#by that i mean when its just ''they did this and this and this'' instead of lingering on things. maintaining tension or etc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

k3n999 · 1 day ago

Text

Aight aight~ here are my thoughts on TS 2.0 demo. SPOILERS.

About Exile origin

There's smth I'm confused abt with MC and their curse

My thoughts on LIs in this new update <3

Yes ofc I'm gonna yap more abt Leander

Useless 1am thoughts but genuinely terrified me

(Also please excuse my ENG (^^;;; )

I alrd gave my opinions on the replacement with the Hound to the Exile before but @/slyfire gave a perfect rundown on this topic! (Read here if you're interested~) Perfectly summed up everything I thought abt it. One of the things I want to highlight from their breakdown is this:

It seems the exile can unlock this red option:

It makes sense because they have an 'uncanny intuition for detecting danger'. That made mereally anticipate what's going to happen when we finally face the Soulless soon...To my surprise, they changed the options for this scene as well and I was excited 'Fight back' is an option, and ofc I chose it, eager to see what would happen but the result wasn't so pretty💀

Nope, I didn't expect for MC to pull off some sick move to fight the soulless, but what I was hoping for to see them AT LEAST DO SOMETHING or ANYTHING to survive, after all they're 'seasoned survivalist' and 'well-versed in deciphering Soulless'. They also have been taught how to survive in the wild.

So maybe dodging some attacks and do something to distract the soulless before Mhin arrives. But instead they tried to use their curse to purify the soulless temporarily. I mean, yeah cool, would love to see that happen, but at the time, it felt like a bad idea??? and yeah it was hdakdasks

This is exactly the kind of thing I was hoping for when I picked the Exile origin.. MC doing something that ties back to their background. I KNOOOWW, I know, it is still a demo, but, give us something-- a little bit that shows exile is good enough to be a replacement to the Hound. *sobs*

Also, did i miss anything abt how MC KNEW they could purify soulless? I'm aware I have a memory of a goldfish so maybe there's something that I forgor😔 Please let me know I'm actually curious (><!! I was surprised we got to see them unwrap the bandages, even attempt to try purify the soulless this soon.

And that's that.

ANYWAY *throws some glitters and sparkles*

My thoughts on LIs <3 just a basic rundown, nothing serious...kind of.

Kuras

Is it just me or does our pristine doctor seems to glow a lot more brighter in this update? Did I accidently turn the brightness up to max?? Because his beauty blinded me for sure, ESPECIALLY HIS EYES!!! I think I'm obsessed...so many pics it's so hard to choose! but something about the 2nd pic gives off softness, purity, innocence and sincerity to me uuuueeegghh and maybe I'm overthinking it bcuz it looks glowy to me🥺🥺🥺 Anw, love the lil ahem ahem...date..we had by the river (ughh the scenery was beautiful😔) I don't remember from previous demo but in this version,Kuras seems much more likely to show that he has a strong interest in the MC. I found myself more and more..dazzled by Kuras this time...I think he's gonna be my 2nd favourite I fear🥺................................ (Leander is behind me isn't he?🧍)

Vere

Well well weeellll~ looks like the fox has lost its tongue. Happy to see Vere is not just about wanting to snap our neck and eat us alive (yet). I didn’t know that we had chosen to ignore him and resist him(??) is what makes us interesting in his eyes? Not sure, but whatever made him react that way made me think of someone *side-eye Ais

[Is it kind of his type or something?...]

Mhin

Mhin is more approachable and um less snappy? than before, which I'm happy about (and can't wait for the moment when they can fully trust and feel comfortable with MC😭 I really want to see that happen so bad....) I love we got to see their nerdy side when they analyzing the soulless asjdasj That honestly caught me off guard. And how they show a little smile and get a bit bashful whenever we catch onto something they like🥺

Ais

[LOOK Y'ALL HIS OTHER HAND IS DOWN *head in hands**copium*]

*sigh* ...I love him..........*slaps face* I um, can't really hide my disappointment when we got less sprites of him. I know... because I remember every single expression and the movement he makes. Yes, I sound like a creep. Only for him tho~- *gets shot* I was hoping to at least him show his fang when he grins,-- pout OR BLUSH. But hey *sobs* we got bloody knuckles. I'm not complaining. Oh and no Princess sprite either *cries* I also hoping they also make the exterior of Ais' place. I am very curious how it look.... And this right here:

means thousands for me <3

(Do you think I'm done? Of course not. Yes I'm holding myself back from saying more because I'm gonna do a separate post just to talk about him😔)

Leander

[I want to kick him in the ass]

And at last, here we are. Of course I have to leave him for the end. The highlight of this updated demo; our lovely Mr. Chokey, Leander. What kind of sorcery and flavor did they put into this man. WHY IS HE SO MUCH DIFFERENT THAN THE OLD DEMO?!!!??? He used to be much more tolerable and I- I thought I could fix him, BUT NOW this man is nothing but glaring red in my eyes😭NINONINONINOOOO🚨🚨🚨 the alarm in my head went off when he said this:

What the actual fck do you mean by that mister💀☝️

At the time, I thought it was just Leander being the haha silly guy he is!! --and then he starts making UwU face and saying things like; 'You don't owe me anything' 'I'll help you all the time' 'You're not believe me?' 🥺👉👈 Yeah it's cute and all but all this makes me...strangely uncomfortable...UNTIL HE LOCKED THE DAMN DOOR. I couldn't help but foolishly screamed for Ais, hoping he would pick me up and comfort me😭

The whole scene in the room; gave me nothing but smth close to claustrophobia. My legs wouldn't stop shaking, I kept biting my nails (afraid to see what would happen next) The whole time I felt trapped. All his sweet words felt some kind of spells in my ears- like MC couldn't do anything but 'Yes' to every word he said... AND THAT MC IS RASVAN DAMMIT AAAAA😭

Me through my monitor screen:

"RASVAAAAANNNN GET OOOOUUTT ITS A TRRAAPPPPPP DONT LISTENN TO HIMMMM PUSH HIM AAWWAAYYYYYYY RASSSVAAANNNNN"

I was already off my seat when it get to this part, LIKE AINT NO WAY Y'ALL GONNA DO IT??? and they don't🧍somehow I feel relief.

Dear Leander fans/simps out there, please don't hate me for having this kind of reaction (I was once one of you but now.........) ajsdghasd OVERALL do I hate this big massive changes on Leander? No. Absolutely not, in fact I like it even more. It shows that Leander might potentially be the scariest one among the LIs, despite being human. And I'm very much looking forward to seeing what kind of sht he'll pull in the full release.

Before I forget- can I just say how much I love his introduction? It's so much better compared to the old demo (I have more to say to this but brain is giving up on me rn)

And now here come my silly 1am thoughts; it's abt both Ais and Leander...

Since, ofc, we don't know what exactly Leander wants from us-- what if the feelings are genuine? The way he acts, all stuff he says to us, sure, some things might raise a brow.. but- but what if he actually sincere and this is just him wants to have us in his (somewhat) twisted way. WHILE AIS THO, all the stuff that I've been saying how soft he can be is just an act???? What if he’s fooling us, only to throw us away later???? What if the devs want to trick us (<Ais fans)??? Maybe there's some kind of twisted plot twist waiting at the end???----

I told you these are just silly and stupid thoughts, but idk why I decided to deep dive into it💀 Sometimes I like to think worse things that could possibly happen. It's fun to get lost in these thoughts even part of me know it won't likely to happen. But heh WHAT IF am I right? I'm still on abt with the theory and analysis with; Leander is green but is the reddest red flag ever while Ais is red but is greenest, most foresty flag ever. I'm so into it and want more ppl to talk about it *looks at you with my sparkly eyes*

ANYWAY, I'm gonna be sound more stupider if I keep this going. I'm going sleep and dream abt aisvan 🚶.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING. Hope all of you have a wonderful day and keep playing demo until the full release comes out🥰(me).

#talkingken #touchstarved updated demo spoilers #touchstarved game #i can feel my brain is melting from writing all this #i blame leander

111 notes · View notes

literaryxbones · 1 day ago

Text

This issue is especially bad in America. Our infastructure is not built to provide reliable, secure, and fast transportation. My local bus service does not receive adequate funding as it is. It's going to get worse as the year goes on.

I take my local Paratransit. Paratransit is a service that provides transportation to disabled patrons. It's smaller and less crowded than city buses. Unlike other busing services, it drops you off directly at locations, instead of relying on general stops.

This sounds good and all, and I for one appreciate being able to ride without exhausting myself from walking. However, paratransit rarely arrives on time. You either show up at your destination way early or too late. Its business model prioritizes cramming as much people on the bus as possible, instead of taking more efficient, faster routes.

They have no online ticket system, so I have to call them every week to confirm my ride schedule. Sometimes time slots are fully booked days in advance, meaning I've had to skip a few school days due to having no other means of getting there. Office staff also ring my phone everyday, clogging my voicemail with confirmed pickup times.

I enjoy the benefits from being a student. I love riding free.

Interestingly, after one semester, my student status expires. When I show them my student ID, they won't use it to verify my condition. I use Paratransit almost everyday to go to campus. If I wasn't a college student, I wouldn't show up to campus. Do just think I enjoy hanging out on some college campus for FUN? But no, I gotta apply only through their office, which takes a couple days to process. In the meantime, I've been charged for rides while still being a student and got no refund after I was approved in the system.

This is a very niche issue, but I hope it resonates with some of you. I'm currently in the process of obtaining my license. I can drive myself independantly, but I have a permit. The only reason I have to take Paratransit in the first place is because my mother is too lazy to leave her stay-at-home remote job to pick me up and practice driving with me. I'm gracious with taking Paratransit if she has a meeting. I really don't understand why she can't make up hours or time lost driving me around either earlier or later in the day. Maybe I don't understand how remote jobs work. I've never had one.

I wasn't allowed to drive when I was younger because of my parents' divorce custody issues. I did not get a head start in life. It takes a longer time for me to learn how to drive because of my physical and neurological disability.

Waiting for the bus simulator

bus due in 5 mins

bus due in 4 mins

bus due in 3 mins

bus due in 2 mins

bus due in 1 mins

bus due in 0 mins

Whoops we forgot to send the bus again

bus due in 30 mins

16K notes · View notes

604to647 · 1 day ago

Text

Wrong Number

3.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Tim Rockford receives an unexpected text after leaving for work.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), roleplay (sort of), possessive!Tim, bratty!reader (but not really, just loves to prank her man and gets exactly what she wants), PWP, oral (f receiving; Tim eats it from the back), unprotected PiV, spanking (ass and pussy), roughish sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns.

A/N: Been feeling out of practice with writing smut lately so... I practiced 😂😁😇 As with all instalments of The Rockford Portfolio, can be read standalone, takes place anytime after their relationship has been established. Inspired by this TikTok prank/trend (a reminder that Tim does not have TikTok - as confirmed in Macarons).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics - tysm 🥰 / Series Masterlist

You couldn’t. It’s too mean.

Biting your lip to stifle your own giggles, you practically skip back to your and Tim’s bedroom - pretty pink sheer nightgown flouncing as you contemplate going through with your prank.

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music. You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

Then there was this morning: Tim’s head between your legs as your thighs quaked, threatening to close over his ears as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your cunt with his talented tongue; only letting you repay the favour after you had thoroughly soaked his facial scruff and the front of his sleeping shirt with your nectar. You can still taste the salt of him on your tongue and feel the rawness in your throat from the scape of Tim’s thick length, now much soothed having been coated with the creamy balm of his cum.

You should be contented, fulfilled - but you’re not; the greedy ache between your legs growing by the second and making its presence known like a horny little devil.

As a matter of personal principal, you never say “I wish you didn’t have to go” or “Please don’t leave” to your detective when duty calls. Though these thoughts are not unfamiliar to your heart, you have no desire to ever ask your man to choose between you and his work, nor do you think it would sit well with either of you if Tim were to shirk his law enforcement responsibilities at your request.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Detective Rockford’s thick trunk a little tighter, chase his lips a little bit longer like you did only five minutes ago when he left for the precinct this Saturday morning. You and Tim recited your usual ritual, simple and familiar words dressing feelings of worry and longing that run deeper than either of you can ever articulate in these moments:

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.

This morning, however, these soft declarations don’t calm your heart or abate your want for your handsome detective as they usually would. Your little devil clenches on nothing, demanding and egging you on – it’s Saturday and he’s only going in for a few hours of paperwork, what’s the harm in reminding Tim of what he has waiting at home?

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

You press SEND and wait - the read receipt indicates it’s seen right away; chewing your bottom lip, you watch as three little dots pop up to show that Tim’s typing a response. Eagerly, you wait for his text - but it never comes; the dots vanish, reappearing a moment later only to disappear again without any message coming through.

Then you hear it.

A siren.

At first a faint wail, the sound quickly crescendos to a blaring horn as the source approaches at an impressive speed. You bound to the window and watch as Tim’s Crown Vic, cherry light flashing on the hood, roars down your street and parallel parks back into the spot he only just vacated with a precision that makes your mouth go dry. Tim climbs out and slams the driver’s side door closed, long legs already taking him halfway to your building. He looks pissed.

For a second you panic, he does know it’s a prank, right? He must – Tim’s a brilliant detective after all; there’s no way he would actually believe the text is real and that you’re cheating on him – just as Tim never gives you any reason to doubt his devotion and fidelity, you’re sure Detective Rockford knows that he’s your one and only. The message has done its job: Tim’s back and he’s definitely riled up - you race back onto the bed, positively giddy with anticipation of your detective’s return.

Faking interest in your phone, you pretend to be unaware of your front door being flung open, then ceremoniously slammed shut with a forceful bang. Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing in volume before coming to a stop in your bedroom’s open doorway.

“What have you been doing, Shutterbug?”

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

“Just scrolling through Instagram. You’re back already, Detective?”

“Got a text I couldn’t ignore,” he stalks towards the bed and holds up his phone, the prank text you just sent displayed on the screen, “what’s this all about, baby?”

“I don’t have the foggiest clue, but you’re the detective, not me,” you goad him, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smirk.

Tim studies the dancing mischief in your big doe eyes – he’s seen through this type of feigned confusion from plenty of perps in the interrogation room, but on you, it’s cute. He begins to crawl over your body, grinning to himself when your breath hitches at the obsidian of his eyes, “I think you wanted me to see this text, wanted me to go nuts.”

You flutter your eye lashes, “Why would I want that, Detective?”

Tim advances, predatory and dangerous – with nowhere to go, you fall back onto your soft bedding with a sharp exhale, “Maybe my pretty baby needs a reminder on who she belongs to? Or perhaps, you’re just being a greedy girl?”

Still relishing your role as the bright-eyed innocent, you say nothing – Tim’s hulking frame hovers and you happily breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, clean soap, and authority. He’s so, so close but has yet to touch you since returning; it takes all of your self restraint not to reach up and grab Tim by the leather holster straps bracketing his thick arms and pull him down for a kiss.

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

Fuck. Your only answer is a pathetic whine.

“You need more, gorgeous?”

Your vigorous nod is almost comical - Tim chuckles darkly and leans in. You arch up, eager to meet his lips - but the sweet connection you��ve been craving never comes; Tim is stilled above you, teasing eyes fixed on your growing frustration.

“Maybe I’m not the man for the job since I was the one who left you sooooo needy?”

You could cry, “You are! I want you, Detective!”

Tim pulls his handsome face away, escaping the reach of your clawing hands, “You sure you don’t need someone else, baby? Maybe the lucky man who was supposed to receive this text?”

Fisting his crisp white dress shirt so hard it might rip, you beg, “I’m sure, Tim! You, I only need you!”

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from you grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug. Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs. His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning.

Smack.

You yelp, dizzy from the pleasure of the sting left behind on your ass cheek from Tim’s generous palm.

“Love the way this ass bounces for me.” Smack, smack. “She dances like this for anyone else?”

Turning your head to press your cheek on the soft covers, you look back to admire the dominating stance Tim takes at the foot of the bed, whimpering, “No, Detective.”

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees.

“Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

Two thick fingers part your sticky folds and massage your slit, collecting and spreading the slick that continues to drip from you. You curve the slope of your back further, pressing your chest into the mattress and wiggling your ass for more. At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt.

A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

“Traitor,” you mutter into the sheets, but beam as Tim nuzzles and strokes his nose over your core, you feel rather than hear his barely audible purring:

Such a good, good girl. So perfect. You know who you belong to, don’t you?

“Timmmmmmmm…” you whine, reminding him that you’re the one who needs tending to, you’re the one who called him back.

Tim ignores you and continues to lay soft, sweet kisses to your pussy, singing her praises, “You know you don’t need anyone else - isn’t that right, beautiful? Doesn’t matter who she texts; no boy is ever going to give it to you like I can.”

A completely irrational, hot surge of jealousy nearly snaps your head around when your body jumps and shudders, words of protest stuck in your throat as Tim dives face first into your blooming cunt and starts to devour you.

There’s no gentleness, no build-up, Detective Rockford simply feasts – guided by hunger, determination, instinct. Every lick and slurp of Tim’s tongue substantiates the claims of his earlier words, there’s no inch of your pussy that’s safe from the resolve of his mouth. He power strokes your wet folds and torments your hole with his tongue, his lips, his nose; every switch up, change in direction or pattern is purposeful, meant to disorient you – and it’s working: you think you’re going to lose you goddamn mind. Arousal flooding down your inner thighs, there’s nowhere for you to find reprieve - Tim’s rough hands grip bruises into your ass cheeks, spreading them wide and keeping you at his mercy. By now, you’re mewling and clawing at the sheets above your head, the only coherent sound that escapes your drooling mouth is the repetition of your detective’s name. Tim’s own growls and the wet smacking of his continued raid on your cunt echo off the walls in your other otherwise silent and serene bedroom; impossibly, your detective doubles down with a snarl, sucking and gnawing a practiced path from your clit to your ass and back, over and over and over. He’s barely breeched your opening and you’re already about to come.

“Fuck, fu- Tim, I’m so close, so close, I’m gon-, gonna… fuck, baby, please!!”

Detective Rockford comes off your cunt with the loudest pop you’ve ever heard, and continues to conspire against you in a playful yet domineering tone, “Should we let her come, beautiful? Let her be a good girl, too?”

