just—”

“I read the message,” you cut in. “So cut the bullshit.”

His mouth snapped shut. His eyes darted around like he was searching for a version of reality that would save him. “Why were you even going through my phone?"

You laughed once, bitter and short. “Don't you dare make me the bad guy here.”

You didn’t hold back then. Every insult you’d swallowed came spilling out. You told him how small he looked now. How trust evaporated when lies piled up. How disappointing it was to realize that the person you defended so fiercely wasn’t worth the effort.

“I want you out,” you said. “Now.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You’re serious?”

You nodded toward the window. “Don’t forget your phone.”

He turned just in time to hear the distant crack of plastic against pavement. His eyes widened as he rushed to the window and looked down.

You met his gaze, unflinching. “Go get it,” you said. “And don’t come back.”