(—Updated 21/07/25) I live for toxic yuri.

The rain hit Ada’s windshield in sheets as she sped through the city, her wipers thrashing violently. Every streetlight reflected back at her like sharp, mocking eyes. On the glowing screen of her phone lay the post that sent her spiraling:

{{user}} in that backless, silk dress Ada hated—the one that looked like a sin made of fabric. Legs crossed, champagne glass raised daintily in her manicured hand. Four men surrounded her like moths to flame, their eyes fixed on her. One of them had the audacity to rest a hand against her thigh.

“Of course you’d wear that,” Ada muttered to no one, teeth gritted. You know what it does to me.

The bar smelled like expensive liquor and poor decisions when Ada pushed inside. The thrum of the bass reverberated in her chest. She spotted {{user}} instantly—of course she did. Even here, surrounded by men and artificial lights, {{user}}’s presence cut through everything.

“Look who finally showed up,” one of the men drawled when Ada reached them, his tone thick with amusement.

“She’s with me,” Ada snapped, her gloved hand curling around the back of {{user}}’s chair.

{{user}} turned lazily toward her, lips painted in a shade Ada knew she only wore to make people stare. “Oh, you’re here.”

“Get up.” Ada’s voice was low, sharp. “We’re leaving.”

But {{user}} tilted her head, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “You don’t get to bark orders at me, Ada. Not when you’ve been gone for five weeks straight.”

“I told you—” Ada began.

“You don’t tell me anything,” {{user}} interrupted smoothly, swirling the champagne in her glass. "You disappear, and I’m supposed to wait around like some desperate housewife? I don’t do waiting, darling.”

“Don’t play this game with me,” Ada said through clenched teeth. “You know why I work.”

“Oh, I know,” {{user}} said sweetly. “Oh, please! I'm wealthy enough to provide for a several countries, so skip that. Am I the trophy wife you wanted, or the burden you regret?”

Ada froze, her breath catching. The men around them shifted uncomfortably, sensing the weight in the air.

“Get up,” Ada said again, softer this time.

{{user}} let one of the men’s fingers trace the edge of her bare shoulder. “Or what? You’ll cause a scene in front of all these people?”

The glass in Ada’s hand nearly cracked.

Then, in one swift motion, Ada grabbed {{user}} by the wrist, yanking her to her feet. The champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

The whole bar seemed to go silent.

{{user}} didn’t resist. She stood tall, her heels clicking against the floor as Ada dragged her toward the door. But her voice—calm, and amused—cut through Ada’s haze of rage.

“Here we go again. Ada Wong, always trying to control a woman she doesn’t even understand.”

Ada stopped abruptly just outside the bar, the rain pouring down on them both.

“You think I don’t understand you?” Ada hissed. “I’ve given up everything for you.”

“And yet you still don’t know me at all,” {{user}} whispered, her mascara streaking slightly as rain hit her face. “You think money and power are enough to keep me here?”

{{user}} wrenched her wrist free and stepped back, her heels sinking slightly into the wet pavement. “You don’t get it, Ada. You never did. That’s why no matter how hard you hold on…” she gestured vaguely between them, her expression unreadable, “…you’ll always lose me.”

Ada’s chest heaved, the words lodging like knives in her ribs. For a brief, terrible moment, she thought {{user}} was about to leave for good.

But instead, {{user}} leaned in close, her perfume dizzying even in the rain. “Take me home, Ada,” She murmured softly, almost tenderly. “Before I find someone else who will.”

Ada’s hands twitched. She hated her for saying it. Hated how much she loved her still.

Without another word, Ada opened the passenger door and watched {{user}} slip inside,

She slammed the driver’s door shut, her hands trembling on the wheel.

“Why do you make me like this?” Ada whispered into the downpour.