Throwing your head back in a howl, you tighten, empty and desperate – this answer apparently placating Tim enough for him dive back in, he latches directly onto your pulsing clit and starts sucking.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train and you scream and pound your fists into the mattress. Tim’s soothing palm rubbing your ass as you ride out the aftershocks of one of the most explosive highs you’ve ever experienced distracts you enough that you don’t hear the clinking of his belt buckle and the undoing of his work trousers.

Jaw slack and eyes still partially unfocused, you remain faced down and ass up, unmoving, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim lift and press one of his knees on the bed for leverage. He wicks his swollen head through the honey of your release and you shiver in anticipation; later, you would look back on the last thing you hear before Tim pushes in as a clear warning:

“I’m not going to make the same mistake of leaving you needy again, Shutterbug.”

He pounds into you.

Every one of Tim’s thrusts is unrelenting on your sopping hole; she does her best to hug and console his cock with her warm embrace, but Tim’s drive is unforgiving – this is about proving a point. Panting and grunting with the intensity of his exertion, Detective Rockford ruts into you animalistic, feral and with his vice grip on your waist, he bounces you to meet each punishing jab. Bottoming out every push, Tim’s balls slap against your clit like the crop against a racehorse’s hind and you neigh and whinny in response - high and wild, trying to run. He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, then lifts his knee to place his foot down in its place; with you pinned to the bed and trapped, the steepness of this new angle is delicious.

Tim repeatedly sheaths himself into your warmth, withdrawing wholly and waiting to witness the cry of your gushing cunt before slamming himself back in again. You whine and plead, for what you don’t even know – the pleasure that Tim’s giving you is so intense, so merciless, you’re feeling like you might actually float away when your man’s dirty mouth brings you crashing back to Earth.

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.”

“Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you? Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…”

You think you might pass out.

“… to give you this cock.”

“This what you wanted, baby?”

You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread.

“Yeah? You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?”

“Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

“Omigod, Tim!! Yes, yes!” Lightheaded and unable to take a full breath with the way your chest is being driven into the mattress, your pussy throbs - pleasure blossoming from Tim’s possessive and dominant tone.

“Could the little boy toy you text make you feel this way?”

You shake your head into the wet sheets, the welcomed hurt from your arms being pulled back only amplifying just how good Tim is making the rest of your body feel.

“Who is it you need, Shutterbug?”

You want to reply that it’s him, only ever him, but your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head and your body is being jolted too violently by the force of Tim’s thrusts for you to collect your thoughts, nevermind form words.

Known for doggedly getting to the truth of any matter, Detective Rockford pulls you up and holds you flush against his chest, strong forearm banding below your tits while his other hand comes to a rest at the base of your neck. You loll your head back against Tim’s shoulder, sighing at the coolness of his holster leather against the heat of your skin. Tim fucks up into you from below and you both gasp from the electric shock of this new position, “Fuck, you’re so deep, Detective.”

Your detective bounces you on his cock and with every punch, reaching those part of you that only he’s ever explored and marked. An alarmingly low growl ghosts the shell of your ear, “I asked, who is it you need, baby?”

“You, oh god, only you, Tim!!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“That’s right. You’re mine, gorgeous.”

“Gonna make you come so hard, your pretty head will never forget.”

“That you belong to me.”

“This pussy belongs to me.”

“The way it comes belongs to me.”

“You ONLY come for me.”

He’s ramming into you so hard, you can only attempt a pathetic nod against his shoulder, whispering against Tim’s lips, “Yours.”

“Fuck.”

Tim’s lips crash against yours in the first kiss you’ve shared since he left this morning; you both moan loudly at the much-missed contact, mouths unable to conceal the affection and love you hold for one another despite the way Tim continues to destroy your needy cunt.

He tastes of you and when your tang transfers from his tongue to yours, you shudder and clamp down on his cock; sinfully, you lick behind Tim’s teeth and suck on his lips, returning your essence back to its rightful owner - See? Yours, all of me is yours.

Grabbing fists full of your tits, Tim squeezes the soft flesh and pulls on your aching peaks, causing you to cry out and break the kiss; he gives it to you so rough and punishing everywhere, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The stranglehold of your pussy is sucking him so tight and deep, Tim knows he won’t last much longer, he continues to twist and roll your diamond hard nipples while snipping at your earlobes, “I’m close, baby. Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

It's the dirtiest, filthiest, hottest thing Tim has ever called you, and wailing something catastrophic, you come instantly at his words. Tim follows soon after, painting your velvet walls with ropes of white as promised.

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug? Was that okay?”

You nod, spent and pliant, “It was perfect, Detective. Better than anything I could have imagined.”

He lays you down gently and you melt into the bed as Tim goes to fetch a cloth for cleanup. As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”. Sitting next to you on the bed, Tim brushes the hair out of your face and rubs your limp body with his now gentle hands until he’s comfortable with the condition he’s leaving you in.

Grabbing a blanket, he presses soft kisses down your exposed back and at your quiet exhale of contentment, smiles before covering you with the cozy fabric. He sneaks one last loving kiss to your hair and stands, admiring the angelic serenity that’s taken over your dozing face.

“Tim?” you murmur into your pillow, barely audible.

“Shutterbug?”

“You know that text wasn’t real, right? There isn’t anyone but you,” somewhere halfway between consciousness and dreamland, you crack open your sleepy eyes, voice vulnerable and small.

Tim kneels next to the bed so you can see the affection in his eyes, “I know, baby. Just as there isn’t anyone but you for me.” Lightly stroking your pretty face with the back of two of his thick fingers, Detective Rockford continues, good humour on display, “Besides, what kind of detective would I be if I believed that text at face value when I already have all the evidence in the world that the woman I love is beyond loyal and trustworthy? She’s perfect and true.”

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later. “Ok, good. Just making sure,” your eyes close again, smile dopey, “come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug. I love you.”

“Love you,” you coo, already drifting off into a deep slumber.

Leaving you to your rest, Detective Rockford departs with a silent promise that he’ll return home as soon as he can - walking to his car for the second time this morning with a little extra spring in his step.

#tim rockford #tim rockford fic #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

109 notes · View notes

caplanbuckybarnes · 2 days ago

Text

Before She Cheats

Summary: You and Sam can't resist messing around whenever you get the chance.... even if the guilt absolutely haunts you

Warnings: heartbreak, cheating, drinking, betrayal, angst, not a happy ending, maybe its bittersweet, i guess?, nonexplicit smut

WC: 6K

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader

Read on ao3!

AN: i've been listening to Before He Cheats By Carrie Underwood on repeat today for absolutely no reason other than the song slaps. It inspired this! Enjoy!

The closet was suffocating.

Dust and old leather filled your nose, thick and cloying, but it wasn’t the reason you were struggling to breathe.

It was Sam. Pressed against you. Hands roaming with a slowness that made your skin burn. You shouldn’t be here. You couldn’t be here. Not with him. Especially not with Dean calling your name down the hall, voice getting closer.

Sam’s mouth brushed your ear, his breath sending a violent shiver down your spine.

"He's right outside," he whispered, voice low and dangerous. "If you make a sound... he’ll know what we’re doing. Do you really want him to find out like this?"

You whimpered without meaning to, the sound tiny, broken, desperate. Sam’s hands tightened on your waist, steadying you, silencing you.

Through the thin wood of the door, you heard Dean’s boots dragging slightly against the floor. Closer. Pausing just outside. You clamped a hand over your mouth, heart hammering so violently you thought Dean would hear it.

Sam smirked, eyes dark in the slatted light, his body heat burning into you. One large hand slid up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the bare curve of your side, pushing higher, mapping every shudder and breathless tremor.

You should stop him. You should shove him away, throw the door open, and confess before this spiraled even worse.

But you didn’t. God help you, you leaned into him instead.

Sam’s mouth ghosted over your jaw, not kissing yet, just hovering, waiting for you to break first. You bit down on your knuckles, desperate not to make a sound.

Outside, Dean’s voice. "Babe? You in there?" A soft laugh. "Come on, you’re not mad about earlier, are you?"

Guilt slammed into you so hard your knees almost buckled. You were mad earlier. At Dean’s teasing. At the way he sometimes forgot to see you, to listen, to understand. That fight had driven you straight into Sam’s arms.

Straight into this... betrayal.

Sam’s fingers brushed the underside of your bra, his knuckles grazing your nipple so lightly it was torture. You sucked in a shaky breath, barely muffled by your hand. Sam smiled against your throat.

"You like this too much to stop," he mouthed against your skin. You hated him. You hated yourself more.

Dean’s footsteps shifted. He was standing right outside the door now. One tug of the handle. That’s all it would take.

"Y/N?" Dean’s voice was quieter now. Softer. Worried.

You squeezed your eyes shut, body trembling with the effort not to break. Sam’s hand slid down your stomach, slow, purposeful, until it dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans. Your gasp was too loud, and Dean shifted outside. And Sam’s free hand clamped over your mouth, pinning you tight against the wall.

You were trapped. Physically, emotionally, completely. Dean stood there for one endless, breathless heartbeat and then, mercifully, moved on. The floorboards creaked as he walked down the hall, muttering to himself.

Only when the sound of his boots faded did Sam ease his hand from your mouth. You stared at him, wide-eyed, humiliated, terrified—and burning. Sam searched your face in the dim light, something flickering behind the wicked smile.

Guilt. Fear. Longing.

You didn’t know which was worse.

"Say it," he breathed. "Tell me you want this."

Your throat locked up. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him until the guilt drowned.

Instead, you choked out a broken whisper, "I hate you."

Sam’s lips twisted in a sad, dangerous smile. "Good," he said. "Means you’ll remember." Then he kissed you— rough, desperate, wrong. You let him. You kissed him back like it was the last good thing you’d ever taste.

You clutched his jacket, dragging him closer, feeling the sharp edge of his belt buckle press into your stomach, the hard heat of him behind it. Sam groaned low in his throat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. The closet felt like it was caving in, walls closing tighter and tighter, trapping you in the heat of him, the smell of leather and guilt and want.

Sam broke the kiss first, panting, forehead pressed to yours. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice raw. "Tell me, Y/N."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t even form the words.

Instead, you fumbled with the button of your jeans, desperation overtaking shame. Sam cursed under his breath and yanked your pants down just enough— just enough for him to push between your thighs, rutting against you through his jeans like he couldn’t help himself.

You whimpered, hands clenching the fabric of his jacket, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds. Sam’s hand slid between you, fingers slipping into you with an ease that made your cheeks burn. You bit down hard on his jacket to keep from screaming."Fuck... you’re soaked," Sam rasped into your ear, voice shaking. "You’re so goddamn bad, sweetheart. Worse than me."

He thrust his fingers deeper, curling them expertly, and you were gone. Tears pricked your eyes as pleasure ripped through you, sharp and humiliating and divine. You came hard against his hand, body spasming silently, legs trembling so badly you almost slid down the wall.

Sam caught you, cradling your shaking body against his chest. For one terrifying, fragile second, you thought he might say something soft. Something real. But he just smirked, pulling his fingers free and licking them obscenely slow, eyes locked on yours. Your stomach twisted in horror and heat. Sam zipped your pants back up roughly, hands lingering on your hips like he didn’t want to let you go. You pushed him back with trembling hands, glaring through the tears blurring your vision.

"This..." you gasped, "this never happened."

Sam tilted his head, studying you like you were some fascinating, broken thing. "Keep telling yourself that," he said softly.

You shoved open the closet door, stumbling into the hallway.

Dean’s voice drifted faintly from the library, calling for you again.

You wiped your mouth, your eyes, fixing your clothes with shaking hands. You were going to hell. You were going to hell, and Sam Winchester was going to be there smiling when you got there.

You took one step toward the library and Sam’s hand caught your wrist. You turned, heart in your throat. Sam’s face was unreadable in the dim light. Hard. Haunted. "Y/N..." he said roughly. "This wasn’t just you."

You ripped your arm free and ran. You didn’t look back. You stumbled into the library on legs that barely worked, heart still thundering against your ribs.

Dean looked up from the lore book he was flipping through, flashing that cocky, familiar grin that used to make your knees weak. Now it just made your stomach lurch.

"There you are," he said easily. "Thought you got lost or something."

You forced a shaky laugh, praying he wouldn’t notice the way your hands trembled. "Nah," you said hoarsely. "Just needed a minute."

Dean frowned, concern flickering over his face. "You okay?" he asked, pushing the book aside and standing up.

You nodded too fast. "Yeah. Just tired. Maybe... maybe I’ll turn in early."

Dean crossed the room toward you, and for one horrifying second, you thought he would smell Sam on you — the guilt, the sin, the heat — but he just kissed your forehead and ruffled your hair like he always did.

"Get some rest, sweetheart," he murmured. "Big hunt tomorrow."

You nodded mutely, pulling away before he could see the tears swimming in your eyes. You practically fled down the hall, boots thudding too loudly on the stone floor. You needed a shower. You needed to scrub the shame off your skin. You needed to—

A hand shot out from the shadows, yanking you into a side room. You gasped, shoving at the chest, pinning you to the wall—until you looked up and saw Sam’s eyes burning into yours.

"Sam—" you hissed.

"I can’t—" he rasped, voice wrecked. "I can’t leave it like that."

You shook your head wildly. "We can’t—"

But Sam wasn’t listening. His mouth crashed against yours, savage, desperate, tasting like guilt and fire and longing.

You whimpered into the kiss, fists pounding weakly against his chest — but it only spurred him on, made him grip you harder, like he could carve himself into your bones if he held you tight enough.

"You think I’m proud of this?" he growled against your lips. "You think I don’t hate myself for wanting you?"

You shook your head, tears slipping free.

"Please, Sam," you begged, voice breaking. "Please don’t."

Sam let out a broken, gut-wrenching sound and buried his face in your neck.

"Tell me you don’t feel it too," he whispered. "Tell me, and I’ll stop."

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you did feel it. God help you, you felt it so much it made you want to claw your own heart out. You stayed silent. And that silence broke whatever was left of Sam’s restraint.

He lifted you bodily, setting you on the edge of a dusty old table, kicking your legs apart with his knee. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you sobbed against his mouth. Sam kissed the tears from your cheeks, his hands shaking as they slid under your shirt again, rougher this time, less careful.

You felt everything — the anger, the desperation, the self-loathing.

You felt him.

"Sam," you gasped, "we can’t—Dean—"

"Dean doesn’t love you like this," Sam hissed against your skin. "Not the way I do."

The words hit you like a slap.

You froze.

Sam seemed to realise what he said a second too late. He pulled back, chest heaving, staring at you like he just ripped out his own heart and handed it to you. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean—" He stopped himself.

He did mean it. You could see it written all over his face. Before you could speak, a heavy knock shook the door behind you.

Both of you froze.

Dean’s voice. "Y/N? You in there?"

Your blood turned to ice. Sam’s hand clamped over your mouth, his own eyes wide and panicked.

"Yeah!" you called through the muffling grip, heart galloping. "Just—cleaning up! Give me a minute!"

Dean paused. You could almost feel him frowning.

Then footsteps, retreating slowly down the hall.

You slumped against Sam, breathing hard. "This is a goddamn disaster," you whispered.

Sam pulled his hand away slowly, the lines of guilt carved deep into his face. "I know," he said hoarsely. "But it’s ours."

You stared at him, throat raw. You hated him. You hated yourself more. You pushed past him, bolting into the hallway, heart breaking apart with every step.

You didn’t see Sam slide down the wall behind you, head in his hands.

You didn’t see the way he broke.

You avoided Sam for three days.

Three whole days of slipping down side corridors, ducking into unused rooms, slamming your bedroom door shut before he could even knock.

Three days of pretending you didn't feel him everywhere.

Of pretending you didn’t see the way his hands trembled when he passed you a coffee mug at breakfast. The way his jaw clenched when Dean brushed a kiss over your hair. The way he looked at you when he thought no one else was watching — like you were the rope pulling him into hell, and he’d go willingly.

You barely slept.

Every time you closed your eyes, you felt him again — his hands, his mouth, the wrecked sound of his voice when he said Dean doesn’t love you like I do.

It made you sick.

It made you crave him worse.

The fourth night, it rained.

Hard, relentless drumming on the bunker roof. You were curled under your blankets, staring at the ceiling, when the knock came.

Soft. Desperate. You knew it was him. You knew you should pretend you weren’t here. You knew you should scream at him to leave.

But your feet moved anyway. You opened the door, and Sam stood there, soaked to the bone from standing outside, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing like he’d run a mile.

"Please," he said, voice raw. "Just — just talk to me."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Sam, we can’t keep doing this," you whispered.

"I know."

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to touch you.

"I just..." he dragged a hand down his face, looking wrecked. "I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch him touch you. I can’t sit there and pretend it doesn’t gut me every time you smile at him."

Your heart cracked wide open.

"It’s not fair," you said brokenly. "It’s not fair to any of us."

Sam nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

For a second — a terrible, beautiful second — you both just looked at each other.

And you knew. It was never going to stop. Not until you burned everything to the ground. Not until someone got hurt. Maybe all of you. Sam moved first. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the click echoing in the tiny room like a gunshot.

You backed away instinctively — but there was nowhere to go.

"Tell me to leave," he said, voice shaking. "Tell me to leave and I’ll go."

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

Sam let out a broken sound and crossed the room in two strides, grabbing your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you," he whispered, like a sin, like a prayer. "God help me, I love you."

You broke. You crashed into him, kissing him like you could erase every mistake you were making with your mouth, your hands, your whole stupid, selfish heart. Sam kissed you back with a hunger that tasted like agony, lifting you into his arms, stumbling blindly toward the bed.

Clothes hit the floor in frantic, clumsy bursts.

He stretched you out under him like something precious, his hands shaking as they roamed your skin. "You’re mine," he whispered against your collarbone. "You’ve always been mine."

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. "I’m yours," you gasped, tears slipping free. "I’m yours, Sam."

The words were a gunshot to your own chest. But you meant them. You meant them so much that it terrified you.

Afterwards, you lay tangled together in the dark, heartbeats slowly finding a broken rhythm. You traced lazy circles on Sam’s bare chest, feeling the way his heart kicked every time you touched him.

"We have to stop," you said finally, voice raw.

Sam went still.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "We do."

But neither of you moved. Neither of you even tried.

The next morning, it almost exploded. You sat at the bunker kitchen table, forcing yourself to eat dry toast you couldn’t taste.

Dean wandered in, yawning, scratching his stomach, dropping a kiss on the top of your head like he always did.

You flinched. Sam stiffened across the room, coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth.

Dean frowned. "You good?"

"Fine," you croaked.

"You sure?" he asked, leaning down to look into your face, worry creasing his forehead.

You nodded too fast.

Sam set his mug down with a sharp clink.

Dean’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly.

"You two weird or something?" he asked, suspicious.

"No," you and Sam blurted at the same time.

Dean squinted at both of you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to confess. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin.

Instead, you smiled as best as you could muster in front of the two brothers and shoved another bite of toast into your mouth.

Dean stared at you a second longer. Then shrugged, yawning again. "You two are freakin’ exhausting," he muttered, heading toward the garage.

The second he was gone, you dropped your head into your hands. Sam was at your side in an instant, kneeling beside your chair. "We can’t keep doing this," you whispered, broken.

"I know," he said, voice gutted. "But I can’t stop loving you."

You looked at him and knew he was right. You couldn’t either.

Later that night, it rained again. The power flickered once, twice. You sat curled up on the bed, staring at the wall, heart hammering.

A soft knock.

You knew who it was before you even moved. You opened the door and found Dean standing there, wet and frowning.

"Can we talk?" he said.

You blinked, nodding slowly.

Dean stepped inside, dripping water onto the floor. He looked...nervous. "Listen," he said, raking a hand through his soaked hair. "I know I’m not the easiest guy to be with. I know I screw up. But I—I love you, Y/N."

Your heart cracked clean down the middle.

"I love you," Dean said again, voice rough. "And if something’s wrong — if you’re not happy — you gotta tell me."

You opened your mouth.

The words clawed at your throat. And behind Dean — just down the hall — you saw Sam. Standing in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Your heart screamed. Dean’s eyes searched your face."Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me if I’m losing you."

Tears spilt down your cheeks. You looked at Dean — sweet, broken, good Dean — and you looked at Sam — furious, desperate, yours — and you knew.

No matter what you chose, you were going to shatter something beautiful.

Maybe everything.

The closet was too dark, too small, too dangerous. You could still feel Sam’s hands shaking against your waist, the heat of his breath against your ear. "He's right outside," Sam whispered, voice hoarse and breaking under the weight of guilt. "If you make a sound, he'll know what we’re doing."

You didn't dare move. The weight of what you were doing — what you had already done — was crushing you. Every heartbeat slammed against your ribs like a warning. Dean. Dean. Dean.

Footsteps echoed outside. Heavy. Familiar. Dean’s voice floated down the hallway — low, casual, humming some stupid classic rock song under his breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut. God, what were you doing?

Sam's fingers, still tangled in the fabric of your shirt, curled tighter. His forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, everything disappeared — the bunker walls, the guilt, the sound of Dean’s boots.

Just him. Just you. Just this.

The doorknob rattled. You both froze.

"Closet’s stuck again," Dean muttered to himself, jiggling it.

Sam held you so tightly you could barely breathe. You felt his chest rising and falling like a trapped animal.

Another rattle. Another shove.

"Whatever," Dean said, giving up, his footsteps fading down the hall.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Sam’s hands slid from your waist to your face, and you saw it — all of it — in his eyes. The fear. The need. The shame.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. His voice cracked. "I'm so fucking sorry."

You swallowed, your heart bleeding. "Sam… we have to stop."

"I know," he rasped. "I know. But I—"

The door suddenly burst open.

You stumbled back against the wall, blinking into the sudden light, and everything shattered.

Dean stood there. Eyes wide. Mouth open. A beer bottle dangling from his fingers. The bottle slipped from his hand. Shattered.

You didn’t even hear it hit the ground. You didn’t hear anything except the broken sound Dean made — somewhere between a gasp and a groan, a sound you’d never heard him make before.

It was worse than a punch. Worse than a scream. It was the sound of someone breaking.

Sam moved first. "Dean—"

Dean hit him.

It wasn’t a warning punch. It was a full-force, bone-snapping right hook that sent Sam crashing into the opposite wall.

"Dean, stop—!" you cried, reaching out.

Dean turned on you. Not with fists — but with something worse.

His eyes. God, his eyes.

"You," he breathed. His voice was shaking. "You."

You stumbled back, hand over your mouth.

"How long?" Dean demanded. His voice rose — a wild, desperate roar. "How long, Sam?!"

Sam wiped the blood from his mouth, chest heaving. "It wasn't—it wasn't supposed to happen—"

"Answer me!" Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and slammed him against the wall again. The whole bunker seemed to shake.

You stepped forward. "Dean, please, it wasn’t like that, it—"

"You think I give a shit what you have to say?" Dean snarled at you, voice so raw it barely sounded human. "After what you did?"

Sam shoved him back, breathing hard. "Dean, don't you dare talk to her like that."

Dean’s face twisted. Betrayal. Fury. Grief. All of it flooding to the surface. "You don't get to protect her," Dean growled. "You don't get to touch her. You don't get to breathe near her. Do you understand me, Sam? You’re my little brother!"

Sam’s fists clenched. "I love her."

The words hit like a grenade. Dean physically reeled back, like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

"You love her," Dean repeated, voice hollow. "You love her."

You sobbed. "Dean—Dean, I’m sorry—"

He laughed. It was the ugliest sound you’d ever heard.

"You're sorry?" he said, his smile cracking into something twisted. "You're sorry?"

Sam moved toward you instinctively, a protective gesture, but Dean was faster. He shoved Sam back so hard he staggered.

"You loved me, too, huh?" Dean asked you, voice slicing you open. "Was any of it real? Or was it just a warm-up for my little brother?"

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "It wasn’t like that. Dean, please—"

Dean's fists curled at his sides. You could see it, the war inside him. He wanted to hit something. Break something. Maybe himself.

Instead, he turned away.

"Get out," Dean said, voice dead and low.

Neither of you moved.

He turned back around, and the look on his face made your blood run cold.

"I said get the fuck out," Dean shouted.

You flinched. Sam grabbed your hand and pulled you back, dragging you down the hall like a ghost.

Dean didn’t follow.

The last thing you saw before the bunker door slammed behind you was Dean, standing alone in the hallway, staring at the broken beer bottle on the floor like it had been his heart.

The door slammed behind you so hard the walls shook. The sound echoed in your skull, over and over and over, like a gunshot. Sam didn’t let go of your hand until you reached the garage — and even then, it took him a second to realise he was still holding on. His hand dropped from yours like it burned.

You leaned against the cold wall, dragging in a shattered breath. Sam was pacing like a caged animal, running both hands through his hair, muttering under his breath.

"This is bad," he rasped. "God, this is so bad."

You slid to the floor, your knees giving out. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? You had destroyed it. All of it.

Sam stopped pacing when he saw you crumple. His face softened — just a little — and he dropped down next to you. "Hey," he said, touching your arm. His voice cracked. "Hey, look at me."

You did — and the look on his face almost killed you. Regret. Guilt. Love. All at once.

"I’m so sorry," Sam said, shaking his head. His voice broke completely. "I should’ve stopped this before it ever started."

You buried your face in your hands. "I hurt him. Sam, I hurt him."

Sam swallowed hard, blinking fast, fighting the tears rising in his own throat. "He hates me," he said, voice hollow. "He’s never gonna forgive me."

You sobbed raw, broken sound that ripped from your chest.

"And he’ll never forgive me either," you whispered.

For a moment, there was nothing but your shared, unbearable silence.

You thought, for a second, about going back. About falling on your knees in front of Dean and begging him to let you explain. But what was there to explain? You betrayed him. With the person he trusted most.

Sam pressed his forehead against yours, his hands shaking where they framed your face. "I love you," he said, so broken it barely made a sound. "God, I love you. But I wish I didn’t."

You choked on a sob. "I know," you whispered. "Me too."

Dean stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the shards of broken glass. He didn’t even feel the blood running down his palm where he’d gripped the broken bottle. Didn’t even feel the pain. He only felt the nothingness. He stumbled to the kitchen, found the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and didn’t bother with a glass.. He drank straight from the bottle, letting the burn claw down his throat. But it didn’t burn enough. Nothing could burn enough.

He punched the wall — hard — and felt something crack in his hand. Good. Maybe if he broke every bone in his body, it would hurt less than the hole they’d carved in him. He slid down the kitchen wall, bottle clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The images kept replaying — Sam's hands on you. Your lips swollen. Your eyes wide with guilt. And the way you looked at Sam — Not like it was a mistake. Not like you regretted it.

Like you loved him.

Dean laughed — a broken, ugly sound — and tipped the bottle back again. He stayed there for hours. Maybe days. He didn’t know anymore.

You and Sam sat there, slumped against each other, both broken.

Sam wiped his face, but the tears kept coming. "I’m gonna fix this," he said hoarsely. "I swear to God, I’m gonna fix this."

You turned your head to look at him, hopelessness hollowing you out. "How?"

Sam’s face crumpled. "I don't know," he admitted. His voice shattered. "I don't know."

You reached for his hand, but it felt wrong now. Everything felt wrong.

You crept back into the bunker.

It was silent. Dark.

You found Dean passed out on the kitchen floor, the bottle clutched in his fist, blood smeared on the wall where he’d punched it. Your heart cracked wide open. You knelt beside him, trembling.

"Dean," you whispered, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He flinched away even in his sleep.

You swallowed the sob that rose in your throat. You touched his hand — the one clutching the bottle — and carefully pried it from his fingers.

He stirred — and for a terrible second, his green eyes opened, bloodshot and glassy. "Don't," Dean slurred.

Your throat closed. "Dean—"

"Don't touch me," he rasped.

You pulled your hand back like you’d been burned.

Dean stared at you, seeing you, but not seeing you. He shook his head, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I loved you," he whispered. His voice cracked on the last word. "I loved you."

You crumpled to the floor beside him, shaking so hard you couldn’t breathe.

"I still do," he said, his voice breaking completely. "But I can’t anymore."

You sobbed, pressing your forehead to the cold tile.

Dean turned away from you, like you didn’t even exist anymore.

Like you were already dead to him.

The bunker had always been a home. Not just a place to sleep, but a refuge. A sanctuary. The walls held memories of hunts fought, laughs shared, and secrets whispered in the quiet hours of the night.

Now, the air felt too thick. Too heavy. The silence between you and Dean stretched for miles.

Dean didn’t want to look at you. Didn’t want to hear from you.

But you couldn’t stay away.

The first step was the hardest. The second, even harder. You walked into the kitchen, but Dean wasn’t there anymore. He was gone.

You found Sam instead. He hadn’t slept. His face was drawn, hollow, eyes were bloodshot. He was leaning against the counter, hands pressed flat on the granite, as if holding himself up from falling apart. His eyes flickered to you as you entered, but he didn’t say a word.

Neither of you knew what to say. You didn’t know how to apologise — didn’t know if it would even matter anymore. It would never be enough.

"I told you it was a mistake," Sam said finally, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. "You don’t get it. I never meant for this to happen. I—"

"You don’t have to explain," Sam interrupted, wiping his face with a tired hand. "I know. I get it."

"Do you?" you whispered, voice breaking. "Because I don’t even get it."

You both stood there, worlds apart, struggling to breathe the same air.

Dean’s absence was like a ghost that haunted the bunker. You knew he was in his room. You could feel it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. You wanted to, but the weight of the guilt was suffocating. Every step felt like a betrayal. Every breath felt nauseating.

Sam stood with you, trying to keep the peace, but you both knew it was a temporary truce. Nothing would fix this. Nothing.

Dean came down the stairs at sunset, his eyes cold and distant, like he wasn’t even seeing you, like you had already died. He walked past you without a word.

You swallowed hard. "Dean—"

He turned to you then, but his face was a mask of indifference. "Don’t," he snapped, voice flat. "I don’t want to hear it."

You flinched at the venom in his tone.

"I don’t want to hear it," he repeated, his eyes flashing with barely contained rage.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, but the words felt hollow. Empty.

Dean’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking in his face. "You’re sorry?" He let out a bitter laugh. "I don’t need your apology. I need you to get the hell out of my face."

He turned away, heading for the door.

Your legs felt like lead, but you moved toward him. "Dean, please. You have to listen. Just hear me out—"

"You betrayed me," Dean said, voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "You and Sam. You’re both dead to me. I will never forgive either of you for this."

"Dean, don’t say that," you begged, your voice cracking. "Please, you don’t mean it."

But he did. You could see it in his eyes. He didn’t just mean it — he believed it. Dean was already at the door. He turned the handle with one last look over his shoulder.

"Goodbye," he said, and the door slammed behind him before you could say another word.

Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

He was pacing the hall, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His face was pale, eyes wide with panic.

"I’m going after him," Sam muttered to himself, more to calm his own nerves than anything else.

You grabbed his arm before he could go.

"Sam, no," you said, shaking your head. "Don’t."

"You don’t understand," Sam said, his voice strained. "He’s not okay. He’s breaking, and if I don’t stop him—"

"You can’t fix this, Sam. None of us can." Your voice was quieter now, brittle with exhaustion. "Dean’s gone."

Sam’s face crumpled, the fight draining from him. "I know," he whispered, the words like a weight on his chest.

But he still couldn’t stop. He wasn’t ready to let go. He couldn’t let Dean walk away, not like this.

Sam stormed to the door.

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t stop him, couldn’t fix this, but there was one thing you knew for sure: You were the one who had caused it. You had burned everything to the ground, and nothing—not Sam, not Dean—could rebuild it.

Dean wasn’t at the bar, but Sam found him on a random street, soaked in misery and alcohol.

He had been drinking for hours. Dean’s face was flushed with alcohol, his eyes unfocused, lost. The brokenness in him was now a permanent part of his soul.

Sam found him on the docks, sitting at the edge with a bottle in his hand.

"You think drinking’s gonna fix this?" Sam asked, his voice quieter now.

Dean didn’t even flinch. "You’re too late."

"I know," Sam said, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "I know. But I can’t let you go down like this."

Dean finally looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but the pain in his eyes was enough to make Sam’s heart break.

"I don’t want to feel anymore," Dean whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don’t want to hurt anymore."

Sam stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. "I’m sorry, Dean," he said, voice breaking. "I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to be the one who did this."

Dean didn’t speak for a long time.

Finally, his voice was so quiet, Sam almost couldn’t hear him.

"Then why did you?" Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why, Sam?"

Sam choked on a sob, unable to answer.

Dean’s hand dropped to the bottle again. "I can’t forgive you," he said. "I can’t forgive either of you."

Sam nodded, defeated. "I know."

And then Dean stood up. He didn’t look at Sam. Didn’t look at anyone. He walked away from the pavement he’d been slouched against, and Sam’s heart shattered a little more.

The air was thick with tension. Every second felt like an eternity, as though time itself had slowed to a crawl, forcing each painful moment to linger longer than it should.

The bunker was quiet now. Too quiet.

You didn’t expect him to come back. Not after what happened.

But you were wrong.

Dean returned.

The door creaked open, and your heart skipped a beat when you heard the familiar sound of boots hitting the concrete. The weight of the silence between you was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, pretending to read something, trying not to give away how much you were struggling inside. It wasn’t working.

Dean stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He didn’t say anything. No harsh words, no insults — just the cold, empty stare of a man who had been completely drained of everything.

The whiskey on his breath hit you like a wave. He was drunk. You could see it in his unsteady posture, the way his shoulders slumped, the way his hand clutched the edge of the doorframe like he needed something to hold him upright.

"Dean…" you whispered, your voice shaking despite yourself.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped further into the room, his gaze not leaving you, but his face was devoid of any emotion. It was a mask, one that had been carefully constructed to protect him from the flood of feelings he couldn’t — wouldn’t — deal with.

The distance between you both felt miles long.

Sam had gone to bed hours ago, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the echoes of your shattered heart. You were too afraid to face Dean, to try to fix the brokenness between you. You knew it would only make things worse.

Dean's lips parted, but his voice was low, almost like he had to force the words out. "Do you hate me?" His voice cracked slightly, and it hit you harder than any slap could.

You felt your chest tighten. The ache you had been trying to ignore flooded you all at once, choking you with its intensity. "No, Dean," you managed, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "I could never hate you."

He let out a harsh laugh, bitter and dry. "Then why… why the hell would you do it?" His words were sharper now, cutting through the stillness of the room like a blade. "Why would you do that to me? What did I do wrong?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," you tried to explain, but your voice wavered, betraying the guilt that weighed you down. "It wasn’t supposed to go like this."

Dean stepped forward, the slow, deliberate movement making your heart pound even faster. He stopped just in front of you, his eyes boring into yours, his breath mingling with yours as he stared you down.

"You think that makes it better?" he asked quietly. "That you didn’t mean for it to happen? That you didn’t plan it? You don’t get to do that to me, Y/N. You don’t get to break me like that and just walk away."

"I’m not walking away," you whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Dean’s eyes softened for a brief second, and you thought, just for a moment, that maybe there was hope. That maybe, just maybe, he could find a way back to you. But then the coldness returned.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, like he was trying to calm the storm that raged within him. "You’ve already hurt me," he said, the words quiet but full of so much pain. "I don’t know if I can come back from this."

The weight of those words settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You hadn’t meant to cause this much pain. But you had.

Dean turned away then, taking a few steps toward the door, as though every step he took carried more weight than the last. You couldn’t bear the distance, couldn’t stand the thought of losing him completely. So, you did what you never thought you would.

You reached out.

"Dean, please," you whispered, your hand trembling as it hovered in the air between you, unsure if you should touch him or pull away. "Please don’t walk away."

Dean paused, his back to you. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the steady, agonising rhythm of your heart.

Then, slowly, he turned back around. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw the full force of the anguish in them. "You don’t get it, do you?" Dean’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. "You can’t just come back from this. I can’t just forgive you. You broke me, Y/N. And nothing you say or do can fix it."

"You don’t have to forgive me," you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don’t expect that. But I’m here. I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere. Please, just… just don’t shut me out. Please."

Dean stared at you for a long time, his face an unreadable mask of pain. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his posture relaxed. He took a step toward you, his hands reaching out, but he didn’t touch you. Not yet. He was so close that you could feel the heat of his body, but it was still as though he was a world away.

"You really think I can’t forgive you?" Dean asked, his voice quiet, almost lost.

You nodded slowly, not trusting yourself to speak, your heart racing as you waited for him to say what you were afraid to hear.

Dean’s eyes softened, just a fraction. And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, pulling you into his arms as if he needed you to breathe. "I can’t… I can’t forget," he murmured into your hair, his voice trembling. "But I’ll try. For you."

Tears flooded your eyes as you clung to him, desperate for something to hold onto. "I’m so sorry, Dean. So sorry."

"I know," he whispered, his hand smoothing over your hair, holding you as though he never wanted to let you go. "I know."

It was broken. But for the first time, you dared to believe it could be mended — maybe not completely, maybe never the same, but mended nonetheless. The wounds would never fully heal. But you weren’t giving up. Not on him. Not on you.

Not yet.

A/N: i know this is a long one, but PLEASE don't forget/ hesitate to reblog! share with your friends! make them emotional as well!

82 notes · View notes

sugarhog05 · 15 hours ago

Text

Sun usually loves parties. He used to not think it was possible for there to be a bad party. And then Eclipse started taking him to political parties. By the stars did he loathe political parties. He’s yet to find another animatronic royal that didn’t bore him to absolute death.

So when Sun made his way to the balcony outside instead of mingling like he usually did, you grew concerned. You desperately followed behind him in the split of the crowd he made as he walked. You ignored the judging stares of the guests, knowing that they disapproved of a human being amongst them. You sighed as you stepped outside, the immediate relief of getting out from the crowded space was immense. Sun was unusually quiet as he leaned onto the marble railing.

“Prince Sun?” You waited, and each passing moment made your chest tighten with worry. “My Prince, is everything alright?”

You jump as Sun lets out a loud groan, “I hate these stupid parties! All everyone talks about is trade routes and territories and, and… arranged marriages! It’s maddening!” You take a deep breath before joining him at the railing. It was almost comical how tall the railing was in comparison to you, as it came up to your shoulders. You opt for leaning your back against it instead of looking out over the castle grounds like Sun currently was. He glances over at you, and does an incredibly poor job of hiding his amusement at this fact.

You give him a glare, “Oh, quit it. It’s not my fault you animatronics are so tall.” He laughs before giving you a blinding grin, “I didn’t say anything!” You side eye him, but say nothing. The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sound to accompany you is the muffled music and chatter from inside. You sigh in contentment at his side, him glancing at you a moment. The midsummer air was slightly humid, and the sky was completely clear. A peaceful night to be sure.

“So… not a fan of politics? Must be difficult considering you’re a Prince and all.” You want to comfort him, but it had never been a strength of yours. You curse yourself, as you’d never felt it necessary to learn social skills. Opting instead for your sword to do most of the talking. After a bit of silence you glance over at him, and you’re surprised to see him staring back. He quickly averts his gaze, going back to looking over the grounds. His cheeks a slightly warmer color.

“N-no, not really. It’s something that’s never really interested me. Trade and relations with other nations have always been more of Eclipse and Moons thing. If I had the choice I probably wouldn’t be here at all.” He sighs before continuing, “But! We must keep up appearances.” He gives you a strained smile, and you wish for nothing more than to bring back that wonderful grin he wore moments prior.

“Well… no one’s around right now. You don’t have to wear a mask right now… if you’re comfortable with that, of course. I don’t mean to overstep, my Prince.” You quickly add on that last part, realizing how unprofessional you had sounded. You look over at him, hoping that you don’t see an offended Prince in front of you. You’re taken off guard however, as his expression is one of complete surprise.

“You… you didn’t overstep. I am just… surprised to see you care so much. I truly appreciate that, my Swordsman.” He leans down, hands folded neatly behind his back. You still have to crane your neck to look at him, and your chest feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest. You hope with how close he is he can’t see your face through your helmet, because you can physically feel your face being scorched by a blush. You gulp, “…Your Swordsman?” He shoots up and his hands start to wave wildly.

“W-well, that is to say- I mean…” You cut him off, “Shh… My Prince, be quiet a moment.” He instantly shuts up, his eyes widening as you draw your beloved sword from its sheath. The air is still, before suddenly erupting into chaos. Metal against metal clangs loudly in your ears, but you are unrelenting in your defense of your Prince. There are three of them you note as the red and blue one, their leader you assumed, barked orders in a language you could not understand. The green animatronic and the pink and blue one form a pincer maneuver, and you curse under your breath. The green one is slightly faster than the pink and blue one, so you side step around Sun and slice at wires that were exposed at the knee joints. It instantly buckles as the connection to its central processor is cut.

You pivot and duck behind Sun just as the pink and blue one reaches him. They put up a bit more of a fight but you quickly disarm them. As they stagger backwards you seize the opportunity and cleave straight through where their head meets their shoulders. You usher Sun back towards the doors, making sure to keep your body between him and the third assassin. This third assassin looks to his fallen comrades and a rage that hadn’t been there before overtakes his face. He comes at you with a strength and vigor only an animatronic could possess, and he begins to over whelm you. He takes the opportunity to make a move for Sun, and you have to make a decision. You raise your sword defensively to protect Sun, knowing you would leave yourself open. The assassin takes the opportunity to slash at your side, but you are able to drive your sword in between where his chest plate and stomach meet. Effectively piercing directly into his fuel line, the equivalent of a heart for animatronics. He staggers back, your sword still in his grasp. You watch him as he falls backwards, dead.

You stalk over to the green animatronic, who falls back and desperately attempts to scoot away from you. You kick him in the chest causing him to lay flat on his back. As you stand over him he pleads for you not to kill him. At least, you’re 90% sure that’s what he was saying. You’d seen it many times before, even if you couldn’t understand exactly what he was saying. You kneel down, one foot on his forearm and your gloved hand roughly grasping his circuitry.

“Do you understand me?” You ask monotonously, and when he doesn’t answer you lean into the foot on his forearm. The plating starts to warp under the pressure and his face twists in pain. “Yes! Yes, I understand.” He breaks disappointingly quickly. “Who sent you?” He looks around frantically before becoming deathly still as your grip tightens on the vital circuitry that runs along his neck. “Who. Sent. You.” He starts to cry oily tears, mumbling pathetically. “Can’t say… can’t. Kill me if I do.” You put your full weight onto his forearm and there’s a sickening crack as it breaks in half. He cries in agony.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” You say coldly as he writhes beneath you. He feels uncomfortably hot as his fans work on overdrive to cool him due to his panic. “Rabbit… rabbit! All I can say!” You narrow your eyes. “Good enough.” There’s a look of hope in his eyes that is quickly replaced by a blank stare as you violently rip out the wires that made him, him. You turn to the red and blue one and kneel before him. You grasp the handle of your sword and rip it from him, a viscous oil spurts out as you do, getting all over the front of your shirt. You curse, and turn your head towards Sun.

“Are you okay my Prince?” …Your Prince does not respond.

#fnaf sun #sundrop #fnaf au #the starlit swordsman au #knight y/n #cw blood #cw dismemberment #sugarhogsart

79 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 1 day ago

Text

our three year plan | pt. 1 wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader

Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: merging arrangements rewrite. will keep the original merging arrangements chapters in my blog but it’s discontinued ☺️. Also! Updates for this fic is not going to be as fast because I haven’t been writing in advance. 😔 So see you between a week to a year. Lol.

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist

The conference room felt too small, too airless for the bombshell that had just been dropped. Y/N stared at her parents, certain she had misheard them.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears.

Her father, straightened his already impeccable posture. As CEO of Seoul's largest private medical group, he never made requests; he issued commands. "Your engagement to Jeon Wonwoo will be announced next month. The wedding is scheduled for spring."

"Engagement? Wedding?" Y/N's coffee cup clattered against its saucer. "To Jeon Wonwoo? The tech heir? I've barely exchanged ten words with him!"

Her mother's perfectly manicured hand reached across the polished conference table. "Darling, the Jeons are an excellent family. Their conglomerate is expanding into medical technology. This merger—"

"Merger?" Y/N stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I'm not a business asset to be traded!"

"Lower your voice," her father hissed, glancing toward the door. "This is still a hospital."

Y/N inhaled deeply, the familiar antiseptic smell grounding her. Yes, Seoul Medical Center—her workplace, her sanctuary—was now the setting for this life-altering ambush.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Her father's expression hardened. "While you waste your medical degree playing nurse, the rest of us are securing the future of this institution."

The familiar barb stung, but Y/N had grown used to it over her years being a nurse. What she couldn't get used to was the idea of an arranged marriage.

"This discussion is over," her father announced, gathering his papers. "The Jeons are expecting us for dinner tomorrow. Wear something appropriate."

As her parents exited, leaving her alone in the conference room, Y/N sank back into her chair. Her phone buzzed with a notification for her afternoon rounds, a reminder of the life she'd built—the life that was now being dismantled without her consent.

"They can't be serious!" Alexys slammed her lunch tray down, causing several heads to turn in the hospital cafeteria. "Are we living in the Joseon dynasty?"

"Lower your voice," Dr. Ela Song whispered, sliding into the seat beside Y/N. "The walls have ears, especially when the CEO's daughter is involved."

Y/N pushed her salad around aimlessly. "They're dead serious. Apparently, the contracts are already being drafted."

"Contracts?" Alexys scoffed, her lab coat still bearing traces of what looked suspiciously like the methylene blue from the pathology lab. "For a marriage? Who does that anymore?"

"Rich people," Ela replied matter-of-factly, carefully separating her kimchi from the rest of her lunch. "Trust me, I know. My parents still haven't forgiven me for marrying Mingyu instead of the Chinese pharmaceutical heir they picked out."

Y/N looked up at her friend. Despite coming from immense wealth herself, Ela had chosen love over family expectations, a path that had cost her dearly. "How did you do it? Stand up to them, I mean."

Ela's expression softened. "I knew what I wanted. Do you?"

The question hung between them. What did she want? Y/N had spent years defining herself by her work—the midnight emergencies, the precious moments with patients, the medical missions to remote villages where her skills made a tangible difference. The thought of trading that for corporate functions and producing heirs made her stomach churn.

"I want my life," she finally said. "My career. My freedom to go on medical missions. Not... whatever this is."

Alexys paused mid-bite. "Then you need to find a way out of it."

"How? My father has made it clear this is non-negotiable."

Alexys grinned mischievously. "What if you make yourself so undesirable that this Wonwoo guy backs out? Men hate clingy women, right? Or maybe develop some disgusting habits?"

Despite everything, Y/N laughed. "You're suggesting I start picking my nose at business dinners?"

"I'm serious!" Alexys insisted. "Or what if—"

"What if you just talked to him?" Ela interrupted pragmatically. "This Wonwoo person might be just as trapped as you are."

The thought hadn't occurred to Y/N. In her mind, Jeon Wonwoo had been a faceless corporate puppet, willingly participating in this archaic arrangement. But what if he was another victim in their parents' chess game?

"Nurse Y/N to Emergency, Nurse Y/N to Emergency."

The overhead page pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She gathered her barely-touched lunch.

"Duty calls," she sighed, standing up. "I'll figure something out. I have to."

As she hurried toward the emergency department, a plan began forming in her mind. If Wonwoo was as reluctant as she was, perhaps they could form an alliance. A temporary arrangement with a predetermined expiration date. They could pretend just long enough to satisfy their families, then orchestrate some kind of falling out.

It was desperate, perhaps even foolish. But as Y/N pushed through the swinging doors of the ER and the familiar controlled chaos enveloped her, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not give up the life she had fought so hard to build.

Seungcheol was already gloved up when Y/N entered the trauma bay, his calm presence a welcome sight amid the flurry of activity.

"MVA, three minutes out," he called to her, his eyes crinkling with the smile hidden beneath his surgical mask. As the ER's most experienced trauma nurse, Y/N was always his first choice for critical cases.

She nodded, slipping into the familiar routine with practiced ease. Gloves, gown, mask—the ritual momentarily pushed aside her personal crisis.

"Heard you got called to the executive floor earlier," Seungcheol remarked as they prepared the crash cart together. "Everything okay?"

Y/N hesitated. Despite Seungcheol being her closest friend at the hospital, something held her back from sharing her current predicament. The situation felt too raw, too complicated to explain—especially to someone whose opinion mattered so much to her.

"Just quarterly performance reviews," she lied smoothly, checking the laryngoscope light. "Nothing exciting."

He studied her for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story, but the wail of approaching sirens saved her from further questions.

For the next three hours, Y/N lost herself in the work she loved—stabilizing patients, anticipating needs before they were voiced, bringing order to chaos. Here, in the ER, she wasn't the reluctant heiress of the medical group; she was simply Nurse Y/N, respected for her skills and dedication.

By the time her shift ended, Y/N had almost convinced herself that she could find a way out of her predicament. Almost.

"You look like you could use this," Seungcheol said, appearing beside her locker with a steaming cup of coffee—made exactly how she liked it, with a splash of almond milk and no sugar.

"You're a lifesaver," she murmured gratefully, accepting the cup.

"Rough shift," he commented, leaning against the lockers. "You handled that crush injury like a pro, though."

Y/N welcomed the shift to professional topics. "The ortho team said we saved his arm. Sometimes I forget why we do this, and then days like today happen."

Seungcheol smiled, the kind of smile that usually made her day brighter. Today, however, she couldn't fully return it, her mind still preoccupied with tomorrow's meeting with Wonwoo.

"You seem distracted," he observed. "Sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

Y/N took a measured sip of her coffee, buying time to compose her thoughts. "Nothing worth mentioning. Just tired." She forced a lighter tone. "Tell me about that new protocol Dr. Kim was discussing yesterday. The one for pediatric traumas?"

She could see Seungcheol wasn't entirely convinced by her deflection, but he respected her boundaries enough not to push. As he launched into an explanation of the new protocols, Y/N nodded along, grateful for his friendship yet oddly relieved to keep her impending engagement private—at least for now.

Some burdens, she decided, were better carried alone until she had a clearer path forward. Perhaps after meeting Wonwoo tomorrow, she'd have more answers than questions.

"Whatever's going on," Seungcheol said suddenly, interrupting his own explanation, "just remember I'm here if you need anything. No questions asked."

The simple offer of support without demands for explanation touched Y/N deeply. "I know," she said, her throat unexpectedly tight. "Thank you."

As they parted ways in the hospital parking lot, Y/N felt a strange mix of guilt and resolve. Seungcheol deserved her honesty, but until she understood her own situation better, silence seemed the wiser choice. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and perhaps then the path ahead would become clearer.

The Jeon estate was exactly as ostentatious as Y/N had expected—a modern glass and steel structure perched on one of Seoul's most exclusive hillsides, overlooking the city like a watchful sentinel. As the security gates parted for her parents' Mercedes, Y/N smoothed down her conservative navy dress, chosen specifically to project seriousness rather than bridal potential.

"Remember to smile," her mother murmured as they approached the entrance. "First impressions are everything."

Y/N bit back a retort. If her parents wanted a corporate puppet, they should have groomed Haerin for the role. Her younger sister would have thrived in this world of strategic alliances and business dinners.

The thought of Haerin triggered a pang of longing. If only her sister were here instead of "finding herself" in Italy. Their last conversation replayed in her mind:

"You should be the heir," Y/N had insisted during their video call. "You actually want this life."

Haerin had just laughed, the Mediterranean sun glinting in her hair. "I just want to be in Italy and be rich."

"You just want to be in Italy and be rich." Y/N mocked in sing-song tone.

"Yes, thank you, next!" Haerin had quipped, ending the discussion with her typical breezy dismissal.

Now, as a stern housekeeper ushered them into an expansive foyer, Y/N wished for just a fraction of her sister's carefree attitude.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon awaited them in a sitting room that could have been featured in an architectural magazine—all clean lines, expensive minimalism, and strategic splashes of color. Y/N instantly recognized Jeon Siwoo from business magazines, his silver hair and commanding presence befitting the CEO of one of Korea's largest tech conglomerates.

Introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, but Y/N barely registered the conversation. Her attention was fixed on the conspicuous absence of her supposed fiancé.

"Wonwoo sends his apologies," Mrs. Jeon explained, noticing Y/N's wandering gaze. "He was called away to handle an emergency at our Busan facility. He's flying back tonight and is looking forward to meeting you properly tomorrow."

Y/N couldn't decide if she was relieved or frustrated by the delay. On one hand, it postponed the inevitable awkwardness; on the other, it prolonged her anxiety.

"Perhaps it's for the best," her father said smoothly. "The young people can meet privately tomorrow. Sometimes these arrangements are better discussed without parental interference."

Mr. Jeon nodded in agreement. "Wonwoo will pick Y/N up at noon. I suggest lunch at the Sky Garden—private, yet public enough for propriety."

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral as her future was arranged like a business meeting. Tomorrow, she would meet Jeon Wonwoo, and everything would change. Her mind raced with questions: Would he be as reluctant as she was? Would he consider her plan? Or would he be exactly like their parents, seeing her as nothing more than a beneficial merger?

As the evening progressed through an elaborate dinner where business dominated the conversation, Y/N remained largely silent, mentally rehearsing what she would say to Wonwoo tomorrow. By the time they left, she had a clear strategy: she would be direct, practical, and unemotional. This was a negotiation, nothing more.

The following morning dawned bright and crisp, autumn painting Seoul in shades of gold and crimson. Y/N had barely slept, her mind cycling through various scenarios of how her meeting with Wonwoo might unfold.

At precisely noon, her phone pinged with a message from an unknown number:

I'm outside your building. Black Tesla. - Wonwoo

Direct and to the point. Perhaps this was a good sign. Y/N grabbed her purse and headed downstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs despite her determination to remain calm and collected.

The sleek black car was idling at the curb, its electric engine silent. As she approached, the driver's door opened, and Jeon Wonwoo stepped out.

Y/N faltered momentarily. The man before her was not what she'd expected. Business publications typically showed him in formal attire at corporate events, looking serious and unapproachable. Today, dressed in dark jeans and a simple white button-down with rolled sleeves, he looked younger, more approachable—and annoyingly handsome, with sharp features softened by warm eyes behind round glasses.

"Y/N," he said with a slight bow. "It's nice to finally meet you properly."

His voice was lower than she'd anticipated, with a gentle quality that didn't match her mental image of a cutthroat tech executive.

"Likewise," she responded automatically, accepting his gesture to enter the car.

The interior smelled of new leather and something else—a subtle, clean scent that she assumed was his cologne. As he slid into the driver's seat, Y/N steeled herself. Handsome or not, this man represented everything she was fighting against—the loss of her autonomy, the end of her carefully constructed life.

"I know a place that's more private than the Sky Garden," Wonwoo said as he pulled into traffic. "If that's alright with you. Somewhere we can actually talk."

Y/N turned to study his profile. Was it possible he had his own agenda for this meeting?

"I'd prefer that," she admitted. "I have some things I'd like to discuss."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I thought you might."

The drive was mostly silent, but not uncomfortably so. Wonwoo seemed content to focus on navigating Seoul's busy streets, occasionally pointing out a landmark or asking a neutral question about her work. Y/N provided brief answers, saving her energy for the real conversation ahead.

He eventually parked near a secluded botanical garden, leading her to a small café nestled among trees just beginning to turn color. The place was nearly empty, offering the privacy both apparently craved.

After they ordered—he knew precisely what kind of tea she preferred, which was mildly disconcerting—Wonwoo leaned forward, his expression serious.

"I think we should address the elephant in the room," he said directly. "This arranged marriage."

Y/N appreciated his straightforwardness. "Yes, we should."

"I understand this must be difficult for you," he continued, surprising her with his perception. "Being told who to marry, having your future decided without your consent."

Something in his tone made Y/N pause. He didn't sound like someone equally trapped in this arrangement; he sounded like someone trying to be understanding of her predicament.

"Isn't it difficult for you as well?" she probed.

Wonwoo's eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in their depths. "My situation is... different."

Before she could ask what he meant, their drinks arrived. Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, gathering her courage.

"I have a proposition," she said once the server had left. "A way for both of us to satisfy our families without actually committing to a lifetime together."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his expression cautiously interested. "I'm listening."

"We pretend," Y/N stated simply. "We go along with the engagement, play the happy couple in public. Meanwhile, we live separate lives as much as possible. After a suitable period—maybe a year or two—we stage a falling out. Something believable but not scandalous. We part ways amicably, our families maintain their business connections, and we both regain our freedom."

She held her breath as Wonwoo considered her words, his expression thoughtful. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke:

"And what if it doesn't work?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if our parents don't accept our breakup? What if they push us back together?"

Y/N hadn't considered this possibility. "Then... we make the falling out more dramatic. Irreconcilable differences. Something they can't fix."

Wonwoo studied her for a long moment, his gaze so intent that Y/N fought the urge to squirm in her seat.

"Three years," he finally said.

"Excuse me?"

"Not one or two. Three years. That's how long we commit to this charade. It needs to be believable." He leaned forward slightly. "If we announce the breakup too soon, they'll know it was planned."

His logic was sound, though the thought of maintaining a fake relationship for three years was daunting. Still, three years of pretending was better than a lifetime of reality.

"Three years," she agreed tentatively. "But with conditions. I maintain my career. I continue my medical missions. No children, obviously."

"Agreed," he nodded. "And I have conditions as well. We live together in the house my parents have already purchased. Separate bedrooms, of course," he added quickly, seeing her expression. "But we need to appear committed. They'll expect it."

Y/N swallowed hard. Living together would complicate things significantly. "Any other conditions?"

Something shifted in Wonwoo's expression—a subtle change she couldn't quite identify. "Just one. We make a genuine effort to know each other. To be friends, at least. Three years is a long time to live with a stranger."

The request was reasonable, even practical. If they were to convince the world of their relationship, they needed to understand each other.

"Alright," she conceded. "Friends. But nothing more."

Wonwoo extended his hand across the table. "Then we have a deal. Our three-year plan begins now."

As Y/N placed her hand in his, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something—something in the way his hand lingered around hers, something in the quiet intensity of his gaze.

What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that Jeon Wonwoo had just agreed to a plan that aligned perfectly with his own agenda—three years to make the woman he'd admired from afar fall genuinely in love with him.

The house was beautiful—Y/N had to admit that much. Nestled in a quiet neighborhood that somehow managed to be both exclusive and understated, the modern three-bedroom structure was nothing like the ostentatious mansions their parents inhabited. If she had to be trapped in a fake engagement, at least the cage was gilded.

"Your things arrived this morning," Wonwoo said as he unlocked the front door. "I had them placed in the master bedroom. I've taken the room down the hall."

She followed him inside, noting with surprise the warmth of the interior. She'd expected cold minimalism like his parents' home, but this space was inviting—clean lines softened by natural materials, large windows filling the rooms with light, and carefully chosen art that seemed to reflect both Korean tradition and modern sensibilities.

"Did you decorate this?" she asked, running her fingers along a handcrafted wooden shelf.

Wonwoo shook his head. "A designer handled most of it, but I made some adjustments. I wanted it to feel like a home, not a showpiece."

Y/N glanced at him curiously. There it was again—that disconnect between the corporate heir she'd imagined and the thoughtful man before her.

"Let me show you around," he offered, leading her through the space.

The tour ended in a kitchen that would make a professional chef envious—state-of-the-art appliances, expansive countertops, and a view of the small but immaculately landscaped garden.

"Do you cook?" Y/N asked, noting how at ease Wonwoo seemed in this space.

"It's one of my few hobbies," he admitted. "Work doesn't leave time for much else." He hesitated, then added, "I thought I might make dinner tonight. If you're comfortable with that. Consider it a housewarming."

The offer surprised her. In her family, cooking was the staff's responsibility; the idea of the heir to a major corporation preparing dinner was foreign.

"I'd like that," she found herself saying.

Later, as she unpacked in her new bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed with messages from Ela and Alexys:

Well??? Did you meet him? Is he a troll? A robot? DETAILS, WOMAN! - Alexys

Hope you're okay. Call if you need anything. Mingyu says Wonwoo is actually decent, for what it's worth. - Ela

Y/N blinked at Ela's message. "Wait, Mingyu knows Wonwoo?"

As if on cue, her phone rang with Ela's call.

"You didn't know?" Ela sounded surprised when Y/N asked. "They've been friends since university. Mingyu never mentioned him because, well, you know how my husband is—he doesn't like to name-drop."

Y/N sank onto her new bed, processing this connection. "What else does Mingyu know about him?"

"Just that he's not like other chaebol heirs. Works ridiculous hours, actually earned his position rather than having it handed to him. Mingyu says he's brilliant with technology but awkward with people." Ela paused. "Did you propose your plan?"

"Yes," Y/N confirmed, lowering her voice although she was alone in the room. "Three years of pretending, then a clean break."

"And he agreed?" Ela sounded skeptical.

"Surprisingly easily. I think he's as trapped as I am."

There was a strange pause before Ela spoke again. "Y/N... did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?"

Before Y/N could respond, a gentle knock on her door interrupted the conversation.

"I need to go," she told Ela quickly. "I'll call you tomorrow."

She opened the door to find Wonwoo standing there, sleeves rolled up further and an apron tied around his waist. The domesticity of the image was so at odds with what she knew of him that Y/N momentarily stared.

"Dinner's almost ready," he said, seemingly unaware of her reaction. "Nothing fancy, just some doenjang jjigae and banchan."

"That sounds perfect," she replied, following him downstairs.

The kitchen was filled with mouthwatering aromas, the countertops lined with small dishes of perfectly prepared side dishes. As they settled at the dining table with steaming bowls of stew, Y/N found herself genuinely impressed.

"This is delicious," she admitted after her first bite.

A pleased smile curved Wonwoo's lips, transforming his serious face. "My grandmother's recipe. She insisted I learn to cook for myself, even though my parents thought it was beneath me."

"Your grandmother sounds wise."

"She was," he said softly, and Y/N noted the past tense with a pang of empathy.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the awkwardness of their situation temporarily set aside. It was strange, Y/N thought, how quickly the human mind adapted to new circumstances. This morning, she had been dreading meeting Jeon Wonwoo; now, she was sharing a home-cooked meal with him as they embarked on a three-year deception together.

"I've been thinking about our arrangement," Wonwoo said as they finished eating. "We should establish some ground rules. Beyond what we've already agreed on."

Y/N nodded. "That makes sense."

"For instance, we should discuss how we handle public appearances, family obligations, holidays..."

"And dating," Y/N added, thinking ahead. "If we're going to be living separate lives, we need parameters for discretion."

Something flickered in Wonwoo's eyes—so briefly Y/N thought she might have imagined it. "Of course," he said evenly. "Discretion would be paramount."

Their conversation continued late into the evening, mapping out the contours of their pretense. By the time Y/N retreated to her bedroom, she felt surprisingly at ease with the arrangement. Wonwoo was reasonable, practical, and seemingly as committed to maintaining their independence as she was.

As she prepared for bed in her new home, Y/N remembered Ela's question: Did you consider that he might have his own reasons for agreeing?

She dismissed the thought. Whatever Wonwoo's reasons were, they aligned with her goals. That was all that mattered. Tomorrow would be another day of adjustments, of learning to navigate this strange new reality. But for tonight, at least, she could sleep knowing she had found a way to protect the life she cherished.

In his own room down the hall, Jeon Wonwoo sat at his desk, a small smile playing on his lips as he closed the leather-bound journal where he'd been writing. On its cover, inscribed in his neat handwriting, were the words:

“Our three year plan.”

103 notes · View notes

agirlwithglam · 2 days ago

Text

a guide to take back your power ‧₊˚🦢✩

do what you want and don't be afraid to do it alone. if no one else wants to go with you somewhere, or do something with you, learn to have that ability to do it alone. and obviously i don't mean illegal or bad stuff, but i mean if you've been meaning to try out a new activity but no one else seems interested, go do it on your own! when you start doing this it'll show people that whether they join you or not, you will still go and do things that make you happy.

say no. just say no. its not that scary once you start saying it often. you don't wanna do something? say no. you don't wanna give something? say no. you don't need to have a reason.

get a life outside of them or get a life outside of whats draining you. when your whole life is primarily centred around maybe a toxic friend, a job that drains you, something that makes you feel very anxious, then of course you'd be on survival mode 24/7. because all you're thinking and stressing about is that thing. so instead maybe after a long day of school or work, go home and do something you love. because remember, your life doesnt stop after school/ work okay?? you can go and actually DO STUFF to take your mind off things. you don't even need to go out of your house, you could have a cozy night in with yummy food and your fav movie, pick up a hobby or if you do wanna go outside your house, meet up with some friends, learn a sport, join a club, go paragliding or something- anything that makes you feel happy!!

refuse embarrassment. because you can. because torturing yourself over what happened in the past is doing you absolutely no good right now. just learn and move onnn- LEARN AND MOVE ON! if learning takes time, so be it but make sure that you're focussing on learning, on why you did that, and not beating yourself up for making a mistake. and also because when you show people you're not embarrassed about something, they'll realise that they cannot hold that over your head. now you have the power.

when you say you're gonna do something, DO IT. don't be all talk and no walk, people will lose respect and trust in you. don't say anything unless you are confident that you will actually do it. "do what you say but do not say what you do"- keep up to your promises you've made to others & yourself, but also keep private. what people don't know, they can't ruin.

#agirlwithglam🎀✨#it girl #that girl #becom #confidence #confident energy #self love energy #self love tips #self love #it girl energy #self improvement #girlboss #becoming that girl #girlblog #self development #girlblogging #power #taking back my power

94 notes · View notes

arrrion · 2 days ago

Text

Not Just a Mirror

Stanley Snyder x GN reader

Synopsis: In which one of the American that woke up from stone is actually a genius actor that can mirror everything perfectly.

Disclaimers: reader is obsessed with perfection.

I never know what to put in disclaimers...

Anyways, this is the first idea I got for Stanley but I'm actually not confident on how it will turn out.

This is also based on the oc of my sister so it will depict her oc's reflection, hope you like it sista <3

Enjoy!

When the the stone before your eyes cracked and collapsed to the ground, you vision got blurred. You felt blinded for a while. It was so long since you could see color that you started forgetting what it was like.

The stone on your body fell on the ground, along with the pieces that were on your eyes. You got up from your position and took a glance around you. Nature had took its liberty and you were facing a forest untouched by humans. Your eyes fell on a sign. It only had an arrow and something about a base? If this wooden sign was here it only meant that someone had woken up before you did. And of they let this sign here it also means they probably won't attack you? You grabbed what you could on your way and started walking, following the arrow's direction.

On your way you find several other statues with the same sign. You just had to follow it. You were quite far from the base but that won't discourage you. You had worse in life.

You genuinely thought, while on the ride, that if after the big catastrophe people had started a new civilization, you had to find it. You were an actor, more of a theater actor, your only goal was to please people. It was your talent, your only option. Your parents had made you this way, a people pleaser.

The travel took less than a week I'd say. You had to stop several time to rest. Nights were cold but hopefully you had survived. You could play survival play all you want, nothing had prepare you to actually survive in a forest for this long.

So you arrived almost but naked in front of a little field of corns. It was only baby plants but you knew it was gonna grow big and good. Your presence was immediately reported to Xeno and you had only waited a few minutes, enough for you to decide if you go further or not, and the man with white hair appeared in front of you.

"Greetings, you are one of the elite that survived all those years in stone. We are rebuilding a civilization, would you like to join us ?" Obviously Xeno wasn't gonna let you go but a little courtesy won't kill anyone? You nodded, a little sour in the throat.

Xeno immediately gave you clothes and once you were inside a sort of lab, he started his questions by asking what you were doing before petrification.

"I'm an actor. I played in both films and theater." The unpleased face Xeno made wasn't even a little hidden by the man.

"I see." He thought. You understood that in the stone world, an actor wasn't really what you would need the most. "And do you have a hobby of yours? Other than acting."

"I... No. I spend all my time perfecting my talent." The doctor let out a sign. You wouldn't blame him. He gave you little job that were simple. It was things you could do fast, way faster than Xeno think.

So each time you finished your tasks early, you just walked in the base, searching for people that needed your help. And when you found nobody or you already helped those who needed, you would spend your time watching them work. It was what you did back in the modern world. A simple glance at something and you could repeat its movement. That was your talent.

You weren't always good at acting, but your body was the best at replicating. You started as back-up. You could be just a npc in the back of a play in a theater or a back-up in a film, doing a figure instead of the actor on stage. And later on you took classes for the face part. Your name grew more and more and you finally got a prize for your talent.

Lately you found yourself looking at where Stanley Snyder was training. It was early on and most of the people was building, Stanley would help of course but Xeno had just made a new riffle and he was training with it. Your eyes were locked on him and when he was gone you would take something that could have the same weight and would replicate the position Stanley had when shooting.

You already had a gun in your hands before, you tried to shoot with a real one to copy the exact movement when you had a fake one. But it was different to watch Stanley do it. It wasn't just because the man was in the military. He had a manner to shoot, a manner he had built with the years. And you felt excited. Would you be able to copy this ? It was years of expertise against you, that had shoot once or twice in your life.

You made it your goal. Every time you had time, you would work on your memory to replicate the blond's move. You spend a lot of time watching him whenever he was walking nearby. You'd analyze the way his muscles moved and correct yourself later on.

And this constant eying on the soldier wasn't discreet, you weren't trying to be in your defense. It grew on Stanley's temper and he had to confront you. For him, you were just a creep that was watching him do anything like a psycho. He made sure nothing was up for him to do and went for you.

And here you stood, positioned exactly like le smoker had done every time he shoot.

Stanley was stunned. For a second here he thought he was seeing himself. His past anger went down but now he had tones of other questions. He approached you with determination.

"So this's why you keep ya eyes on me?" Your arms calmly fell down, like the blond would do, and you let out of what you had in your hands. Your body turned to the tall man.

"Just doin' this when I have time."

"So what are ya? A fast learner or somethin' ?" Stanley knew this wasn't just fast learning. You had the exact same position as him. There was no way you just did it by accident.

"Clearly not. I'm an actor, I can replicate everythin' I see." You said like it was nothing.

"Yeah, right. You do realise not every actor can just "replicate what they see" like ya?" He crossed his arms.

"Ah" Your lips formed a thin line.

"So, like, if I show ya other things ya could do it?"

"I could" You had picked his interest.

Stanley spend a lot of time with you to show you his moves. He understood that you where like a mirror. Wich meant that if he wanted to form a real soldier he had to put lessons in your head. But it was way easier to teach you than the other soldier he had back in the modern world. Just the fact you could copy everything perfectly was incredible. It was like two Stanley were guarding the colony.

Xeno quickly learned about this and let's say it was an happy surprise for him. It didn't really ring a bell when he heard your name but now it made sense. He was gonna make great use of your talent.

But for now you where occupied with the blond. He was formatting you into the perfect copy of himself. And it was bringing him satisfaction seeing you be so competent.

And it was feeding your esteem to see how you could copy him.

But, one day you overheard people talking about how weak you were, were you really thinking of doing like Stanley without his strength? It went on your head. Of course you had some muscles, you needed them to do some figures back on the stage. But none of them was enough for a soldier. And even though you had gained some more with the training you had, it wasn't enough.

You made sure to train harder, and behind Stanley's back. You were just not satisfied with how slow you were. You had to be perfect with this. And if it meant more muscles, you would do anything to be exactly like Xeno's best friend.

But nothing goes long under Stanley's nose.

You were training in the middle of the night when the tiredness of your arms and legs was to much. Your body collapsed to the ground and you grunted.

"That's what you get for being to greedy" Your eyes went wide for the first time in so long. "Surprised to see me ?" Your eyes went searching for his but you could feel his anger without seeing them. You did your best to sit and let your head down. You were guilty. "You are under my command. And I do not remember telling you to train like a madman, even at hours like this."

"I'm sorry." You wanted to say more but your mouth stayed shut. Stanley eventually signed. He crouched in front of you and made you you were facing him before speaking.

"Ya don't have to be so rude on yourself like that. We have plenty of time to make ya the best. Rewards comes with hard work, remember it. Now go to sleep or I'm not teaching ya tomorrow." You smiled. Maybe this man couldn't copy everything like you, but you always feel like he his one step before you.

Bonus:

Stanley got up and was gonna go to sleep to when he didn't hear you move. You were actually trying to get up but your body was to tired. You looked up at him, embarrassed, and he just controlled a laugh before going to help you.

Yeah you would never overtrain again after this humiliation.

I feel like I always chose the bad parents...

I headcannon that Stanley speaks without accent when he's mad.

Anyways, I really have to write something more cheesy? I don't know, maybe I'm to shy??

My sister's oc name is Mocha if you're willing to take this information ;)

Then, see you soon !

#dr stone x reader #gn reader #stanley snyder #stanley snyder x reader

61 notes · View notes

luckyarchivist · 2 days ago

Text

TOUCHSTARVED 2.0: Them Changes (spoiler warning!)

Hello, all! Below is a HUGE (~3K words) post about all the changes I noticed in the Touchstarved 2.0 prologue/demo. It's as much for my benefit as for yours, and I'll hopefully be incorporating some of these notes into my loresheets in the next couple of weeks.

Long story short: There’s been a lot of changes. I thought that even before I skipped through Fulgur’s full TOUCHSTARVED playthrough as reference and discovered even more changes I'd forgotten about. The sheer amount of sentence rewriting and reorganizing, as well as minor dialogue additions, is too much for me to cover: I have to commend the writers on the RSS team for their hard work.

Luckily, a lot of the rewriting is ultimately inconsequential (thank GOD). But I do want to highlight some changes I felt were important to characterization and story, as well as anything that just really stood out to me as someone who played the 1.0 demo, like, twice or three times with the intention of looking for clues and shit.

NOTE: These notes cover ONLY the main prologue, i.e. there's nothing in here from the LI-solo routes after the Wet Wick group scene. I'll get to those, and I want to! But it won't be today.

Kuras: Introduction

Definitely, there were dialogue changes and additions in Kuras’s introduction. However, to my memory, there was nothing that would change his characterization significantly. So, we’ll skip right over him. Love you, Kuras! Thanks for making things easy.

If you have any big changes that you noticed in Kuras's introduction compared to the first demo, let me know either on this post, or in an ask! I always miss stuff and I'd appreciate the check.

What I will say about Kuras's introduction, though? The MC says that “[Kuras] towers over [their] prone form” and... Technically, they're supine. "Prone" means you’re face down, which MC clearly is not.

Leander and the Adderstone: Introduction

This is gonna be the longest section — 3 pages on my Google Docs. Please hang in there!

As stated in the RSS devlog for the 2.0 update, Leander's introduction has changed quite a bit. But I actually want to start by talking about Leander's followers first — previously the Bloodhounds, now the Adderstone. First: the name.

An adderstone is a glassy stone with a naturally occurring hole through it. There are all kinds of myths about the creation and use of these stones, which I encourage you to look up (it’s fun to learn!) but they have a strong connection with druidic magic; druids believed that serpents would gather in giant entangled “knots” and that the stone would be produced at the center of that knot.

Already you can see a connection with Le in the magic connotations, but the snake reference is not to be ignored, either for him or his group. An adder is a venomous viper — while their bites are not usually fatal to humans, they are quite painful, and they show up often in Welsh and British folklore. (Maybe all those people who thought Leander was British were actually right!) Perhaps MC has unknowingly walked into the center of a knot of snakes.

To me, this change in name also mirrors the change in the way the group acts. The Bloodhounds were rowdy drunks, though well-meaning, and did as Leander commanded like loyal dogs. They crowd around for the treat of his magic and disperse at his command, and yell at the MC angrily when they bring up the Senobium.

By contrast, the Adderstone is a much more insular, subdued group. After Leander’s impassioned speech against the Senobium, you are stopped from speaking to him by one of its members, as if he’s a high-ranking official or something. In addition, when you mention the Senobium, instead of being outwardly angry, the Adders go silent and wary.

In addition, this new Adderstone has:

No motto. The Bloodhounds’ motto, stated on their poster, was “As above, so below.”

No uniforms. Leander’s Bloodhounds all wore green cloaks.

With the Adderstone discussed, it's time to turn to the man of the hour.

Mainly, Leander has now been established as a Man Of The People, one who is actively encouraging Lowtowners to stay away from the Senobium. This is a huge change from his "gregarious performer" personality, and it seeps into all of his new introduction (which is a good thing!).

Leander is now an anti-traditionalist. In both versions of the demo, he asks if MC is aware that in Eridia, "information is worth its weight in gold." However, in 2.0., he follows that up by saying that he "[doesn’t] much care for outdated traditions," and opts to tell you the truth without any "payment."

Leander presents himself as one of many victims of the Senobium's "propaganda," saying that he used to idolize them until he realized they were an elitist organization. This is in line with his socmed fun fact, which states that he turned down the opportunity to become a Senobium mage to pursue his own ambitions: clearly, something to do with his presence in Lowtown, though I won't go so far as to say he's trying to uplift the district or anything yet.

In addition to these points, Leander's more outwardly sexual, submissive, and flirty personality in his intro has been toned waaaay down in favor of making him seem more like a competent leader of a...rebel organization? I'm not quite sure what the Adders are in contrast with the Senobium.

Here are some examples of his more leaderly traits and the removals of his more fanservicey behaviors in his introduction.

Leander asks if you're looking for a guide or an escort to the Senobium, whereas in the last version he does not mention taking you there himself at all. Implies that he's taking direct responsibility for you.

It's now explicitly stated that his line, "You can tie me up if it makes you feel better," is a joke to ease tension and not actually flirting. He also doesn't blush :(

The bartender doesn't mention Leander's "escapades" explicitly anymore.

Small change, but in 2.0, Leander tells you to take a deep breath and counts you down to touching him, whereas in 1.0, you count yourself down. He's guiding MC's behavior.

Before, in the tavern scene, Mhin asks if Leander warned MC about Eridia. In 1.0, he did not; in 2.0, he does in fact warn you that, “Eridia is twice as dangerous as it is wondrous. Be careful out there."

This definitely makes him seem more dependable, but less cute, in my opinion. I was particularly crushed by devs cutting Le's line, "Look, we match!" when talking about his gold jewelry and MC's gold scars. This has been replaced with, IMHO, a weak flirty line that doesn't endear me as much to him.

The devs stated in their 2.0 changelog that Leander's character is still the same, but that his new intro is a better reflection of his full route. At this point, I disagree: I think he's being portrayed as very different here, though my opinion may change once I do his post-tavern scene.

Though I'm sure some people thought of Leander as flat when compared to the other LIs, I think that added to his whole "too good to be true" and "let me be the reprieve for what haunts you" angle — someone who seems totally normal, but is actually a danger to you.

Of course, the first angle has been retained with him being the heroic opposition to the Senobium. But he's gone from a clumsy, cute everyman with impressive magical powers to the leader of a kind of movement, which is very different as far as archetypes go (to me, at least). It's certainly possible that we'll see this other side of him later, or even that I'll see it whenever I do his post-tavern scene, but he leaves a very different first impression.

I also wonder if devs were worried that Leander was being oversexualized before his route came out because of all the references in his intro, and decided to 1) curb people's impressions of him as the local slut and/or 2) cut down on disappointment when there's no sex in his route by introducing his moral mission first.

(To clarify, I wasn't under the impression there would be fully written sex scenes or NSFW CGs, but I don't know if they're planning to do a fade-to-black situation, or not have any sex present at all.)

Finally, and this is a note about MC during this section: I noticed that the wording of their previous "experience" has been changed.

Why change this to make it more vague? It's not like it was raunchy before. The 2.0 line reads more like the MC, I think (mainly the first sentence), and also clarifies for everyone that the reason MC may not be a virgin is because touching their naked shoulder is safe. But, when I was reading it, I was like, "Why change this line, of all the lines?"

1.0: I've been with other people — kissed them, been embraced by them, and more — but not like this.

2.0: It’s not as if I’ve never been touched. My curse only extends to my hands, and desperation spurs creativity.

I guess you could ask that for any line that was changed, though, and it's not like I was particularly attached to it. But it does seem like another instance where a more direct reference to sex was omitted.

Vere: Introduction

Vere’s dialogue was definitely altered and significantly shuffled.

The main change is that now you’re able to walk away from Vere, which causes him to break from his careless façade — another thing mentioned in the social media posts (that Vere is not naturally aloof and needs to work to affect this behavior). He just wants someone to play his little mind games with :(

Vere's dialogue has also been made a little more classy, perhaps, by removing the mention of a handjob and the word "sex" from his intro. Not that it's a huge loss, considering he kept all his other innuendo.

Finally, Vere's line after smelling MC has changed, and this is one I think is real suspicious.

Did devs feel like his initial line was, perhaps, giving too much away? Or has the intention of the line changed? Basically what I'm asking is: will we still find out, later in Vere's story, that there's some sort of kinship between MC and Vere in what kind of being they are?

1.0: Not quite human, not quite monster. Seems we’re both—

2.0: There’s something else... / It seems I underestimated you. You’re—

These are really the only major changes, though — the rest didn't change much, just moved around. Thanks for that, Vere. This is the ONLY time you’ll find me thanking you for anything, at least until you start taking my commissions to draw Ais oiled up and tied down.

The Senobium / Ais: Introduction

Ais's dialogue was changed the least out of all the LIs, as far as I can tell, which to me suggests that devs have the best idea of his characterization and the strongest foundation for his route compared to the rest. Makes sense, since he's the poster boy. But he does change one of his lines, and I'm kinda mad about it even though it's literally soooo inconsequential. This is Ais's response after you ask him where the gang he's supposed to be the leader of even is:

Literally a one-word change! But to me, that was a line that helped define Ais's voice, and I'm sad it's gone.

1.0: Gang took a walk.

2.0: They took a walk.

Really, though, I'll be spending this section focused on the newly named Iris, the "red-eyed woman" who appears outside the Senobium to take you to the Seaspring. MC's interaction with her changed quite drastically compared to 1.0.

Her appearance, or the description of it, has changed. Before there was a lot of emphasis on her physical features (gauntness, smiling too widely) whereas now it's all about her clothing (lack of shoes, moth-eaten garments, jewelry).

In addition, instead of making idle small talk with you that the MC can choose to ignore, Iris asks you to your face if you need help.

Before, she never introduced herself, and was referred to simply as "red-eyed woman". This time, she politely introduces herself as Iris.

Overall, she now has a personality that isn't just "creepy lady". She's embarrassed when she shows MC the hole in her neck; she reassures the MC of their safety when they don't want to walk out of the city.

This one's weird: Before, the red-eyed woman waves you off, and you continue on to the Spring; now, Iris disappears right in front of you. What kind of power is that?

Iris is now a character made to directly contrast the Seaspring with the Senobium. Here is a woman, obviously kept alive by some mysterious and possibly sinister force, but one who holds her hand out to you and offers you assistance. In contrast, the Senobium's gates and patrolling staff scorn you and push you away because of your status as a poor "tourist". The Seaspring is the poor man's miracle and the outcast's salvation.

I also noticed two themes in Iris's dialogue that stood out: choice and honesty. She only mentions the latter once, if you answer her truthfully (saying "I do" when she asks if you need help), but because I wrote that post about Ais and honesty, it made me wonder... Is this a theme for Ais, as the de facto leader of the Seaspring's thralls, or for Ocudeus, as the Spring's host?

As far as the former, she mentions that you have a choice a lot. For example:

So, not only is Ais telling you to really consider if you want to join the Seaspring groupmind, but even other thralls are emphasizing that you have the ability to turn away from it.

1.0: If I’ve caught your interest, follow me. It’s only a short walk away.

2.0: I can take you there, if you like. You can decide on your own once you see it. [MC: And if I say no?] It’s your choice.

Speaking of the groupmind, how does Iris know her name? Ais says in both 1.0 and 2.0 that, “When you drink from the Seaspring, you forget who you are.” If that's the case (and if we're willing to excuse Ais retaining his own identity due to Main Love Interest Syndrome), how can someone like Iris introduce herself and retain her human personality?

You could say that the groupmind retains every person's individual personality, but I was under the impression initially that the groupmind assimilated all identities into one. Something to think on, and to wait for more information about.

Mhin: Introduction

In the transition from Ais to Mhin, we get to see more inclusion of socmed fun facts: The MC unwinds their glove in an attempt to touch the Soulless chasing them and pacify it long enough to escape. Look at our MC, with useful powers!

Some smaller changes with Mhin's characterization:

They've made Mhin more considerate :) In 1.0, they pull you to your feet and pretty much immediately let go of you; in 2.0, they hold onto your hand long enough, and ask you verbally, to make sure you're stable before letting go, even though MC can tell that holding your hand makes them really uncomfortable.

No more calling Mhin short :( I guess that would be rude to do to someone you just met and who saved your life...

Mhin gets to talk about their hobbies: anatomy!, although they say when asked that they "[haven't] quite" studied anatomy or medicine. This definitely gives them a scholarly layer that wasn't as clear before.

The biggest change is that Mhin tells you that they grew up in Eridia, and that the city used to be better than it is now. Literally, while I was playing, I said "What?!" out loud. This is huge, because Mhin's whole thing is that they were a "relative newcomer" to the city. However, they now know the streets well enough to navigate MC in the dark back to the Amaryllis District by themself, where they and MC run into Kuras.

So, with this change, I have a whole bunch of new questions. Is Mhin's released character summary and backstory going to change by the release of the full game? If not, why did they and their family leave? What brought them back when it seems like they hate it here? How long were they there before MC got there?

We'll see if some of these are answered in the after-tavern scene, but for now, I really don't know what to think. I appreciated having a character who was also fresh meat in the city while not being as fresh as MC, as it allowed for a little "new kid" camaraderie while still letting Mhin guide you and teach you about Eridia. We'll see where it goes!

The Tavern Scene

Mainly line changes here I wanted to comment on, but let's go through the minor characterization or world changes first.

The drink Leander gives you, the "local specialty," is now a pomegranate wine instead of a plum gin. Yeah, yeah, Underworld, forbidden fruit. I've been through a literary symbolism class before.

Vere is made to seem less drunk when you speak to him and Ais, as he's no longer hiccuping like he was in 1.0. Seems he and the demon can hold their liquor. I'll miss you, cute drunk Vere.

And now, the main event: dialogue alterations! Let's run through 'em.

Mhin's line to Vere when they first enter the bar: "I thought Ais wasn’t allowed to bring his pets in here." -> “I thought pets weren’t allowed in here.” This is probably to make Mhin seem more distant from Ais: after all, how would they know about Ais's affinity for pets or his relationship with Vere? This one makes sense to me, even though the first line is a better burn.

Vere's line to Leander, once Leander realizes that everyone already knows each other: “Mmhmm, I’m starting to suspect [MC's] stalking me.” -> “To think we’d cross paths once again. It must be fate.” I like this change because Vere is very fate-coded to me. Give him some tarot cards, stat.

Leander's paypig lines to Vere have been changed, probably for the same reason Mhin's lines to Vere were changed: to imply that, while they know each other, Le doesn't know enough about Vere to know his expensive tastes.

And then the line change I'm mad about, which I talked about in this post, when MC is complaining about Ais kicking them out of the Seaspring just so he could go drinking:

I know this is partially nostalgia bias, but I’ve already talked about Ais’s whole honesty thing, and literally his fatal flaw is that he “lets his emotions rule him.” Why change this line?

1.0: I was lonely.

2.0: Had to give you a reason to come looking. Miss me yet?

Although MC acknowledges that Ais’s more flirty response in 2.0 is a deflection rather than a real answer, my current understanding of Ais is rooted in his honesty and his heart-on-my-sleeve behavior. He even says that about himself when comparing himself to Kuras (at least, in the 1.0 version of his route). It feels like a loss not to maintain his almost-blasé attitude towards just telling you how he really feels.

Now it's your turn!

While I find time to play the LI-exclusive sections, I'd love to hear from y'all. Any changes I missed in the main prologue that you think are important? Do you agree or disagree with me on any of the points I've made or conclusions I've drawn? Want me to expand on something I mentioned? Please let me know, either here or in my asks!

I had a great time playing the new demo and writing all of this up! It'll only be for a short while, but I'm happy to be back investigating this game :)

56 notes · View notes

noiranamnesis · 1 day ago

Text

With each wing, Marinette was finding- rather tragically- that her lemon juice strategy had its limits. It had carried her through the first two rounds with a kind of stubborn grace, but as she bit into the third wing, the heat landed with far more authority. A flicker of spice curled beneath her tongue, snaking it's way down her throat, and her nod, once confident, slowed mid-chew “It's...it has a little kick,” she admitted, voice quite light. Still, she refused to lift her glass of water, even as her fingers tightened around it. Non, si je l'utilise maintenant, ça ne m'aidera pas plus tard.

Sean smiled knowingly. “That’s number three. That’s usually where the doubt sets in.”

“Doubt was already here,” she quipped, squeezing more lemon. “But I ignore her.”

When the topic shifted to security on set, Marinette’s eyes widened in theatrical exasperation, as if to say, there's so much I could say. “You cannot just walk in,” she explained, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You need permission. A badge. You sign in- always.” Her eyes flicked upward as she translated the phrasing mid thought. “And because it’s...suspense? We film scenes...that are not real scenes. I mean- they are real, but...they do not go in the film.” She offered a shrug. “Even the crew sometimes does not know what is real. It is a little...how you say? Mystery...inside the mystery.”

Sean raised his brows. “That’s a twisty kind of security.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “It’s fun. And also a little…unsettling.”

When he mentioned her audition for Matilda, Marinette’s face lit with quiet surprise. “Oh- wow. I didn’t know anyone knew that.” Leaning in just a touch, she spoke more freely. “I love horror. I like to be afraid...but in a safe way.” She gave a quick, musical laugh. “Usually I watch independent horror films because they do more with less. They take risks. So when I read this script, and saw it was from a big studio, I was curious. I thought: If they are willing to take these risks, I want to see what they will let me do.” Her hands lifted, expressive. “Matilda was...not obvious. She is quiet. Intense. Her reason is not easy to see, and that means as an actress, you get to decide. You fill the blanks. That is very fun. But I auditioned, and very quickly they say, ‘Thank you...but maybe you read for Allison instead?’” She laughed, shaking her head. “It was clear I was not the Matilda they imagined. I did not think I would get Allison either. Too much English. Too much speaking. I thought...okay, they ask, I try. And somehow...here I am.”

Sean grinned. “And the rest was history.”

Marinette smiled, soft and a little shy. “Yes. But- funny story- when I met my partner, I told him I first tried for Matilda. And he looked at me like I was insane.” She laughed under her breath. “He said: You? No. You are Allison. So...everyone knew. Except me.” As she took another bite of the third wing, Sean pivoted to his next question, reference to her history with Olivier.

Nadja, hearing his murmur, cast a sideways glance toward Tylio. “Oh, now you want to talk to me?” she muttered, dryly amused. “It’s a fair question. She’ll be fine.”

Marinette took her time chewing- partly to consider, partly breathe through the sting of spice that lingered. “It doesn’t complicate,” she said finally. “If it was recent, maybe yes. But we separate for more than a year. We are not angry. We just…took different paths.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Now it is like working with a friend. There are boundaries. Sometimes it’s strange. But we are both there for work. We want to do it well.” Her voice softened. “People think...maybe it brings feelings again, but it’s not always like this. Sometimes you are acting and you think, if you were like this character, maybe we are still together. And sometimes…you are like this character. That is why we are not together.” Her laugh was quiet, a bit bittersweet. “You know?”

Sean gave a small nod, then turned his attention back to the table lined with increasingly dangerous-looking wings. “Alright. You’re surviving so far. Shall we see if that luck holds?”

Marinette gave a small, breathless laugh. “I survive,” she agreed. They both reached for the next wing: darker, denser, far more menacing. Ever determined, she squeezed her lemon again with almost ritualistic focus before lifting the wing to her mouth. The heat was immediate- fierce, cruel, spreading across her tongue, painting a faint flush into her cheeks. She coughed once—delicate, almost apologetic. “Ahh…this one is more serious,” she said, tapping her chest to ease the burn. Still, she didn’t drink the water. Pas encore.

Sean smiled, letting the moment settle. Then he tipped his head slightly, voice lowering into a more personal cadence. “So- you have a background in ballet. I don’t think a lot of people know that. Years of training, if I’m right? Do you feel like that discipline, that physical storytelling, bleeds into how you approach acting now?”

“Ah, yes,” she breathed, fanning her face in a futile attempt to cool herself. “Ballet is…very strict. You must know your body. How to show feeling, even if you do not feel it. Even when you must not speak.” She gestured lightly, as if molding something invisible. “The body must believe…or the words are not enough. Ballet teaches you that.” A pause, a shaky inhale. “It teaches you how to be strong without looking strong. How to be fragile...without breaking. And if you fall...you make it look like it was part of the dance.”

“You’re doing great so far,” Sean said. “Speaking of feelings and performances...you’ve mentioned before that you listen to a lot of music when you’re preparing for a role- or just living your life.” He smiled. "So if you had to pick songs that remind you of the most important people in your life right now, what would they be?"

“You’re doing great so far,” Sean said, his tone warm, encouraging her onward. “Speaking of feelings and performances...” He leaned in slightly. “You’ve mentioned before that you listen to a lot of music when you’re preparing for a role- or just living your life.” He gave a small, knowing tilt of his head. “So if you had to pick songs that remind you of the most important people in your life right now...what would they be?”

“Um...” she began, her voice a little scratchy from the spice still burning her throat. “For Nadja,” she said after a beat, “it would be Little Girl Gone. She is my definition of fearless. She does not let anything keep her small.” A breath of laughter escaped her, mischievous and sweet. “Even though she is shorter than me.” Feeling braver, Marinette dared to take another bite of the fourth wing- and instantly regretted it. “Oh no,” she gasped, fanning her face as her eyes began to sting. She gave a few quick, desperate breaths, trying to rally herself. gave a few quick breaths. “It burns the more you move.” Still, she pressed on. “For Tylio, I have...maybe two? Ethereal by Txmy. Maybe Lose Control by Teddy Swims.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “And for Allison, it would be the last beautiful thing i saw is the thing that blinded me. Because that is Allison. Beauty and pain. Together.” Pushing the fourth wing away she found herself staring at the first wing.

Sean smiled, letting the last of Marinette’s words settle. “You’re giving these answers way too beautifully for someone eating molten lava,” he teased, reaching casually for the next wing. “Speaking of beautiful things you share with the world...let’s talk Instagram.”

Marinette gave a small groan, more playful than real, already dreading what was coming. “Ah…Instagram.” She made a face, as if bracing for something worse than the wings.

Sean laughed. “From what I’ve seen, you don’t use it like most celebrities. No sponsorship posts, no polished glamour shots every day. It’s a lot of...life. You dancing around, your friends, cooking-” he grinned, “some very blurry photos of a certain someone we’ll leave unnamed.”

Marinette’s cheeks, already flushed from the heat, turned pinker still. “Ah...yes,” she said with an almost guilty smile. “Maybe...sometimes, after too much limoncello...” she admitted, her English stumbling adorably. “I post without thinking too much. Some stories. Some photos.” She lifted a hand, brushing her hair back in a gesture of shy defense. “It’s like...I want to keep the moments. Not perfect. I think...if I wait too long to post, I want it perfect. But if I post right away...” she shrugged, “it feels more true. And if it is blurry..." she smiled impishly, “it is life.”

Sean laughed. “That’s probably the healthy Instagram philosophy. Ready for the next one?”

Marinette's smile faltered slightly. “Non,” she said simply. Still, determined as ever, she picked up her wing. As always, she squeezed lemon over it and bit. Her eyes flew wide open. She coughed once- then again- her entire body tensing as the fire bloomed across her tongue and throat, far worse than anything before. “Oh mon Dieu-” she gasped, barely managing to swallow before grabbing blindly for her glass of water.

“Is it that bad?” Sean asked, half-laughing, half-sympathetic.

Marinette pressed a napkin to her mouth, coughing again, eyes glassy. “C’est...c’est pas humain!” she wheezed. Without thinking, she turned her head, spotting Tylio just off-camera. “Aide-moi, s'il te plaît...” she managed, her voice cracking from the heat.

Sean's introduction of Marinette, while slightly sensationalized, was actually pretty spot on. There was something disarming about her, something that appealed to almost everyone who interacted with her and that was so strong it even came through in recordings. It was going to come in especially handy today because although she was calm, Tylio could see that she was a bit out of her element. A bit nervous, even, to try the food in front of her. In preparation for this show, Tylio had urged her to start eating spicy food a bit more often but seeing all of the bottles on the table, he wasn't sure it would be enough to pull her through without tearing up. Ça fait partie du spectacle, de toute façon.

Seeing Marinette in this environment was interesting for him. So far, whenever she was on camera he'd mostly seen her playing a role and there was always a moment where she would 'shift' into the moment, blur into character she was playing. But this time, predictably, no such shift took place. There was no script for this, she was just supposed to be authentic. Well, more or less. Miranda had made it clear that there were limits to how real she should be with her answers.

The interview started off quite smoothly. Tylio had never heard of Sean before watching the show but he was good at his job, asking questions in a way that almost felt like he was just chatting with a friend, rather than interviewing a celebrity. But there were signs that he'd most definitely done his research. He mentioned Conques, encouraging her to inform the viewers about how different her life was now compared to when she was growing up and wondering aloud whether she'd had her big Hollywood ego moment yet. Tylio could swear he spotted a hint of surprise on Sean's face when Marinette casually revealed that she still cooked for herself. It was kind of unusual, given her busy schedule. For a moment, he thought Sean was about to ask her about that but no. Despite his friendly demeanor, he was determined to get to the more personal stuff. Tylio rolled his eyes a little bit. Il aurait au moins pu lui demander ce qu’elle aime cuisiner. It irritated him, this slightly vulturous mindset, but it made sense. People were watching not just to hear about the movie she was shooting but also to know more about her personal life.

Sean was asking her about the photos now. He did it in a gentle way, thankfully, focusing mostly on the topic of trying to keep private things private, but Tylio could still see a hint of embarrassment as Marinette went on to explain that she was trying to find a good balance. He was impressed with how well she was doing, her answer was measured and actually sounded pretty close to what Miranda had advised her to say. Until she casually dropped the fact that a simple kiss was what started the whole photo scandal. Well, two kisses.

This time, Tylio was the one who felt momentarily embarrassed. His arms folded, instinctively moving in front of his body. But he immediately pushed it down, giving Mari a reassuring smile when she glanced over to him. There was still something endearing about the fact that she thought it was normal. It wasn't, at least not for him. Not for a while now. He'd been a bachelor for several years before they met and his libido hadn't caused much of an issue for him. She really had no idea how unusual it was for him to get so turned on, just from a kiss. Just from watching her on set, from having her sit in his lap, sometimes even hearing her say his name. Every time he was beginning to suspect that she might be aware of the effect she had on him, she proved to him once again that she did indeed have a blind spot. Nadja looked at him and he tried his best to not look at her, keeping his eyes focused on the interview in front of him.

"Let's try the next one, shall we?", Sean suggested after a pause, sparing Marinette having to doubt her answer for too long. "We actually make this third one, not to be too sponsory", he chuckled, encouraging her to take a bite at the same time as him. "How's that?", Sean asked, and Tylio was beginning to wonder whether this man was simply desensitized to the milder spice levels after doing this show for so long because even though Sean seemed largely unaffected, he could see that it was doing something to Marinette. "So I'm curious, after those pictures were revealed, I can imagine the topic of privacy must have come up a lot. Can you reveal some of the security measures that were put in place behind the scenes of your latest movie, to prevent spoilers or leaks?"

Tylio could feel himself relax a little bit when Sean steered the topic slightly away from their relationship but he knew it might just be a strategy. There were still seven bottles on the table. "So in your latest project you play the lead role of Allison Phelps, a woman who fits the victim profile of a local serial killer. Your showrunner recently said in an interview that you actually auditioned for the part of Matilda, Allison's obsessive roommate. What was it about Matilda's character that gave you such a strong gravitational pull towards the project?"

After questioning Marinette about a few other job related highlights, Sean circled back around: "Your character, Allison, is being stalked by a masked assailant and at the same time being supported by an online detective who becomes obsessed with solving the case. The detective, Keith, is being played by someone you've worked with before in the past, someone you've also been in a romantic relationship with. How does that complicate a performance?" While his eyes were still on Marinette, Tylio leaned to the side, a bit closer to Nadja. Even under his breath, the irritation in his voice was audible: "Is he serious?"

#m: marinette beauséjour #p: tylio cellier #b: tyliocellier #marinette x tylio: 002 #v: young actress #[on mobile right now so no gifs :/]

121 notes · View notes

luigisleftshoe · 19 hours ago

Text

Husband Luigi Headcanons

Ugh i just have to start with a proposal bc he would be so stressed all day. Like the man would be on the edge of his seat the entire day and you ask him what's wrong and he's just like “what! Me! Nothing! Why would you think that🤨?”

He would want the proposal to be very private just the two of you but also very special. He's shy ok? What if you say no? Who would say no to him? Honestly he would probably propose on a hike. But like not a normal hike it would have to be both of your special nature spots and he would be like “let's do a picnic there” and you do and boom he proposes.

Ok lowkey i feel like he would want to do an elopement like something very intimate just the two of you and then like on your one year anniversary he would do the actual wedding party with friends and family. Because like yes he wants to celebrate with friends and family and such but he also feels like this should be a private sacred moment ya know? Like just the two of you with the officiant, no one there to mess it up, no stress of putting on production, just two people that love each other. Then, on your one-year anniversary, that’s when he’d throw the real wedding. The party. The family celebration. The toast. The formalwear. The photos. But the vows? The real vows? Those were for just you and him.

But the actual married life part! WOWWY be prepared for your health nut husband!

He cannot stop calling you “wife” like it's a new pokemon he just unlocked. The man MILKS it. Say “my wife” instead of “you” even in private. Correct people when they say your name: “You mean my wife?” You cough once and he's like, “Careful that's my legally-bound domestic soulmate right there.” its like 40% a bit and 60% disbelief that he actually got to marry you

He overfunctions so hard the first week it's almost stressful. Rearranges the spice rack three times. Researchers optimal mattress firmness. Unironically joins r/BestMattresses4MarriedCouples reddit. Uses a leveler to hang photos at 11:45 pm. And when you tell him to chill, he's like: “I just want everything to be perfect. For you. For us. Is that a crime??”

He doesn't sleep unless he's touching you. Not in a sexy way (ok sometimes it is). But mostly in a soft grounding “if you're not here i literally cannot turn off my brain way.” Grabs your arms in his sleep. Spoons you like, his life depends on it. Mumbles in the dark: “You're not leaving, right? Not like, in a dream way. Like in a literal way.” When you say no he instantly relaxes like a switch.

Nonstick pans are banned in your house. Everything that he's health conscious about for himself he's suddenly about you and he's like “we need to be the healthiest longest living married couple to ever exist.”

He will definitely randomly spiral about being enough. Like you'll be folding towels and hell go quiet, and then out of nowhere hell be like “You don't regret this right? Like marrying me. You'd tell me if you did?” And he's not doing it to fish for compliments, it's because under the weight of being so deeply loved and in love scares him. When you come down and hug him saying “you're the only thing that ever made sense.” Hes sat.

He flirts like an absolute menace even more so. Fixes the sink shirtless and says “who needs plumber when you've got a husband with pipes?” Flexes while carrying groceries: “Bet you're glad you married this.” But the second you say “I am. You're so hot.” He malfunctions like “error 404 not found.” and is like “Oh–uh. Thanks. Wait. no. like–yes. You too. I mean. Fuck.”

He turns cleaning into an olympic sport. But only when you're watching. Will vacuum in full athletic shorts, blasting music, dancing like an idiot, and pausing to point at you mid spin like: “Tell me i'm the hottest man alive. Dont lie.” (He knocks over a lamp and apologizes to it. Not to you.)

Hes not materialistic at all but he is DEEPLY deeply sentimental. He keeps your first grocery receipt, a cork from the wine you drank watching Shrek 2 the night after your elopement, and your old hoodie tage from when you gave it to him in college. Labels them in a little box under your bed. Refers to it as “our marriage museum.”

The way he never lets you carry heavy grocery bags. You could be holding a single loaf of bread and he’s yanking it out of your hands like,“No. You’re the delicate one. You’re precious cargo.” Meanwhile he’s stacking six grocery bags up each arm, refusing help, almost knocking over a grandma in the parking lot and almost pulling his back again.

He sends you ridiculous voice memos when you’re apart. Like 40-second rants about how the grocery store is out of your favorite yogurt. Or him dramatically whispering,“The guy at Starbucks called me 'boss.' I feel unstoppable. You married a legend.”

Cooking turns into flirt battles.You try to flip a pancake? He sneaks up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and tries to "coach" you like a horny Food Network contestant. Whispers dumb shit like:“You’re so hot when you cook. Bet you’ll be even hotter on the kitchen counter.” (He 100% burns the second batch because he’s too busy trying to kiss you.)

He's too competitive about dumb couple activities.Escape room date?He’s mapping the entire room like it’s a Navy SEAL mission. Mini golf? He’s trash talking you under his breath like,“Hope you’re ready to get destroyed, Mrs. Mangione.”

His ultimate weakness: you wearing his last name casually. You call to set up an appointment and say "Mrs. Mangione" on the phone and he hears it from the next room, immediately trips over his own feet getting to you. Blushes for an hour after.

Babe is like deeply deeply empathetic to like a fault. Like he will pick up on your moods instantly and it will get even more immediate when your married. Senses you're stressed = immediate forehead kiss. Senses you’re sad = wraps himself around you like an emotional scarf. Senses you're mad at him = quiet slow spiral until you talk it out because he cannot handle "weird vibes."

Gym bro tendencies, but only for the validation. If you call him hot after he works out?He will literally flex like: “This is all for you, baby. All these gains. Yours.”

Ok i know i said hes very much not materialistic but he would buy one item of random “husband” merch and wear it unironically. Like a tshirt that says #1 husband. Apron that says “kiss the husband” in comic sans. Or a hat that justs says “married” across the front. He thinks its hilarious and hell wear them out in public with no shame. Itll become his new BALI shirt.

Has a “wife playlist” he only plays when he misses you too much. Not public. Not shared. You catch him playing it on the speaker when you’re out of the house too long. You tease him and he turns bright red like: “Shut up. It’s an emotional regulation playlist.”

He leaves you stupid but sweet handwritten notes in random places. Not "good morning" ones, weirder ones: “Congratulations, you found the secret note! The prize is a kiss.” (taped inside the fridge), “Husband still loves you. Update: More than yesterday.” (inside your laptop), “Do not panic. You are my favorite.” (on the laundry detergent)

You joke about a baby once and he laughs a little too loud. But deep down? He’s spiraling like “Could I even be a good dad? Would I mess it up? What if I’m too immature still? What if I disappoint her?” He is incredibly terrified of having kids. Not like he doesn't want them but like He trusts himself. He trusts you. But he doesn’t trust the outside.The economy. Climate change.Violence. All the things that could hurt something he helped create.And it gnaws at him in a quiet way — not when you’re laughing on the couch, but when the news is on at 2AM and you're asleep on his chest. He doesn’t tell you that immediately, but you catch him absentmindedly rubbing your back while zoning out. If you bring it up casually, he jokes it off at first. “Yeah sure babe, let’s just throw a kid into this apocalypse. Sounds great.” (Said half-joking, half-aching.) Or:“You really want them to grow up eating protein powder and vibing in a collapsing society? Babe...” (He smiles but it’s tight.)

His biggest fear is that he wouldn’t be able to protect them — or you. Not "I wouldn't love them." Not "I don't want them." But "I can't promise they'll be safe. And that kills me." He doesn’t say that outright until one night when you’re half asleep and he mumbles into your hair:"I’d do anything to protect you. I’d do anything to protect them too. But the world’s bigger than me, babe. And I hate that."

If you ever convince him? It won’t be a decision made lightly. It’ll take years of trust, love, hope-building. You’ll have to show him that even if the world burns, you’ll be a family inside the fire. And once he’s in? HE’S IN.

Fixes stuff around the house while muttering about “future-proofing for little feet.” (You catch him once researching how to child-proof cabinets before you’re even trying for kids. He slams the laptop shut in shame.)

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione headcanons #luigi mangione hc #luigi mangione x reader

42 notes · View notes

therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 2 days ago

Text

♡ OVERLORD HCs A.01

scenario A: decepticon reader CO, you command your own ship and you have to baby sit your least favorite ex-gladiator (cybertronian equivalent of having to supervise your least favorite athlete)

setting: Pre-Overlord Defection. G-9 has not happened yet!

cross posted on ao3. i mainly post on ao3!

— He’s actually noticed you for a long while now. Overlord has had a small dislike towards you for your sheering fucking audacious behavior back during the Pre-War era. He remembers seeing you in the gladiatorial pits in the audience. Overlord remembers well how you cheered on and on for Megatron instead of him and how you shout out insults at Overlord from the sidelines to his fragging face when Megatron was giving him the defeat of a lifetime. At the time, it enraged him beyond everything he's ever felt. He honestly wanted to hunt you down after that fight and terminate you himself. But he couldn’t do much about it in those times and to be honest, he’s grown out of it now (mostly). He doesn’t care about the opinion of some random miner who spectated his fights millions of years ago, why should he be some random bot's favorite gladiator in the first place? Even if said miner had the ball bearings to say it to his face that he wasn’t as good as Megatron all those millennia ago.

— He didn’t like your blind hero worship towards both of your now-boss-and-commander back then so it amuses him to no end to know that you obviously came out to be a Decepticon once the war started but he hadn’t found that out till he was assigned to your ship, unfortunately. You’re the in-charge and the star system within which your unit operates in has planets ready for cyberforming so that means Phase Six is to be initiated on said planets. Cue Overlord waltzing onto your ship one day to commit mass genocide.

— Overlord is solely annoying you for his own amusement as well as to get back at you for his Pre-War humiliation. This is an opportunity he’s not going to miss. Usually, he doesn't really engage in conversation with Commanders or Officers or any of the crew on any of the ships he’s been on in general, unless its to mess with them. He doesn’t like authority figures.

— Now Overlord is used to being feared by the mechs of his own faction and he enjoys their fear tremendously but none of them really ever stares daggers at him like you do as you pass by him in the hallways. Overlord can tell you don’t really like having him around with that glare you give him, he thinks it's cute. He can tell you’re weary of him causing chaos on-board and being the CO (Commanding Officer) of this ship, Overlord is well aware that you’d be held responsible. So he purposefully stirs up shit to piss you off and hear that signature sigh he’d gotten used to for the past four solar cycles.

— He’ll probably try approaching you with some mundane small talk to further annoy you only for you to shut him down immediately but by being annoyed with him, you’re only spurring him on to continue. Overlord likes being a pain in the aft. Eventually, it becomes a running gag between you two and he will get more bolder. Your teammates are kind of stunned that you’d speak to a fucking Phaser Sixer that way or the fact that you even knew Overlord to a level. But you did run this ship so none of your subordinates dared to question you.

— He has no respect for personal space. Overlord will stand uncomfortably close to you because he can and he knows you’re not going to even try, you’re well aware of how stubborn he is. He likes making you uncomfortable.

— Since you’re the CO of the ship, Overlord unfortunately has to report to you by Decepticon Code and it's something the both of you hate because you want nothing with the mech and Overlord hates knowing that he has to address you of all bots with respect. He only calls you ‘Commander’ in a mock sarcastic way which just, honestly, it just makes you sigh. You’re already tired of dealing with the crew you have and now you have to look after Overlord of all mechs.

— Your no-nonsense attitude and coldness honestly amuses him. It's a stark contrast to the spitfire of a cheerful fanbot he despised. He does find you a little boring though. How you're so strict on protocol, how you insist on roll call every morning, how you pester him for his report… Honestly, he thinks you'd get along somewhat well with Tarn at this point. He hates being bossed around and that just further fuels his need to be the biggest helmache you've ever had.

— He’s not going to say it yet but he finds this new you sort of… attractive in a way. Stern and commanding, as if you could control him. As much as he found it annoying, he liked a bot that challenged him.

— He also liked how you seemed to be more… tired with him annoying you than really angry. Overlord find the face you make when he approaches you absolutely golden. It's enough for him to smile with glee.

— One time, the two of you were on a mission together and you weren’t too happy to be with him. In fact, it was a mission assigned to you but he insists on just following, as he said in his words: “to make sure his Commanding Officer is safe” knowing damn well that you're the last bot that needs any sort of ‘safety’ from anyone. He can tell it pisses you off and it amuses him to no end just how much you don’t like him. In reality, he’s just tagging along with you to not feel bored after he’s decimated entire civilizations.

Overlord stands by you as you kneel down to the Autobot you just knocked out. Overlord has his signature scrap-eating grin and you let out an aggravated sigh, you really didn’t like being around him… and he was intent on following you around to bother you, even during your missions.

“I thought we needed the Autobot alive for interrogation, Commander. Seems you’re a step away from terminating him.” Overlord sighs in a rather impish fashion as venom drips from his tone at the word ‘Commander’, he’s mocking you and you know it but you just can’t find the energy to care.

“No. My plan is not to offline him, Overlord.” You reply as you rise up after taking note of the bot’s spark signature, Overlord is slightly intrigued by that but his face never betrays what he feels. Sure the Autobot’s color was still present on his frame but his optics shone the bright blue he loathes ever so dimly, as if the poor thing were on the last fumes of his spark while he clings on desperately to his miserable existence. He would meet the Allspark soon, or so Overlord muses. Especially with how immobile he was, not even able to flinch as your digits accidentally brush past open circuit ends. That would usually draw out a pretty sweet screeching scream from Overlord’s experience.

“What do you mean? He’s limp on the floor.” Overlord folds his servos against his chassis, raising an optical ridge at you. A quizzical look on his features which was a rare sight, the brutal ex-gladiator usually caught on to what a bot does without having to ask given how terrifying his intellect was.

“I hit the Autobot on an exposed part of his backstruts when he left it open in our fight that you so graciously showed up to spectate.” He can hear the teeth through your words despite your calm and soft tone, it makes him chuckle. Overlord watched you struggle as you fought instead of helping you. It certainly had you annoyed that Overlord wouldn’t help but his reasoning, unbeknownst to you, is that he’s too busy watching how your frame moves. You looked good after a fight, in his unvoiced opinion.

“The gauntlets allow me to control the force I am using and it was enough to snap the spinal motor cording.” You sigh and graciously explain to your irksome Phase Sixer ‘companion’, showing off the upgrade on your servos as you do so by extending your them out towards him as he examines closely, taking a step closer to your energon-stained servos. He seems somewhat impressed as the realization of what you’ve done dawns on him; his servos remain folded but he’s got that smirk you wish you could wipe off his face on. Overlord may have been more about the… displays and brute force but he was intelligent.

After all, it’s what made Overlord so deadly.

“So… you paralyzed this sorry sod?” He has a wicked grin now as he studies the Autobot that lay before you two on the ground, his frame is wreck— a few open ended cabling from your slashes and breaches in his armor from your blaster shots as he leaks out energon, not enough for him to go into stasis though as he lay immobile. He's impressed to say the least, with how far you’ve come from what he remembers you as.

“I prefer immobilized.” You look down, cold and uncaring as you kneel toward the unmoving frame in front of you. He can see the indifference in your own crimson gaze, as if you stay aware of this bot’s suffering but simply can’t seem to care and a part of him wants you to look at him like that, not like he’d say it outright how attractive he finds it.

“The Autobot is caged in his own frame. He can’t move, he can’t escape, he can’t scream and he can’t even cry. So we don’t have to worry about escape plans and the immobility makes it easier to use a cortical psychic patch to get the information we need. The lack of noise from his frame also means it’ll be a lot easier to move through deep enemy territory.”

Overlord is slightly startled by the words that leave your vocalizer as you explain your reasoning, his wicked grin faltering. His face for once, betrays how he feels with how his crimson optics slightly widen but thankfully, you don’t seem to notice as you’re rummaging through the Autobot’s subspace, probably trying to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything that could give out his location. Now, he didn’t dislike your words. But such… he doesn’t even have the word for it�� Ruthlessness? Brutality? Intelligence? Practicality? Sadism?... Whatever it was. All of… this was coming from the same bot he remembers resenting in the gladiatorial pits all those millennia ago for being an annoying little suck up and it clearly startled him, how radically different you were now. He clearly had the wrong idea about you. Not to mention, how you didn’t seem to think of Autobots as… individuals, referring to the third person that can hear their conversation perfectly fine from your shoulders as a mere obstacle.

But… he has to take a moment to just admire your creativity. Overlord was expect another typical Decepticon-style torture treatment for whatever information it was that you needed. Not like he was against it though but the old torture routine had lost its charm over time to the Phase Sixer. He was starting to get bored with it. Invading some random Autobot’s memories as they helplessly watch, unable to do absolutely anything about it sounds a lot more… fresh and tempting.

His optics quickly return to its regular smug look, watching you ever so intently as you kneel back down to carry the unfortunate bot over your shoulders. It's apparent that you've gotten bigger and stronger with how effortlessly you carry up a bot nearly your height. He can't help but take a moment to take his crimson optics over your frame for a moment— whatever upgrade you've gotten was certainly impressive. He can tell you’re built for speed, strength and agility.

But what intrigued him the most was your thinking. He's been around cruel mechs (and been a cruel mech) long enough to know how a sadist looks down at their work and… You didn’t seem sadistic, you weren’t really admiring your handiwork nor did you seem to take much joy in it, but you were willing to be brutal if it meant it was the more efficient route. He can’t help but admire that. A secretive, intelligent and cold cruelty; drastically different to the loud and brash explosive flames of blind hatred most Decepticons had.

You were absolutely diabolical.

And he was loving every moment of it.

Overlord could tell he was going to absolutely adore this new you. No one’s managed to get him this impressed and startled in a long, long time.

— He's surprised to find out that you’re actually sort of insane as well? Not really but somewhat? Clearly, he has misjudged you for being boring and plain. Evident with your methodologies— you prioritize efficiency over anything else and he sort of gets why Megatron has somewhat of a high opinion on you. You’re loyal and you know how to get the job done. In Overlord’s experience, Decepticons usually have one of two.

—However, it’s not unwelcome. He doesn’t mind it but your apathy is sort of unexpected? To him, he still thinks of you as that tiny little annoying fan that doesn’t know how to shut up about their leader (even if you’ve certainly gotten bigger). But now... you’re more silent, a lot more mature and a lot more devious. The war has taken its toll on you... and Overlord, in his own twisted way, can’t help but start to find the result of it somewhat attractive. He likes a bot that could match his freak. Needless to say, he’s grown intrigued by who you’ve now become.

— Remember that whole not having any respect for your personal space thing? Yeah… that gets a whole lot worse now that he's intrigued by you, to a point where he's constantly getting glares from you as he pushes his luck. He dared to wrap his servo around your shoulder which earned him a quick, stern “Keep your distance.” from you. He listens at the moment you say it, only to do it again moments later. But his touches don’t really escalate from your shoulders.

— He’s like your tail at this point, following you around whenever he’s bored has become a routine habit. You find it slightly annoying but you can’t do anything about it other than sigh. Despite your tenacity, there was no way by the Pits you could discipline a Phase Sixer, Warrior Elite… that was far above anything you could do and you seemed to acknowledge that. Overlord has come to enjoy your tired sighs directed at him. Ironically enough, the rest of your crew assumes you’ve managed to keep him close to keep an optic on him… but that one small advantage does not make up for it in comparison to the insufferable personality of this mech.

— Sometimes you scold him and he just pouts playfully, pretending to be hurt because he really does not care at all. He's a cocky bastard. Overlord thinks its cute you're even trying to in the first place.

— The more he follows you around on your various missions, the more he finds himself admiring your way of doing things. He can’t help but get more and more intrigued by your cold, silent ruthlessness, so distant from the grandeur displays of the same he exhibits with his dramatic flare.

There you were. Another successful mission and Overlord watches keenly, watching you work has become somewhat of a hobby for him now. He admires the way your processor works. You’d manage to eliminate an entire unit of seven single-handedly by picking them off one by one from the shadows and terminating them in silence. You were scarily stealthy, he could see that. You were light on your pedes, not even he could pick up on the sounds of your pede-steps.

“I must say, you’re certainly creative.” Overlord speaks with a surprising amount of sincerity in his tone that is actually not sarcasm for once which visibly startles you and he can tell that with how your crimson optics slight widen, you truly didn’t expect it from him. It makes him amused.

“When you pick them off one by one, the rest get panicked and they do something brash.” You explain your approach, Overlord has found the way you explain why you did what you did quite charming by now even if its slightly off putting.

“Hm. Weaponizing their anxiety and fears? How dastardly.” Overlord was more of a ‘making his presence known’ kind of mech however, he’s grown to silently admire your way of getting things done. You were absolutely cunning and dangerous and he loves it; he’s honestly surprised you haven’t tried to worm your way up to a higher rank. He also finds the small smile you give him when he figures out the basis of your approaches somewhat endearing. As if you're glad someone finally gets it.

“Exactly. Not just that but Autobots value comradery so if one of them goes missing, the others are sure to come follow.” Overlord was honestly finding himself liking you more and more as time goes by. You might be the only bot who’s surprised him with continuous streaks at this points because his smirk widens after hearing your words.

“Using their unity, their biggest strength to your advantage?” Overlord chuckles at the sheer wickedness you’re capable of. He has not met another Decepticon half as strategic or intelligent as you. Had every ‘Con been like you, he figures they would’ve won millennia ago. Even if you reminded him of a serial killer at times. Not like he is any better.

“You truly are something else. Full of surprises.”

— One of his favorite things to do ever is just invade your workstation to annoy you. Overlord won’t knock but you can tell by his heavy pede-steps that he’s outside your door and you have to mentally prepare yourself as the mech proceeds to make his grand entrance by waltzing in like he owns the place. You’ve tried your very best to get him to go away but its to no avail. Overlord just hovers by you as you type out reports, speaking of his musings and engaging in conversation with you.

— Overlord is actually not really bad to talk to in casual conversation. A lot less intense than he usually is, though his snarky demeanor remains. In fact, he finds you very interesting now and he’s slightly genuinely curious to know what you feel and think. He finds himself wanting to understand you but he’s not going to say that out loud yet.

— He didn’t like your blind hero worship then. He does not like it now given Overlord’s strained relationship with your leader. The one thing he does not like you talking about is Megatron, you seem to have an innate ability to ramble on about Megatron for hours on end and it really really pisses him off but he doesn’t show that yet. Overlord finds himself slightly… jealous in way? He’s always envied their leader but your words make it worse.

— Now, would Overlord realize he might have some sort of feelings for you? Yes. He definitely would. Overlord would assess himself thoroughly when he realizes he genuinely finds himself enjoying your company. But the biggest give-away to him that he likes you is the fact that he starts to find himself genuinely caring about your opinion which is a huge deal because he does not care about what any bot has to say. Overlord has never been one for romance, he isn’t sure on what to do with this realization. If he likes something, he’ll take it for himself. But he wouldn’t really do anything about it, for now. Solely because you’ve earned his respect to an extent. Overlord is the type to start off as very vague and slowly build it up. He’s got the patience.

— He wouldn’t really say anything about it but he finds himself quite pleased that you’ve gotten used to him and his looming presence. Overlord can also see that you’ve begun to slowly lose your cold icy exterior around him, he suspects that you’ve come to enjoy his presence slightly as well and he’s got quite a smug grin about it.

— Your crew is kind of terrified to approach you now because of his hulking figure looming above and it entertains him to be honest. Overlord can also tell you seem to care quite a lot about your crew which he finds quite… ironic in a way? It was as if your cold apathy was purely reserved for your duties. Overlord can see that you’re generally just introverted; you care about your crew, sure but you aren’t too keen on going out of your way to strike up conversations with… anyone really. A part of him envies your crew gets to see a slightly softer side of you.

— He can see that you truly do care about them with the way you’re harsh with them in general when it comes to reprimanding but you get a lot more…soft when in private. Overlord knows this because he’s seen you scold a few soldiers with genuine concern privately in your workstation, away from prying optics. He refused to leave your workspace when you asked him to during that moment so he ended up seeing this. Overlord isn’t sure on what to feel about knowing you can be soft. On one hand, its a weakness but by Primus, what he’d give to be scolded like that.

— Its the only reason he doesn’t terrorize your crew and, the nicest thing Overlord is capable of is abstaining from committing heinous acts. Something like the bare minimum of not committing murder without reason is kindness in his twisted optics. He's got stalker tendencies as well, he's gone from following you whenever you're in the vicinity to trying to find you for the sole purpose of following you. Sometimes though, he's just content with watching you from a distance and he's quite good at making sure his presence stays hidden. Overlord has become determined to know absolutely everything he can about you because of just how much you've piqued his interests.

— Overlord is definitely the type to check you out when you’re not looking. Only reason he doesn’t when you’re aware of his gaze and presence is because he wants his intentions to remain ominous. He also kind of cares about your opinion on him now so he doesn’t want to give off a bad impression, he’s aware you already sort of don’t like him.

— Unfortunately, his time with you on your ship comes to an end after a few years. He’s got other planets to go off to and destroy for the Decepticon Cause. His farewell isn’t very heartfelt, but he is dramatic about it.

“I suppose this is the end, Commander.” Overlord sighs in dramatic fashion. He’s gotten used to his name for you, ‘Commander’ and honestly, you’ve gotten used to it as well. He can’t help but have a smug grin at your slightly amused smile.

“Farewell, Overlord.” You just wave a little, rather awkward but mostly indifferent. He can sense that a small part of you might actually miss his pestering and he can certainly tell that you’re not used to goodbyes either. You continue to hold that signature blank face as your smile slowly dies down as he walks out, towards the rampway of a space bridge. Overlord turns around for a moment as he watches you walk away. His crimson optics slightly gleaming.

He was definitely coming back for you at some point. You’ve intrigued him quite a bit and he’s proud to say that you’ve managed to live in his helm almost just as much as Megatron has.

— After that whole thing, the only places he’s seen you at is in certain formal functions or meetings. His unpredictable mood improves drastically upon seeing you, a smug smile or often times, even a genuine smile creeps up on his face. You usually don’t engage with anyone at such events given your introverted nature, keeping to yourself in a corner while chaos ensues around you and who’s Overlord to deny you company? He’ll sit by you and catch up. But these little run-ins happen like once in a few megacycles. Despite this, you’ve managed to stay in his helm. He won’t say it but he misses you and he can tell a small part of you, just a tiny part of you might have fallen for his charm.

— However, this does not last. You’re foolish if you think anything could stay even remotely somewhat wholesome with a mech like Overlord even if he did act like your temporary guard dog for the relativelt short while he was on your ship. But that will be realized in time.

#transformers #cybertronian reader #transformers x reader #overlord transformers #transformers overlord x reader #tf idw #idw transformers #transformers x cybertronian reader

34 notes · View notes